i haven’t been on this tumblr in a while. i made a new one that isn’t associated with my name or face mostly so i don’t have to worry about real life people finding it. i’m kind of scared my identity to them would just become TraumaGirl since that’s basically all i post about (all i think about). i guess i’m just trying to be less open about my wounds, though most times i feel like i’m just one giant gaping wound. i think it was really naive of me to assume that being open and honest to people would make things better. better because they would understand and know that sometimes i can’t be there like i want to. better because talking is supposed to help, right. better because you’re finally being heard. but it didn’t do any of those things. i just think it’s made me sink deeper into it. you know, sometimes telling people feels like a compulsion. i don’t want to invite them all the way in but i always do. and they’re almost never worth it. anyway, i have a different tumblr, you can message me if you’d like it.
tw: depersonalization/suicidal ideation, i guess
but it’s also kind of nice in a way? i remember kind of liking it even as a kid. like, it feels like i don’t exist and i think it’s probably the closest feeling i’ll ever have to death while i’m alive and that’s just really, really comforting to me in some ways. it also scares me though.
it’s strange not recognizing yourself in photos, i had kind of forgotten the feeling. but it’s back.
literally everything i post on facebook is about pop stars in an effort to get rid of people who do not deserve my presence
i mean rly u spent almost 10 hours on my blog I AT LEAST DESERVE TO KNOW YOUR NAME
or you prob just left a tab open either way
edit: oop, nvm i’m p sure i figured it out
no one ever congratulates you
for doing the really difficult things
like driving on the freeway or getting out of bed or
every friendship you make is a countdown
to the moment
when they finally can’t deal
with the missed calls and canceled hangouts
every friendship is on a timer
every friendship expires sooner,
you hear phrases like “bootstraps”
over and over
until you wish you had some to hang
you have to learn to simultaneously
relax your muscles
and move them with determination
you have to be in control
and you have to let go
at the same time
it’s enough to drive you into
a blubbering mess
music is a conduit
crying is a conduit
your dad calling is a conduit
everything becomes a conduit
for either having or not having another panic attack
you learn to stop making plans
because you’ll either disappoint yourself
or someone you care about or both
you accept all of it
you hope someday everyone else can
accept it too
i see you. i see you.
can we talk about how two years in a row my boyfriend has been asked to speak on a feminism panel consisting of all men? called ~the new face of feminism~. all i want to do is scream at everything + everyone.