Getting transferred to a new hospital today,
Hopefully early. :| This place is killing me.
Sometimes, I get worried about how fast everything is going. And how settled we both are. But most the time, I just want to get on with it. I want to get the apartment and be a cute, young, broke, and cozy couple. I don’t mind the struggle with him. I love him so much. I want to get this apartment with him asap. And I wanna live my life with him basically. I guess that’s my point. Even though we fight a shit ton, I can’t wait for the rest of our lives.
That my disorders have gotten the best of me, and you don’t know how to handle me so you’re kicking me out. You don’t want to have to deal with me and put up with me. I’m just the problem in the house. It doesn’t matter how I feel. I’m a shitty daughter. You have no time for me. Other people are more important. I get it, I get it all.
But when you are planning my funeral, and writing my obituary, buying flowers. If anyone asks how I died, say lack of a good mother. Or tell them “oh it was just my fault.”
Can I watch this forever?
you guise dont know how much i love this
this is amazing
it brings me chills
wait, that’s just my ceiling fan.
this will always be one of my fav post on tumblr
I love rain so much i just want it to start pouring omg
i love this
- took a razor to your skin
- felt like your not good enough
- thought about suicide
- attempted suicide
- burnt your self
- got bullied
- been called ugly/fat etc..
- or harmed your self in any way
- cried your self to sleep
- been abused
I will message every fucking single one of you.
Virgin , Future , iTunes
Virgin- I’ve already lost my virginity. His name was Alex, he’s tall and has nice hands. We dated for like two years. He is still a close friend.
Future- Some days, I doubt I’ll make it to even having one. And I don’t even like thinking about the future.
ITunes- Just pick 10 La Dispute songs. I don’t feel like thinking.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me
My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.
The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.
The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
Number 9 is life.