I Have Always, Without A Doubt, Been A Strange Girl. Noticeable Uncomfortable In My Own Skin, A Constant

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“my life is an out of body experience disconnected from everything around feelings i just don’t know my mind is a black hole and all those sleepless night knowing i’m never going where i want to go”

— t.m.

i hate that i’m so absent as a person. i don’t start conversations. i can barely maintain them. i’m so weary and spaced out all the time to the point where i can’t even keep up small talk and i’m just so disappointed in myself

I would really like to know what exactly is wrong with me, that makes me so unlovable?

I‘m really curious.

I was driving home tonight, the roads were very icy, very dangerous, and there was no one else on the road. I drove faster than I should, hoping that the car would lose grip, but I saw another car on the road, so I slowed down, I don’t want to risk anyone else’s life, just my own. How I wish something had happened, I don’t want to feel like this any longer

“What is an “instant” death anyway? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst and her lungs collapsed and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.”

— John Green, Looking for Alaska

One thing at a time, that’s what they told me. I can’t even face doing one thing at a time. I’m too tired to pull myself out of bed. Too scared to do anything. Too paranoid to leave the house. I’m just sitting here watching time tick away and my thoughts gather like storm clouds preparing to drown me out.

Because this explains so much.