Turgid

It feels like I only go on social media when I'm already depressed. I only post when I'd rather do something worse. It's my diary.

People care but they don't. I don't want them to. I want to be enabled. How many times have I been told to k myself? Sometimes I'm only alive out of spite.

Chugging water like a slut. Pretending to be chill while I totally not freaking out

Too fucking high (lotssss of physical sensation), trying to avoid a meltdown by singing 🎶 I'm having fun, I'm having a fun time, doo doot dee doo, a fun time is here tonight 🎶

Creating reasons to get out of bed.

Twitter is my deep depression app, maybe Bluesky can be a happier place for me.