"I’m bad inside my head again and my wrists are stained red again."

It’s 3am and I’m a piece of shit and just in case you wanna know some pointless crap about me—

How the fuck can someone be so pathetically ordinary and invisible. There’s no one to blame but myself, I know, but I’m starting to feel so helpless that I cannot control the world around me and that I cannot let myself be seen and, God, what if, miracles do exist and what if I can actually be loved one day.

And I’m so fucking scared of taking up space and I’m so tired of my burdensome existence. Every movement strikes a pain as though to remind me that I’m a fucking waste of space. So how, how in the world, could you possibly imagine that I could step in and assume I belong without feeling like a piece of shit who cares about people she doesn’t deserve.

And my fucking emotions. Oh Christ, of course. Emotions. How dare I, for a single second, believe that I deserve to show emotions. How dare I believe that my feelings are worthy for anyone to care about and how dare I put that kind of burden on a person other than my useless self.

So yeah, of course I’m emotionless. I can have a breakdown mid conversation and no one will notice. I’ll put on a smile the moment I need to look at someone straight in the eye. I can do that, because I must. I don’t want to. But I must. Because I’m a cowardly piece of shit. Because I hate myself just as much as everyone else probably does.

Actually really hurts when you have quietly leave an event early being depressed as fuck and the only call you received was to ask where everyone else is and I know I’m a piece of shit for using attention seeking tactics but I am seriously so fucking lonely and a hug would be really nice

I need a hug. I need a fucking hug.

"An “I miss you” won’t be enough
You’ll reply with an “I miss you too”
Our conversion will dry up with meaningless words
Of school and the weather
I was never the one who enjoyed short and sweet
I desired talks of life and describing what you make me feel"


"Depression is such a cruel punishment. There are no fevers, no rashes, no blood tests to send people scurrying in concern. Just the slow erosion of the self, as insidious as any cancer. And, like cancer, it is essentially a solitary experience. A room in hell with only your name on the door."

(Source: thissickwonderland, via jesssthehuman)

man, does it get lonely in here