#[me: hasn’t written baby trish in months. also me: well she blew it

[godblooded]

sometimes the highest paid child star in tv history can’t quite cling to the wreckage enough to stay afloat. the only place she finds solace is being viciously bounced from one place to another — it’s another line of white powder and another five little pills and the way her body won’t loosen and won’t tighten but it wants to do both. sometimes the combination gets bad — sometimes it’s terrifying. sometimes the paranoia creeps in, in, in.

there is a necklace of pale indigo bruises around her throat imperceptible to any eye not scrutinizing her completely. the same marks make bracelets round her wrists, dusty ovals like deep fingerprints just under her thighs. she peers at @babydxhl with eyes shimmering jade, tears perpetually screening them, always want to fall but they just won’t.

she can’t summon the nerve suddenly. a flush of hot anxiety overcomes bony shoulders, tucks her chin into her collarbone to take a deep breath. it only serves to blow more unwelcome heat across her skin. she swallows nervously.

“nothing. nothing i’m being fucking stupid.”