GIVE ME THERAPY, I'M A WALKING TRAVESTY.

twentythree y.o. geographer, barista, yoga practitioner. University College London. born and bred in the lil' island of Singapore. constantly searching for answers. extremely flawed, especially when it comes to imposing standards on others, expecting too much, not knowing when to close her mouth (to shut the fuck up or to stop eating). too crazy for her own good and has to be taken with a massive handful of salt. adores backpacking, hitch-hiking, hill-walking, red wine, whiskey, cocktails, fine food and good conversations.
REMINDER:
"open your heart. someone will come. someone will come for you. but you'd have to open your heart first."


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Friday, April 20, 2012
◔ 4:18 PM // ✎ 0 comment(s)
❝ Sinking. ❞


I don't even fucking go out anymore. Not at all. I come home everyday to study, do my work, study German.

And you rage at me cause why? Cause I'm staying up to do my work on the computer and you can't sleep.

Cause I need you to send me for band, for beach cleaning.

And when I ask for the computer to be moved to my room you start scolding me irresponsible.

Well. What the fuck is wrong with you?

I'm doing my best to stay afloat I'm this fucking close to breaking down and dying I'm so fucking burnt out from IB life but I'm struggling. Thanks to your fucking decisions for not letting me take CLB.

IDGI. IDE.

It's my fault that I'm struggling you're blaming it on my beach cleaning, my SMSing, my Tweeting, my etc.

I'm so tired I just wanna die but I'm hanging in there cause I know all I need to do is to survive till May 8th and one fucking IB paper is over.

And you don't even give me your support. At all.

Fuck you.

Seriously, fuck you.

Why was I even born. You should have fucking aborted me.


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