I stopped caring about everything but me and you.
And now I’m starting to stop caring about you.
And then I’ll stop stop caring about myself.
And then I’ll die.
I stopped caring about everything but me and you.
And now I’m starting to stop caring about you.
And then I’ll stop stop caring about myself.
And then I’ll die.
I’m sorry. I really am. None of this is your fault. I’m such a jerk. You deserve so much better from me.
I’m so depressed. I need art. I need something to keep me going. Please? I’m sorry I’m not everything I should be. I’m sorry I’m always suicidal. I’m sorry that I don’t think that I’ll ever open up. I’m losing it slowly. Smiles don’t mean anything anymore.
I’m so fucking fragile. I’m trying my hardest to keep going everyday. I’m entirely relying on my sweetheart for my happiness. I’m trying to hold on as my head tells me to give up and let go. No one can fucking see how hard all of this is for me.
I have a lazy ex-boyfriend/FWB who’s questioning my relationship status awkwardly, not realizing how much I need anyone right now in my life. If he wasn’t over an hour away and a $50 round-trip, of course he would still be a prominent member of my life. I just don’t know how to make it work and make everyone OK right now.
And my step-father, who keeps telling me about how he knows people who “have been much worse off and in worse depressive states” like everyone reacts the same way to depression. He doesn’t know how much I’m trying to fight it and actually be a good “daughter” or “son” or whatever I am. He doesn’t know how suicidal I just get sometimes without any cause, and it’s often it ends up thats the time for discipline. And whenever he has to talk to me I feel like nothing I do will ever be good enough. How can I amount to anything in life if I can’t even keep up with chores?
I want everyone to be fucking happy. I’m sorry I fail all the time. I’m sorry that I’m so self-centered and can’t get anything done. I’m sorry for not being able to throw away my knife despite not using it. I’m sorry I have enough energy to write this yet not be able to do anything “productive”…
trans-thing