It took me ridiculously long time to realize that I always have unexplainable bruises not because I’m clumsy and bump into things, but because I’m scratching myself to bruises.

I only wish I could stop doing it in front of people and at work.

Though if I wasn’t going to work I probably wouldn’t be scratching.

I’m on a dark dark loop where I can’t stop feeling strong resentment towards people for having it easier than me (not some random people, but someone right in front of me, in almost the same circumstances, doing what I can’d do and having 3 times less obstacles while doing it), and then resenting myself double for feeling that kind of resentment. I shouldn’t be looking into others’plates. Even if they shove them under my nose. But damn it sucks.
It also sucks that I can’t even vent without feeling guilty about it and am back to crying in bathrooms.

Levels of mental stability on audio scale:

Single earphone in one ear -> two earphones, but taking one out occasionally -> nose-canceling headphones on -> one earphone in one ear with music in it and headphones over it with game or drama/movies in them, to be able to listen to both at the same time.

I think there’s a meme that fits this format.

I don’t know what changed and why now, but words with multiple different meanings have been jumping out at me and confusing the hell out of me like they never did before.

When you hear that someone is a ‘vet’, do you think veteran or veterinarian?
When you hear ‘groom’, do you think wedding or stables?
We can go on and on.
The problem is, if there’s no context, what makes you pick the right one?
And what makes you stop?

sometimes I get these moments when I feel like writing might the very only and last thing I have for myself

and in the next moment I hate it, my writing, for it with all my heart

can I please have a person who would just care to talk at me (and sometimes for me) and not expect me to engage in any social interactions adequately
pretty please

among the stages of ‘reading fluffy fanfiction therapy’, there’s this very distinctive stage of ‘reading fluffy fanfiction about bookstores’.
it comes after the ‘reading flaffy fanfiction about coffee and/or writing’ and when things are pretty damn awful. 
it doesn’t even really matter what fandom it is. 
(it could be an original fiction for all I care, but people for some reason don’t publish fluffy therapeutic fiction unless it’s for children. Or at least I haven’t seen it.)