I lost my teenage years to a putrid worm
The phrase “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” is misleading af.
Your trauma doesn’t get the credit for making you stronger.
You were the one who made the decision to recover and put the work in to get there. You were the one who rose from your own ashes. You were the one who put yourself back together again like smashed pottery repaired with veins of gold. You are the flowers that sprouted through the cracks in the tarmac. You stuck around and you fought and you learned and you grew.
The thing that nearly killed you shouldn’t get the credit for making you stronger - you did that.
My therapist says I don’t need meds. She’s probably right and I believe her, but right now I’d just drown myself in sedatives
reblog if you:
- flinch away when someone touches you.
- panic when you accidentally break an object.
- get scared when someone walks behind you.
- feel your heart rate increase at every sudden noise.
- are easily panicked by slightly-louder-than-normal sounds.
- stare apprehensively at your bedroom doorway for hours at night.
- have trouble making eye contact with people.
- always feel either too mature or too immature for your age.
- simultaneously crave and be terrified of physical contact.
because i do all of these
can’t wait to watch u die
you’re so lucky. lucky that i didn’t unleash the sinister things under my skin when you touched me. lucky i didn’t burn you alive with what is coursing through my veins. lucky that i wasn’t as vicious and wicked as i am now. but one day your luck will run out.
you look at me and see a lamb. you mistake the baring of my teeth as laughter, the deadness in my eyes as tiredness, the sharpness of my nails as femininity. if you’d look closer you’d see a wolf wrapped in wool and silk and pearls. but don’t for a second thinks that makes me any less intelligent, powerful, angry. any less of a threat.
I’m filled with divine love and undying rage
i want to watch u being eaten alive by rabid dogs