I'm a turbulent sad-sack. You can see it in my eyes and smell it on the wisps of my breath.
I confront myself in multiplicity but somehow being aware of self-degradation usually does jackshit towards the cause of combating it. To be aware of the rounds of life is never solely freeing.
Often I feel trapped in my own stylings. The thought patterns etched from years of life feel unchanging and harsh. Whenever I come back to seeing the light of life I see I've only been standing in my own path. A replication of my form, shadowed, daunting and staunch. To talk of it separately is a fallacy. We are united.
I usually feel overwhelmingly hypocritical. What I preach the most ends up doing the most damage to my ego. It's almost like a duel, my mind waging war with its own, clawing at the walls, escalating my reactions to actions from others that I heartily participate in myself.
I love people so much that it inevitably destroys me. There's an elasticity to my heart that allows it to break infinitely. I'm a paradox of vulnerability, as one of the quietest yet most open people you'll come across. I find myself strange. I do not deny that anyone could see me as one of the pack, but no one sees through my eyes.
I can laugh at myself being emo. I get so down, so entrenched in relationships, so pressured by my assumptions of what others perceive of me. I close up, and it is certainly ridiculous. But it's because openness invites the UNKNOWN. The parts of humans that aren't my mind. The depths of the mind that are uncomfortable and moldy. Undeniably beautiful as well, but hand in hand comes darkness. I'm accustomed to my own filth but when will I be introduced to yours? What of mine will drive you away and how long will I illogically flounder because of it, knowing full well that no one has to stick around? How will I choose to express to you my need for distance, and which of my words might hurt you? It's almost funny that our own presumptions of how people feel can exasperate our pain ten-fold, never allowing release due to hyper-negative romanization. By funny, I mean bitter and tragic.
I refer to myself as an extroverted introvert, as I thrive in solidarity but also relish the chances I get to explore the minds of others. As I've gotten older I've experimented with drugs due to my deep curiosity of altered states of awareness, which has played a critical role in me slowly crawling out of my shell (and sometimes right back in it).
I try to live by a philosophy of acceptance for human behavior, that it's not my place to control, and that all I can ever offer are suggestions, prods, tidbits of my own experience.
I'm afraid of coming across as morbid, yet feel no one should bottle up thoughts. I strongly believe that thoughts can be an essential middle ground from belief to action and ignoring impulses is often the quickest way to accelerate Hellfire. However, context is everything.
I'm a scatter-brained weirdo that prides herself on balancing life by checking in on lengthily held beliefs and developing counter-arguments whenever possible (and apparently also prides herself on the use of hyphenated phrases). I accept that anything I think I know could be wrong.
I'm Erin, I'm 21. I love cilantro, hummus, terrible movies, listening to and playing music, attending concerts, taking pictures of myself and other art, making art, and learning new things. Without obligations, my sleep schedule falls apart, I'm excited to figure out how the fuck cryptocurrency works, and now you know far too much about me.
One of my closest friends, known around here as 
Personal Instagram
Art Page
(Occasionally Updated) Music Reposts
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And please, feel free to comment your thoughts on any of my ramblings!
Goodbye for now. ✾