You fucked up.
It is okay baby. Baby, it is okay.
Fuck you and all of you, this is the first night in a long time when I have done my hair and make up, put on a nice dress and am about to order a taxi to sit on top of a building because I want to die again.
This douche sitting next to me on the bus is talking so loudly on his phone, made extra annoying by the fact I’ve met him at least 3 times before, once when I was crying on the kitchen floor, and he STILL doesn’t have the common decency to acknowledge my existence or the fact he knows me. This is not going to be a good weekend for hatred. Am going to get talking to mum out of the way ASAP so I can ignore THAT all weekend, then commence process of temporarily unfollowing everyone. Then see home treatment, yup, thats happening AGAIN. Then sit in my room eating asparagus and trying to stay out of the kitchen and bathroom as much as possible. PLAN.
I read Amy’s blog post about her stay in Birmingham. She said I was beautiful and it made me instantly cry.
(Source: cutestkittenpics, via lauraacanfly)
(Source: will100, via lauraacanfly)
Hey, sorry I couldn’t get back to you, I was busy, like worrying about some other people, but yeah, like, hope you’re still alive and that. xxx
I don’t exist for any of this. So Fuck You. FUCK YOU.
I’ve got it. I totally know what this mood is (applause) it’s wanting to be completely inappropriate or cut. I want to go to malmaison but in totally not dressed for it. I miss Rosie (unrelated I think)