Life is genuinely the most shitty thing imaginable.

Tw: daddy issues, starving, sh and bed rotting mentioned.

My life genuinely feels like a boat on an ocean in a storm. Swaying either way, my life depending on if the boat chooses to tip me into the water which even though it’s scary, that dull ache doesn’t sound half bad when it silences the sound of crashing waves.

I’ll sit on the living room floor I’ve claimed as my room for the last 5 months surrounded by rubbish, clutter and dishes wondering if it ever does get better. That the outside world isn’t so bad. Yet everything can seem like too much, especially when you don’t feel safe downstairs when you’ve spent the last 3 years of your life forced to stay away from it and it’s loud buzzing of music or the sharp smell of nicotine. Involuntarily living life off whatever the wolf chooses not to eat.

Even if you’re not living in the childhood you’d moved on from to fast, the walls still thump. And the nicotine lingers in every nook and cranny it’s managed to hide inside of. Including your lungs just to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Just like how the wolves words though long gone, still linger. The ones that called you names and commented remarks on your appearance, making it all the more hard not to drag that blade over your hips. Y’know that is when you’re not starving yourself on purpose to “fit in” with the rest of your friends. Even though it’s not a requirement to be as thin. But they all look so pretty. So happy. So in your book that makes the pain worth it.

And even after all this time your pain doesn’t seem worthy to burden anyone with, because what if those bruises the wolf left behind weren’t really that bad? So you’ll hide with the guilt of hurting your loved ones with the unnecessary pain of your past, bottling it up till you can empty the bucket again. To repeat the cycle. To doomscroll on an app all day, just to get an adrenaline boost. Not that it lasts as long as your tears nor scars anyway.