Today Is My Birthday. I Dont Particularly Like My Birthday. In Fact, I Hate It. I Dont Like To Be Reminded

Today is my birthday. I don’t particularly like my birthday. In fact, I hate it. I don’t like to be reminded that I’m alive and real. It forces me to acknowledge that time passes and im still broken inside. That I have not gotten any better. i dont feel older, in fact i still feel like a child hiding under my bed.

Maybe im faking all of it, maybe none of this is real. Am I real? Am I a person? I don’t think I am anymore. Do I still breathe, sleep, eat, drink, bleed? Am I still human anymore? Is my blood still red or is it some other color? Does it still taste of iron or will I taste another metal instead? What am I if not human? Am I anything at all?

The ‘you’re mature for your age’ to sleeping with a bed full of plushies in your mid twenties pipeline is real

im obsessed with andreil winning every fucking queer tournament in existence this niche book not only seems to have a huge fansebase but also the main couple hits like coke and has everyone on a leash nora could dominate the whole world

The very strange disabled experience of constantly downplaying your own pain and then out of nowhere you have an Epiphany and realize that most people don't have days where they wake up feeling like a deboned fish.

Not having many memories from childhood only make it harder to accept self. So much blurry and fuzzy and foggy. Lots of it dissociated away. Can recall very few moments and memories. Wish could find answers for stuff. But all alone with only my memory. Hate it hate it hate it.