This is maybe the most succinct explanation of transmisogyny I’ve ever seen

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a colorful chloe.

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I feel like I'm going to explode with hate and anger and sadness. Life feels like hell.

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I wish that doing things wasn't so fucking difficult, and that my head wouldn't make me afraid of everything and drain me of all my energy when bad things happen My indomitable human spirit needs a break bruh. It specially needs a break now. It would like to be held and coddled too.

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I've got friends I love, dreams of sunsets in small apartments, and the hope of a life ahead of me. What did young me have, besides zer own fairy tales in her head and a tolerance for pain that ze never should have had to develop? It's neat, how you can't separate bitter and sweet.

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