I Pray So Often For My Friends And Chosen Family, But I Just Know That No One Is Out There Praying For

8.7.24 excerpt-

“and a large part of me is dead too, lying there with your ashes in the mahogany box”

i was just a kid, how is any of this fair?

(1.30.23) - head hanging out the second story window, i let the strawberry smoke fill my lungs. i glance at my watch. 120. it hasn’t lowered all day. i tell myself that it’s just a bad day, that i’ll quit again tomorrow.

the pennsylvanian winter chill hits my face when the breeze blows. there’s a bird calling that i recognize but can’t quite place right now. texts from my only two friends lay unanswered because i don’t know how to tell them what i’m feeling.

i silently wonder if the devil ever feels cursed. if he too sometimes didn’t have the strength in him, because being rotten at the core is truly exhausting.

an ache of pain disturbs the thought. the all consuming anxiety follows. this semester feels as if it will kill me. learning to walk again while desperately trying to memorize an entire taxonomic language is just too much.

i try to glamorize it, to revel in the tasks the women in my books love. to tell myself that this is the life of a girl in the scribe quadrant, that dragons are real and true love exists.

my cat jumps up, she sticks her head out too and sniffs the breeze. she is the only solace my soul finds these days, her and the fluffy stories i fill my head with when i try to outrun these thoughts. the ones where i have a friend group who loves me like family and a man who sees the stars in my eyes. the stories where i am not seen as a monster, but as gentle and kind.

i want to die, to be quite honest. i am in the wrong reality. there is no found family waiting for me, nor a man to write me letters assuring me that i am nothing but angelic golden light. there is just fatherly pain and the weight of the world on my shoulders.

i’m obviously sad how hard would it be to say you love me, or maybe try sending something to cheer me up? anything?

i did the “safe space” emdr coping mechanism w my trauma therapist today and i literally just used a spare room in the men of letters bunker. like i didn’t have a real life safe space to imagine, so i had to think of a fake safe space, and i couldn’t think of anything safer.

thank you spn, for always being my home.

i will never admit this fact to anyone ever, the internet can know tho.

8.21.23 - Second First Day (excerpt) I wonder how life would be different if he was just a little nicer when I was a kid. I tend to think about this a lot. I wonder how he can even bear looking at me, how he does not realize the extent of his damage- how he ruined a everything for me. I wonder a lot of things about him, fully knowing that I will never get any answers.

feeling lots of feelings this morning. been running as fast as possible away from them through stupid literature and escapist fantasies. i miss the people i used to have. idk why they all left after i became a better person. why like me back when i was cruel and mean?

it doesn’t make sense. my life doesn’t make sense. it never does and it’s so fucking frustrating.