You might think I’m this pretty, beautiful, thing with “talent.”
You’ve never seen me with no make-up, without my spandex underwear to suck my disgusting stomach in; you don’t go to my voice lessons that most of the time don’t end well because I have a great teacher who has a bad student while all of her other students go through their lessons with flying colors because they’re possible prodigies and beautiful. You don’t see the real monster behind those filtered Instagram photos. You don’t see what really goes on in my current relationship, behind all those “cute” pictures.
Don’t tell me I’m beautiful, or lovely, or talented, because I am far below that. I am this fat, ugly, monster, this villain that can’t hold a decent relationship without fucking up or not looking the part of the perfect girlfriend. I am this worthless bitch with a horrible job and no chance of making a success out of myself because of the way I look and how much of a shitty singer I am, no matter how much I practice, no matter how much time I spend at the gym trying to burn whatever I ate, no matter how little I try to eat. I am this tortured, mental, beast that can’t trust anyone because of her past with bullying, neglect, being used for money and eventually near-to-actual sex situations, being pushed to get good grades when I’m not even smart enough to transfer to a university and just wasting my time and money at a JC, and most of all my past shitty relationships, my last one especially, who convinced me to thinking that I was good enough and pretty to keep only to be dumped in less than a year. Because of what my ex (I HOPE YOU BURN IN MT. DOOM) did to me last year, I can no longer see myself in a successful relationship to a point where marriage is possible. And being forced to be surrounded by couples everywhere I go just makes everything a lot worse, and I want to throw something painful at them as a message to stop torturing me. I became this “Saphira” that everyone at school and home knows and fears, replacing a heart that is nothing but dust scattered in various parts in Hell with this stone, cold, object that can’t care about or love or trust anyone because in the end, I will just get walked over and tortured with every asshole’s happiness. And then goes home to millions of objects that bears my hideous reflection and drives me to waste countless tears and think about just hanging myself, which is what I think about every fucking day.
If you know this struggle, Bless your tortured heart and I hope your life gets better than mine.
If you ignorant screw-heads don’t understand this struggle and criticize for “attracting attention”, I swear to fucking Hell, I will staple your mouth shut, duct tape you to a metal chair and force you to watch cinematic records of people like me who have to struggle with themselves and all the hate they have in their hearts because of the hell we go through every single fucking day!
You know what… I’m done. None of my words matter anyway; I’ll just get bashed for ranting and pouring my self-hatred out. Fuck this.
things I can’t imagine
- someone having a crush on me
- someone randomly seeing me and thinking ‘wow they’re cute’
- someone getting happy because I messaged them first
- someone thinking about me, in general
- someone wondering how I am
- someone finding me attractive
- someone doing something to try and impress me
- someone asking their friend on what to say to me
- someone wanting to get to know me
You have been visited by Baljeet, the Failed Test. If you do not reblog within ten seconds, you will fail your finals.
*presses the button* *worships the button* *becomes the button*