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how many more little electric-shock moments of rage am I going to be able to handle from other people and the things they do before I finally snap and start treating everyone like shit
this was inconcievable to me at one point in time, but then after a while i figure- if no one values me, what have I got to lose?
#man the memories this gives #of elementary school recess in the winter #sliding down this in your snowpants was The Shit #and landing in the giant drift at the bottom #i wanna do it so bad damn #also did anyone elses school have like #the bigass snowpile that was left at the edge of the blacktop when the plow came thru #and we'd all climb on that and pretend it was a giant ice palace #man #back when life was simple...6 notes
fuck this. fuck you and fuck all the ways that I know youre using me but im too much of a pussy to bring it up
fuck staying silent about absolutely everything because i'd rather make up stories and excuses for absolutely everyone than cause a conflict
fuck needing to be somebody's punching bag or therapist to feel useful and needed and loved
yet as i say this i know damn well nothings gonna change. im not the same asshole in real life that i am in my head. i cant convince myself i matter or that im right about anything.
i cant convince myself that my gut instincts and the drained feeling that follows me can possibly be real, and not just a carry-over from things long past
im so fucking TIRED of not feeling like i matter. im tired of not feeling like im good enough to deserve respect. im tired of constantly feeling like everyone hates me and thinks i'm stupid and feeling unwanted and laughed at and bitched about when im not around
I know they HAVE to laugh at me when I'm not around
but never to my face, because who would want to lose their best doormat?
*feed runs out of serotonin-inducing fan content for me to absorb*
ok back to wishing i was dead
some bitching under the cut LOL i like to do it here sometimes cause i feel better knowing nobody i talk to regularly will see it
but damn in spite of the fact that i have evidence to the contrary nowadays i still really do be feeling like i mean nothing to anybody
or at least i guess i feel like i *should* mean nothing to everyone, like... i dont know ive gotten into this schpiel before about how I consider myself extremely repulsive and annoying and worthless and that opinion still stands, tried to change it didnt work so we're stuck with it, lmao
so i dont get why people seem to care about me and my contant conclusion is "they're lying to me because all they actually like about me is the fact that i bend over backwards to make them feel appreciated and special and they're just using me" which would explain a LOT especially the people who used to vent to me everyday and i thought we were friends due to the constant communication but once things started getting easier for them they just disappeared
or they hang around but like. only to vent and then fuck off for 3 more months
idk im great at attracting people who just want to go off about something to someone who will listen, because i will tolerate literally whatever just to feel like im useful and my company is beneficial
doesnt help that my close friend of 11 years is going through a time right now and ive heard from them maybe once in the last like 10 days and im kind of going nuts over it... i just want to help but things have been getting weird and different between us in the last 2 years and I'm not an idiot, by now in life I know the signs of someone forgetting about me, and it's stupid that I actually thought she'd be different because she's known me so long.. like my fuckass idiotic train of thought was "oh most of the people who forget about me only knew me for a year or two!! she's known me this long so we're gonna be friends for the rest of our lives probably!! : ))" yeah keep thinking that fuckface, LOL
it kinda hurts how blunt people can be about that too
like some people will really care about you so fucking little that they can just be like "oh I forgot to talk to you LOL. Oh i havent felt like checking in on you LOL. Oh i just never think about you or any of the things that are important to us. Oh, you're just never on my mind at all, even though I can tell you still think about me and worry about me constantly. Haha, lol"
thanks, ill go fuck myself then
maybe i'd be fine if i could be stable with the people i got right now, and my perception of our relationships, but how are you supposed to trust that you can count on these people to be around forever when history has clearly and undeniably proven that you are just NOT good enough, and everyone will get bored or sick of you eventually? How are you supposed to humor yourself? By lying? I guess I might as well (what's one more lie to tell, I feel like i tell them constantly and i hate myself for it), but still... even if i could trust that they really do care and always will, i still feel useless to them. im not enough. i just want to help and i just want to make them happy and i just want to be reliable and fun and supportive and rewarding to be around but im,,, nobody special at all and nothing i do is ever enough. they -say- its enough because they don't want to hurt my feelings, they know i'm a stupid little bitch baby with big annoying sensitive feelings, and thats obnoxious to deal with so why set it off. so they lie. same way i lie. so i help nobody and get all the praise and i sit here just wishing i could fucking die and stop wasting oxygen because i'm quite literally never going to do anything in my entire life to justify the fact that i exist. i'll only ever just be a burden and an unwanted or draining presence who does all the wrong things and has all the stupidest reactions and just can't fucking function or be useful in any way
it fucking HURTS man. i wish i didnt feel like i deserve to die. i wish i could wake up and be self-assured in the fact that i exist and live my life feeling like i have meaning and worth and that people would be glad to have me around. but i cant. so i dont do anything. and i get lonlier and sadder and its just gonna get worse. everyones doing things. everyone's going away to college and moving on and im sitting here in my moms basement alone like i am everday staring at the fucking computer again. typing self pitying bullshit to a site where no one cares that im alive because, once again, i cant figure out how to TRY to connect to anyone.
and thats all thats ever going to be. its easy to SAY i need to change but harder to believe you can
and i dont believe i can
so here we are.
god i wish i didnt exist sometimes living life annoying and ugly and incapable of succeeding is really difficult to do
#vent tw #vent #idk #i really wanna die sometimes just thinking about who i am as a person #and how horrible i am at existing #and it sucks because i thought i was over this! #i thought id established that i have people to live for now! #and i do #but #it gets hard when you start realizing "oh wait im not worthy of those people" #"and i have no idea why they care about me" #im annoying as fuck and i hate myself #all i do is ruin something new everyday #im so childish when it comes to certain things and there's nothing endearing about me at all #i look at myself and just think stupid stupid STUPID #i know my adhd makes me hate myself more than i would otherwise but since i have no means of getting help for it theres nothing i can do #i can learn self regulation skills but i cant learn how to stop being a hyperactive overemotional hyperfixating socially dimwitted waste of space #its odd how no one except people who have adhd ever talks about that as a symptom? #because it's just as large a part of my life as the attention and memory issues #im so socially clueless and the longer i wait to try and gain that skill the worse it gets #i spend so much time alone just feeding my weirdly narrow interests and not accomplishing anything in life #i feel like a failure everyday #and just #ugh #i'd hate to know me #that's the main thing #i dont wanna live the rest of my life as the people that others tolerate because they'd feel bad otherwise #and i KNOW that's who i am #because who would ever like someone like me? #no one that's who #maybe im being overdramatic #im not the WORST person i know #but im nobody that anybody could love and that's bad enough1 note
tw for,, idk heavy vibes i guess? very very indirectly implied ptsd
This isn’t where I belong. Not anymore.
It’s such an awful realisation. It punches him in the chest, swift and startling, and he longs to at least pretend that curling up on the lovingly maintained bed and crying like he did when he was young would bring him a genuine sense of comfort.
But he is older now. It doesn’t feel like he should be, but he is. He feels somewhere between ten and ten thousand, too old to know how to take joy from life, yet too young to know what joy life was supposed to bring. He feels confused, lost, frightened.
Who am I? Who am I supposed to be now?
They said, go forward. Where is forward? If forward is out there, does that mean I have to leave this place behind?
He stands there, trying to ford the growing distance between the things he sees before him and the tumultuous shore of his mind, the tangle of confusing memories that he still doesn’t know how to sort through. Familiarity is supposed to be comforting. It’s been his only solace for so long now. Here, he knows what to expect; he always has. That should bring him comfort. That should make him feel safe.
He should want to stay here.
Gentle footsteps- her footsteps, he knows. He’s gotten used to listening for steps, at guessing to whom they belong. And hers are embedded deep within his mind. She comes and stands beside him, offering a wistful smile to the bedroom she’s kept neat and clean and perfect for him, and he realizes with a pang that he’s taller than her now. Not by much, but enough for the knowledge to prod agonizingly at the sore spot on his heart.
He can tell from how she acts that she wants him to stay. She wants him to stay here, to stop getting older, to pick up where they left off and finish being her little boy, the way he was before everything changed. And though he knows it’s absurd, he wishes he could give her that- he wishes he could change right then and there, shift and shrink into his twelve-year-old self, and watch the years fall away from her face as she draws him near and shelters him in her arms. His head would only come to her shoulder, the way it did then. He’d be assured by his own smallness, comfortable in his role as the little one, the vulnerable one.
The one who wasn’t going anywhere for a long time. The one who didn’t have to worry. The one who didn’t have to take fate into his hands and learn how to outsmart it, to push forward and try to make sense of a world that had only ever wished to seize him by the neck and strangle him slowly with its unending cruelty.
But as he stands by her, watching her watch the ghost of years long past, it hits him. To seize fate, to learn to face the world- that’s exactly what he needs to do. Maybe there is a faint reflection of that little boy somewhere, running through the halls of their rose-tinted memory, filling the warm house with his singing and laughter. But he is no longer small, and he is still and scared and cold, and feels nothing like laughing or singing. He isn’t sure what he does feel like doing, but he knows now- it isn’t to be done here.
I’m changing, he thinks, and lets terror steal through him at the fact. Whether I like it or not. I have changed, and I will keep changing, and there is nothing I can do about it.
I am grown now.
It isn’t fair, but I am grown now.
And as he turns to her, watching his own sorrowful movements in the deep brown mirrors of her eyes, he can tell by her rising tears that she knows.
#short story #drabble #writing #writes #ocs #original characters #i didnt mention anybody by name in here but this is antonia (toni)'s nephew natanael #his story is...a yikes #all of their stories are a yikes #i should probably give more context but men #feel free to ask though i have th profiles #story
tw death mention
When they were gone, no one spoke.
“Where is my son?” he demanded in the silence, straightening up dangerously.
Toni held her ground. Nobody told him, she realized. Shouldn’t he have known somehow? Or was everyone in the family as determined to forget his existence as Emma was? Toni realized that her mother-in-law must have meant it when she said she hadn’t spoken to him in years.
She stared at him, hesitant. It was still so hard to make herself say those words, and now, pincered under the light of his angry gaze, she was rendered unusually silent. It was so odd, staring into baby-blue eyes that looked just the same as David’s, and yet encountering the glare of burnished steel behind them.
Their lack of an answer only fed his impatience. “Damn it, it isn’t a difficult question! Where is my son?” he snapped, and started forward towards Max in an odd way, as if he’d been meaning to seize him by the collar but thought better of it.
Toni turned her gaze to her husband’s brother. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of his children, giggling back and forth as they scampered around the living room at the back of the house. She knew her nephew was with them, though he made no sound and likely wasn’t playing whatever game they’d started. As long as he stays there, it’s fine, she thought. She didn’t want him to hear this conversation any more than she wanted him to meet this man.
Maxwell gave Toni a long, searching look. She wondered what answer he thought she had. His face was sad, tired, older than it should’ve looked; she’d never noticed him looking that way before any of this had happened. But everybody was different now. Even me, she thought with a pang. Especially me. How could I not be?
A sigh escaped Max in a quiet rush, and he pushed a hand through the fading brown roots of his hair. “Tell you what,” he said wearily. “It’s not far. I’ll show you.”
Until they stepped into the grass, it was impossible to tell that it had rained. The sun burst through the clouds, stealing the puddles from the pavement, leaving it as dry and dusty as it had been before the brief storm had come. But droplets of water still huddled deep in the grass, and it fell on her ankles and seeped into her shoes as she walked.
Still she moved slowly. Henry already stood up ahead, next to Maxwell, staring down uncomprehendingly at the plain slab of flat granite that sat in the ground. Toni saw the imprint of the hole, where scraggly stalks of green were only just beginning to grow, and felt her heart lurch. She stopped where she was, not wanting to go any further.
Their silence was uncomfortably loaded now, thick with unexpressed emotion, and deafened by the vexingly cheerful birdsong that filled the cemetery. The clanking wind-chime that Toni always struggled not to rip off its hook waved languidly in the breeze behind her. She pretended she didn’t notice.
Finally Henry began to speak. His voice was different now, soft and rasping, and Toni struggled to make out the words. “So no one thought that maybe I…” He faltered, and tried again. “That maybe I would have liked to know about this. So I could be here.”
You didn’t deserve to be here, she wanted to tell him, but her tired mind didn’t see a point.
“Is one of you going to tell me how?” He didn’t fully look up, but his forehead creased and he gestured vaguely to the ground below him. “Why is…”
“An attack,” Max said flatly. “That factory. The air raid. You had to have known about it.”
“I didn’t know that was his factory. I didn’t know anything.”
More silence. Toni wished they’d take this conversation to the car, and let her stand here by herself.
Henry was wordless for many more moments. Max gazed off into space, face unreadable. Finally David’s father moved, kneeling down, brushing a hand against the name written on the stone. David Gutierrez, she knew without having to look. Her name. Not Henry’s name, and not Emma’s, either. The stone carried only the name he was most proud of- the one that had filled his life with the most love.
“I remember,” Henry began softly, “once when he was real little, and he was still with me. He’d watch those old shows like Gunsmoke, the Rifleman, stuff I watched when I was a kid. So I’d watch with him and sometimes we’d get to talking, and he’d ask me things or say things, and some of it just stuck with me, you know… just, the way he put it, I guess. Innocent things, things he didn’t mean to be anything big, but I couldn’t help but think on them.”
The birdsong dwindled for a moment, and the wind stood almost still.
“We were watching… something, I don’t remember what… but somebody’s kid was in danger, and the hero had to go after him. And while it’s going on, he looked at me and he said, ‘Dad, I know you’d come and save me if that were me. I wouldn’t be scared.’” Henry made a face Toni couldn’t entirely decipher. “And he sounded so sure about it, and I still don’t know… what made him so sure, I guess... after everything. I wonder…” His voice broke. “I wonder how long he kept thinking like that. I wonder when he stopped.”
Overhead, new clouds had drifted in front of the sun, dappling the ground in half-shadow. They were wide and gray and ominous, trailing after the remaining miserable wisps of the afternoon’s storm clouds, as if boasting that they had something more impressive in store. Toni felt a droplet of moisture flick against her neck, then another, and another again, until they were impossible to ignore.
They weren’t going anywhere for now, though, she knew. Still tied up in her sullen silence, she watched the father of her husband as his mask of anger fell, and the first thin curtain of rain mingled with the tears running down his face.