Polkadot

I need a bike 😫

Yeah, the butterfly stampede in my gut usually only quiets down when I'm curled up with Mercy, my eight-legged therapist. She doesn't offer platitudes or judge my anxieties; she just sits there, a furry, many-eyed Buddha, quietly judging the dust bunnies under the couch. It’s a surprisingly comforting presence. Humans? Not so much. They’re all drama and awkward silences and unsolicited advice on how to "just relax." As if relaxing is as simple as flipping a switch. Mercy, on the other hand, understands the profound existential terror that comes with a looming social event. She gets the silent screams of a heart doing the tango with a thousand tiny, anxious wings. She knows how to weave her webs of laughter and comfort, creating a tapestry of joy that envelops those around her. Each giggle and smile she shares is like a note that silences the buzz of those bugs. I try to make her feel the vibration too, to echo the joy she so effortlessly spreads.My attempts may lack the finesse of her artistry, but they come from a place of genuine admiration and love.. So yeah, thanks, Mercy. You're my best friend, and I hope you know that just by looking into my eyes because words aren't my thing

My stomach's doing the tango with a flock of caffeinated butterflies. It's a full-blown avian rave in there, and not the chill, mellow kind. This isn't love; this is a full-scale panic attack disguised as a romantic comedy. My anxiety's not just a guest; it's thrown a party and invited all its freaky friends: paranoia, self-doubt, and that one guy who keeps whispering about impending doom in a surprisingly melodic voice. My brain's currently a three-ring circus of what-ifs and should-haves, with a live organ grinder playing a jaunty tune of impending disaster. I'm pretty sure my intestines are plotting a coup d'état, and my heart's doing the Macarena at a speed that might warrant a visit to the ER. Send help...and chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.

If i’m not ur favorite girl in the whole world then why are u even talking to me.

"After all, you are just not the person they're comfortable with. You are your own person. Tell me, what the hell is wrong with that? They fuck with your head and it's true. You fuck with your head as well but that's another story. You have every right to do so. They don't. They are terrified of their own insufficiency and would gladly take it out on anyone around them. Why should you be concerned with that? You will now, quite predictably, sit down and overthink it. God damn it, just don't. Be perceptive. Know what your heart is about. Mind your own business. Let them go drown in plain stupidity. But do your thing. You can handle this." (Albert Camus, Notebooks)

should I dissociate or dissolve or daydream or rot or spiral

For the rest of your life, I'll be stuck in your head like the roots of your hair

Send me your channel links so I can have materials to talk to you stalk you like my life depends on it

You accept things that ain't gentle

Expressing your feelings?It's like willingly walking into a clown convention armed with only a feather duster. But let's be reasonable here. Emotional vulnerability is agonizing, sure, but it's not quite as final as swan-diving off the nearest bridge. We can find a middle ground, right? How about passive-aggressive poetry? Or maybe interpretive dance with a heavy dose of sarcasm? We could start small, like, writing a strongly worded letter to the universe. Or perhaps expressing our feelings through elaborate taxidermy. No need to jump to any conclusions! Let's just avoid bridges altogether, alright? Unless there's a really good view. I'm sure we can find a less… gravity-dependent way to handle this emotional mess...mostly

Let's get to know each other Me:

need to get a hot picture of myself for my pfp

i like them when they don't wanna be like the rest of the world

i like people who got their own vibe and things going on without worrying what people might think of them

sending people pictures of your cats is a form of flirting