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Morbidly Decaying

Anonymous said: Laughing is fun Make friends

Yeah. Maybe. (: you’re so sweet.

Tomorrows the funeral of Duka and I really wish I was invited or something. I would never go out of respect of the fact that she’s me exs grandma, but I really loved and cared about her. Maybe I can leave her flowers once day. I’m sorry I never took you to lunch like I said. You were such a wonderful, beautiful women. RIP Duka. You deserve it.

Morbidly Decaying

Anonymous said: How do you get flustered?

Instead of having an intellectual conversation I just laugh and turn my face and not respond.

Morbidly Decaying

Anonymous said: Go for good friends first?

Maybe. I’m so shy I get all flustered when I speak to them. I act confident. But I’m good at acting.

*2

Morbidly Decaying

Anonymous said: rate yourself and rape yourself, take all the courage you have left wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head...

tismika:

Wait. I really wanna know who sent this to me. Anon?! Who are you..

n4ughty-y:

I need someone who loves me like this

n4ughty-y:

I need someone who loves me like this

(Source: halllleybabbbby, via lesbovibes)

"I want to text you. Just to remind you that I’m still here. But then I remember that you know I’m here. You just don’t care."

Midnight thoughts (I won’t do this again)

(Source: reality-escape-artist, via azoical)

"

My body flinches as my Mother laughs while she carelessly cleans and says she has OCD. The words drum against my skull as I remember disinfecting tables all night and day and washing my hands until they were bloody raw and counting until exactly one hundred, one thousand, and ten thousand and showering twice a day and wiping counters until they were spotless and rinsing my skin until it was crystal and refusing to walk in my parent’s room for the inevitable fear of germs.

My stomach twists in a knot when my Mother tells me that the girl with golden hair has anorexia just because her frame is small. I can feel my heart beat speed up as I think of all the days and nights I spent counting calories and throwing away napkins and closing my eyes as I threw away my happiness and my bed sheets were thicker than my skin and my hands were colder than the winter mornings I spent writing on my pillowcase.

My hands shake as my Mother hastily says she had depression. My head pounds as I think of all the mornings I spent wondering what kind of knot to tie and the night I planned which knife I could use with bottles filled of pills more full than my eyes and I think of all the dull blades and empty dreams that filled my soul when I just wanted to find a reason to live that was never real.

My nails are raw by the time my Father says that mental illnesses are not real. Blood drips from my chapped lips from all the words I wish I could say. From all the souls I have met that have battled everything and even more than I have and all the broken smiles and there are days when I want to give up and my wrists break from all the heavy sins I carry and I know their souls are still trying to breathe even when the air is so thick that we suffocate on broken sentences trying to scream that they are real. Oh god, they are real.

"

All those years I spent washing until my hands were bloody raw and my bones were as sharp as my knives and they told me I was going crazy. (via dollpoetry)

(via azoical)

"you chug a fifth of alcohol by yourself & everyone around you is too busy cheering to wonder how empty you had to be in order to do it"

This fucked me up (via obsessiveloserr)

(via azoical)

My stomachs growling from malnutrition.