Polkadot

"I'm depressed," I announce, as if delivering breaking news. "But you're always depressed," comes the weary reply, like a canned response on my emotional answering machine. "Nuh, that's my regular depression," I clarify, "This is premium depression. Limited edition. Comes with extra existential dread and a side of crippling apathy. You wouldn't understand." It's like the emotional equivalent of upgrading to a platinum credit card. More benefits, more perks, and definitely more despair. My regular depression is just background noise, the hum of the refrigerator. This depression? This is a full-blown symphony of sorrow, conducted by my inner demons and scored by my crippling self-doubt. Prepare for an encore.

When I said I like it rough, I didn't mean my entire fucking life.

i love those moments when were sitting in a cafe n a song comes on that holds so many memories for us n we exchange glances whilst silently reliving those memories through each others eyes

I lack the nuanced touch, the delicate brushstrokes of social grace. When I aim for "good," I overshoot, becoming saccharine, cloying, a human golden retriever showering everyone with unwanted affection and enthusiasm. And when I fail, there's no gentle descent into mere "badness." Oh no. I plunge headfirst into the abyss of "horrible," a spectacular supernova of social awkwardness and regrettable decisions. There is no in-between. No quiet mediocrity. Only blinding brilliance and catastrophic implosion. My life is an all-or-nothing affair, a high-stakes game of emotional roulette with no safe spaces.

Write me letters that I would read when I'm hungry

we used to be alive. we used to not care about what we ate or how we dressed. moments were there as moments, not as something for us to pick apart and romanticize. we were happy before we even knew why. and future would never come, until it did.

I fear the storm has taken away a piece of me, and I doubt that I will ever be able to trust something perhaps real, even if I do see it.

everything feels like a metaphor n idk what any of it means

Give me credit for acting less insane-hold up I'm not even acting nomore

girls be like “that’s my emotional support song” and it’s the most devastating heartwrenching song ever.

Always roaming between this and that

I'm too quick to assume everyone hates me

Accept and swallow all your problems

You can wear a new perfume all you want, nothing can wash away the smell of blood on your hands.

the undeniable urge to cut a man’s throat whenever one makes me feel like an object of desire.

You think that just because you've changed, I don't recognise you anymore. But you're wrong. You and I are written by the same language, I'll always know how to read you; and I'll read you all over again, always.

- Heyyy how are you? + I don't think I'll EVER be fine; I notice things and feel them way too deeply to ever be completely free of pain.

using 'good old days' whenever i wanna refer to an event that happened 2 days ago like some depressed middle aged guy

I do talk alot (in my head)