I feel dead inside. I’ve felt this way for a few weeks now though. I wonder what it is.
I wish someone would pick me up and carry me to bed when I’m too tired to do it myself. I remember loving that as a child.
I need some physical contact with someone. Just a hug, even.
For the first time in a while, I am crying. It is not because of you though. I’m learning too much about myself.
I think my biggest complaint about life is that I will never get another chance or be anything different. I will not be a child again. I will not run through the jungle as a leopard or fly like a bird. I will never get a second chance or a way to fix mistakes or make up for lost time or do something differently.
I loathe reality.
I’m too picky about people, places, things, or ideas that I find acceptable.
I wish I was more tolerant. I wish I was happier tonight than I am.
ok so my sisters friend is fat and like she just broke up with her boyfriend right and i guess when they would have sex he would like punch her in the face and be like “WHO ARE YOU? TELL DADDY WHO YOU ARE!!” and he would make her say “i’m your fat whore” and i guess she thought that was normal
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