paranoidpulse

[paranoidpulse]

Leaning on you late at night, when hatred for myself clouds my mind, feels like a vulnerability I can no longer afford. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I’m tired of feeling fragile, tired of wondering if I’m too much. Every time I reach out, I question whether I’m crossing some invisible line, asking for more than you have to give. I don’t want to be a weight you carry.

So I hesitate. I hold back, swallow the chaos, and tell myself I can handle it alone. Because depending on someone, even someone I care about, feels like standing too close to a cliff edge. One wrong step, and everything I’ve tried to keep buried could come spilling out. And maybe I’m afraid of what that would mean—for you, for me, for us.

I want to believe there’s space for me in your calm. I want to believe I can be messy and still cared for. But most nights, that hope feels too distant, too costly, too dangerous to reach for.

[paranoidpulse]

I didn’t take the handful of pills calling my name, though the bottle still whispers.

I put the knife down, though its edge is newly sharpened.

I cry silently, so no one feels the burden of wiping my tears.

I want to quit — but here I am.

I don’t know why I’m still here, only that I am.

[paranoidpulse]

Today, the sky hangs heavy,

each hour a stone pressed to my chest.

I breathe in fragments,

shards of moments I can barely hold.

The world spins loud,

and I move through it quietly,

worn at the edges,

stitched together by sheer will.

But I remind myself—

this is not the end, only a passage.

Not a failure, but a pause.

Survival is still a form of grace.

Tomorrow waits,

just beyond this aching dusk,

with softer light and gentler weight.

I do not need to conquer it—

only reach it.

So I carry myself forward,

not in strength,

but in persistence.

Because sometimes,

hope is just the promise:

Tomorrow will be better.

And today,

it's enough just to survive.

[paranoidpulse]

I was never the hunger you returned to—

not the desert that parched your throat

and begged a second taste.

Not the fire that lingered on your tongue.

I was the ache you buried,

the animal limping through the trees,

too wild to chase,

too broken to save.

They dress up love in sunlit metaphors—

but mine wears fog.

Clingy?

Only because I was left too often.

Needy?

Only because no one stayed long enough

to fill the silence they made.

I’ve been speaking in wounds,

but no one listens unless I bleed pretty.

They don’t pick me—

they pass through me,

looking for echoes that sound less like truth.

Don’t offer me friendship

when I’m starving for devotion.

I don’t need arms

that flinch at my edges.

I need someone who walks into the forest

and sees the shattered thing in the brush—

and kneels anyway.

[paranoidpulse]

I chase shadows with trembling hands,

pressing dreams into stone,

but the shape never holds.

Light always falls elsewhere.

Envy grows in the silence—

uninvited, but rooted.

I’ve lingered too long

at windows that do not open.

The view only cuts deeper.

So I’ve closed the door

with care, not anger.

Hope left its keys behind.

I won't be waiting at the threshold.

What was offered, I held.

What was not, I no longer reach for.

You are a constellation I no longer name—

beautiful, distant,

no longer mine to wish on.

[paranoidpulse]

So found out my cousin and his entire family passed away today...

Not sure how I feel about all of that.

My sister in laws anniversary of her mom's death is tomorrow and she's lashing out at everyone (understandable).

A close friend is having a bad mental health day and I'm powerless to help him.

My other friend was in an accident yesterday and is in the hospital.

My brother and I are in a fight and he won't even look at me.

I was talking to a guy who told me " I guess you're cute but I don't like such curvy women" - ED triggered.

My own mental health is faltering.

I feel alone. I feel helpless. I feel powerless. I feel like giving up. I don't understand life, or why I'm here.

I want to self harm, I want to scream. I want to take too many pills so I don't feel anything at all. I just want this to be over. I'm tired of fighting of every day. Of watching death and pain and suffering.

[paranoidpulse]

Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok Im not ok

[paranoidpulse]

This is one of those put headphones on and disappear forever kind of nights.

[paranoidpulse]

Today feels unbearably heavy. Like I'm carrying the weight of everything—responsibilities, expectations, fears—stacked too high to see over. I feel stuck in a life that keeps moving forward while part of me is still reaching back for something simpler, something softer. I want to be small again. I want to be held, to be loved without needing to earn it. I want to curl into a safe place where the world can’t find me.

But I can’t go back. I’ll never be a kid again. No one is coming to lift it all off my shoulders. And the truth is, it feels like I will have to keep dealing, endlessly, with everything. No pause, no escape—just wave after wave, and I’m tired of treading water. I’m not even sure I’m swimming anymore. I feel like I’m drowning.

[paranoidpulse]

I feel lost, anxious and not even a little bit ok right now.

[paranoidpulse]

I think one of the worst symptoms of bpd is the lack of emotional permanence no matter how many good and loving people you have in your life the second you are alone it feels like you were never loved and it was all just a figment of your imagination

[paranoidpulse]

Wanting to kms, fighting every urge to kms.

[paranoidpulse]

Calling someone while crying is the most embarrassing thing. Why couldn’t I just deal with it on my own? I know people have it worse than me. I know I should be stronger.

Maybe I do need therapy, but I’ve been there before. I’m not ready to go back.

I feel sorry for anyone who tries to be close to me. I’m poison. I destroy anything good. I will never be the fun, sunshine girl. I will never be the one who brings joy. I’m just… broken. That’s it. Me = broken.

Actually, maybe not even that. Maybe just worthless.

I push people away. I close off. I feel guilty for everything I say. I overthink until I hate myself.

I’m not worth loving. I bring nothing. I am nothing.

I’ll end this here. I can barely see the screen through my tears.

[paranoidpulse]

Today, I feel run down and completely exhausted—like I’m barely staying upright, as if I could collapse at any moment. But no matter how tired I am, sleep gives me nothing in return. It’s like I���m trying to plug into a dead outlet—no rest, no recharge.

My foot won’t stop shaking. It’s like my body is screaming that I need to be doing something—anything—yet the second I try to move, I freeze. The world feels too loud, too big, too fast. I’m stuck watching it blur past while I sit motionless, overwhelmed by everything I should be doing.

There’s a fog between me and everything I want to touch. Tasks, responsibilities, even simple things—they all seem impossibly far, even though I know they’re right there.

And so I just want to sleep. Not to rest, but to disappear. I want to pull the blankets over my head and vanish into a space where I don’t have to think, move, or try.

[paranoidpulse]

Being an adult that struggles with ed & sh feels so ridiculous.

Like oh this wasn't a phase as everyone liked to call it....

This is my life.... great < sarcasm included

[paranoidpulse]

The fact that if I care about you I will literally do anything for you, but I dont extend myself the same kindness is actually so funny to me.

[paranoidpulse]

It’s strange how silence can scream.

No voices, no movement, no chaos—just stillness. And yet, somehow, it feels heavier than noise ever did. When the world goes quiet, all that’s left is me… and that’s the loudest thing of all. My thoughts echo in the empty spaces like sirens in a tunnel. Each one overlapping the next, pulling at the corners of my mind, distorting reason, turning memories into weapons.

I sit in a room that says nothing, and still I hear everything: the what-ifs, the regrets, the questions I’ll never have answers to. The silence doesn’t comfort me—it confronts me. It strips away the distractions and leaves me face to face with myself, and honestly, I’m not sure I like who I see there.

People say silence is peace, but they don’t understand that sometimes silence is pain dressed up in calm. It’s a reminder of absence, of loneliness, of everything I wish I could mute but can’t. The quiet is so loud because it has nothing to compete with. It’s the spotlight on everything I’m trying to hide.

I wish I knew how to turn it down. Or maybe I just wish I wasn’t so scared of what it’s trying to tell me.

Maybe the quiet is loud because it knows I’m listening.