⋆˚࿔𝓻𝓪𝔂 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Hi

Vfv?^⁠_⁠^

HAIHAIII THANKYOU FOR THE FOLLOWWW ><♡♡♡

          There really is no need to thank me.
           Your words, they way you write, makes me want to give you a tight squeeze at certain parts and in other parts it makes me want to climb through the screen and swallow the words because it speaks to the visceral part of my soul. 

I Avoid the mirror, I avoid my own gaze. Not out of vanity, not out of shame, but because I know what lives behind my eyes, and I’m not ready to face it.
          There’s a war behind that reflection, a quiet, unspoken one.
          A battlefield dressed in skin and bone. Some people look into the mirror and fix their hair, I look into the mirror and feel like I’m staring at a stranger I’ve been carrying my whole life. Like if I stared too long, I’d remember everything I’ve worked so hard to forget.
          There’s something violent about recognition, about meeting ur own eyes and knowing: this is where it hurts the most, this is where the screaming is silent, this is where the truth is too ugly to look at in daylight.
          So I look away, I keep my eyes down when I brush my teeth, I check my makeup in fragments, eyebrow, lip, jaw, but never the whole picture. I glance, I check, I adjust, but I don’t look. Not long enough to recognize the person staring back.
          Because I know… if I look too long, I’ll see the real me, my real self, still stuck behind the glass, begging me to acknowledge her.
          
          And I’m not ready.
          Not yet.
          Maybe I never will be.

Heyooooieeee
          Where ya att?? O.o

Thnx for the vote 

Sometimes I don't really want to be saved. I don’t want the bandaids, the advice, the soft-voice “u’ll get through this” bullshit. I just want someone who won’t flinch when I break open, someone who doesn’t look away when I’m not pretty, not functional, not sane. I want someone to sit in the fire with me, to feel the heat, the smoke, the ache in the silence.
          Because sometimes the worst part isn’t the pain, it’s being alone in it. It’s watching people panic, pull away, try to patch u up like you’re a goddamn problem to fix.
          
          The truth is,  I don’t need advice. I don’t want fixes. I don’t need a savior. I’m not asking for solutions.
          I’m simply asking for presence. For someone to say,
          “I see ur wreckage, I feel it too and I’m not afraid of ur darkness.”
          Just sit with me in the mess, not to clean it, just to prove I’m not the only one here and just listen to me.
          Because sometimes, being saved feels like erasure but being seen, being held in the chaos, that’s where healing actually begins.
          
          I want someone who understands that sometimes pain isn’t asking to be healed, it’s asking to be held.
          Because trying to “cheer me up” feels like u're painting over mold. It looks clean, but it still stinks underneath. And telling me “u’ll be okay” feels like slapping duct tape on a gunshot wound.
          
          I don’t want temporary, I don’t want shallow comfort, I want someone who can meet me in the dark and not flinch.
          Someone who doesn’t rush to fix me just to ease their own discomfort. Someone who can say: “I won’t leave, even if all I can do is sit here with u.” Just stay, just listen, just exist next to me.
          Because to be understood in ur lowest, rawest, darkest state,  without judgment, without panic, without needing to be “fixed",  is honestly the truly fucking closest thing to love I’ve ever believed in.
          
          So no, I don’t want to be saved, I want to be seen. Completely, utterly, unapologetically and still,  not abandoned.

thnx for following dear! and hope u r okay!!

There’s a special kind of isolation that hits when you’re surrounded. When everyone’s laughing, talking, touching, literally alive and u’re standing there, smiling with ur mouth and screaming with ur mind.
          It's not that they don't care, it’s that they don’t see. U’ve made urself invisible so well, even YOU forget u’re real sometimes.
          Because the truth is, I could sit in the middle of a crowd and feel like I’m rotting in a soundproof coffin, I could be held and still feel untouched, spoken to, but not heard. Seen, but not recognized.
          I am haunted by my own absence, a ghost pretending to be a person, an echo wrapped in skin.
          And the worst part? I’m good at it, I mirror their energy, I laugh at the right time, I perform the role, flawlessly. So they never ask, they never dig. They just assume I’m fine because I make it easy for them to believe it.
          But I walk home every night with a smile that's stiff and a chest that's hollow. I go to sleep wondering how I can be so close to everyone and still feel like I’ve been buried alive.
          That’s the kind of loneliness no one talks about; not the absence of people, but the absence of being understood and truly seen.
          Because being around people while feeling invisible? That’s not just loneliness, that’s psychological erosion and I’m disappearing piece by piece.
          I laughed with ten people today and still came home starving for connection.