Me when somebody reblogs one of my posts without adding any tags to specify how they feel about it:
Maybe what I need is just a good fuck
Significant other says my pussy tastes like eating flowers but should I believe that sweet mouth of his? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ♡
Seeing pictures of girl’s perfect bubble butts on Tumblr make me so so so seething jealous. I got a sad flat awkward cellulite tinged ass.
I just wanna make creative things, listen to sounds, have orgasms, swim in the ocean and love people. This is why I am alive. This is a reminder to myself.
Like it’s well intentioned maybe, but I really don’t want anybody’s fucking sympathy just because I vent about my personal shit on here. Like supportive messages are really cool and appreciated but if you just wanna tell me you’re so sorry for me or “that’s so awful”, then that’s unnecessary and doesn’t help.
I went through a period of my life where I thought I was hideous if I didn’t have on a full face of makeup and fake eyelashes on. While I’m still not the most confident person who ever lived, I’m happy I’m a lot more comfortable with myself and so glad I’m not in the space anymore.
Everyone seems to want to talk to me about the decisions I make as if I don’t live my decisions every single day. I am an extremely self aware person and I know I engage in a lot of patterns of maladaptive behavior and I know what those patterns of behavior result in. I am living my own life. I am observing my own mistakes. I am feeling my own feelings. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t that fucking obvious? And I keep being asked by well meaning people questions along the lines of why didn’t you do this? Why do you keep doing this? Why do you this to yourself? Do you even care what happens? It’s maddening because every damn day I torture myself asking myself the same questions over and over in my mind only to hear them repeated to me by people who seem to think I would’ve never thought to ask myself those things. They act if I’m just emotionally absent from the decisions I’m making when I’m obviously doing these things because I’m so anxious and so depressed that I can’t fucking handle it. I am as emotionally involved as one person can be. I am so emotionally involved that I make one mistake like misplacing my keys and I think “wow I should be put to death”. It’s really no wonder I constantly neglect tasks I should take care of when my anxiety fills me with an overwhelming sense of impending doom that only builds on itself. Yes, I care. Yes, I know why I do this to myself. I can talk with my therapist about that. But I’m not going to engage in an unproductive conversation that only going to make me feel bad about myself and only serve as negative reinforcement and it’s baffling to me why anyone who supposedly cares about me would think I should.
Do all mentally ill people get this shit from their peers and loved ones and families? Because it’s seriously fucked and it needs to stop.
She's In A Bad Mood 