Dustbunnies under my bed

I hate it when shit happens to people around me, it’s got to happen to everyone at the same time.

Enough about that though, you know how some people tell white lies?

I don’t, I just willfully omit details.

I hate myself so much sometimes for always saying the wrong things that hurts people around me.

Sometimes it just seems wiser to keep things from them. If the people could handle these truths well. I would tell them, but then I’m sick of pushing people away and losing them because of knowledge of certain things.

But it also feels like a terrible betrayal.

Cause while I don’t have skeletons in my closet, I’ve swept so much under the carpet, I probably have raging dust bunnies.

And, how can I have time to feel miserable about myself when everyone else is miserable over even bigger things?

I love how life decides to give me a depression attack when everyone is incapable of being there for me.

Dustbunnies under my bed

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