Composed Cruelty

Rei Nicole. A place where I put all of my shitty writing. I sign as R.N.G. Main @paletrvsh.

[victimsofvodka]

A list of things I want to do with/to him (both appropriate and not): 1.) I want to love him harder than I’ve ever loved anything. Harder than I love my favorite fucking eyeliner that makes me feel badass. Because being with him makes me feel badass. Cool, right? 2.) I want to wake up at two in the morning and smoke bowl after bowl until we’re both giggling like we’re three again, you know, that moment when you first realize that happiness is an actual feeling. 3.) I want to grow with him. And no I don’t mean height wise, because let’s face it, I’m not getting any taller. I want to grow mentally with him, I want to understand the way he thinks and lives and breathes and loves. Yeah, I’d really like that. 4.) I want to talk to him, like all the time. I want to know how he’s feeling and what he’s doing. I want him to tell me his favorite color and the meaning behind it, just so I can tell him that mine is his eyes. Oh god how I fucking love those eyes. 5.) I want to hold him. I want to hold him so close that my heart syncs with the beating of his. I want him to know that this is the closest I’ve ever felt with someone. 6.) I want to memorize him like countries and their capitals. With my fingers tracing every detail of his being. 
I want to travel him like continents and explore the lakes. I guess it would be easier to say that I want to fuck him, but people don’t like harsh words so why not replace it with a simile. 7.) I want to get drunk off of cheap alcohol and lose myself in everything that he is. I want to sing sloppy drunk karaoke in our living room, and record every moment so I won’t forget. 8.) I want to marry him. Growing up, I’ve never wanted the piece of paper that meant you were someone else’s property, but god I want him to be mine forever. I want him to tell people that I’m his. He makes me want things I never knew I’d crave. He gives me a taste of life I’ve never had. He is everything and so much more, god. He is so much fucking more.

M.J-E.S.

[victimsofvodka]

And maybe if school had taught us how to love ourselves before they taught us math, some of us wouldn't be adding and subtracting the reasons why our best friends are no longer alive.

come home. (r.n.g.)

[victimsofvodka]

I tell my boyfriend that I am "going to try and look pretty today." He responds with "baby, you look pretty everyday." And I can't help but admire that he sees the same person I do, yet in a completely different way.

thank you. (r.n.g.)

[victimsofvodka]

I wished you a happy birthday, and six days later you didn't wish me one back. holy fuck that hurts.

god damnit. (r.n.g.)

[victimsofvodka]

And if she kills herself today, what are you going to say? That you tried? In order for you to have tried you had to care, and god knows you never fucking cared.

lmao. (r.n.g.)

[snvpppy]

How do you kill yourself without hurting the ones you love. I guess the logical answer would be not to kill yourself at all. But in a mindset like mine, one already determined, such an outcome is presumably impossible. This past month has been so unkind to my mind. It’s never been this bad. Usually the sadness comes for a week or so, and this disappears and I’m okay. But a week became two, and that became three, and as you guessed, that became four. And it hurts. It hurts a lot. Kind of like anything that ever brought you happiness, committed its very own form of suicide and you got left behind. And so I started thinking of ways to make myself happy, because that’s the logical thing to do, right? So. 1.) I started drinking more water. Except, it’s not actually water; it just looks the same. My type of water burns my throats when it drips behind my lips. My type of water starts with a ‘V’, and no I don’t mean the fancy Norway water. 2.) I cut my portions down so that I could lose weight, because I figured that my unhappiness has a lot to do with the way I see myself. But by saying I’m “cutting my portions down”, I really mean that I have stopped eating all together and that any food that makes contact with my mouth, later makes contact with the toilet bowl because I have labeled every meal with the word ‘guilt’. 3.) my counselor recommended I get more sleep, and so I took that recommendation and ran with it. Straight to my bed. And slept. For two days straight. She was right, I was happy when I was sleeping. 4.) I read online somewhere that if you write out the way you feel, you end up feeling a lot better in the end. Except, my writing came in the form of suicide letters filled with a bunch of “I’m sorry”’s that I would never send. I blamed the internet for not being more specific on what I should be writing. 5.) well. You see. There isn’t a fifth thing because I stopped looking. I stopped searching for ways to fill my life with happiness because in the end, my depression won. And so here I am. Here I am again wondering How do you kill yourself without hurting the ones you love.

what a fucking joke. (r.n.g.)

posted to the wrong blog against but I'm too exhausted to fix it.

[victimsofvodka]

We live in a society where the adults of the world tell us that we are too young to know what love is, and yet the next second they're divorcing their spouse.

so when do we learn? (R.n.g.)

[victimsofvodka]

I grew up learning that I was supposed to feel fine. When people ask how you are feeling, they don’t actually want the truth. They’re just trying to make conversation; Trying to make the air a little easier to breathe in. But they don’t want to know that you’re not okay. They only ever prepare for you to say “I’m fine”. They don’t want to know that you shower everyday, Hoping that you can wash away the parts of yourself that you don’t like. They don’t want to know that it took you an hour to get out of bed, Just because you didn’t feel brave enough to take on your day. They don’t want to know that somedays you call into work, Just because you can’t even try to plaster on that pretend smile. They don’t want to know that you haven’t eaten anything in three days, Because every time you, eat you become so disgusted with yourself. They don’t want to know that each and every day you struggle, Just tying to get the thought of your worthlessness out of your brain. They don’t want to know that you use your loudness and terrible jokes To cover up the fact that you cannot handle how mentally unstable you’ve become. And you don’t necessarily want them to know. Because them knowing means you having to explain the chaotic mess in your mind. And so they ask, but they don’t actually want to know. And you say “I’m fine”, because you don’t actually want to tell.

They ask, but they don’t actually want to know. (r.n.g.)

[snvpppy]

I honestly thought it was going to last,” she said, “but it was two o'clock in the morning and I knew that he had had enough. I knew that my mental illness and the way I constantly tore myself apart pissed him off and I tried so hard to better myself; I swear to god I did. But no matter how many counselors I went through or how many hours I sat in front of that mirror trying to convince myself that I was beautiful and nothing was wrong with me; I knew it would never be enough. I knew that I could never get to the place where he wanted me to be. And slowly the things he thought he loved about me became the things he hated about me, and I watched him start to drift, and fuck I tried to pull him back to me but every tug in my direction became a shove in the opposite. And suddenly the string holding us together was pulled too tight and snapped, and I watched him leave and forget that I was ever a part of his life.“ She paused and you could see her eyes as they glossed over, and her body become enveloped with rhythmic trembles. “And you know what? I tried so hard to forget him like he forgot me. I played around with drugs and downed shots of liquor that burned my throat. I fucked around with beautiful boys who looked a little or nothing at all like him; anything to make me forget how desperately in love I was with him. But no matter how many empty bottles surrounded me, no matter how many boys I threw myself at, it was never enough to forget the pain I felt the night I realized I’d never be enough for him. And god did it fucking hurt watching him fall in love again while I was sitting in a bathroom stall at school thinking of ways to end my existence. He was moving on and I was reacquainting myself with the bottles of pills tucked inside of my medicine cabinet.

R.N.G (via woeisrei)

literally crying

(via kurstennnnn)

[victimsofvodka]

Her alcohol was probably like your cigarettes. They both have the opportunity to fuck us up and kill us. But we like them. We drink and smoke because they basically fill a hole in us; whether it be just a simple craving from a cigarette, or the ability to feel numb after downing a few shots.

why are we all so empty. (r.n.g.)

[victimsofvodka]

The only apology letter I’m writing is to myself. I should’ve learned to love this body sooner.

who am I kidding, I still hate it. (r.n.g.)

[snvpppy]

[victimsofvodka]

One popped pill mom, it was just a phase. Until six pills later; I can’t feel my face. Ground up greens to fill my head with pleasure. Dad, I’m sorry, it’s just another desperate measure. Crush that shit up, look powdered happiness. Mom, I’m fucking sorry for all this sappiness. You said “take a chill pill”, dad I’ve got plenty. Popping each Xanax like its my lifeline to humanity. They say “hugs not drugs” but I’m sick of touching people, I guess the thoughts in my mind are becoming far more evil. Tell the other kids mom, I’m not a good example to follow. Teach them “drugs are bad” like its the ultimate motto. Mom and Dad, I’m so sorry, I really hope you see. This isn’t at all who I intended to be.

Stick me in the world of popped pill dreams and colored greens. (r.n.g.)

[victimsofvodka]

getting over you became a workout routine where I continuously found myself running away from my problems.

I hate running. (r.n.g.)

[victimsofvodka]

you don't fucking understand that four months could've never been enough time for me to get over you. Hell, when I'm fucking seventy I'll probably still be thinking about your stupid fucking blue eyes that I fell in love with at sixteen and I hate it. I hate that you have so much control over my emotions and I hate that when you fucking left my depression went tenfold and I'm still fucking stuck here crying over you and you don't give a shit. You used to do everything in your power to make things better and I never thought for one god damn second that you'd be the one to make it all worse. And love has no meaning, it's just some stupid phrase us ignorant humans made up so we would feel a little less lonely. and nothing has felt so FUCKING bittersweet and painful like it did to block you on everything because I couldn't bare looking at your name knowing that you're moving on and I couldnt bare looking at the pictures let alone looking at your fucking face. And now I hate looking at my face because I have the same stupid fucking blue eyes and my nose it slightly tilted up like yours. And I'm fucking tired of seeing bits and pieces of you in everything I say or think or feel and I want you out of my skin and cells and bones. I want you out of me. And I hope to god I forget the way you said my name like you forgot the way I said yours. I even said "please" when asking you not to break my heart.

- similar features, not similar emotions. (r.n.g.)

[snvpppy]

I will always be labeled as “disappointment” in your eyes. Because even if my grade was an ‘A’ you’d get angry about the missing assignment, saying I do not know a thing about being responsible. And you’d get angry because I don’t feel comfortable in the dress you got me for Christmas, because yeah, I loved it online but I don’t love it on my body. And I understand this is a waste of money, and I’m sorry. And you’ll get angry at me for wasting your money, but you’re still not proud of me for getting a job and making my own to waste instead. Because despite the amount of anxiety I accumulate throughout a day from saying hello to hundreds of customers, that 7.40 an hour is not enough for you, forget about me. And you’re angry because i dress in so much black, and you wish I would be more like my sister, but I’m not. I don’t like the way the frilly pink top looks against my body, and they probably don’t make it in my size anyway. And you’re furious when my room is a mess but you do not care to understand that my depression has gotten so bad, I don’t think I’m capable of cleaning it. And I’ve been labeled a disappointment so many times in your eyes, that it must be true. Why else would you hate me so much? Why else would you only enjoy my presence if it was fitting to your expectations? And I can not help but wonder if you regret me.

There is no “we” in family. (r.n.g.)

posted on the wrong blog again.

[victimsofvodka]

"As people grow old, our memories become more vacant and soon enough we forget the experiences we had when we were reckless teenagers. But I hope, one day, you'll look back and you won't forget my face. I hope nostalgia overcomes your mind and you'll pick up the phone."

I hope you miss me when you see the photos. (r.n.g.)