angels-sidechick

[angels-sidechick]

Vent, somewhat inspired by an oc.

I don’t expect anyone to read this, and this can be very triggering to if you do decide to read this just tread carefully knowing this can be triggering but there’s no direct refrences to anything, it’s all just implied.

It feels like there’s a gaping hole in my chest, like i’m drowning into myself but i’ve put myself into a position where i cannot just walk away from my own life.

I wish I could have a retreat or a break but everyone seems to need something from me, if they didn’t need me they wouldn’t want me.

I don’t want to be useful any more. I don’t want to be a means to an end, I want to be loved and wanted in a whole and complete way.

I’m tired of the toxic love without conditions and the expectations to love back in the same manner. Shouldn’t love make you happy? This does not make me happy.

Instead it’s as if i’m a rag being used to clean up messes then im tossed aside until im needed again. It’s isolating. It’s belittling.

I don’t want to be useful anymore.

But all my life i’ve been taught that if i’m not useful, then I’m undeserving to breathe. But even as I am useful now, I feel i am undeserving to be alive.

What does it take to be loved in a manner that doesn’t destroy me and the very person beneath? Nobody stops to take a look twice at me, and I never give them the opportunity to do so because they will not like what they will see.

They will look and then turn away. That hurts much more than being seen.

I don’t want to be the last option.

I don’t want to be the only option.

I don’t want to be useful alone.

I don’t want to be used anymore.

But i’ve given myself the incentive to not run away from my life, I do want to continue and watch the seeds i’ve sewn grow but… I hate people. Gosh I really hate these people.

[angels-sidechick]

This is a vent post so don’t mind me…

Do you know where to start? How to think? When to speak?

I don’t.

Whenever I start, it’s always in the middle. I’ve somehow managed to cheat myself into an advantage I don’t deserve and the one’s at the beginning will forever condemn me for it.

I daren’t think my thoughts outloud lest I burden those who hear with the weight of my soul, the suffering that drags my being below the sturdy soles of my shoes.

I dare not say a word, lest I move people with my voice. I don’t want to affect anyone, no one will move an inch in the presence of my existence.

I don’t know where to start.

How to think.

When to speak.

[angels-sidechick]

Fuck life 👍

[angels-sidechick]

Do you see me now?

Do you see me now that I’ve pulled through the crowds filled with excellence around me? Or are they not remarkable enough now that I have surpassed them?

(Have I tainted the lives lost to my lack of self worth because of my unworthy self standing alive before their graves?)

Do you see me now that I’ve made everyone in this room turn to my direction with glee, with envy or will you rather glance at nothing which I am less than?

(Have I tainted the sight of these people so much that they can no longer see the truth of myself, which you will never look upon as worthy?)

Do you see me now that I’ve cleared my path of my shadows with floodlights powered by the little bit of blood within my veins?

(Have I now tainted the path forward, forever stained red by my spoiled and forced courage?)

Do you see me now that I’ve stumbled over my own bones, humiliated. My bones so lacking they will never be able to sustain the fire that burns in your eyes as you gaze upon others who i almost became but not quite? My bones so hallow and brittle they are like quartz to the gold firewood that burns in your fireplace whose warmth I don’t deserve to feel?

I’m getting tired now. It’s not difficult to imagine that once I disappear, despite the world looking upon my death as a tragic snuff of potential you will forever gaze at nothing which is more than me. Because you do not see me.

[angels-sidechick]

You see the thing is…

I am not typically someone of large sentiments, but I am rather empathetic to a fault. When my mother told me that my father could do the same things to me, I felt the betrayal had already happened.

I felt like… he had already abandoned me as he did my mother. They say (“they” being me), whether man or woman, there is an undeniable attachment to one’s children. It’s almost biological, perhaps beyond logic. Only a monster can deny in which that they have created.

Would my father deny me? His first child?

Ah, to know unconditional love is a privilege most don’t deserve. Seeing the trials my mother has been dragged through as a result of my father’s actions, I don’t see the virtue in marriage. And if he can repeatedly cause the woman so much pain knowingly and unknowingly, who is to know what he could do to me?

I cannot say he knows me well enough to claim to his god that he loves me, his child. I rarely ever see his face. The only proof i have of his existence is, well sometimes it feels that way, the letters he sends through the maids to my room two floors beneath his.

[angels-sidechick]

Why don’t mirrors ever reflect what’s inside this author’s head? I’ve only ever wished to be beautiful.

[angels-sidechick]

I don't really enjoy it when the light shines into my eyes

My bedroom curtains have greyed over the past few years, change has worn out many things in my life, but something that has yet to change is how they have always failed to completely obstruct the view outside my window. The darkness that peeks through the gaps uncovered by my curtains hasn’t changed. The same darkness that spreads across the expanse of the sky, that is indistinguishable from everything else. Neither the shadows that melt into the corners of my room, despite how well lit it is, have changed nor my ever growing curiosity of what exactly is this darkness. Why did the sunlight never reach this side of my home? 

Every morning is the same. I wake up to darkness but when I look into my room from the outside, everything is perfectly fine. The sun creeps up my walls as it shines into my room from outside, it’s normal. It is the way that it should be. But when I return back and look out from within, I'm greeted by an endless expanse of darkness no matter the time of day, no matter the season. It always remains the same. 

Nobody seems to see it, or rather, nobody has the time to come over and look. They always stop by the doorway, a murmur of presence- then they’re gone. 

In the past, this phenomenon was terrifying. I would imagine the darkness entering my room and swallowing me whole. It would remove my existence and it would be like I never lived at all. As time passed I began to think, why did I fear that? The fear turned to curiosity, then a sort of fascination. 

You see, I’m not someone who brings attention to myself. I’ve always stayed in the background, a whisper of existence, when I'm outside of my room and I say ‘outside of my room’ because when I'm within, does the darkness outside have any other choice but to look into the only direction it hasn’t corrupted? It has all its attention on me, which is why I find it fascinating. Fascination turned to obsession, a craving of sorts. 

I was seen. And since nobody would enter my room to know my plight, I was all that it could see. 

The world terrified me. I do not like speaking about the door that leads to outside my house, better yet think about it. The outside world, as bright as it was, scared me so much more than the lesser known darkness that peeked at me through the gaps my curtains left behind. I fear the things that I see will hurt me. I fear loud noises, the eyes that never leave me. They always watch me, and I am obliged to perform in a manner that pleases. I don't quite understand what pleases or why it does, so I stumble till I figure it out. It’s ridiculous, why do I have to stumble as if I cannot see under the light? I don’t understand it. 

I’ve never needed to understand the darkness to know it brings me comfort. It’s a vague existence, I feel I can interpret it in any manner I wish to interpret it. And interpret it I did. I gave it a name, emotions, a voice; I made it a friend. 

And for the first time since I’ve acknowledged it, it’s calling my name. It’s much warmer than the light outside my room that highlights all that’s wrong with my forced performances. 

[angels-sidechick]

Watch-out-for-the-shit-on-this-fucking-blog

This blog serves two purposes:

To vent about really senstitive stuff symbolically through my OCs

To improve the characterisation of my ocs

Speak about books im reading

I accept asks about whatever, random things, cute animal picks and stuff- this is a vent blog and I could honestly use the distraction.

If you're easily triggered by touchy feely things like insecurities, nihilism, self-harm, suicide or anything like that, you're better off not touching anything here.

Call me 'oracle', this is a side blog and I don't know if i'll end up sharing my main blog at any point in the near future. If I did, i would've just posted this stuff on my main blog.