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-my dad, to my sister, less than 20 feet from me.
I am the /only/ queer person in the house.
I am the /only/ queer person in our imedient family.
He's didn't need to say it like.... That.
It wouldn't hurt so much if it hadn't been almost a year since the last time I heard say something anti-lgbt+ but it has been a while and I thought he might not say that- at least not in front of me.
I am so fucking
Tired
Of feeling full of
Wires
I am so fucking
Sick
Of being filled with a fog so
Thick
That I can't think or
Breathe
And I am so fucking done
Of not feeling like
Enough
Not girly enough
Not boyish enough
Not happy enough
Not depressed enough
Not nervous enough
Not calm enough
Not formal enough
Not casual enough
Not warm enough
Not shy enough
Not
Fucking
Enough
I am
So
Fucking
Sick-
Tired-
Done.
Because this isn't enough.
Just as they always will.
Things have died.
Simply from being alive.
Things have made you smile.
Same as I wish I could.
Things have made me cry.
And if I were dry wood-
I'd burn and burn and burn...
But I am not who I should-
Be, I am someone who is
Melting, maybe?
Things are spilt into pieces
Myself am barely different-
Still talking to no-one
But myself.
I think that when I do that-
I half-become somebody else.
That half is my other self
She doesn't get lost transition-
She isn't even awake.
She's sleeping- no
Dreaming
With moldy melatonin
Not doing much to keep her awake.
Things have faded.
Like old photographs-
I've never seen any.
This is the digital age-
With no more pictures of somber faces
Being plastered to the page.
Things.
...
Things have looked up-
And seen the sun
But some
Things have gone down hill-
And landed in a rut
But both of 'em
Have left me
So that I'm somewhere in between
Maybe there was a ledge I stopped on!
Or a tree in a forest green-
Did they undergrowth stop me?
I think it must've hurt-
I mean-
I'm covered in scratches
But they're from a cat.
It doesn't matter.
I mean-its just that...
"Things have died"
From being a runt-
From being too young-
From eating her litter-
Man, crying is fun.
Five months(by estimation)
Three(months by knowledge)
And 15 years-
But by then
It's all the same-
They're all:
Dead
Dead
Dead
...
Things have been...
Inconclusive.
I still panic
When you come back
Each time
I think
You're going to do it
Again
And I panic
Because you'll blame me
And I'm scared
That you'll be right
This time
I wish
I didn't think of you
Anymore
And I hope
That I stop
Thinking
Of that night
Because I'm so scared
That you'll do it
Again
And I won't be able
To stop you
That way I did
Last time
Because
It wasn't my fault
And I hate it when
You blame me
For not coming back
When I'm scared
That it'll happen again
If I came back
Like how you want me too
I'm scared
That you wont
Come back anymore
A and I'd rather
Have you hate me
From a distance
As someone
I don't feel
Responsible for
Anymore
Because
You make it my fault
And I
Convence myself
That you're right
And I
Forget
That you're not
Scared of the same
Things as I am
Because you love to blame me
And was never really my fault
Stop scaring me
I'm not coming back
I don't want that night
To happen again
So stop
Making it my fault
I left all this
Behind me
And I gave up
When
There was nothing
I could do
For you anymore
I'm sorry
I'm not enough
And
I'm sorry
That
I
Never
Was
Aaaaaaaah, I used up 4 pages of my journal last next while feeling shitty.
Regrrrrreeeeeettt thaaaaaaat sooooo muuuuuccchhhhh, uggggghhhhhhhhhhh
Whatever,, though, because scribbling mimicked scratching, so I did that instead, scribbling, I mean.
Me: *finds a thing that i like that isnt problamatic unless taking out of context and given malicious intent through biased descriptions*
Person: *does that*
Me brain: you are no longer allowed to like this thing because if you do then you're a terrible person and your inevitable murder is justified because you'd deserve it.
Me: ... ok..
ODD(Oppositional Defiant)
OCD(Obsessive Complulsive)
ADHD/ADD(Attention Deficit)
GAD(General Anxiety)
SSAD(Severe Social Anxiety)
How many things can one person be, and still need further testing?
I'm feeling too disorderly.
Way does functional have to be normal?
Friend: *kills hinself*
My fucking, shit-brain: death? You like death?? You want some dreams of death??? Have some nightmares of people being mauled or run over! Have nightmares of your past friends and old teachers chasing you while tying to kill you!! Have a nightmare of your mom planing to kill you!!!
You LOVE death right?
Me: I'd rather die from exhaustion then sleep.
Brain: not good enough? Wanna imagine your nephew being murdering by someone gouging his eyes out?? Wanna imagine him falling down some stairs and smashing his head open??? I can do that! I'll even make you think about him being kidnapped!! Or maybe even just him suffocating in his sleep!!!
DONT YOU JUST L O V E DEATH???
I missed the entire service because my nephew was being loud/giggly/fussy and I offered to walk around the church lobby and outside for a bit to see if he's calm down.
He didn't.
I missed the entire. Fucking. Service.
I was actually relieved at first but then almost immediately get super pissed about it, because this is someone that I was friends with when I was like 3-9 years old and he killed himself and I MISSED HIS GODAMN FUNERAL.
What the fuck am I supposed to do except be fucking pissy???
Long story short: I'm being a bitch because I didn't do something that I didn't even want to do.
So I really like this song-The Balled of Sara Berry" from 35mm- and I drew fan art for it and was showing said drawing to my friends as well as explaining the song-spoiler:pepl die
The school took me talking about/drawing about a song as a threat.
It is because of this that I won't be at school tomorrow and might not be there Wednesday either. Me and my parents have already started planning/preparing for me to start homeschooling.
Not gonna lie, I'm sad but not regretful.
Oh, and they fabricated a bogus story about what happened even after I explained it and acted like I was changing my story when retold them the same thing.
And they went through my journal. Which is full of vent art.
My vents are usually self-hate from 3rd person, which I guess they took as me threatening others.
I talked about a fucking song.
I didn't flaunt a gun.
I didn't say I was going to hurt anyone.
I talked. About. A. Song.
It's gonna be a bad day.
I wish I was still sick.
I'm staying home.
It doesn't feel right.
I don't like this.
It doesn't matter.
I swear I'm trying to change whatever's wrong with me.
It gets hard when the happier I am the less ok I feel.
When the more I let myself hug my friends the more being touched makes me want to hurl.
The more I care about everyone else, the less I care about myself.
The less I let them hate themselves the more I hate myself.
I try to work outside in but It feels more like turning myself inside out.
Why is it so hard for me to like myself half as much as I love everyone else?
Why is it so difficult to care about myself yet so easy to take care of everyone else?
Why do I feel like I'm giving myself away
Why do I feel like they hate me
Why do I feel so hopeless
Why do I feel so lost
Why can't I feel anything...?
Please, for the love of god, let me smile and breathe at the same time
Let me actually feel all those emotions I was promised
Someone make me less selfish.