i am self aware but I unfortunately can’t fix it

diary kid to tumblr teen to nothing for a while to tumblr adult again pipeline

[rambling-punk]

true free will can only be found in solitude

[rambling-punk]

which is to say that when we have been taught to be ashamed of our inherent self, the raw roots of humanity that lies within our gut and connects us all, we will never be free. And that shame leeches into our soul even when we’re alone but there will be times where you lay down on the brittle sun dried grass and the sky is swirled with pinks and purples just like the cotton candy ice cream that was your favourite as a child, and the world will be silent except for your songs playing loudly on your phone, and you will trace the branches of the tree above you with your eyes and try to see the colours of the sky through the holes in the leaves, and you will feel yearning and joy and grief at how they look like our veins. And you will want to jump and shout and twirl and bound and you will be convinced that on this day, in the evening sun with your hands stained with the smell of oranges and cigarettes and a bead of sweat trickling down your back like the stream that always go back to sea, on this very day, you are the last human on earth, and you are free to sing and be free. And you twirl and roll on the long grass and you don’t mind if there are pieces stuck in your hair. And in the distance you see a fiery little fox bound away and you think that all the souls in the galaxy may be intertwined, the fire of the sun burns in the red vixen coat and in the smoky orange peels that you left behind and in the scent of summer. And we are all dancing in our isolation, yearning to be free but too ashamed to admit it.

[rambling-punk]

true free will can only be found in solitude

[insidestory1]

One of the terrifying things about chronic illness is watching time slip away from you. You spend almost all of your time just surviving, and like that you watch days turn into months and months turn into years and the time you have in which to do things slip away from you. But the pain and fatigue and the shear difficulty of living won't let up enough for you to actually live your life, so you just have to keep watching it pass you by.

[rambling-punk]

shout out to evil education corp for making something that is whimsical and fun (writing silly little rant essays abt whales and cool shit) soso evil and mean and stressful. Let me be joyous, bring back just writing abt shit with love in our hearts and no word limit and no deadline and no need to reference every fucking sentence.

[rambling-punk]

there’s something so poetic about coming back home to your childhood room and it being locked in time to when you last left it. The way it smells and the dust that lingers and every poster you stuck up and the presence of a younger you that lingers in silent whispers and it feels like if you curl up beneath the blankets in the same way you always do and breathe in the smell of your bedding and close your eyes really tight and will it enough, you can puncture back into time and find the version of you who sat in this bed and cried and who struggled in silence and who tried to leave a presence in the form of their interests. And maybe if you yearn for it enough, you can unwind yourself into long strings of red twine and wrap yourself around them so that they can sense that it will pass and even if it never does become fine, it will still pass. And you really can’t go back so you just lay in the blankets and feel really small and you wonder if a future you is trying to reach back to wrap you in safety. And you wonder if there will be a future you at all. You wonder when the last time you dusted this room was and you trace your fingers over the old secondhand furniture that you painted and assembled yourself. And mixed with the paint was the first time you outwardly swore after hammering yourself and you now swear within every fucking sentence. And the bunk bed that used to exist is no longer here and there are new shelves and additions but the immense agony of your teenage self persists. And the silent joys are intertwined within. The long nights of texting friends in secret, the first time your kitten (who is now almost 7 and prefers to sit right out your door) curled up beside you at night, the sleepovers and video games and hope that continues to exist. And you wonder if the dust carries the memories away and if your room will remain frozen in time if you were to die or whether it would be cleaned out with your corpse. And you don’t know much but you do know that even if you are certain that you don’t want to live here, you do want to die here, curled up in your bedding w your teenage posters and your cat sleeping by the edge of the bed. You want nothing more than to close your eyes and drift to the world that ceased to exist. And the door that you open in your mind’s eye will lead to a silent room covered with dust and a bunk bed that didn’t break yet. And you will take the bottom bunk to sleep in because even though your cat hasn’t followed you yet, you know that his spot is the top bunk so he can gaze out the window at the birds. And you think that maybe, the childhood room that you envision that doesn’t quite exist anymore whenever you yearn for a home is the room that you will find only in death. After all, we leave a part of our soul with our bedrooms and so when we recollect it all, our bunk bed will have the plushies of our 8 year old self all lined up and with the tags taken off, and the bedding of our 14 year old self with the geometric garish teen boy aesthetic and with the posters of us all and the solitude of someone who isn’t fully dead but doesn’t quite exist either. But you are not dead and all you can do is sleep on the same pillow that you sobbed on the last time you were here. And you hug your rhino plushie and hope that the world is kind to your soul. Frozen in time

[rambling-punk]

“ooh stay for ur friends and family!!” I appreciate ur optimism but the absolute best thing I can do for my friends and family is to end my shit 💀💀

[rambling-punk]

aside from the fact that most options lead to survival, is there actually any reason to keep going ? cuz like im drawing a fucking blank rn

[rambling-punk]

I fucking give up idk I can’t fucking do this anymore

[rambling-punk]

shout out to my fat fucking cat for being huge and fat and gay and heavy so it is an entire workout for me to carry him in his backpack between homes (but also shout out to him for not alerting the entire uni campus of his presence by wailing melancholically when I snuck him into a bathroom stall because I was genuinely on the verge of pissing myself, he knows when to lock in when it is needed)

[rambling-punk]

I am no longer going to advertise my life for others, I am sick of trying to force everybody to learn about me, to talk endlessly in hopes that if I repeat it enough or am loud enough, that they will care to remember me. I will no longer sit in my own pitiful existence with the knowledge that I was never asked a question about me. That I remain unknown despite the continuous ramblings about myself. That people offered so much less, whispered their interests and hid it under layers and layers of covers, and yet I silenced my world so I could hear them, and I unravelled every layer and learnt their languages and their tongues and they only know what I have to scream about. And even then, they will skim over the most important parts. My superstitions, my joys, my name, my love. They all go unknown. My vocal cords now ache, and my chest longs to rest. And I am tired of screaming to be known and seen. It will always hurt me to be not worth knowing. But I will no longer chase it. It hurts more when I am so insistent on being known whilst the people that I feverishly study like their soul is the galaxy I am trying to map won’t spare me a single glance. I see them as deities and celestial bodies and I suppose that either makes me the human staring up with wonder or the void of empty space that surrounds them but consists of nothing.

[rambling-punk]

hello hello it is me again, today we are going to write out an essay and start working through the bunch of worksheets i’m behind in that I have to submit 💀 I won’t intend for an all nighter because I always end up not doing anything because I “have all night” and then being hit with a wave of distress whilst being extremely fatigued at 3am - I want to basically be asleep by midnight which gives me some time but not much

[rambling-punk]

going back to using tumblr as my journal cuz sometimes it’s the kind of day where i’m just too tired to take out a pen and hand write my thoughts - the recent conundrum has been whether I should partial take a mental health leave from uni or not and I discussed it w several ppl and I think i’m going to decide to push through and see how it plays out and if I have to resit, then hopefully i’d have still had Some prior knowledge and the resit year will be better anyway and i’d still be able to catch a break idk

[adhara2034]

Hey

So what do you do when you've been emotionally and mentally and physically destroyed by a book?

Asking for a friend.

[jyae23]

"If you've turned to the last page and are now frowning at the wall, then everything is as it should be."

How about I fucking kill myself how about that?

[victor-v]

"wow don't let the forest in, a new interesting book with an ace main character!" i said with joys. i was then shot 57 times

[skylark-234]

"There is a kind of sadness that comes from knowing too much, from seeing the world as it truly is. It is the sadness of understanding that life is not a grand adventure, but a series of small, insignificant moments, that love is not a fairy tale, but a fragile, fleeting emotion, that happiness is not a permanent state, but a rare, fleeting glimpse of something we can never hold onto. And in that understanding, there is a profound loneliness, a sense of being cut off from the world, from other people, from oneself."

-Virginia Woolf

English Writer

1882-1941~

[skylark-234]

The desire to be loved is the last illusion. Give it up and you will be free.

-Margaret Atwood-