storyoftheminute

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what does it say about me that doing therapy and self compassion work has like 180-ed my kinks

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this is THE funniest thing i have ever read

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lowkey not sure whether dirty talk or talking about implementing a modern-day french revolution in america during sex would turn me on more

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here’s a meme cause i’m suffering

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I wnt kyle to be home because I am wicked crossed and wicked horny

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this is THE funniest thing i have ever read

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I’m so sick of having so many people I care about in my life who are going through hard or bad things because it sucks and it hurts and I want to help and I can’t and I can’t tell anyone about it because I don’t want to add to things already being bad for other people but having to keep this all to myself and not getting the support I need is really hard

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Concept: I hug you and bury my face into your shoulder, and you hold me tightly without ever letting go.

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netflix and…rest your head on my thigh while I run my fingers through your hair continuously

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I think that for a few years i was giving myself so much credit for moving forward, for having pushed past all the shitty stuff. But I’m worried that I haven’t. I think being in school and hearing about what effects people negatively and watching case presentations and mock-ups and all that is just...it makes me worry that I haven’t gotten over things. Because they’re all coming to the surface and all of a sudden I want to talk about it or just get it all out or make someone hear it and I don’t know why. I don’t want to fucking remember the screaming and the broken chairs and locking myself in my room because I was scared and being yelled at to “stop playing therapist” when I just wanted the fighting to fucking stop. whatever that took. I don’t want to remember locking myself in my dorm room and listening at the door to make sure no one else was in the hallway before I went out. I don’t want to remember guy’s hands on me when and where I didn’t want them and wasn’t in a position to get them away. I don’t want to remember the razors hidden in my dresser drawers and my closet and my backpack and my friends fighting all the sharp objects out of my grip again and again and again and the little beads of blood and the lies I told about the marks. I don’t want to remember the headaches from crying so so so many times. but the memories are there and screaming to get to the surface. it’s probably something I need to bring to Stephanie but I don’t want to try to shy away from talking about boundaries anymore because I know that’s a thing I need to work on. I’ve needed to work on for a long time and it’s scary but I need to do it. but this stuff too. there’s just too fuckin much and I don’t know what to do with it.��

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okay so I can’t even say this like anywhere I could even think of? without people going like “you’re using this complaint as a means to brag about how you have the best sex or how you’re so fancy or sexy” or just being like wow tmi darling. but like. you know what is the most annoying thing ever? when you are trying to simply find information about how to stop squirting excessively during sex and literally everything you can find is either middle-aged sex-positive hippie women telling you how it’s a gift and you should love and embrace your body and the things it feels and telling you about the one time their husband made them squirt or pervy guys telling you how you should love it because they think it’s so hot when their girlfriend does it. OR. the best of all. when aforementioned pervy guys start telling you how good the fluid smells or tastes. like why. do we need to hear these things. give me useful advice or give me nothing god damnit. 

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okay so real talk I was either drunk or high at some point last week and I just turned to Kyle and went like “I think we need to adopt another cat. like right now.” and he like. took me completely seriously. and was like ready to buy into this and was acting 100% supportive of my desire to get a kitten despite the fact that we cannot even remotely afford another cat right now nor do we have the time to deal with that shit and if that blend of support and enabling is not true love I do not know what is.

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I just want to be older and live in my own apartment and have my own cat and have a bunch of fish with fandom references for names and collect weird-looking coffee mugs and have a stock of strawberry vodka at all times and be strange and working on my masters degree and helping people and be on my own and not constantly worrying about my family anymore and have lots of good friends right with me and be okay

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sorry i’m late, professor. i’m disenchanted with the human experience and waking up every morning thrusts me into an instant existential crisis

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I think I’m just not in a good place at this very moment. I think it’s maybe something to do with the moving and the stress and everything kind of happening all at once, and stressing about money, and all that stuff. And I keep feeling like I’m not sleeping enough and that’s not good, and then I keep feeling disconnected from everyone else at school even though I want nothing more to make friends but going through the steps to make such a thing happen seems impossible. I’ll be fucking elated because someone smiles in me at class. It’s sad and it feels like being back at UMass or something. I know this stuff doesn’t come overnight but I watched my classmates make plans to go to this haunted house next month, and just invited a few random people sitting near them, and I was sitting just out of the conversation thinking that if I’d chosen a different seat, if I was a little more awake or I’d had coffee this morning, if I wasn’t stressed out from thinking about moving, maybe I could have made myself part of that. And then the guy sitting behind me commented on my sweatshirt because I’m wearing a band sweatshirt today and we chatted for like 10 seconds about that and then as soon as the conversation fizzled out I was thinking of how I could have carried it on and maybe actually made a connection with someone and I didn’t. I remember when I used to look around a room, long before I met you, and I’d wonder “maybe I could date that person” “maybe I’ll get a crush on that person” “I wonder if I could ever be in a situation where I could kiss that person”. It felt like weighing my options, hoping that all the possibilities in front of me would maybe turn into something more than just that. And now I don’t do that anymore obviously, but I feel like I’m doing something similar looking around a classroom going “who could I be friends with”. And that should be so much easier to do, it should be a much easier connection to make than falling in love with someone, but it’s not for whatever reason. Not for me. And I’m kicking myself for not just being better at this kind of thing and it bothers me and I don’t want to feel like that and I just want to be better at making friends. I want to make friends and I’m scared I’m slipping in the other direction, and while everyone else makes friends, I’m getting shut out of the social circles that are being formed. And I’m just scared of being lonely and I don’t want to be.

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I was watching a TV show with an episode where a guy was about to kill himself and it just got me thinking about the time in my life where I was suicidal, where I was really really ready to end everything and just not be anymore. It’s not a time in my life I really like to look back on or remember in detail, and it’s been a while since I even had occasion to think about it, but seeing this person on TV about to kill themselves just made me think of that time and I realized, I think for the first time, how glad I am that I didn’t ever do it, that the only time I ever seriously tried was so halfhearted. Things did get better and I can look back now and see that, and I just wish so much that I had some way to go back and tell myself that.