seeing pictures of my childhood makes me sad
i wish i could hold them in my arms so tight they forgot about all of their worries, even if it is just for a second, a minute, even. i wish i knew how to tell them "darling, you are so much more than enough". that just their presence makes living through this hell worth it. hearing their laugh makes me alive again. their wisdom is admirable. hearing them talking about the things they love, seeing the light in their eyes, the way their voice goes a little higher than usual? it is all just so, so lovely. at times like this, i wonder — do they know how much i appreciate them? do they know my love for them is just so, so loud?
bpd is like “i actually want to kill myself, i’ve never been in so much pain in my entire life,” immediately followed by hysterically laughing at a meme
Drugs makes the empty void inside of me comforting. I mean, i feel lonely almost every time but when i get high...i feel safe in my own mind. Or more like, drugs are filling the void inside of me. I feel peace. I feel good about being alone. I dont struggle, i just exist. And its so comforting.
i could have gotten better sooner if i was treated like a person instead of a chore.
i could have gotten better sooner if i wasn’t abused like an object.
i could have gotten getter sooner if i was allowed to be myself without being made to feel like my identity was an attack or burden to endure.
i could have gotten better sooner if i had been taken seriously when i was younger and had the opportunity to ask for help.
i could have gotten better sooner if my limitations weren’t treated as weaknesses/laziness and forced to push past them, further damaging my abilities and capacity.
i could have gotten better sooner if i didn’t have ableist parents.
i could have gotten better sooner if i wasn’t abused by people who preyed on my groomed mind.
i could have gotten better sooner if there was more information taught about my conditions. i could’ve gotten better sooner if my disorders weren’t monsterously stigmatised.
i could have gotten better sooner if being trans wasn’t a problem to be delt with or tolerated and being gay wasn’t something that needed fixing, by force, persuasion or guilt.
i could have gotten better sooner if love was enough.
i could have gotten better sooner if abusers didn’t take advantage of my dissociative states or compassion.
i wouldn’t need to get better if i wasn’t so mentally abused by the age of 4 that it set my life up to be unliveable. for me to be unlovable. for me to be unworthy and ruined. i was set up to fail from the start. before i even had a chance to have good memories, i had trauma. before i had a chance to grow i was crushed under the body of a boy 3x my size. i’m told i can get better? from what? my whole life? and get better for what? more life like this? i don’t want to be like this anymore.