Many eyes. Ars pictoria: or An academy treating of drawing, painting, limning, etching. 1675.
Internet Archive
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Cutting is so quiet.
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mount auburn cemetery
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I asked my dad if he would help me in the afternoon. I was so anxious and scared. He said he had to get something to my sister. It was so important. I said I would call her instead he spite being at the end of her rope.
Dad…I thought we had this whole comvo. I thought…well I tried to accept and understand you and your bullshit. But maybe that’s all you got from it. That I accept I’m a fuck-up. That you explain how fucked you are and have been, but still put everything else above me.
I try to live so hard. I try. I told you I’m no better than anyone. So why do you say thank you and treat me like you’re better? Like work is better? I can’t do it. I can’t.
Maybe I should just never call you for help at work anymore. It always ends up having to do with work even if I tell you I’m scared. God. Why bother. I told you. I told you I want to hurt. I told you I understood shame of the self; hatred of the self. I thought you got it too, but you just don’t. So selfish, manipulative, absorbed I’m your problems…you’re not the only one ass fuck.
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My makeup didn’t blend right bc I didn’t wash my brushes. Thanks bye
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They say I’m like my Aunt Connie. That’s just so sad for me. She’s sweet, but in so many bad places all the time. Same sort of stuff her husband takes care of her so much, which makes me…jealous. It may be enabling sometimes, but it’s alway love . I try my best, but I guess I’m just like her. My big successful sister’s godmother. I’m just used this the same things are she. Poor me. No one cares about me enough to feed me, help me, hold me,give a shit. But what do I want? What do I need? Idk. It’s all love and hate and love and hate. It’s all so colorless and then full of color. I can’t figure it out
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I want so bad to be something. I want so bad to feel worth it. I want so bad to feel like I need to be there. $22 is nothing. It’s. It’s me. It’s me, right? I hate it. I hate it. Please help me
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Are you really okay? by sleep token pisses me off more than any other song.
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Congrats on making it this far. Good job. But its too late.
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I just walked through the mall yesterday with my sleeves rolled up. My left sleeve as well. I haven’t done that in a month. And who cares?! I’ll never see them again.
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Sometimes I really think I just won’t wake up in the morning. I don’t want to do that to them. But, every night, I worry I’ll leave them. And I worry about that peace I will feel. The nothing. That conflict between wanting and not.
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I have to buy my dad something for christmas. He has fucked up and I know that. But he still deserves a couple gifts, right? Addiction doesn’t mean we should treat him like trash despite how trash he has made us feel…right? Maybe I do want to buy him his $100 shoes and his hair styler despite him having basically no hair. He wanted me to split, but I am not getting one of brothers to help. Maybe if I give him these things he will stay alive longer? Do you think? Maybe if I show I care and buy him things and make him feel needed by talking to me he will stay with us? Probably not. But it doesn’t matter. This time I am sad and I care. This relapse. Again. I want him to know I care. What if it makes a difference? What if it matters? Who am I kidding; it doesn’t matter. It can’t, right? After everything? And you know what else doesn’t matter? My desire to provide someone with nothing, with something. Even if he can’t do the same for me anymore after all he took from us.
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Chapel ruins at Cypress Gardens
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