quite dumbass post with very important content warning

15th Jun, 2025

Heya.

If tonight's post goes where I think it will, it's going to get weird and kinda uncomfortable, so this is your official content warning. Please pay attention.

Among other things, this post is going to be about self-harm, the direct and physical kind. Some of the things I say about it are going to sound like I am borderline glorifying the act; I want to be clear that I'm not, but I couldn't fault anyone for reading it that way. So please read with care. Do not continue if this is going to be unhealthy for you.

That said, this is ironically somehow a positivity post about how much I love my friends, even when they're having a really bad time. Go fucking figure.

I don't even know if I should post this, honestly. But I went to the trouble of writing it. And I don't feel like shying away from being my worst, genuine self tonight.

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bitches love white space after the content warning


its me


i'm bitches




here we go.

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You're beautiful even when you're having a bad time. Okay?

I think a lot of people I know have this thing where they can't comprehend that people still appreciate them when they're not at their best. Hell, I have it too. I sorta wrote a poem about it tonight.

But that's bullshit. You don't have to be at your best all the time.

Yes, I fucking love my friends. If you're one of them, you may be able to pick which parts of this are about you, but it's really just true of most people.

I love seeing y'all smile. You all have the happiest, most lovely, most cute, most gorgeous smiles in the world, and it makes my heart fucking glow when I see that.

The lil careful, shy smile you get when something unexpectedly makes you happy, and the way it flourishes when you realise others are happy with you.

The beaming, wide grin you have when you're surrounded by friends, and joyous, and you let yourself stand up and shine and be unapologetically you for a little while.

The sneaky, pretty, goofy smirk I see you with when you're participating in a joke, or made someone else laugh, or just feel good about yourself.

The sweetest smile, full of bubbly laughter, when you're cozy and safe and warm and gently proud of yourself and all the people you love.

I love seeing all of these. I hope I get to keep smiling alongside y'all for a long, longass time.

But y'know what? I'd still love you even if I never saw any of those smiles again. And yeah, that would fucking suck to live, but is that gonna stop me from continuing to try anyway? fuck no. Of course not.

You are beautiful, even when you are bloody and rough and raw and beaten.

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And this is where the tangent comes in, the bit about self-harm, because I... unfortunately can't think of anything that exemplifies this concept more. Maybe that's just cause I'm mentally ill at the moment. Who knows.

So many people struggle with the idea of self harm - ironically, in my experience, it's the people who have never experienced it who struggle most of all. They find it a little repulsive, confusing, offensive. Why would you do that to yourself, ect?

Those who have been through it tend to react a little different. Sympathy, a level of understanding, grim commiseration. Sometimes I still encounter apathy or scorn, but I can respect it a little more if you've at least been there. If you've reached a point that you can feel scornful of those who are still trapped in that bad place - fuck you, but at least you're doing better.

And... I've always been a little obsessed with the scars. Mostly my own, but other people's too. I try and be careful about this. I don't think I've ever spoken it aloud. I know how fucking triggering that thought is for some people.

I'm going to reiterate - please close this page now if you're feeling uncomfortable.

I do not glorify the act. I don't ever want anyone to go through that shit. It's awful and horrible and stifling and isolating and there is nothing good about it.

...but it kept me alive. For me, it was the lesser evil.

It would have been so easy, y'know? A slightly different location, a little more severe, and I never worry about anything ever again. But I didn't. And so many other people didn't. Because yes, you are hurting, and yes, it is bad, it's really fucking bad to be in that place.

But in the act, you are fucking clinging to life. Whether you realise it consciously or not, the choice you are making is that you would rather suffer being ripped apart than give in and die.

It's a refusal. It's misguided vengeance, when you can't lash out in any other direction. But it's still a kind of fighting back.

I hope nobody reading this ever has to do that to themself - again, or especially for the first time.

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I know it's dumb, but whether you are a friend already or still a stranger for now, and you ever find yourself there, and you think of this moment - come message me¹. I'm not even gonna try and 'talk you out of it', I know that doesn't help. Just come talk <3

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So why the fuck am I talking about this? How does this tie in, or exemplify anything?

Maybe it doesn't. Maybe I just wanted to talk about that. Maybe I'm a mentally ill fool.

But this is what I feel about myself, and my scars. And it is what I feel an echo of when I see others who have been through the same.

I was hurting so fucking badly that I turned it inwards against myself, and did more harm to myself than anybody else ever could. And I did that, rather than giving up completely.

And if I can find a tiny, misguided type of beauty in that godawful choice, in that depth of fighting for life... of course I can still love you when you're tired, hurting, barely a person.

Of course I love you just as much then, as I do when you are joyous and happy and radiant.

Of course I know which one I would rather you be, but that's entirely for your sake.

So please don't feel like you have to be happy to be beautiful, or be kind to be loved, or be whole in order to matter to the people around you. Those things are true regardless.

When your knuckles are bloody and you are ragged with exhaustion and you can't fucking stand the thought of another day of this - you are not diminished. You are not less. You are more beautiful for every moment you stand the fuck back up anyway.

When you come to me full of rage and spite and hurt, and you beat yourself bloody with words, I will fold you up in a hug and hold you until you can slowly let go of the anger, just a little, even if you have to hurt me in the process.

When you are overwhelmed with apathy and emptiness, I will sit with you in that silence and be nobody too, until you're able to feel something again.

When you are laced with poison and rot and unpleasant thoughts that threaten to become reality, I will stand and accept it and return it as love until you feel safe to shed your thorns and your walls again.

If you can never smile again, I will still love you.

Sometimes I will be all these things as well - wrath and emptiness and spiteful toxins. I won't promise to be perfect at this, all the time. I hope you can still love me through it, too, in whatever ways you know how.

But at my core, even at my worst, I will still. love. you.

'cause you're loveable, even at your worst, as much as you are at your best. Don't you dare believe otherwise.

So yeah. It's okay if you gotta spend a lil while longer there. I'll wait.

💚💚