O__o So, basically exactly what happened to me? And I remind you of her "in every way"?

....

Sometimes, I think the universe is a troll and enjoys messing with me. XDD

They probably feel a lot more private.
It's much harder to climb the walls nowadays. My friend couldn't even do it. /sigh.../ the golden years of being nine are gone.
Am feeling very nostalgic...and am not sure whether this emotion is supposed to be expressed on this thread.

I don't think I take enough time appreciating what amazing wonderful friends I have and how they always manage to cheer me up and what beautiful, strong, awe-inspiring people they are and how effing lucky someone like me is to have such scintillating people in her life.
Seriously.
My emotion right now is partly really, really freaked out, partly grateful beyond words.

I concur, the universe is a troll and it loves irony. XD


@Heather: :'D

I don't feel happy. I am scared to grow up. I am scared of dying. My parents don't understand how I'm feeling.
I've lost my passion for writing. I want to write but I'm not good at it anymore and it takes so much strength to do so. Why does life have to suck so much for me? I am much better off than a lot of people in this world, and I am still upset and afraid.

I have the opposite problem. I am obsessed with the idea of death. I'm not suicidal nor homocidal, but I find it amazingly interesting.

Likewise to both of you.

So yesterday, I read this story.
And I'm not going to really disclose anything about it but a few details that are important to this rant.
Just telling you now.
You don't get the name, the author, nothing.

Let the rant begin.

There was once a story about... well, about someone dying. Someone who was fragile, breakable, and who hated himself...
He had, of course, his reasons, happenstances, to explain why this was.
But those aside, he was like me.
I don't have a reason or an excuse this time.
I am fragile, breakable.
I am awash in self-hatred.
I want nothing more than for someone to love and accept me--ALL of me.
And no, I'm not giving any reasons.
I am how I am.
In the story, told from the dying person's lover's POV, the lover said she knew that she loved and accepted and cared for the man.
But it wouldn't be the same till the man loved, accepted, and cared for himself.
...
So I'm trying this again.
I'm going to try to love myself, because, until my lover comes along, no one CAN really love me.
Except me.
I'm going to start over.
Maybe I've been looking at this the wrong way.
Instead of beating myself down when I get into a whiny bitch mode, I'm going to say, 'Well, that was stupid. Let's not say/do that again.' And I'm going to try to not say/do that.
...
Truth be told?
I don't really know what I'm doing.
But I know I'm trying.
I know that counts for something, even if this turns out to be the completely wrong thing to do.
Oh, well, whatever works.

And I'll see.