Don’t look at me
Don’t talk to me
Not when you break up,
Not even a word.
Don’t talk about me
Don’t even think about me.
You don’t deserve it.
I am not yours to think about.
you’re not some selfless being
you love(d) the attention you were getting
you thrive on the feeling of being wanted
i do too
that’s how we got into this fucking mess
but don’t pretend like you weren’t enjoying making me miserable.
I guess what I like the most about sleep is
you can be out for five or ten minutes
but when you wake up, it feels like you might
have been gone for months, or years
so I guess why I like it so much,
why I do it so often,
I’m hoping that one day, I just won’t wake up.
What your problem is is that you think you know people. You have one conversation with them and you think you can speak for them. But then you do stupid shit like thinking you can’t speak for someone you’ve lived with for your whole life. And that always really bothered me, because for a while I thought you really did know people, and it made me sad that I couldn’t seem to connect like that. But then I realized that you just read a lot more into relationships than you should. And you keep telling me that you know I don’t think this or you know I think that, and you don’t.
I’ve lived with myself for 17 years, analyzing myself and trying to figure myself and I can’t. I don’t know me and you sure as hell don’t know me so you need to stop acting like a couple of months means that you can know what I’m thinking. I promise you, you don’t know one tenth of what I think. If you did you’d be way too overwhelmed because I’m a firm believer that one person’s head can only hold their own thoughts and maybe a little extra. You don’t know what I think or how I feel or what I do when I’m alone and you never will. Not now, not if you spend every second with me from now until I die. So I really need you to stop saying you know this or that or what the fuck ever.
Racing towards a red light
my blood feels like toothpaste.
Go, reach your destination
I am only a checkpoint.
Post with 2 notes
Let’s just get one thing straight.
I am entirely selfish. Every choice I make is made with my comfort and happiness in mind. And despite what you may think, 99.99% of the world’s population is this way. I think everything is about me. It’s not paranoia. It’s narcissism. You may get to know me and think this is not true, but it is.
Sometimes I care about the well-being and safety of other people more than I do for my own. And it’s not like I’m not affected by remorse. But I will nearly always choose my own happiness over that of others.
If you dare to think that you love me, or that I’m perfect, or even that I’m great, you are setting yourself up for failure and have no one to blame but yourself, because here’s me telling you straight up that it’s not worth it.
Post with 1 note
i don’t know exactly what you think a long time is, but it is only three months today, and you’ve been with him for a month and a half and there was that other bloke for however long before that so that leaves about a month and that doesn’t really match up with all the things you said. meanwhile i have been sitting here, oblivious for one month and good as dead for two with no end in sight. so please don’t talk to me about you were upset for “a long time” because i’m not sure you even know the meaning of that.
I think I understand you a bit better now.
I know that you probably didn’t mean to do it, but I mean I understand why you started. I used to escape by sleeping but now I can’t seem to do that very well anymore. I just want to escape. I don’t want to be awake and they’re forcing me to be alive.
Sometimes I stay up late wondering whether other people feel things as intensely as I do. Whether you did, and that’s why you started. Not emotions, just things. To be so constantly and excruciatingly aware of yourself is the greatest torture I know.
It’s been what, seven or eight months, and still I feel particularly tortured when you come up in my mind. I didn’t know you. I never fucking knew you. And that’s not your fault or mine but I don’t have a right to feel this sorry for you. I can’t stop thinking about how your own sister didn’t cry at your funeral. Or your grandma, my grandma, our grandma, who found you in her own house, who had to drag you out of there. And here I am, not having seen you in three months and talked to you in fifteen or more, and I can’t stop.
I think it’s because I am you. You are my future. I am your past. I don’t know exactly what was so horrible that you felt you had to run away but it doesn’t matter. It’s the same. It’s all the same. Depression is depression and heartbreak is heartbreak and being too self-aware for your own good never helped anyone.
I am you and I will be you, I will be dead at 21 with no one to blame myself and the world.