Rants

c0ffeekitten:

strawberryspoons:

Interviewer: where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Me: I used escapist fantasies as a coping mechanism to get through years of trauma and therefore never learned how to plan for a real life future

Alternatively: I went through periods of depression so frequent and intense that I never considered that I’d actually make it to my 20s so now I’m kinda just making it up as I go

(via kowasuu)

mariiluuluu:

(via dirtylittlestylewhoree)

Tumblr is dying on my birthday 🙁

I’m turning twenty eight in three days, feeling very under accomplished. As usual. I force myself to view it as fuel. Fuel to power through the shit(life) to become better. To feel finally one day maybe a sense of “accomplishment”. Earlier unfortunately I had the displeasure of speaking(being trapped on the phone)with my egg donor. Or at least trying to uphold and piece together and keep together whole full sentences. Egg donor is raging alcoholic and at this point in the evening is plastered. Slurring emotions and words. Most of it only understandable due to a whole life thus far of dealing with it. This went on for what felt like eternity(thirty minutes)and my birth day was brought up. Causally and confidently she proclaims how I’ll be twenty nine. Immediately I foolishly found myself hurt and laughing at myself. Idiot of course she doesn’t know or care to know how old you’re. I’ll be twenty eight. It’s just a year not that big of a deal. But like what the fuck, I’m this women’s first born and she doesn’t know how old I am. My birth father doesn’t even know the day. He’d do his usually one phone call a year thing. Thinking it was my birthday. Weirdly enough he’d always call me on my great grandmothers birthday. The nineteenth of December. I am a parent and fucking proudly love my daughter. I would never forget the day of her birth. Let alone how old she is. Meh as usual I will shrug this all off.