Maybe it’s just that…I don’t want other people to love me. I just want them to stop making me love myself.

I have to do so much to cling to living. I try my best to give people reasons to live or not go through what I did. The last thing I wanna be is a burden or cause pain. I wish they would do the same for me…or I wish they wouldn’t reinforce why I have to do all of that in the first place just to live

I had to figure out how to love myself. I had to study anthropology, philosophy, politics, history, economics and theology to deconstruct all this internalized hatred. I had to get on psychiatric meds for more than a decade, I had to be neurotic about my exercise and diet to stay alive.

I wish I could know what it’s like to have grown up without the pain. I’m eternally grateful for who I am because of it; my loneliness is a reliable friend. Maybe I wish that other people put in the amount of work I did on themselves that I had to in order to stay alive.

Time to be a menace. I can’t always be the adult because I’ve destroyed myself enough for other people.

It’s such a tired story and so cliche but it’s also the start of a journey where I try to double down and take space. It’s the 12th anniversary of my second and third suicide attempts which I realized after talking to him. I don’t like Januaries, but honestly I’ve suffered enough for a lifetime.

All things considered I suppose it was ok. I’m sad that marginalized people have to relive our suffering over again to explain why or how people caused us pain. We also have to be the calm and collected adults, maintain our composure and speak calmly with those who were supposed to be our protectors

You’re so giving, dad. ❤️

I’m sorry but that’s raw talent. Please drop the powerbottom’s guide ❤️

Dad you are too kind for this world. Thank you 💗