#things are weighing on me today

[cylleona]

I am grieving so many things this year. I'm so tired of grieving.

I'm grieving a mother who is still alive, who reopens the wound wherever I'm reminded she exists. When I see my boyfriend's family interact, I am grieving the one I never had.

I'm grieving my dog of 13 years. My grandma is so broken up about it that it's affecting her health. I've been her only support system. I'm taking on my grandma's grief as my own.

I'm grieving friendships that I thought I had but never did, and lost relationships. People I wanted to be friends with taking me in bad faith. I'm so bad at dealing with people. People are constantly getting angry at me and twisting my words. I feel like I'm going insane.

I want friends but can't bear to keep them. Why try at all when it'll end up in heartache as soon as I feel comfortable around them.

[meamiiikiii]

mira !!! :]

[rickybaby]

Daniel Ricciardo sets the fastest lap record around the Marina Bay street circuit

[sekai-no-reita]

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

oh my god oh my god oh my GODDDDDD i can’t BELIEVE i found these on my little rainy october thrift shop wander this morning. like, one would have been more MORE enough. but both?? at once??? i am quite simply floating and may never touch back down to earth

[lorei-writes]

No, but you don't get it. You don't get it. There are no pretty words to describe what I feel right now. There is no duty nor obligation, no misattributed sense of responsibility. There is nothing there, aside from the simple, the simplest, answer.

Why do things? Why give things away? Why reach out, why encourage, why support, why spend my time on others rather than myself?

Because I care.

And that's it. I could write big words, I could write a polite essay about the need for reciprocation, about how heart-wrenching it can be to reach out into the void, searching for a hand to hold your own. I could delve into the correctness and okay-ness of certain stances, make excuses and apologies before I even make any claims. Protect feelings before they get hurt.

But. But there is nothing more to it. Why do things? Because you care. Because you can do it. Regardless of whether it's hard, whether it's easy, that all is reason enough. Not for any gains, not for any expected results.

This surely sounds like a mad woman screeching, but I cannot express the value of that. It is good for you. It feels better than the most decadent selfishness. Any people around, the ones you can reach? They benefit from it. For the love of all things holy, we are a social species.

[thebirdandhersong]

Boy I sure hope that joy cometh in the morning

[filmcel]

it’s hard when u sort of abandon a group of friends bc they continue as a group and ur the single dumbass who decided they suck and now ur just alone and bored while they have fun at the zoo together and such.

[dimsilver]

would appreciate prayer today ❤️

[starvingcl0wn]

got a little 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 and ate 262.5 more cals than i intended to

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

writing poetry sometimes feels like you gotta cut yourself open to express it idk smear all your organs all over the page and hope somebody else reads something beautiful. is that like divination the way it's expressed in various places and things? I dunno. poetry never slides off your skin like water off a duck's back. it's from within I think. sometimes you have to tear yourself apart to get at the words and sometimes it just wells up from within and gushes out. always from somewhere deep inside. sometimes it's difficult and horrible and painful but the alternative would be worse. sometimes it's from sheer joy that must overflow into words. I think that's beautiful personally. skin splitting from joy. it happens, I think, to us all at some point. or maybe I'm just a creature of extremes. maybe that online test I did because a friend recommended it is true. it said my symptoms were high. I don't know. maybe it is true, maybe it's not. I read a book once where there was a character named Nathan Hill-and-Dale, and while I'm not nearly as extreme as he was portrayed, in my extremes, I know I'm a fairly volatile person. funny, for most people who see me IRL seem to think that I'm fairly calm. nope, I'm a volcano. watch out, even when I'm apparently calm I might blow up one way or the other. one of my residents' family members said today that I was young and bubbly and she was glad to see it because happiness is the prerogative of the young. a part of me wished I told her. I have actively tried to kill myself once; I have come extremely close to the same actions countless times including yesterday; I would sooner hurt myself than others; if I had my own choice I would simply starve. of course I didn't tell her. sometimes I think I'll never get better. at this point I would consider it a very high chance that I will either die by suicide or end up in hospital following an attempt. not now, of course. but despite my fierce love for my course it has stress associated with it and I think that it's very likely that no psych help on earth would fix my mental health enough for that not to be an option mentally in this short time. I think it's possible to recover from all of the things I struggle with. God help me, I hope it is. the real question is whether I will survive long enough to recover from them. and the answer? I know not. I was reminded of a past interaction with the boy today, where he called my name - I turned - his grandfather, a photographer, was waiting to see if he could get a decent photo, for we were at a church conference and he was trying to get photos everywhere. they were laughing. I could not help but laugh. that memory is tainted now, for he would not look at me now, let alone try to pull such a stunt again. I don't blame him. I don't blame anyone for it. I wonder what would happen if I blocked all my friends on discord; who would seek me out? part of me hopes people would, another part hopes they would not. sometimes I just want to be left alone to curl up and die. it would be easier. so much easier than living, and living, and living. I tried writing poetry just now. it felt like trying to cut myself open, I couldn't get the words out. it only made me feel rather wild. I'm desperate for change, for something. something. what is that something? I don't know. did you know I'm a sadist? I would not in a public place express the thoughts that led me to that conclusion. but I am. I wish I wasn't. there's an obvious solution to that. quick, and easy. so easy. too easy. I tried writing poetry, and then instead of writing anything coherent, I wrote this.

[juno-infernal]

oh friends in my phone. i’m sad today. trying to feel my feelings (instead of intellectualizing or narrativizing or avoiding or killing them with figurative hammers) is sometimes harder than i thought it would be.

[starbuck]

okay, so i was really brave and today went really well… new staff is great so far and seem to be settling in nicely… i am completely physically and emotionally drained and get to do it all again tomorrow but it’s OKAY!!!!! coworker only got moderately upset over the unreasonable thing she’s been mad about for weeks… ultimately, it was about as much as I could have asked for.

[jaysgirlx]

i'm actually so tired after today, we had free time so my group went to get lunch and after we ended up stopping by a bunch a storesssss. my feet hurt so bad and i'm so tired :(

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[slippery-minghus]

i did the thing!! again!!

second jiu jitsu class!!!

it was so fun!!