#Personal #Horror #BodyHorror #Vent #Angst #Counting #Down #From #10 And one. Still mad. Okay. This is completely fucking unacceptable. I cannot even mark all as read. I am losing control of my life. The curse of my bloodline made manifest in the form of @thatGamerrrgrl. You contemptuous creation. You pig. You beast. You talkatively chatty and unruly horse's anus. Are you FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW? You do not have to hit every single react button in painstakingly fastidious order on every single post I make until the end of time just because I happen to sport a passing resemblance to you in terms of cheek bones and dead scalp shavings! Family is not the end-all-be-all literal center of every interaction. How are you not out clubbing like normal alcoholics? Enjoying the party scene? Being lively, getting your proverbial dick wet, doing something, ANYTHING shy of ME??? There is not a high enough concentration of xanax in all the conjoined and amalgamated pharmacies in the next six hundred and sixty six conjoined area codes to quench my unfathomably boundless annoyance at your asinine antics. Please. Please. Please. Get therapy from somebody OTHER than your daughter. Get a social life. Strike up a few hobbies. Get addicted to gambling and meth. Do anything. Anything. And anybody else. Why me? Why me why me why me why me why me why me why me? https://i.imgur.com/rsosOn0.png
Please DM me.
not abt me but also sorry.... -me
In my lowest moment, no less. You absolutely fucking would. I would give anything for but a snowflake's helping. A charitable chipping of your nose candy. Please, Mr. Wonka. Just a few grams more. Only but a sweet iota of a helping that I might dash out my eyes, as Oedipus once did, and participate no longer in this harrowing act of self-flagellation upon continued exposure and re-exposure to my mother.
Phrasing. Please ignore.
Hey. Stop. You don't get to act like this after sporting a stick up your ass so intimately wedged against the lining of each tonsil you could carry a whistle down and back out again as a fart in Beethoven's iconic C Minor. You stop frowning right now. Get over yourself.
Mom. Enough. You are being dramatic.
Mom?