i love it when people tell me to get professional help. lmao i dont want help i want to die how is help even an option?
Fuck you. You could have asked too. Fuck you fuck you fuck you. I gotta move on. You torture me.
It annoys me when I see the divider meant to separate rolls of toilet paper moved so people use the new roll before using up the half empty one. Paper from a half empty roll wipes your ass just as good as paper from a full roll. Eventually, both rolls will get low. And if both rolls run out before the janitor comes in to refill it, you're screwed if you take that stall. How about we use up what we have first, then switch to the new roll when we need to so the janitors can have time to come back through? Seriously people. The old roll won't bite.
Shipping real people is creepy enough, but when people ship someone with their fucking family members... I have no words.
how can people claim to be accepting of everyone and yet the second someone has a difference of opinion to them, they bash them on social media and say their disgusting/aweful human beings and deserve to die, get run over, get the shit beat out of them, etc. thats not accepting. thats more damaging than the people you claim to be against.
Pretty much all the free-time events and activities at my university involve drinking and lewd humor. I hate stuff like that and the local assumption that everyone in their 20s drinks regularly.
i find it funny that a lot of people who are pro choice are also against guns and want gun control. you want your 'rights' but want to take freedom of choice to own a gun taken away from others. and the logic is 'guns kill people'.... no no no, people with guns CAN kill people doesnt mean they will... however every abortion DOES in fact kill a life. so its funny their backwards logic.
I've been an addict for 10+ years to this filth it's ruining my life. I've quitted multiple times but I always, always go back. It's really hard to quit but I have faith. There is not going back, not this time. God, give me strength..
You asked me if I loved you. You were staring at my face and your fingers were digging into my cheeks. You were four times my age and were supposed to be in charge of me and my sister when my mom was at work. I suppose before all the bad things happened I might have loved you like a boy loves his aunt. You were not my aunt, but I once thought of you as one. But I had red marks on my upper arms from when you would pin me down to the mattress. And scratches on my hips from your artificial nails when you were frustrated and just wanted to take my pants off. I would flinch and my heart would sink with sheer terror every time it looked like you were reaching to grab my pillow. I was always always always afraid that you would suffocate me with it like you did when this all started. I was afraid you would kill me like that. I knew you as a violent person. I don't believe you showed that side of yourself to many people. But you showed it to me and now I'm always afraid. I was afraid then and I'm afraid now. Did I love you? I didn't know what you would do to me if I made you unhappy so I sobbed and stuttered a small, trembling "Yes." And you smiled. I don't remember a lot of the things I said at that age. None of it really mattered. But I always remember that one word and it hurts every time. My mom thinks the whole thing is really hilarious. I know you're on the phone with her a lot and I know you talk to her about me. I know you convinced her that I'm a delusional attention seeking liar. But you and I both know it happened and I hope that one day it haunts you like it haunts me.
My plan is to live and die. pretty simple. but noone will tell me how to live or how to die. i will push deadlines and break laws all i want. there are no rules. only my will. and if i hit my 40s i will tie my neck to the ceilling. or blow my brains out with a diy shotgun. life is too short to care.