quarantinedinabaddream

[quarantinedinabaddream]

got your whole life ahead of you , you’re only 19. but i fear that they already got all the best parts of me.

it’s been a year since you left the house which was supposed to be a home but never quite felt like one no matter how hard you tried to make it into that. it’s been a year since you realised that freedom isn’t what they make it out to be, because like a caged bird left in the wild you too still can’t quite comprehend what to do with yourself. it’s been almost two months since you turned 19. you cried waiting for your mother to wish you at midnight, despite being surrounded by way too many people than you ever had been on birthdays, except all it did was make you feel lonelier. and at last the wish did come, later than you expected, but it did. and you couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief, quietly thinking about how your mother still loved you it seemed even though you always know deep down that she is going to forever despise you for ruining her life by just existing but you brushed away that thought before it had the chance to become tangible in the form of blood dripping on the bathroom floor, staining the tiles the same colour as the dye in your hair did the summer after 18.

on most days you can’t help but wonder if anyone truly sees you, if anyone understands the weight you carry on your shoulders, the burden of unwanted expectations and disappointments that seem to define your existence. you think about whether they can see it on your face, that each passing year feels like another layer of your real self being stripped away, leaving behind a hollow shell of who you once were but the thing is you can’t even recall who you used to be and it scares you because what if this is all you’ve ever been? what if the dreams you had were just childish insolences disguised as ambitions. on most days you also can’t help but mourn the person you could’ve been, had things happened differently. the person who would have the strength to dream without restraint and chase after their beliefs with unwavering determination. the person who would know happiness and love like the back of their hand. but alas, you know in your bones that the gap between who you could’ve been and who you actually are can never be bridged. so now as you stand on the precipice of adulthood with trembling knees, you are haunted by the ghost of the person you once could’ve been, now forever lost to the passage of time and the cruel hand of fate.

you want to scoff when people say it gets better the more you grow because you know it doesn’t won’t. you know that you are going to spend the rest of your years wishing you could go back, to what though you still can’t really decide. and on days when the world around you swims and blurs into a haze of muted colours, voices and bone deep exhaustion, the lines between reality and illusions blurring and swirling into a violent storm of pain. you can’t help but numbly wonder whether the devoted “it gets better” believers can see the ocean deep hopelessness in your eyes. whether they can see the exhaustion of nothing you do ever being enough in the trembling of your body. whether they even notice the sickness that torments your mind and body forcing you to take pills just so you can get out of bed. but even then you can’t, not always. not when your mind won’t stop obsessing over the most trivial things to the point that you start to suspect whether you are even real and your body won’t stop aching at the slightest of movements. you want to laugh in their face when they call you weak because you know they wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where you were raised. you want to snarl and scream and tell them that you will never believe their lies of “oh, it will get better with time” because, unlike the stories you grew up reading there is never a light at the end of the tunnel in reality, not for you atleast. so, you resign yourself to the bleakness of your existence, knowing that there is no escape from the prison whether of your own making or not.

#writeup #rant of sorts #lowkey inspired by teenage dream by olivia rodrigo and who’s afraid of little old me by ts

[quarantinedinabaddream]

i got cursed like eve got bitten. oh, was it punishment?

they say that eve’s bite was a sin, a transgression that wove a tapestry of exile and longing. when she sank her teeth into that forbidden fruit, the world split open and knowledge poured in like torrential rain. i can’t help but feel like i tasted something forbidden too. and it was sweet but it left a bitter aftertaste on my tongue, that still clings to my soul buried within the depths of my tormented mind but everpresent. a curse that shadows every step i take, making me wonder whether it was defiance or destiny? the weight of abandonment settles upon me like a bone deep exhaustion, making me feel like a mad woman on her knees howling to the midnight sky like a wounded wolf, begging to a god she doesn’t believe in to change the prophecy, tormented by the icy grips of solitude and sorrow running through her veins, marked by the vile knowledge that isolates and a truth that alienates. tell me, is it punishment? this endless cycle of parting? this poisoned garden of forsaken bonds? every connection, every embrace, doomed to wither? friends, lovers, even fleeting acquaintances all fated to always always slip away? leaving behind the cold echo of their absence. each departure a cruel reminder, a silent testament to the curse that i bear but somehow can’t seem to grasp whether it was a birthright or the consequence of seeking what lies beyond the veil of innocence. or maybe the curse is in the knowing, in the bitter aftertaste of that first bite, in the endless haunting question: was it punishment? is it punishment? or simply the price of seeing too much, feeling too deeply, and daring to reach for more than what was ever meant to be mine?

#writeup #rant of sorts #inspired by the prophecy by ts lowkey #ttpd #the prophecy #eve

[quarantinedinabaddream]

my longings stay unspoken.

if only you would care to listen i would tell you how i have always loved the way the sunlight hits your eyes. i would tell you how i have always noticed the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you are happy. there are so many things i have wanted to tell you, things i still want to tell you. but you won’t listen i’m sure, at least not anytime soon for the lack of better words. i also know that i’m stupid for still hoping. i know hope is a dangerous thing, it wraps itself around your lungs like barbed fence wires and leaves you gasping for breath and choking on blood and yet i have it. the hope that maybe maybe you’re just scared, that maybe you do feel the same, that it wasn’t all in my head, that it was real. i want to tell you how every song i listen to reminds me of you, how every movie or show i watch or every book i read makes me think that you’ll like it. i want to tell you about how i see your smile in the faces of unsuspecting passerby’s. but unfortunately my thoughts only remain as wishful thinking because you see reality is cruel and it holds me deep in the depths of its icy grip, taunting me every chance it gets. so i remain but a ghost in your world, haunting the periphery of your existence and begging to be acknowledged but you don’t budge. and no matter what i do i still feel the ache of the silence and distance that stretches between us, always on the verge of shattering the vulnerable pieces of hope that i carefully keep arranging to no avail.

#writeup

[quarantinedinabaddream]

tell me all your secrets all you’ll ever be is my eternal consolation prize

maybe in another universe when you tell me you’re willing to give up anything just for a few more stolen moments with me i won’t convince you to leave and fulfil your dreams. maybe i would go see you instead of sending flowers and coffee and a note with a vulgar sexual innuendo only meant to be a cruel consolation prize. maybe i won’t scrub my skin raw trying to get rid of your lipstick stains from the crook of my neck and the insides of my thighs. maybe i would actually think your drunk ramblings were worth paying attention to and i won’t see the face of a girl long gone and buried six feet under in you every time you would be too high to remember anything except your resentment for your father. maybe i would actually accept and reciprocate your affection instead of feeling sick to my stomach every time our fingers merely brush against each other. or maybe i would miss you by chance? maybe i would decide to make my own coffee or go to a different place and i will never get to know the name of your childhood pet or the name of the first girl you ever loved. or maybe i would run into you somehow but all you will ever be will be some girl with purple hair and gorgeous tattoos who served coffee to me, our moment of contact ceasing within beige walls and french windows. and maybe that would be for the better. but unfortunately this universe is all we will ever have and i can’t help but think that i never should have touched you.

#writeup

[quarantinedinabaddream]

please

what did i do mom? why won’t you love me? why won’t you talk to me kindly? why won’t you caress my hair and tell me i will be okay when i can’t get out of bed instead of yelling at me? why won’t you just tell me you accept me for who i am? where did i go wrong mom? how did i become such an abomination in your eyes? is it because i am too much like my father? is it because i told you i hate you because i promise i don’t i’m sorry i’m so sorry. i will do anything but please please just tell me i’m not wrecked beyond repair. tell me that i am still your little kid and you love me. i will do anything to hear you say that i’m not something that cannot be fixed. please i love you please. please?

#writeup #mommy issues

[quarantinedinabaddream]

slow is the quicksand, poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand. oh, still i dream of her.

they say “no one will ever know the violence it took to become this gentle” and it reminds me of you, of how despite the fate you were dealt with, you chose to be this kind and gentle and everything that i am not, but everything i wish i could be. you see your hands know kindness and love while mine only know violence. so how could i ever think of anything other than the metaphorical and literal blood on my hands whenever they’re held tight in yours? and yet that doesn’t stop me from waking up in the middle of the night, yearning for your leftover phantom touches from dreams that might never come true and nightmares that i know always always will from that old familiar body ache.

#writeup #rant of sorts #inspired by the prophecy by ts lowkey #wrote in a flight around 12:30 am on 16th may

[quarantinedinabaddream]

also not that anyone cares but a little context. wrote this around 2/3am on 11th may in the middle of having a horrible breakdown and like 10 days later did end up telling the person who this is abt and she said she doesn’t feel the same despite her actions saying otherwise and i was feeling horrible is still do but i would rather have her as a friend than nothing.

thought i caught lightning in a bottle. oh, but it’s gone again.

i am so scared that i will fall in love with you and i wanna tell you so bad but i can’t risk our friendship. i don’t think i have it in me to lose one more friend just because i caught feelings and they weren’t reciprocated. but i’m so so scared that it won’t be enough to pretend that i don’t wanna tell you every single thing that happens to me, that i don’t wanna run to you every time i am upset about anything because i know talking to you will make me feel better, or that even the smallest things remind me of you these days, that it doesn’t feel like i’m being stabbed in the chest every time you talk about someone else like it doesn’t kill me inside to nod along as if i’m not wishing you felt the same. i am so scared that one day i won’t be able to keep it in and i will just say it and it’ll make you leave. i try everyday to push it down even deeper and it makes me so so mean, and i feel so ashamed because i say things to people about you that i don’t actually believe, i try to make you into a bad person which you can never be. but just sometimes… when i catch you looking at me when i’m not really paying attention, when your hugs linger longer only for me, when you hold my hand while we are walking, when you kiss my cheek while saying goodbye… i get hopeful just for a second, but then it’s gone again because maybe i am just seeing things i wanna see. because how could you ever feel the same when all you’re is good and i am me.

[quarantinedinabaddream]

thought i caught lightning in a bottle. oh, but it’s gone again.

i am so scared that i will fall in love with you and i wanna tell you so bad but i can’t risk our friendship. i don’t think i have it in me to lose one more friend just because i caught feelings and they weren’t reciprocated. but i’m so so scared that it won’t be enough to pretend that i don’t wanna tell you every single thing that happens to me, that i don’t wanna run to you every time i am upset about anything because i know talking to you will make me feel better, or that even the smallest things remind me of you these days, that it doesn’t feel like i’m being stabbed in the chest every time you talk about someone else like it doesn’t kill me inside to nod along as if i’m not wishing you felt the same. i am so scared that one day i won’t be able to keep it in and i will just say it and it’ll make you leave. i try everyday to push it down even deeper and it makes me so so mean, and i feel so ashamed because i say things to people about you that i don’t actually believe, i try to make you into a bad person which you can never be. but just sometimes… when i catch you looking at me when i’m not really paying attention, when your hugs linger longer only for me, when you hold my hand while we are walking, when you kiss my cheek while saying goodbye… i get hopeful just for a second, but then it’s gone again because maybe i am just seeing things i wanna see. because how could you ever feel the same when all you’re is good and i am me.

#writeup #rant of sorts #inspired by the prophecy by ts lowkey

[quarantinedinabaddream]

time to post write ups

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I love how we all saw like half a scene of Eloise and Cressida and collectively went "lesbians yep that is very sapphic, so so gay'

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#so one is romantic and the other isn't because...? 🧐🧐🧐

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CRESSIDA COWPER AND ELOISE BRIDGERTON BEING UNSERIOUSLY FUNNY TOGETHER

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Cressida Cowper x Eloise Bridgerton

BRIDGERTON, season 3 part 1

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Eloise braving Cressida’s stifling prison of a house to rescue her like some kind of knight coming to free the damsel from the tower, what kind of gay fairytale nonsense is this???

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all I need now is for Cressida to drop her fan and for Eloise to pick it up and hand it to her; all the while their parents and the entire ton watches them with wide eyes

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ELOISE BRIDGERTON and CRESSIDA COWPER Bridgerton (2020-) | 3.04: "Old friends"

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#when your homophobic girlfriend’s parents find out their daughter is secretly dating a dyke