Baahaarmast

"مرگ را دانم، ولی تا کوی دوست
راه اگر نزدیک‌تر داری بگو"

خلاصه که happy to hang around

وای. این اینترنشنال چقدر زباله‌ست. چقدر بدبختیم ما به ابلفضل.

:))

Dead inside but still هورنی

🫂

The damage done baby, the damage done.

"This is my least favorite life
The one where I am out of my mind
The one where you are just out of reach
The one where I stay and you fly"

This new perfume makes me anxious. It reminds me of some days and wishes I never had.

Obviously, I'm not sober.

«سلامتی همه
تمام ایرانو بزن به لیوانم»

My current project at work is teaching me a lot. It’s exciting, tough, and kind of fun.

I’m not that unlovable.

I wrote in my diary today and read it a hundred times. I read it when I needed to cry, in the middle of a work session, while smoking, on my way home, and finally after an awful argument. It didn’t work. It didn’t work.

My one and only shelter, Faraj’s words.

Ask me anything today, the answer is "IDK".

I wish I could cry. deeply, endlessly, and in a healing way.

That look. just that look under the warm lights has kept me together.

How normal everything could have been. But nothing is.

I shouldn’t drink coffee in the middle of the day. It makes my heart race and my anxiety spike, with zero effect on my energy.

I’m planning a short trip out of the country, and I don’t know if I can count on it. If there’s a war, all my plans will be gone. Again.

I mean in every aspect. I could barely even walk or stay conscious.

I’m so tired that after 3-4 hours of work, I completely shut down.

He’s 82, and after a full, proper life, he has zero tolerance for bullshit. I admire his analysis and never feel like he’s disconnected.

It has been over eight months since I actually lived by myself in this fucking house. With a cat. A modern single mom.
And you know what? I don’t feel any different from the past.

If there’s a war, which I think there will be, I’m open to dying.
I’ve always wanted to love. To love in every way, in everything. And I feel like there’s nothing left for me to receive or even give. At least not for me. I’m done.

The scary thing about it was that everything was "normal", the horror of it, the way I remember it, in the same light, wearing the same comfy clothes, but anxious and frozen. I actually think I tried to be nice to the guy. Exactly the same way I do when I’m awake.

I dreamed last night about a stranger who harassed me on the phone while I was alone and panicked. It was a normal night. Also, Jorge was acting crazy, screaming and running all across the house. It was horrible, and I felt devastated.

force myself to fantasize and sleep on it. Absolute failure.

I can’t even cry. I just exist without living.