You hate yourself so loudly. You hate yourself at the top of your lungs. Your loathing for yourself permeates your speech. “Sorry I’m just rambling.” “Don’t worry about it.” “Just ignore me.” “Sorry if I’m annoying you.” “Sorry I don’t make sense.” “Sorry about that.” Sorry, sorry, sorry. You act as if you have to beat everyone else to the punch. As if the punching bag is you. If you hate yourself first, if you hate yourself loudest, then nobody will hurt you. You clapped your hands over your ears and shut your eyes and balled yourself up so that you’d never have to experience people’s loathing for you. And it meant you never heard their love. You drowned it out. You screamed your hatred over it. And you never got to hear it.
growing up is an endless process of me looking back at younger versions of myself and being like…. wow she was so young. but look how well she did with what she knew
how lovely to think that there is a future me out there thinking this exact same thing about present me
siken, four proofs
[ID: “Part of heroism is being able to see the future and still remain standing. If you don’t believe in God or Fate you still must believe in narrative.” /end ID]
anybody wanna have a profound bond or what
we have to love things & others very hard if we want to stand even the slightest of chances
Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
reverse hypochondriac i just ignore everything
the feminine urge to say ‘so true’ in response to every single thing
prominent member of the tummy hurts community