(Source: afterallthisisgone)
I hate myself. I hate myself. I want to scratch my skin off.
I hate you I hate you I hate you.
I’m not trying???
I’m not trying?????
I’m not trying????
I’M NOT TRYING??????
I’M NOT TRYING!!????
Huh? Huh?? Huhhhh?????????
Fucking, fucking stupid fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Threaten me with my future, my education. All the fucking time. (Well it has lessened, miraculously, somehow…. But fucking still.)
“You have to promise me you won’t cut yourself when you go there.”
“You promise me you won’t ever, even once cut yourself. If not I won’t let you go there. You’ll come back home.”
“What will you do when you’re stressed? When you’re in this mood now? You’ll be cutting yourself all over there, and you won’t have a bit of good skin on you left. You come back here I won’t want you anymore.”
“You turn to me and say it in your own words.”
Fuckin’ typical Mama. Right from the start. Before the beginning of the beginning.
GIVE HER AN INCH, ALLOW HER, AN INCH. She wants fucking more. A metre. A mile. And she’s passed that bedamned trait onto me. It disgusts me, it’s disgusting and it makes me HATE myself even more. More and more and more more more. More more more more more!!!!!.
I don’t do drugs. I don’t do sex. I don’t fool around with boys and girls. I don’t smoke (Shisha a couple of times….?). I don’t get into fights, I don’t tell my elders or anyone to fuck off. There have been a few recent exceptions. But they had it coming.
She wants to tighten the cage. DON’T tighten the cage. That was what almost fucking KILLED me in the first place! I thought things could be different, would be different when I got there. A new life, in a new place. New people, new everything. But now she wants to slam a dirty old heavy suitcase on my head, one that’s filled with UGLY memories and burdens from my past and present. And now future. Oh how I LOATHE the every inch of your inside-outs, mother. I’m not even capitalizing the first letter of ‘Mother’.
You’re so afraid to lose me or that anything would happen to me, you’d kill me. So nobody can ever hurt me and I can’t get hurt. You’d kill me to have me all to yourself.
I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU.
“You should’ve…”
“You could’ve…”
“Why didn’t you…”
“How come….”
“You should’ve…”
“You could’ve…”
“Why didn’t you…”
“You should’ve….”
You should have.
You should have.
You should have.
JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP.
And you GROVEL and MOAN to God, everyone and everything else about WHY I have a fucking eating disorder? Why I’m so fucking fucked-up? Why your life is so fucked-up? Because you could NEVER see the good in the things you already have. You never knew satiety. Appreciation. The little good things in the big, ugly picture. You don’t look back upon what you have now and think about how good it is. That itself is a disability that you have to live with because you’re so caught up in your own world where no one, and NO ONE tells you squat what to do. It’s sad, and it’s torture. To never be satisfied. I’m glad I don’t have this crap as a base in me. I’m glad you didn’t pass it on to me. But I’m still not safe from it.
Of course.
I know, I know. That I’ll never be free from you until either one of us is dead.
(Source: donotcockblock)
(Source: two-luxuries)
(Source: motherfuck4h)