#FOR MULTIPLE TIMES

[buckingham-ashtray]

reminder that sherlock taught john how to dance.

[daftpatience]

slow down for your disabled friends. thats like a bare minimum kindness that we shouldnt have to ask for. i love that youre so quirky and walking fast is a cool personality trait to you and all that but i bet you can count your physically disabled friends on less than one hand

[wordpress-blaze-227476744]

My journey to healing

Hey there, lovely humans! It’s Tina here, and today, I’m peeling back the layers of my life to give you the real, raw, unfiltered story of everything I’ve been through. If you’ve ever felt like life threw you a curveball so hard it knocked you flat on your back, then you’re definitely going to relate. So grab a snack, maybe a tissue (or ten), and let’s dive into my story—because honestly, it’s been a wild ride, and I’m still here, still fighting, still healing.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve faced battles that felt insurmountable. I’m not talking about the everyday struggles of life; I’m talking about trauma that has been my uninvited guest, crashing on my couch and refusing to leave. Mental health issues have haunted me like shadows in the night, creeping in with nightmares, flashbacks, and those horrifying moments when I truly wonder if I’m losing my grip on reality. Some days I wake up, taking a deep breath, thinking, “Okay, today’s the day I’m going to conquer this,” but most days? It’s a struggle just to get out of bed. I often joke that without my medication, I’d probably be in a straitjacket, but truthfully, it’s a sobering reality that I rely on those little pills just to keep me functioning, to keep the darkness at bay. I’ve tried countless medications, therapists, and support groups—you name it, I’ve been there. But for years, I felt like I was merely going through the motions, stuck in an endless loop of pain and confusion. It’s exhausting to live with the constant weight of trauma pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe or even think straight.

Therapy, oh how I wanted it to be my saving grace. I tried time and time again, but each attempt felt like a punch to the gut. Most therapists left me feeling worse than when I walked in. Red flags popped up faster than I could process them—my paranoia, trust issues, and anxiety acting as barriers that I couldn’t seem to breach. I became convinced they didn’t care, or worse, that they were simply there to judge me silently. So, I’d ghost them, sabotaging my progress before it even started. Sitting in front of someone who was supposed to help me, all I could think was, “Are they judging me? Do they really care? Or are they just counting down the minutes until they can clock out?” This chaotic mental playlist became my new normal, and honestly, it was utterly exhausting. Every session felt like a battle, a test of my strength, and more often than not, I left feeling even more isolated, convinced that nobody truly understood or cared about my pain. I was so guarded, so defensive, that I pushed people away, even when I desperately needed help.

But this year… oh boy, this year was different. Everything in my life began to spiral out of control, and for the first time, my mental health took a nosedive that left me gasping for air. I found myself standing at a crossroads, faced with two choices: lose everything, including my marriage, my kids, and my sanity, or finally face my demons and ask for help. Let me tell you, I chose to get help. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss, and finally deciding to jump, hoping I’d land somewhere safe. I was tired of burning bridges, lashing out with words I didn’t mean, and accusing everyone around me of things they weren’t guilty of. I was a walking, talking tornado of anger, resentment, and pain. I knew I needed to stop self-destructing because if I didn’t, I’d lose everything I loved—my marriage, my kids, my home, my very sanity. The thought of losing it all finally pushed me to take that first trembling step toward healing, even though I was terrified of what that might mean.

Before I started this journey, I wasn’t exactly the poster child for tranquility. My temper could rival a volcano, and if you hurt me, let’s just say I retaliated in ways that would leave you reeling. I was fiercely protective of my family, my kids, and my husband, but that love sometimes morphed into an overbearing, suffocating chaos. I would cling tightly to them, terrified of losing what little I had left. Each relationship felt like a fragile glass ornament, and the fear of it shattering made me act out in ways that were destructive. My overprotectiveness, combined with my deep-seated trust issues, made me paranoid. I was always on high alert, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. My trust issues were through the roof—if someone looked at me wrong or said something that rubbed me the wrong way, I’d go into full attack mode. I was convinced that everyone was a threat, and that paranoia kept me isolated for years. I built walls so high that no one could see the real me, and honestly, I didn’t want them to try.

And here’s the thing that adds a unique twist to my journey: so often, I find myself acting like a kid, not just in moments of joy, but as a defense mechanism, a way to cope with the trauma that never truly allowed my inner child to experience the innocence of youth. Despite being a fully grown adult, there are times when I speak like a child, behave in childlike ways, and even think in a simplistic manner. It’s like I’m stuck in this dual existence where my grown-up body grapples with the weight of adult responsibilities and the inner child longing for safety, love, and the carefree nature that was stripped away from me too soon. When I laugh at silly jokes or get overly excited about the smallest things, it’s not just joy—it’s a desperate attempt to reclaim what was taken from me. My inner child still cries out for attention and validation, and sometimes, it manifests in ways that leave me feeling vulnerable and exposed. I want to be playful and free, but the scars of my past often pull me back, reminding me of the pain I’ve endured.

Here’s the kicker: even when I fell out with people, they didn’t leave me be. No, they stalked me—watching my every move, talking badly about me behind my back, trying to ruin my reputation. If I posted a picture with someone, suddenly they’d be in that person’s inbox, spreading rumors about how horrible I was. It felt like I had a personal army of haters, and honestly, it only fueled my mistrust and anger. I get it—these behaviors aren’t okay. But when you’ve been hurt so many times, when betrayal becomes your default, it’s hard not to become a little intense. I was so used to being betrayed, abandoned, and hurt that I didn’t know how to trust or let go. The people who I thought cared about me turned out to be just as broken as I was, and instead of healing, I kept feeding my anger, resentment, and pain.

Now, let’s fast forward to 2025. This year, I’m officially calling it my Healing Era. I finally found a therapist who actually gets me—no judgments, no red flags, just someone who sees me for who I truly am. She’s been a game-changer, a lighthouse in my stormy sea. For the first time in decades, I feel like I’m actually on a path to healing. My therapist isn’t just some faceless stranger—she listens, understands, and genuinely wants me to get better. She’s helped me see that my anger and mistrust are rooted in trauma, and that I deserve to heal, even if it feels impossible some days. My psychiatrist? Absolute legend. He’s been checking on me like I’m his favorite niece—messaging me when I’m in the ER or going through family chaos. Even though he’s leaving soon and I’ll have a new one, I’m holding onto the hope that I can trust again. That’s a monumental step for someone like me. Trusting is hard—so hard, in fact, that sometimes I feel like I’m battling my own mind just to believe that things can get better.

But let’s be honest—trust is hard. I don’t like new people. I don’t like opening up. My anxiety and paranoia are sky-high. If I let you in, it’s probably because I’m making a tremendous effort, and trust me, that’s not easy. I’d much rather stay home with my kids and husband than go out and mingle. People can be so unpredictable—constantly watching, judging, analyzing everything I do or say. It’s exhausting, but I’m trying. Baby steps, right? I’ve started to push myself to socialize a bit more, even if it feels excruciatingly awkward. I know I need to do it if I want to heal, so I keep trying. It’s uncomfortable, but I remind myself that growth is often uncomfortable. My therapist says I need to socialize more, so I’ve been stepping out of my comfort zone. Still awkward as hell, but I’m trying. Baby steps, right?

This year, I’ve finally started to truly live—actively searching for peace and happiness. I want to know what it feels like to be genuinely happy, to reconnect with that true happy Tina that I desperately hope still exists somewhere within me. Honestly, I don’t even know if she’s still there, but I’m hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to meet her someday. I’ve come to understand that healing isn’t about being perfect or having all the answers. It’s about showing up every day, no matter how hard it gets, and striving to be a little better than yesterday. I want to be the kind of person my kids can look up to—not just because I’m their mom, but because I’ve finally learned to love myself, flaws and all. That’s what I’m working towards now—to rebuild myself from the inside out, piece by piece.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Wow, that’s me too,” just know you’re not alone. We’re all a little broken, a little messy, and that’s okay. Healing isn’t a straight line—it’s more like a wild, twisting zigzag, filled with moments of progress and setbacks. But the important thing? We keep going. We forgive ourselves for the mistakes, we celebrate the small wins, and we keep moving forward, even if it’s just one tiny step at a time. So here’s to my journey, to healing, and to finally trying to be the best version of myself—one day at a time. Because if I can do it, so can you. Thanks for listening, and remember: your story matters.

With all the love (and a few tears),

Tina

Source: My journey to healing

[eurekq]

Anyways here is the official gofundme set up by sonya masseys surviving family if you have the ability to give her family real tangible support

[gongyussy]

MONKEY MAN (2024)

[boobilby]

Anyways

[greykolla-art]

Imagine spending all your energy being cool and mysterious 24/7.

What an idiot have I mentioned I love him?

Idea came from a cool post @nouverx made about Alastor’s possible sleeping habits. 💕

[maildoxxed]

serving face with mama

[man1cpixiedreamcowboy]

“go to hell” is basic “i hope one person in your gay ship refers to the other in canon as ‘like a brother to me’ as a way of expressing affection for him, thus leading people online to think they are actually related” is smart. it’s possible. it’s happened to me like five times.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

....it is just barely possible i have finally found an ethical use for genAI: generating fake reports to bog down ICE/DEI tip lines and their ilk. is this anything?

[o0kawaii0o]

raiding the fridge AGAIN

[0yorixu]

tears we shared

[fuckyeahisawthat]

when you're 6 hours into doing science together and already smitten with this dork currently trying to read his own notes

[captain-mozzarella]

I headcanon that all of Yoda's finest teacups were made by younglings

In fact most masters of the order's finest teacups were made during crèche crafting time when the kids were learning pottery.

Consider supporting me on Kofi?

[narisawr]

i forgot to upload this here

[pippynsworld]

Happy New Years friends!

[magic-is-something-we-create]

do it scared do it bad do it stupid but also, crucially: you can do it more than once. you don't have to get the first try right. you don't have to get the first hundred tries right. you'll get it eventually and that's all that matters