at the age of twelve, I put the blade to my skin. hoping, praying, for something to take away this everlasting pain I so desperately wanted to disappear.
at the age of thirteen, I wasted time and effort on looking pretty, and fitting the mold that the world so desperately wanted me to be.
at there of fourteen, I tried too hard to be the best version of someone else, someone who was better than me, and someone who wasn't me.
and now, here I am, at the age of fifteen, with still quite a ways to go, obsessing over someone who won't even text me back. how crazy is that?
YOU ARE READING
thought bubbles ☹︎☺︎
Non-Fictionthis is just me talking about random things. ranting about random things. needing a place to put random things warning I may about depression, anxiety, or self harm
