I’m too emotional for you to handle, too laid-back for you to argue with, and too dependent for you to support.
I told you that I was a handful and you didn’t believe me, and now all you can do is tell me to try to sleep and to stop calling you, you like me, but you’ll get in trouble. You want me to be okay, but if I’m sobbing into the phone, it’s not an issue. You told me to call you if I wasn’t okay, no matter the time, and you told me that you wanted to get off the phone. You didn’t even hesitate.
I’ve never believed in the saying ‘history repeats itself’ until now. I’m too old for one, too young for another, but I’m pulling the exact same shit with everyone. No one can take my amount of clingy, or my amount of neediness. I’m sorry I woke you up. I’m sorry I’ll wake you up for the next week or however long it takes you to realize you can’t take this just like everyone else couldn’t. Everyone leaves in the end, and it looks exactly like you’re headed the same way. I wish I could have foreseen this earlier.
For Christmas, I told my mom I wanted “All the Devils Are Here.” She wants the George Bush biography. I drank a bottle of wine trying to keep quiet so I don’t spoil thanksgiving by bitching about politics. I may have let a comment slip along the lines of, “you want to learn the inner-workings of…
“I wrote to J.K Rowling for help, I told her the books gave me hope, particularly Luna Lovegood. I told how I looked up to her. She wrote back and was like a counsellor. She told me anorexia is destructive, not creative, and the brave thing was not to succumb to it. I told her I’d love to be in the films and she encouraged that but said I’d need to be well to do so. In the end I think that’s why I recovered.”—Evanna Lynch, poor girl had the eating disorder, anorexia, for two years from the young age of 11 :( (via harrypotterhouses)