I woke up, couldn’t cry, couldn’t feel sad, couldn’t anything but to just be. And I felt ok like that.

I want to always feel that. Nothing.

Not feeling anything, not being able to cry.
The only other time I felt like that was during the last bit of summer that same year.

Laying in bed, my heart has been torn apart for the first time, somehow, and I was… ok for the first time in weeks.

I remember when I didn’t feel anything when Demian told me he was going to disappear from my life back in October 2022… I remember I wanted to cry but I couldn’t, and I was ok with it.

Ojalá… no tuviera planes de terminar todo a los 27.

Estoy lo suficientemente consciente para oler el alcohol al exhalar por mi nariz. Me agrada. Puedo ser yo. Yo sin filtro pero al mismo tiempo pasando por un neurotípico un tanto extrovertido.

Ojalá siempre fuera así. Ojalá está versión de mi fuera suficiente para las personas.

Decidí que no iba a tomar al salir, mi cuerpo no toma el alcohol de la misma manera que antes, necesito menos para ebriedad, y mi comportamiento ahora es distinto al que solía tener antes… dolía ser más animoso, más tonto… ahora tengo demasiados traumas, vicios, resaltan otros aspectos de mí…

And you feel alone and shit.

But you’re too coward to do it.

Just leave. Drop yourself. You know where and when. As quick a one tiny leap of faith.

But you’re too coward to do it.

You should leave.

You should leave.

You should leave.

Way worse. And they all know it. And you can’t even work on yourself.

And everybody smell how rotten you are, and they know better, and they leave.

I’m ugly. I’m not enough. I’m irritating. I don’t deserve.

And there’s a lot of people that want the same, but not with me.

And they’ve explicitly said so.
They show it.

I want to be hold, to be chosen. I want to feel like I’m attractive to someone. I want to feel loved by someone. I want to feel pleasure from someone.

You totally do, alch sí te urge un psicólogo we, mega sí