I am looking. But I don’t see. I exist. But I’m not here. I speak. But I don’t hear. I touch. But I don’t feel. I am alive. But I barely feel it.
Hi. My name is Rod. And since Tumblr is one of the only places I feel like myself, here are some true life confessions...
I am looking. But I don’t see. I exist. But I’m not here. I speak. But I don’t hear. I touch. But I don’t feel. I am alive. But I barely feel it.
I have an obsession with wanting to be thin.
I’m feeling anxious because I’m seeing my therapist tonight and it’s the most excruciating 45 mins of my week. I just sit there, I’m so uncomfortable and I’m expected to spill my guts and reveal all the pathetic, crappy reasons why I’m abnormal. I know I need therapy. I just wish I didn’t need it. It confirms that there’s something wrong with me.
THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY
Rainy days meant for staying inside and reading
Taking naps outside when the weather is nice
Walking through the woods
Curling up with a good book
Snuggling
Spending time with my pets
Going for road trips and long car rides
Listening to my favorite music
Reliving my childhood by watching shows and movies I watched as a kid
That nice clean feeling after a shower
Taking pictures
Drawing
Sketching
Painting
Making jewelry
Scrapbooking
Eating something really yummy
Christmas morning
Halloween night
Getting presents
Giving presents
Making people smile
Making people laugh
Going to the movie theatre and the drive-in
Going for walks at night
Getting compliments
Reading
Writing
Rollerskating
Working on my sticker collection
Decorating my bedroom
Going to bookstores
Going to video stores
Having money
Getting piercings
Going to concerts
I love you too much. I am beginning to believe that you don’t care enough.
Our love will never be 50/50.
Source: chicagotribune.com
I feel bad about feeling bad.
I’ve got style. Miles and miles. So much style that it’s wasted.
I am not trying to seek attention from my friends. But it would be nice to know they actually care. Like yeah I know they care. But do they truly? Do they ever worry about me? Do they ever wonder what is truly going on in my life, in my own mind. How I have been with my depression and anxiety. If I have been struggling with being suicidal? Do they really even care about any of that? Who knows. Because they don’t ask. A simple how’ve you been is obviously not going to get me to tell my deep feelings. If they actually know me they would know they would need to push me to talk. Push me to answer questions that are hard for me to answer. Maybe they don’t want to know. Who knows.
Had a break down today. A panic attack maybe. Idk.
I can’t explain it but I have an irresistible urge to go glow bowling now.
So many words seething across synapses. They solidify, smolder then perish. Erasing themselves as they go, because they know before I do that the fear would magnify as each phoneme passed past my lips. I have so many questions, and a succinct explanation to follow.
As you’ve no doubt discovered, becoming a Christian does not make your problems go away.
I’ve been sitting here in a towel (because I just took a shower) meaning to get dressed and make myself something to eat for 1.5 hours now.