Wishing I were dead IS NOT AS FUN ANYMORE. seriously though
Actually, no. I hate myself because I have all those things that should be enough and satisfy me, and yet, I don’t feel I get the sympathy from others. They don’t like me and im always being rejected what the fuck
what doesn’t kill you leaves you lying awake at 2am wishing it had
I’m looking for new blogs to follow, so please like or reblog this if you’re a positive mental health blog. Or you simply want me to check out your blog! Xxxx
They say there are five stages of grief.
The first is when I wait for you to come home even though it’s 4.37am. I wait for you for a month, and I save portions for your dinner.
The second is when I break all the cups you’ve used. I tear up all the sheets you’ve slept on. I scream at the walls for not warning me.
The third is when I call and say, can we be friends? I cooked your favourite, will you come over for a last supper?
The fourth is when you say no and I finish eating five tubs of ice cream in an hour. It’s when I lay in bed and cry over the clothes you left behind.
The fifth is when I pack up all your things and mail them to her address. I paint the walls. I scrub the floors.
We burnt alive, and I was born out of the flames.
v.g. | athelasss (via athelasss)
Wendy Flynn (via laurenarlene)