annagxx

[annagxx]

I hate sarcasm. I hate when people can't just respond like a normal human being without trying to be clever or funny at my expense. I hate weird, indirect replies that make me second-guess everything. I hate indifference when I speak and it's like my words don’t even matter. Like I’m invisible. Like I’m talking into a void. And most of all, I hate the way I feel every time I open my mouth stupid, small, and out of place. Like whatever I say is either too much or not enough. Like I’m constantly being judged, silently laughed at, or just... dismissed. It makes me want to shut up for good, not because I have nothing to say, but because I’m tired of feeling like my voice doesn’t belong. I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with it. I’m tired of trying to decode every reaction. I’m tired of thinking maybe I’m the problem just because people don't know how to respond with basic empathy. I’m not asking for applause. I’m just asking to be heard, to be seen, and to not be made to feel like I should apologize for existing out loud.

[annagxx]

music didn’t save me.

it just never left.

it sat with me

on nights when even god

felt too far to pray to.

it didn’t ask me to heal.

just pressed play

on the parts of me

i kept trying to mute.

sometimes,

a song understood me

before i even knew what hurt.

and in a world

so quick to leave

it stayed.

verse after verse,

it stayed.

Song that reminds me of those nights where I couldn't fall asleep, and my mum used to play this, it's a part of me.

[annagxx]

A part of me cries every night, Hiding the pain, avoiding the light. A part of me tries every night, To feel like I’ll somehow be alright. A part of me breaks but won’t let it show, Still loving the ones who let me go. A part of me hopes, a part of me fears, I’m stitched together with silent tears. Too much to feel, too tired to fight, But somehow a part of me still stays alive.

[annagxx]

If I wanna be humiliated, I’m gonna pay someone to do that at least then it’s a choice, not a byproduct of someone’s emotional incompetence.

[annagxx]

maybe i’ll forget how loud silence gets when you leave.

if we can f*ck louder than the voices in my head this might work out

[annagxx]

Watching all this makes me cry more @musictrovert kyo bhai😭😭😭😭😭😭

But I'm so happy for you.. atleast someone knows how to keep her girl happy

25.01.25

The last time I went to see her 💕❤️

Long distance fucking sucksss

🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿

[annagxx]

I failed to make him love me

[annagxx]

You know what’s funny?

I don’t want to be here. Like... genuinely, I don’t want to do this anymore. And no one knows. No one asks. No one sees it. I could disappear and the only thing people would miss is what I used to give them. The care, the comfort, the effort I poured into everyone but myself. There are people who tell me to die like it’s some harmless insult but they don’t know I actually think about it. That I cross streets hoping a car doesn’t stop. That I’ve stared at sharp things and thought, “Just one deep cut… maybe it’ll finally stop.”

They don’t see how loud it gets in my head. How one small sentence from them can spiral into days of self-hate. How I flinch when someone gets close not because I’m scared of people, but because I’m terrified they’ll break whatever is left of me. How I starve myself, isolate, ignore messages, break my own heart because that’s the only thing I can control. I’m not staying because I want to live. I’m staying because I know if I die, they’ll get to pretend they weren’t the reason. They’ll cry fake tears. They’ll post sad little captions. But they’ll never admit what they did to me. And even in death, they’d get away with it.

So yeah, I’m still here. Not because I’m healing. Not because I’m brave. But because I’m angry. I’m stubborn. And I don’t want my last breath to be a gift to the people who broke me. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay for a long time. I’m just tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of pretending. Tired of being strong. And if I make it to tomorrow, it won’t be because I wanted to. It’ll be because the part of me that wants to disappear is still arguing with the part of me that refuses to let them have the last word.

I dare to die, so I dare to live.

[annagxx]

i don't pay attention to the world ending. it has ended for me many times and began again in the morning.

[annagxx]

The Lie of Unworthiness- June 17

It doesn’t happen all at once. Unworthiness is not a lightning strike. It’s a slow erosion the kind that begins in childhood, when you speak and no one listens, when you cry and no one comes. You learn, quietly, that your feelings are too much. That your needs inconvenience people. So you shrink. You apologize for existing too loudly. You laugh at things that hurt. You stop asking to be chosen, and start becoming useful instead. That’s when it begins. This lie. This subtle, lifelong training in believing that love must be earned, that silence is strength, that if someone walks away—it’s because you weren’t enough. And you believe it. Even when you grow older. Even when your body changes and your mind expands. The child in you is still waiting for someone to come back and say,

"You were never too much. You were never wrong for feeling.”

Sometimes I wonder, do people love me? Or do they just enjoy the parts of me I’ve carved out for their comfort? Because unworthiness teaches you to perform. You become agreeable. Sweet. Smiling. Even when you're bleeding inside. And the scariest part? You begin to call that love. But I’m tired now. Tired of rehearsing a version of me that people can stomach. Tired of being less so someone else can feel more. I don’t want to be chosen out of convenience. I want to be held when I’m messy. Heard when I’m trembling. Seen even when I flinch from the light. So if you ask me today, what unworthiness feels like? It feels like being almost loved. It feels like rooms that don’t look up when you walk in. It feels like a life lived in parenthesis. But the fact that I’m writing this means a small part of me no longer wants to believe the lie. That’s where healing begins, I think. Not in being whole. But in finally saying:

“I was always enough. I was just never treated like it.”

“To feel unworthy is not proof that you are. It’s proof you were never given the space to believe otherwise.”

-कashak

[annagxx]

Dear God,

Save me or take me.

[annagxx]

Jealousy isn’t always about money or things. People envy how you love quietly, how others show you love, and how much love you truly carry inside. They envy the way you handled situations that would’ve broken others. They envy that you’d rather be alone than settle for bad company, and that soft, emotionally alive side of you that’s completely real not pretentious or nonchalant. They notice you watching those quiet, meaningful shows no one else talks about, getting lost in books that feel like home, and listening to songs that express what you can’t always say. What comes easy to you was a struggle for them. They can copy your style, your words, even your smile but they can never be you.

They can imitate you but they’ll never be you.

[annagxx]

They can imitate you but they’ll never be you.

[annagxx]

Is it anxiety or intuition? Because everything I sense keeps turning real.

I hate sleeping now. A few days back, I saw a dream about an uncle I haven’t seen in a long time. My mind got stuck there I even told my mom. And today, I found out he is no more. I see things I don’t want to, and then they happen. For weeks, it’s been nonstop nightmares about me and the people I love. It’s scary, and I don’t think anyone will really get it. I just hope and pray all my nightmares stay just nightmares.

[annagxx]

I'm desperately in need of kiss

lowkey want him to look at me and just kiss the hell out of me without me having to say a word

[annagxx]

Men aren’t supposed to be sensitive.

Meanwhile, the most powerful men are fighting like two high school girls sharing secrets and ruining each other online.