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I want to die

That is all

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I long to be touched

To be seen

To be felt

To be loved

To be valued

To be pleasured

To be whole

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One Day You Realize That You’re All Alone

That you became the very thing you hated the most

That your own fears and insecurities took control over your dreams

That you pushed everyone away

That you hurt yourself

Lied to yourself

And now,

Here you are .....

Do you even know who I am?

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Dora and the Lost City of Gold (2019)

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Having a soulmate is not always about love. You can find your soulmate in a friendship too.

Unknown (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

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You can be loved for who you truly are or loved for being who you are expected to be. Be mindful of the difference and be careful of which might be present.

Nicole Addison @thepowerwithin

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the fucking comment^

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jimajeen

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When you say ‘I love you’, don’t just say it, but say it with your whole heart. Mean it with your whole being. Allow for it to radiate through the surface of your skin and into the lives of those you care about.

Nicole Addison @thepowerwithin

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“you’re disordered”

He accuses me

As if I carry

The entire karmic weight

of the universe

As if I was the alcoholic father, abusive mother, and manipulative boyfriend that carelessly

Tore apart

At the seems

Of innocence

Thread after thread,

slowly and purposefully plaguing the earth with with trauma

As if

I asked

To suffer

And I glisten with joy

When I see the torment of others

As if I wanted this.

As if I never try

To play out a smile

While the pain

Prickles - like tiny needles

Stomping on my chest.

As if I wanted this.

[rozl]

If I told you the truth about me

Would it matter?

Would you listen?

Like you judge me?

Would it free me?

I don’t know.

The first time I thought about killing myself... I was around four years old. I was sitting on the stairs of the first house my parents had ever bought.

I don’t know what caused it. I don’t know why I felt that way. I just remember thinking of the pair of scissors that were in the kitchen drawer. I thought of how my parents would be happier if I wasn’t alive. Maybe they would argue less. Maybe they wouldn’t be as mad. I thought about how big and heavy they were. For some reason, I decided not to.

My dad cheated on my mom. I have a half sister in Chicago. When we left her is when my life seemed to go dark. I wasnt allowed to talk about her. We used to draw together, play at the park together, walk the dog with my uncle together... my dad would come home from work and bring is chocolate snacks. We’d argue over the flavors. Wed argue over what power ranger to be.

I missed her. I miss the lack of yelling. I missed the peace.

I felt sad and I was too young to understand.

In preschool, I was bullied. I also struggled with language difficulties. I remember the day I realized my teacher didn’t know what I was saying. I felt dumb in math class. We had fucking Spanish class too. And violin. I went to a bougie private Christian academy. I felt stupid. Dumb. Confused. I remained silent. I liked picture books because they could understand. My bully would take my book from me. I would tell. She would bully me more. I don’t know why she hated me so much.

Throughout elementary school (a new school) I was quiet and reserved. I isolated myself. Always scared to talk to teachers and friends. I made impulsive bad decisions and got in trouble sometimes. I don’t know how I got away with my parents never finding out.

I struggled in math. Well, I was better than most. But not good enough for my dad. In the third grade, I started pinching myself to punish myself for doing poor in math class.

I never told anyone that.

This is my first time telling anyone that.

Wow.

Then I began to draw pictures in my notebooks. They were pictures of someone saying “good job” and “I’m proud of you.” Maybe that’s all I wanted to hear.

I found an escape in my pretend world. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been artistic. I made up a story of a happy asian family. They were called the Ha’s. I drew pictures of them in my sketchbooks. This lead to my comic book business. I started it in the fourth grade. It was called onionville.

I was good at playing pretend. I was known to be “funny” and “weird” during middle school. I liked to act in skits. Everyone looked forward to them.

I could be someone else.

I was still scared though. Of people. And things.

Off stage, I was quiet.

My basketball coach yelled at me for never talking. “You know you have to talk in the adult world right.”

I cried at night by myself.

It was in middle school that I began to question the meaning of life. What was the point? Why do we exist? What is God? Who is God?

My childhood best friend... she understood. We questioned together.

I changed my favorite things to match her. I didn’t know it then. But I know now.

Her favorite color was purple? Mine too.

She read American girl books? Me too.

In the 7th grade she liked a boy. All she wanted to do was talk about him. Hang out with him.

I ignored her. Pushed her out of my life.

I couldn’t explain what I felt. I didn’t care.

At 14, I fell in love. Well, I thought I did. He treated me so well. He loved me. He was kind. He was sweet. He wrote me poetry.

Our first date... we lit lanterns and flew them across the American river. He loved me. He loved me.

He was 7 years older than me.

I woke up in a hospital. January 1, 2012. I was high and having a panic attack. I was throwing up.

There were police and investigators.

He went to jail. I went to psychiatry. My doctor reported my story to cps.

My mom cried.

My dad went to court.

They sold the house.

I still loved him... I thought?

He loved me... I thought?

Or did he take advantage of me? Was I groomed? Manipulated? Was I, was I, was I... molested?

I couldn’t think that. I wiped the thought. Full disssociative mode.

I was depressed.

I didn’t eat. I didn’t move. I didn’t touch my phone. I didn’t touch the computer. I just laid. I laid in bed and I laid.

I guess my parents got over the grieving and began to resent me. My mom called me a demon. My dad yelled at me for being upset. He said he wanted to leave our family.

I was depressed.

I cried randomly at school.

I almost got kicked off the basketball team.

I had a best friend then too... she started seeing my other ex best friend. I hated her for it but I didn’t know why.

I pushed her out of my life too.

I held my breath for two years. I punched the walls in my shower. I cried tears for myself. I asked God why I couldn’t die.

At 17, I entered my first relationship that wasn’t a relationship.

He was abusive and crazy. He was in a gang. He owns guns. He tried to kill himself.

But I loved him anyways.

He sent me pictures of him sleeping with other girls.

I loved him anyways.

It was in our crazy, fucked up, and together but not together relationship that I somehow found peace.

Finally, someone more volatile than me to understand. I didn’t care much if he slept with other girls. I still loved my ex. But I wanted someone else to love me too.

Anyways, this guy, He slept with other girls but he offered to fly me places. I never asked where he got so much money. I didn’t want to know.

It was long distance because he moved. I never agreed to see him. He hated me more for it. He’d cuss me out. Say I didn’t love him. Call my cheeks chubby. He’d tell me I was ugly. I looked dumb. I was stupid.

But that I’d love him anyways.

“It’s mine” he’d say. He’d laugh.

I started seeing other guys too. He didn’t really know. Sometimes he did. I didn’t care.

This carried on into college. I’d see/talk to/date whatever around four guys at a time. We’d never fuck. I was too scared. I didn’t want anyone to touch me.

But we all had intimate relationships. Some more than the other.

They’d say “I love you”.

And I’d say “thank you”.

They’d ask, “can I trust you.”

I’d say, “you shouldn’t.”

And then it happened. After three years. I met another guy. Whom I fell deeply in love with.

I tried fucking it up.

I tried sleeping with other people.

I tried seeing other people.

I tried cussing him out.

Throwing out his things.

“Fuck you. I hate you. don’t leave me.”

And it has been such a taxing three years.

I smoked everyday to numb my pain.

I started skipping class weeks at a time.

I don’t know how i passed. I don’t know how I graduated.

I started making good money. I got a job as a saleswoman.

I acquired a drug addiction. “It’s just to help me have energy for work.” I’d say.

at some point, I was doing it in the library at school. I did it in the bathrooms at work, by myself.

More than 5 times a week, for sure. Maybe everyday. I don’t know how many lines or bumps. I didn’t count. I didn’t want to know.

My counselor told me to go to substance abuse help. I said I would. I lied. I never went.

So I stopped seeing her too. I didn’t want her to know I was lying.

My friend had a gun in his car. I thought of where he kept it. I thought of how I could sneak in and grab it.

And then what? Do I shoot myself in his car?

My parents would hate me. My boyfriend would hate me. My friend would hate me.

I hated myself more.

I bought more 8 balls. I did them alone.

I have borderline personality disorder.

This has been my life.

I don’t do drugs anymore.

But I cry a lot. I think of dying a lot. I didn’t know I had this disorder until three months ago. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I just know I suffer. This is my story. And that is all.

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You’re the angel I believed in

When I had nothing left to

Believe in

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Phuc

I still think about you

I wonder if you’re Alive

I wonder how you are

I read the alchemist every year for almost four years

It made me feel close to you

Like there was something to believe in

I thought I couldn’t love again

But I found love

Many times

I wonder what that means

I wonder where you went

I wonder what you do

I wonder if you know