Jellyfish sure are all sorts of weird.
Next time someone texts me “Goodnight” (which nobody will, and nobody does, so the point is null anyways) I plan on responding with “Goodbye.” I have done this once before, to my mother, to my ex(es) who ‘loved’ me, to people who say they’ll always be there for me, and it was not questioned or even caught.
This is the equivalent of reaching out for help. Again. I know what the outcome will be. Overlooked, ignored, brushed off. And y’all must think that sounds oh so melodramatic, but it’s reality—call me an attention whore, call me a junkbox, tell me you love me, care about me; it’s all the same. I’m not here and actions only drive that point home. When I’m not here, nothing will change.
But I’m totally gonna get bitched at tomorrow about being depressed, having self-injured ‘badly’ (if you think that is bad you have no idea the depths of what I can find the motivation to do to harm myself and my body), and nodding because I ain’t putting up with shit.
(“Put on some pants, scars like that are disgusting. How can you do that to the body God gave you, it’s an affront to the Lord. Let’s not even mention where you’re going.”)
Oh, does my drug abuse bother you? Well, it bothers me too. Oh, you hate me? Join the club, you can’t possibly hate me any more than I loath myself.
Fuuu—I’m sorry! Total stupid moment, that’s my bad. I’m a WICKED scatter brain right now. I did accidentally delete it, then. I promise I didn’t mean to. You took time out of your day to say such ridiculously kind hearted things to me, I didn’t want you to think was ignoring that. Those are all things I don’t hear (or haven’t heard said in any seriousness). And although I’m honestly not sure how or why anyone would love me or even really bother with me, all of that meant the whole world to me. Your selflessness and generosity are not unappreciated.
Shit, I think I deleted my response to your other message. Ughhhh, I’m wicked sorry. I sent it on private, so maybe you got it. I really hope you did, because I promise I wasn’t ignoring it. If you didn’t, please let me know so I can respond again. I’m sorry x.x
of course I’M PERFECTLY FUCKING FINE. nothing wrong at all, happy happy happy. SO FUCKING HAPPY.
Crack rock is the closest I’ll get to ever being worth diamonds.
That’s fucking discouraging that I know damn well that statement is not even opinion. It’s fact.
Fuck me, I’m in love right now.
- Scheduled an appointment with a school counsellor for a medical leave for the summer and a medical re-entry meeting for the fall semester.
- Went to the housing authority and filled out a fuckton of paperwork (including a form for emergency housing, mental health forms that could potentially help me get in faster than otherwise on top of Section 8 and voucher forms) to attempt to find healthier living arrangements.
- Had my hair trimmed at a hair place and consciously recognized my anxiety (people I don’t know in close proximity to me, sharp objects, being in an open space with many people around, being touched—everyone all grabby like “ZOMG IS UR HAIR RLY DIS COLOR RED? ZOMG THOS CURLZ R NATURAL DOE?!”).
- Left the doctor who dishes out my meds a voicemail.
- Did not self-injure (as of now, let’s hope I’m able to keep that up for the rest of today).
Holy productivity, Batman! I feel kinda good.