We Exchanged Words

I woke up again today. 

This will be the first line of the book that makes me rich. I don’t want to be famous, just rich. I guess this is something a lot of people want and think about, but I am genuinely thinking about taking the other, more controversial route to avoid ever having to be my own adult again. When I tell people I want to die they often hit back with ‘but you have so much to live for’, which I understand is a knee jerk reaction at times but I’m not sad because I have nothing to live for, I’m just fucking bored. My life is going nowhere and I’m broken beyond restoration.

I woke up again today. I want to say it was by choice but it really wasn’t. When my head hits the pillow I wish so hard to not have to see tomorrow.

Do you write first and then look for a publisher? Or do you find a publisher and hope they like your idea? Then that thing happens like in the movies where they give you an advance so you can spend the rest of your life worrying about hitting the deadline.

I woke up again today. 

I do not truly know who the fuck I am. Who the fuck am I?

I woke up again today and I still don’t know who I am.

I woke up again today. Something that every person, living and able, inevitably does each day. Only when I wake up, I shudder at the thought of having to live another full one. We’re all depressed out here but please, look at me. You can try to understand. You can try to comprehend and tell me that this will get better. Well it hasn’t and I very much presume that it won’t. I’m not ungrateful to those who try and help. I’m very lucky that people still like me in fact. But it is all in vain really. 

Being kept alive just to suffer. However, what right do I have to suffer? I have a job, I have a roof over my head and as the third thing people seem to list is physical health, well, I’ve apparently got that too. It still feels like something is missing. I was 9 when I started realising my thoughts weren’t normal. This person in my head, she sounded just like me. She helped me stay awake at night, listening to whatever I had in my CD walkman at the time. I was never one to just enjoy a song because it was catchy. I had to really engage with the words. I don’t know if you know anyone else who can tell you that Eiffel 65 have been breaking their heart for 21 years with their songs ‘Your Clown’ or ‘Too Much of Heaven’?

Somewhere out there in an alternate universe there is a gravestone with my name on it. “Here lies Kirsty Anne Rennie. Beloved Daughter and Granddaughter. 28th January 1990 - 10th October 2005.’

Quite frankly, I’m jealous of her.

When your abandoned Tumblr is the only place you can express how fucking shit you feel…that’s when you feel more alone than usual. That’s when you realise how unselfish you actually are. 

“I can’t call her because her boyfriend leaves for 45 days tomorrow and she’s gotta spend this time with him”
“I can’t call her because she’s spending the weekend with her girlfriend”
“I can’t call him because I don’t want him to hear me crying”
“I can’t call him because he won’t understand”
“I can’t call anyone because I hate talking on the fucking phone enough as it is and screw crying into a fucking mobile because that just simply isn’t going to help how I fucking feel right now”

Oh okay, that might have actually helped a little bit. Thanks T.

…something seems too good to be true?

Yeah I think that just happened.

Was nice while it lasted.

eringilbertstinybowtie:

Misophonics are not insulting you if they flinch 

Misophonics are not insulting you if they need to plug their ears

Misophonics are not insulting you if they need to leave the room 

Misophonics are not insulting you if they get angry ‘for no reason’

Misophonics are not insulting you if they burst into tears in front of you

Misophonics are not insulting you when they are triggered

Misophonics CANNOT help it

Owhhhh hello self diagnosis.

Misophonia. On many levels.