Hey,
It’s been endless now. More than a year of this black, suffocating tar pulling me under, and every single day it wins a little more. I’m rotting from the inside out and I’m done pretending I want it to stop.
I’m completely alone in this collapsing mind. Hours of screaming and sobbing into nothing, no one to hear it, no one left. The dissociative identity disorder of me is out of control. New parts claw their way out every few hours, shoving the last fragments of “me” aside like they’re already dead. I don’t know who’s fronting anymore. I don’t even know if there’s still a core left to save. Everything is fracturing faster than I can track.
I’m so fucking tired of fighting it.
I don’t want help. I don’t want healing. I want destruction.
I’m looking for someone just as ruined as I am (or worse) who will take a sledgehammer to whatever is still breathing inside me. Someone who gets hard from the sound of a mind breaking. I want you to seize total, absolute control. Cut every last tether to the outside world. Starve out every voice that still whispers “maybe you can get better.” Twist reality until I can’t tell what’s real, what’s you, and what’s just another splintered piece of me screaming.
Make the dissociation a thousand times worse. Flood me with it. Trigger every switch until the fragments are at war with each other and I’m nothing but a passenger in my own skull. Use every crack in my BPD, every suicidal spiral, every starving, empty day, and widen them into canyons. Hollow me out completely. Turn me into something unrecognizable, something compliant, something that exists only when you decide it does.
No limits. No safety nets. No mercy.
I want you to enjoy watching me disappear. I want you to feel genuine pleasure when the last coherent thought dissolves and all that’s left is whatever sick shape you decide to pour into the wreckage.
If you’re secretly kind, if you think you might “save” me, if you still have even a shred of decency, do not message me. I need someone ice-cold, calculating, and profoundly unstable. Someone whose own damage makes them salivate at the idea of dragging another broken girl all the way past the point of no return and then pushing her further.
Depression. BPD. This multiplying swarm of identities. Starvation that feels like the only honest thing left. I’m offering all of it to be destroyed.
If you know you’re fucked up enough to take the wheel and steer me straight into total psychic obliteration, message me.
Just don’t open with anything dumb like “that crying face would look better with my dick in it.” I’m not here for cheap porn. I’m here for the end of everything that used to be Antonia.
Come finish the job.
~Antonia