I just want someone to show me who I am, and what I am, and how I am. I want someone who will capture every moment of me. I know that’s too much, and too much is what I am. I’m not about to apologise for it, even if I am constantly saying sorry. I just want to be; and I want someone to show me how that looks to the rest of the world.
Asking for things I’ll never have
I guess I’ll never learn
I am desperately trying to explain something that I cannot understand myself. I am trying to tell you who I am and how I am, but if I’m honest, and I swear I’m trying to be that more often than not, I haven’t got a clue. I change my mind so damn quick, you see, I never know what I want and I what I will want. I just know that I want something, and I don’t know if you can give me it. Hell, I don’t know if anyone can give me it. Maybe I’m not meant to get the things that I want, but then what’s the point of living? Dreaming? Hoping? I’m a romantic, I’m a hopeless romantic who believes in being swept of her feet and treated like a princess, but then I’m also a bit of sadomasochistic fuck, who wants you to hate me and love me and need me and want me and pull me and push me, fuck, I don’t know. I just know that I need something more than I have, and I know that that’s probably selfish and ungrateful and spoiled rotten; but that’s just who I am and how I am and I can’t keep apologising; because apologising means trying to fix something that’s broken, and I’m pretty sure I’m not broken, just kinda fucked up. Hey, maybe that’s the answer right there: I’m kinda fucked up, and I need someone fucked up to love me in a fucked up kind way.
Things that I am trying to tell him, but cannot say out loud.
I am utterly alone in being who I am and I don’t know how to be okay with that.
I am tired of wanting the impossible.
I am tired.
I was sure I’d be okay someday, but someday isn’t here yet.
I am at war with myself and I do not know who is going to win.
My heart is breaking, breaking, breaking and it is completely my fault.
I am weird and not-so-wonderful.
Perhaps it would be better if I left now.
Does it ever get easier? No. No. Never.
There will never be black & white photographs of me lost in thought or reading or writing or being.
I will always be the photographer.
I will always give but rarely receive.
I am giving up.
My life will never be the novel that I wrote for it.
Perhaps I have always know that.
Perhaps I have never believed.
This is not what I had planned.
This is not where I am supposed to be.
This is not who I am supposed to be.
I do not know how to become something I am not.
I do not really know much of anything of anymore.
Lessons My Tears Taught Me (via antimonysouler)
My voice has disappeared again.
It’s getting to the point where the noise inside my head is louder than everything else, and all I want to do is self-destruct.
I have a headache that has not left me for ~5 weeks. It’s not quite a migraine, but it’s threatening to become one eventually.
I can’t remember the last time I slept without medicating myself into a semi coma.
I can’t remember the last time I answered ‘how are you’ with something other than ‘I’m tired’.
I am ‘in’ bed, but I haven’t taken off my shoes because this feeling in the pit of my stomach is telling me I have to run run run.
My nails are a happy blue, but my insides are a sad blue.
There is a fog settling over my tiny town, and I’m pretty sure this is a metaphor for my life.
Every ounce of my tired, aching body is screaming at me to give up.
But I am still fighting. 
I am still trying to fight. 
I am trying very hard to keep on fighting.