#but when I’m drowning and trying to survive it’s so hard to help other people

[rosicheeks]

Honeybee: Name something positive you have done for yourself or someone else in the last two weeks.

I’ve been really trying to focus on bettering myself lately.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Shadow

Amelie saves Rolan from the shadows and then gives him a piece of her mind. SFW.

“Wait, is that Rolan? I thought he had better sense than that.” Gale said with an eyeroll as the group consisting of himself, Amelie, Shadowheart, and Karlach found him surrounded by two shadow-fiends.

Fuck.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

ROLAN, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

It was a smaller battle than the one that just occurred at Last Light, but it still left all but Karlach with almost no spell slots left.

But that was of no consequence to Amelie.

ROLAN!!!

She hurried down the small hill, rushing towards him and Shadowheart. Please let him be okay. Please. Please.

“Gods damn it all. I can do nothing right---not a damn thing.”

“You’re supposed to be at Last Light.” She panted, staring at him like he’s mad because he is. WHAT THE FUCK?!

“I’m supposed to be saving Cal and Lia! Instead, I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue. From you, of all bloody people.”

Biting back the urge to ask why her “of all bloody people”, she shook her head. “You were trying to help your family---you’re too hard on yourself.”

“Or not enough.”

The acid in his voice made her heart sink a little.

“I’ve failed Cal and Lia, again. Be on your way---I’ll return to Last Light…I know when I’m outmatched.”

Within moments, he was gone.

And Amelie had an urge to return to Last Light to give him a piece of her mind. “Let’s head back and get some more healing potions…then I need a long rest.”

“You and me both.” Gale snarked, stretching his back. “Gods, adventuring is not kind on the back, knees, and hips.”

The women laughed and nicely teased the wizard.

But her mind was preoccupied with another wizard.

***

“You can’t leave me alone, can you?” Rolan spat at Amelie, who after a quick bath and a change of clothes, found him at the bar and sat next to him. The children and most everyone else are in bed, so we’re kind of alone. Alone-ish. “Going to tell me I shouldn’t be drowning my sorrows?”

“I think,” she began carefully as she poured herself some water. “You should stay hydrated after drinking so much alcohol, Rolan.” She then grabbed a second glass and poured him some. “Here you go.”

He slammed the bottle on the counter, startling her. “I don’t need you pitying me. Haven’t you done enough?”

Something inside her snapped.

She turned suddenly and grabbed him by the shoulders to face him towards her. “You listen to me, you arrogant shit. That little stunt you pulled earlier could’ve fucking killed you. We are fucked, Rolan. We are so incredibly fucked, but I need you to stay here and stay safe, because I cannot lose another godsdamned person I lo—” Amelie shut her mouth and felt tears in her eyes. I lost Da. My mentor. One of my best friends. Uncle Ned. This journey has been nothing but death around every corner. Not you too. “I care about. So please, I am begging you, stay here.” She bit back a sob. “Please, Rolan. Please.” Before she knew it, her face was in her hands, her body wracked with sobs.

She did not expect to feel a hand on her head. She also did not expect his other arm to wrap around her thick waist.

“Shh, please don’t cry. I’ll have the bloody water, you damnable woman.” He grumbled, and Amelie could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll stay, but you must…you must get them back safe and sound, do you understand?”

Nodding, she sniffled as she lifted her head.

She did not expect to see what many would describe as a touching look on his face as he handed her a handkerchief. “Now, dry your tears. A young lady such as yourself shouldn’t be crying over me.”

As she wiped her tears, she stopped for a moment and blinked. “Why?”

The question dumbfounded him. Well and truly. “Why what?”

“Why shouldn’t I cry over you?” She placed the handkerchief on the counter and stared at nothing across the bar. Because you’re wonderful and I like you… “You’ve survived being in the Hells all while keeping Cal and Lia alive and well. You stayed at the Grove, even when you so desperately wanted to leave…all to protect them. Because you stayed, the children are alive. They’re alive, Rolan. Because of you. You even did quite possibly the most stupid thing ever by venturing into the Shadow Curse by yourself because of your love for your siblings.” Turning her head suddenly, she once again faced him, a desperate look on her face. “How could I not cry over a person like that? Of course, I would…and have cried over you.” She offered him a tired smile. “I should go to bed. It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer.” As Amelie rose from the stool, Rolan also stood, as stiff and awkward as they come. But so adorable. “Goodnight, Rolan.”

He watched her trudge towards the staircase (I was given a room last night at Isobel’s request) and squeezed his eyes shut. “Why is tomorrow going to be long?”

Without looking back at him, she sighed. “Because we’re going to Moonrise Towers tomorrow, and I intend to find and free the prisoners.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I’ll get them back. I promise.” No matter what. Make sure Shadowheart has Sanctuary prepared.

“I want to believe you,” he said softly. “I need to believe you.”

Amelie, more quickly than he thought considering how tired she was, descended the stairs and hugged him. Yeah, I did it. I needed to do it. And he needed it. So it’s fine. Rolan stood (somehow more awkwardly) but after a minute or two he wrapped his arms around the half-elf. “What does your heart say?” She whispered, holding him gently.

“I-I don’t—”

“Don’t think. What does your heart say, Rolan?”

He finally relaxed and shared in her embrace. “They will be back safe and sound. I trust…I believe in you.”

Never in a thousand years did Rolan expect her lips to briefly touch his cheek before she blushed and went upstairs to her room.

And the next day, some time in the late afternoon, Cal and Lia arrived at Last Light.

After thanking her profusely, his heart leaped at a realization that hit him like the metaphorical ton of bricks as she greeted one of her companions.

He was in love with Lady Amelie Wildheart.

[crazylittlejester]

THEYRE (the chain) ALL AUTISTIC ESPECIALLY THE ERAS WAR TRIO!! IN THIS TEDTALK I WILL-

mask was, ironically, very low masking

warriors was (and still kinda is) VERY high masking

(Tune is somewhere in the middle + ADHD)

mask really struggled at first on the battlefield because of his extreme lack of social skills (dude was raised in the woods with a bunch of other autistic fairy kids), lack of danger awareness, and poor understanding of war/battlefield (he’s used to 1-1 boss fights not war), and the fact that as a kid, he was already much much higher support needs, not even mentioning how traumatized he must’ve been.

warriors was drowning in stress, a literally TEENAGER (I hc him being 16-20 during the war) severely masking and like, PHYSICALLY UNABLE TO STOP. Among all the other non-neurodivergent stressors (cia, A WAR, parenting two kids in battle, food issues)

warriors helped mask learn tips for surviving the neurotypical world** (TM) and made sure he was 100% accommodated, since warriors knew he, himself would never have that.

Mask subtly (and probably accidentally) pushed warriors to mask less, creating a safe space where the three bros could all be them selves. He’d throw the biggoron sword if someone so much as looked NEAR where warriors was when he was stimming, ready to fight the h8ters if necessary.

later on, the trio (and now 6 more!) rejoin, and time is pleasantly surprised to see that warriors has kept some of the mentality. Granted, he’s not made any progress since then, but he’s not gotten worse, so that’s something.

Warriors is also quietly content that time has retained the social skills he taught him, in fact, he’s picked up even more! Though he finds it hard to find time at all scary, intimidating, or powerful, because warriors knows EXACTLY what is going through time’s head when he makes that face, I mean, he taught his brother himself!

warriors now has to face the living proof that he’s not weird or broken, lest he tell that to his eight brothers who are nowhere near as masking as he is, culture shock!

**DISCLAIMER!!

I know that the idea of “normalizing” autistic kids via teaching them neurotypical behaviors is a very complex and nuanced conversation to be had, and I’m not trying to parade around supporting ABA. (not to make this about me or anything,) but this pov/head cannon/prompt (?) is inspired from the perspective of me and my lower masking/much higher support needs sibling (both are autistic) :)

Your favorite,

-MANDARIN WARRIORS

I love you for this oh my god

To me, one of the things Mask struggles with the most besides social cues is controlling his facial expressions when especially when talking to others, which is why the other Links just automatically assumed he was the stoic silent type, because they saw this serious looking older guy who rarely smiles and were like “oh he means business-” but really he just has very flat expressions. Similarly I think he’s very dry when he speaks, it was worse when he was younger, and he’d gotten better at making himself sound more excited/happy, but occasionally the others (not including Wars) think he’s being sarcastic when he isn’t. And this is part of why they can never tell if he’s joking about having fought the moon.

With how chaotic his childhood was (and also because of the autism), to me he’s someone who really needs stability and predictably, which is why ranch work is sooo good for him. Like yeah unexpected things happen, but he can also sit there and take care of the animals and know he will be taking care of the animals the next day (also I think braiding Epona’s mane would be both comforting for him AND the horse)

Warriors is someone I can see stressing out so much about how people view him and he’s so scared of being anything less than perfect that he ends up getting trapped masking and everything just builds up until he explodes. He certainly was not coping well during the war, with everything that was going on, but I totally agree that Mask helped him mask less. Those two absolutely helped each other, both intentionally and completely by accident. By the time he’s in his mid/late twenties, he’s gotten a lot better about not letting everything build up, and also at unmasking every once in a while when he feels safe. (you’re so right, time/mask would fight ANY haters on wars’s behalf)

Everything you said was so perfect and I love it!! I’ve written one fic centering around these two being autistic (although I didn’t explicitly state that because I don’t know if they’d have like, the medical diagnosis for that in hyrule), and i really need to write more. I myself am autistic and good autism rep is really important to me because I never saw it as a kid

You’re literally my favorite at this point, mandarin wars anon, I hope you’re having a good day 🫶

[saratinz]

Velvet Crowbar

pairing ➩ Rockstar!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings ➩ angst, break-up, addiction, drugs, alcohol, character death, sad ending

synopsis ➩ Based off 'Velvet Crowbar' by Lana Del Rey

word count ➩ 1.6k

I was addicted to you but I didn't know it

Everyone was praying for your downfall, even newspapers calling you “Courtney Love 2.0”. Bucky, your ultra-famous boyfriend, held you close, trying to squeeze your sadness out. His warmth comforts the chills that run down your spine when he does stupid shit. Yesterday, it was telling the world you got engaged, and today, it was failing to make it up to you.

You were afflicted by booze

“Bucky, get down.”

“Oh shut up, you stupid bitch.”

“Fine, go ahead and kill yourself, fucking asshole.”

“Wait baby, I’m sorry, just, let me make it up to you.”

“Why’d you say that shit, Buck?”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

You didn't show it 

“I’m not kissing you like this.”

“Ohhhh, c’mon babe.” 

“Fine.” You give him a brief peck. You wonder if this shit is normal. Surely other girlfriends go through the same thing. You assure yourself that he’s fine. Even though he enjoys a good time every once in a while, he’d be able to stop if he wanted to.

Life is a velvet crowbar

Being Bucky’s girlfriend isn’t always easy, sometimes it’s like you’re drowning. But every once in a while he comes to save you, and in those moments, everything feels like it’s going to be okay. On the outside looking in, you’re relationship is the dream. And it is, as long as you have him to rescue you.

Hitting you over the head

Most of the time though, you’re so far underwater, that you can’t even fathom taking another breath. But even if you’ll barely survive, you let him use you as a life raft. 

You're bleeding but you want more

“It’s okay, Bucky, you’re okay.”

“No I’m not, Y/n, I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not, you’re just high.” He sobs in your arms. And it feels right for all the wrong reasons. Why do you find yourself comforted? Maybe nurturing others is a way you distract yourself from your own problems.

‘This is so like you,’ I said

You’re used to the bad highs. You have a system, a mental checklist you use every time he comes home like this. You know exactly what to do.

Put yourself on back to bed

You rub his back, lulling him asleep. 

You're like crack to me I don't want to leave

“If you don’t like my lifestyle, why don’t you just break up with me?”

“I can’t do that.”

I'm watching you sleep, afraid you'll stop breathing

“Why not?

My baby's on his eighth life darling

“Because I don’t want you to die!” You break down in tears

Staying with him 'til the morning

It’s okay sweetheart, I’m going to be okay.” He holds you in his arms.

You're like crack to me so fun I can't see

You’re addicted to this feeling, to this love you get when times are rough.

With your golden grill, your purple dream

While Bucky uses drugs to cope, you use him. 

My baby's on his eighth life darling

“You need to get help.”

Gonna watch him 'til the morning

“I’ll try.” But you knew it wasn’t like him to quit. Before you know it, you’re watching him do coke 

I was addicted to you didn't wanna blow it

“C’mon Y/n, just try it, don’t be a pussy.”

You were a dick with your crew

“You guys, she’s not usually like this, usually she’s fun.” He explains to his bandmates, acting as if you’re not even there.

Always on the road

You don’t go to his show that night. He may end up calling you passive-aggressive, selfish, or a bitch but it’s not like he hasn’t called you those before.

You wanna touch life so hard

“Y/n, I’m the one people are gonna side with if we break up.”

Why can't you give it a rest?

“Are you really gonna hold that over me forever?”

You're not that bright for a star

Sometimes you wonder how Bucky is so famous.

Burned yourself out nothing left

“Baby, I’m working on a new song about you. Why don’t you help me write it?”

Burned yourself out nothing left

You sit with him through his creative process, helping him with synonyms and rhymes. You watch as the ideas fly through his head, and you watch as they come to a complete halt. 

Styrofoam on the microphone

“Put your hand here, and strum with your other hand. There you go sweetheart.”

“Am I a guitar expert now?”

“Of course.” You lean over the instrument and give him a kiss. He tastes like liquor, you couldn’t even tell he was drunk.

Can't give it up, can't go it alone

You finally realize that Bucky is reliant on substance abuse. 

Flame-colored paradise for you darling

His highs have been extra bad as of late. He’s under lots of stress, so maybe that’s why.

But death doesn't come with a warning

 “I promise I’ll stop.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

“No, I’ll go to rehab, I’ll go to therapy, hell I’ll sing Kumbaya because I do have a problem, and deep down I’ve always known it.”

“You can’t do this for me, it has to be for yourself.” 

“It’s for both of us.”

Life is a velvet crowbar

It’s been a month since he quit drinking and taking drugs cold turkey, leaving you to ponder whether he can really do this. You’re almost ready to believe him, but one night, you find him taking pills in your shared bathroom.

Hitting you over the head

At least you know how to deal with this, it’s easier to help when he’s like this. Sadly, highs are significantly better than his withdrawals. You can’t imagine the pain he went through. Although you want him sober, it was terrible seeing him in pain for so long.

You're bleeding syrup amour

You see his life draining from his eyes. Every time he does drugs, he becomes just a little bit less himself.

Bleeding to death

He may not be in pain anymore, but each drunken night scares the hell out of you.

You're like crack to me I don't want to leave

“Let’s get married tomorrow, and let’s not tell anyone. I just need you, Bucky.”

“Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

I'm watching you sleep, afraid you'll stop breathing

You are 100% sure you want to have your wedding. You asked to do it soon, because you’re terrified that if you wait too long, you’ll never get to marry him.

My baby's on his last life darling

“You’re gonna have to change, y’know?”

“I know baby.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“I’ll never leave.”

I'm staying with him 'til the morning

“Hey Bucky, it’s time to get get married.

You're like crack to me so fun I can't see

Everything is perfect in this moment, the ceremony is short and sweet, and when you get home, it sets in that you are actually husband and wife.

With your golden grill, your purple dream

My baby's on his eighth life darling

He can’t keep this up for much longer, you know that.

Gonna watch him 'til the morning

Every hitch of his breath, you’re terrified.

Gonna stay with him 'til morning

Every time he goes completely still, you freak out.

My baby's on his eighth life, darling

“You’re killing yourself.”

“I know that.”

“Then why do you do it.”

“I do it because this is too hard, you’re too difficult to deal with. I want to make you happy, that’s my number one goal in this world. I love you so much that I can’t deal it. I can’t cope, I can’t quit, not when I have you. But I choose you every time anyway.”

My baby's on his eighth life, darling

“I can’t do this anymore, Buck.”

“I know.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“I hope so.”

“Can I have one last kiss?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

And death doesn't come with a warning

“Bucky once made a promise, a promise that he was going to stop. Within the next month, I found myself  cleaning his puke off our bedroom floor again. Today, I want everyone to take away three things. First of all, change is hard, but if you or a loved one struggles with addiction, you can’t stop using drugs or alcohol for someone else. The change has to come from you, and it’s not going to be easy. The second thing is, I know that people hate me, just jealousy or whatever, but I was the one who was there for him. I was the one he trusted to take care of him, and when we split up, he lost his lifeline. I can’t help but feel like is death was my fault, and I will carry that guilt with me forever. Lastly, to his friends and family, I’m so sorry for your loss. And to his fans, he will live on through his music, and hopefully one day, all the pain we are going through will inspire greatness. I know, that he will forever be a star, inspiration, and idol, just as much as he will be a cautionary tale. Thank you all for coming, this funeral is perfect, Bucky didn’t want it any other way. God, it feels so wrong saying that, because no one should die at 27. We deserve lives we live to the fullest, and to have that, you need to take care of yourself. Thank you.”

Masterlist

[peacesignsandlighters]

Everyday I mask my neurodivergency. That’s normal at this point.

But this has been masking on overload. On steroids!!

I am mentally, physically, and emotionally overwhelmed and exhausted.

I just need to take my hands off the wheel and my foot off the gas for just a moment. The tiniest moment.

This would be a lot for anyone. I know people go through this everyday. There are a million caregivers for a million different people for a thousand different reasons. I understand that. I know that there are hard days for everyone one of them. Unfortunately I just so happen to be one of them. I even acknowledge that it’s even harder for the people we care for.

But for me… for my neurodivergent, adhd having self.. I am drowning… I am fucking drowning. And yet I can’t… I won’t… take my hands off the wheel nor my foot off the gas.. because I know what it looks like when that happens. I know the destruction that follows. I know the pain and the guilt and the shame, all the blame that comes with it and that’s far more than I can handle. That’s way worst than this. I wouldn’t survive that. And I’m barely surviving this.

I’m not complaining for having to do it. In no way shape or form. I am simply acknowledging that I am human, I have feelings, I am overwhelmed, and I really really need help. I need physical support. I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to go into details. All I can say is shouldering all of the day to day responsibilities of this, remembering every detail of every task that needs to be accomplished, hell just simply trying to accomplish 1/4th of it is exhausting. I am one person. My entire world has been flipped on it’s side.. hell flipped upside down in the last 3 months.. we’re just in month 4 of an undetermined timeline of an anomaly. I am this exhausted and it’s only been 3 months. I mean I’ve been exhausted for the majority of my existence but this… this is different. I just need someone to help me. I need another 3 to 10 other me’s. I need someone that doesn’t have the same mental challenges as me.

I need the mental help of processing the fact that my narcissistic mother, who has been my sole provider for my entire life, now needs me to be a caregiver to her. I have been trying to run and escape this hell for 14+ years and now I feel obligated because that’s my mom. That the single mother that stepped up when my father didn’t. That’s the woman who, whether she was physically or emotionally present or not.. more times not, she was the one semi present. I am her only child. It is my sole responsibility to take care of her. Outside of her mother, whose going to do it. And yet I have been the one on the front lines. I have been the one taking all the negativity and abuse these last few months. I get the ugly. I have to endure the painful times. I’m the one that gets blamed. I’m the one that gets verbally and emotionally abused. I am the one that has to take it and keep going.. and yet again.. this isn’t anything new.. I should be used to it but again it’s different now. I need the mental help of having to accept the fact that my last memories of my mother was not that we got it together, not that we mended our relationship, not that I felt her love and respect and proudness… no my last memories are more than likely that I wasn’t enough, that I didn’t do anything right, that I never made any good decisions, that I was lazy and careless and irresponsible. I will have to live whatever days I have left feeling this. I have zero clue of how to heal from that kind of hurt. I know for a fact that it is already changing me for the worst.

Which brings me to emotionally. I have literally shoulder all of this on my own. All the thoughts and emotions. I have both relied on and absolutely undone 5 years worth of healing in 3 months. I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely happy. I can remember the last time I smiled and it wasn’t out of momentary politeness. I can’t remember the last time my nervous system felt stable and at peace. Life has completely destructed my support system. I don’t even feel comfortable reaching out anymore and when I do it’s because I am literally at a breaking point and I’m just trying not to jump off the edge. The one person I want to be here can’t or won’t or whatever word fits the moment. There is resentment forming inside of me for so many people. I used to say I just need a hug but honestly, a hug is barely scratching the surface. It’s the feeling of scratching the surface without actually leaving a mark. I need real love and support and PRESENCE right now. And I know that nobody that God has put in my path thus far can give me that. I know that I have to give it to myself. And yet as hard as I’ve been working to give myself grace and love and support… it’s just not the same. Maybe I haven’t mastered it. Maybe I have no clue how to.. because I definitely don’t. But at the end of the day I know it’s a need that screaming to be met and I have zero way of meeting it right now.

This isn’t even a pouring from an empty cup situation anymore… the cup has been dry.. and so is the well that the cup was supposed to get water from. I’m pouring air and hopes and prayers at this point.. empty fucking wishes and desires.

That is all I have. And yet my foot is on the gas and I have a death grip on a wheel that I am not actually steering. I am truly extremely more afraid of who I will be after this that of who I am right now. Or even who I was. I am terrified of what this situation is going to turn me into. I am terrified of what that level of hurt and grief and exhaustion is going to do.. I’m already terrified of who I’ve become thus far.. imagine then.

I genuinely wish someone understood that.

[109moons]

I have absolutely nothing poetic to say and I am finally angry for the first time in 17 days that this is happening to me and I don’t know how to express how I feel like I am just fucking screaming inside to crawl out of my skin.

It’s so fucking unfair. I am fighting so hard to stay positive, to uplift other people, to comfort my loved ones about the very real fact that I am dying. And there’s nothing I can do, but take the pain everyday with a smile on my face and try to advocate for positivity to help your body heal and right now it just feels like fucking bullshit. I don’t want to be positive, I want to cry and punch walls and I don’t know how to keep saying to people that love me to please stop touching me and treating me like I’m a walking time bomb. The fact is, I am. I am shoving every feeling down except for this idiotic, “I’m smiling and laughing through the pain and all of this will be worth it when I am alive so there is no point being pissed off or talk about how god damn fucking unfair this is”.

I don’t god damn deserve having to be a “protected patient” while I am actively dying because my Mom decided to go off her fucking rocker and straight up abuse me. I should not be fighting to protect myself tooth and nail against her. I should be able to lean on my only parent and instead I have to safe guard myself to such extreme measures that I have to be a fucking Jane Doe so she stops sending people for me because I will not surrender control of my life to her. I would rather die. I have spent my entire life in the hands of self victimizing sociopaths and in the most vulnerable time, an absolutely inexpressible terrifying time, and I am forced to surrender my pride to let my family take care of me while I rail against letting anything else be taken away from me.

I am losing so much, it is so hard to even imagine life after this nor fathom what it will take to come back if I survive at all. I do not deserve to live disabled for what is left of my life. I do not know if I have it in me to go through procedure after procedure to be cut in half and have more pieces taken from me. I’m scared. I could die on the table and I very well might. My surgery is far more complex than a normal transplant. My recovery period is expected to be twice as long. I am scared. I will be on a ventilator and intubated for weeks. I will lose all autonomy and have to lean completely on my best friend and siblings. Leading up to my surgery, my medical team has to push me to the brink of death to move me up the transplant list. There is no guarantee I will even make it to the surgery once they have pushed my body far enough, I very well might have a heart attack and die before I can make it to the OR. If I live, I am disabled forever and on oxygen. I am no longer independent. I am so fucking afraid and it is so fucking unfair.

How the fuck do you talk to a 30 year old about their end of life directive? How am I supposed to just act like I am strong when I’ve had to take legal action against my only parent and I am making the scariest choices of my life knowing I am completely dependent on my best friend? How can people be so god damn selfish and destructive that they force a dying person who is drowning to fight a battle to prioritize their healing? I lay here in bed shaking because my blood pressure is so low, I am so anxious from trying to crack open my feelings about my fear of death and what is to come, and everything seems so fucking trivial.

No amount of sedatives is touching this. No amount of anxiety meds. No amount of writing, of coloring, of reading. I cannot stop shaking my feet and moving my legs or I think I will sink through the floor of the hospital or just take off running for the hills straight through the walls and run until my lungs give out and that way I can control how I die. Just as I’m writing this, I had phlebotomy come and order more vials of blood. I knew I didn’t feel well tonight. I knew my labs from the evening were going to be weird. I am scared because I was hoping I was wrong.

It just baffles me that at home there are people that call me family or claim they love me, but are home in their little worlds thinking about the little things that they want to believe about me to offer them solace. There is almost something amusing about it, not in a way that is meant to be dismissive of other feelings, but how small it is.

She’ll miss me one day and see that I was not broken the way I was, and that she missed out on loving someone because she only loved the image she wanted to preserve. She will see that the reason she has no one, is because others see the sadism and manipulation. How small I have always been. That there is a reason every person except one is rallying behind me telling her that she is helping kill me.

I don’t really care too much what the “he’s” think. I was not perfect by any means, but I was good and I loved hard and genuinely, despite my mistakes. I forgave, even when I was not forgiven for my mistakes and I was crucified for less. I rose above. Most of all, I loved and I know I gave and gave until I could not. I have no regrets, except for wishing I saw my worth before my life became something I could no longer recognize. These things seem so small now, it is hard to even place myself in their shoes anymore.

Those who only cared to weaponize my illness, who used my vulnerability to their own means to stroke their egos, the friends that did not show up. It is no real loss. The only loss again is that I wish I loved myself before I started losing my chance. I do not recognize the person in the mirror and if I live, I still will be a stranger. These people do not know me, and will not know me after this. I hope you do not come to my funeral.

I do not really know what is happening anymore.

I am the furthest thing from alone, and the loved ones that have stepped forward have moved me immeasurably about the purity of human nature. It is difficult to feel loss about the people I loved who left me or wounded me.

I hope I am missed. I hope people remember my laugh. I hope that those who have watched me dying the last two weeks in front of their eyes remember me walking in the wake of the shore in the sunshine. I hope no one forgets that I could lift a keg my size and that my biggest fears are grasshoppers and werewolves but I will walk straight into gunfire for someone I love. I hope someone loves my animals and don’t let them forget that I loved them more than anything. I hope people remember me for me, that I loved peaches and listening to soft piano, that I always made too big of pasta dishes and gave them all away. I hope they remember how fiercely I protected the people I love. I hope I see my Dad.

I’m not even going to edit this.

[the-raging-tempest]

👾 for zrise please!!

Hey Romeo!! I’m not really sure how I do these but here we go! These are so hard to choose from but! I went for Death Is In The Air by SAKIMA

Overall this song to me for Zrise is about death. His own and others. Death is always around him. Follows him. It’s also about losing yourself. To your emotions. To your ambitions. Your justifications.

__

Is my heart breaking

Or do I have one at all

Am I feeling or faking

I don’t know anymore

Zrise wants to believe he’s a very heartless careless and callous person. Kind of in a self protective way. Because if he doesn’t have a soul, heart, etc then he can excuse what he does. He often feels he’s bad at living. Bad at being a person. Does he even care about the things he tells himself he cares about? Most of the time no. Most of the time what he truly cares for he tries to hide deep. Makes excuses. What he wants he can’t admit to himself.

What’s in the back of my head?

It’s just like white noise

Or a demon under his breath

Telling me it’s time to dance with death

Some nights I’m possessed

Anger, bitterness, resentment, sadness, a lot of emotions get the better of him and he feels he has little control of ‘acting out’. He’s always getting in trouble for pushing the wrong boundaries. Obviously some of these result in violence. In ways he regrets. Often for various different reasons. But he hates his emotions. He feels ‘possessed’ by them. Unable to let them go.

No I never

See it coming

Till it holds me down like an anchor

No I never

Hear the drumming

Till I’m too far into the rapture

Much of this is the same as above with the added. It isn’t until the repercussions hit him in irreversible ways do they register. Also to me this evokes the drowning.

I wish I could be brave

This line does a lot for me for his character that is hard to put into words. He often pretends he’s brave. Often looks down on cowards. But he himself IS one. He hates it about himself. He’s ultimately afraid to die, afraid to be alone, afraid to be unloved. He only gathers the courage to do the things he does because he believes he must to get what he wants. He wishes he could stand up for himself. Wishes he could actually practice what he preaches. No matter the consequences.

Do it or don’t I never know so I

Keep dancing on a pipe dream

Keep laughing when I wanna scream

He’s actually never clear of what he’s doing is helping him get closer to what he wants. Part of him knows no matter what he does he’s kind of fucked. Finding a cure is a pipe dream. Because even if he gets it likely it won’t solve all his problems. But it’s what he has to do. The last line is very him in his trickster mindset. He tries to find some twisted sense of joy in his misery.

I feel the ache of the waiting

I feel the tar in my lungs

For every debt that I’m paying

I’m no further along

This also calls back to the drowning for me. The ache of waiting for his mother to return and comfort him. Which never comes. The tar of the water and congealed blood in his lungs. For everything he does to try and prove himself to his mother he feels just as trapped. Just as unloved.

What if I give up the ghost

And just become one myself

What if he just stops fighting? Stops trying to survive? What if he just died instead? Would that be better?

Dunno why I’m holding my breath

‘Cause they all let me down in the end

And I just forgive them

Has to do with most people he grows close to. Most of the people he learns to trust and love end up betraying him. Just as he does to others. Because that’s the only kind of relationship he knows. He forgives them in the sense that he just allows it all to happen again.

No I never

See it coming

Till I lose myself to the anger

No I never

See it coming

Till The crying turns into laughter

I wish I could be brave

Much the same as similar lyrics as before. But instead we end on a more sinister note. Acknowledging the anger and how he leans into this vindictiveness. Where when others hurt him he wants to laugh. Loose himself and hurt them in return.

[kob131]

Velma Episode 1 Thoughts

“So, how’s that promise to not watch the Velma show go-”

*Sees a list of Youtube reviews*

“...May as well check out for myself then.”

-Wow, you guys are trying so fucking hard to cause a rise out of people. This is some of the most pathetic baiting I have ever seen. And I’m autistic- I am literally wired to not get this stuff.

-And because I’m feeling cruel-

‘Tall handsome guy given even more power’- Ever heard of Spider man?

‘Oh hey, what made this hot chick go crazy?’- Ever heard of Samus Aran?

-’Not Fred and his creepy sex van’. Five bucks says you end up riding around in that ‘creepy sex van’ with Fred giving you orders because your show will be tanking so hard you’ll need to pander to the original audience to survive.

And as an original fan, I say ‘die in a ditch’

-’I hate Daphne. >:(’ Wow, the nerdy girl hates the popular, conventionally pretty girl. Real great work subverting those stereotypes. Especially since that notebook has ‘Velma Dinkley-Jones’ written in it too.

Fun fact, my own little Team STRQ headcanon has Raven and Summer hating each other’s guts due to ideological differences (Raven believes that people need to survive on their own while Summer believes that people should help if they have the power) among other things. But I’m insecure about it because it can also be read as ‘two girls fight over a guy (Taiyang)’. In short- I have more awareness of stupid tropes regarding women than this show.

-’This is my story, told MY way!’

Which is why you’re not even remotely Velma Dinkley and this told through the same fucking story telling seen everywhere nowadays.

-...This show is going to use swearing as a substitute for actual maturity, isn’t it?

*Shows two cockroaches bumping uglies*

... Yay...

-Is...is this bitchy girl Daphne? The sweet, emotionally intelligent, kind hearted Daphne?

-You know, you guys could have given the girls some variety in their body types other than ‘curvaceous, busty and leggy’. I’m no prude but coming to be more true to myself, I’ve come to appreciate the variety in the female form. I also say this because this involved me coming to terms with how I appreciate the male form as well.

Also just because sex sells (I have checked out series because I found a girl hot) doesn’t make shoving gratuitous nudity in my face entertaining. At least let the girl fully check them out.

-You know what, here’s a lesson to any aspiring writers-

If you’re gonna be sensual, be sensual. Fully examine the beauty of the female and male bodies. The graceful curves and the hardy stockiness- be free, be open, be true to yourself! That is what it means to be an adult!

 -Nobody gets physical over these kinds of discussions. Where the writers fucking high when writing this?

-Maybe they were because the chick I’m pretty sure is Daphne is DROWNING SOMEONE.

Please for the love of god, someone ax her ass!

-THANK YO-

‘And how do you feel about race blind casting, Daphne?’

Oh god FUCKING DAMNIT!

- “I wasn’t expecting such an enlightened answer from such a bitch.”

https://youtu.be/CN2s-rFYQqI

VELMA WOULD NOT ASSAULT SOMEONE!

-... Solid JJ did this better.

-... I want everyone whoever called RWBY’s writing as ‘exposition dumping’ to write an apology. NOW.

No one would respond to ‘How long has it been since X has had you over’ with ‘ever since my mom died. Two years ago.’ It should be. ‘Two years ago, ever since Mom...’. That is something people SAY.

-Oh god, this is so painful. 

You-you know how a lot of dialogue in media can be boiled down to how it advances the plot or characters but the extra fat is necessary to make the dialogue digestible to your average viewer since media is an exchange between the audience suspending their disbelief and the creators presenting a nice story in exchange?

No one ever taught these writers that. It’s ALL just plot progression and obvious references with nothing to give it any taste!

-*Slicked over blond hair, blue jeans, white sweater, bumps into Velma while on his phone*

Oh no no no no no no no-

“Oh hi, Fred!”

“I have a disease where I can’t remember anyone who isn’t hot-”

-NO, FUCK YOU!

The one. ONE! Guy who was never even close to anything to being toxic in his masculinity. A kind, cheerful, calm, caring man who suffered from single mindedness but was nonetheless a man who carried himself with dignity and kindness who was beloved for basically creating the ‘himbo’ archetype-

You FUCKED HIM UP! IN ONE SCENE!

-... Fred’s gay and in the closet, isn’t he?

Of course he is. Because of course any man who dresses fashionably must be sucking dick. Just like Velma’s probably LGBT because she’s nerdy and not conventionally feminine. Because as everyone knows- if you deviate from the overly strict definitions of masculinity and feminity, you MUST be LGBT.

-Can we have ONE good father in a fucking cartoon for once?

-Whatever is inside her...isn’t a baby.

-’Oh we’re ABOVE the ‘slutty girl deserved to get murdered’ trope~’

And yet you roll around in those other, even more cliche tropes. No credit.

-Oh yay, this really is a ‘toxic masculinty’ plotline with Fred. And ten bucks says it will still get its ass beaten by Jaune’s.

-’I’m at fault for my mom leaving my dad who knocked up a waitress’

And you’re supposed to be the smart one...

-’Wow, I am emotionally invested in your journey and it’s stakes!’

Cool. Glad someone is.

-...Why is Shaggy even here? What’s even the point without his connection with Scoob?

-’I hate drugs! *wink*’

Shaggy being a stoner was a joke, not canon. May as well give him Ultra Instinct at this point.

-Oh cool, the fucking waitress knows ‘Velma’ better than her fucking father. Yay...

-’Maybe Velma’s mom left her because she was a brat...’

... Judging from how Velma looks and her size, she’s likely no older than 6-8 during those flashbacks.

If that is true then Velma’s mom bore a grudge or resentment towards her child for...acting like a child. And no, the eyeball injury is not an excuse because in no universe is spray water into someone’s eye going to cause enough damage to make it pop out.

Velma’s mom was a fucking bitch and her dumbass dad is implied to be the better parent...because she’s a bitch. Fucking wonderful.

-... This show was some tax write off, wasn’t it?

[bpdbaddies-blog]

i’ve never shared my writing before so enjoy.

my pov:

i feel like i’m buried in the depths of hell

you can’t physically see the pain that’s lurking inside

it’s taken a toll on me and all i feel is numb

let me give you a glimpse of my life

i do my best hoping to be enough

longing for acceptance of all that i am

constantly told you talk too much

you feel too deeply

you’re way too much

i either talk too much or not enough

i see everything in black and white, there’s no middle path

i don’t think people love me

they love the versions of me i’ve spun for them

the easy parts of me, the easy parts to love

ive spend my life trying to please others

i tried to be the person they all wanted

i gave up my spirit and begged for acceptance

my very existence depends on your acceptance

i’m at war with my own body, my thoughts tell me to hate myself

i cannot look in the mirror for i fear what my brain will tell me

i don’t know who i am anymore

i stare at myself like someone i’ve never met

i’m trying to shrink myself

trying to become smaller, quieter, less me

i don’t want to be too much for people

i want people to like me

i want to be cared for and valued

i crave touch yet i flinch every time someone is close

i want to be wanted

i don’t want to hurt anymore

i’ve sacrificed myself to make others happy

i forgive over and over again and have never learned to let go

i obsess too much and pick everything apart

“i’m just a tragedy and a pity case to them” says my brain

i always feel inadequate and a burden to others

chronically unsure about life

i constantly feel so unworthy

i feel as though my life isn’t worth living

i constantly seek validation from others because i need to feel worthy

i’ll hurt you before you hurt me

“burn the bridge while they’re still on it” says my brain

i’m paranoid everything is against me

i feel trapped in my own body

i feel like i’m in a cage and it’s so hard to grow

i hate everything i am, i’m rotting inside

memories constantly flooding back

i was ruined from such a young age

they were the start of all my problems

they injected me with self doubt

i met evil when i was only a child

i was only a jester for your entertainment

i learned to be afraid as a child

harsh words stripped me of my freedom

i was just a well trained mutt

i didn’t want to be controlled

i wanted to be a child

but i never got the chance to be one

no one asked me if i was okay

why didn’t anyone help me

i must’ve deserved it all

everyone just watched me drown

i was just a child, you robbed me of my childhood

i’m too young to have these scars

i’m no longer a whole person and i never will be

parts of me died in the house i grew up in

please tell me when i will heal from your pain

i’ll forever crave an apology

but i’ll never forget the way you hurt the child i was

i was given the grab bag of mental illnesses

i wake up everyday trying to be a new person

how can someone feel so much but feel so empty

how can emptiness be so heavy

how have i survived so long when i’m so violently self destructive

you have no idea of the pain that runs through my veins

i feel so unspeakably lonely

i can’t manage all these feelings

sadness feels like suicide

distance feels like abandonment

joy feels weird and unknown

i’ll never feel good enough not even for myself

my mood was good, even great then it fell

up and down up and down like a constant roller coaster

there’s a constant battle of sad empty rage inside

i can constantly hear my heart breaking

my soul is broken in parts i didn’t know could break

i’m lonely in places i didn’t know existed inside me

i have the constant urge to run away

but i have no where to go

i’m just so tired of fighting a never ending war

i feel like i was born with tragedy in my blood

the world has drained me of everything i am

i want to dissolve into nothingness

sometimes i think i would be better off dead

but there might be another way out

but i wouldn’t know because i’ve been buried alive

[solidhollow]

An ounce of comfort had me crawling back here, but I’ll be damned if I’ve found it. So much time has passed and so much has changed, but sometimes-like now-it’s like nothing has. I’m tired of talking to ghosts, tired of being stuck in inaccessible pasts. You fuckers would be somewhat proud of me though: I’m sober, I’m about to start EMT school which I’m a combination of excited and terrified (what’s new) but I think I’m going to be really great at it, and after a lot I’m stable in ways I’ve never known: I’m safe, I don’t have seizures anymore, I know my name, I can talk and speak up, I can go outside in public, and I fight like hell to do what makes me happy every single day even if I’m terrified. It’s lonely as hell though, I’ve never been much for lying and now is not the time to start. This whole living thing was a lot easier when I wasn’t sober, when I couldn’t remember anything, when I couldn’t feel anything. I wouldn’t erase my past if I could, I just wish I could do it different; wish I could be different for everyone. I know that’s what the present is for and I’m working on it, but 1) you’re all dead so none of this matters to you guys 2) those that are alive I’m so far out of touch with—they know a me that absolutely existed but is so fucking different/who did and said so many fucked up things. I’ve been eating my shame and reaching out, trying to reconnect but for most it seems impossible or unwanted or not allowed or not like the right thing to do. So I’m stuck here, writing to ghosts and trying to convince absolutely no one that maybe this time I’m different in ways that matter, that I’m working on it, that I’m so fucking sorry and I’m aware I fucked up and I’m working to never fuck up in those ways again. It took a lot + a very long fall well past rock bottom to realize it/to do the work but I’m doing it. Does it completely undermine all that if I say how much I wish just one of you were here with me? Trust me, I get it: I gotta be able to do this shit on my own because no one or thing is guaranteed. But I can’t erase the impact anyone of you has had on me..I can still see you, still dream of you, still smell you, still feel you. Dead or alive I can’t forget. I’m moving on, carrying pieces of you fuckers with me everyday but damn what I wouldn’t give for a time machine. You ever realized how much you absolutely fucked up your life? I ran from everything and everyone for so long. I lost everyone, pawned off all my possessions, lost myself entirely yet somewhere along the way I realized so much. And I’m violently grateful, I mean truly I was stuck fleeing city to city running away, hiding to stay alive, and just so stuck in survival mode that I’m not sure how I’m still here. I’m learning so much in such a short time though: what it means to feel safe (or what it’s supposed to mean, apparently that’s gonna take some time but I’m working on it), leaning how to ask for help, learning how to communicate, learning how to trust myself, and learning who I am outside of surviving/what it means to live. So yes, I’ve made a lot of progress and yes this is likely the healthiest/happiest I’ve ever been both physically and mentally. But I’d be lying if I said the grief and regret and fear doesn’t drown me sometimes. Some moments are better than others, and some are like now: where even despite my progress, I’m still craving the past. Not the chaos or trauma or other bullshit, just any one of you fuckers. I’d give it all up for one hour, one minute, one hug, one anything. I hate that you’re all gone, I can’t really understand how—whether dead or so entirely separated from me now—I’m here alone. Even if I’m not, I still am? Letting new people or really anyone get to know me is so confusing and I’m so terrified to get it wrong, to slip into previous habits and erase all the progress I’m fighting so hard for. C your last words to me seemed so simple but here I am entirely struggling to put them into action despite my efforts. I’ll keep trying though. Forever. Even once we meet up again. I miss you. I’ll love you all always.

[tianazlater]

I’m not trying to collect captives… 😂

Never consciously at least.

I had issues with CODEPENDENCY…trying throughout my life to save my dad…

I’m healing from that but it will take time to reprogram.

I DO like very intimate relationships w people, tho. I like freedom to pick brains. I will let them pick mine…it’s mutual.

This discussion could probably fit other people…too.

Give UP…not IN.

I don’t think I was ever trying to not be abandoned or something…it’s just like when you see someone physically drowning…you aren’t doing anything wicked instinctually trying to save them.

Same with people struggling mentally and spiritually…just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s this wicked-linked intention automatically.

It’s VERY difficult to righteously stand at the edge of the light and help pull people towards it.

We all have our own definitions of “light.” We have to make sure we are being as objective as possible. And that we don’t look for rewards or relationships from doing so.

But a lot of the time…I’m not going to say it’s useless…

It’s a big job to sign up for…

And again, similar to love…

People have their own places…they have things only they can do to get to where they’re meant to.

It boils down to…we don’t know the Plan. And we don’t write it.

But we DO have some sort of responsibility while we are here. And it may be hard to navigate but this is our purpose.

It’s harder than any sort of schooling…you can expect to fail a lot and need to adjust perhaps constantly…slowly…quickly…who knows…

But try your best to represent whatever it is we are meant to.

I am blessed in a sort of twisted way…that I learned such a hard lesson regarding all this…in a very physical and clear manner.

Some people can’t be saved…and sometimes it’s just not time yet.

Sometimes things need to happen that don’t seem good. That are scary. That are straight up wrong.

Who are we to come along w a corrective pen?

This is all very hard to look at PERIOD…but when we don’t STEP AWAY and allow ourselves time to THINK and FEEL…to REST. To stop constantly DOING…stop constantly obsessing about money and whatever else…survival…

It’s a different frame of mind…and one that shouldn’t be neglected. Because without it, we don’t DO as we need to…which really renders our DOING short-lived and less meaningful. Less purposeful.

And when we are running around DOING meaningless things…are we REALLY DOING anything at all?

Bro…

I am SOOOOO much nicer…

When I’m not around people too much.

One on one…and not forced to be around yall in unstructured situations…for entirely too long of time periods.

People struggle to have ROOMMATES…

How the real hell do businesses run?

This is how I feel when I’m at work:

I was not going to school…I was on break between classes…and my coworkers were like…WOW…has Nicole been to therapy?

My grandma was also on cruise…like nothing flaring up and stressing me out.

I am wicked…when I don’t get ME time.

[vlodimirvoneverec]

4am ramblings! Tw: depression, trauma, that sorta thing.

Man, I’m trying to reconnect with my emotions in therapy and its just so hard. Because after all these years theres just a lot of hurt behind the dam. I think if I start letting some emotions through to process them, Ill get caught up in the deluge and drown. They’re overwhelming. Putting them away behind a wall has helped me survive to get to where I am today and the only reason I’m trying to reintegrate the feeling part of myself is because I know I should, not because I want to or believe that it will help or improve things. In fact, I think that if I start feeling things, I wont be able to stop and the world will feel paralyzing and overwhelming again. I just have hope that I am strong enough now to shoulder it. I used to feel things so deep as a kid and now as an adult I realize I still can feel that deeply, still experience joy and newness and the perfect combination of all those ooey gooey neurochemicals that make life take on color and sound and motion again. But then with that depth the loss of them hurts all the more. Like if a turtle came out of its shell to finally feel the sunlight on its face only to freeze to death once the sun sets. Id rather stay inside my shell. There may be no content heat, no gentle summer breeze or succulent clover inside the shell but at least there’s survival. Survival in the hope that maybe one day, the sun won’t leave and return to the shell will never be necessary. But each time that feels like it might be the case the winter frost scores my nose and leaves me alive just enough to regret doubting the safety of the shell. And alive just enough to begin longing inside for the heat to rise again. My classmate said her therapist said starting a sentence with “I feel” then ending it with an intellectualization doesn’t count. Which is hard, because I’ve been masquerading my intellectualizations as feelings and using what I think I should feel as a reference point. But I dont know what I feel because I dont think I could adequately articulate it linguistically. Its paralyzing. When you have so much to say but can’t get it out in a way people understand. Like trying to scream in a bad dream but theres so much power getting ready to burst through your throat that it dies in there. I guess I think that if I start feeling, I’ll have to catch up from all the time I spent not feeling. And I know thats a lot of shit I’ve just swallowed down and pushed through since I didn’t think there was anything to do for it at the moment. And the thing is is that there wont be anything to do for it in the current moment but feel it. And it seems like a waste to cripple myself like that with nothing to show for it but a sense of despair and defeat. Maybe if I feel things again and get the feelings out I can move on from the thing tearing through my mind most of the time. I’ve talked with so many people, people I’m close with, who I trust to give me their honest advice and opinions. Even with all this I’m nowhere closer to a solution or a plan of action than when I got back. If anything, I’ve less now than when I got back. Of course, when I got back there emerged plenty of other dumpster fires to put out, which is an ongoing fire suppression process. My friends must be sick of me just ruminating over the same thing. Bringing it up in unrelated conversations over and over and over, like a rock in the ocean waves. Well all the edges are smoothed out now, but the rock is still there. I don’t know if it will erode any more. Or quick enough for my purposes. Don’t I owe it to my loved ones to get over this and move on? Because whether I have time to ruminate or not, the world turns on, and the longer I linger the faster I’ll have to run to catch up. Another classmate said humans have discomfort with discomfort. Im a testament to that perspective. Hope can be a pain, when you can no longer see giving up as an answer. It will cycle through again I just know it. I just hope I have the presence of mind to enjoy the suns heat on my scaled head and the soft ground below while it’s there before it recedes...

[knife-at-a-knife-fight]

sometimes i’m reminded of how different i am from everyone i know and i just... 

how am i supposed to do this? i mean really; i’m surrounded by people who’ve always had more than a handful of people to fall back on and they are telling me i’m not worth their time or effort. They tell me it’s my fault. They tell me that they won’t even try anything until I change. 

They’re more than down to help - as long as i completely fix myself first. 

I’ve long held the philosophy of “be the friend you wish others were to you and they’ll follow suit” but that shit fucking backfired, they just tell me that i’m a better friend than they’ll ever be and they don’t even first try. 

They don’t try.

And maybe they do, they seem to think they are, at least. But everyone around me seems to have this mentality that wanting to be better is the same as actually making an effort towards improvement, and it isn’t. Being aware of your shortcomings isn’t the same as working on them. Knowing you’re shit at maths doesn’t make you better at maths - but for some reason they all seem to think that. 

They’re fine watching me drown, waiting for me to learn to swim on my own.

I just... I don’t like being blamed for the things that I’ve worked my ass off to survive. I don’t like being told that everything I’ve worked hard to maintain and attain is shit. I know I’m not what you want. I know you don’t understand. But... I’m tired. I’m tired of begging you to care. I’m tired of begging you to try. 

So I won’t. Simple enough. 

The greatest reason i want to be notable in my field is so that when they discuss my work, when they look at everything, they’ll go “but the metaphors are so thinly veiled that they’re practically directly discussed. nothing is left to the imagination here; it’s bloody and bruised and broken. How isolated of a life did this person lead such that no one intervened? How often can you write about drownings and hangings and stabbings where only one person is present before someone clues in that that might have something to do with the writer? How many plays can one write about collapsing under the weight of the world without someone thinking to lend a hand?” and my guess to that last one is that it’s 14, but we’ll find out, i’m sure. 

I always do. 

[griefsauce]

1.5.23It’s hard to feel like I’m not drowning, like I am somewhere other than in my best friend’s back yard, sitting in a baby pool, drinking lemonade in the sunshine, 9, no cares in the world. It’s hard to feel like I didn’t die back there, that I’m a ghost of who I was. I see those pictures of that spunky girl with her hands on her hips and stage make up on and a big red dress hanging off of her and I don’t know where she went. I really feel she has died even though everyone tells me she hasn’t. I grieve her like I grieve my dead father, like I have lost something I can never get back. The days go on and I feel my heart dying behind petrified wood, pitifully clunking against the sides of my body, trying to suck in belabored breaths. It is tired. This heart is tired, made up of remnants of kisses and cuts. I am not attached to my body. I see others as if they were puppets. They see me as a puppet. An unapproachable, piece of garbage. No one wants to work with me, which is what my mind says. IT tells me I’m better off alone. I am good at being alone. I am good at saying goodbye to things that meant the world to me. I am less skilled at holding on.

I remember when the power went out on Traymore Street. We lit candles and made coffee over a tea light. We had to huddle together closer to share the light. I will never be a part in that nucleus again. There is another family living there now, deconstructing the hills I sat on, the ivy my dad asked me to trim with tears in his eyes because he was too sick to do it.

I am in deep pain and I don’t have the energy to convince myself that all the things I think are true are not. I spend my days asking people to bend their brains and reframe and reconsider and challenge and yet I feel it makes me even more entrenched in my ways. I think the main reason I think about killing myself is because I don’t think I can survive with the pain and alienation any more. I understand too much about what little there is to help us cope. I fear I will be stuck in this cage forever. I feel alone and trapped and helpless, like no one can see me or hear me. What does that part of me need? A witness. Someone to help get me out, rescue me, hold me and tell me it is going to be ok, tell me I never have to go back there again.

I am mad at myself for killing pieces of me, a piece so precious. It does feel like I ate my own young, essentially—I didn’t think there was a place for it and it was causing more harm and pain than good. I forgive myself because I was just trying to survive.

[tallmantall]

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth - #Anxiety And Being Kind To Yourself

How self-compassion can help #parents (and anyone else) manage #anxiety This is an excerpt from The Anxiety Sisters Survival Guide: How You Can Become More Hopeful, Connected, and Happy, by Abbe Greenberg and Maggie Sarachek.  When we say, “Be kind,” we’re not talking about being nice to others (although that’s always a good idea); we’re talking about being kind to yourself. This is no easy task — we are often much quicker to be kind to everyone else but ourselves. Recognizing this, Kristin Neff, a researcher and professor at the University of Texas at Austin (and with whom we were fortunate enough to have trained), developed the concept of self-compassion, which is giving ourselves the same kindness and understanding we would offer a friend who is experiencing difficulty. Typically, when we’re having a hard time, we tend to beat ourselves up about it. Our inner critics are all too eager to remind us how we’ve failed (once again): I feel like a terrible person because I always blow up at my #kids when I’m anxious. I let the worst parts of me take over. (Gillian, age 44) I really want to visit my son, but I am too afraid to make the drive. I feel like such a failure. (Reyna, age 55) Self-compassion is all about turning our inner critics into our inner advocates. Instead of reprimanding ourselves, self-compassion suggests we offer ourselves unconditional acceptance and supportive self- talk. For example, we can practice self- compassion by saying something like: “#Anxiety is a real struggle for me, and this has been really painful.”  Self-compassion, as conceptualized by Dr. Neff, comprises three components: (1) self- kindness, (2) common humanity, and (3) mindfulness. We’ve already covered self-kindness, which is all about treating yourself gently and compassionately, as you would a good friend. Common humanity is the understanding that we all struggle with challenges and that none of us live a life without pain. Suffering is part of what it means to be human — nobody gets out unscathed. When we truly accept our common humanity, we realize how connected we all are. Our trials are not unique, and we are not alone. Self-compassion, then, allows us to transform a sense of #isolation into connectedness when we are suffering. Common humanity is such a valuable notion because we all know how lonely it is to live with an #anxietydisorder. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleOrder your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife:From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy http://www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com I thought I was the only one who had trouble leaving the house. I was so embarrassed about it — I wouldn’t talk about my #anxiety with anyone. When I learned that agoraphobia was an actual thing, and that other people had it too, it was like the weight of the world was lifted off me. (Natalie, age 63) The root of self-compassion is mindfulness, which is defined as being completely open to whatever it is you are feeling or thinking in a given moment. Many of us are uncomfortable sitting with our emotions because we are scared they will swallow us whole. Mindfulness teaches us not to push away or try to suppress our emotions.  Another aspect of mindfulness is recognizing that your thoughts and feelings are not a permanent state — that they too will pass. Understanding the transient nature of thoughts and emotions helps us stay off the hamster wheel of exaggeration — when your mind goes right to “This is the worst thing ever” or “I’ll never feel better.” If we believe that no emotional state lasts forever, then we are better able to tolerate pain and suffering. Once we can tolerate our pain and suffering (by using self-compassion), we can proceed to soothe ourselves. Self-compassion is not only about making yourself feel better. It’s also about empowering yourself to take action. When we aren’t caught up in the denial spiral or stuck on the exaggeration hamster wheel, we free up our rational brain to help us problem-solve. For science wonks, the limbic system is calmed, the prefrontal cortex can be engaged. In terms of motivation to change #behavior, self-compassion is a far better choice than self-criticism, which releases #stress hormones and lowers resilience. How has berating yourself helped you manage your #anxiety? We’re guessing not so well. Self-compassion allows you to be less afraid of failure and judgment, which results in your being better able to take risks. Studies show that self-compassion makes us less self-indulgent, more accountable, and more likely to change our #behavior. It also makes us more resilient. But most important for us, research shows that self-compassion is correlated with decreased #anxiety and #depression. So how can we use self-compassion to manage our #anxiety? As we said earlier, we start by talking very gently to ourselves and disengaging our inner critics. If you catch yourself thinking, “I’m a total mess,” try: “#Anxiety is part of the human experience, and sometimes it feels messy.” Replace “Things will never get better” with: “I’m suffering right now, but I won’t always feel this way.” After you have silenced your inner critic and given yourself some compassion, you can then ask yourself, “What do I need right now?” In other words, do you need to be alone? With others? An action plan? A hug? A bath? A walk? Do you need to enlist other resources, like a #therapist or the advice of a close friend? Finally, remind yourself that everyone experiences suffering — that what you are going through is valid and very human. Give yourself permission to feel anxious, because all humans feel anxious sometimes; then, with the love and compassion you absolutely deserve, tell yourself you will be okay. Excerpted from THE #ANXIETY SISTERS’ SURVIVAL GUIDE, by Abbe Greenberg and Maggie Sarachek, published by TarcherPerigee, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2021 by #Anxiety Sisters, LLC. Read the full article

[planningisnotmystrength]

having played and completed Disco Elysium multiple times now I’m getting the chance to notice things that I really didn’t zero in on when I played it the first time. 

like how bad Kim’s eyesight really is. when you find Cuno’s shack Kim is genuinely surprised that it was there, he didn’t even notice the thing that clued your Perception in on their maybe being a door. to him you really just walked up to a wall and a piece fell down and there was now a door there. and that puts his utter failure to shoot the corpse down into a completely different light (and why Empathy tells you that you shouldn’t show him compassion).

or just how funny Kim is. how willing he is to take part in a joke or a prank as long as it’s in the pursuit of solving the case or “doing your job” as policemen. how he’s willing to play a character for the Racist Lorry Driver. or mess with the wannabe Skulls and take their jackets. or even how he starts introducing you as Detective Costeau if you continue to stick with the name (though he is clearly trying very hard to keep his voice steady and face still). he genuinely actually has a good sense of humor (but is also very serious, which makes it even funnier).  

or the specter of fear and anger that hovers around Garte. he doesn’t know if the Union will squeeze him out like they did all the other business owners, or if they’re going to start a war (I mean, there’s a literal dead mercenary hanging in his back yard). he’s got to be wondering how he can stay open if only locals can come in or out (due to the blockade) and he’s clinging to the idea that he has other places that he manages. we get glimpses of his real thoughts in the moments before he catches his tongue and realizes “no, I really shouldn’t talk to cops/the union/others like that.”

or the practiced apathy that Klaasje uses to hide her fear, how she pretends so hard not to care so you don’t suspect her. how effectively she can lay another tempting red herring at your feet. how Evrart Claire really is clever enough to play not only the characters but the player (if you haven’t stacked your skills correctly or if you just say the wrong things in the wrong ways). that you can even manage to accidentally help him is a testament to the writing they’ve done. 

not to mention the pervasive and ever-present fury of Revachol as a reaction to their subjugation by the Moralintern. the sadness in Cuno’s eyes when you see past the speed in his bloodstream. the ways in which people struggle to survive in what is effectively a battlefield. the feeling of life’s daily struggle slowly drowning you under the weight of “you’ll never do better. you’ll never be better.” and the breath of fresh air in simple kindnesses from others (lamby, Kim’s compassionate moments, the old washerwoman, the salami man visiting his friend, the dance club, and so many more). 

I could write a book about how much this game means to me. how much these people mean to me. how much the potential for change, even in a doomed world, means that we can all at least create a little joy before we go. and I don’t think I’d even scratch the surface of all that it means to me. this game is...a metamorphosis? it changes the structure of what I expect from video games in the future. it changes what I expect from storytelling. I cannot express how important this game is as a vehicle for storytelling, it changes what’s possible.