ghostlanta

[ghostlanta]

i don’t think about you as much as i did before, where the thought of you was a constant pervading presence. i still don’t know why you stopped talking to me. why you left. i probably never will.

but i also don’t keep up with your spotify anymore for proof you’re okay, you’re alive, you’re breathing. and i don’t message you happy birthdays anymore in hopes of a response, a notification you’d eventually see and remember everything you meant to me.

i think about you less and less everyday. the gaping hole of your departure threatening to split me into two doesn’t feel like it’s even there most days. you’ll always have that younger version of me, with a you-shaped hole in my heart for how much you meant to me and the insurmountable effects you had on me back then — even if you don’t remain in my life anymore, i needed you. i needed someone good, someone caring, someone who cared as a part of my life during that time. and you were there. i’ll always be grateful i had you to help me carry the load. even if the hurt of your loss doesn’t sting as much as it used to.

i still remember your voice. i still remember how your favourite colour was red. i still remember how you loved “hey” by pixies (do you even still listen to them anymore?). i still remember you wanted to be a lawyer. i wonder if you’re in uni, studying that very thing. i still remember how you saved me, that kid who felt so so lonely — my big sibling in a time of need. the only person who i felt actually cared. thank you for that. and i wish you all the best — i really mean that.

i think, the loss will always hurt, but it doesn’t invade me and assault my mind in the darkest of nights anymore. the loss will always hurt, but i don’t think about it most days anymore. the loss will always hurt, but i embrace the love i had for you and you must’ve had for me, the fact our friendship happened, rather than hope desperately for you to come back. the loss will always hurt, but i can handle it.

i hope you’re handling life too. i hope, if you ever come back, you’d be proud of me still. i hope i know what to say if you ever do.

[ghostlanta]

love isn’t enough. care isn’t enough. none of it is enough to push me further — even just to get me to stand up. to take one singular tiny step forward.

none of it is enough. none of it will convince me. i’m going to be like this forever and i can’t do anything about it.

[ghostlanta]

you never want to ask about me

i remember seeing your “how’s life?” message and the faintest spark of hope flickered inside me because i thought maybe it was an indication that you cared. i’m still trying to tell myself im not some kind of victim, you know? i have all the pieces laid out. im not stupid and i’m not naive. i know you’re a piece of shit — it’s just hard to attribute myself as someone who was hurt by someone deliberately. how can i say that about myself? i cant claim that title. it feels like im pulling at straws because i have a sick desire to be as hurt and traumatised as everyone around me. like im accusing a poor poor soul of heinous things even though its common knowledge you’re a total asshole.

the message. i don’t know why i let it flicker. i should know better by now. you don’t really care about me, not really. you want me because you want someone to help you get and be better. but you also want me because you want free validation for every shitty mistake that’s all your fault. therefore, you need me, and i need you to need me more than i need you. you told someone straight up that you come to me for validation and attention only and don’t listen to a word of my advice and i don’t give you what you need and you didn’t even try defending me. i told myself i would beleive that you’re hurting me and that it was malicious when i got proof that you only sought me out because you wanted a reaction from me rather than anything else about me. and yet, here i am. still here. still denying it.

im getting off track. the message. that faint flicker of hope. i don’t really want you. i don’t need you. but i wanted a reason to believe that i was wrong about you and so was everyone else and that i was just some unreliable narrator. you asked me how my life was going, and i responded to a prior conversation first, and i was about to expand more because actually i baked something today and i started singing lessons and exams were okay and im gonna finally try out muay thai and im seeing a musical soon but i didn’t really get the chance. you just segued into an issue you got yourself into and how to resolve it. how i should resolve it for you. because to you im someone you talk to when you need someone to fix your problems. when you need someone to fix you. a part of me appreciates the fact that at least im needed in that way. it was so quick. i wouldn’t have even gotten a sentence in. you probably intended that.

i think, subconsciously, i was trying to be more sympathetic. i saw those messages, about how i just give advice you don’t even listen to and that you’re just looking for sympathy and i don’t give you enough. i knew it was wrong and that i shouldn’t care and i was noticing your smallest mannerisms but i think even still i was subtly trying to use a template of myself and my core values to mold into a more palatable me that would be sympathetic enough that would be kind enough that would be caring enough to be what you need. it didn’t really work. it was hard for me to sympathise. i am constantly reminded of how horrible you are and i still can’t believe that you’re supposed to be one to me too. i can believe you’re horrible. i can believe you’re horrible to other people. i just can’t let myself believe you’re horrible to me.

you didn’t ask how my life was after your issue was resolved (with you deliberately ignoring my advice. again). i get it.

[ghostlanta]

everything i do feels so deliberate.

i feel like, with that in mind, i should know what i’m doing. or feel somewhat complete. but i don’t. not really.

today, my cousin commented on my facial expression, and to stop doing that with my mouth. i didn’t even realise. when i think about it, my facial expressions used to be so monotone and bland. my teachers would even comment on it, for frowning at them or something when my expression was just neutral. because of that, i tried to learn how to be more expressive. as expressive as possible. i learnt it made me more entertaining and it made me easier to understand and follow along, so i needed to implement it into me, like so many other parts of me.

so i kinda wonder how many parts of me were planned out like that in order to make me more palatable for the others around me. i still think of myself as a monotone person when it comes to facial expressions.

[ghostlanta]

hi using this blog as. my personal diary. will just be writing and rambling abt random stuff and ongoing life and feelings n whatever. umm yeah!

[ghostlanta]

i miss feeling. alive. so much. i want to feel alive again. i wanna feel like a giggling schoolgirl with her friends. i wanna live life i wanna laugh and i wanna be happy.

i miss being someone’s person. i miss having that group i cared so much about and that cared about me. and i miss not having to look around to try and find an opening in a group because i already had a group in mind for the group project.

i miss getting along w people and laughing so hard it hurts, the memory of that day shining bright. i miss loving someone and i miss someone loving me. i want to be someone’s person again. someone’s favourite person. i miss having someone who people just associated with me because we were so close.

i miss loving people so hard it hurt. i miss laughing with all my friends i cared so much about and not one thing would’ve changed my mind. i wanna have fun again. i wanna live life happily again.

i hate this feeling of loneliness so much because no matter what you can’t change it. i don’t even know how. i just wanna feel alive again. ok again. like i had worth and that people were waiting for me. that people wanted me

i want it so much. i miss it. i miss it so bad

the truth is: i don’t know how to talk to people anymore. i don’t know how to connect with people anymore. i don’t kkow if this is a long term thing i never realised or arose now, it feels like everyone’s in this dome except for me, and i’m trapped on the outside being left to peer in with some dumb remark i never should’ve said or two when someone actually notices. i feel like everyone’s got a rule book to socialising except formme. like i was the only one that missed out.

when am i supposed to laugh? to make a joke? to talk? when do i know it’s a good silence and that i shouldn’t try to fill the air. why was that joke bad? why was it bad for me to ask that?

i don’t understand anything anymore. i know how to talk to people. i know how to make friends. i know this stuff, it’s worked in the past! so why is it so hard now!

i feel like my friends before i constantly felt like this no longer like me or are talking to me less and less, and i feel like my current friends will never fully be able to connect with me again. i feel like a stranger. i feel lost.

these are supposed to be my friend group. my close friends. so why is it so hard for me to try to connect with them?

all the comments i got as a kid implying i was different, like everyone was normal and i was jus special and quirky, like i acted like no one else, like i was insane, like i was weird. like i was different. just different. all of it makes sense. i remember the comment a teacher made about me being “out of touch” with the other kids and i understnad why it stuck with me for so long. i think i’m tired of being the weird, different, strange-in-a-good-way, unique? friend. i just want to be normal. i just want people to like me. i just want to go back to understanding people. to having solid friends i knew liked me.

i hate this dome.

[ghostlanta]

i wish my mom gave me more attention and loved me more. i cant say i’m not grateful for her working so hard just to keep me alive but i don’t think it’s selfish for her to just treat me like she loves me instead of saying feeding me and keeping me was alive. it makes me think, maybe i’m not loveable enough for her to tell me more reasons for why she loves me. maybe that’s why she doesn’t bother spending time with me. maybe that’s why she doesn’t like me. i wish i was immature and selfish enough to make a big mess of myself and scream “look at me. look at how shitty i am. this is your son. your daughter. your child. this is me.” i wish i was brave enough to yell at her and cry at her hoping she’d hold me and tell me it’s ok. i wish i was able to talk to her instead of sitting at the dinner table and hoping she asks if i’m hungry. if im having trouble. if i’ve been okay recently. i want her to pay attention and notice me. i want to scream “look at how messed up i am. i cant even eat properly because of you. i cant do basic life tasks. i cant keep myself alive. i cant be independent. it’s all your fault. it’s all your fault i’m not good enough.” and have her listen and tell me she’s sorry. i want to be able to tell her the reason i haven’t been eating is because of her and that she could’ve prevented it. i hate it when she says things that are burned into my memory or acts like i should know how to do something and get mad at me when i don’t even though she’s never taught me ever. i don’t know how i’m supposed to learn how to be independent from youtube tutorials alone. i wish i was better. i wish i was good enough. good enough for you to tell me that you love me and mean it.

i love you mum, and i can never be more grateful for the sacrifices you have made for me. i remember seeing you cry as a kid, i rememebr you talking about your struggles, you doing your best to keep me happy. you were an amazing mum and you did your best but it wasn’t enough for me and i wish it was. i wish i was normal. i wish i could do this shit. i wish i could stop feeling sad about you because you’re my mum and you’ve done so much for me. i can feel your phantom fingers on my body and i can hear your voice telling me i’m fat and ugly and need to lose weight. i can remember you telling me that i’m ugly and i need tk grow out my hair and stop trying to look like a boy. i can remember you looking at me before we went out and your eyes on my body with a disappointed look. like you wish you did better. like you wish you had a better child. someone more feminine, more pretty, more skinny. anyone but me. i want to fuck things up. i want to fuck myself up and make you pay attention. i wanna get so skinny you finally admit i’m good enough, bones and all. i want you to tell me you’re worried abs you want to help. i want so much from you that you’ll never provide me.

i wish i could say i hated you. i wish i could say i can forget it all and be your perfect daughter again that you love with all your heart. i wish. i remember the bad parts and that shoudlve been enough because the way it still stings years later, much after 9 years old, is telling enough. but i also remember you sitting next to me in bed when i was scared to sleep. i remember you holding me during a breakdown. i remember you making me my favourite lunches and knowing exactly what i like. i remember you taking care of me. you’re such a hardworking mother. i cant deny that. but you also hurt me when i was small, and that will never change. no matter how much time passes, i still feel that sting when i look at you.

[ghostlanta]

the thing about being trans for me is that it’s not like. people think i want to be trans. i want ti be nonbinary. i want to be. this. for me, it’s the opposite. i want to be a girl so badly. i want to go shopping with my girlfriends, gossip and whatever teen girls do. i see other teens that are cis girls fixing their hair and applying lip gloss and mascara and i wish i wanted that. i want to like my chest, like my hips, like my voice, maybe even wish they were more prominent. i want my name to feel like me. i want to be apart of girl code, sisterhood, girlhood, whatever the fuck. i yearn for that connection. i want to understand it and i want to be a girl. i wish more than anything i were just a cis girl. maybe that way i could want a relationship w my parents. i don’t have to be scared of relationships, i don’t have to be scared of friendships. i could look at myself in the mirror and like my body. like my chest. can acknowledge and think i’m pretty without that one voice in the corner of my mind. without the discomfort. i want to wear dresses and skirts and not feel guilty and fake. i want to be called a pretty girl, a woman, a sister, and not feel uncomfortable, like everything is wrong. i had the parts for it. i had the capability of it. but i cant do this and i cant do that. i cant live a life feeling like absolute shit about myself no matter how badly i want to. i would give anything, absolutely anything, to be a cis girl. to just be a teen girl worrying about other things rather than how prominent my chest looks or what glasses will make my face more masculine. i want to be able to accept what i was assigned at birth. i cant do that, though.

[ghostlanta]

i hope conversion therapy gets legalised and i hope my family sends me there because im too boyish and it’s weirding them out because they want a perfect daughter. i hate myself. i hate myself i hate myself i hate myself i hate my body i hate my face i hate my chest i hate my hair i hate my voice i hate that i never look good in anything i hate my name i hate the fact i ws born a girl. i hate this. i hate that im gonna lose friends for being trans and that everything is temporary. i hate that my family will cut me off and pretend i don’t exist. dating will be harder. making friends will be harder. i dont even know how im gonna get a job and live as myself as a nonbinary person. and what about my rights and what about oppression and what about transphobes. i might get harassed or hatecrimed or even die if it means being out. people are gonna whisper behind my back about it and misgender and deadname me because really they don’t actually care. i want to die. no one understands it. no one gets me. i wish i were cis. i wish i were born cis. i hope the conversion therapy works and i am finally a normal girl who’ll feel pretty and like it. i hate being trans. i cant do this anymore. i cant be trans anymore. i cant keep fearing for my life and dreading my future. i cant