i absolutely adore how much fun orlando bloom is having in lotr movies. he's 22 years old. he landed one of the major sexy roles in the movie. he has a crush on his hot older scene partner (viggo). he's giggling like a school girl but he also films badass scenes, and they gave him a fairytale horse and he gives him kisses. he has a pretty wig.
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i wish i had a more normal social upbringing because making new friends and exploring fwb situations is like what do you mean you have a life outside of me? what do you mean i am not your #1 priority? what do you mean we aren't hopelessly codependent on each other?
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it is a bit scary but ive been in the limbo between not allowing myself to do anything until i get my shit together for too long, which means i havent been "indulging" in anything i really like but only things i've cycled through routine to the point of tastelessness. i am somehow so adamantly resistant against escapism through hobbies or from making myself feel better but also very cowardly in the sense that i'm too afraid of looking at my problems in the eye because my bad mental health bars me from being honest and hopeful (to inspire myself to fix it) to myself because every time i try, i can only hear the "brutal" part of the "brutally honest", and i don't even know if i'm being honest because it's as though i go into this dialogue against myself with an intent to kick myself down. which, i do understand why it happens, but i currently have no energy to "fight" back against it so i just go "yeah. you're right. i AM trash and worthless. i already know this, can we stop bringing this up please?" perhaps from an outsider pov or through a friend's pov i am seen differently, but imagining myself being seen in a positive manner somehow feels delusional because i "know" i'm not being very umm. valuable. i guess skhdjshfjdjf there's definitely stuff going on there
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I call this a weird amount of flowery words but I'm struggling so I wrote it out. usually I keep these things in my journal but whatever. if anyone has any advice that's cool. by fall out boy
I have a question, a worry, that goes so deep and so raw it chokes out my dreams at night, some of my enjoyment unless I shove it hard like a box under the bed. And then it comes back. The fear nauseates me, the need for an answer clawing at my chest. The fear of the answer like a weight around my ankles. I'm so afraid to ask. It hits me in waves sometimes so intense that I want to just blurt it out. To get rid of it. To put it into the world and whatever happens, happens. To get it out of me. To get that box that keeps coming back out from under my bed away from me. To dig into my chest and pull out whatever organ keeps making it tight. To pull out whatever causes me to shake and sit motionless on the shower floor because the weight makes it hard to move. It hurts. It burns at the back of my throat daily, hourly. Bitter bile. It tastes like... It tastes like the worst news you've ever gotten in your life. It tastes like your stomach sinking to your feet because your world exploded. It tastes like fear. Agony. It tastes like obsession that won't be satisfied until it is planted elsewhere or buried. But to do that it needs to be put into the world.
I'm realizing some things I can't squash down. I've been advised to. I've been told to just keep this in me. To let it rot me from the inside out, although not knowingly. But it's worming its way into every aspect of my life. Devouring me. Melting holes in my bones. It's probably not necessary to ask. Or so I've been told. I'm rotting. I'm dying.
But I should probably wait.
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