misery.

dramatic, huh? anyways, hi. i’m back after i dont even know how long. i just found out i have been rejected from both my top picks for college. i havent felt this beaten down in so long. i mean, this time two years ago i was moving 1000 miles away from home, literally 2 years ago i was in a hotel in tennessee praying that this place had the best in store for me. but little did i know. im sitting in my bed, in a place that has never felt like home, crying over a future that is going to be nothing like i pictured. life comes at you fast. i’m listening to my emo playlists like anything i hear right now will justify my existence, that something will click and ill be fine and stop sobbing. not to mention, all of these songs are grossly outdated and cringeworthy. no matter how depressed/suicidal i am, my ass is not listening to The Night We Met or fucking Breathe Me by Sia. i may be a depressed ass bitch but i am better than that. apparently.

i just want to stop existing, like if i knew i could live no consequences and just die? that would be so nice. if i knew that there was no afterlife or that there was just an afterlife regardless of who you are as a person, i wouldve killed myself 20 minutes ago LOL. i just am not strong enough for this life, and life is not living if its not how i dreamt it. ive been suicidal for the entirety of my pre-teen to teen years and ive survived truly believing my life could be okay if i lived it how i pictured, how i planned it, and it wass a fucking coming of age indie movie. and right now, it is not a coming of age movie. i feel like im a tragic story in the newspaper or the face you put on a milk carton because that somehow seems respectable. being burnt out on life at the ripe age of 17 wasnt something i planned on. i mean i turn 18 at the end of the month and i thought my life would be so radically different. i thought i would be okay by now, i thought id be done with this endless spiralling and totally consuming misery. guess that might never go away, and i cant live like this. i dont want to live like this. i cant look myself in the mirror everyday knowing that i am not the best version of myself, that i am this miserable human that wants nothing to do with existence. i feel like younger me is dr frankenstein and i am this horrible creation of my own device that i now have to face the consequences with. i created myself under the pressure of extreme expectations that i was destined to fail under. the cards i was dealt along with that kind of pressure? what am i supposed to do with this.

ive written alot about misery lately, ALSO thats how i know im not doing well, ive been writing. any time you see my desperate to put pen to paper, you know its bad. i say that like anyone knows. well i guess if anyone really knew me. you know whats really sad? i was just sobbing on the edge of my bed, i felt like i was ready to scream and pass out and i had nobody to talk to. not one person i could call and say “hey im doing really bad right now can we talk” nobody who would understand and not think im crazy. i texted my sister and she told me that god will put me wherever im supposed to go. like MF can his ass put me in heaven then bc my ass is ready to go!!!! sorry not the time for jokes. but i just said thank u i love u and apologized. it didnt make me feel better. i couldnt tell you one person in my contact list right now who could make me feel better. honestly ive resorted to ranting in harry styles dms like he’d all of a sudden open them and know exactly what to say. hes this wise creature i feel like he’d be the best person to talk to right now. speaking of his saddest song just came on i love it here in my depression bubble! but anyways, that got off topic. if you didnt know, i just type this shit and click post. i say that like anyones reading, i hope to god theyre not. anyways, ive written some stuff lately that i really kind of like. misery and cocteau twins mesh nicely apparently, im telling you this from learning experience. i wish i wasnt a writer, because some sick part of me wants to stay this way and write forever. to write these beautifully heartbreaking poems and essays about my own misery and just wallow forever. if someone came down from the sky and said that they would guarantee me happiness if i never wrote another word again, i genuinely dont know what id do. i cant remember a time of consistent, unadulterated happiness in my life. i dont know if thats just me or its like that for everyone, i genuinely dont know. i also dont know if im a writer because im depressed or if its just a coincidence.

i kind of wish i could talk to my mom about this. i really just want to be okay. i dont want to talk about it though. i really really dont want to have to explain the ins and outs of my own mental state to someone who gave me this life. also the last time i told her i thought i was depressed, she told me it was just hormones and never asked me about it again. that was 5th grade. i know shes changed since then, but i cant be too sure. i cant handle a dismissal like that again. its never gotten better since then. there were times i just tucked it away because i wanted to fit in, and none of the cool girls in middle school understood depression, they did understand, however, making fun of the girls who wore too much eyeliner and all black. thats what they associated depression with and i couldnt break that stigma for them, or fall victim to it. i also dont want to go to a therapist, if hell was catered to each person, my eighth layer of dantes inferno would literally be therapy. i dont want to talk to someone about being mentally ill and then have them be paid to judge me for it. no fucking thanks. also if you put me in that chair in front of someone with a notebook and business casual attire i would lie my ass off. i would pretend to be the most mentally healthy patient they’d ever see and hope to god they never saw through it. ive never been diagnosed with anything and i know people hate when people selfdiagnose, but i would not want this. i would not tell the world i had this because it somehow made me feel cool. it doesnt. its not enjoyable or romantic or painfully beautiful or part of my broken origin story. i would kill to not feel this way. because even at the end of a good day i still dont feel good. thats so sad. who would WANT to feel this way. i feel like im constantly waiting for a breath of fresh air. like theres always a weight on my chest waiting to be relieved. except these bricks on my chest have been fucking glued down or something. i get nothing out of it. bricks on my chest and they dont even fill up my damn bra. fuck this life LMAO. almost 18 with an A cup i really do hate it here

maybe ill just stay alive to see if my boobs ever get bigger. thats probably a really stupid joke. i didnt even exhale at that one. i should delete it but whatever. anyways. im kind of out of stuff to say. i stopped crying so i think thats my cue to go to bed. ok signing off. i dont remember how i did this last time like if i just left it off or had a cute saying. probably just said bye. so im gonna say goodbye, i dont know the next time ill get miserable enough to write on here again. i hope to god never. so if this is on some internet archive 30 years from now i hope the world is okay and not exploded from climate change yet. i hope harry styles is doing good and ive gone to all of his tours because thats the goal. i hope the government never gets good at tracking and traces this account back to me and uses it to blackmail me against something. honestly, itll probably happen. thatd be the perfect full circle to this LMAO okay okay ummm im trying to think of anything else to say. i wonder if billie eilish is still cool and if ariana grande ever got married and if my stan twt groupchat stayed friends. i hope we do. theyre kinda cool. and i hope im even alive i guess. thats dark as hell LMAOOO but honestly i hope im just okay and i somehow made it out of this. thatd be cool. so goodbye, im being dramatic ill probably be back here in like 2 months. okokokok bye now