nevermind! sad girl hours are back again.
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okay, not having a cigarette is actually sexier and more tragic than having the cigarette
source: contrapoints et al, Twilight (2024), 37:24
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"To become who you want to be, you must sacrifice who you are"
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feminine dread
an alternate face to the renowned feminine rage
aka sad girl core or feminine torment
ROMANTICISM MEETS EXISTENTIALISM
key attributes: crying in your room, late nights spent thinking, staring vacantly at the ceiling; never feeling like enough - not pretty enough, not female enough, not smart enough, not human enough, not kind enough, not tough enough. hot-girl summer sad-girl always. loner. standing at the margins. no one sees me, gets me.
i feel nothing and the weight of everything pressing over me all at once.
i'm a void, a crater, something carved out and left incomplete, something that's lacking.
a lifelong quest for something to fill this void but nothing suffices, it all just pours right through me.
my sense of identity is fragmented such that i've never held my entire reflection - some shard's always amiss. the painful absence impales me and leaves me gasping for breath, crawling and choking. the tension of a ghost limb, but the limb is something deep within me that i can't name or palpate. instead, it rattles like a can with a single coin, the echoes mocking the vacancy. i worry the outside world can hear it as i brush shoulder with strangers.
will i ever come to know the feeling of normalcy or was I only ever mean to exist like this? to feel like an anomaly? a glitch?
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don't think
i can
do it anymore
it's so heavy
i'm quite tired
of it all
sometimes, i think the devil wasn't thrown from the heavens in punishment.
i think he flung himself, hoping to end it all, for once.
i think he was tired. unbearably tired. dense like a dying star finally collapsing into itself.
if there was any human-like quality to him in that moment, i think he was tired.
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i don’t like being in pain. i don’t like being depressed or sad or insecure and uncomfortable with myself.
if i could change myself for the better, i would. but i am so broken, so lost and hopeless that staying where i am is nothing short of a comfort to me. i throw myself into cinema and books just to get by because the real world is so painful. so unfortunate. so hateful. there is no love here. there is no joy. there is no happiness.
it is strange because i want to be happy. i want to experience the world. but how can i? when everything i am is confined to my room? when everything i want requires confidence?
it is easier to stay in bed. it is easier to rely on nothing and no one. i am probably better off doing nothing. i am probably better off saying nothing, speaking to no one. even if i don’t want to be.
regardless, though, through my illness i still experience love. i see it for what it is. though i will never have it; there will be no one to return it to me. and that is alright, as long as i can feel it. no matter how much it hurts. i just want to love and be loved. i just want love. i just want love.
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Never contributing to deep convos about our childhood cos mine isnt relatable or silly and ends up ruining the while vibe
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