[feral-ballad]

Claire C. Holland, from I Am Not Your Final Girl: Poems; “Jess”

[Text ID: “I can’t exist in a way that comforts you.”]

[liliths-blood]

[m-a-k-k-u-r-o]

[understands]

[angria]

“We must understand that all the different types of self-harm or self-injury originated with the reality that, even as small children or infants, these patients were forced to depend on their own minds or their bodies for self-soothing or distress relief. In doing so, they discovered that they could capitalize on the very same psychobiological self-protective responses caused by the trauma.”

— from Self-Harm and Suicidality by Janina Fisher

[many-ways-to-die]

as if i would die

the world is falling apart,

my life is full of happiness

but still i am a burden to everybody

[dissociating-boy-blog]

do you ever feel like such a burden that you just wanna apologize for existing

[depressed-little-bird]

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry

[section8babe]

i feel so much better when no one knows where i am and what im doing.

[vomitingwords]

"I haven't say something in a while." she said. "But know that my heart is full of feelings, I never intended to hide."

I don't know where I'm going // ma.c.a

[bitterdollie]

I don’t feel like a real person. I just feel like a collection of what people want me to be and various mental disorders.

[broken-depressed-hearts]

[wrotten]

kiss ur own forehead. haunt ur own house

[redsnowflakess]

[soundtrack-to-the-soul-deactiva]

Reblog this if you want a short/long anonymous message saying what they think of you.

[ohdearwhatcouldthematterbe]

[sunflowerletters]

“Perhaps the saddest thing is, From time to time I still think about calling you, about telling you how much I miss you, and how often I think of you. But I never do, because I remember that we stopped speaking for a reason”

— Excerpt from a Book I’ll Never Write, Perhaps the Saddest Thing