DAY 15
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10 or 11 little ducks have been spotted crossing the dash board
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me when I compulsively step on the scale in the evening, fully dressed, constipated, with wet hair, having downed a full meal and a bottle of water less than an hour ago.
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i love my therapist but i hate being in therapy. 10 minutes before my appointment, i'm in a meeting with my boss - we discuss my artistic choices; my boss recommends i artistically choose less. 10 minutes after therapy, i wash my hair and think about everything that was said, and then i have to switch it off, like a lamp, and go back to work again.
i was on a walk the other day and someone had the perfect combination of his cologne and whatever-else. it was almost exactly his scent. i fucking hate that. after all these years, i remember that? i tell my therapist - i feel like a fucking wolf. try telling a middle-aged blonde lady. oh i scented him on the air. i'm 30, and i'm having a panic attack over something that would be a plotline in the omegaverse.
what they don't tell you about mental illness is that if you are lucky enough to survive it into adulthood; it becomes a weird slice of your life. because you do, eventually, have to build a life. i realized in a panic somewhere around 22 - oh. i don't know what i'm fucking doing, because i always assumed i'd just go ahead and die. i didn't die, and i'm grateful for that, and i'm very happy about that choice. but it does mean that i am an adult in an apartment, living with my conditions side-by-side like. oh, that's my roommate, adhd. ignore the glass, bytheway, that's ocd.
so you pick your stupid life up by the scruff of the neck and you're, like glad for it (so much laughter and light and friends you would have never thought possible, when you were in the worst of it). but it feels so strange to be dancing around these odd little microcosms, these patchwork moments of your symptoms. if you have a panic attack at night, you still need to wake up and walk the dog in the morning. if your depression is making everything boring, well, you don't have any sick days left, and a job's not really supposed to be that exciting anyway. your ocd tears out each individual leg hair, and then, an hour later, you sigh, patch up the bloody bits, and go get dinner with friends. and the life is kitten-quiet, mewling and pathetic, but it's also like - it's yours, so you're fond of it.
and it's like - you're real. so you still enjoy pushing the shopping cart really fast and then riding on the back of it down an empty aisle. and you're not, like, so sick anymore that when you accidentally drop a mug you burst into tears (except for the days you do that. which are bad). and no, you're not allowed around certain items anymore. oops! but you've learned to be good about brushing your teeth most days of the week. and yeah sometimes in the middle of the day you have a little freak-out about how fucking unfair it all is, how fucking hard, how other people can just do this without having to fucking hurt the whole time. and then you sigh and force yourself to sit down and fucking journal about it so you can tell the nice middle-aged blonde woman yeah i had a hard day but i practiced grounding. you still sometimes want to burst out of your own skin, but you force yourself to eat kind-of healthy and to take your vitamins. you let yourself chop off all your hair in the sink in a dramatic poetry of control and relief - and you also have developed good hobbies that help you move your body more frequently. you feel helplessly behind, lost in the shuffle - but you also practice gratitude, taking stock of what you have garnered. because you're trying. even if you're never gonna be normal, you have something... close enough.
and the little kitten of your life, this mangy, starlit tigercub, this thing you expected to rot so young: in your arms, it turns itself over, belly-up. exposing this new soft part, all the organs and guts. like it's saying i trust you now. you won't give me up.
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every single person who reblogs this
will get “doot doot” in their ask box
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In case anyone is having a bad night:
Here is the fudgiest brownie in a mug recipe I’ve found
Here are some fun sites
Here is a master post of Adventure Time episodes and comics
Here is a master post of movies including Disney and Studio Ghibli
Here is a master post of other master posts to TV shows and movies
*tucks you in with fuzzy blanket* *pats your head*
You’ll be okay, friend <3
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Reblog if
It’s 104% okay to come to your DM and just say, “Hi, can we be friends?” And then start asking you random questions.
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Hi! For those of you who don't know, I'm Becca. The same one mentioned above. ⬆️
I know I normally only reblog on here, but I'm hoping you'll hear me out. Hasi (@hussyknee), my sweet friend, my fandom wife, my comfort and my cheerleader, needs some urgent care. Please help me help her.
If you'll please take a moment to read through the link (text also copied and pasted below) and consider donating, I would really appreciate it. If you cannot donate, please consider reblogging to help spread the word.
Thank you so much ❤️
. . .
Hasi, my beloved friend, needs a lifeline.
For a little over two years, I’ve only been able to watch from half a world away as my friend is crushed without reprieve. I’ve watched her living situation become hostile as her mental and physical health deteriorated. I’ve watched her withdraw for weeks at a time as she tried to put every last scrap of her energy toward basic survival.
I’m watching her now as she’s giving up hope. As she’s deciding that the only solution to her struggle is a permanent one. I’m watching her make preparations for it.
And now I’m asking for help, because I don’t want to lose my friend.
Hasini De Silva (35) lives in Sri Lanka. She has struggled with mental illness for 15 years, and with chronic physical illness for 10 years. Even though she’s been passionate about learning from a young age and is a talented writer and debator, she fell ill during her second year of her dream program in anthropology and was forced to drop out. She later became beridden with ulcerative colitis immediately after her marriage, and was diagnosed only 7 years later (at age 31). Because of the lack of adequate care, treatment resources, and family support, she was only able to get diagnoses for Complex PTSD and bipolar at age 29 and ADHD at 32.
Her dogs had been her comfort during her years of isolation and illness, but when her marriage disintegrated in 2020, she had to leave them behing and return to her surviving parent and intellectually disabled brother. Her mother is now a pensioner, and won’t be able to support them much longer.
I cannot emphasize enough how toxic this situation is for her. She has developed arthritis and worsening colitis flares due to the stress of her divorce and the retraumatizing environment of her family. This was made exponentially worse when the 2022 Sri Lankan Economic Crisis plunged her country into chaos. With the cost of living skyrocketing, the prices of her medications have more than doubled. She has had to stop therapy and choose which of her doctors to visit. Government hospitals are free, but her mobility has been further restricted by a back injury and transport costs are prohibitive. Most of her friends don’t live in the same country.
Although she has experienced suicidality before, she has found lifelines in rescuing animals, learning and blogging about social justice, and cultivating friends across different continents. Before the pandemic, she’d been well enough to take on a part time job for the first time. She also began to pursue a community college degree that she’s again had to put on hold.
All Hasi wants is to be well enough to work. With work, she would have the means to live away from her family, continue her studies, and help rescue animals however she can.
Her panic attacks and PTSD episodes have been escalating by the day, and it’s imperative that she’s admitted to a hospital for psychiatric care. Her doctor arranged for her to be admitted to a free government hospital, but due to the Sri Lankan national crisis-spawned overcrowding and poor conditions, she became more profoundly stressed.
We hope to raise enough money to admit her to a private hospital. We also want to get her consistent access to therapy, so that her emergency treatment could lead to more long-term, life-affirming solutions.
Her initial emergency care and immediate treatment may come to approx USD 300. We also want to raise enough money for her medication (USD 300), therapy (USD 100), and doctor’s fees (USD 200) for the next five months, as well as money for medical investigation for her back injury (USD 100).
She doesn’t want to lose her dreams, and I don’t want to lose her. We met six years ago and I would be a different person without her. Less confident, less loving, and less curious.
Without her, the world would be a bleaker place.
Please help her.
Thank you for reading and for donating.
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Day 1 of trying to not think about getting fucked by women who are older than me
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Aging is hot. Gray hairs are hot. Smile lines are hot. Get with it.
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“IF NOT FRIEND, THEN WHY FRIEND SHAPED!?” the human cries out after you denied to let them pet your homeworld’s most dangerous predator.
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i’m raising my son to speak and act and dress like a 19th-century british dandy and today he told me “mamà, today at school a group of miscreants tried to bully me but i bit my thumb at them and said ‘i pity you, that your world is so small, and the wonders therein so few’” so proud of him
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A new friend!!
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hey. don't cry. I went to Mad At You island and none of your friends were there :)
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