We finished reading Half Blood Prince.
WHen snape killed Dumbledore, the boyfriend actually gasped and looked at me with huge eyes filled with fear.
When the Phoenix lament was echoing over the Hogwarts grounds, I choked up and struggled to read aloud and the boyfriend was shivering and on the verge of tears.
He is now utterly, utterly devastated. He looks totally lost.
We’re about to start the last one now.
Lord, I’m not sure we’ll be able to handle it when we finish it…
Oh god, today is full of self loathing and twenty something life angst.
Oh no oh no oh no.
Things that make me unbelievably sad: Not seeing friends as a live audience member when it was airing. FUCK.
I came home to my parents for the weekend.
Unfortunately my mum is in one of her manic paranoid crazy states, and tonight started a fight with my father that has raged for hours. She then went up to bed early, meaning my grandma went up to bed early too.
I hate this so so so much. How do you get help for someone who has a mental illness when the very nature of the mental illness means they refuse to accept they have any problem and instead blame everyone else around them and accuse them of plotting against her?!
I HATE THIS SO MUCH.
At least I can escape. My poor brother is stuck here.
I am so desperately sad.
I have run out of the energy and capacity to think positively, creatively, or approach things from a new angle.
I just can’t summon the energy to do anything or try anything else.
Boohoo, I know I’m a massive fucking privileged dickhead okay, but I feel shit and trapped and I think that’s okay.
I am not good with being alone. No, no, no. I am not good at ALL.
It’s my birthday and I am, for some inexplicable reason, quite sad.
Truth be told
I’m really quite sad, and really quite lost, and don’t quite know what to do.
Tumblr makes me feel terrible about my body image.
Partly because I’m probably following the wrong blogs (you know the ones, girl with long flowy hair down to her breasts, in a killer effortless but totally weather impractical outfit, swaying in a sunset lit meadow of lavender…), but also because so so so many of the images and things on here are regurgitated press and media images of women- models, actors, singers, etc- all of which look pristine, and size 6, and toned, and proportioned, and beautiful/sexy as fuck.
You can tell yourself you don’t believe it, and that it’s just ridiculous objectification of women in play once more, but if you see enough of something, over and over and over again, and realise that you are so, so far from that, then you feel pretty fucking shit about yourself.
Does that make sense?
Fuck, I don’t even care if it does.