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Ashli Siler

depressed but struggling

a dreamer

artist in distress



I reblog art, prose and poetry, the dreamy,

nature, beauty of the human body, cuddles

I post my struggles to keep happy, my pseudo-adventures, and cats :>


I love my country, I always have. It makes me cry looking at its beauty, I’d love to get lost in the forest near my home. I always find ways to travel and experience whatever each place gives me. I want to paint of the beautiful things it shows me.

But I want to get away from here. I’d leave…


Found a dude kitty in the hallway yesterday @gabetot @joomimin

Update: he’s dead :( RIP, dude kitty.


Found a dude kitty in the hallway yesterday @gabetot @joomimin

Update: he’s dead :( RIP, dude kitty.

I’m going to talk about me having a breakdown. Okay.

I had a breakdown Friday last week, July 7th. I think I’d call it that because it came out of nowhere. Okay it’s my fault, too. I had forgotten to take my pills the night before, so I sort of know what I’ll be feeling the next day. Intense headaches and always on the verge of puking, and emotional instability.

When my friends make fun of me I usually just shrug it off and laugh with them, but that day, I was listening to Paramore’s Ain’t it Fun in our Mac lab and they’re switching the music to Rihanna’s I think, and oh god I hate it so much, but I kept my cool and still played chess with my other friend Giddy, but right after I lost I went to the washroom and fucking cut my skin (unsuccessfully) with a broken Starbucks bottle and stayed in the cubicle for 15 minutes. I can’t cry. It’s like trying to poop but poop’s not coming out. (okay that’s a terrible simile)

When I get back to the lab I sat under the table because I don’t know. I just do that. The last time I did the same was three years ago, in high school. I don’t know why I do it.

On my way home I was with friends and I kept zoning out and feeling out of place because no one talks to me. It made me sad. There was a time too when I was saying something to them then they suddenly ignored me, it made me even sadder and feel unwanted, so I walked alone. I didn’t want to walk with my friend Kate because she’s all lovey-dovey with Bree and I don’t want to be the third wheel out of us. It makes me so anxious that I might get in their way and ruin things for them by being there with them. And again I don’t want to feel left out. It scares the shit out of me.

We were waiting for our ride and I want to go home as soon as I can because I can’t hold it anymore. I told Kate I’m going home alone because I don’t want to wait with them, then she stared at me, and there came the waterworks.

I fucking cried. It was so humiliating in retrospect but the moment Kate hugged me I let everything go and just cried. She kept asking why I’m crying I only said it’s because my mascara’s smearing and I’ll look like a raccoon, but really idk why. I stood there awkwardly, in front of my confused guy friends who stared at me worried, in front of strangers who probably think I’m weird, and just cried. When I’m done, Kate wiped her jacket on my face and told me I looked cute and that I should cry again, and the boys patted me in the head and kept me distracted I think until I catch a ride home.

Such good friends.

please don’t compliment me every single time. You may be sincere about it but it comes to me as bullshit because I don’t believe I’m pretty enough for you to tell me that everyday :/ 

While it hurts me, I don’t fight it.


I want to get better, I know, but I don’t do anything about it. That’s just how it is. Call it laziness, whatever. Making art makes me happy, but I’m not doing it because I’m down. They say exercising makes you hyped up, and I want to do that, but I’m not doing it, because I’m too fucking exhausted every time. Every advice I read in articles makes sense, okay, but they don’t really help.

I’m on the verge of suicide. Literally half a millimeter away. The sharp thing sits there hidden, waiting for me to hold it again.
Being a third wheel makes me want to cut my skin. Even the thought of washing my clothes the next day makes me want to cut my wrist, right into my veins. I want it to squirt blood on my face. Something like that.

My shoulder feels like there’s something heavy inside and the only way to get rid of it is to shoot it with a gun. Or get hit by a bus. Stuff.

I get happy, but it’s only temporary. Everything’s temporary. Then it would hit me again. Watching couples will make me sick. Socializing sucks the life out of me. Fake smiles and temporary truth. Obligatory greetings. Smile and wave. Eat, play, laugh the loudest you can. Everything’s a show. Putang ina.

Tang ina nyo.


I wonder what it’s like to be committed

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