Stolen Sympathy For All My Worst Mistakes.

Basil | Any Prns | Diagnosed BPD ⊹ NPD ⊹ DID | Main is @ArcadePunk 𐂯 Still Life Based on Hunting (detail), c. 1665-1701, David De Koninck “The Choleric” (The Wolf), Beth Cavener

[intactics-deactivated20211231]

I am asking you to endure it.

[intactics-deactivated20211231]

I am aware that this request is fundamentally selfish. I can offer no justification for it, no argument in its favor. It is simply the outcome I desire to see the most. So I am asking you

[witheringnostalgia]

I don’t even fucking feel like I’m allowed to vent!! I don’t feel like I’m allowed to talk about my problems because they’re not bad enough!! I’m not going through enough!! I deserve to hurt hurt hurt fucking hurt until I actually have a reason to cry!! Until I deserve it!! UNTIL I’M FUCKING WORTH IT!!!

I’m tired, I’m so fucking tired, I’m tired of not feeling safe, not feeling okay, not feeling like I’m allowed to do anything, feeling like I’m overstepping just for fucking crying, just for existing, feeling like I don’t deserve anything I have, feeling like I need to fucking hide, like I can’t be here, like I can’t fucking take up any space

I’m so tired, I don’t want to be here anymore, I just want to feel safe. I just want to feel safe. Just for once.

[tinyorb-deactivated20140312]

[witheringnostalgia]

“You’ve been really quiet today, are you alright? What’s wrong with you this morning?” As if you’d fucking care if I did tell you. No one cares. No one gives a shit. Why would I tell you when it wouldn’t even matter in the long run? Just leave me alone, leave me like everyone does. Nobody will ever give even half a fuck about what I want and what I’m feeling. So just fuck off.

[witheringnostalgia]

I did end up telling her a little bit; not enough to really worry her, not enough to actually mean anything, but enough to get her off my back, at least for the time being. I hate that even just talking about it to such a small degree felt kind of like a breath of fresh air. It felt like a little weight was being lifted off my chest, and I could image her scooping it up and holding it for me. I hate that talking about it does work, because it hurts even worse knowing I can’t really talk about the truth of it, I’ll never be able to talk about it outside of pleasant little niceties from someone who doesn’t understand me and never will—because no one could ever understand me. I hate the way I am. I hate that I want nothing more than someone to scoop me up in their arms and tell me, it’s alright, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Just talk to me. Let me carry the load, just for a little while. Let me hold it when it feels like too much. Just let me hold it. Let me hold you.

Especially when I know it’s not something I’ll ever get, and not something I’ll ever deserve. Even if I know that if someone were to come along and ask to hold it I’d bare my teeth at them, I’d snap and I’d push them away, because I wasn’t made for soft, nice things. I wasn’t made to be loved.

Choosing to love me is the worst mistake you’ll ever make. I’ll just mess up and push you away in the end. I can’t stand to hurt anyone else, so I’ll build these brick walls around my heart and pretend it doesn’t ache. Pretend it doesn’t mean anything at all.

[witheringnostalgia]

“You’ve been really quiet today, are you alright? What’s wrong with you this morning?” As if you’d fucking care if I did tell you. No one cares. No one gives a shit. Why would I tell you when it wouldn’t even matter in the long run? Just leave me alone, leave me like everyone does. Nobody will ever give even half a fuck about what I want and what I’m feeling. So just fuck off.

[witheringnostalgia]

Listening to my BPD Playlist™️ (one of many) and thinking really hard about where I went wrong in my life. I sat in the floor of the cold shower for fifteen minutes Friday after work and just decompressed, tried to bring myself to cry because I know I need it, but couldn’t. I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity this evening just thinking. Thinking about where it all went wrong. Thinking about when the last time I felt genuinly, really happy was, if there even was a last time— why can’t I remember the last time? Thinking about how I need to kill myself, because the longer I keep going like this the worse-off everyone who’s made the stupid decision of getting attached to me will be when I eventually do it, because it’s not an if, it’s a when. I lived this long because I’m too much of a coward to go through with what’s the inevitable outcome of my life. I daydream often about killing myself. I think about the consequences and I try to come up with the solutions that would hurt the least people, but there are none; it’s selfish of me to go and it’s selfish of me to stay. I should’ve just ended my life when I was younger, when it would’ve been better for everyone. Everyone would’ve moved on by now. Why didn’t I? Why was I such a fucking coward? Now I have to keep going, I don’t get a choice, because what I want doesn’t matter and never has. Because it’d be selfish if I went. No one will ever understand how much my heart aches daily, how much it hurts just to be constantly reminded that I’d be missed when some days I feel like I just want to peel off all of the parts of me that people “like” and leave them with nothing but the bad awful disgusting parts of me that I keep buried deep down so that they’d leave when they saw the real me. I think all the time about killing myself in front of the people that “care” because I know they couldn’t handle the real me; no one can, I’m a parasite, I’m a disgusting fucking pest, I’m ugly on the inside and everyone who catches a glimpse of it always leaves. How often is one supposed to spend thinking about how fundamentally unlovable they are? How many days can I do this before I drive myself crazy? God, I wish someone could come along and do the easy part for me; I imagine that a lot, too. I daydream about all of the hundreds of ways I could die and I’d be so, so happy when I did, because then I’d finally be free. I can’t run from myself, I can’t run from what’s inside of me that drives everyone away in the end. What other solution is there? What’s even left?

[tearfulangel]

[witheringnostalgia]

Do you ever daydream about hopping on a greyhound going as far away as physically possible and disappearing off the face of the Earth to start a new life. Or are you normal

[witheringnostalgia]

I feel like I should be over it by now.

[witheringnostalgia]

sui ideation

I think about killing myself all the time but I can’t because I can only ever follow it up with, well, I would be missed; or, I have so much do to, so much to take care of, and if I did it would just be inconvenient for everyone else.

Inconvenient. It would be inconvenient.

[witheringnostalgia]

sui ideation / sui related intrusive thoughts

fell asleep last night thinking about how i’d go about things if i took that last step and decided to finally kill myself. i think i’d leave a note for my mother and one for my father, neither of which i’ve talked to in multiple years. i’d leave a note with them for my spouse that said “if i succeed, mail these. if not, destroy them.” i spent a lot of time laying awake imaging what i’d write. what i’d say, if i had the heart to say anything at all. i always thought a suicide note was kind of melodramatic. maybe, though, if i ever really went through with it, maybe it’d be a weight of my chest, kind of like letting go. my spouse only gets my insurance payout if my death is untimely/accidental. so if i ever did, i’d have to make it look like an accident. i couldn’t just take the easy way out. i wonder what i could do.

[witheringnostalgia]

This is the most attention I’ve got in months. This is the most normal I’ve felt in months. So what if this is all I’m good for? God, it’s so much better than nothing, even if this is all I am. Just use me, will you? Use me, just don’t leave me alone. I can’t handle it.

[witheringnostalgia]

I’m thinking about going to therapy again. I don’t know, maybe I can find a therapist that actually seems to care about the bullshit going on in my head? It’d be nice someone who wants to listen to my problems and gives a shit, but keeping it all inside like this’ll probably kill me if I keep it up.

[witheringnostalgia]

Counter Argument: I don’t want to fucking do that.

[witheringnostalgia]

I’m thinking about going to therapy again. I don’t know, maybe I can find a therapist that actually seems to care about the bullshit going on in my head? It’d be nice someone who wants to listen to my problems and gives a shit, but keeping it all inside like this’ll probably kill me if I keep it up.

[littleliongirl16]

A little venty but not in a anything is presently wrong kind of way.

Thinking about Little Soldiers and Scars by The Crane Wives. Two different types of my favorite mood The Crane Wives hit in their music. Like. Please tell me that I/we/this relationship are fundamentally broken and doomed because that way at least it's not my/either of our faults.

Like nothing happened, I'm not experiencing this mood currently, but Little Soldiers was my favorite song for aroace breakup angst and Scars is my favorite song for undiagnosed but probably neurodivergent angst. (like okay both songs' lyrics imply they're about a relationship, but Little Soldiers is more focused on whether the relationship was always doomed and Scars is more focused on whether the narrator in particular was always doomed so that's why I don't really focus on Scars in a relationship context)

[fallenrain40]

I COULDN'T TELL YOU WHERE THE ACHE CAME FROM MAYBE BORN IN A STORM BENEATH AN ANGRY SKY NOW ITS RAINING IN MY HEAD NEARLY ALL THE TIME NOW IT'S RAINING IN MY HEAD, AND I DON'T KNOW WHY

[heavensghost]

I love with my teeth