Sad Boy Hours

I wish I knew how to navigate life.
I am fucking floundering.

I am genuinely convinced the people I like to talk to just want me to fuck off, but are too polite to tell me.

LMAO.

My toner leaked in my bag, it shouldn’t be a big deal, but I want to cry. It’s not empty, but it feels like one of those moods where everything starts piles up.

I actually need this account more than I want to admit to, lmao.

The BPD urge to cut everyone off because they can’t do it to me first is rife.

Being ignored by people you’ve been friends with for over a decade is a shitty feeling.

I wish I could’ve just taken the hint sooner. I don’t know what I did, though.

I wish I had a softer voice. I hate sounding raspy and as if I’ve chained smoked since I was in the womb.

Why is it so hard to do anything? I can’t get my head to get up and start.

If reform win the next election. I’m going to unsubscribe from life.

I can’t do this.

Me rn.
ISTFG if I’m on the verge of spiralling I’m going to scream.

Should I even have friends?
I’m a big old bag of shite.

I genuinely think I’m on the verge of fucking up every relationship I hold dear in my life because I can’t stop BPD ravaging my fucking head.

I refuse to crash out.
People can fuck off as well.

I’m hoping I’m not on the verge of relapsing because I am balls deep in a BPD episode & I don’t know how long I can keep the urge to self-destruct at bay

If you come across this account, for whatever reason, you can find me over on @lifetoldbystacey.bsky.social.

Facebook pulling this shit has smacked me in the feelings.

What photo can I add? Danny died last year.

I miss him terribly.

Me thinking all my friends hate me for the umpteenth time this week.

a man in a tuxedo is singing into a microphone and says `` let 's get ready to '' . Alt: a man in a tuxedo is singing into a microphone and says `` let 's get ready to '' .

My mental health is beyond fucked lately.

BPD is trying its best to end me I think. It’s got some competition from stomach pains, though.

I want a fair fight, guys.

Facial hair is a pain in the arse. Especially when it’s the long, white ones.

Like fuck off, can’t I just have a normal body without any disorders & illnesses.

Paranoia sucks.

My brain has me convinced everyone hates me.

Haha ooops.

I’ve become so disenchanted with, social media, my interests, and life in general.

Why are consistent moods difficult to maintain?

Lmao.
Someone at behind me has coughed into my hair like three times.

So if my immunocompromised arse gets sick, I’ll post a bottle of piss through their letterbox.

Let’s fucking gooooooo!

Depressed again.
LMAO.

I’ll chase my goals and achieve the life I want, but I’ll will whinge here in private.

spongebob squarepants is sitting at a table in a diner holding a cup of coffee . ALT: spongebob squarepants is sitting at a table in a diner holding a cup of coffee .

Why am I overthinking every little thing?

I want to do better.
I want to be better.

I haven’t dressed the way I’ve wanted to for years, I feel like I’m too fat for it.

I hate myself for letting myself go.

I’m not sure if my to-do list is too long, or I’m just a fat lazy fuck, but I haven’t done enough.

I took a long nap after picking up stuff I needed & all I’ve done since is play Borderlands & spam friends with things I think they’d like.

Fat cunt.