Mom stuff.
i was all excited and enthusiastic about every type of creative endeavor that exists, and then my mom dragged me into a running shoe store and was as fucking weird as goddam possible and all i want now is to die lmao just leave me to physically die the way my mom left me to psychologically die as an infant lmfao
it’s like... it’s kind of nice because it’s what i grew up with, being her invisible voiceless sidekick. it’s like i almost don’t exist when i’m not hanging out with someone. so it feels good even if i’m now uncomfortable with being talked over, ignored, and used for like... comfort. i’m like, okay, give me a ride for some errands and lets get excited about quilts, it’s so cool that you’re not actively being mean right now, i miss this.
but she wants to buy me stuff and do stuff for me that i do not want, and she doesn’t hear me, and i realize it’s all just for her. so she can feel better. so she can stop worrying. and that shit is so depressing, it always makes me feel so empty and alone and cold and dead when i realize, like oh yeah, i’m not a real person to you.