surreal is the only word I can come up with to describe how it feels when someone you knew from childhood, someone your age, passes away. it’s a different kind of sadness to process. one minute they’re here, living their life, the next they’re gone. no matter how many times it has happened, it still fills me with shock. because any one of us could be next. and it will never be something anyone can get used to, not at this age. we’ve only lived a third of our lives.

too many of the good die young.

I hate my face, I hate my scars. My body is also quite literally defective, but I can hide that with clothes. I can’t hide my face. I think about it every day. I think about it every single time someone is talking to me and their eyes get drawn to my scars and imperfections on my face and I mentally will them with all my might to look back at my eyes when they’re talking to me. I’ve become so insecure about my bad skin, it’s contributed to me distancing myself from getting close enough (literally and figuratively) to anyone to date. I cannot open up to anyone about it, I’d start crying as soon I acknowledge the elephant in the room. And I think people are either grossed out or they feel pity. It wasn’t always like this. I actually had nice skin at one point.

And the worst part is that it’ll continue to get worse, it’ll never really heal. And there’s not much you can do when your skin problems are related to autoimmune and chronic disorders. I can’t talk about it with anyone because I’m just that insecure about it. It’s one of my biggest vulnerabilities and it’s on display every damn day. I hate all these bad genes that I was handed. I know it’s out of their control, but I feel this irrational anger that my parents gave birth to such a defective person. Sometimes I feel like I would have been better off being aborted. Why did I get the shitty genes? This is one of many reasons I never want to have kids. Who knows what the hell I’d pass on to them.

The only thing I have going for me are my eyes. Too bad they’re on such an ugly face, attached to a deformed body. I hit my physical attractiveness at 23 and it’s been downhill since then.


If I bother trying online dating again in the future, this is the perfect profile description:

Congratulations, you’ve stumbled upon my profile! Which means you have excellent taste and you’re going to meet your future wife. BUT IT WON’T BE ME. Why? Because I am the one before the one. We’ll exchange some texts and go on a few great dates, and then BAM you’ll meet your future Mrs. I don’t know how or why, however I’ve been bestowed this gift of being an involuntary matchmaker, without ever meeting the other person that I set you up with. Cheers!

And my tagline will be:

Your future girlfriend should thank me.


There’s so many little stressful and unfortunate things happening and they’ve begun to pile up together and I’ve emotionally shut down. My coping mechanism of becoming numb is to the brink. I’m in hibernation mode when it comes to feelings. I smile and say the right things outwardly and get my work done, and function as a person generally should, but on the inside, I’m just like “what-the-fuck-ever I don’t fucking care, someone give me a damn lobotomy”. I’m really stressed and it’s wreaking havoc on me, mentally and physically. And then when I stop to acknowledge how stressed and anxious I am, I start to get into panic mode and I start to feel like I may not be able to breathe.

2017 (and most of 2016) has just been such a thick sludge of shit. Honestly the only truly fun amazing and soul-energizing moment from this year has been my escape to New York.

Overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed in so many ways about so many things.

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