#(obligatory Don't Seek This Person Out And Bother Them Please)

[fox-guardian]

sometimes i am reminded of strange comments i receive on my art and i am still baffled.

[ID: Tags reading "your alice looks like shes adicted to heroin and I love that" end ID]

like. no, people who are addicted to drugs shouldn't feel shame over their appearances, ofc. but also Why Would You Say This To Me.

[chamomileeteaaa]

HEAVY VENT POST (also cringe lol) DNI

How do I make a cutoff? Lmao

I hate bothering all my friends with all my issues, so I'm going here, where I don't think anyone who knows me irl will look?? Idk man, I just don't want to bother them

I've lost all purpose in life. In reality, I never really had one. When I was little, I was abused, and my purpose was to please my abusers because I thought they loved me. When they left... well honestly, I lost a lot of my reason to be alive. I was eleven, but I already understood what it meant to have no faith anywhere. Most of my life past that point has been something along the lines of trying to chase the vigor that being afraid brings me.

That's what my childhood was: being afraid. My parents did nothing to me but yell and cuss me out here and there, but I feared them. I feared they would take the people who abused me away; yet, I feared them, too. I knew what I was doing was wrong, even though I was a child (below the age of a tween the entire time) and it wasn't my fault; I knew my parents would be mad if they found out (somehow, they were, like it was my fault); I knew the people I talked to were bad. Not really, it was a child's comprehension of "bad." I understood it was bad because it was taboo—maybe that's why I enjoyed it so much, even though I was still so afraid? Because it made me feel like an adult?

My childhood is defined by fear. You are what you grow up as, and I grew up a coward who put themself in danger's way to get a kick. I was a faithful servant to the Lord who let the devil whisper in her ear, let him push me to the edge of the road, and dodge cars on my tippy-toes. Licked the skin of an apple, felt the condensation moisten my chapped lips.

What is a coward without danger? What does one do when they lose their most primary characteristic?

I have spent every day trying to answer that, and I have ended every day even further from the answer. I eat and sleep and drink and study and joke because it feels mandatory, hardly ever because I enjoy it. I love the people I talk to. Every human is an amazing person, inherently blessèd. But I would be a liar if I were to say that all my hard work "towards the future" was simply because it was obligatory, a safety net. I don't care about college or grades or clothes or parties or health.

I don't even want to die, nor do I want to cease to be. I can't decide if I wish I had never existed, never been conceived in the womb or thought of as a possibility, or if I want to find a purpose with myself.

Happiness is a condition, not an existence. If there is an up, there is a down. Anything that brings me joy is bound to hurt me in the future. What purpose is there, then, to seek out good things? What purpose is there to be good to myself, if there is always an ideal Cami that I will never be able to reach? What purpose is there to even seek out bad things?

Why am I alive? What purpose is there to my existence? I don't bring joy, and any joy I do bring can be nullified by the fact that I will bring pain—anyone who loves me, if they saw this, would experience pain at my grief. I cannot improve upon the world, I'm starting to lose my feelings *about* the world I've been in this pit of depression so long.

I just can't think anymore. I don't exist.

I'm fine, though; like actually, I'm totally good. I feel way better getting these thoughts off my chest and putting them in a public space to feel heard yet not be seen. Sorry if you read this.