Did you know...?:
this is a strain. i'm upset. i'm on the edge. i'm going to try to be organized, now. put up with it. or don't. this is for me, not for you.
my cat's name is Snuggles. he's grey. he doesn't eat unless i sit in the room and keep putting his plate in front of him. he's gotten incredibly skinny. my best friend's name is Amber. she had a cat who was older than her named Sugar, and before Sugar died, she got incredibly skinny. i hope that Snuggles isn't dying. Amber found a new cat, who is also grey. we took her to the vet. she hated it, but the vet said that she was very old and very skinny because of diabetes or overactive thyroid. he didn't know. i am writing about cats, but what i really want to do is scream and thrash aobut and throw myself against things. i'm writing about cats, but there is a weight on my chest and in my gut that i can't seem to get rid of. it's been there since yesterday. it's frightening. i'm writing about cats, but i feel like i have taken half a bottle of caffeine pills or had adrenaline pumped straight into my heart. i'm nervous and twitchy, it's wretched. i'm too depressed to move and i'm writing about cats.
emily cheated on her boyfriend and he couldn't handle it because he's a weak fuck who doesn't separate sex from love.
t did that, said that as long as i didn't sleep with anyone else, i could do whatever i want.
t didn't separate love from sex.
i asked t what i should do if i fell in love with someone else. t said that i'd just have to say something about it.
i am not in control. i have a temper. i scream. i cry for hours at times that i don't want to [when no one is looking], and i cannot cry when i want to.
i have no control. i can't make left hand turns.
i have no control over my life. i exude all of the symptoms of post tramatic stress disorder,
but i'm over that.
yeah, because i'm always nauseous, have a nervous twitch, can't get to sleep, can't stay asleep, am never hungry, and have to pee nine times a day, t thinks that i am suffering from ptsd.
i think i have a fucking anxiety disorder.
whatever
[i fucking hate that word]
whenever we go out, i order chocolate milk.
i do this so that i can blow bubbles.
i'm cool. i'm neat. i'm interesting. i'm special. someone cares about me, and it's... her caring that... i don't want to chase her away.
i'm crying and i can still write html
fuck.
i'm depressed. i suffer from depression. i'm afraid to get help. i'm afraid
c was raped four times, once by her father. t is making me talk to her.
t will have to call today,
there is a pile of t's stuff on the coffee table in my music room.
in my music room.
and t will bring back my earring and my swimsuit
and t will have to see me.
it will tear t up.
i have no control.
i'm lonely. i care about people.
i am not unbearable.
- fallen
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