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The problem with being a writer is that when you're plotting it's like "and then the character does a moving dramatic speech right here which reveals all the information and turns the tide of public opinion" which is fine until you find that you suddenly have to write a moving dramatic speech capable of turning the tide of public opinion

"Then this character says something SO endearing and funny" fuck. I don't know how to be endearing or funny. Shit.

You never have this problem with action scenes. I don't have to be able to lift a broadsword.

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Me: no worries!

Narrator: she had several worries

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Whenever someone types “HAHAHAHAHAHA” it makes me so uncomfortable I imagine you laughing like this

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BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE:

Keep reading

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Me talking to my cat: Blease cure my depreshuns….

My cat: Mrrrrrrrp

Me: Tnhank you I feel better

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none right now. but usually deathly obsessive.

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haaaaa

My psych: So when was the last time you used marijuana?

Me: …

My psych: …. Last week?

Me: ….

My psych: ….. Yesterday?

Me: ……….

My psych: You’re stoned right now aren’t you

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this.

Anxiety isn’t sweater paws and having someone hold your hand, give you a pep talk, and suddenly you’re fine. It’s throwing up before the first day of school. It’s being too scared to talk. It’s walking into a store and your entire body is tensed up, except your hands, which are shaking. It’s not being able to make friends because when you say nothing, you come across as rude, even though you’re too afraid to talk.

Depression isn’t a tragic quote and a pretty model with mascara streaks down her face. It’s not a beautiful sadness that feeds your creativity. It’s your parents begging you to get out of bed, or go to school, or do your work. It’s not taking a shower for so long that your hair is flat to your head with grease. It’s loosing or gaining weight rapidly. It’s loosing joy in the things you love. It’s sacrificing your creativity to the hole in your chest. It’s having scars on your body that you will one day grow to hate, no matter how pretty you think they are now, and will do anything to cover them up

Anorexia isn’t a thin model with a perfect body. It’s hard to be beautiful when you look like you’re dying. It’s having hollowed out cheeks and eyes. It’s constantly needing a sweater, even in summer, because there’s no insolation in your body. It’s growing layers of fuzzy hair to make up for all the fat you lost. It’s being so hungry, and frail, and weak, that you can’t walk without passing out, or you’re fourteen and told if you don’t stop your heart will give out.

Bulimia isn’t a pretty girl demurely turning down a cupcake. It’s stinking of vomit. Your teeth becoming yellow and corroded away by stomach acid. It’s a sore throat from throwing up so much. It’s your stomach lining burning away. All on top of the symptoms of anorexia.

Bipolar Disorder isn’t moody teenage girls. It’s being on top of the world. You can do anything. It’s being so full of possibilities that you can’t even sleep. And then, after a while, maybe weeks or maybe months, it’s like you’ve been sky diving and you’ve hit the ground. Depression hits you hard and fast, and you’re left on your knees.

Stop romanticizing mental illness. It’s not whatever pretty picture you have in your head.

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Hey, eat your pills and also some food (if you have food). Nutritious stuff is best, of course, but do what you can.

Drink some water.

Move your body around some if you are able. (Don’t overdo it.)

Think of at least three things you like about yourself. They don’t have to be big things.

If you can get out under that bright shiny ball of fire in the sky for a bit without fucking yourself up, try and do that for a little bit.

That shit you keep meaning to do? Appointments, shopping, whatever? Try to get through at least one step of it. You’ll feel like a fucking superhero.

Reward yourself by doing something that makes you happy. If nothing can make you happy today, try something that USUALLY makes you happy. Watch a Star War or meme something or whatever normally gets your rocks off.

Counting your own breaths while imagining yourself in the most peaceful fucking place you can think of is a great way to calm down if you’re able to focus enough to do so.

Is your mood shitty? I’m sorry to hear that, friend, and I hope you feel better soon, but that’s no excuse to be shitty to other people, dig? If you’re shitty to someone who didn’t deserve it, fucking apologize. Mental illness might be the reason you went off, but it’s not an excuse.

If you didn’t/couldn’t do some or any of the above today, there’s always tomorrow.

However much things might suck right now, THIS MOMENT IS NOT FOREVER.

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