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@psychosis-aloft
so i started a new book
*drags hands down face*
fuuuuuuuuuuck
OH. OH. OH (it me)
MotherFUCKER
Do you know what I hate??
When I was growing up any time my brother upset/hurt/was rude to or downright nasty to me I was told “he’s just doing it to get a rise out of you” “he’s just doing it to annoy you”
Like??? I know?? I know he’s being mean to upset me. I know he’s saying horrible stuff to annoy me. And guess what?? I’m annoyed!!!!
I was literally told not to be upset, because his intentions were to upset me????
How is that not upsetting? Especially to a young girl??
THE GASLIGHTING STARTS EARLY.
As I was relentlessly bullied, I was often told not to react because the reaction was what they wanted, and that they would stop bullying me if I did not respond. In reality, no, they just tried harder. All the advice ever taught me was to bottle up all the pent up frustration and misery, so ultimately what changed was that no-one knew how badly I was suffering. Nothing is changed by inaction.
I'm so fucking miserable it's not funny.
I kind of really needed this…
what i say: i feel like everyone is mad at me
what i mean: i got the impression that one specific person is mad at/dissatisfied with/disappointed in me and that feeling has bled over into my perception of literally all other people, because emotionally i cannot grasp the concept that negative feelings or reactions to me are not 100% universal, and as i mostly define myself by what other people think of me i can barely imagine what it feels like to be an individual with free-standing feelings and depth of character separate from what is decided by the judgement of others, thus enforcing the idea that when one person is upset at me then everyone is, because when someone else decides what i am it becomes true
This is passive suicidality. There’s varying degrees like wishing previous attempts had been successful to this to hoping you die in your sleep.
It’s very common with depression and not usually a cause for alarm, but you should do your best to keep people in the know when you experience it (especially if you never have before) because it could turn active (a plan, or idea as to how you would commit suicide) before you notice.
This is every day for me
The Morning After I Killed Myself
The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.
im just
falling apart
at the seams
Artist: 山木萤
thought of you.
mooooooozzareeeeeeella stiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiicks
i really fucking hate cis people sometimes im so fucking mad ottawa’s talk radio is such trash i feel sick. dont fucking talk about trans people you dont know shit, fucking
