ayodaddydom-blog

[ayodaddydom-blog]

i think my least favorite thing about depression are the days nothing is wrong but i feel a deep sadness that cuts me to the core. how do you explain to the people who want to help you that there’s nothing they can do because there’s nothing to fix or to talk through? i’m just tired on a level they can’t understand

[ayodaddydom-blog]

Requested by anon.

[ayodaddydom-blog]

I mean I could lie And pretend things are okay But is it worth it?

A haiku // littlemissimaginary  (via wnq-writers)

[ayodaddydom-blog]

I swing both ways ;)

Violently. With a bat. Come get some motherfuckers.

[ayodaddydom-blog]

[ayodaddydom-blog]

Credit on pic

[ayodaddydom-blog]

https://instagram.com/p/BFmd1OYuGay/

[ayodaddydom-blog]

Thank u guys for the live tweet and crashing all my junk. Watch RIDE please happy Sunday everyone 🍻

[ayodaddydom-blog]

I want to be this close to him.

https://www.facebook.com/RICKSCHICKSTHEWALKINGDEAD/

[ayodaddydom-blog]

God damn

Ahmad Alsayyad FB

[ayodaddydom-blog]

Nashville or bust💪🏽

[ayodaddydom-blog]

The saddest truth is realising you have fallen madly in love with what can never be.

Michael Faudet   (via quotemadness)

[ayodaddydom-blog]

i never related to a tweet more

[ayodaddydom-blog]

reblog if i can message you and awkwardly make conversation with you so we can become best friends

[ayodaddydom-blog]

[ayodaddydom-blog]

I’ve always been good at overthinking. The machinery in my head is constantly turning and when I try to shut it off, the hot iron material burns my hands. So I let things continue and the sounds become louder. The same words repeat over and over again: ERROR, ERROR, ERROR. There is an error in my system and the hardware is malfunctioning, but I can’t stop. I can’t stop thinking and the oil from the machines is leaking. Soon enough, it will set fire to my head. I’ve always been good at hiding. Even my mother can’t find me sometimes. She’ll search for me in every room of our house, not realizing that I’m following in her shadow. I feel sorry for her, but she’s the one who taught me how to blend in. How to mold my edges and become someone else. How to be the perfect daughter, the one all her peers praise, but deep down don’t care about. I’ve always been good at miscommunication. My father doesn’t talk much, but sometimes I get the feeling that he’s speaking to me without words. His eyes always flicker so bright and the furrow that forms between his eyebrows is prominent. When he meets my gaze and his lips curl, I try not to flinch. It’s a smile you will never understand the meaning of. I learned from him best, how to make my silence feel like a thunderstorm, but he never taught me how to control it. I’ve wrecked places and left people homeless. I’ve always been good at pretending. My friends are the best audience any actor could ever ask for. They remember that it’s all a show and none of it is real. So when I bruise myself, the concept that I will forget and move on in an hour or so is something that is commonly understood. Nobody ever expects me to actually get hurt. Nobody ever expects a plot twist. I hope that the day I betray them, they don’t get too angry. I’ve always been good at empathizing.   Tell me your problems and I’ll make them my own. Tell me your imperfections and I’ll give you pieces of myself, if you want them. Tell me you’re lonely and I’ll be at your doorstep. God, I’ll crush my own heart between my palms if you asked me to. I’ll do anything to make anybody happy, even if it brings my own doom. I am a tragedy.

Some of us are written by Shakespeare  (via sleevesofgrass)

[ayodaddydom-blog]

i want you to know how sorry i am for the way i loved you and how it made you not love yourself.

Voicemails I wish I had gotten. (via promisesofamazing)