Confess on My Wayward Son

The stuffy side of my nose? If it could stop doing that? IT. WOULD. BE. GREAT.

fuck you.

jesus. actually, just fuck me.

I should probably stop doing this to myself. two more weeks and I'll be fine.

not feeling this whole being alone thing during a thunderstorm. i am terrified.

I'm sick and tired about hearing how the Carter twins are still in the hospital. They're twins! This is normal! Stop making it a spectacle! They're not going to release babies that have risks to their ability to thrive, twins are almost always born with those risks. UGH.

It's always so weird to be on here.

I hate confrontation, but I really hate more when I'm in the wrong. UGH.

Life feels like it's sort of finally back to normal and it's weird as hell.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I wish I did so I could tell you. all I want to do is talk about this because I don't feel like myself but I don't even know what's wrong. And I can't deal with that brief microexpression of absolute disappointment. You can't stop that microexpression, it's fucking impossible. I've seen you try but you can't. I can't be the reason your shoulders do that fucking thing. I can't be that person to you. I feel like if I could actually tell you what's wrong it wouldn't be so drastic but I don't know. I don't know. how can I talk about something when I don't even know what it is?

I don't want to be here.

I have to laugh at how clueless you are about technology and how it works.

The new trainee is super cute.

I remember summer nights just like this back then. The sky would turn orange as the sun was going down. You'd call and we'd talk until midnight. Those times were some of my favourites.

I remember thinking it was a shit year. Who knew that looking back, I'd long for it so much?

-

I need a better support system irl.
And a friend that isn't his brother.
--
My nanna warned me against getting my heart hurt. She was too late.

Seriously. Are you actually serious right now. You've been complaining for months about how no one will hire you, there are no jobs, and you finally get one. It's easy, the traveling is a bit naff but it costs you a fraction of what it would on public transport and gets you there twice as fast. It pays just over minimum wage, and you get it weekly. Even with the travel costs, you're £300 a month better off.

And two days in, you fucking quit. You won't tell us why, you won't let us know what's going on, you won't let us weigh in on this decision that affects us all - you just walk out, leaving us to theorise which part of your personality caused this, whether having to hang on for one more hour for your ride got you angry, if it was a foreigner taking you to work and you said something or were just offended by their presence.

And you have the gall to call me lazy? The last two days I've done more housework than you'd manage in four. I've gone to unpaid work trial after unpaid work trial, being told no or been blatantly ignored. I'm a quarter through my dissertation that isn't due for a whole year, but I'm doing it anyway cos what else do I have?

While you're content to sit and watch videos that do nothing but warp your opinions and make you angry. You don't even give your son enough respect to let him control his own finances, but you'll make him take responsibility for the fact you left the door open and let the cat on the roof where she could cost us another £200 in vets bills.

And all of this on my grandmother's birthday, her first since she passed. And I daren't mention it because god knows what you'll call me or say to me for having the indecency to feel and express emotions. I can't do this anymore. I can't handle this stress, this painful existence that's because of how you are. You have no idea how you break him down, how he can't stand you, but god forbid it's your fault he feels this way. You'll just tell him you hate him and go about your day like you've done nothing wrong.

I can't anymore. I can't be here.

Playing cards, prison rules activated, and all I can think is that we are the Batfamily.

home doesn't feel like home anymore

I'm so glad I did that

I want to try and write a rooftop scene that takes place somewhere between September and October so it's got that awkward North East sleet in it and cold chills and warm capes and glowy windows. But I just don't think my writing skills are back up to par yet. I'm getting better after being so stagnant but a story like that, no matter how short, requires a lot of contrast that I don't think I've got the skill for yet.

You can call me ugly all you want, but when I go in that room and get tips, it proves you wrong.
I am aware it was because of my tits, haha