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lets ramble some
5 years ago
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βΊκ·κ₯κ·κ₯κ·βΊκ·βΊβΊβΊβΊβΊβΊβΊκ·κ₯βΊβΊβΊβΊβΊβΊκ·βΊκ·κ₯κ·κ₯κ·
hey nerds
talking to people in a "normal", "regular" sense scares me. Typing here doesn't scare me. Is it because I can trick my brain into assuming no one will read this? Or do I genuinely believe that somehow saying things here will go over better than if I message someone directly?
probably the latter. talking to people scares me.
people scare me.
I miss waking up and having two Tumblr RP blogs to tend to, tens of almost hundreds of things to reply to. Endless overflowing creativity, and even when I was having a bad day I could just go to a fellow friend's page and see what they've been up to. back before I knew that none of them were really my friend. back before I realized I was shaking hands with someone who would teach me life lessons I could have gone my whole life not knowing.
no, that's not true. I needed to know. I needed to be shown that even the people you hold closest in your darkest times will leave you there. I miss maybe two or three people from my old Tumblr days. Four, maybe. Not you. Not you either. and I don't have the heart to miss you anymore. I missed you too long, too hard. missing someone in a hospital bed shouldn't be so different as missing someone outside of it, but honestly? kinda is.
but that's a tangent for another 2am morning. I miss the endless possibilities. I miss waking up wondering what I'd write that day, miss looking to the replies of my friends. I'm too used to writing being a collaborative effort, I think. If it's just me, I can't write.
that's not true, I can write just fine on my own. but if it's just for me, what good is it? I don't like myself that much. My stories, I still care about, but not as much as I used to. I feel like if I could draw along with my words I'd be worth more as a creative entity. as a person? no, I'm trash. but I'm okay with that. the body is defective, the brain is trash, but my words? my words are okay. My words can evoke emotion, unlike myself. If I could wear my words, if I could be my words, I think people would care more.
Or maybe I'm not the problem. Maybe some people just don't care about others. I can understand that. I get there sometimes. I'm still there, honestly. weird how you can bounce back and forth from decent to bitter. or maybe I was never decent. It's highly possible.
I miss getting my thoughts out. It's nice. my head is still fuzzy, but it's less. resting bitch face instead of specifically not frowning. I think I'll try to write poetry again. think I'll make a cover for it. make it nice. I can pretend that people will read it.
still haven't tried that fries in chocolate milkshake icecream. wonder if I can get some and try it after I try that cheese-fried chicken from the place next to my favorite restaurant.
this isn't how diets work. I don't mind thoββ
βπβπβπβπβπβπβπβπβπβ
βΊκ·κ₯κ·κ₯κ·βΊκ·βΊβΊβΊβΊβΊβΊβΊκ·κ₯βΊβΊβΊβΊβΊβΊκ·βΊκ·κ₯κ·κ₯κ·
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Tanoshimi ni shite kudasai ββ
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