November. I Am Home. I Belong Here, In November. My Self Coalesces With The Fog, The Grey Skies, The

does anyone know if we have to face our unjustified anger and desrie to be loved in return tomorrow

My eyes sting from crying I just want to sleep

yeah, no ur good i don’t think romanticizing your misery and intentionally enabling yourself is making you worse at all dw

losing appetite because you're sad is the worst feeling ever.

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[ID: Digital illustration of a nude trans masculine person, cropped from thigh to shoulder. They are leaning back, holding a small dagger pointing between their legs. They have red top surgery scars, and a hairy chest and stomach. Two pale silhouettes of hands reach around the figure, as if stroking their belly and thigh. The figures are surrounded by a border of leaves and red flowers, with a star in the center overhead. There is an 8 pointed star covering the figures groin. The piece is done in a minimal color palette of black, red, and warm beiges and yellows. /. End ID]

i say idgaf and then im still dreaming about my childhood best friend

What have I become

Grief is such a peculiar phenomenon. It truly alters every single aspect of your life. I don’t think there’s any part of my life that was left untouched by my grief.

I truly lost touch with reality after my parents passed. And I believed for a long time that my parents were gone, dragged back into the earth with words left unspoken, and nightmares put to rest; but as time has escaped me, I have been disproven. My parents may be ash now, but I see them everyday in myself. It’s horrifying, and sometimes beautiful. All of my life I’ve been told I act and look just like my father, and while that remains true, my mother’s venom has snuck its way into my behavior. I constantly feel like I’m fulfilling their doomed prophecies for myself now that they’re gone.

But I know that it doesn’t have to be that way. I know I can change and I need to allow myself to sit with this, instead of running and running and running. I am so tired, and I need to stop giving up on myself. I may lick my wounds like my dad, and I may carry my mother’s temper, but I don’t have to *be* them. I can be better. I hope I will be better.

To want and be wanted

All I’ve ever wanted to know was what I want. I am a stranger to myself.