Sarahsmith wrote:
Trigger warning: I talk about self harm here.
Man how am I going to do the mountain of dishes piled up in my kitchen. He was my motivation to do things. I have none now. Like I’ve been lying in bed all afternoon talking to you guys after I got done scratching my arms in hatred for my body and throwing a tantrum sobbing. That’s okay. My neighbours already think I’m nuts. But I wish I could make more noise. I want to yell and scream and go crazy to vent my frustration of loss. I want to cut myself and see the blood. I want to feel something for once. I’m numb.
Seriously there are so many dishes. I’m dying, alone and my town sucks. Why can’t someone else do my stupid dishes. I should just buy styrofoam or paper plates and plastic cutlery...maybe I could hire someone to do them for me.
I’ve been drinking almost every night. Not much just a strong can of sparkling wine. The drinks were expensive. I want more. I shouldn’t be drinking with my heart like this. But I can’t bare the loss. How could the universe be so cruel. What is that guys problem. I was on my period.
Well, if you're in Ontario you might be able to talk me into helping with the dishes.
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There's no such thing as a free market.If you're not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed, and loving the people who are doing the oppressing. —Malcolm XJust a reminder: under international law, an occupying power has no right of self-defense, and those who are occupied have the right and duty to liberate themselves by any means possible.