i just called my boyfriend to ask him to bring me home food and then i was like “no wait ill just make pasta its fine nevermind im sorry to waste your time” and now im wondering why i apologized. he loves me. he doesnt mind. i didnt waste his time with a minute long phone call. its okay, he doesnt care, he still loves me. why is that so hard for me to believe sometimes
Gerard walked with a cane after tearing ligaments in his foot during the video shoot for Famous Last Words [x]
i have old ppl arthritis. like this is the kind that people get when they’re 75. except im 18 and its much worse for me. these ppl have trouble open jars and might need a cane to walk. i cant move out of bed some days. i havent had a day without pain since i was 10. i dont think itll ever get better because i need to exercise but i cant do that without my knees feeling like they’re going to fall the fuck off. i dont know what to do. im going to live the rest of my life in pain and i just dont want to do it anymore.
and who are you to tell me that i must absolutely think happy, friendly thoughts all the damn time? i can feel angry every single day of my life if it makes me feel comfortable. dont tell me to think positively or do this or do that thinking it’ll help improve my life style. i am happy the way i am. angry, greasy, chubby, ally.
people are always saying to eat clean, be nice, think positive, be friendly, do this, do that, be presentable to the rest of the world, do all these things so people like you and disguise it as loving yourself.
but what if i dont want to?
i don’t want to get out of bed and be productive. i don’t want to watch the sunrise. i don’t want to smile at strangers or eat my vegetables or paint my nails. i don’t want to do yoga or use nice bath products so i can feel better about myself.
i want to lay in bed, all day long, and just not do anything. i dont want to feel pressured into looking a certain way or feeling a certain way because that is the world wide definition of ‘happiness’ and ‘mental health’. no, its not. i am happy. im happy with my oily skin and my nappy hair and my taco bell lunch and pizza dinner. im happy ive been in bed since 5pm. im happy im tired but still probably wont sleep because im gonna stay up all night playing video games.
i dont need to take nice walks on the beach or read your beautiful books to know what makes me happy
hey i miss you and i think about you a lot. i don’t think you think about me because you don’t have a reason to. i wonder what you’re up to. are you feeling alright? do you miss her like we do? do you still think i was lying about my iron maiden t-shirt? and what if i braided your hair now? would you still be annoyed? whats not the same? what is? will you be my friend again?
um idk i was really hungover today because i drank too much wine. i didnt go to work but someone covered for me. i started driving to work, got a text from someone sayin they could cover, went to wawa and got a banana then went straight to louie’s house. that was at noon and he didnt get home from work until 8pm.so i just slept in his bed all day and his mom came down to chck on me a few times and gave me prescription painkillers for my headache. it was really nice. i like that i can come here when hes not home (and wont be home til that night) and i can just relax here. its more of a home than my dads house. im moving in soon.
now its 12:30am and my stomach is on the weak side but my headache went away. i want to take a shower and go somewhere, maybe just drive around. i wish i could drive down a road surrounded by nothing but a field
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.
|—||It’s not that I don’t love you. (via extrasad)|