Coming back home for the holidays is weird. I’m reminded of every past Christmas morning and this one is not the same as the rest. This one is different. I’m older now, I’m broken now, I can’t forget my anxiety now. My siblings are different people and my parents look at us like we are the same. Sometimes I wish we could go back to then, when we didn’t try so hard to make each other mad. When our bedrooms were just feet apart and our houses weren’t halfway across the state. I wish we could talk about more things besides high school and memories from then. We don’t talk about our lives now or what we’re going through. Everything isn’t sunshine and rainbows, but we’re expected to act as such. I can’t keep acting like life is perfect.. have our parents always acted this way, or am I just noticing it now? Is everybody secretly miserable and depressed? Do we all fake a smile until we go to bed? Or is it just me?

imalreadyadeadbitch:

I’m trying so fucking hard and no one sees that. I’m trying so fucking hard to stay alive but my breathing is getting shallow and my heart is beating slower and if I don’t wake up tomorrow just fucking forget about me.