and you tell me it’s gonna be ok. and i know how entitled i must seem. i know how long i’ve been in therapy. i’m trying so fucking hard to get better, i swear, ok?

and is this ok? i’m sorry if it’s too much.

and i’m sorry, if sometimes i’m needy. i’m just terrified that the second i look away of course you’re gonna leave me.

i’m sorry i take up space. i’m sorry i exist. i’m sorry my self-talk is so ridiculous, and if this feels like a lot to take in, that’s probably because… it is.

i’m not ok. my mental health is a mess. and just because i get a lot of shit done doesn’t mean i don’t feel like i’m being eaten up by my own emptiness.

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