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the world is over

i forgot my headphones at home. i was about to either 1) pump black country new road 2) watch brooklyn 99. i miss being passionate about things, not being able to sleep, eat, speak, or fathom anything beyond the apple of my eye and the fruit of my thoughts. i miss waking up with one thing in mind, how i would explore it that day, and how i would explore it the next it’s been people it’s been sewing guitar driving religion philosophy photography writing filming blogging i think, regardless of any tik tok data explosion with the intention of ripping out each of my brain cells to keep me submissive and docile because of a wrecked attention span, i’m not a girl of her commitments- i get bored. and i am bored. i feel this lack of passion so deeply in my body, its been a catalyst for the recent crashouts ive had ( and there’s been plenty) i don’t know how to stay, and work hard, and allow myself to grow to what i want to be right in this instance. not to shine my own shoes, but i’m not super used to being bad at things. i’ve always always always coasted, and now that im trying to be a gaf (give a fuck) filled girl, ive realized, sucking at something hurts a lot more when you’ve put in the work to be good at it. if it wasn’t me writing this, and my best friend called me and told me this word for word, i would tell her how normal that feeling was, and that she herself knew what to do; commit. and that is my advice, dear sweet amalia, commit, commit, commit.

@22

Feb 18, 2025

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I thought this worry made me a better person

28 March 2024 “I never used to be this insecure It’s strange  I don’t recognise my new self I thought this worry made me a better person” -me “I thought all this worry made me a better person.” Trapped in the illusion that if I thought about everything enough I could win at life, I would be the kindest, most successful, mature and ration person I could be. for me being irrational was worse than death. it’s ironic isn’t it? A teenage girl ridden in shame, misplaced desire and overwhelming hate for myself, my past and all actions I had partaken in. The type of shame that feels like a splitting headache that’s been around for years. The type of shame that makes you throw up on nature walks because the silence of the trees becomes a theatre projecting all the terrible things you have done and said. Shame was my water, shame was the ground beneath my feet, shame was the sun wrapping around me and leaving my body tingling on a hot day. Shame was inescapable and replaced all my pleasures with pain. With many anxieties and obsessions i have had previously there was irrational elements to them, my great fears were bazaar and shockingly niche. This new obsession was a wolf wrapped up in a warm fuzzy logical cloak That loved to remind me of all the horrific parts of myself. But how could it stop following me this haunting picture of myself and the people I had hurt, how could I fix any of it. how could I even face it. With this dilema of having a guilty conscious finally explode on me like a shaken bottle of Pepsi waiting for its escape. I choose there is nothing but to fix it. fix it all. But how? i Decide I must think about it. all the time. This would form a punishment to myself that meant i was doing a service to those I’d hurt. Secondly whenever I have a good time or a moment of joy, I would remind myself that this was unfair and I must return to my shame because I was still in guilt jail and owed it to those I had hurt. thirdly I would from now on do everything perfectly and not hurt a single soul ever again, they could hurt me all they wanted. but I could not hurt them. I couldn’t possibly bare adding any extra shame on to the debt I was in to the gods or karma or just myself. This ofc was all stupid Very stupid After turmoil and finding myself completely unable to form proper connections because of my obsession with being perfect all the time for absolutely everyone ever I was broken. More broken than before. how have I done it wrong again. This punishment hasn’t changed anything! Not the people I hurt! Not myself! And I’m hurting more people. I wanted to die. this part funny or not. Dramatic or not. It was true. I didn’t want to be alive. I didn’t want to think. all I wanted was to do it all again. Be a better me a kinder me one who didn’t yell at her mother, go To school drunk, sleep with the wrong people, be a terrible friend to someone to trusted me dearly, talk shit and gossip about people I love. I wish I haven’t done any of it. I wish I had never had sex. I wish I didnt know what sex was. I wish I never drank. I wish I never let anyone kiss me. I wish I never was a teenager. I wish I didn’t need to learn how to be good. I wish I wish I wish I just knew. Just knew how to be good. Like those people who come out the womb shining and loving with fountains of patience and love. It wasn’t me. I came out kicking and screaming and selfish and I stayed that way for years. but I couldnt change this I couldnt wish it all away or run away or kill myself. So I had to accept I had to apologise And I had to love And stop fucking thinking for one second. I’m ending this terribly for the sole Reason my figures hurt but long story short I confronted my shame with love and compassion. And I’m aloud to fuck up we all are and I no longer want to die. This isn’t simple and I’m making it sound I have to practice everyday for this. But I’m happy and I love my life and myself and I’m so proud of me. And I did this in less than a year. SO FUCK OCD and yay me

@notalex

Dec 30, 2024

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Hello?

Not that anyone will care, but to understand me you have to understand this: I was raised by Christian Protestant fundamentalists, the youngest of 4 by 10 years. Although I resent the church and the theology I desperately tried to make myself believe, I am grateful for their teachings of serving and loving others, even if they contradicted themselves when they told me to fear the evil nature of humanity. I was named after my grandma, who lived with me for 11 years of my childhood and remained ever trusting and kind as she fell victim to dementia. By the time I was 8 my parents seemed to have tired from raising 4 kids and intensively caring for a 90 year old woman, and I was free to bike miles across town to the library unsupervised, and patch myself up when I fell and bled, and lock myself in my room to read every spare hour of the day. I would read while I ate breakfast, I would read while brushing my teeth, I would read and I wouldn’t hear it if someone called my name. I discovered the internet soon after and unfortunately the curiosities it offered won out over literature. When the internet taught me I wouldn’t live forever in heaven under the tree of life with Teddy Roosevelt and my grandpa, I was on my own to process and panic and pretend to pray. My family came from Norway, across Canada, down to Northern Idaho to work in the lumber yards, and finally to Oregon when starvation wages hit the shop teachers. My mom grew up on elk tongue sandwiches and I was never allowed to leave a plate full. I always struggled with friendships, not because people didn’t like me but because I have a tendency for isolating myself. The people I love most tend to be strange and upfront and vulnerable. And I do love my family, but more than anything I want to be independent and meet many strange and upfront people who will lead me to adventure. I am almost 20 and I am an artist. I have no tattoos and I am reckoning with my potential.

@eatgraeps

Feb 28, 2025

Top Recs from @mommyslilstinker

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2000s music for the soul

I fucking love it IM YOUR BIGGEST FAN ILL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME PAPA PAPARAZIIIIIII

@mommyslilstinker

May 5, 2024

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Mourning my long hair

Like a dear friend . I miss how when I would smoke a cigarette it would settle into my hair , blanketing a preexisting layer of perfume. I love the way smoke seeps into the fabric of my car, my clothes, even into my skin. Smells like my parents, my grandparents. Our old house. Dads gold Lincoln towncar that we got shot at in. And last time I saw one of those, I was picking dad up from jail, and its license plate read TRULOVE.

@mommyslilstinker

Dec 14, 2024

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Loneliness is better!

Loneliness prevails! I would much rather live purely in solitude for ever and ever than waste another precious second in the presence of someone who has little skin in the game of knowing me or seeing me. Hearing me! I wonder why you keep me around if all your hearts desire is to hear the sound of your own voice. It makes no difference if it’s me or anyone for that matter. For all you know or even care I am merely an ottoman for you to rest your feet on, or a coffee table meant simply to pedestal your various notebook scrawlings and half-read books. I am a file cabinet. I have it here, dated, what you Thought and what you felt about work, or about your friends. ask me, I have it all. And I loved it. I loved knowing you. I wanted to. I investigated and interrogated. I poured over it all with great curiosity, praying for all my red threads to weave a tapestry of you. but I can’t remember the last time you asked me something about myself. When the opportunity arises, and god forbid, I Take it, you can barely hold your breath. Its like a shark sensing blood. You just can’t wait to talk talk talk talk talk. But hey, it’s your life, and baby, I’m just living in it.

@mommyslilstinker

Dec 10, 2024