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as a person with OCD, when people are like “intrusive thoughts aren’t ‘i should cut my hair’ they’re violent and horrific” i roll my eyes cause yeah, you still don’t understand intrusive thoughts.

an intrusive thought could ABSOLUTELY be “i should cut my hair” IF cutting your hair is something that is contrary to who you are for whatever reason. it could absolutely be something that people view as “minor” or “trivial” because they don’t understand how that effects you. i’m begging other people with OCD to stop universalizing their experiences. i’m also asking you to not fakeclaim. like, ever. no, seriously, never.

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PSA: Can people stop fucking reblogging those goddamn "reblog this or you support xyz/are a horrible person" because it's triggering as fuck for people with OCD and I don't fucking appreciate it.

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Me: wows I’m having such a goods times without my ocd intrusive images!

Goes outside

I was then shot 57 times

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rare affections i think s2 daryl would like.

fingers scratching at his beard. this is usually followed by typically smaller qualms; brisk disagreements within the group. it was talking to him under the shade of the tree, listening to him swear out selfish complaints about anything, everything. it was telling him to shut the hell up and bringing a chiding hand up to swat at his ears and it stays there then, like appeasing a cat with light scratches rather soothingly against his jaw and beneath his chin.

daryl would nudge away at first like he always did, but he wanted it—needed it more, perhaps—if the way he’d simultaneously lean into it was telling. it seemed it killed him, too—to accept something like this, to surrender to someone, to allow himself to sit and think for a moment.

and he would indeed shut the hell up, fiddling with a handful of arrows with a dwindling frown. it didn’t do much damage control otherwise a bigger situation, though in these observantly smaller moments it did enough.

playing with his hands. he pretends that he hates it, ‘hurts like shit,’ he’d say when you massaged the knuckle, kneaded the palm. the filthiness that he never seemed to wash away would turn up on your own hands as you kept in contact with his. daryl’s flexing fingers and tight joints were a combination that you had to work through, and while it seemed to ease him a bit, it did for you as well.

he would usually talk through it, seemingly not understanding having an idle mouth and mind. if you eased him at the muscles, you simultaneously couldn’t at the mouth. he would talk about his missing brother, about sophia, about the farm and how much disdain he had for the group. and so often would he pause in between spits of negativity to eye the way you soothed over the skin of his hands, and when the air stiffened with his realization of finding a comfort in something, he would swat you away. “s’enough.”

but later when he’d been worked up by something else and you watched the way he mimicked on himself what you often done to him, it was reassuring.

forehead kisses. another thing he pretends to dislike—or rather him declining an act so foreign to himself. it always shocks him, always makes him flinch, always keeps him up and a bit lost. you typically feel that urge whenever he’s hurt or on the brink of sleep or thinking entirely too much and you do it to reassure him without the words. you’re going to be okay. yes, it’s alright to sleep. relax, this doesn’t all fall on you. if it helps or not isn’t too clear at first. if he’s lying down, he is quiet, unreadable eyes on you until he’s turning in the other direction and ending whatever thoughts had even dared to make a head.

but after some time, after he’s expecting it, he practically asks for it. when he’d been grazed, bruised and bandaged and forced to spend valuable time in bed, he talked with you in the midst of the night. you talked loads and he listened and for a while it halted his complaints of being in recovery, and when the night and conversation came to a close, he’d look at you in a way; someone who yearned for something they’d never had. like someone addicted to something that they should have been given but was not.

so when you’d read him completely with a peck to his temple, that’s when he’d finally roll over.

this could probs pertain to daryl at any point in time i think but my obsession for him in the earlier seasons makes me imagine these things in the earlier stages and how they’ve developed idkk. also i want to add that i can only see this being a thing specifically if reader and daryl have known eachother prior to the outbreak, not exactly a relationship but an establishment of something ..

but yes i have a terrible horrible brain eating “i can fix him” delusion and that is why i wrote this

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Beth Ditto, The Gossip

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week 4 of kittenhood is the peak. their ears haven’t even straightened out and they have triangle tails. unbelievable.

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mrrp

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reassurance on a “feeling off” day

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The look of love,

The rush of blood

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tried painting my ugly stupid enaworm in animal jam

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mizuki limited palette sketch

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the raw transfem power emanating from this image

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Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

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From one Gen-Z to another, let’s continue to deprogram ourselves from the idea that 30 is old and you need to have your shit together before 30.

You can go back to school after age 30!

You can fall in love after age 30!

You can find a best friend after age 30!

You can find a passion after age 30!

You can find a job you love after age 30!

You can recover from an addiction after the age 30!

You can pursue a large goal after age 30!

You can travel the world after age 30!

You can move after age 30!

You can change your appearance after age 30!

You can ask for help after age 30!

You can make discoveries about yourself after age 30!

You can come out after age 30!

You can fix your finances after age 30!

You can be attractive after age 30!

You can fix your life after age 30!

You can do anything after age 30!

Idk what so specifically about the number 30 has bewitched so many of us into believing that means your life is over, but it’s just so far from the truth!

You have so much more time after 30 to accomplish all that you want to do.

Your life isn’t over until it quite literally is over. Stop giving yourself a deadline that doesn’t exist!