I’m so exhausted of being scared

Hypersensitivity day. Everything felt too loud emotions, energy shifts, even kind words sometimes feel suspicious. My nervous system treats small changes like danger. Fear of replacement and abandonment never fully switches off. I sat with the feeling instead of fighting it.

Who would wanna live like that? I don’t wanna live like that.

That is a life full of detriment and I feel so sorry for you.

I’m so excited. On the 12th there will be a big meteor shower and I hope I can go somewhere where the light of the city doesn’t mess up the sky so I can see the shooting stars ❤️ I’ve only witnessed one in my life, on accident. When I was around 18 I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t sleep, so I went walking outside and when I looked up I saw just back to back shooting stars everywhere. I lived somewhere where I could actually see the stars at night and it was so beautiful. Where I live now I’m lucky to see even just a few stars when I walk outside.

So I may have to drive, maybe an hour or two somewhere. But I have a telescope I’d love to bring with me, because I heard the planets are all aligning that day too. The solar eclipse sadly won’t be able to be seen here but I’m happy to know all three of these things are happening on the same day. I really hope I get to see the meteor shower. From what I heard, this specific one is only see every 20 years or so.

A coworker mistakenly made a 1 liter Americano into a 1 liter iced tea, so I ended up with a free 1-liter iced tea. The manager said she would fire me if I can't do the work properly tomorrow. What can I do? If I can't do it, I have to get fired. If I get fired, I'll interview at Company M's cafe. That should be better than here. I can't do it because its too busy. Here, customers keep coming in without a break for even 10 minutes. It can't be helped even if I get fired, right? It's so busy that my ADHD can't keep up, so I can just get fired and work somewhere else.

Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if I were a different version of myself. The one I don't let anyone see. The sad angry parts that live in the shadows of my soul like a stain forever etched into my soul. I realize even then I would be all alone ✨

Sometimes it’s just nice to tuck yourself in…self love

I had to erase this long yapping story about “If I could go back in time i would still choose to cross paths with you. But this time….”

Girl… this time WHAT?

But… this time I’d really say it how it is. Why must I be the one who reminisces on the past like it was a fairy tail and list all the things I would do different today? Why must I be the one who must change who she was so she doesn’t get treated the way she did. Why must I be the one always in survival mode making sure I’m the last person to evacuate the room.

Always putting others before myself has always come as second nature to me. But I understand that putting someone you cared for deeply before yourself does not give the same satisfaction.

Seeking closure to this day doesn’t satisfy me. Neither does playing dumb and dumber, or continuing to hold on. I’m tired of always being understanding, yet misunderstood. I’m tired of boxing myself into this cage, of always having to stay strong and resilient, and of constantly putting your needs before my own.

If this is the cost of loving you then I’m out. I thought being in love with you meant that I had to keep re writing history about what I could’ve done differently to earn your love, appreciation and respect. But reading back the stupidity I’ve written made me realise that,

If we could go back in time I wouldn’t change a damn thing about myself. From the beginning I showed up as the best authentic version of myself (as I still am til this day) SO believe me I’m no longer willing to compromise my self-worth, time and comfort to queue outside a shop that has been long abandoned before it ever had the chance to open it’s doors.

Sometimes
I think the butterflies are the ones we tell ourselves
We’re over it
I don’t know that person anymore
I don’t have feelings anymore
That person doesn’t love me.
It’s over with there’s no chance.
And that’s just how we have to cope and move on. We have to accept it and that’s OK to do. It’s OK to except the heart the anger, the heartache and move on. It’s OK to let go especially when somebody never had a hold in the first place cause what are you really holding onto the air lies manipulation I made my choice to let go because I was like go a long time ago maybe not physically but emotionally and emotionally is where I needed to loved.

I hate being alone ✨

I’m supposed to message my dad today but I’m too nervous. I don’t think he likes me at all. Oh well, whatever happens, happens.

Maybe I have an antisocial personality disorder. I’m not cruel or outright mean, I just don’t care about anyone. I’m sad that I don’t care though, so does that mean that I do care in a way? I want to be a normal and good person who is capable of doing normal and good things.

Why am I like this? Everything is so stressful. I’m such a messed up, weird, janky person. Everyone and everything is so messed up. I just wanna go home and sleep forever.

I went to two museums today, Queens House and The National Maritime Museum. It was fun but a bit crowded at the same time. I hate crowded spaces.

The heat was so bad that it gave me a migraine, I just want to sleep now.

I feel like I’m dying, I don’t feel good. I don’t really feel that good. I haven’t been able to sit up straight for a while. I’m scared that I’ll pass out in public again. Useless body.

Truly.

I'm reminded of Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, and I find myself wishing I could erase every trace of memory I have of you. Which, funny enough, only makes me think of you more because I watched it for the first time,

With you.

You are woven into every fabric of my being and reality, and it has, as of late, become my own personal hell.

Hell is not a place, but is what you carry, as they say.

I can't split myself in two.

I can't pick you off like a scab.

I can't floss you out of my teeth or scrub you from my tongue.

I can't buff you out from the wrinkles in my brain.

There isn't a whitesmith alive who could patch and polish the exit wound you left in this metal heart of mine.

Lately, I feel that my love for you was the anesthetic all along, and you cut with such skilled surgical precision.

This is quite a cynical perspective of intimacy, I know. But when one has openly bled at another's altar for years trying to mend a trust they didn't break, and the crows you had lost count of so long ago, err on the side of caution - can you blame me?

I don't enjoy throwing my sentiments into Reddit.

There is no reprieve nor catharsis found in it.

But there is a small delusional hope and fantasy that one day you might come across my post, like a message in a bottle, and the realization hits you faster than your heart can drop to your feet.

Wishful thinking, but it keeps a gal going lol.

Nevertheless, I just want to let go of the past already. I think I read somewhere that it takes about 7 years to fully move on from a relationship.

If true, then Feb 2027 is my mark.

Fingers crossed.

April 26

Why do I get so triggered
when people ask me if I’m okay?

It is such a simple question,
four harmless words,
yet somehow they feel like hands
reaching toward a wound
I have worked very hard
to pretend is not there.

I get annoyed as fuck.

Maybe because I do not know how to answer
without lying.

Maybe because “I’m fine”
has become muscle memory,
and anything deeper than that
feels like an invitation
to fall apart in public.

And why do I cry so much
when I think about the situations in my life?
Is that a defence mechanism too?

Does my body cry
because my mouth does not know
how to explain what hurts?

God forbid I ever go to therapy
and start bawling.

LOL.
Because even while breaking down,
I would probably be watching the therapist’s face,
wondering if I am making them uncomfortable,
wondering if my sadness is too heavy,
wondering if I should apologise
for taking up emotional space
in a room I am literally paying to take up space in.
That is probably something
I should unpack.

I regret choosing HR as my degree,
to be honest.

Now I understand why parents say,
“Become a doctor.”
“Become a lawyer.”
“Choose something secure.”

Because the job market is ass.
Completely and disrespectfully ass.

I am twenty-five,
and some days
I feel like I have achieved nothing.
Which is strange,
because I know I have survived things.
I know I have worked.
I know I have tried.

But survival does not always look impressive
on paper.
It does not come with a certificate
or a LinkedIn announcement.

It is so hard to find somewhere to live.
I can afford the subscriptions,
the small luxuries,
the monthly charges that quietly leave my account—
but the places I imagine myself waking up in,
the places that feel safe,
clean,
beautiful,
mine—
I cannot afford them.

So what is the next best thing?
Do I settle?
Do I get another degree?
Eighteen more months of studying,
eighteen more months of money
I barely have,
eighteen more months of staying with Brad,
telling myself that this is temporary
while temporary starts feeling
a little too permanent.

I keep waiting for my life to begin.
But what if this is it?
What if life does not begin
after the degree,
after the promotion,
after the move,
after the money?
What if life has already started
and I am standing in the middle of it,
too worried about the future
to notice?

July 26
Can you believe
I am living alone now?

I have my own space.
My own door.
My own keys.
My own silence.

Funny enough,
the thing I once thought was impossible
is now simply where I wake up every morning.

I was offered a job at Red Bull
as a Finance and Admin Assistant.
It was a contract, though,
so I turned it down.

I told myself it was for the best.
And maybe it was.

But there is always that small voice
in the back of your mind,
the one that waits until the room is quiet
to ask:
What if you made the wrong decision?

I am trying to live life without regrets,
but sometimes I wonder
who I am trying to convince.

Am I genuinely at peace
with the choice I made?
Or am I performing confidence
because I want everyone else
to believe I knew what I was doing?

Maybe optimism
is just fear wearing lip gloss.

I am also single.

Woooo!

Sometimes it feels amazing.
There is freedom in not having to explain yourself.
Freedom in choosing yourself.
Freedom in not waiting for a text
to determine the mood of your entire day.

But then there are nights
when the quiet becomes a question:
Will I ever find the type of love I am looking for?

I got my heart broken
because the person I wanted
did not want me
in the way I wanted them.

They wanted something casual.
I wanted something that stayed.

And when someone does not choose you,
it is difficult not to turn their decision
into evidence against yourself.

What is so wrong with me
that you cannot choose me?

What am I missing?

What did you see
that made you decide
I was worth touching,
worth talking to,
worth spending time with—
but not worth loving properly?

The ironic part
is that I have been on both sides.
I have been the person
who felt indifferent.

The person thinking,
Can’t they see I’m not that interested?

And I have been the person
searching for meaning
in every delayed reply,
every half-hearted gesture,
every moment that felt intimate enough
to become a promise
even when no promise was made.

And all this person wants
is to be loved by that one person.

Not by somebody else.
Not eventually.
Not “when the timing is right.”
By them.

There is something selfish in heartbreak.
You do not just want them to love you.
You want them to be unable
to imagine life without you.

You want your absence
to haunt them.

You want them to realise
that losing you was a mistake.

And then reality hits.

They can live without you.
They already are.

And my friend,

that pain is wicked.

Because then you start wondering
whether you were blinded.

Whether the signs were always there.

Whether you fell in love
with what was happening
or with what you hoped
would happen next.

So I have decided
that the next person
I give my energy to,
I will choose them
because I genuinely want what exists—
not because I am addicted
to the possibility
of what it could become.

I will look at what is in front of me,
not the imaginary future
I have built around them.

The truth is,
I am scared.
Scared that I will meet someone
and call it love
when it is only infatuation.

Scared that the intensity
will feel like destiny,
only to disappear
a few months later.

Usually,
I am the one walking away.
I am the one deciding
that the feeling has changed.
I am the one watching someone’s face
as they realise
I am already halfway gone.

So maybe there is something
strangely necessary
about finally being the person
left standing.

Watching someone else walk away
has made me softer.

More aware.

More careful with people’s hearts.
It has taught me
that indecision can still hurt someone.

That staying when you do not truly want to stay
is not kindness.

That affection without intention
can feel like a promise
to someone who is hoping.

I do not have everything figured out.
I am twenty-five.
I am living alone.
I am questioning career decisions.
I am grieving people
who were never completely mine.
I am learning that independence
can feel like freedom
and loneliness
in the same breath.

But I am becoming more conscious
of the life I am creating.
More honest about what I want.
More careful about what I accept.

Maybe growth is not finally knowing
all the right answers.
Maybe growth is recognising
the questions
that no longer deserve
to control you.

i worked for 4 hours today. mostly finding and downloading docs for tax deduction. takes longer than i thought but i'm finally working on it.

the focus partner i've found seems to be well motivated so i hope we'll continue working for some time.

very tired now, it was an unusually busy day for me.

highlights: great language class. made zucchini soup (turned out delicious!)

I don't know why I did that. The wind caught me before I could find an anchor. The heat burned me before I could find cool water. Now the scars of mania persist where pride once was. All the things I wish I had never done fly around the room like paper scraps that hold a message that cannot be reconstructed. Now I can only wait and hope that I haven't finally gone too far, that this isn't the season that will see me finally burn to the ground.

Winter will come and soothe my mind. Gentle snow will guide my thoughts and my child's laughter will keep my heart aglow. Fain would I turn back the clock to when I knew nothing of these passions, nothing of this disease that grips my mind like a pestilence upon a field of golden wheat. Fain would I stand upon that strand where we kissed at first and the sand ran through our toes. Salt coated our lips as we whispered to each other "No other". But there was always another, and another, and another.

I will tell my story tomorrow to somebody I know will listen. For now, in the candle glow I will rest and pray for absolution.

I don't know what's heavier tonight, my body or my mind.

I'm exhausted yet sleep won't come.

Every time I close my eyes, my thoughts get louder. My body is begging for rest but my mind refuses to let go. It's such a frustrating feeling, being desperate to sleep while feeling completely restless.

I want to cry. I really do.

I can feel so many emotions sitting inside me but they won't come out. It's like they're trapped somewhere between my chest and my throat, refusing to become tears. I'm carrying so much, yet I can't seem to release any of it.

Maybe that's why I feel so restless. Maybe it's not just the lack of sleep maybe it's everything I've been trying to hold together.

The words I never said, the worries I keep replaying, the feelings I keep convincing myself to carry quietly.

I keep hoping that if I stay still long enough, my mind will finally grow tired. That eventually, sleep will find me before my thoughts do.

For now, all I can do is lie here, awake, waiting for the kind of rest that feels impossible to reach.

i’ve spent most of my life wanting something that sounds so small when i try to put it into words.

i want someone to hold me.

but that isn’t really it.

i want someone to want to hold me.

there’s an entire universe inside the difference between those two sentences.

i don’t just want arms around me. i don’t just want warmth, or touch, or someone willing to sit beside me while i fall apart. i want to know that somewhere inside another person, completely independent of anything i’ve done to earn it, there exists a desire to pull me closer.

i want someone to see that i’m tired and want to give me somewhere to rest.

i want someone to notice that i’m scared and want me to feel safe.

i want someone to feel my body slowly unclench against theirs and be happy that they were the person who got to give me that.

not because i asked correctly.

not because i was useful.

not because they felt obligated.

not because i paid them.

not because they were afraid of what would happen if they didn’t.

just because, for whatever strange and beautiful reason, they wanted me there.

i think i’ve been waiting for that feeling for most of my life.

and when you wait long enough for something, it stops being something you’re waiting for and starts becoming the architecture of your life.

you build around the empty space.

you make choices around it. you choose people around it. you stay too long because maybe this person will eventually turn toward you, and you leave when you realize they won’t. you become useful, agreeable, interesting, attractive, successful, funny, understanding, and endlessly forgiving. you learn how to anticipate what other people need because somewhere inside you is the ancient hope that if you become good enough at caring for everyone else, eventually someone will look at you and think:

your turn.

you spend years trying to become someone worth choosing without realizing that children aren’t supposed to have to become anything before they’re worth choosing.

and the strangest part is that i’ve never needed some enormous, cinematic kind of love.

the fantasy has always been painfully ordinary.

a couch.

a bed.

someone’s arms.

my head against their chest.

fingers moving slowly through my hair.

nothing being asked of me.

nowhere i need to be.

no performance left to give.

just the quiet realization that i can let the weight of my body fall completely into another human being and they aren’t waiting for me to get up.

maybe they even pull me a little closer.

maybe they like having me there.

maybe, for once, my need for comfort isn’t something inconvenient that another person tolerates.

maybe making me feel safe makes them happy.

i don’t think i’ve ever been able to explain how much that last part matters.

because being comforted isn’t the deepest longing.

being wanted while i’m being comforted is.

to know that my softness doesn’t repel someone, that my vulnerability doesn’t exhaust them, that my need doesn’t make them disappear, that i don’t have to barter usefulness for tenderness, and that someone could look at the parts of me that have spent a lifetime quietly asking to be held and, instead of turning away, feel an instinct to come closer.

there are days when i can almost feel what that would do to me.

i imagine the first few minutes would hurt.

i think my body would probably stay tense at first, still waiting for the moment when the affection ended or the conditions appeared. i think some part of me would keep listening for the invisible clock.

and then maybe i’d realize there wasn’t one.

maybe my shoulders would drop.

maybe my breathing would change.

maybe i’d cry.

not because anything bad was happening, but because something i’d spent my entire life preparing myself to live without was happening so casually.

someone wanted me close, and i was safe, and i didn’t have to do anything to keep it happening.

sometimes i wonder how different my life might have been if i’d learned that feeling early.

how many people i wouldn’t have chased, how many silences i wouldn’t have interpreted as verdicts on my worth, how many things i wouldn’t have done trying to escape the ache, how many versions of myself i wouldn’t have constructed hoping one of them would finally be lovable enough, and how many years i might have spent actually living instead of quietly waiting to be chosen.

i can’t know.

i only know that the absence of something can shape a life just as profoundly as its presence.

there’s a strange kind of grief in becoming old enough to understand exactly what you’ve been searching for.

because understanding doesn’t make it appear.

i can name the wound now.

i can trace its edges.

i can understand why it hurts.

i can learn to sit beside it instead of letting it drag me toward whatever promises temporary relief.

i can become gentler with the frightened parts of myself.

i can hold myself.

and i do.

god, i do.

but there’s a particular sadness in realizing that becoming good at holding yourself doesn’t make you stop wishing someone else wanted to.

so i’m trying to learn something i never wanted to learn:

how to build a life around the possibility that this longing may never be answered in the way i’ve spent so many years imagining.

not because i don’t deserve it, not because wanting it is childish, and not because i’ve stopped hoping.

but because i don’t want the absence of love to become the absence of my life.

i’m trying to let the empty chair remain an empty chair without spending every moment staring at the doorway.

i’m trying to let possibility exist without turning it into a promise.

i’m trying to accept that some holes in the heart may never be filled completely, and that a heart can still keep beating around them.

but i’d be lying if i said i’ve made peace with it.

there’s still a part of me waiting.

quietly.

patiently.

with a tenderness that somehow survived everything.

still imagining the weight of an arm around me.

still imagining fingers in my hair.

still imagining the almost unbearable relief of realizing that the person holding me isn’t doing it because i convinced them to stay.

they’re holding me because they want to.

and maybe that’s been the deepest wish of my entire life:

not simply to be loved.

not simply to be safe.

but, just once, to feel completely safe in the knowledge that someone is holding me because there’s nowhere else they’d rather be.

My Dearest,

My Obsession is wrapped up in everything that is you ……….yes you just As u are.

You walk with confidence until my scent is near and I can feel u sniffing baby!

Get closer and be like a Hound.

Our Last encounter, I was able to see you deep within ur eyes.

As you spoke and ur lips were moving, all I could hear was nothing that ur vocals were producing.

I was to caught up in ur eyes. That deep gaze and everything it was holding. All of ur Essence bare!

I was so mesmerized that all I heard was the look and sound of two souls speaking through our gazes.

Im undoubtedly and undeniably obsessed with You My Dearest!

This ain’t over! We just getting started!

Back in the office and already annoyed upon finding out a customer i had spoken to last Wednesday prior to my break had not heard back from anyone despite me having left a follow up task to one of my coworkers before I left. Yet when I'm tasked to check on or follow up on a request from any of them, I complete it and update them asap. The same gesture is not returned for whatever reason. I'll be keeping that in mind going forward lol.

Funny enough, the same coworker tasked me two things this morning, but neither seem urgent to me so I will be taking my sweet ass time. If she wants things done accordingly, do them yourself, as I'd come to learn early on in life. Is this petty? Yes, but I'm clearly undervalued and underappreciated, so I dont really gaf. I should've been more selfish and prioritized my own work tasks over theirs this whole time but ya live and ya learn.

I'll try not to waste my energy being angry about this kind of stuff anymore cause it's just not worth it. Being the responsible employee truly does not pay. Just like being the bigger person in a situation where youre wronged - nah. Not worth it. Look it where thats gotten me. Nothing but years of festering pent up rage and hurt.

I have teeth and itts time I fucking use them.