And then I go and spoil it all by saying something like “you wanna race?”😭
❤3
The worst advice is listen to yourself.
She is only funny not safe.
She is only funny not safe.
😭3
Is it bad that I hate holidays so much? I hate when they become a big deal. I am not talking about the religious part, but other aspects drain me completely.
❤1
I want to be like my dad when I grow up, not entirely, but he just asked me when the holiday is.
❤1🤣1
Going to be using my last teen year being very, very problematic, so more nechenech to come for a couple of months need to suck every bit of it.
❤3
Forwarded from tomrum
It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings;
coming in out of the wind.
coming in out of the wind.
Forwarded from Scattered skull.
I have this undying urge to get out
I don’t know exactly what from
not a placenot a person
just out. Out of this fog this numb motionless humming between me and the world.
I’m halfway out of my body.
Detached.
Sometimes I catch glimpses of her from a distance the version of me that used to feel things
with a heartbeat loud enough to shake the walls of my chest.
But now, I’m not here.Not fully.
I exist in fragments,scattered
flowing somewhere between memory and mirror.
I want to get out.
Not outout not escape like a vanishing act
but out of this suffocating gray
that’s dulled every edge of who I was.
And some part of me,
the part that still hopes,
is terrified of what it means to wake up again to look ahead to feel again, to stay.
There’s a strange peace that comes at midnight.
It’s quiet enough to hear my bones whisper. I like it, kinda allows me to be small
But then morning comes,
and I have to look her in the eye
the soul I once promised to hold safe
and apologize
for breaking her heart just to touch it again
for exhausting her spirit just to feel alive.
I don’t want to label this.
It’s not a diagnosis,
it’s a reckoning.
I’m too far from whatever used to keep me sane,
but I’m reaching
reaching back toward the human I was
fingers brushing the pulse of something real.
And as I unravel,
I am slowly becoming
silent.
Just like I used to, but this time it's me being matured ,grown and not going crazy.
I don’t know exactly what from
not a placenot a person
just out. Out of this fog this numb motionless humming between me and the world.
I’m halfway out of my body.
Detached.
Sometimes I catch glimpses of her from a distance the version of me that used to feel things
with a heartbeat loud enough to shake the walls of my chest.
But now, I’m not here.Not fully.
I exist in fragments,scattered
flowing somewhere between memory and mirror.
I want to get out.
Not outout not escape like a vanishing act
but out of this suffocating gray
that’s dulled every edge of who I was.
And some part of me,
the part that still hopes,
is terrified of what it means to wake up again to look ahead to feel again, to stay.
There’s a strange peace that comes at midnight.
It’s quiet enough to hear my bones whisper. I like it, kinda allows me to be small
But then morning comes,
and I have to look her in the eye
the soul I once promised to hold safe
and apologize
for breaking her heart just to touch it again
for exhausting her spirit just to feel alive.
I don’t want to label this.
It’s not a diagnosis,
it’s a reckoning.
I’m too far from whatever used to keep me sane,
but I’m reaching
reaching back toward the human I was
fingers brushing the pulse of something real.
And as I unravel,
I am slowly becoming
silent.
Just like I used to, but this time it's me being matured ,grown and not going crazy.
❤1