I hate to think how much I’ve wasted. But I have, and I can’t change that. I wasted a lot of things; Time, money, feelings, worries, cares. But mostly, I’ve wasted me. I wasted time chasing after things that weren’t worth the time of day. Chasing to save a relationship that had no salvageable value whatsoever. The worst part is, I got so caught up in wasting that I lost myself. I changed, and not for better. I, most regrettably, became like you. I have no reason to put forth a name, as you unmistakably know who you are. You’re a ball of anger that puts on a nice face for all the pretty girls. You’re a flip of a switch, night and day, smiling then screaming. You’re disloyal, you blame others for fault that is your own, and you see yourself as infallible. The best way I can describe you is chaotic. Always ready to instigate something, rash, never thinking before baring your teeth and rearing your ugly head. You are toxic. As I wasted my time with you, like I stated, I mirrored some of your traits. Agitated, irritated, tired, angry. Flip of a switch. On, off, on, off. It was exhausting to be stuck on the same roller-coaster of utter chaotic emotions with you. When you yelled, I yelled back. I even started yelling first. I don’t do that with people I love. I do not yell, I do not fight. But I did. Since threats were commonplace, I made a few of my own. But none against anyone else, only threats against myself. Which brings me to another point of losing myself: wanting to self-harm. That’s not me. I stopped. I became healthy, I built myself up on my own. I worked hard on who I was, I knew what I wanted and what was best for me. Somehow that got destroyed somewhere in the past 5 months. I lost control of everything. I went from being healthy to going fucking insane, drinking and making irrational decisions on the waves of depression that racked though me. By the end I thought I’d never get back, not this time. That I couldn’t do it again. But here I am. I’m fine, I’m getting better. Everything is more realistic now, I see what has happened, I’m aware of it. I’m steadily gaining back everything I used to have before this whole mess created itself. Every day is a new little step towards not being lost anymore. I feel happy. My motivation is coming back, along with my control. Everything is so much better now. I’m so much better. No more wasting, not anymore. I’m free.
*turns light off to watch movie*
“Be careful, Natalie. The lights are off. According to others, we might accidentally fuck.”
What’s the point of anything? Why do I got out, why do I try? It’s all futile.
Pretending you’re okay and happy only lasts so long, and then you’re all alone in your room. By yourself. Left to think over how much of a fuck up you are.
And why did you even call me? To say hi? bullshit. You never even talk to me, unless it’s about you. I don’t matter, not anymore. I’m just someone that you call when you’re fucked up.
What’s to say this is even worth it
Who’s to say?
Earlier my mom was looking at my arm, to see how it was healing.
She looked at me and told me that they “need to be healed by the time we go on vacation.”
I got confused at first, and asked why. She said it was because we would be around people, and they would see.
I told her “I don’t care if anyone sees them.” Because really, I don’t. It’s none of their business and they don’t know me.
Then I added, “But, I think you care.”
And she never answered. She might care more about what other people think about her, and us, than she cares about my own recovery. She’d rather cover up the problem then accept it.
And that hurts even more than the mishaps.
Tomorrow I’m going to schedule the appointment to get my dreamcatcher tattoo on my hip-to-thigh area, which I’ve wanted and thought about for over a year now (so it’s safe to get it, in my mind)
But I’ve been thinking about the placement of the next one. I know I want “Misery Breeds Company” but I can’t think where. It’s something my mom said to be a few years ago that snapped me out of a period of deep depression and self-loathing that I needed to realize was caused by someone else.
I thought about it being script across my chest but I’m unsure of that because I feel like my chest piece would be consist more of pictures, pictures I haven’t yet designed or come up with yet. Also, too many people get JUST script on their chest and frankly it looks like shit.
Next place would be on my stomach/ribs, right under my bra line. I like the idea of it but it might be too big and thick for that area. Also, I planned putting a Sylvia Plath quote under my left breast so I wouldn’t want the two to be too close together. And I really like when girls have something right in the center, where there ribs meet. A single picture. I was thinking a wolf head could go there, so I don’t really want to take up that space if that ends up being what I want.
Lastly, people have told me I should put lower, reaching across to both hips. This could be a possibility. Also people have told me to put it on my back, but I don’t want it to look like a tramp stamp.
Agh, I’m really picky.
Any suggestions will be appreciated
Enough to lay in the sun.
Because all this sitting around half naked is really useless.
I might as well get a tan while I’m at it.
Just like I told you you would.
I didn’t think it would happen this quickly, though.
Who wants to watch Disney movies with me?
They’re VHS so we gotta watch them in my basement and its cold as balls down there (not sure why balls would be cold) but theres blankets
I’ll make you popcorn