i hate the way feeling left out makes me revert back to feeling like an excluded child & thinking What is wrong with me Why don’t they like me Why don’t they want me there Was it on purpose Why don’t i belong Why didn’t they invite me There must be something Wrong with me
when i was dying of anorexia, i was also doing my MFA in nonfiction writing, so i was both living the disease & attempting to logically understand it. thinking about this excerpt from one of my essays as of late
i want u to be curious ab me. i want u to ask me things. i want u to care ab how my day was and ask me if i ate. i want u to seem interested in getting to know me. i dont want to be the one asking questions all the time