deardiary-didanyoneask

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

Have you looked into maladaptive daydreaming? When I read about it it made so much sense for me.

I took a look into it and it did sound a lot like me though I'm afraid I don't understand what this comment is asking exactly, is there a way to help with my excessive daydreaming? It's categorized as a coping mechanism so I'm not sure, is it an issue for me??? I mean I can see how it can be if my social skills are declining so much...anyway please let me know

₍ᐢ๑��ᴗ•๑ᐢ₎ﾉﾞ

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

Dear diary, my fondest memories aren't even real. (Ramble/vent)

Dear Diary (or Anyone Listening),

I'm not just sad it's deeper than that. It feels like this ache has settled into my bones, like something hollow has made a home in my stomach and under my skin. I could scrub and scrub, but it wouldn’t come out.

Today, my mom asked me what was wrong. I told her, "Nothing." She smiled, and I smiled back she always says she can tell I fake it, that I'm not honest when I smile.

I see her point because there is something wrong. It’s just there’s nothing she can do. I’m just so deeply, painfully sad. So lonely.I have two friends, and even they barely talk to me now. And I know I isolate myself—I'm not oblivious to that.

But it’s just so hard to connect with people. It feels nearly impossible. Either they don’t want to talk to me and think I’m weird, or I simply can’t relate to them.

I’m young, but I’ve already seen so much. And trying to connect with people my age feels like a dead end—they just don’t get it. And I don’t blame them. I’m glad they haven’t been through what I have. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But it makes me feel so alone.

I've felt this way since I was little. I know it’s bad because when I imagine forming a bond with someone, I think something tragic has to happen to me so they’ll remember me forever. So they’ll never leave or hate me. Because that’s how it always feels like people either leave or grow to hate me.

I want love so badly. I crave it so deeply it hurts. But there’s no one to give it to. I live in my head, making up memories that never happened of friends, of someone who loves me.

And I hold onto those daydreams like real memories, because they feel more comforting than anything real ever has.

And I hate that. I feel pathetic for it. All I want is for someone to like me, to love me. I want to give everything I have to someone. But this summer has been the loneliest time of my life.

It physically makes me sick. I just want to be held. To be seen. To be loved. Why am I so lonely? Why don’t I have my people the way others do? Am I doing something wrong?

The only things that help are sleeping and daydreaming. The love I imagine is the only thing filling the void and I hate that it’s not real.

What am I even doing with my life?

School starts in three weeks. I haven’t been to school in person since sixth grade since I was bullied out. I’m scared. But I’m also hopeful. Praying, even.

Maybe this is when I’ll find what I’ve been looking for. And maybe just maybe I won’t have to change who I am to be loved.

If there’s someone out there meant for me, please... just be kind. Know that I’ve been searching so hard for you. Please treat me gently. I’ve worked so hard just to survive long enough to meet you.

I’m crying as I write this. I know it might sound silly. But this loneliness is exhausting. It’s heavy. It’s physical. I feel nostalgic for a life I never even lived. Is that possible?

I’m so tired. I think I’ll try to sleep this feeling away.

QOTD; Have you ever missed something you've never had?

Thank you for listening diary, even if no one asked.

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

Dear diary, I am yearning with an impossible grief. (Ramble post.)

Dear Diary (or Anyone Listening),

Is it possible to grieve someone who doesn’t exist? Or at least, someone who doesn’t exist in your life yet? I had a dream once a baby, no bigger than my forearm, cradled in both hands. It had my nose, my unmistakable dimples, and a smile as bright as the sun, even without teeth. That sweetness was amplified by a soft coo, like a lullaby.

There was such safety, such innocence, and it brought an unfamiliar calm over me. “You’re safe,” I thought.

That’s all that mattered until I noticed the smile wasn’t entirely mine. The ears were shaped differently. The eyes, too large and bright to resemble mine. That’s when I realized: this baby didn’t just belong to me.

I looked around the hospital room. In a chair sat someone tired, gentle. I couldn’t see their face, but the silhouette was so familiar. That person was mine. My love. And this child was ours.

A product of a love so deep I couldn’t even begin to understand it. In that dream, my hair was longer, my scars had faded, my skin glistened with sweat and something more something like healing. Like love itself had stitched up wounds I didn’t know were still open. I felt whole in a way I never had before.

Then, the alarm went off. I woke up, ripped from that world. The grief hit instantly. I almost screamed, “Please don’t take me away from this. They need me I need them.”

But I was awake. And they were gone. My stomach turned. I felt like vomiting. I had just held my whole life in my arms, and now nothing. I could still feel the weight of that baby, but I couldn’t remember the face. I couldn’t smell that new baby scent my mother always described. I only knew that I had never felt more joyful, more loved.

For once, the loneliness I’ve carried since birth was gone. And then, just like that, it came flooding back. I think about that life constantly not just in sleep, but in my everyday routine.

When I wash dishes, I imagine my partner drying them beside me. On walks, I imagine the weight of a stroller in my hands. When I cook for myself, I imagine cooking for a family. I love love. I can’t imagine my life without it. And when I think of them the ones I don’t know yet, my family, the one I hope will someday be mine I feel like crying. What if I never meet them? What if I never find that person I can live with, live for? What if I never feel safe enough to create that life?

I make playlists called “May love like this find me,” as if the universe might hear me and answer. I don’t want casual. I never have.

I want the kind of love that people write about the kind that I would write about. A love so intense it tightens your chest, drives you mad, makes you dizzy with feeling.

A love that heals and breaks and rebuilds you. A love I’d live for, die for. The kind that’s deeper than any ocean, higher than any drug.

I want that love. I need it. I dream of it every second. And it’s heartbreaking. Because I grieve them my baby, my partner. I grieve a life that doesn’t exist. And what if it never does? What if all I get is that one dream? People tell me, “You’re young. You have time.” And I get that. I really do. But the ache is now. The hunger is now. This yearning gnaws at me every day. Where do I put all this love until then? I don’t do casual. I never could.

So what do I do with this bone-crushing love? Who will hold it with me and make it worth it?

And God… what if no one ever does?

QOTD; Who are you still waiting to meet?

Thank you for listening diary, even if no one asked.

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

Dear dairy, I’d rip out all my teeth to be understood. (Art/rant post)

I wish I fit in. No matter where I go, no matter who I’m with even among people who should understand me I always feel like the odd one out. Like I’m speaking some language no one else knows. And sometimes, I wish I actually were. At least then, there’d be an explanation for why I’m constantly being mistranslated.

It feels like every time I open my mouth, I’m met with judgment. Like people hear me and recoil, as if my words are teeth falling straight from my lips.

Like I’m too strange, too much, or simply wrong. Everything I say either doesn’t make sense or sounds like something sinful just for existing on my tongue.

Maybe that’s why I cling so tightly to the people who make me feel understood even if they’re only pretending.

God, I hope they’re not pretending. Those rare, beautiful few who actually make me feel seen. I hold on to them so hard, and I know it’ll probably come back to hurt me. I love so deeply, so easily. I know that about myself. But it’s like the world especially now keeps telling me that kind of love is too much. That I’m too much. That if I show it, no one will want to be near me.

What kind of world punishes tenderness like that? When did love become something to be ashamed of?

Am I the strange one for not knowing how to play this part that everyone else seems to perform so effortlessly? I feel so lonely. God, I wish I didn’t. Maybe this year will change things. But maybe that’s even scarier what if I ruin it? What if I’m so used to being alone that I don't know how to let myself be held?

Anxious attachment really is a cruel thing.

QOTD; Does anyone else feel this way? Or am I as alone as I feel?

Thank you for listening diary, even if no one asked.

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

Drinking out of a glass with little red strawberries on them, rip my fav lesbians you would've loved this ✊😔

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

sometimes i’m like “damn i should journal” and then proceed to trauma dump to strangers online instead

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

Dear diary, I'll break your bones with all the love I carry. (Ramble/vent post.)

Dear Diary (or Anyone Listening),

Am I the only one who feels so unlovable because I can't stop loving?

I’m at this point in my life where all my feelings feel like bombs heavy, explosive, uncontrollable and I get it, I’m a teenage girl, it’s “normal,” but still. I was reading old messages between an ex and me and couldn’t help but grimace not at the cringey version of myself from 2023, but because the way I loved then isn’t all that different from now. The clinginess, the neediness, the aching way I want people it’s still here. And it always seems to be people who could never even pretend to feel as deeply as I do. Maybe that’s why I always end up left behind the second I open up about how I feel.

Is it scary? To love? Is it scary to love me?Is loving my weakness or my biggest strength?

I don’t even know anymore. Sometimes I feel like I ruin connections because I want them so badly. Maybe it’s because I don’t know how to process emotions right. A crush to me isn’t just a silly little thing it’s knee-buckling, heart-racing, gut-turning. It hurts. Sometimes I feel physically sick over it. I crush what I want to keep, and I don’t know how to stop. Do I even want to stop?

I think I like the way I love. It makes me feel real. How can I question my existence if I’m feeling this deeply?

I think that’s something I struggle with too = proving my existence and my worth to myself. Like when you play those dumb games in your head, “I have to reach that tree before the car passes or something bad will happen.” Except for me it’s like, “If I don’t feel everything this intensely, do I feel anything at all?” or “If I’m not obsessing, fixating, spiraling, then what am I even doing? Who am I?” I think maybe that’s why I come off as suffocating. Because if I like you, then you become my proof. That my heart still races, that my stomach still churns, that my knees still buckle. You become my heart. Walking around outside my body.

I’m sure if you looked deep enough into my childhood, you could find the moment everything twisted like pulling at the end of a tangled ball of yarn. And honestly, I wish I could find that moment. Maybe then it’d be easier to stop loving like this. But for now, this writing is all I have. A mess written out from a keyboard.

I guess I just wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling this way. Or if one day I’ll find someone who can match me. Match my ticking-bomb heart. Someone who knows how to give me more time before I blow up. Or maybe just someone who doesn’t mind the explosion. But I don’t know. Maybe that’s selfish to want. Maybe I am selfish for wanting someone who won’t run. Someone who’ll stay.

I don’t know exactly what I mean by all of this, but I hope somewhere in the mess, I make a little bit of sense.

QOTD; How much love is too much love? Am I too much?

Thank you for listening diary, even if no one asked.

[deardiary-didanyoneask]

Dear diary, meet me! (My Into post <3)

Hey hey!! Welcome to my little corner of the internet I'm Leah, fifteen, she/her, and pansexual.

This blog is my personal diary and safe space where i get to share all the little things that make me, me. I’ll be talking about movies recently I love like angus, thongs and perfect snogging, Penelope, and the show my mad fat diary, and music I love (I'm very into indie but I'm open to all kinda of genre recommendations.)

I’m pretty chatty and say “like” way too much, so get ready for lots of rambling with that word included. This space is where i can be honest about my feelings including dealing with social anxiety and depression but only when I’m ready to share of course. Sometimes it’s silly and light, sometimes it’s deeper and more serious, but it’s always me just trying to be open since I think that can be really good for me.

I spend most of my time inside, watching movies, crafting, drawing, and listening to music on repeat. I love all things soft, nostalgic, and artsy, and I want this blog to be a cozy, welcoming place for anyone who feels the same.

I’m here to make friends and find people who get it, so my dms and asks are always open! Whether you want to talk about music, movies, life, or just say hi don’t be shy!

Just a heads up if you’re a nsfw, creepy old dude, homophobic, bigoted, ed/sh (encourager or poster), kink, zoophile pdfphile blog, this IS NOT the place for you please DNI.

Thanks so much for stopping by and taking a peek at my world. if you wanna stick around, i’ll be here yapping away and happy to have you ♡