Honestly, I love when men think I am dead inside. That's the biggest compliment I can get from you babes.💋
❤2
Scribe your soul out
second person helps.
It doesn't help. Instead it makes you judge yourself more. It never provided comfort rather it made you feel like part of the problem. It was comfortable because it was easier to stand outside and observe avoiding self pity. When you look at your life from the outside, it feels as if it isn't really you. Even worse, you start to sense yourself as others see you.
I've noticed that I tend to judge myself harshly and I feel I can't be sensitive because I'll be judged in return. I worry that by expressing my feelings I might come across as making a big deal out of nothing. This has led to a confusing situation in which I find myself observing my own reflection. But the truth is, this "watcher" isn't really me it's just the toxic mindset I've collected. It feels easier to judge myself than to face the judgments of others.
I thought I had overcome my struggles, but all I did was internalize everything I was running from. Instead of finding transparency, I made things worse each time I observed myself.
I've noticed that I tend to judge myself harshly and I feel I can't be sensitive because I'll be judged in return. I worry that by expressing my feelings I might come across as making a big deal out of nothing. This has led to a confusing situation in which I find myself observing my own reflection. But the truth is, this "watcher" isn't really me it's just the toxic mindset I've collected. It feels easier to judge myself than to face the judgments of others.
I thought I had overcome my struggles, but all I did was internalize everything I was running from. Instead of finding transparency, I made things worse each time I observed myself.
❤2👍1
What’s the deal? I’m not talking about life here I’m just trying to figure out what’s really going on inside me. I can't wrap my head around what it’s trying to say. what, what, WHAT?
I don't know how to stop it.
I don't know how to stop it.
❤4
As much as I wish luck wasn't something deeply rooted in me, seeing luck leaves makes me happy. I take it as a sign that I am being called. I notice them in places where they don't normally belong, and it makes me feel seen and joyful. I almost see luck leaves every day.
The last time I encountered one was when I was paying my electricity card. The woman helping me wore a ring with a luck leaf on it which made it special I absolutely loved it.
The picture is from a room where we usually learn on Sundays and it brings me happiness each time I see it.
The last time I encountered one was when I was paying my electricity card. The woman helping me wore a ring with a luck leaf on it which made it special I absolutely loved it.
The picture is from a room where we usually learn on Sundays and it brings me happiness each time I see it.
❤8
Yesterday I was going through my gallery and came across a picture of me at church. It was taken on Holy Thursday during Passion Week. Our church has a yearly program then mostly prayers and on Thursday we have our feet washed by our teachers. It always feels so uncomfortable almost embarrassing, but at the same time, it reminds you what the week is all about. It helps you understand it more deeply.
The picture was from two years ago. I was getting my feet washed by one of the deacons, and next to me was a girl I knew. She’s no longer with us.
When I first heard the news, it was through Instagram. (And honestly, people need to stop posting when someone dies. You lose every ounce of respect I have for you. It’s such a dumb move) I was shocked I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that people just die. I started remembering every conversation we had every small talk, every little “hey” or nod or random chat about school. Everything came rushing back. I saw her smile in my head like it was yesterday.
And I felt bad. But I’ll be honest there was a selfish part of me that was relieved I wasn’t that close to her. That we hadn’t shared deep conversations. That our bond was only surface level. But even that relief felt wrong. I kept thinking about the people who were close to her her parents her real friends, the people who got to carry a piece of her with them. I was grieving, yes, but I was grieving more for the ones who truly lost someone. That didn’t make my feelings any less real, just harder to make sense of.
At church whenever someone passes, we hold a prayer ceremony. Her mom and her friends were there. During the prayers, I could hear quiet crying. I could feel how much people missed her. Until that moment, I’d still been stuck in my own head about how I hadn’t been too close, how it wasn’t my loss. But then something shifted.
One of the older guys in the church, someone who always works closely with students and helps keep us connected to God stood up and spoke. He told us he’d talked to her just the day before her accident. He spoke about her how much she had changed how much respect she carried, how many goals she had, and how deeply she was growing. He said he was thankful God gave him the chance to get to know her, that every student teaches him something. And in that moment, I finally started grieving her.
It’s been over a year now. Most people have moved on. But she didn’t get that choice. And I wish more than anything that I had known her a little better now. Not to say I did not to claim her memory, but just to have carried a small piece of what everyone else admired in her.
Death is inevitable, I know that. But it still feels strange. Like it shouldn’t be. Like it’s avoidable even though it’s not. Finding that picture in my gallery felt like a quiet reminder that none of us escapes it. And maybe that’s what makes life every “hey,” every nod, every small talk so meaningful.
I think about death too often,
it doesn't scare me much. It doesn't motivate me, it just makes me more human and helps me value people a bit more.
#Saturdayshouldbeabused
The picture was from two years ago. I was getting my feet washed by one of the deacons, and next to me was a girl I knew. She’s no longer with us.
When I first heard the news, it was through Instagram. (And honestly, people need to stop posting when someone dies. You lose every ounce of respect I have for you. It’s such a dumb move) I was shocked I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that people just die. I started remembering every conversation we had every small talk, every little “hey” or nod or random chat about school. Everything came rushing back. I saw her smile in my head like it was yesterday.
And I felt bad. But I’ll be honest there was a selfish part of me that was relieved I wasn’t that close to her. That we hadn’t shared deep conversations. That our bond was only surface level. But even that relief felt wrong. I kept thinking about the people who were close to her her parents her real friends, the people who got to carry a piece of her with them. I was grieving, yes, but I was grieving more for the ones who truly lost someone. That didn’t make my feelings any less real, just harder to make sense of.
At church whenever someone passes, we hold a prayer ceremony. Her mom and her friends were there. During the prayers, I could hear quiet crying. I could feel how much people missed her. Until that moment, I’d still been stuck in my own head about how I hadn’t been too close, how it wasn’t my loss. But then something shifted.
One of the older guys in the church, someone who always works closely with students and helps keep us connected to God stood up and spoke. He told us he’d talked to her just the day before her accident. He spoke about her how much she had changed how much respect she carried, how many goals she had, and how deeply she was growing. He said he was thankful God gave him the chance to get to know her, that every student teaches him something. And in that moment, I finally started grieving her.
It’s been over a year now. Most people have moved on. But she didn’t get that choice. And I wish more than anything that I had known her a little better now. Not to say I did not to claim her memory, but just to have carried a small piece of what everyone else admired in her.
Death is inevitable, I know that. But it still feels strange. Like it shouldn’t be. Like it’s avoidable even though it’s not. Finding that picture in my gallery felt like a quiet reminder that none of us escapes it. And maybe that’s what makes life every “hey,” every nod, every small talk so meaningful.
I think about death too often,
it doesn't scare me much. It doesn't motivate me, it just makes me more human and helps me value people a bit more.
#Saturdayshouldbeabused
❤7
if you keep bringing up grief, you might end up with more reasons to be sad.
❤1
I once wrote a long paragraph telling myself how ugly I am. I convinced myself that those words didn’t sting, but I realized that I created a monster to defend me from others, which ended up eating me alive inside. This monster provides a false sense of comfort in the largest void, so when others try to offer me something good, it simply echoes away, never reaching me or becoming a part of me. I may have confidence, but it’s not the same kind that comes from a positive source.
And honestly, nothing stings anymore like it used to.
The only problem is can't take compliments with out fighting it inside, it always echoes.
And honestly, nothing stings anymore like it used to.
The only problem is can't take compliments with out fighting it inside, it always echoes.
❤4🍌3💔3