moody-hates-himself

[moody-hates-himself]

so I guess it's time to pick up the knife again

[moody-hates-himself]

the stress of everything is getting to me. i don't think i can last, just not built for this. need to get a gun.

[moody-hates-himself]

arrived at an epiphany: the empathy my mom taught me was never real empathy. real empathy comes from real love, and is done from a genuine, uncritical desire to understand. what my mom practices is "you being upset makes ME upset." when she asks you what's wrong, it's never from a place of caring, it's from annoyance– which only gets worse when you don't want to share with her, for fear of her judgement.

[moody-hates-himself]

having self-destructive urges but not acting on any of them in order to not interfere with my job lmao

[moody-hates-himself]

[moody-hates-himself]

in school, they told you that uniqueness is a virtue. that being one of a kind made you special. no matter how poorly you were able to communicate, no matter how you acted. of course they were lying. what were they supposed to tell young, developing you, the truth?

the truth is that being unique is a little form of d3ath. it's being the first and last of an unremarkable extinct species, it's having translation errors that will never be bridged, it's being a wanderer in an endless desert with mirages of normalcy all around you. i live and will d1e in that desert, and the sand will bury me, and it will all be utterly insignificant.

[moody-hates-himself]

I see a lot of people 13 to my age on here. and it makes me sick fr. like I do the same thing but when i see someone else do it? I cant see anything but a baby. you guys are just babys and this is what you have to do just to make it a day of school? I love you guys. idc if idk you or ur struggles, ik it made u do what ur doing, and ik you wish you didnt feel that way.

please please please dm me. Im not gonna feel annoyed, idc if u follow me, idc if we've never even interacted an this is ur first time seeing me. I fucking hate being alone and i dont want anyone to feel like i do. and im not gonna come out w some bs like "draw a butterfly" just talk w me

[moody-hates-himself]

everyone always thinking of a person keeping them from kmsing. thinking of a person crying over a discovered body. thinking of the suffering of a funeral.

am I a sociopath if i admit i can't relate? when i get like this, i think of people needing me as a negative thing, that they're just getting in the way of me being free of my pain. never giving, only demanding. they're like my cat, pushing into my room and meowing at the top of his lungs for attention, never wanting affection- only to needily scratch and bite.

[moody-hates-himself]

nah, there ain't no way anyone would ever enjoy my company

[moody-hates-himself]

🖤🖤

[moody-hates-himself]

i'm not gonna make it to 30 lmao

[moody-hates-himself]

until now, my body has been something I've begrudgingly made my peace with. not a perfect vessel by any means, but acceptable, even while I was gaining a substantial amount of weight this year.

today, something was different, though. i stepped into a fitting room, took off my shirt, and saw my body in the full length mirror. i stared at it. the weight was all very much there, gathered up in the most gangly, unattractive way possible. the scars were there too, crisscrossed all over my shoulders, some fresh. and my face. ugh, my fucking face.

for the first time, i hated what i saw.

only sheer, three-hours-of-sleep tiredness and some minor responsibilities kept me from slicing myself into unrecognizability the minute i got home.

god, I can't wait to cut again.

[moody-hates-himself]

a bit odd that i usually feel like it would be easier to end my own life than to develop necessary social skills that most people take for granted.

[moody-hates-himself]

it’s a bit odd, scrolling through sh tumblr and reading all about people whose parents and teachers and friends know they sh and/or have mental heath issues. i guess, i’ve always just been good at hiding it? i mostly sh on my shoulders and chest, areas that will always be covered up by a shirt (i have thus given up going to the beach ever again).

[moody-hates-himself]

•°. *࿐ 🤩🤩

[moody-hates-himself]

when I made a vent account on Twitter, it was locked. there were at most five people following it. none of them paid any attention to it. i deleted a couple months ago, considering the experiment a failure.

my logic in that account was that I just needed somewhere to jot down the unpleasant thoughts in my head, like a well hidden notebook. I thought that if I simply ascribed my thoughts to a medium that wasn't my brain, that it would be enough, even if nobody else saw what I had written.

it never really helped, though. at most, all it was was a record of my depressive episodes, self-harm sessions, and nights when my feelings wouldn't stay drowned in drink. it was a window into my recent history of mental illness. being able to observe that history wasn't a blessing, but it wasn't a curse, either: it was just what I already knew. thanks, past me, for telling me that I'm depressed, but I was already completely aware. the sky is blue, the sea is wet.

it should not have surprised me that that hidden mental garbage heap didn't help me, because what I was craving was connection and understanding. i let a few close friends into my account, hoping that them having a view into my worst thoughts would bring me closer to some of them, but that didn't happen; they almost never engaged with the account. i also ended up blocking the person with whom i was in a relationship at the time; i didn't want them knowing just how bad I was doing and worrying.

I think what I was missing was community. let's face it: cutting one's self with knives and believing yourself better off dead is some crazy behavior, or at least that's what it feels like to me. I'd like to feel like I'm not totally crazy. I'd like to feel like there are some other people who feel the same way. browsing the self harm tags last night, I did get the sense that I'm not totally alone out here. people post their worst feelings to that tag, vent art that made me feel uncomfortable in a comforting way, and even some pretty funny self harm memes. it gave me catharsis, and it gave me a laugh at this abysmally pathetic situation.

so here, I'm going to take the opposite approach from my locked vent account on Twitter. here, I'm letting everyone in excluding my friends. if attempting to make the people i spend time aware of my suffering with doesn't work, then I may as well spend my time in the mental gutters attempting to connect with people who make me feel like it's alright that I feel like this, that I don't deserve to be dehumanized for my scars and the things that I say late at night.

so, hello, everyone. i hurt myself and i want to die. it's nice to meet you all.