The first snow of winter arrive today, apparently a whopping 4 inches (maybe even 6?). I never realized it before, but there are so many thoughts of mine connected to winter. Or maybe just because of the eventful depression of last year do I find any meaning of it. But today, I had a lot of thoughts running around in my mind.
Winter makes me think really romantic thoughts. But it's also dangerous. I can't decide between the two.
Winter was when I started dating Rachel.We held hands outside after going to a musical together, even though our hands were numb as hell. I was still wearing ribbons back then. It seems like so long ago.
I later wrote her a song about how she made my winter a happy one. The melody sounded too much like Justin Beiber's "Baby" by accident, so I never sang it to her. It wasn't even a good song, but sometimes I still recall the words and hum it to myself.
Winter makes me think of cuddling. What better time is there to cuddle than winter? It also makes me think of thick blankets on the couch in front of the fireplace. I wish the fireplace still worked at the house. I'd love to cuddle up with someone, letting them lay between my knees with their head on my shoulder. Like a bunk bed. A fluffy, slightly limb-tangled bunkbed. Beck is coming this Thanksgiving, if the fireplace worked I'd add that to the list of things we'll do together. Though I doubt I'd have the nerve to pull it off in front of my family. I doubt I have the nerve to pull off half the things I promise them.
Standing in the cold, hugging my scarf to my face and seeing my lace sleeves poke out from the ends of my coat, I think I look very cute. When I feel cute, there's a swelling of pride that Beck gets a cute girlfriend. I don't know why it matters so much that I belong to someone else, but it feels even better to know that I am worthy to stand by their side and make them proud and happy. I guess I like being a trophy wife. I feel like a trophy wife. I am very cute and I get to be loved by an amazing person, and that makes me feel even cuter.
I want to cuddle them. I want to hold their hands until our fingers are uncomfortably numb. I want them to see me with my cheeks flushed red from the cold and think, "wow, this is a side of her I haven't seen." I just want. To be romantic. With them. I want to cuddle.
Beck is so strong. So incredibly, incredibly strong. I can't believe the things they go through, live through. Most people couldn't even imagine it. And they get through it. Beck is the strongest person I know, they are so strong, amazingly strong, dangerously strong. I worry. I love them a lot. (Have I already talked about this?)
I see a lot of posts circulating Tumblr about abused queers with poisonous environments running from home and asking for temporary housing, money to move out, etc etc. It makes me heart hurt. What if Beck had to do that? It makes me scared. I wish they had someplace safer. But at the least they trust me and let me know what's happening, so my heart can rest a bit easier knowing they will allow me to support them. I hope they lean on me a bit more in the future, too. I want to grow up really fast and become independent, so we can live together, and be happy and safe, and spend our days smiling.
Winter reminds me of last year. That's when I started my fixation with burning, which was the peak of the worst time I ever had with depression (discounting 7th grade). It is probably good the fireplace broke. I don't think I want it fixed. I'm scared of fire, even though I used to love it so much. It made me feel calm, and really safe. I wonder where that safety went off too?
I remember sticking my hands into the snow. I left the house without a coat, my shirt thin. It was -20 degrees. I went outside, felt the frozen sidewalk beneath my feet. The cold felt good. I plunged my hand in the snow piles, leaving it there until my fingers began to burn, then become numb. It was satisfying. I ran back inside, but within a few minutes I craved it again, even stronger. I ran back out, rolled up my sleeves, and burrowed both my arms into the snow, burying them to my elbows. It was nice. Opening the door to get back inside was hard. The family never noticed my abscences or my bright red arms.
Sometimes I still feel how hot my tea mugs are and remember how nice it felt to press to scalding cup to my skin, along my scars. It was really nice. Sometimes, when I burn myself while pouring the hot water, I get bits of that experience back. It still feels good, but it drives me inside. Makes my cravings go wild. I hate burns. I hate burns. I hate burns.
The cigarette smoke around campus makes my stomach burrow into myself so bad. I want smoke. I crave it. It's an eternal hunger, it never goes away, and damn I want it so badly. I'm going to visit Rachel soon--I told her if I tried smoking, it'd probably start with her, using the cigarettes she makes herself. Now I wonder, whether maybe I should start with Beck instead? I may feel too ashamed though. I don't want to start smoking, I don't. I don't want to start a habit I surely cannot ever hope to break, I don't need a new one to add to my list. And it would probably feed my burning addiction, and I'd want to burn myself with the cigarette butts. It only takes one time for me to get hooked. I don't want to do that to myself.
Seeing the winter and feeling the unpleasant chill in my toes, it brings back some of the urges again. I imagine the scarf around my neck being a noose. I pull it tighter around my neck. I love having my neck compressed--it feels really nice. I tried choking myself and I actually moaned. That's bad. That's really bad. I'm starting to think I have a pain fetish. I also used to moan when I bit myself. And everything felt better and I realized I had started to bleed. Amber gave me that sort of idea during our play, she said I hurt her. It felt good to me. I don't know. I don't want that. I don't want to like pain.
I started reading a lot of shoujou manga again. I like it, it's cute. But I forgot how bad it makes my emotions act up. I get overwhelmed too easy. I start kissing my arms, and then I start biting them, and leaving marks just to have some way to vent out my overwhelmed feelings. I get urges to hurt myself. It's not worth it, I know, but I get addicted to the emotional rush it gives me. And i like cute stories. I want to keep reading them, find a bunch of cute ones. But that's what I did last year. That's what made me start biting. I shouldn't go back to that. The fact that I restarted reaidng some old BL comics already was picking up a bad habit that hurt me, but shoujou's are far worse. It's dumb. I hate how I can't do simple things like read romance stories without wanting to kill myself. It's ridiculous. No one else has to worry about this. But I can't.
I like horror but it makes me panic. I like romance but it makes me want to hurt myself. I like happiness but it makes me suicidal. I like sadness but it makes me suicidal.
Winter is full of strange things. I like the sound of my footsteps against the packed snow, how it sounds like the little squished sounds in Animal Crossing. I played that a lot as a kid, and loved how the footsteps sounded different in snow. Now I notice it in real life.
Maybe I should just focus on my footsteps instead of winter. A lot less thinking.
My lips are too numb for me to sing, now I can't use it to distract myself. Maybe that's the only reason I'm thinking more than usual.
I hate being alone with my mind.
Life is good.
Winter makes me think really romantic thoughts. But it's also dangerous. I can't decide between the two.
Winter was when I started dating Rachel.We held hands outside after going to a musical together, even though our hands were numb as hell. I was still wearing ribbons back then. It seems like so long ago.
I later wrote her a song about how she made my winter a happy one. The melody sounded too much like Justin Beiber's "Baby" by accident, so I never sang it to her. It wasn't even a good song, but sometimes I still recall the words and hum it to myself.
Winter makes me think of cuddling. What better time is there to cuddle than winter? It also makes me think of thick blankets on the couch in front of the fireplace. I wish the fireplace still worked at the house. I'd love to cuddle up with someone, letting them lay between my knees with their head on my shoulder. Like a bunk bed. A fluffy, slightly limb-tangled bunkbed. Beck is coming this Thanksgiving, if the fireplace worked I'd add that to the list of things we'll do together. Though I doubt I'd have the nerve to pull it off in front of my family. I doubt I have the nerve to pull off half the things I promise them.
Standing in the cold, hugging my scarf to my face and seeing my lace sleeves poke out from the ends of my coat, I think I look very cute. When I feel cute, there's a swelling of pride that Beck gets a cute girlfriend. I don't know why it matters so much that I belong to someone else, but it feels even better to know that I am worthy to stand by their side and make them proud and happy. I guess I like being a trophy wife. I feel like a trophy wife. I am very cute and I get to be loved by an amazing person, and that makes me feel even cuter.
I want to cuddle them. I want to hold their hands until our fingers are uncomfortably numb. I want them to see me with my cheeks flushed red from the cold and think, "wow, this is a side of her I haven't seen." I just want. To be romantic. With them. I want to cuddle.
Beck is so strong. So incredibly, incredibly strong. I can't believe the things they go through, live through. Most people couldn't even imagine it. And they get through it. Beck is the strongest person I know, they are so strong, amazingly strong, dangerously strong. I worry. I love them a lot. (Have I already talked about this?)
I see a lot of posts circulating Tumblr about abused queers with poisonous environments running from home and asking for temporary housing, money to move out, etc etc. It makes me heart hurt. What if Beck had to do that? It makes me scared. I wish they had someplace safer. But at the least they trust me and let me know what's happening, so my heart can rest a bit easier knowing they will allow me to support them. I hope they lean on me a bit more in the future, too. I want to grow up really fast and become independent, so we can live together, and be happy and safe, and spend our days smiling.
Winter reminds me of last year. That's when I started my fixation with burning, which was the peak of the worst time I ever had with depression (discounting 7th grade). It is probably good the fireplace broke. I don't think I want it fixed. I'm scared of fire, even though I used to love it so much. It made me feel calm, and really safe. I wonder where that safety went off too?
I remember sticking my hands into the snow. I left the house without a coat, my shirt thin. It was -20 degrees. I went outside, felt the frozen sidewalk beneath my feet. The cold felt good. I plunged my hand in the snow piles, leaving it there until my fingers began to burn, then become numb. It was satisfying. I ran back inside, but within a few minutes I craved it again, even stronger. I ran back out, rolled up my sleeves, and burrowed both my arms into the snow, burying them to my elbows. It was nice. Opening the door to get back inside was hard. The family never noticed my abscences or my bright red arms.
Sometimes I still feel how hot my tea mugs are and remember how nice it felt to press to scalding cup to my skin, along my scars. It was really nice. Sometimes, when I burn myself while pouring the hot water, I get bits of that experience back. It still feels good, but it drives me inside. Makes my cravings go wild. I hate burns. I hate burns. I hate burns.
The cigarette smoke around campus makes my stomach burrow into myself so bad. I want smoke. I crave it. It's an eternal hunger, it never goes away, and damn I want it so badly. I'm going to visit Rachel soon--I told her if I tried smoking, it'd probably start with her, using the cigarettes she makes herself. Now I wonder, whether maybe I should start with Beck instead? I may feel too ashamed though. I don't want to start smoking, I don't. I don't want to start a habit I surely cannot ever hope to break, I don't need a new one to add to my list. And it would probably feed my burning addiction, and I'd want to burn myself with the cigarette butts. It only takes one time for me to get hooked. I don't want to do that to myself.
Seeing the winter and feeling the unpleasant chill in my toes, it brings back some of the urges again. I imagine the scarf around my neck being a noose. I pull it tighter around my neck. I love having my neck compressed--it feels really nice. I tried choking myself and I actually moaned. That's bad. That's really bad. I'm starting to think I have a pain fetish. I also used to moan when I bit myself. And everything felt better and I realized I had started to bleed. Amber gave me that sort of idea during our play, she said I hurt her. It felt good to me. I don't know. I don't want that. I don't want to like pain.
I started reading a lot of shoujou manga again. I like it, it's cute. But I forgot how bad it makes my emotions act up. I get overwhelmed too easy. I start kissing my arms, and then I start biting them, and leaving marks just to have some way to vent out my overwhelmed feelings. I get urges to hurt myself. It's not worth it, I know, but I get addicted to the emotional rush it gives me. And i like cute stories. I want to keep reading them, find a bunch of cute ones. But that's what I did last year. That's what made me start biting. I shouldn't go back to that. The fact that I restarted reaidng some old BL comics already was picking up a bad habit that hurt me, but shoujou's are far worse. It's dumb. I hate how I can't do simple things like read romance stories without wanting to kill myself. It's ridiculous. No one else has to worry about this. But I can't.
I like horror but it makes me panic. I like romance but it makes me want to hurt myself. I like happiness but it makes me suicidal. I like sadness but it makes me suicidal.
Winter is full of strange things. I like the sound of my footsteps against the packed snow, how it sounds like the little squished sounds in Animal Crossing. I played that a lot as a kid, and loved how the footsteps sounded different in snow. Now I notice it in real life.
Maybe I should just focus on my footsteps instead of winter. A lot less thinking.
My lips are too numb for me to sing, now I can't use it to distract myself. Maybe that's the only reason I'm thinking more than usual.
I hate being alone with my mind.
Life is good.
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