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Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: von dutch - charli xcx

i hate people but i love myself so who cares<3

i’ve been blurry w lana and guys for hours but who cares ! here we go. rant/vent/life post etc.
these past few days have been. pretty good i guess! people are so cool. nice. thank god because i deserve it. i deserve so much better than i've even had before (and yes. self love IS the best love) because you can't really count on people. as a famous queen once said "boys are just placeholders, they come and they go" but. people are like that in general. (but especially boys - can't deny it) people know how to use you when they need to, be awful when they want to, be a dirty shitty victim when they need to.. oh my god i'm such a hater... twirl hair etc. and yes i'm a hater. sadly my pain turns into hate and it's definitely annoying ....taking the time to get mad at people is a complete waste of time. but i guess accepting it makes me surprisingly more stylish than them. so i guess saying it here is partly being better than them. i'm not talking about the other students. people at school are pretty cool as i said. not too pushy (for the most of them) and they don't ask too many questions. except for some. but the others amuse my daily life a bit, so that's always good to take. speaking of other students, two very cool n pretty girls came up to me and told me that i have a so much style. they don't know that i'm not even at my best rn. because damn it's cold and rainy. but i admit that i've started taking better care of myself, because i deserve it. yes, i've realized that i deserve a lot of things that i don't really have. if people can't give it to you then do it yourself. people are useless</3 they can at least boost my ego. oh my god i must sound so self-centered.. and that's good. everyone needs to be a little ✨narcissistic✨ sometimes. or at least to love and compliment themselves. even more if they are surrounded by losers. and being self-centered is honestly something less worse than being an attention seeker, a liar, a manipulator and so on...
duh. honestly i lied, i won't vent or rant. simply because it's not worth it and the lives of these people are rotten enough for me to add some shit to it. i am so much better than them. (i don't think the others would agree with me) but i think it made them neglectful of themselves, and terribly naive. luckily for us, those days are over ♥️ i eat salmon w pasta, i drink my favorite drink and i talk to the people i love. i may also be a girlfailure who thinks she's a girlboss. but i have a job so idrc about that rn. (almost.)

Current Mood: pensive

hey i think my brain stopped working

or something similar. no one to talk to, no one to call. and i don't feel like i'm real either. for the time i spent looking for an icon, this is the only "decent" one i could find. (nanno was also an option but. it was kinda weird, right?)

so why not write how i feel here. i think people like to talk here rather than talk about their problems to real people, so why not me? well, i do it here because i know no one is going to answer me directly. this is a real discussion from me to me, haha. and i've only talked to myself for two days, so i can tell you it's not very conclusive.

probably because i'm not the most talkative person: i can barely communicate normally, reassure or be understanding. at least i was able to realize it. but the fact that i care shows me that i'm real, otherwise, what the hell would i care?

so of course, i understand why people don't want to talk to me. it's ok. sometimes. but you know, it's not really normal when the idea of a simple conversation with someone brings you so much anxiety. (ifykyk) but humans are born to hurt themselves. it's like- if they were able to catch themselves before the fall, they would still try to take a step forward.

that way, they could feel something.

so why do they always end up crying? i don't know. it's simple sometimes. well, i think. maybe my opinion is too harsh. even i think i wouldn't be able to do it, after all, it concerns me too.

actually, i would say that looking for answers to other people's problems allows me to avoid my own. you have to occupy your thoughts, right? i don't really know if i have a problem, maybe several. other people are already so complicated, but i think they're the ones who drive me totally crazy. and looking for solutions exhausts me, so i think i should stop trying. i've tried before, we've tried before. maybe some relationships aren't meant to last.

i think that changing our "life" is affecting us more than it should. we think we're leaving everything behind.

that's kind of it, in the end. we leave our "home", we leave people, we leave this fragment of us, the one we've been these last years. i can't tell you about the others, because i think they're out of reach, out of my reach precisely.

and i don't know which idiot is responsible for this, honestly. but it's nothing, it confirms that "something" is wrong, right?

this new place. this new city is beautiful, lively, but everything seems so weird. the people. the weather, the atmosphere. everything is very beautiful, but everything is very scary. a few days ago, i talked to a man and i felt like a stranger. and that's what i am, it's true. but a real stranger. not only to the city, but rather to the world.

and as i said, it's very beautiful here. from what i remember, the place seems like a very touristy place, like our vacation destinations when we were kids.

i don't know why everything is so strange, even me. these last few days have already been trying, new people, other people disappearing. and i was told that "everything seemed normal" but. hey, i don't know. is everything normal even though we've been to the hospital?. is it normal when we are so worried about being forgotten that we- how can i say this. that some people just stopped coming. i know this because we wrote it. it hurts i think, because it is no one's fault. and we can't help but rethink everyone's actions. it's like being on guard 24/7. it's exhausting. it's a harmless feeling, thinking that everyone will abandon us. many people have carried it before me (?) and many more will carry it. but we just have to understand the fact that we are not defined by our ability to be loved, or to love. we have to learn love in all its forms, and maybe we can finally accept it.

i don't even know what i was getting at by saying all this. maybe we thought that if things changed for the person we loved then we had no reason to be there anymore. i don't know if that's exactly it, i don't really know other people, just their feelings. (and all the things they will never express)

maybe we are just too anxious about what will happen in the future, no matter what it is. whether it will be painful or happy. whether we will end up alone or with someone. whatever, but maybe it is time to accept what will happen next, no matter what it is.

Current Mood: nauseated

to be loved

i don’t know what i want anymore. i’ve been hiding, hurting myself, drowning all my emotions, tearing away my flesh to see what i was. what kind of creature, what kind of human being - if i even was one - but the more i pull at my skin, the less i understand. i can’t pretend, i can’t even lie to myself, it’s not like i care, after all. it’s not like anyone would care. it’s not like i exist, after all.

maybe i can pretend that i do not. maybe if i try hard enough, it will be less painful. to be alive is such a pain, to be here. wanting to hurt myself so bad, wanting to hurt everything, anyone, but just knowing how to hurt my thoughts.

truth is that i don’t know what to be. i don’t know how to be someone, something, even nothing. i wish i was just able to die, sometimes. because it kills me to think about it, to think about everything. about the ugly memories and about the awful future. i’m born only to create pain, i can only live through pain. i don’t understand my emotions. i don’t understand people. i don’t understand anything at all.

i actually miss people. sometimes. all the time. i can be alone. i’m born to be alone. i’ll die alone. i don’t want friends, i don’t want to talk to them. i don’t want to live with them. so why does it hurt so much to be alone? what was the valid reason to hide if i was silently begging to be seen? i thought that being mean would be enough for them to hate me and forget me. that if i was mean, they would hate me. then i could run away from them.so they wouldn’t be hurt. i also thought that if i died, no one would be sad. and that’s okay, because i don’t think i would be sad to die. deep down, i feel like i’m already a little dead. i only exist through people. the last few months, i felt alive. the last few weeks, i realized that i hated this feeling. maybe because i didn't really understand it. i just want people to hate me and i just want to be alone forever. yet when i think about it, i feel like i'm not listening to my true self.

like i don't really know who i am anymore. and in the end, i never really did. i'm condemned to carry the burden of my own existence, the fragments of memories that no one could bear. but i can't do it either. i feel like i'm the one being condemned. that it's the snake i was forced to swallow through my mouth that's poisoning the rest of my body and mind. and all i have left are nightmares, but i don't know if they're real or fake. i don't know if that crying child in the bed is really me or a piece of clothing i decided to put on so someone could console me. so that someone could see me. maybe so that people understand, or try to understand me. i carry my scars but i don’t really know what they represent anymore. i don’t know what i represent myself. my body isn’t really mine, nor is my face. home is an illusion. i don’t really have a home.

if i did, i wouldn’t want to go back. maybe i would find it scary, maybe because i would wonder what it would look like. thinking back, i think i’m fine in my cell. i’m fine alone. this is how i have to stay. it’s not like i can keep people around me. we’re already so hard to love, but i’m probably the worst. i’m not someone you can love, not really; i don’t even know if i know what that is. i don’t know if i love so much that it kills me. or if i don’t love. i can't put it into words.

all my life i just wanted people to see me. to pay attention to me. but instead they treated me like i was broken. and i think everyone thinks they know me better than i know myself. maybe that's true. why even when i dissect myself there are all these things i don't understand? i could die a hundred times and never understand what makes me this way. i could kill a hundred times and never understand why i don't feel anything. i could rip my heart out and swallow it and it's like it's not in me.

and sometimes i feel like i gave it to him. maybe i should have. maybe that's what it means to love. but i'll never know. it's probably better this way. if i'm only capable of hurting - like i hurt him - i'm not capable of understanding what it is to love. hands are either made to kill or they're made to give life. there is no in-between. mine are probably made to kill, maybe to kill me. it sounded so wrong when i was being gentle, it sounded so wrong when they weren’t stained with blood.

so i can only plunge into the dark because i feel like i’m at home. suffocate under the covers because my own hands are incapable of taking my life.

people probably hate me more than anything else. and cruelly, i've learned to accept it. i hate them just as much as they do hate me, but deep down i've always buried this desire for them to end up loving me.

i'm just a lonely body looking for a reason to exist, and i shouldn't. my dreams (my nightmares) give me a reason to be. there, sacrificed or injured, i feel like i'm useful. otherwise, i just exist for the worst. that's why i don't want to go home, the one i imagined.

a few days ago, lucifer let me out of my cell. in fact, i realized that they didn't lock it anymore. they haven't hurt me since. they always gave me that look of contempt, but finally this time, they left me without saying anything. so it's strange if i don't hurt myself. pain is part of me, my skin, my flesh. it has been growing and blooming inside me for as long as i have existed, eventually it makes my blood pulse through my veins. and sometimes i think it could erase my existence. maybe that would solve everything. maybe that would fix all my problems.

today, i haven’t self harmed since 20 days, but who’s counting, right? and i don’t know if i could continue to exist without hurting myself. it’s always about loving yourself and losing yourself, and just falling again. but judas has never been able to do anything but fall. i wish my hands were made for loving, but i guess blood suits them better.

Current Mood: weird
Current Music: crucified

the tarantula above me

the Light is a simultaneous corpse and my soul

an invisible breach

and pass the bullets like mites

against my skin and condemn my bowels

and i feel the pulse of the tales

against my skin

and my fingers shake

trembling ; they stretch

like corals - they are skeletons

deadly carrion dancing - already dead

the angel tells me that heaven knows

heaven hears

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do you hear me because

i can't hear myself anymore

and all my answers are false

and all my questions wrong

because the answer is in the pages

and under the pages is the red

the burning carmin - and my beater pushed away by the voge

Imploded abruptly

when THEY planted THEIR complaints

THEIR desires THEIR existences

THEIR ragged arachnoid hands

drew my blood

and the incurable torturous throbbing

(HE is the only one)

the Lord in the hollows of my loins

came for the fruit; snatched away innocence

and what was left inside of me

was just this disjointed figure

honored with the cross;

but there was no child.

Current Mood: nauseated
Current Music: the voices

rotten flesh

tw / blood, religion, fuck. i can't list that.

et la corolle s’effondre sous un rouge larmoyant

la robe ingrate dévoile dans sa déchirure ;

les larves miroitent dans son propre sang

(notre) (le mien) – et comme injure

j’écrase leur allure et pleure leur torture

(façonné des mains d’un dieu que je craignais)

ils m’ont fait craindre ;

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀je craignais toujours

(tou

⠀⠀jours)

les joues rouges contre leur teint pâle

qu’ils ont amené le démon en moi

me susurrant que je l’avais déjà)

que

⠀⠀je l’était

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀déjà

parfois au fond de moi j’y crois ;

et si la fleur gangrenée avait éclos

et si les larves les rats les mites l’avaient rongé

(comme elles avaient rongé ma chair – notre

chair ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀très chère)

et je sais plus si je m’étonne d’en détailler

les éclats sombres ;

car on m’a promis même si les péchés sont cramoisis

qu’ils deviendront blanc comme neige

clairs comme de la laine, quand bien même

rouge comme la pourpre, ils me rappelaient

(mon propre sang)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(notre propre sang)

et si j’hésitais

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(tu ferais mieux de te taire)

car entre mes lèvres atterrées je pouvais distinguer

les larves mortifères

se glisser ; lamentables

rejoindre le diable qui vivait en moi ;

pour le nourrir je n’ai que des implorations

aussi misérables que ma chair - mais sur mon épaule

Nahash ne pouvait que s’effarer

n’était-ce pas moi

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀le simple diable, à l’errance pitoyable

offert à cause de mes fautes

et ressuscité par ma justification ?

Current Mood: sad
Current Music: what was i made for

just a sight

i think something is wrong with me because i’m craving everything. i’m craving attention. i’m craving love. i’m also craving hate. i’m craving just a sight. i want to be seen, i want to be loved, to be hated even. i don’t care, i just need something. i just need anything because it’s like i do not exist. it’s like i am just a dream or, should i say, a nightmare. i’m like a piece missing somewhere but i don’t know where i belong and nobody cares because without this piece, the puzzle is still complete. nobody is going to see the difference. i do not complete a single thing; i do not make any difference. i do not exist, or i do not feel like i exist. but i want to be seen. i want to be loved. but nobody cares. nobody sees me like i’d like to be seen and nobody can love me the way i want to be loved. i’m just so wasted with my own self.
what do you mean, the way you want to be loved? i don’t know, i never really feel loved. my mother must hate me. i am like a parasite; i am like a disease. ever since i was born, i knew it. but i want —deeply— i deeply want her to see me. i want her to love me even if she isn’t capable of it. can she try? can she pretend to care? pretend i exist? pretend i am her son? pretend i am not just a child, that i am not just a child, that i am her child, that i am a human being? a human being who doesn’t even know how to be alive anymore. i just want to know what’s wrong. i just wish someone really cared about how i feel. because i can’t really feel it now. it’s just a deep wound in my heart, if i have one. i want it to be alive, full of blood and full of life, because in my chest, everything is so messy. everything is so hurtful. i wish my old friends could reassure me, but most of them are gone. i miss them all. i miss the old times. i miss them so bad i think I’m going to cry. but they don’t miss me back, so? what am i even crying for? i could have messaged them, but i didn’t. i let people forget me. i forget myself. i forget my way out, and now i am wasted.
and i am still craving everything, people’s love and people’s attention. i want people to see me, but is my face really mine? is my head really mine? it feels like i’ve been someone else. are they even going to recognize me? since i have changed so much, it feels like yesterday, but it also feels like some years, decades. i’ve always felt that way, so wasted with my proper self, so desperate to be seen, loved, cared for. i don’t know. i just need someone to tell me i exist. but if someone tells me that i exist, am i going to believe them? am i going to cry? am i going to disappear? am i going to be really loved, seen, if someone i love tells me i exist, acts like i exist? because i feel like the tear falling from my eyes is the only proof that i’m alive, because i’m not dead yet.

child, why are you even crying for ?