he says i hate everyone except you and that is addictive and that is kind of romantic and beautiful because you're young and you're kind of a sarcastic asshole too and you don't like bad boys, per say, but you don't really like good ones either. and you like that you were the exception, it felt like winning.
except life is not a romance book, and he was kind of being honest. he doesn't learn to be nice to your friends. he only tolerates your family. you have to beg him to come with you to birthday parties, he complains the whole time. you want to go on a date but - people are often there, wherever you're going. he's just so angry. about everything, is the thing. in the romance book, doesn't he eventually soften? can't you teach him, through your own sense of whimsy and comfort?
at first - you know introverts often need smaller friend groups, and honestly, you're fine staying at home too. you like the small, tidy life you occupy. you're not going to punish him for his personality type.
except: he really does hate everyone but you. which means he doesn't get along with his therapist. which means he has no one to talk to except for you. which means you take care of him constantly, since he otherwise has no one. which means you sometimes have to apologize for him. which means he keeps you home from seeing your friends because he hates them. you're the single exception.
about a decade from this experience, you'll type into google: how to know if a relationship is codependent.
he wraps an arm around you. i hate everyone except you. these days, you're learning what he's actually confessing is i have very little practice being kind.
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Man why is writing so hard today? I literally sat down at my computer and typed for a solid hour and a half and it was utter garbage. But the more I looked at it the less I could figure out how to fix it! So I pulled up PS and decided to draw instead but every image just flew out of my head I couldn't do it and really I should be writing and man my eyes hurt. My whole face hurts kinda, actually, but my eyes really hurt and it's so hard to focus and it shouldn't be this hard and-- Jesus Christ it's 1am and I only got 3 hours of sleep last night.
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One time I made golden syrup to use for something I was baking. I used up a bit, but I accidentally made way too much, so I sealed it up nice and tight and put it away in a dark, empty cupboard where nothing could destroy it.
Flash forward a month later, I get the jar out to use for something else and there's an ocean of ants drowning in it. Turns out there was a tiny crack in the jar and all the ants sniffed out the sweet sugary syrup and came out from god-knows-where and let all nine circles of hell loose on their bounty, only to be mummified alive in amber treacle-y hell.
Some part of me finds it pretty tragic that ants, small enough to dodge radiation, resilient, loyal, strong, these wonderful, overall near-invincible creatures-
Yeah, some part of me finds it pretty tragic that they managed to squeeze into the tiniest crack in the impenetrable wall guarding their treasure and rushed in to claim their bounty, only to be defeated by a trap spun from liquified sugar and human ambition.
I don't know if I identity more with the jar or the ants (•‿•)
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My anxiety and depression feel like the ocean. Even when I'm not drowning in it, I'm having to fight to swim and it's exhausting. Even when I'm not swimming in it, it's still there, waves greedily lapping at my feet. It's always there.
I don't talk about it because there isn't much to say. Everyone already knows the ocean exists, yknow? Telling them it does just seems redundant.
Even when I'm sitting safely on the shore I can't stop thinking about it, staring at it, swaying where I stand because I've forgotten what it feels like to stand without the waves. Just waiting for the tide to rise again because I know it has to. Waiting for the ocean to disappear even though I know it never could.
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