A place where it hurts less
I’ve never been good at keeping up this sort of thing, and I only seem to come to this site when I’m in immense pain. I don’t expect anyone to look here but if you do, you can call me Blanc (she/her). I have bipolar disorder (currently undisclosed which type), major depression, anxiety disorder, and cPTSD and have experienced CSA. This is probably going to be less a proper journal and more a place I word vomit things I don’t want to burden my friends with.
Congrats to the guy that broke my heart and moved me to make this.
3/6/26
Ate dinner.
I should be happy he still wants to be friends… if I took this gracefully I would’ve settled but I’m so selfish. I don’t want him out of my life, but if I keep him in it and he ends up falling for someone else after putting me through this I think I’d end up ripping myself to pieces. I’m such a difficult person. I always have been.
I can’t stop asking why. Why was I too much? Why can’t I be enough? Why did you lie to me? Why did you show me happiness and then take it away? Why why why. It’s all I say anymore. I’ve been going in circles. Every time I feel better I start to think he’ll change his mind, but that’s so naive and stupid. I keep thinking I’ll get my happy ending like some dumb romance manga. Life doesn’t work like that. No one would look at me, or care for me like that. I believed in a reality that just didn’t exist. It feels like I have all these words pouring out of me and I keep hoping I’ll start to heal but nothing is working.
Nothing is working.
I wish I wasn’t so troublesome for my friends.
unlovable woman desperately craves the one thing she cannot have. more at 8.
3/9/26
Had a dream you sent me a letter telling me you felt the same. It made me so happy I almost woke up believing it until I realized it was a dream. Everyone told me I shouldn’t message you anymore so I stopped. I guess I was scared you would stop thinking about me. Maybe you already have. I’m sorry I still don’t have an answer. I love too much but show it too little. I keep asking what you want but I already know the answer.
I’m really, so incredibly stupid.
Maybe I’ll just start turning you into an idea, a concept and be comforted by that.
I’m so lonely. Do you ask about me like I do about you? Is the way I show my feelings too ugly for you? I’ll do anything for you to look at me.