Do you ever wonder if the people who look at you in passing can see your cracks; those tiny fissures created over the years that belie that brave front you put on to face the world? I imagine, if people could see mine, it would be reminiscent of one of those expensive vases— shattered in some household calamity — pieced back together with superglue and frustration in some sort of grotesque pastiche of failed humanity. I am the hollow shell of a once promising life. The meager intelligence, wit, passion and ambition I possessed have been crushed under the foot of oppressive, soul-consuming depression.
No, but, I really do want to make comics. Sucks about the shitty drawing ability tho.
My brother gon mess around and catch these hands if he keep fucking with me.
I can’t see a future for myself… Like, I can’t see myself years from now or even months from now.
I need to get out of here.
really what it is is i want someone to love me because i”m so shit at loving myself. i want to do for someone the things i’ve always wished someone would do for me.
If you wouldn’t mind, please spare a kind thought, prayer, incantation, etc. for my family and I as we deal with the death of a loved one. Thank you.
this self-loathing shit is so tired. and i know that it’s stupid and i know objectively speaking that i’m not human garbage and yet i feel totally worthless.
what kind of shit is this?
Haven’t been posting much the last few days because I’m in Fort Worth at my uncle’s death bed dealing with major family drama. Should be home soon, though.
Current Mood: half-empty bottle of whiskey and a dog-eared copy of The Bell Jar.