I am borderline (but not). I live in a fuzzy world between reality and a kiss. I get bored. I get scared. Sometimes I want to die. I am more than a story, more than a statistic. There is more to this picture than a scared little girl. I can laugh. Sometimes I cry. I have friends. I have family. I love them. I don’t want to hurt them, but I already hurt them. I hurt them just by existing. They don’t tell me that, but everyone knows it.
I like to push the limits. I like to connect the dots. I like the feelings. I like the taste of blood. Sometimes I get scared. Sometimes I think I’m lying. It’s easier to lie than to tell the truth. The truth is far too vague. This blog is like that truth, a troll of similarity, unhelp. I don’t believe in god. I still pray when I’m desperate. It lets me think. I’m am too vague to be helped. I don’t want to go to a psychiatrist. I am a hypocrite. I get on to my brother. I deceive my dad.
My name is Tate. I am dangerous.