I’ll let it go when it stops happening to me.

It is just so, so unfair that people who went out of their miserable little way to be deliberately cruel and, let’s be honest, downright fucking evil are all happy and okay and forgiven, and I’m the one sobbing hysterically at 3PM on a Sunday afternoon touching literal scar tissue and remembering every. single. fucking. sensation. and realising that this has been the way of it since I was a child, and those types of fucked-up fuckups know. They’ve got a radar for people who are weak and hurt and they hone in on them like heat-seeking missiles.

But I forgive them. Of course I do. They’re no longer who they were, then.

Unfortunately I am still me, and the keloids tell entire stories in languages nobody in the world can understand.

I’m not strong enough to keep doing this. I can’t keep having my face rubbed in my own vomit. I am not strong enough, stop saying I am and then being annoyed when I fall. Listen to me. Listen to me. I don’t wanna do any of this any more. I’m so tired. Please.