Wanting to talk to someone about your obsessions because they’re freaking you the fuck out, but not being able to because you know they’re ridiculous, you know it’s not logical, you know they’ll tell you to just stop thinking about it.
I can’t. That’s basically the definition of the diagnosis.
DON’T DRINK ON PLAYGROUNDS!! AND IF YOU DO, DON’T FUCKING SMASH THE BOTTLES AND GET GLASS EVERYWHERE!!
Playgrounds are for small children to play on, not for your dumb asses to get drunk on. I know that teenagers like to rebel, and drinking is fun, but for fuck’s sake. It’s a playground. I don’t care if you don’t have anywhere else to go. Or here’s a concept, you don’t actually need to drink. But if you’re going to (unnecessary), be a civilized person and throw your bottles away, don’t fucking smash them.
Kids play at playgrounds. And kids are clumsy. They trip. They fall. They run around in bare feet. They play in the sand. They don’t pay attention. And the last thing I want to be doing is digging shards of glass out of my child’s skin.
Ugh I hate how you can’t avoid spoiling yourself when you’re reading. You know… when it for example seems like there isn’t going to be a kiss, but you can already see the word “kissing” three lines below without even trying to read that far.