Can we just take a second to talk about how hot his eighteen-year-old son is? I mean, really. Not only is he RDJ’s progeny, he’s also only 18, which is way less creepy than being in love with the 46-year-old Downey. Seriously, look at him. Boy’s fine.
I’m not good at starting conversations. Or starting anything, for that matter. People don’t seem to understand how much of a fucking BURDEN I feel I’m being. After the first couple of times of it being soley ME reaching out towards you, I would like to see some type of reciprocity.
I start feeling like I’m annoying you every moment of your life, like I’m some sort of horrid itch you have but no matter how you contort yourself you can’t scratch it. And it’s just there…unsatisfied as you continue to go through your day and your life.
I’m just an itch. And I’ve lost so many friends because I can’t stand being such a burden. I will stop talking to them because I feel like everytime I talk I’m bothering them and I’m nothing but a nuisance.
And it fucking hurts.
Even if it’s only once. If you’d just reach out for me ONE TIME, I will know you’re still there, and that we aren’t complete strangers just yet, that I’ve still got something.
I swear to anything that’s lovely, i’m becoming something very unusual. It seems like if I leave my house for anything other than school, I’m practically guaranteed a horrid time. Nowadays, it’s like…every time I leave my house I get moody, and depressed, and anxious, and a whole mess of adjectives with negative denotations. I just want to go back home. Even going out to eat (which I LOVE doing) gets me all sad and upset. It’s ridiculous. It’s like being home is the only thing that makes me happy…but when I’m here I’m indifferent, I’m not ACTUALLY happy. I’m just never supposed to leave this house, I guess.