g o d, I hate when people send me voice messages, or video messages, like a text exists for w h o m?? and I h a t e when people send me long ass texts for me to read that they found interesting, or send me music or videos to see and listen, ugh.

But I love my firends, I love my friends, I love my friends.

I just can't control this sudden irritation upon something making me feel like they're about to take my time, and I have no idea what to do with it but be patient.

maybe you care about opinions of others because that's the only way for human mind to comprehend and prove itself its own existence. and maybe the only way to stop caring is to make yourself belive that your existence will be accepted positively no matter what.

otherwise you will hate yourself to death.

I think it's important to remember that you've got emotions because you, as a human, need to express them to connect with others. Your feelings aren't some cursed wretches meant to torture you, mind and soul, but signals meant to show you a path for a better life. Your emotions aren't a sign of weakness, but a way to communicate and connect, to be understood.

Be kind enough to remember that you're a creature of community, and may you be blessed to find your own.

I'm a coward at heart.

I alienate myself from others.

I fear even the ones closet to me, and I can't make myself kinder to them.

I try to listen, I really do, but every attempt ends up with the ever so growing rage that they talk and talk and talk.

And every attempt to run away chokes me more and more with guilt.

And the root of it all is in the simple fact that I'm afraid to talk myself.

Do you really have a right to claim that you love someone if their very presence fills you with both fear and anger?

I'm thankful for the kindness I've learned while being with me. And for the opportunity to even get to know I can be kind with myself.

I like my mother's pies. I wish to learn how to make some of them myself, but then I sit and think: I don't want to know them. I want her to be the only one who can make them to me. I want those pies to be my mother's and no one else. So sentimental.

I like the view from my , but when I get out of home and walk those streets myself, I... feel strange. Watching and belonging are never the same.

When I was younger, I thought being closed and angry and sad would get someone come and rescue me. It was a strange game of sort: never show in how much pain you're in, but... just give hints. For being weak is shameful, so if you must for kindness, let someone "notice and rescue you" without asking for it outright.

Yeah, no one did rescue. But I got to know that I can help myself, or that pain goes away, or that, sometimes, I don't even have to feel the pain anymore.

I hope I can be kinder with myself. I really do.