I love when I'm told to think of how my actions affect others.

I love when you ignore my depression.

I love when you ignore my OCD.

I love when you ignore my "Sociopathic Tendencies".

I love when you ignore my BPD.

I love it when you take your personal problems and make them mine.
I hate my life lmao.
Lily 1d
You don’t know my mind,
My thoughts, my reasoning
Behind my actions.
What to you may seem selfish
Or simply eccentric,
Is what I need to do
To function, to continue
Breathing without hyperventilating,
Completely breaking down.
So please be patient.
You don’t know what I’m going through.
destiny 6d
Depression tastes like disappointment,
Anxiety smells like fart,
OCD feels like Groundhog Day,
And anorexia looks like art .
You learn to ‘live’ and ‘cope’,
And you learn to fill your days,
You swallow more drinks and pop more pills and live through a medicated haze.
Mos 6d
The thing about loving and OCD is that every tree in the woods has your name carved into its bark
Every attempt is misspelt perfectly in calligraphy
You’re the most beautiful mistake I have made
Note: Never take a nature walk again
Remembering to forget you is an impossible phenomenon
Like riding a bike
Except I never learned how to ride a bike
But I do know how to breathe
Unless I think about you then suddenly my lungs collapse
You were my oxygen, or a necessity if you prefer
And my therapist told me getting some fresh air would be therapeutic
Like riding a bike in the woods
The only problem with this serenity is you took my oxygen away from me
You are in everything I once breathed
Not to mention I never learned how to ride a bike
And every tree has your name engraved
An everlasting reminder of the beauty in toxicity
I can’t remember who I wrote this for
The thought is applicable to myself now
Em Quinn Jun 14
when i was younger,
my mom would turn the mirror to me with bright eyes.

"look at my beautiful girl!"
she'd say.
her truth was the only one that mattered,
and so i'd smile,
crooked teeth and disheveled hair
because, well,
if she thought i was beautiful,
surely i was.

i'm sixteen, it's been ten years.
time has worn my confidence thin.

i can't look in the mirror anymore.
destiny Jun 10
Do you ever just want it to stop?
The suffering,
The pain,
The numbness.
I do.
I want it all to end.

Sometimes I can't tell if my heart is filled with so much love or so much pain and I hate that.

I've tried you know, to die.
Many times,
Trust me it is not worth it.
I know that I don't want to die.
I just want all of the suffering to stop.
The pain,
The emptiness I feel in my chest.
But I don't know how to make it go away.
And I fear it never will.
Lily Flower Jun 9
Every breath I take reeks of calamity
I start counting the biscuit bunnies I had yesterday.
which sadly reach up to eight.
Not my favourite number at all
I look like an exploding fireball
but despite that everything is dark
and ruddy.
like the insides of a trash bin .
My hands are clammy,
throat, a jammed highway of emotions!
If I used ten thousand oceans
as ink, and a million deserts as parchment,
I would be unable to describe my pain
for it was born a torchering antagonist,
a piece of congealed blood in my lungs
and my breath reeks of calamity.
On anxiety disorders such as ocd and panic attacks, social anxiety and depression. All of which I've suffered from (still struggling).
You control my life,
restricting each breath,
each laugh

Because of you,
I’ve forgotten how to smile,
how to live

You took all my friends away,
leaving just me,
and me, alone

You forced me into things,
things I hated,
but they were the only things that brought relief

And I find myself thinking about the past,
before I met you,
before you ruined my life

I don’t know how I used to be like that,
so happy,
so alive

You stole everything from me,
and now,
I don’t even know who I am
Nathan Tuy Jun 2
Another word gets lost in my throat,
Ravaged by the blindness
That my heart conjured up.
All I can hear is the devil
Whispering into my ear,
Saying “just one more” amidst the white noise of a room of a hundred people.
Every letter starts dissolving
Into my coffee,
Slowly drifting away into the meaningless impulse.
My lungs are congested,
Carrying all the lust I smoked.
There’s a black plastic bag around my head,
Defying all the rules of the universe,
Making sure that I see nothing
But numbers and words and
Whatever you call that is.
Whatever you call that is.
Whatever you call that is.
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