I wonder why Patrick hates me still.

Worst feeling: when not even your best friend knows you

I think this is ridiculous. Everyone is entitled to their beliefs. I personally think gay marriage should be legal, but I don’t think my mom is a bad person because she doesn’t.

That is like saying that someone is a bad person because they don’t like donuts.

(Source: the-unpopular-opinions, via teddymosby)

you aren’t being listened to?
Thats hilarious.

Welp. There goes three months.

Go me.

My best friends tell me how sad they are, and I listen. 

They think I don’t understand how sad they are. 

I do. 

They don’t understand how sad I am. 　

I am addicted to harmony.

I hear people saying all the time how sad they are. I judge my sadness on a different scale. I call myself miffed, or disjointed, when I fail a test. Sadness is a heaviness that falls on your chest and fills your heart. You squeeze your insides because initially it isn’t a good feeling. But then it releases from your heart, and flows like liquid suffering from your veins to your fingers and toes. You can’t lift a finger, and prickly feeling settles behind your eyes. You register that those are tears building up, but you are too physically, mentally, and emotionally tired to even consider crying. So a silent drop of salt water slides down your cheek, and you egg it on, urging it down the slope of your face. It gives you something to focus on. And that’s all you need.

I will never know why this happens. I have nothing to feel so bad about, Which only makes me feel worse about feeling bad. Which comes first? The sadness or the guilt? And which goes first? Sanity or life?

I have no faith in anybody but myself. And even that is flimsy.

Feeling like going to sleep until september ends. Not dying. But a coma might be nice. I’m just tired of everybody and I hate everybody and everybody can just go die. I just want me and puppy.

Happy birthday to really a sort of Sucky sister, who has her moments.