(no subject)
Okay universe. I fucking get it. I am not allowed nice things. I do not even get the chance to breathe never mind having the chance to be you know. Happy.
I fucking hate February. I fucking hate these last two years. I fucking hate my life and how much I am a complete fucking screw up. And how everyone has either left me behind or is in the process of doing it. I get it. I'm the sad and pathetic poor fat girl who just completely fucked up everything because her anxiety meant she couldn't call and fix her student loans.
And now she's stuck.
Stuck being everyone's caretaker. Stuck being the one who gets to deal with all of the shit forever. Dad has a heart attack and stroke and loses fifty IQ points: caretaker. Mom's cancer spreads: emotional support. for everyone. Bud needs to be put down: emotional support for everyone and I get to pay for it too.
I'm having terrible, terrible, terrible PTSD flashbacks. To the point where I almost think I'm hallucinating. I cringe at every single loud noise and jump.
I feel myself being closed in a closet. I feel it in so many ways and that sense of being fucking trapped. Never. Lets. Me. Go.
I'm like doing so much stupid shit to myself. I need to stop, but I can't. I feel like if I try and stop I'll just start. screaming. forever.
And now I'm getting left behind again. One by one, all of my friends will be gone, and I will be back to the person who can't go out or lift up the phone or live because of who I am.
Maybe it's time to remember that's what it always been. Everything else is just a quiet interlude.
Also: don't worry, I can't kill myself. I have too much responsibility for that.
I fucking hate February. I fucking hate these last two years. I fucking hate my life and how much I am a complete fucking screw up. And how everyone has either left me behind or is in the process of doing it. I get it. I'm the sad and pathetic poor fat girl who just completely fucked up everything because her anxiety meant she couldn't call and fix her student loans.
And now she's stuck.
Stuck being everyone's caretaker. Stuck being the one who gets to deal with all of the shit forever. Dad has a heart attack and stroke and loses fifty IQ points: caretaker. Mom's cancer spreads: emotional support. for everyone. Bud needs to be put down: emotional support for everyone and I get to pay for it too.
I'm having terrible, terrible, terrible PTSD flashbacks. To the point where I almost think I'm hallucinating. I cringe at every single loud noise and jump.
I feel myself being closed in a closet. I feel it in so many ways and that sense of being fucking trapped. Never. Lets. Me. Go.
I'm like doing so much stupid shit to myself. I need to stop, but I can't. I feel like if I try and stop I'll just start. screaming. forever.
And now I'm getting left behind again. One by one, all of my friends will be gone, and I will be back to the person who can't go out or lift up the phone or live because of who I am.
Maybe it's time to remember that's what it always been. Everything else is just a quiet interlude.
Also: don't worry, I can't kill myself. I have too much responsibility for that.