(Source: thesummernights, via retardedgirl)
(Source: leilockheart.net, via retardedgirl)
(Source: toohelpsavealife, via retardedgirl)
(Source: yanilavigne, via retardedgirl)
“My scars remind me to be strong. They are my battle wounds. They show me that I’ve gotten out alive, that I survived. More than that, that I am surviving. And even if I have to fight the urge to
cutmyself every day for days on end, they remind me that I can be strong. That I am strong. Because I’ve gotten through this.”
(Source: still-here-still-fighting)
It’s 6.44am. You’re gonna wake up in 45 minutes, see my text, and tell me that there’s nothing wrong, that what happened wasn’t my fault.
But that’s where you’re wrong.
It was my fault. I know what alcohol does to me. It was me who made the conscious decision to down those drinks, no matter how little, and get myself high. I could justify my actions my saying that I can’t club properly unless I’m high, but that’s just the start of my troubles.
It’s bad enough that I’m high and actually allowing myself to lose control. It’s even worse because I allowed myself to lose control around your friend. YOUR FRIEND. Two years; much longer than you’ve known me for.
One touch was not worth the friendship. One touch was not worth you risking being grounded for the whole year. One touch was not worth my dignity and decency. One touch was not worth our relationship.
I should’ve known better. Who cares if you were there to protect me? I should’ve known Loose Drunk would be unleashed, and that I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.
Tonight was supposed to be special. Tonight was supposed to be perfect. And I ruined it.
And yet, a part of me is not as sorry as I should be.
I just wish one day you’d stumble upon this tumblr and realise it was me.
And realise that I’m talking about you.
