I wish I could just die. Yet I wake up everyday just to be another waste of space.
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sobbing rn. at friend’s house for birthday party. 5 others. hesitated so much to go = not know place or most people. first hours ok, tiring, loud music but. nice. but now overstimulated. can’t fit in. so sure am hated by them. no talk no idea how do things right. crying hard. love friend so so much but not talk/see often. others only saw once. so scary. friend group + me outsider ? should sleep there. want to but. never ever sleep without mother. or in unknown places. not know if i can. can’t stop crying. hate self because am me, not normal. can’t do well. can’t be ok. can just. get close close to meltdown. not know what to do
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Barely surviving. Definitively not thriving.
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currently living with the fact i have a “family”. don’t like it.
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When I die, I will finally be loved It's not okay to speak ill of the dead.
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I wish I had the balls to do it successfully earlier.
Maybe this time it'll work.
I hate myself, I can't even die properly.
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You may not wish to hear this pity story and that’s okay. However, it’s times like this, when I desperately want to sink into the salty waters of death, that a simple ramble of thoughts can keep me hanging on even if it’s for a little while longer. Who knows if I’ll be alive in twenty years or in 3 months. Hell, maybe even two weeks. An audience isn’t necessary to me. Just knowing that a little fraction of me was marked somewhere in this cruel world is fine with me. Oblivion doesn’t frighten me simply because I know that I am nothing in this vast universe we thrive in. Just a microscopic speck. And I’m fine with that.
Hazel Grace Lancaster once said, “I’m a grenade and at some point I’m going to blow up and I would like to minimize the casualties.” I never realized how real her words were until now. Though she is a fictional character, a sliver of someone’s imagination that was woven into a beautiful story, she has this sense of reality to her character. Something I can relate to. Tragedy.
Hazel Grace found love. Well it’s more like love found her. It strode into the literal heart of Jesus, the place of her cancer group meeting, with a crooked smile, a pack of unused cigarettes, and half a leg. Augustus Waters. They lived through a heartfelt story, oblivious to the tragic ending. Augustus died on July 2nd, succumbing to the return of his cancer, forever shutting the book of their lives.
I had love once. I still love him but I can never admit it again. But I’m a coward and I tore myself away in fear. I feel like I’m burning. Maybe I’ve finally died and gone to hell and now I have to suffer eternal agony. Maybe I’m being dramatic and I need to grow up. Maybe I’m glad to be my old self again. Now I’m just waiting. But the pain is unbearable. It’s eating me alive and I physically cannot breathe. But it’s my job to bury it. To conceal it for the sake of I don’t even know who. And it’s my fault for making this choice. Is it my fault for thinking of myself? I should have just taken everything and kept going.
The thing about blowing up, you hurt yourself too.
My answer is no more than three feet away. I finally have the chance I’ve been waiting so long for. Am I ready?
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One of those days where everything hurts all at once and you want to disappear and forget everyone.
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