Rec
š§·
I don't really know how to start this post, so I'll let out the word vomit.
As days pass, I sometimes find myself more confident, appreciating my physical appearance and grateful for what I can handle mentally and emotionally. Some days I acknowledge I'm smart, pretty, funny.
Yet other times I can't see any of that.
A lot of times I don't really see myself as pretty, incapable of remembering a simple equation, I feel as if I'm a wet towel thrown on my friend's and loved ones. Maybe I compare myself to others often and that's my issue, that I see myself as lowly yet other times I put my self worth as high.
I'm a very back and forth kind of girl if you didn't know already. I do have my moments however when I give in and embrace what I am, a girl who spends more time doing my makeup than studying, and what I enjoy like playing Hello Kitty games when I finish schoolwork or watch reality television, maybe spiral into a rabbit hole of lore after learning about a new game.
But I can't deny the weirdness I feel when nobody understands what I'm talking about.
They say 'to be cringe is to be free' but God does it make you writhe with displeasure when you're the cringey one. I'm coming to accept and realize that I can be harsh and cruel to myself, especially when it comes to my abilities to perform hobbies I'm passionate about. I've stopped drawing for a month because of these impending thoughts.
It's like wearing a suit of flesh in hopes of getting some idea of what you are for some sense of clarity. Maybe it's because I am just a girl, or it's the human experience nobody talks about. If we did, maybe we wouldn't feel as alone or awkward but oh well, what can you do? Slowly but surely I have come to accept and embrace myself despite the faults I carry.
I'm a very back and forth kind of girl if you didn't know already. I do have my moments however when I give in and embrace what I am, a girl who spends more time doing my makeup than studying, and what I enjoy like playing Hello Kitty games when I finish schoolwork or watch reality television, maybe spiral into a rabbit hole of lore after learning about a new game.
But I can't deny the weirdness I feel when nobody understands what I'm talking about.
They say 'to be cringe is to be free' but God does it make you writhe with displeasure when you're the cringey one. I'm coming to accept and realize that I can be harsh and cruel to myself, especially when it comes to my abilities to perform hobbies I'm passionate about. I've stopped drawing for a month because of these impending thoughts.
It's like wearing a suit of flesh in hopes of getting some idea of what you are for some sense of clarity. Maybe it's because I am just a girl, or it's the human experience nobody talks about. If we did, maybe we wouldn't feel as alone or awkward but oh well, what can you do? Slowly but surely I have come to accept and embrace myself despite the faults I carry.
Feb 19, 2025
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felt the same way for a long time, but then got diagnosed with autism. never felt freer and more realised #pmddforlife
Feb 19, 2025
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š©°28 March 2024
āI never used to be this insecure
Itās strangeĀ
I donāt recognise my new self
I thought this worry made me a better personā
-me
āI thought all this worry made me a better person.ā Trapped in the illusion that if I thought about everything enough I could win at life, I would be the kindest, most successful, mature and ration person I could be. for me being irrational was worse than death. itās ironic isnāt it?
A teenage girl ridden in shame, misplaced desire and overwhelming hate for myself, my past and all actions I had partaken in. The type of shame that feels like a splitting headache thatās been around for years. The type of shame that makes you throw up on nature walks because the silence of the trees becomes a theatre projecting all the terrible things you have done and said. Shame was my water, shame was the ground beneath my feet, shame was the sun wrapping around me and leaving my body tingling on a hot day. Shame was inescapable and replaced all my pleasures with pain.
With many anxieties and obsessions i have had previously there was irrational elements to them, my great fears were bazaar and shockingly niche. This new obsession was a wolf wrapped up in a warm fuzzy logical cloak That loved to remind me of all the horrific parts of myself. But how could it stop following me this haunting picture of myself and the people I had hurt, how could I fix any of it. how could I even face it.
With this dilema of having a guilty conscious finally explode on me like a shaken bottle of Pepsi waiting for its escape. I choose there is nothing but to fix it. fix it all. But how? i Decide I must think about it. all the time. This would form a punishment to myself that meant i was doing a service to those Iād hurt. Secondly whenever I have a good time or a moment of joy, I would remind myself that this was unfair and I must return to my shame because I was still in guilt jail and owed it to those I had hurt. thirdly I would from now on do everything perfectly and not hurt a single soul ever again, they could hurt me all they wanted. but I could not hurt them. I couldnāt possibly bare adding any extra shame on to the debt I was in to the gods or karma or just myself.
This ofc was all stupid
Very stupid
After turmoil and finding myself completely unable to form proper connections because of my obsession with being perfect all the time for absolutely everyone ever I was broken. More broken than before. how have I done it wrong again. This punishment hasnāt changed anything! Not the people I hurt! Not myself! And Iām hurting more people. I wanted to die. this part funny or not. Dramatic or not. It was true. I didnāt want to be alive. I didnāt want to think. all I wanted was to do it all again. Be a better me a kinder me one who didnāt yell at her mother, go To school drunk, sleep with the wrong people, be a terrible friend to someone to trusted me dearly, talk shit and gossip about people I love. I wish I havenāt done any of it. I wish I had never had sex. I wish I didnt know what sex was. I wish I never drank. I wish I never let anyone kiss me. I wish I never was a teenager. I wish I didnāt need to learn how to be good. I wish I wish I wish I just knew. Just knew how to be good. Like those people who come out the womb shining and loving with fountains of patience and love. It wasnāt me. I came out kicking and screaming and selfish and I stayed that way for years. but I couldnt change this I couldnt wish it all away or run away or kill myself.
So I had to accept I had to apologise And I had to love And stop fucking thinking for one second.
Iām ending this terribly for the sole Reason my figures hurt but long story short I confronted my shame with love and compassion. And Iām aloud to fuck up we all are and I no longer want to die. This isnāt simple and Iām making it sound I have to practice everyday for this. But Iām happy and I love my life and myself and Iām so proud of me. And I did this in less than a year. SO FUCK OCD and yay me
āI thought all this worry made me a better person.ā Trapped in the illusion that if I thought about everything enough I could win at life, I would be the kindest, most successful, mature and ration person I could be. for me being irrational was worse than death. itās ironic isnāt it?
A teenage girl ridden in shame, misplaced desire and overwhelming hate for myself, my past and all actions I had partaken in. The type of shame that feels like a splitting headache thatās been around for years. The type of shame that makes you throw up on nature walks because the silence of the trees becomes a theatre projecting all the terrible things you have done and said. Shame was my water, shame was the ground beneath my feet, shame was the sun wrapping around me and leaving my body tingling on a hot day. Shame was inescapable and replaced all my pleasures with pain.
With many anxieties and obsessions i have had previously there was irrational elements to them, my great fears were bazaar and shockingly niche. This new obsession was a wolf wrapped up in a warm fuzzy logical cloak That loved to remind me of all the horrific parts of myself. But how could it stop following me this haunting picture of myself and the people I had hurt, how could I fix any of it. how could I even face it.
With this dilema of having a guilty conscious finally explode on me like a shaken bottle of Pepsi waiting for its escape. I choose there is nothing but to fix it. fix it all. But how? i Decide I must think about it. all the time. This would form a punishment to myself that meant i was doing a service to those Iād hurt. Secondly whenever I have a good time or a moment of joy, I would remind myself that this was unfair and I must return to my shame because I was still in guilt jail and owed it to those I had hurt. thirdly I would from now on do everything perfectly and not hurt a single soul ever again, they could hurt me all they wanted. but I could not hurt them. I couldnāt possibly bare adding any extra shame on to the debt I was in to the gods or karma or just myself.
This ofc was all stupid
Very stupid
After turmoil and finding myself completely unable to form proper connections because of my obsession with being perfect all the time for absolutely everyone ever I was broken. More broken than before. how have I done it wrong again. This punishment hasnāt changed anything! Not the people I hurt! Not myself! And Iām hurting more people. I wanted to die. this part funny or not. Dramatic or not. It was true. I didnāt want to be alive. I didnāt want to think. all I wanted was to do it all again. Be a better me a kinder me one who didnāt yell at her mother, go To school drunk, sleep with the wrong people, be a terrible friend to someone to trusted me dearly, talk shit and gossip about people I love. I wish I havenāt done any of it. I wish I had never had sex. I wish I didnt know what sex was. I wish I never drank. I wish I never let anyone kiss me. I wish I never was a teenager. I wish I didnāt need to learn how to be good. I wish I wish I wish I just knew. Just knew how to be good. Like those people who come out the womb shining and loving with fountains of patience and love. It wasnāt me. I came out kicking and screaming and selfish and I stayed that way for years. but I couldnt change this I couldnt wish it all away or run away or kill myself.
So I had to accept I had to apologise And I had to love And stop fucking thinking for one second.
Iām ending this terribly for the sole Reason my figures hurt but long story short I confronted my shame with love and compassion. And Iām aloud to fuck up we all are and I no longer want to die. This isnāt simple and Iām making it sound I have to practice everyday for this. But Iām happy and I love my life and myself and Iām so proud of me. And I did this in less than a year. SO FUCK OCD and yay me
Rec
šŖ¦I've deleted Instagram. I'm stretching my ears. I'm making video diaries again. I write for myself only. I'm secluded, quiet, I'm grieving, I'm burying myself and I am being buried and I am attending the funeral. I'm alone in all of this.
It wasn't a new year resolution that led me here. It wasn't therapy or a fortune cookie or anything romantic. But I realize your story only matters if you plan on telling it to someone. Maybe as a response to something, "what the fuck is wrong with you?", maybe an intimate secret, maybe a drunken ramble. I'm done telling stories.
I've been alone for forever. Occasionally someone will drift too close, and I think maybe this time, maybe, maybe... And I'm left scarred, or left quietly, but always left.
Of course I have things to reflect on and things to take accountability for. But I'll be damned if I present my isolation as pure, as if I am a martyr. No, this is not for everyone's safety or my own digestibility. I am bringing the chisel down in sharp downward motions against myself again and again and and I will carve something new from this stone tomb. I'll never be David. I'll never be Michelangelo. But I can be something more than stone.
I am moving on. I don't know to where or to what end. It doesn't matter. Very little does, now. Maybe it always had such little meaning and I was just too close, to desperate, to see that. I wanted so badly to mean something. Even if it was just to be grieved. No one will miss me, now, as it's always been. But I also don't miss me.
Moving on.
Rec
i forgot my headphones at home. i was about to either
1) pump black country new road
2) watch brooklyn 99.
i miss being passionate about things, not being able to sleep, eat, speak, or fathom anything beyond the apple of my eye and the fruit of my thoughts.
i miss waking up with one thing in mind, how i would explore it that day, and how i would explore it the next
itās been people itās been sewing guitar driving religion philosophy photography writing filming blogging
i think, regardless of any tik tok data explosion with the intention of ripping out each of my brain cells to keep me submissive and docile because of a wrecked attention span, iām not a girl of her commitments- i get bored.
and i am bored. i feel this lack of passion so deeply in my body, its been a catalyst for the recent crashouts ive had ( and thereās been plenty) i donāt know how to stay, and work hard, and allow myself to grow to what i want to be right in this instance. not to shine my own shoes, but iām not super used to being bad at things. iāve always always always coasted, and now that im trying to be a gaf (give a fuck) filled girl, ive realized, sucking at something hurts a lot more when youāve put in the work to be good at it.
if it wasnāt me writing this, and my best friend called me and told me this word for word, i would tell her how normal that feeling was, and that she herself knew what to do; commit. and that is my advice, dear sweet amalia, commit, commit, commit.
i miss being passionate about things, not being able to sleep, eat, speak, or fathom anything beyond the apple of my eye and the fruit of my thoughts.
i miss waking up with one thing in mind, how i would explore it that day, and how i would explore it the next
itās been people itās been sewing guitar driving religion philosophy photography writing filming blogging
i think, regardless of any tik tok data explosion with the intention of ripping out each of my brain cells to keep me submissive and docile because of a wrecked attention span, iām not a girl of her commitments- i get bored.
and i am bored. i feel this lack of passion so deeply in my body, its been a catalyst for the recent crashouts ive had ( and thereās been plenty) i donāt know how to stay, and work hard, and allow myself to grow to what i want to be right in this instance. not to shine my own shoes, but iām not super used to being bad at things. iāve always always always coasted, and now that im trying to be a gaf (give a fuck) filled girl, ive realized, sucking at something hurts a lot more when youāve put in the work to be good at it.
if it wasnāt me writing this, and my best friend called me and told me this word for word, i would tell her how normal that feeling was, and that she herself knew what to do; commit. and that is my advice, dear sweet amalia, commit, commit, commit.
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Whenever I pass by a pair of baby shoes at the store I wonder what my life will be like ten years from now. Funny that it sounds bizarre to love something that doesn't exist yet I am enamored with my future children.
I like to think that maybe love is there, just in the unborn.
Loving someone is never a waste, and the thought of loving him for the rest of my life definitely gives me the drive to work hard; if it means that my back will ache as I hunch over my desk to illustrate or animate I will bear through it with a smile. I really want to pursue art, it makes me happy and I have so many ideas.
Maybe one day I'll meet with my highschool best friend, and we will sit and chat for hours at a cafƩ. She will tell me the trajectory of her life while I show her my current work in progress and explain that love did prevail. I'll tell her about my engineer who works hard, and the two little darlings, all of which occupy my heart.
There's an idea that you shouldn't expect things to happen because life is a roller-coaster, yet I know I can accomplish my dreams with time. You shouldn't be afraid of dying, you should be afraid of not living. Why live in fear when you only live once?