Hi, I'm Ashlie and I am seventeen. You're welcome to message me or talk to me about anything. I am always willing to listen or give advice.
You need someone who goes out of their way to make it obvious that they want you in their life.
u kno ur in deep when u love listening to them talk and u get attached to their voice
Yeah his voice is like a song I don’t want to end.
I just want to be okay again. I’m tired of hardly sleeping, having a never ending headache, having lower and upper back pain constantly, not being able to do any exercise and just being in pain all the time. Most of all I’m tired of the doctors telling me it’s no big deal, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with me and making out like I’m faking it.
I literally crave affection. It’s not about sex. I crave somebody to cuddle with me, and to lay their head on my lap. I crave kisses, holding hands and running my thumb across theirs. Just looking at someone and thinking “how did I get this lucky”.
The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.
At thirteen I started crying as silently as my wrists
started bleeding. I never understood why I always
felt too heavy, like I was buried under bricks and no
matter how much weight I lost, I felt like I took up too
much space in this room, in this world. I never
understood why I pushed the word sadness out of my
mind and convinced myself that I was fine even when
I was sitting in a bathtub full of my own blood. I never
understood why I walked around with a mask that some
people called a smile, and why I always felt like a fraud
at the end of the day. I never understood the way happiness
was suppose to feel and how people could call it a choice
because fuck, if it is a choice I wouldn’t be staring at the
walls wondering why I’m even breathing. I never felt loved
and I thought it was something I’d feel after letting him into
my bed, but after kissing boys whose lips I knew better than
their own personality, I still felt nothing but numb. I never understood why I was afraid of the doctor and afraid of
being told I was clinically depressed. The day the news
broke I still didn’t comprehend it, was I going to be like
Four years later, two medications, sessions of therapy,
my wrists no longer bleed but my soul does.
I’m seventeen now, and I still don’t understand.