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Slowly realizing I only really have one friend. Two if you count my friend’s boyfriend, but I only ever see him on the rare occasion I’m able to make the drive to go visit them. I don’t really text him one on one but I guess I still consider him a friend. Or more of a friend than the people I was friends with in high school.

I get that we’re all adults now and we get busy with stuff, but regularly taking several weeks, sometimes almost 2 months, to reply to me really just shows that I’m not a priority. And I don’t expect to be. But I’m done bending over backwards for people who wouldn’t do the same for me. I’m done caring about these people. I don’t hate them or anything, and I guess a small part of me will always be fond of them, but I can’t call them my friends anymore. I have to let them go. And it hurts so fucking much.

Being an adult fucking sucks. I guess I shouldn’t have expected to stay friends with people from high school 5 years after we graduated. That was naive of me, I admit that much. Only 5% of friendships from high school last into adulthood. I know how statistics work. I shouldn’t be surprised that things turned out this way. It doesn’t stop it from hurting though. I miss them. I think a part of me always will.

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Late night thoughts that I have to post somewhere because the stress of everything is just eating me alive at this point.

My lease ends is a little over a month. I have no idea how the hell I am going to be able to move everything out of my apartment by myself. I can barely afford a U-Haul and a storage unit, so hiring movers is absolutely out of the question. I helped some friends move around a year ago, so I initially planned on asking them to help me, but now I feel like I’d just be burdening them. They’re both really busy with work and family stuff, and I don’t want to be another thing that they’d have to deal with. Besides, I kinda feel like if I can’t handle this by myself, then I’m a weak person. I should be able to handle everything by myself. And that’s what I’ve been doing. But I can feel myself cracking under all the pressure. I haven’t taken a day off work since February, and that wasn’t even by choice, so I wasn’t even really taking a break because I was stressed out the whole time about not working.

I wish I could talk to somebody about this but then I’d just be the guy who complains all the damn time, and nobody fucking likes that guy, you know? I don’t want to burden people with my shit. We’re all dealing with our own shit. Besides, no one would really get it anyway. Most of my friends don’t know what it’s like to have no backup plan, living paycheck to paycheck and still barely getting by. Most of them have parents who would take them in or help them out financially if things fell through. Meanwhile I’m the one providing for my mentally ill mother who doesn’t have a job, and my dad is in his fucking mansion patting himself on the back for cutting off his failure oldest child.

I think the worst part about this is I never had to worry about money before this year. I grew up rich. Yes, I’m gonna say rich and not upper middle class or whatever because if you’re making more than 7 figures, you’re rich, plain and simple. I didn’t know how good I had it. I mean, sure, my dad’s a dickhead but at least I never had to worry about where my next meal was coming from.

I’m half-tempted to come crawling back to him and begging him for money, but I know there’s a very slim chance of him actually helping me. He’d just tell me that he was right about me all along and that I’m nothing more than a pathetic college dropout, destined for a life of failure.

Maybe he is right. If I had just been more responsible, maybe then I wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe I could’ve been heartless like him and left my mother to become homeless. Maybe if I was comfortable with stepping on other people to get what I want like he is, maybe I would be rich like he is. But I’m not like him. But I do have his anger. And I think that’s what I hate most about myself.

I’ve always been so quick to anger, even over stupid petty shit. I’ve almost lost friendships over it. I’ve almost gotten shot over it. The constant stress I’m under is only making my anger issues worse. The rare moments I’m not angry, I just feel empty and despondent, like anger is the only spark I have anymore and when its been used up, my engine stalls and so does my body.

So yeah, I don’t really know what to do but I guess I’ll have to figure it out tomorrow. Because as much as I would love to off myself and save myself the pain and suffering of existing, I can’t. Because then I would be leaving my mom and my dog to die on the streets, and I can’t do that to them. They don’t deserve that.

So the horrors persist but so do I. That’s the saying that’s been keeping me going. Fake it til you make it except I know I’m never going to make it. I’m never going to be financially stable unless I get really fucking lucky. Or my dad decides he doesn’t hate me anymore and he dies and puts me back in his will, but I think I have a better chance at winning the lottery.

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I genuinely can’t do this anymore. So much is resting on my shoulders, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I work, it’s not enough. It will never be enough. I will never be enough. If I had just myself to support, then maybe I’d have enough money to get by, but I have to take care of my mom and my dog too. But I’m so tired. I’m so tired of working every single day of my life no matter how sick I am, no matter how tired I am, no matter how little I was able to eat, I have to keep working. I haven’t felt like I was living in so long. I’m barely surviving. I can’t keep doing this anymore. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I should be sleeping. Or doing the dishes. I guess I’m just screaming into a void. So yeah. I can’t do this anymore, but it’s not like I have a choice.

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Just a depressing vent about my life, don’t read if any mental health topics are triggering for you bc it’s all there. Sorry in advance, I just need to vent to the void

Just when I thought I was getting better, that I was finally happy with my life, one text message can change everything and take me lower than I’ve ever been. And I know the person sending the message just wanted to help but I couldn’t shake the wave of fear and absolute panic that message created inside of me. I’ve never thrown up from a panic attack before this afternoon. And once the fear died down, the apathetic sadness settled in and it hasn’t left all day. Even watching my favorite tv show and drinking Dr Pepper and eating my favorite meal didn’t help. I haven’t even been able to fake a smile all day. My whole body feels so heavy, like it takes so much more effort to move than normal. I don’t know how I’m gonna face people now that I know that at least two more people know about what happened in the early morning on November 6th. I don’t even think I’ve even fully processed what happened that night. I just shoved in the back of my head and refused to think about it unless something triggered the memory. But now it feels fresh, like it just happened and it feels so hard to breathe. How can I face anyone? I can’t stand that pitying look people give me when they find out about the shit that’s happened in my life. I never should’ve told anyone in the first place. And I know these people just want to help but I can’t accept help. I don’t know what to do. One of these people are in my friend group and I can’t face her. I can’t go to things where I know she’ll be there now and I feel like no one will even notice if I’m not there so I guess it doesn’t matter. I don’t feel safe anymore. I really don’t know if I have the capacity to feel happy again.

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it’s my emotional support tumblr account and i get to post when i want to

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I Never Thought This Would Happen To Me

TW: SA, Self Harm Mention

I never thought that this would happen to me but maybe I should’ve. It’s one in five women after all and that’s not a small statistic. But I always thought I was careful, I was always in safe place. I was loud and brash and didn’t let other people walk all over me. I thought I had a shitty enough hand in life. I never thought that this would ever happen to me.

It was consensual from his point of view, probably. I never said no even though I wanted to. I just wanted it to be over with, for him to be satisfied and get away from me so I said yes. If I said no, he probably would’ve back off, right? So why didn’t I just say no?

But then he wanted more. He wanted to put his dick in me. I kept deflecting, hoping he’d get the message. “You don’t have a condom.” “We’re outside. Not here.” I could say everything except for no, that stupid word caught in my throat, feeling like I swallowed battery acid. I tried to picture him as someone else when he entered me but it was no use. It hurt and I felt bile rise up only for it to die in my throat. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t my body. The paint is coming off the siding of the house. I wonder what song is playing inside. Why does it hurt? Stop. This isn’t me. This isn’t my body. But it is. And it hurts. I finally get the strength to disintangle myself from him when he takes a breath of air, mumbling something about having to piss or throw up or something. Anything to break away.

I try not to look as panicked as I felt as I stumble into the bathroom, not noticing that my wig was gone, a casualty of whatever had just occurred, gone like what was left of my innocence. I closed the door behind me and collapse onto the shut toilet seat, my finger nails digging into my arms as I replay what happened in my head against my will.

Why did I do that? Why did I let that happen? What’s wrong with me? I feel the bile rise up in my throat as I stand up and lean against the wall, staring at my hollow dead eyes in the mirror, not recognizing the person staring back at me in the mirror. I still don’t notice that I lost my wig, like I still don’t notice that I lost a part of me. I’ll never get it back. I remember taking my pocket knife out of my purse and wanting to do something to myself I knew I would regret.

T knocks on the bathroom door. They ask if someone is in there because they need to piss. I apologize, I think. I don’t remember what I said. I just know that I vacated the bathroom and let them do their thing. I remember standing in the bedroom next to the bathroom door, feeling my heart beat rapidly against my chest, eyes darting around, looking out for Him the way a deer keeps a look out for a wolf. I never thought I’d be prey. I never thought of myself as a deer.

I somehow got back home. I remember getting a ride to my car and driving it the short distance home even though I was drunk as shit because I was too panicked to care. I remember gripping the steering wheel and repeating to myself like a mantra that I just had to get home. I’d be safe at home. He didn’t know where I lived.

I wasn’t safe there, not from myself anyway. I broke down as I stumbled into my own bathroom, tearing off what remained of my costume like it was poison. I made eye contact with my reflection. “What happened to my wig?” I ask her. My reflection shook their head.

And that’s when I broke down, tears running down my face, washing away what little remained of my makeup on my skin. I vowed that I would never drink again, never party again, never be touched again. I remember screaming with a voice that was not mine as I repeatedly punched the bathroom wall until my knuckles stung as much as my heart did. I yelled at my reflection, asking them why they let that happen to them. I called her a whore. I didn’t mean it. Maybe I did. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

I frantically texted my friends from high school who go here, hoping that one of them would be awake. I never beg but I begged. I couldn’t be alone. I could still feel him. I wanted to destroy myself and rip my skin out and rub it raw. I wanted to shave my head and claw every recognizable feature from my skull so that I would never be the same girl I was before that night.

D answered and asked if I needed her to come over. I said yes. I remember how I collapsed into her arms before she even crossed the threshold, my screen door wide open and potentially letting bugs in. I didn’t care. I just openly sobbed into D’s shoulders. I rarely cry in front of people. I can the amount of times I’ve cried in front of people on one hand. But I couldn’t stop the flood of tears that haven’t fully ceased since I arrived home.

She’s been letting me stay in her dorm since I’m scared of being alone. She’s an amazing friend and I’m beyond thankful for her. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I hate relying on people. It makes me feel weak.

Everything makes me feel weak now. I never thought of myself as weak.

But then A told me that RB saw what happened and hearing that made me want to claw my skin off. Who else knows? Who else will see me as something dirty now, something tainted? I’m a slut. I never said no. I said yes and I didn’t want to but I still did. I want to rub my skin raw.

So now I’m scared of what people will think of me. I’m sweating in a turtleneck because of scared of what people will think of me, with these bruises of shame tattooed on my neck. I hate looking in the mirror because it is a harsh reminder of what I have lost. What I’ll never be able to have back.

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starting to realize that maybe people i thought were my friends are just acquaintances and that no one would care all that much if i never woke up. no one needs me.

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i feel like everyone has plans this halloween except for me. i guess i’m gonna get drunk by myself and feel sorry for myself :( it just feels really shitty. can’t wait for the BeReal to go off so i can see everyone hanging out without me

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I couldn’t even make it 48 hours before I relapsed again. I fucking hate my stupid life.

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I think I’m having a panic attack but I’m hanging out with friends and I don’t wanna make a big thing about it so I’m just kinda trying not hyperventilate in the corner

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I’m hanging out with friends and I lowkey feel like they don’t actually like me and that I should just kill myself

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I don’t want to be alive anymore

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TW: Self harm

Oops I relapsed again 😬 I woke up from a nightmare and had a panic attack and just reacted and I didn’t even clean the scissors first

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good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

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No one ever listens to me. I feel like I’m invisible

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I’m so tired of living it would be easier if I could just die in my sleep or something

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It’s one of those days where I already want to kill myself