Figuring out I liked girls explained a lot of things about my childhood, like there really was no other justification for the number of times I watched the music video for Come and Get It by Selena Gomez—I didn’t like the song that much.
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Trauma responses are fucking crazy. You’ll go ‘Ah yes. A fairly precedented, if unpleasant, human experience. I am going to have a psychotic breakdown if I even have to fucking look at it, and I won’t be able to sleep or not want to vomit for the next 48 hours if I’m forced to engage with it even a little.’ And then 2 days later once it’s done you’ll be able to think about it completely objectively and normally without the emotional state of a hurricane or being a single thread of sanity away from shattering objects or fleeing the country, just like, ‘Yeah I’m unbothered.’
But watch out
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i hate my fucking mom why does she always have to ruin everything for me i dont even HAVE that much to ruin and she still decides to take it away from me and fuck it up anyways because like, she said so, or whatever the fuck, because she literally actually doesn't care about me, or my wellbeing, or happiness, besides superficial fucking shit, maybe i would be happier if you didn't dismiss and mock me when i tell you i want to kill myself, maybe i would feel better if you didn't mock me at all, mmaybe if i forgot what this fucking post was going to be about and its not even fucking relevant to last night anymore
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