#i sometimes wake up in a cold sweat remembering this blog exists | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

retro-radio · 2 years

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I posted 279 times in 2022

That's 256 more posts than 2021!

228 posts created (82%)

51 posts reblogged (18%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@glitchwashere

@retro-radio

@ghostly-knight

@write-on-world

@drowninnoodles

I tagged 261 of my posts in 2022

Only 6% of my posts had no tags

#hello neighbor au - 124 posts

#hello neighbor - 122 posts

#hn au - 69 posts

#nicky roth - 22 posts

#aaron x nicky - 21 posts

#hello neighbour au - 18 posts

#hn - 16 posts

#pixel art - 9 posts

#youtube - 9 posts

#ted is a ok dad - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 89 characters

#because if so every character already exists within raven brooks and in the original game

My Top Posts in 2022:

Amputate!

based of @glitchwashere au!

The house creaked and groaned as the pale moon shone through the curtains illuminating the sweat across Nicky's back. He twisted and turned in his slumber occasionally muttering something, he drifted in and out of consciousness; he would sometimes wake up in searing pain and then fall back asleep or roll over until he became comfy. He could feel a dull ache all over his body like he had fallen off something or…he had fallen into something. Nicky didn't remember much, just snippets of what could be delusion or real events.

He slowly opened his eyes. The pain he once felt had now been replaced with a sharp throb whenever he moved. He wiped the drool from his cheek that had seeped out during the night. He rubbed his eyes with his fist, sighing as he felt the warm sun seep into the room, bathing his face in its warm glow. He didn't remember much other than running and then pain. Nicky looked around the room…this wasn't his bedroom! He leaned over to the window, throwing it open staring out onto the street. He felt his heart sink as he saw the pale blue house across the road. Nicky felt cold sweat start to form on his forehead. He quickly wiped it away.

BANG. The sound of Nickys body hitting the floor rattled through the quiet house. He groaned, wriggling around like a worm for a few seconds. He grasped the soft material of the covers and pulled himself up with a grunt. "That's weird” he thought. His body felt lighter like he had lost a few pounds. Nicky scratched his shoulder stretching both his arms over his head yawning. "How long have I been asleep?" he pondered. Nickys hand wandered to his left leg. Rubbing and itching it he saw three small scars imprinted in his skin “dammit! "Must have gotten caught,” he thought. It was strange, however, that he had awoken in a bed instead of a pinewood coffin. He assured himself his other legs were fine, maybe a scratch or-

It wasn't there. The only thing that remained of his leg was a pathetic stump sewn and stitched together as if he were Frankenstein. In his panic, Nicky still thought that he was in some twisted nightmare. After pinching himself several times until red marks appeared on his body, he let out a long horrified scream. "AHHHHHHHH". The sound of thumping came from the hallway, the door bursting open to reveal a figure. "You're awake…” was all they said. Nicky's eye twitched; he didn't register the hand on his shoulder until it was a tad too close for comfort next to his neck. His hand instinctively slapped it away. He felt as if he was about to burst into tears any moment “w…where is my leg?" he asked. His voice quivered and sounded all high pitched. He was in agonising pain so who could blame him?

The hand left his neck and instead rested on the stump that was his leg “yes that…” Theodore said he didn't seem to have a flicker of emotion in his eyes, dull green emeralds staring into his “I was forced to amputate your leg because you were bleeding out from one of my bare traps and the wound was risking an infection”. Nickys mouth hung agape “I…What?!” he yelped. Ted rolled his eyes before reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out a yellow plastic pill container. Nicky watched curiously as he held the two white pills in his hand "Open please” he said Nicky didn’t move he sat there staring at the two pills because he didn't trust the medicine "Come on open” he persisted.

Nicky shook his head. He backed away into the corner of the bed. Ted rolled his eyes again huffing, reaching for Nicky's jaw pulling him forward and pushing open his mouth forcing the two pills onto his tongue. Nicky gagged feeling the pills slide down his throat, blushing embarrassed. “There we are that wasn't so hard” Nicky coughed but nodded he pulled his knees to his chest and whimpered his eyes darted from one corner to the other “I…” he opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out he shivered as a hand was placed on the top of his head rubbing soothing circles “shhh go to sleep” despite Nicky's best efforts to keep his eyes open he found himself slowly drifting to sleep the world becoming fuzzy and the sting in his legs slowly stopping he rested his head on the soft material beneath his his eyes drooping before finally shutting.

43 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

Aaron: *enters Ted's office* Dad-

Ted: Ask your mother *doesn't look up from his files*

Aaron: ... *walks off*

Ted: ... *keeps reading over the documents*

-a few seconds later-

Aaron: MUM SHOULD WE TAKE NICKY TO THE HOSPITAL HE FELL FROM A TREE AND I CAN SEE THE BONE!

Ted: WHAT THE H-

50 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

News reporter: Today at exactly 2:45pm a local boy by the name of Nicholas Roth has stopped giving a shit about his neighbour’s “Bullshit” that’s all for now more news at 10.

75 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

The Heist

“Detective! Detective”. Quentain's panicked voice called out, making Theodore jump slightly in his office chair as his employee Quentain burst into his office clutching an envelope that had ‘Officer Theodore’ written on it in swirling letters. A red stamp was on the back hot wax being pressed to seal the paper together. Theodore sighed and leant back in his chair twirling the pen between his fingers this better be good. “Quentain how lovely to see you take a seat”. He said slightly irritated as he motioned to the seat in front of his desk the wood creaking and rocking as Qentain sat down fidgeting until he was comfortable “are you going to tell me why you burst into my office with a envelope screaming like a mad man?” He asked, cocking his eyebrow .Quentain took a few seconds to compose blushing from embarrassment sitting up straight he replied. “This letter was dropped outside of the station this morning!” He slid the letter across the table to him, his fingers brushing against his bosses .

Theodore opened the letter with little regard for the pristine paper as he tossed it into his waste basket next to him, pulling the letter out and scanning over it his toxic green eyes reading every word on the piece of paper carefully, the ink smudging slightly telling him it had been recently written. “He is planning a robbery tonight.” Quentain cocked his head slightly; he fiddled with his hands picking at his skin, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere,“sir, are you sure” he asked, still fiddling with his hands. Theodore shot him a glare as he slammed the letter down on the table making Quentain flinch and sink further into his seat he didnt dare question his bosses authority “s…should I round up your best men?” he asked nervously. Theodore nodded and stood up tucking the letter into his uniform patting the pocket “go get Aaron we have thief to bust”. Quentain nodded and ran out the office Theodore watched as he disappeared down the hallway smiling evily “your lucks ran out shade”.

‘Shade’ stood atop a large skyscraper happily observing the bustling city below him. He checked his watch ��10:00 pm he's late’ he said to himself with a sly grin. He knew that letter that he had left on the doorstep of the police station had been delivered to the chief of police himself Theodore Master Peterson who had then read it and now was after him like a hounddog after a fox. Shade laughed at the thought of being chased and getting away with his heist lik so many others. “I’m coming, Peterson and you're never going to catch me” he jumped from his spot on the building and made his way through the museum's window waiting. He never specified where he was going to strike but he knew the chief was smart but dense at the same time he would never know…

‘11:00 pm’ Aaron sighed as he was stationed next to the Blue Topaz that was kept behind bullet proof glass with at least twenty different alarms and cameras so it didn't seem very necessary for him to be standing there looking after it but his father had insisted he did this. “I want to see you on the field” he had said making Aaron roll his eyes he didn't want to do this he wanted to be at home with his husband cuddled on the sofa watching movies He looked around the grand hall where the diamond was kept looked upon in the morning but heavily guarded at night he knew his dad wanted Shade behind bars but…he had met him and he seemed sweet and charismatic almost.

BANG!

Aaron nearly jumped out of his skin twirling around on his heels, his hand grasping his gun and pointing it at the intruder… “SHADE!” he yelled, a gloved hand instantly covered his mouth in order to keep him quite a pure white mask inches away from his face. “Aaron Peterson~” he purred. Aaron's mind froze, the gun in his hand weighing even heavier than normal he felt drunk, the smell of aftershave and cologne sending his mind into some sort of frenzy. He was blank, completely unaware of the world.

Shades took this moment to slip his free hand under the laser’s before opening the glass and taking the diamond, slipping it into his pocket, his eyes never leaving Aarons. The alarms quickly went off with the intrusion, the horrible drilling noise invading their ears. Aaron snapped out of his thoughts his mind coming back to reality he tried to smack Shade over the head with the gun but shade was quicker backflipping and twirling dodging the attempted assault. Aaron tried to shoot instead but shade easily dodged the bullets twirling and backflipping elegant, beautiful .

His white shirt and black pants flowing, shoes tapping against the floor with his mask never lifting or faulting no features ever revealed. He had made his way up to the top window of the museum leaning against the edge tauntingly begging Aarn to chase him. Aaron had a clean opening he could shoot and end his life but he faulted…He just stared at him, the gun falling to the floor clattering against the wood he felt so ashamed. Shade jumped from the ledge and disappeared into the night leaving Aaron with the empty class glass case. The double doors burst open revealing his father who was livid having seen Shade jump past him tauntingly saying “You'll never catch me asshole!”

“AARON” he yelled,Mustache turned up and quivering against his top lip he stomped forward. Quentin trailing behind him like some obedient dog he gave Aaron a sympathetic look Aaron sighed and prepared himself for the earful of yelling he was about to receive.

Later that evening Aaron walked into his apartment switching the warm yellow glow of the light illuminating his sullen face he took off his shoes revealing red and white socks that padded over the floor towards the couch. His ears still rang from the alarm and his dad then yelled at him for allowing the thief to get away claiming how important this was and that they could never catch him now the whole time Aaron stated silent simply wishing to disappear . he took of his Jacket and hat and threw them across the room not caring were they landed. sitting down on the couch turning on the Tv ‘maybe this will help me distract myself’ he thought just wanting to forget about today.

A news reporter came on and stood outside the museum. He had been at her face emotionless and still. “The local thief known as Shade has-” he turned it off and threw the remote angrily across the floor before laying back down his knees up to his chest and turned to the TV. CLICK he heard the sound of a key turning in the door old and rusted turned by soft yet coarse hands, his husband Nicky walking in “hey honey” he said voice chipper and animated Aaron kept his back turned to the Tv he had a question that needed answering that had gnawed and chipped way at him all evening.“Nicky” he replied his husband softly hummed, signalling he was listening. Aaron took a deep breath in the question on his mind, rolling off smoothly and easily.

“Was that fun?”

Nicky seemed to stop then laugh “Your smart Aaron I knew you would figure it out eventually. He dropped something on the floor with a soft CLINK his hand hanging loosely beside him the object rolled over to where Aaron was now sat upright eyes trained on the ground “It certainly was” he laughed huskily and slowly wandered to were his husband was sat Aaron picked up the blue diamond turning it in his hand the sharp crisp edges indenting in his skin. He observed it and smirked ‘not a scratch’ he thought to himself. He turned to Nicky “so Shade” he started a hand trailing up his chest “ready for another heist” Nicky placed a kiss on his lips loving and sweet. “I certainly am”.

103 notes - Posted June 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

ok so I have idea

I have a very weird idea and i want to share it with you all. I have a idea that if we all lived in one big household together what would everyone do and say. If you do not wish the participate then ignore the following. If you do then put it in the comments with your part.

There is some rules however:

. Respect others lines (do not swear at other character and people who participate).

. Respect those who do not wish to participate

. No adult stuff (some people may be underaged and it would innaproprate) so no swearing or 18+ stuff.

. If a character uses certain pronouns then please respect them.

. And the finale rule ENJOY! This is all about having fun.

I'll go first:

Freakshow34: Wow what a peaceful day I wonder what's going to happen?

-Loud explosion in the background-

522 notes - Posted May 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Wooooooo!#New year New me!#I'm so happy!#thats alot of posts!

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

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Bad Habits (Bucky x Reader)

WARNINGS: Smut, Angst, Mental Health, Unhealthy Relationships

SUMMARY: The only thing that makes you feel better is being in Buckys bed, even if it makes you feel worse at the same time. Because you’re addicted to the hurt as much as you’re addicted to him.

It hurts and it stings and it burns and it breaks your heart and yet you keep doing it, not in spite of the agony it causes you but because of it. When the worlds a little too loud and being alive is a little to exhausting, when your skin starts feeling too tight and your that tight ball of pain in your chest makes it’s presence known, you run to him.

When the world is too much for him and he remembers that his own mind is his own worst enemy, when the nightmares of what his hands have done without his minds compliance haunt him, he runs to you.

Eventually, something breaks and you always end up with your bare skin pressed against his, his teeth embedded in your neck, his hands bruising your hips, his cock buried deep inside you and his eyes looking straight through you.

Sometimes it’s a pattern. He knows to expect you when you come back from your therapist, already stripped down to his boxers and waiting on the bed for your return, knowing you’re going to climb onto his lap and ride him until you can’t feel your legs anymore.

When he comes back from a mission with someone else’s blood on him you know to step into the shower after him and bend to his will, letting him use you to remind himself that he is in control.

He’ll wake up from a nightmare and won’t bother stopping to wipe the cold sweat from his skin before he makes the journey to your room, sliding beneath your sheets and hands pushing your panties aside before you’ve even fully woken from your slumber.

Because the worlds a cruel place and life is painful, there’s not a day where you don’t bear the marks of your unhealthy union with Bucky on your skin. Bruises on your thighs from his fingertips digging in when he holds your legs splayed apart and fucks the anger into you, a perfect imprint of his teeth on the back of your neck from where he bends you over and claims you in the basest most primal way. Your marks on him always fade too quickly but you’re provided with plenty of opportunities to redraw the lines down his back, your nails slicing through his skin as he brings you to the precipice of pleasure and shoves you over, drowning you in bliss and self-loathing.

It used to be so much kinder between you, before the clothes came off. He would smile at you like he smiled at everyone else, you would smile at him more than you smiled at anyone else.

THEN

You could see his figure in the doorway, shoulders hunched like he was inadvertently trying to make himself smaller.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked without really looking away from the tv screen.

“No.” He rasped.

The broken sound of his voice actually made you look up and you inhaled sharply at the sight of him. Sweat rolled in droplets down his bare chest as it rose and fell rapidly while he fought to regulate his breathing, trying to fight back some semblance of calm. Metal fingers pushed damp strands of hair out of his face, his bloodshot eyes boring into you and you knew he was having similar thoughts about you. Your own skin was clammy, your own eyes so tired and dark they looked almost bruised. In the shadowy room, in the middle of the night you were both exposed for what you were. Two very broken people. He moved slowly, like he was in pain, as he dragged his body over to the couch and slumped down beside you.

“What are we watching?” He asked.

You turned your head away from him and back to the tv.

“No idea.” You said.

He didn’t reply and you both lifelessly watched the screen, neither knowing nor caring what was on it. At some point he leant to the side and without saying a word, laid his head on your chest, stretching his legs out across the cushions. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders and he took a shuddering breath and that was that. He stayed that way for hours, until the sunlight started to intrude on the almost peace you were sharing.

“I’m going to go to bed.” He announced, standing up lithely.

You just nodded, eyes still focused on the screen. He looked down at you for a moment, expressionless.

“Come with me.” He said.

It was worded like a question but sounded more like an order.

“Why Bucky? Why would I do that?”

“Don’t you want to feel something? Fucking anything? I do, and... and I wanna feel it with you.” He asked with a bitter, humourless laugh.

When you didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him he walked away.

You did want to feel something, something other than the cold numbness that came after the dark soul crushing pain. Your mind could be cruel, pushing anger and depression onto you for so long but eventually something inside you would snap and you’d stop feeling altogether. You didn’t want to be numb anymore.

With every step towards his room there was a voice in the farthest regions of your mind screaming at you to stop, turn around before it was too late but you ignored it. The awful truth was that when you could feel, when you weren’t cold inside, you were in love with Bucky. Even now when you were lost, he meant more to you than anything and you would follow him into hell itself if he asked you.

So you knocked on his door and into your own personal hell you went.

NOW

You had tasted every inch of Bucky’s skin except his lips. His hands had picked you up and pinned you down, his fingers had been wrapped in your hair or pushed deep inside your pussy but he had never held your hand. Your arms had been wrapped around him as he thrust his cock inside you but you’d never held him. Your legs had been spread for him, wrapped around his waist, slung across his shoulders, tangled with his under the sheets but he had never even walked by your side. Unless you were fighting bad guys or fucking each other, you acted like the other didn’t exist.

He was using you, taking everything you had and draining you dry but you were doing the same to him. Deep down, you both knew it wasn’t healthy, that was why you couldn’t look each other in the eye anymore. He was your crutch, your addiction and you were his outlet, his metaphorical punching bag.

For the thousandth time, you returned from an appointment to find him waiting for you.

He was sat back on your pillows like he belonged there, his hair fanned out, framing him. This might be hell for you but he sure as hell looked every inch the Angel. As soon as you stepped through the door he held his arms out, waiting for you to crawl into them like you always did. It might be wrong, this affair, but he knew you, he knew what you needed and he relished in providing it. It was more than most people could say about their partners.

Your therapist suggested that loving Bucky was safe for you, because you thought he didn’t love you back and you were afraid of having a normal, healthy relationship. She was right in a way. Love was dangerous in your eyes. Every day, all across the world, people were destroyed by it. Wars had been waged, lives ruined, people killed all because of love and how it can break us when it goes wrong. At least with Bucky, you knew the kind of pain you were setting yourself up for. And maybe the kind of pain you felt with him was addictive. Being hurt by Bucky was better than being loved by someone else. You didn’t love him because it was ‘safe’, you loved him because you didn’t have a choice in the matter. He had your heart from the second you’d met him and his hold on it was too strong to fight, even if you wanted to.

You joined him on the bad, straddling his thighs and feeling the familiar burn of lust in your veins.

“If I asked you, would you kiss me?” You said softly, too ashamed to look him in the eye.

He stilled underneath you and inhaled sharply. You chanced a look at him, your heart contracting painfully at the tick in his clenched jaw and the hard look in his eyes. His hand cradled the back of your head, gently pulling you to him. His lips brushed lightly against yours and you waited for the other shoe to drop, to be pushed away, for him to laugh or be angry but that wasn’t what happened. His lips parted and he caught your bottom lip between his, kissing you tenderly.

“I’d give you anything you asked for.” He murmured against your mouth.

You could feel the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids and you knew you should walk away, should run. You should be brave and strong for both your sakes and end this. But you couldn’t just kick the habit. You needed him. So what the hell were you going to do?

“Maybe we should just share a room, instead of having to come looking for each other all the time.” He whispered.

Maybe he was just as addicted as you were. Maybe the fact that you could find solace in each other actually meant something.

“I love you.”

He didn’t say anything for the longest time, just looked at you with an undecipherable expression. You almost flinched when he slowly cupped your cheek in his hand.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you say that doll. I love you too.”

Maybe two broken halves actually stood a chance of making a whole.

A/N - Believe it or not, this was 100x angstier before i edited it for public consumption. It’s just an angsty kinda day folks, at least I gave it a happy ending?

PERMA TAG LIST

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#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader

318 notes · View notes

exit-path · 4 years

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DO NOT READ THIS POST.

Below is a long rant I’ve had about life and death. I’ve wanted it on the Internet. So that, ya know people can read it. But I also don’t want people to read it. Potential mental scarring, and all that.

So if you wanna get the rest of your Daily Tumblr Experience (tm), keep scrolling. But if you want to have a SUPER out-of-body experience, “Keep reading.”

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

So wait, this is it?

After you learn all the languages you know now, after you’re taught everything in school you remember, after you read all the books and hear all the stories...

This is it?

That’s everything? Your toolbox to brave the world. That’s all you get?

You’re gonna have all this until the day you die. You know that, right? This is pretty much all you’re ever gonna get, forever.

You know you only have one life. After this, you can’t try again. You get no second chances.

But I want more! Why can’t get more? Why does learning new things only get harder with age?

You’re never gonna truly experience anything besides what you’re currently experiencing. Sure, you can imagine, and you can daydream and come up with full-on stories in your mind, but truth is, you’re never actually gonna leave your current story. It’s all been one straight line.

We are trapped in the mortal realm. If you were born a man, and you wanted to be a woman, then even through all the wishes in the world, you could never truly become a woman. Baseless wishes do nothing, after all. But you can get close. If you see a man trying as hard as they can to be a woman, because they really wanted to, and they did a really good job, then please cheer them on. They are doing as close an act to defying the impossible.

So wishes don’t work. You will never experience anything outside of the life you’re currently living. So make the most of it. And embrace new actions taken. Because they do what wishes can’t: they work.

This all still feels so empty. I’m so lost. It feels so bleak, and it’s cold and dark down here. I’m currently getting therapy, but I want happiness. Happiness that lasts. Like, an hour.

Can anything solve this? Like, death anxiety. Can anything fix death anxiety? Because it’s a really shitty thing to be afraid of. It’s a phobia that, by definition, is chronic. If you’re afraid of death, and you’re eventually gonna die, then you’ll be panicking your whole life.

That seems like a really shitty way to live life. I don’t want to live like that! Please! I want to be liberated from my chronic anxiety! I don’t want to die!

How did you discover this? Do you know me? Did you find this? Did I show you this? Or did you not discover this? Will this be forgotten about, buried under all the other posts on this platform? Every time I make a new post, am I burying this one a foot deeper? Will no mortal eyes ever gaze upon this post ever again?

And this all came with no warning! Back on my main blog, I’ve posted nothing about my recent thanatophobia! Okay, well maybe I posted something about anxiety and stuff like that, but nothing like this. I’m scared!

I really hope I don’t delete this. There’s a really good chance I won’t. I want this to be out in the world. If only for a moment, I want this post to breathe.

When Tumblr shuts down, even if it’s after my lifetime, this post will go with it. And when the universe dies in a trillion years, everything will go with it. Why did some astronomist figure that out? How much alcohol do they drink?

It is Friday, June 12th, 2020. I dunno why I date things. I hope some day in the future, I can come back to old stuff and know exactly when I brought it into existence. Or maybe dating things is for satisfaction in the moment. Maybe I date things to look at it over time while I can still constantly see it: two days, three days, two weeks, three months, a year. A year? Wow, that’s a long time! And what about decades-old things? Centuries-old? Nah, I won’t think about that. That’s outside of a human lifetime.

I don’t get why people have existential crises. Like, you’re worrying about how people will remember you after you’re gone? What’s the point in that? Do you have so much sympathy that you care about it miles over your own mortality? Also, you’d end up in a similar situation to thanatophobia! You’d end up constantly worry, with every waking moment, whether your actions are making an impact on the world. Like, what’s the point in that? Just live life!

Will I ever share this? I hope I do. In fact, I hope I share it to my main blog too. I hope I share it with one of those “Keep Reading” tags that I see elsewhere on Tumblr, when the person has a bunch to things or extra words that they wanna keep behind a wall of sorts so no one’s constantly terrorized by a wall of text. I hope I figure out how to do that in time.

Also, am I getting deja vu of this very moment? Like, I’m not even done writing all this! How am I remembering something that hasn’t even finished yet? Is my memory really that bad?

I’m worried my memory will be the bane of me. I’m worried that in the end, I’ll remember very little, because I know so much more, and I’ll regret remembering so little. That would be a horrible way to die. Regret? I don’t want to feel regret on my deathbed!

I’ve thought in the past that when I grow up, and I become rich enough to own things, then I should hire a transcriber to follow me around everywhere I go and transcribe everything I say. That way, every thing I say can be written down. All my information will be on paper. Nothing will be as short-lived as the wind that takes my words away. That way, there might be a chance that even some of the more elusive words I say, perhaps the most beautiful quotes I utter that are completely unfathomable today, can survive longer than me. So nothing is lost to time.

When I was five, I had a dream. Maybe it was a nightmare. Maybe I made a post about this already. If so, then that’s scary, because I don’t remember that. I don’t like not remembering things. But anyways, I had a dream. I was standing on top of a light pole. You know those white lamp poles in New York City? The ones that curve like a hook onto the road? Yeah, I was standing on top of one of those. Somehow. I dunno how it could have supported my weight. And there were three pigeons. Three New York pigeons. Pretty slim, not like the big meaty ones you find sometimes. And the pigeons on the light pole next to me. They were closer to the pole, and I was closer to the light. I know they were exactly three pigeons. Not so sure about their placement, actually. In fact, I’m not so sure about my age at the time. Anyways, the pigeons flew away. And I jumped. I jumped from the top of the light pole. And I hit the asphalt. And I woke up, probably in a cold sweat. My heart was beating really fast. I woke up immediate before I hit the asphalt. I had felt the wind whizzing by my face. So that was the whole dream. I was on a light pole, there were three pigeons, they flew away, I jumped off the light pole, died on impact with the road, and woke up immediately before the dying part.

I feel like it’s almost like a prophecy, that eventually, that’s how I’m gonna die. That’s the clip of how I died. That I would commit suicide from the top of a light pole. And I don’t want to die that way! I don’t want to commit suicide! Life is precious! I want to die of old age, not of my own doing, fulfilling some “prophecy” that I was never told in words! That would really suck. Then again, it’s probably never going to happen. With as outlandish a story as that, I’m probably never gonna die that way. That lifts my spirits.

I’m so glad I could eventually get all these things down somewhere. Especially the “dream at five years old” part. I’m sixteen years old. I had constantly worried about how I would eventually get these thoughts down on paper somewhere. Yeah, it had always been in the back of my head. All. This. Time. It sucks, but I think I finally got it done, I think.

I didn’t want to keep this to myself, or put it in a diary entry or anything like that, because I don’t believe in privacy. Yeah sure, there are some things you keep to yourself, touchy subjects like masturbation, and if you’re lucky, you can go your whole life without a secret being told, and it dies with you on your deathbed. But I personally believe those should only be the rare cases. At least, they should. Because I’ve been growing up in a world full of information. All of human knowledge is at my fingertips, and it’s called “Wikipedia”. But still, it’s had I’d say a pretty big impact on how I view information. Information should just be out there in the world, ready for anyone to read and critique. So I’d never own a diary. To have that much information and to know no one else is looking at it would be painful. And I know that sounds counterintuitive, like how can you be scared when people are being not nosy, but that’s just my worldview. Yours can be different.

Well that’s our show for tonight, folks! Stay safe out there. And remember, you only live once.

#serious #serious tw #death tw #life tw #what tags do i use for a topic so strong #future tag

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neoyeppuda · 7 years

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A Thousand - Junhui scenario (1k milestone!!)

Genre: angst and mentions of blood + plus death so be careful!! Word Count: 1091 A/N: I'm sorry it's been a while since I've posted any scenarios but I'm here with this!! I thought of a selfie tutorial blog at first but this seemed like a new and exciting type of story to write. I thought of things that was related to a thousand and I got the old Japanese legend (what is happening to my English) soooo here it is!! I personally love this a lot because thanks to this, I can write like how I used to. Idk, it just felt easier to write after I made this and I'm happy about that. I swear to god the next one I'm posting will really be the Hoshi fic!! (The first part is so cute and aww it's just a rollercoaster of emotions istg) and thank you guys for your love and support!! We've reavhed 1k and I still can't believe it asfghjkl Me and Lani are very happy and proud about this because we've put or blood, sweat, and tears into this blog and we're glad that people have been liking our stuff of lot :D!! Idk I'm just so so sooo soft and giggly rn, forgive me! -Clar

"Do you believe in miracles?"

You caught him off guard with such a trivial question that night. He laughed a cheery laugh and said there was no such thing as miracles. You, on the other hand thought otherwise. However Jun was a man who stuck to his belief despite all the convincing you tried to do.

Now, he was willing to renounce that belief.

The soft crinkling sound of papers folded into beautiful paper cranes by thin and sluggish hands was the only noise made inside the room. Not a word has been uttered ever since the day you left. It was only him in his silence, folding those papers ceaselessly as if he was possessed. His eyes were sunken, matching the hollow features of his face while he folded and folded and folded. That was the only thing he could bring himself to do.

Nothing else mattered after you left.

When he wasn't folding paper cranes, he'd have his back against a wall near him while he stared at nothing. He could remember how many times he called your name, begging you to wake up from whatever horrible curse you were under. "(Y/n)," he whispers to himself as if you'd hear him and comfort him. You weren't there anymore to do any of that.

"Come back."

"I need you."

"I don't want to be alone."

Bitter tears followed words that would never reach you as he'd sob quietly in the corner of the room. "Miracles don't exist," those words he said to you not long ago turned into self hatred and pity as he continued his desperate attempt to fold a thousand paper cranes just for one wish was the only hope he had of ever getting you back now. He was praying for a miracle. Not every illness had a cure after all. Would a wish change the bitter fate you were to face? The boy could only dream. He could only hope.

What else could he do?

Jun was close to his goal, pushing himself to reach it even faster. Sleep wasn't important as he exhausted himself to his limits day and night. He could't sleep well anyways, the nightmares would haunt him and chase him even after he woke up. All he would dream of was your corpse, with lifeless eyes that stared at him with fiery rage and hatred like they were alive. Sometimes the corpse would move, wrapping its hands around his neck in an attempt to suffocate him. He'd wake up in a cold sweat, trembling and hysterical. His dreams were always so vivid that he felt like they were real.

Was he willing to bet everything he had on this false miracle?

"Nine hundred ninety seven," he counted, folding a paper crane and setting it aside. He didn't think he could feel anymore until that very moment. "Nine hundred and ninety eight," his lips quivered as excitement and anxiousness rushed throughout his body. His hands were shaking tremendously, folding the paper cranes in a haste. Jun watched the paper form into cranes with wide, unblinking eyes that could only perceive information from the single piece of paper. "Nine hundred and ninety nine," he whispers, not wasting another moment to grab the last paper. As the crane neared its completion, the boy was ready to jump off the floor and onto his feet.

There it was. "A thousand," he exclaims with a hoarse voice.

He waited with anticipation, not really knowing whether his wish would be granted or not. The boy didn't know that what he wished for could no longer be granted.

"(Y/n)!" Minghao and several other members rushed to either side of your bed. Someone ran to call the nurses, doctors, or anyone that could help. They were desperate to hold onto you so much that they almost pulled you away from your fated demise.

Almost.

Tears were shed, smiles were broken, hearts were shattered; and you were gone. You were there, right in front of all of them just minutes ago. In that one fleeting moment when your eyes closed and your breathing stopped, you were gone. What they saw now was a hollow shell of who you used to be, lifeless and sunken. No one could stay in the room for more than seconds after you passed away, it was too much for any of them.

Some members sat in silence, shocked and unable to process that they lost you right in front of them. Others tried to call Jun. He was the only one who wasn't there to witness it, and he was lucky. "Pick up," Minghao mumbles with worry. It was the tenth time he's called Jun and he still hasn't picked up.

His phone rang incessantly. He ignored call after call for he didn't feel like speaking. His body simply felt empty and the increasing pain in his throat made him practically mute for the time being. Jun took a few paper cranes and played with them, watching them with pressed lips and swollen eyes.

It wasn't numbness anymore.

It was sadness in its purest and rawest form.

"I don't want to live without her."

Every breath felt more painful than the last. Like his lungs were twisted and crushed, it was hard to get a hold of himself. The iron taste of blood lingered in his mouth as he coughed up red petals onto the bedroom floor. His body began trembling, but this time was different. This sudden overwhelming wave of fatigue hit him hard and he doubled over in a coughing fit. Pools of crimson red formed around the boy that was still coughing his lungs out, drenching the thousand paper cranes he had piled up. He could barely make a fist in the state he was in, using his palm to support himself off the floor. His eyelids grew heavy as if lead was closing them shut. Maybe he was just overthinking, maybe he was wrong, but he felt like he was dying.

Did this mean the wish worked?

Were you no longer in this world?

The ceasesless ringing of the phone was muffled but he could still hear it. His head was pounding as tried to reach out to his phone, grabbing it to answer it. "Jun?" Minghao's worried voice practically yelled over the phone, "something happened."

There was no reply.

"Jun?" he called out to him once more. Still no answer. No matter how many times Minghao called out to him, there was no response.

Of course, corpses could never talk.

#i feel happy and scared about this #i hope you guys will like it #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfics #jun #junhui #wen junhui #jun scenarios #jun angst #boyfriend! seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen aus #seventeen reactions

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ayamturd · 4 years

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white petals

a/n: Hello there! As anyone who possibly follows my blog knows, I rarely post original content and instead reblog everything lol. However, I originally wrote this short story on the Japanese folklore, ‘Hanahaki Disease,’ for a school assignment and actually liked what I wrote. Looking up to a lot of writers on this platform, I felt proud enough to share my final piece and would love feedback. thanks and enjoy!

Hanahaki Disease def. Hanahaki disease is an illness borne of one-sided love, causing flowers to form and grow in the lungs of the unrequited, the petals coughed up with increasing frequency. The infection can be removed through surgery, though the feelings disappear along with the petals. If the love is not returned, the flowers filling the patients chest will eventually prove fatal.

I hear her screams before seeing her wave frantically. She jumps up and down, quite avidly, before screeching my name once more. Bypassers give her strange looks, some even trying to sight out who she is calling to, but the strong desire to hide within the mass in embarrassment leaves me when she smiles. As if a small puppy trying to behave in reward of a treat, she practically shakes in giddiness until I’m physically a few feet in front of her.

“I missed you!” she yells, shouting it loud enough for the heavens above to hear while leaping into my arms. I almost fall back given the weight of my backpack and the nerves that had yet to settle from thinking of her, the buildup of finally holding her again. I missed this.

“I missed you too!” I tiredly chuckle. The hours of the flight were starting to reach me. She pulls back to pout at the lack of enthusiasm in my voice before giggling, securing me in another hug. It lasts longer this time, as we tighten our hold and burrow our heads against each other. The warmth of her comfort never left me, but being here now to hold it in my arms after too many months encapsulates every memory, every loose thought I could have imagined of her in ten folds. Her smell overwhelms me to the extent that I suffocate in pure bliss, welcoming death if it was to be by her hand.

We slightly rock, embracing each other as long as we can in the given moment. Eventually, no amount of grip can ignore the push and shoves of rushed travelers, strangers that will never truly understand the vulnerability we wear on our backs. I reluctantly step away.

“Hi.”

“Why hello there,” she smirks.

I tower over her and soak in her appearance. Wearing an old hoodie with thick sweatpants, her messy hair encompases her face like a halo, contrasting her beaming grin and hooded eyes. No matter the time of day, she has always had a softness to her that adds to her natural glow. With crossed arms and a tilted posture, she holds her head high in confidence and dangerous boldness; her attitude makes up for her lack of height.

It takes me a second to glance over her twice until I burst out laughing. I struggle to breathe as I choke out my words,

“What the hell are your shoes?”

She gasps and feigns shock, like the true drama queen she’s been since primary school.

“How dare you! I burden myself with waking up at three in the morning, tired as shit, to pick up your ass at the busiest time of the year travel wise to be insulted over my shoe choice? My oldest friend, my supposed best friend, I haven’t seen in months thinks to come up to me and have the audacity to question my beautiful footwear that I decided to bless you with as a welcome home gift?!”

I wheeze so hard that I have to rest a hand on my knee for support, the other coming up to hold my mouth. She continues to rant nonsense while I attempt to gather myself to at least explain their hideousness, though it becomes increasingly difficult as she starts speaking faster, no doubt purposefully trying to make a scene in the middle of the busy airport.

“God, just shut up for one second,” I giggle, quickly pushing my hand against her mouth. I feel the disgusting wetness on my palm, her eyes challenging me as they narrow in defiance, but I know reacting would only play into her satisfaction. I don’t hesitate to wipe my hand on her face as she begins to squeal and turn away. I’m already coughing by the amount of air it takes to laugh and go to squeeze her from behind, hiding myself in her hair and trapping her in my grasp.

“You forgot you were supposed to pick me up, didn’t you?” I whisper in her ear. The rubber trout house-slippers innocently dangle off her feet as the fish basically gap in the harsh, artificial light; a gag gift she must have received from her brother, I assume. She goes still, most likely contemplating her answer given how often she tended to forget things and how often I would immediately torment her for it.

“...No?” she merely meeks.

“That wasn’t a question to be answered with another question” I snicker. Without a beat, she shoves me back to defend herself, arguing sarcastically as we make our way through the crowd. Our banter continues until we reach the van. The damn van. Its ugly, faded mustard paint sticks out like a sore thumb in a sea of cars, like a singular old banana peel squished between piling bags of trash. If my memory serves me right, nothing has changed besides the growing rust and additional stickers on the rear. She stops to look at me once she realizes I paused in my sentence, gently smiling when she recognizes my uneasiness.

“Surely you didn’t forget about Hemlock, did you?” she taunts me, as though she forgot about the numerous times we almost died in the ancient thing. After five years, she’s still clueless to why I chose its name. I roll my eyes, climbing into a crusty seat and slamming the squeaking door shut. She quickly jumps into the driver’s side and plays the current cassette tape in, Marvin Gaye filling the empty air. Tempting me with the beginning lines, those glintful eyes daring me to join her, I willingly give in and sing along.

As if time had rewinded itself, I was back in highschool, sneaking out in the middle of the night in this god awful death machine and trying not to fall for the girl besides me with our terrible singing drowning out the world around us. What I would give for these moments to go beyond our indefinite cordiality; to be able to breathe in her presence without a constricting throat punishing me every time I reminisce in the possibilities. If only I knew then.

I first felt the beginning roots build their way into my lungs when she cried at our Junior class formal, her date leaving her on the dance floor to join his friends outside. The nerve of the bastard. We danced the tears away that night, high on the ecstasy of excruciatingly loud sounds beating from the gym speakers while sweating amongst the bodies enclosing us. Clinging onto each other as we jumped to the music, our cackles were a distant noise to our own ears. As if the hours were within minutes, we escaped the heated space into the cool of the open wind, the moon lighting our path to the nearby playground. I still remember the dazed look in her eyes as she stared at the stars from the ground, amazed at the concept such light could exist by its own force in the emptiness of space. She looked at me that night with wonder that rivaled the stars’ beauty above us, telling me,

“I feel like I don’t deserve you sometimes,” pausing to look back up at the starry night. “I’m so glad I always have you by my side.”

I held my lips tight as I tried to keep my spirits high, a silent promise to prioritize her current feelings above mine despite her innocent words threatening to break open my dams. As if someone physically took my lungs in their hands and squeezed them together, I hitched my breath, bracing myself from the sudden force. Scared of considering the notion, I tried to fill the silence I left unattended.

“Of course,” I chose to say, “always.”

I went home to cry that night, laying myself on the bathroom floor, for I wailed silent cries that echoed my hiccups against the cold tile walls, the pressure in my chest almost pushing out the last of my sobs before I closed my eyes. Not me, not to me surely.

I coughed my first petal at our annual movie marathon a few months after that, the innocent white leaf laid delicately in my palm in spite of forcing its way from a dry hack. I stared at the small thing with such distaste, hating the ache a single petal could cause and felt tears pool in the corners of my eyes at the thought of how such selfish desires could result in something so daunting in the form of a beautiful flower. The everlasting pressure on my lungs was still present after all this time, yet a part of me was hopeful. Hopeful in believing I could lie to myself until those lies became my reality. The world could be so cruel.

The reality of my possible demise terrified me, scared me to imagine the vulnerability of acting on harboring a simple crush after all these years. She broke me from my train of thought, calling out to me from the kitchen and asking if I wanted anything else besides the popcorn. I opened my mouth to answer, only for sudden dry coughs to rack my body. I could feel a collective bunch grouping itself in my lungs, smothering my airway as each cough kept pressing the petals further and further up to my throat. I was choking on the damn things, individual bits sticking to the roof of my mouth and harboring at the back near my uvula. Before I knew it, I heard her rapid footsteps come towards me on the couch, handing me an open bottle of water as she kneeled in front of me, eyes wide with concern. I greedily chugged the water down, inhaling the water as fast as possible to avoid any hint to my true condition.

“Are you o—”

“I’m fine,” I interrupted. “I’m okay, I swear.” What lies. She obviously didn’t believe me then, but sighed in defeat knowing I wouldn’t hold out further. Just when I thought she would move to stand, she inched closer to my face. A single breath escapes me at the proximity, and before I’m aware, she reaches out to cup my cheeks with her hands, her thumbs moving to wipe my tears I hadn’t realized fallen.

“I won’t push it, I promise. But I’m always here, yeah?” I nodded at her words and slowly raised my hands to grip her wrists, still gently caressing my face. It pained me then, not only because of my recent fit but the burn of her hands on my skin. Her soft touch intoxicated my mind and drew me further into her eyes, honey brown, reflecting the forgotten television screen in the relatively dark room, pouring into my own.

I tugged her hands down. Although desperate for the rare intimate touch we shared in that very moment, I couldn’t handle the shame of craving her touch so badly, for wanting her to sacrifice her own emotions to comfort the ones I felt for her. I left her house abruptly then and there, throwing a fruitless apology and basically running out the front door with a clenched fist on the petal. What a coward.

The following weeks were agonizingly slow. I couldn’t avoid her forever, not only missing important school days but emotionally needing her presence in my life again, her security. Still remaining true to herself, she scolded me from isolating myself when I finally built up the strength to approach her, upset I supposedly was putting her health from my ‘cold’ ahead of our friendship, reassuring me I shouldn’t be afraid to go to her. If only, I wish.

I kept the disease a secret since I understood my worsening condition, mainly not knowing what to do in the first place and illogically ignoring the situation for as long as possible. From excuses such as eating in my room because of ‘late assignments and all nighters’ to dearest demanding mother forcing me to babysit close family-friends’ kids, I only had human interactions when necessary, still keeping my distance so no one was aware of the symptoms I progressively began to show. However, my luck could only take me so far.

I got home late one afternoon, finally allowing myself to spend some time with her at the park on the swings. I called out to greet my mom, and while raw from the rough coughing fit I had during my last class period, I knew she should have heard me and was surprised to be met with silence. I knew of the likelihood that she would have entered my room in search of me since I went out, but I couldn’t help but remain hopeful. I seem to never learn.

Standing in the middle of my doorway was my mother, her back towards me as she seemed to be taking in the sight as a whole, though I couldn’t blame her considering the circumstances. Small, white petals seemed to take up every inch of my room, comparing similarly to snow besides the puddles of blood mixed with certain groups; from my bay window seating area to the trim line on the floor, scattered individual petals all varying in size and color overtook my room and drained the life I once had, each piece a literal representation of me losing myself to this damn disease.

“Mom…” I whispered out. I walked towards her only to stop when I heard her choked sob. She crumpled to the ground, and I did what I could to comfort her from behind, rushing to hold her head to my chest and slowly sway our bodies while on my knees. I tried to keep it in, but eventually I couldn’t physically handle it and rushed to the nearest bathroom to spit out the most recent build up of flowers. It was getting more painful to keep going with the routine, holding in the coughs as much as possible only to throw them up in one single go. There would be moments where I struggled to fully spit them all out, almost suffocating on the petals and forced to sit over the toilet, wondering if this was the place I died.

As I hacked out the last of the petals I had the strength to with the metallic smell invading my nose, I laid my head on my arms, pathetically strewn on top of the toilet seat, I felt her presence and slowly looked up. My mom’s mascara ran from her eyes, most likely smudged when she tried to calm herself before approaching me like a wounded animal. I saw the horror in her eyes, and while I wanted to truly believe it was from learning her own child had the one and only freakin flower disease, I could see the uneasiness in her eyes from truly looking at me and me alone.

“How coul— how could you keep this from me?” Her voice trembles, broken in a form of agony.

“What would I have said, Mom? I fell in love with someone and they took my breath away?” Her demeanor changed into a look of anger, upset at my attempt to defuse the situation with my dry humor. My mistake for not reading the room.

“Don’t! Don’t do that, act like your life is nothing to be of concern or that it doesn’t matter. I’m your mother! I have the right to know when you— when you…” Another sob escapes her, and she quickly swallows it down.

“We need to take the steps now before it’s too late. We need to find a doctor.” I know what these steps entail, and if I’m being honest with myself, I couldn’t imagine a life without the love I hold for her now, a life worth living.

“Mom… I don’t think I could go through with it,” I barely finish my sentence before she cuts me off.

“No, no that’s not an option anymore. I refuse to stand here and watch my child kill themself for someone undeserving of their love.” I can’t bring myself to speak.

“Who is it? Tell me right now.” I loved my mom. I know her emotions are a show of her care, but in the end of the day, her words in a given situation driven by those emotions do nothing but harm. I stay relatively silent until her hard gaze breaks me.

“No one of importance.” More. Lies.

I showed up at her house the next day, leaning against the gross van and waiting in the morning before she heads off to school. She’s surprised to say the least.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned, yet no malice was in her voice, only curiosity.

“You’re never awake before I am.” She laughed at her small poke at me, but this time I couldn’t will myself to fake it for her. The air became thick as she understood how serious it must be then.

“I went to the doctors yesterday,” I began, “finally got that cough checked out.” She only nodded and stayed silent, waiting for the rest to come. I sighed at the anticipation, looking down.

“I— they think it's cancer.” I don’t look up but continue to hear the silence ring.

“My mom is obviously worried, I am too, but I came by to tell you in person because, well, I have to leave for now.” More silence.

“There’s a good doctor up in Chicago my mom was looking up last night, she’s trying to save up for the best she can find. I— I know it’s important to get the treatment and such but it’s gonna be hard and I’m scared right now. You know? I’ve never had to leave town, and bam, suddenly I have this deadly ass di—” she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me out of my rant. I felt the tears against my chest and couldn’t help but pull her in tighter, wanting to protect her from any pain in the world, even the ones I caused.

“Y—you’ll be back soon. You’ll be back before anyone knows it, good as new. And when you’re back, well swing at the park for days, eat the most junk food we can, make up all the time and movie marathons and—” her voice cracked. I held her tighter.

A sudden shake brings me out of my thoughts, a tender call of my name. My eyes shift slightly to notice her concerned gaze, staring at me as the cassette ended possibly moments ago, the static clouding the air.

“Are you okay?” she questions. I give a weak smile.

“Just thoughts, I thought I could ignore it while I’m here with you after all this time, but…” I pathetically shrug and look away.

“No, don’t say that! I’m sorry I didn’t mention it initially, I didn’t know if you were ready or wanted to in general. What you went through, it was a lot. Something people don’t just go through everyday. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for you over there, somewhere necessary but new nonetheless, but you made it and you’re here. You were so strong already, and you’re only stronger now. You’re amazing, my amazing lil’ star.” She shines that beautiful smile again, tears flowing steadily down as her eyes crinkle. I smile through my own tears too, laughing before looking away.

“I have to tell you something else, but before that, could we head to the park?” I ask her while clearing my throat, reaching in my bag for some medication and water.

“Of course, always.”

The van’s engine roars, an unsatisfying screech bringing it to life. We drive the familiar streets in a comfortable silence, and I chose to stop the cassette playing to embrace it as it is. I let out another giggle and turn to her as I wiggle my eyebrows, jumping out of the car before it’s fully parked.

“Someone’s eager,” she laughs out, rushing to catch up with me as I try to stand on the seat rather than sit. We play like this for almost an hour, chasing each other like little girls with no care in the world, no love to damage the beauty of the raw moment. Eventually I pause and sit on the ground, inviting her to join me with baby pats in the empty spot to my left. We lay under the stars once more together, and I finally work up the words to speak.

“White Jasmines,” I say. There’s a pause before she turns her head towards me, another smirk to entertain my new antics.

“What about them?”

“Did you know they symbolize sweet love and amiability?” She tilts her head, visibly confused at what I am trying to convey or why. I reach into my front pocket, and I gradually place the flower on her lap. Her eyes start to widen. She whispers my name.

“I’m sorry I lied again when it mattered, when it went against our friendship, our relationship. I was scared, and couldn’t bring myself to burden you.” She sits up and takes my closets hand into hers, clutching it so tight her knuckles become white.

“You could have said something! You should have said something!” She yells out with a bite in her tone, but her eyes go against her intended rage.

“Could you look me in the eyes right now and say you would have reciprocated how I feel without my life being in jeopardy because of it?” She stares so intently at me, having to look down and blink with the amount of tears gathered. I continue on, stating,

“I love you, okay? I love you for being you, for how you see and treat me, for how you already care so much for me. I love you as you and would never try to accept a love beyond what is true.” I grip her hands with my own covering them as well, trying to hold on as tight as possible. Trying to hold on as long as possible.

“How can you say all that when— when you left to—” It’s my turn to cut her off.

“I left before I went through with it, I left before I would lose everything.” She clings onto my entire arm now, tears heavy as she realizes how weak I’ve become in the past few minutes.

“Y—you…”

“I’m so glad I’ve always had you b—by my side,” I start to choke on the blood rising in my throat but remain determined as I try to wipe her own tear away with my right hand, “I’ll always be here with you, okay?” I honestly can’t see anything at this point, but continue to hold on, looking onwards towards the sky as the stars barely gleam with the rise of the sun.

“My star.”

#short story #hanahaki disease #i've never tagged things before #halp #writing #words #flowers #cringey shit

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the-bounce-back · 6 years

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I FEEL GOOD, SOMETIMES I DON’T

I should probably start by saying that this post will be very different from what I’ve previously shared on here.

In all honesty, I was unsure if I should even post this at all. When I started this blog, my vision for it was that it was going to be a hub for infinite good vibes, positive energy and empowerment for myself and whoever ended up reading it to combat and eventually overcome depression, anxiety, emotionally harmful thoughts and so on. But I’m realising now that I’ve made a bit of a mistake in my approach.

So far, I’ve been writing about aspects of my mental health that I’ve already overcome, accepted and healed from - hence why I’ve been able to write my advice with so much self-assurance and positivity. Writing about things within my comfort zone and knowing that my learning from my experiences has helped people has undeniably made me feel really great lately. However - behind the scenes, to put it dramatically and in true Liv style - the past couple weeks have been really, really sh*t for me.

It’s hard for me to even write this, because it forces me to acknowledge that things really aren’t okay right now. I kept convincing myself that I shouldn’t put it on here, because it really goes against the light and fun tone I’ve been able to maintain from the start. But after much thought, I remembered something very important:

As much as I wish that the positivity and self-confidence I’ve been feeling for the past couple months could magically erase the years of mental health issues, it just doesn’t add up or make sense. Of course there will be be bad days, slumps, insecurities and irrational thoughts from time to time that manage to rear their ugly heads - it’s a part of the healing process. It makes perfect logical sense, because it’s how we overcome these times that end up proving how strong and resilient we have become.

I say that, like I haven’t been in denial that a slump has been looming for a while now. I’ve been so obsessed with this happiness and positivity that I’ve been feeling, that I’ve literally forced myself to ignore the huge red flags that everything was going to go to sh*t very soon. I tried to rationalise that the feeling of unease in my stomach was due to the novelty of moving and securing this job has begun to wear off, and that text book near-panic attacks were just due to me being tIrEd or hUnGrY.

I’ve decided to write about this, because I also want to normalise the hard and sh*t parts of healing. I want people to know that having bad days is okay, not being a ray of f*cking sunshine all the time is okay, having meltdowns is okay, that not feeling okay is okay - as cringe as that may sound. I also want to show that not having all the answers all the time, winging it and having a well deserved whine and moan is fine, too - and that’s essentially what this post is going to be about. I need to f*cking vent.

These past couple of weeks have been hell for me, to put it lightly, and as earlier mentioned, I chose to ignore every single sign that a slump was pending. When I’d come home from work with a gnawing feeling in my stomach that something bad was going to happen, I’d just binge eat a bunch of junk food and then go to sleep so I didn’t have to think. Whenever I’d be dangerously close to realising that the happiness I’ve been feeling is slowly but surely crumbling, I’d find myself forcing myself to banter and laugh about the whole situation so that I could mask how shit I was feeling about myself. And when I had two separate anxiety-attacks - which I haven’t had in ages - I forced myself to make light of them and make jokes.

Honestly. I feel like such an idiot for not taking them seriously. The first one was me waking up at my mates house after her birthday party with an insanely high heart rate and in a cold sweat. I was the only one awake at the time and I was actually really scared of dealing with it alone, so I ended up leaving. I later made light of it by saying that it was probably just because I was still drunk, that I’m a drama queen and that I was definitely feeling better after sleeping in my own bed.

The second one happened literally a couple days later. I blacked out and almost fainted on my commute into work. I‘ve experienced lightheadedness and dizziness before, but this was definitely different. My vision was blurry, I was seeing black dots around me, the music I was listening to kind of faded out and sounded muffled - like I was underwater - and my legs were shaking like mad. If I hadn’t had something to cling very tightly to, I’m very convinced that I would’ve passed out and fallen. I still can’t remember how I managed to stumble off the train at the right stop, but when I finally got some fresh air and my senses stabilised, I noticed how much of a cold sweat I was in.

Most normal people would’ve realised that they needed a time out at this point, but not I - I was forcing myself to believe that I was still happy, that everything was okay, that I just needed to ensure that I got a good night's sleep and eat something. I only told my housemate, my sister and my mum what had happened, made jokes about not wanting to go on WebMD because it’d tell me my brain is hemorrhaging… and then went about my day.

Right now I’m really torn, because I really want to internally punch myself up for not listening to my body...but at the same time I’m trying to be kInDeR tO mYsElF and fOrGiVe MySeLf for not following my own advice. Who even am I?

With all jokes aside and the background for this post out of the way, let me get very real.

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been having this feeling of unease for a while now. This is a classic sign of anxiety - feeling that since things are seemingly too good to be true, something terrible must be coming up to ruin the peace. Since I know that when I usually feel like this it’s just down to irrational thinking, I kept suppressing the feeling and convincing myself that I was gucci.

Only this time, the feeling was real. I received some potentially life-changing news last week, that really rattled me to my core. I don’t even want to share what it is at this point, because I’m worried that discussing it openly on here will manifest it more than I already have by telling the few people I trust. All you as a reader needs to know is that it was heartbreaking and very illusion-shattering, and it definitely pushed me over the edge that I had no idea I was so close to.

The interesting thing about receiving bad news is that the way you take it onboard says a lot about your mental state. If you’re in a good place mentally - much like I was a couple weeks ago - chances are that you’ll be able to deal with it in a healthy manner and feel very assured that things will turn out fine, at least after the initial shock. But unfortunately, since I’ve spent the past couple of weeks convinced that something bad is going to happen, it’s really just sent me in this massive downward spiral.

When I get sad - like, really, really sad - my usual composed and collected self goes out of the window and my mind goes down a very irrational and self-deprecating path. My first thought when I heard the bad news was that it was my fault - I felt like I had literally spoken and willed it into existence, and blamed myself. Of course, it’s easy for me to see the irrationality of this feeling as I’m writing about it within a short window of sanity before the next emotional downswing comes. But when I let myself just be sad, I really and truly blame myself, and I don’t even know how to stop it.

The problem with me is that I struggle a lot with separating different things going on in my mind when I’m feeling like sh*t. I can never be in my feelings about one isolated thing - once the waterworks start, I really just feel sad about everything until I feel like there’s literally no point to my life anymore, and I start contemplating whether this life really and truly is even worth all this stress. The phrase “when it rains, it pours” is even an understatement, because why am I being attacked by this storm from a million different directions?

The maddest thing is that I feel like I deserve it, even though it literally makes no sense. I find myself thinking that this sh*t is all happening because I’ve made such a big deal out of putting my own mental and emotional wellbeing above my own family and friends - and now I’m being punished for it. I’m not entirely sure how or why this concept that I’m being punished has even manifested itself in my mind, but lately it’s really been taking over and literally poisoned my thoughts.

It’s my own fault that my relationship that my family is strained - I was the one who decided to move away.

My family, friends, colleagues and acquaintances don’t really care about me, or particularly like me for that matter - they just tolerate me because I’m there. It wouldn’t make any difference to them if I lived or died.

The pride, confidence and success I’ve been feeling careerwise lately is going to come crashing down any second now, because I don’t even really have the brains or resilience to make it like that. I’m an imposter, and people will soon realise it.

The immense loneliness I feel from time to time is there because deep down I know that the people I deem important in my life only see me as a background character in theirs.

I’m putting up a front that the failure of my last relationship it was all for the best and that I learned and grew from it, but deep down I know I’ll probably never fully be ok again. And even if I was to, I’d never be capable of loving them back because I’ve become too emotionally apathetic to feel anything for anyone again.

This confidence in my beauty that I’ve been feeling lately is all a scam. Deep down I know that I’m hideous, and no amount of healthy eating, working out, positive affirmations or glowing up will ever be capable of changing that.

...you get the point. It was actually really hard to type those out - as mentioned earlier in my blog, putting words to feelings you usually keep buried inside is genuinely traumatising. The thing is, when I read back what I’ve written when I’m in a good frame of mind I know it’s all rubbish. I know that my family and friends are proud of me and my success. I know that I matter. I know that the loneliness is my head messing with me and unresolved issues, because I’m surrounded by amazing friends. I know that when the time is right and I’m emotionally ready, I’ll settle down with someone on my wavelength that actually deserves me. I know that I’m very beautiful.

But the power of the mind really is a force to be reckoned with. It’s terrifying. It really has me thinking so irrationally and doubting my own knowledge, and it’s so emotionally draining. Furthermore, it convinces me that I’m the only person in the world feeling like this, that I’m some sort of emotional outcast that’s carrying this huge burden in secret. I literally feel like I can’t tell anyone how I truly feel anymore because - even though I preach about being unapologetic about feelings - I’m terrified that I’ll be judged, thought to be overdramatic or labelled as attention-seeking.

I think the horrible and most frustrating part of this whole slump business is the three states of mind I differentiate between until it passes. I’m either balanced, really f*cking numb or really f*cking sad.

The balanced part - not to be confused with actually being content - is the state of mind that I force myself to be in when I’m at work or need to interact with people and feel relatively normal. People don’t even know - or care - enough to see that I’m constantly having to fight myself to not be affected by anything that could trigger the other two mindstates.

The sadness that takes over from time to time is the hardest to deal with because it’s so unpredictable. I’ll just be going about my day at work, sitting on the bus, hanging out with friends, watching a movie alone when I suddenly just feel tears coming. Most of the time I don’t even know why it’s coming because it seemingly doesn’t even have a trigger. All I know is that it’s really f*cking hard to keep the tears back, and if I let the tears come I know it will go on for a really long time.

The third and final one - the numbness - is definitely the most scary one of the three simply because it’s so out of character for me. I’ve been a quite sensitive person my entire life - as in no stranger to crying and getting in my feelings - so when these feelings began to emerge I was worried that there was something wrong with me or that I had snapped. Well, I would’ve been worried if I had been capable of feeling it at the time. As someone that’s used to crying whenever things get hard, suddenly feeling numb, empty and unbothered by all the sh*t that’s going on is a massive red flag. The first time I felt it - in conjunction with ending things with my ex - my therapist theorised that it was my brains way of protecting and repairing itself from the overwhelming amount of sadness I had been feeling. I’m no neurologist so I don’t know if this is correct - but it would make sense if that was the case. The numbness, apathy and lack of emotion was a blessing at first, but I soon noticed that it actually makes me not even give a f*ck about my family, friends, job, body or health either - which simply isn’t me. In the long run, the lack of emotion really ended up taking a toll on my health. I was drinking very excessively at this point in time and tried other substances that I know for a fact I wouldn’t have dreamt of trying otherwise - simply because I didn’t care if I lived or died anymore.

Luckily my periods of numbness aren’t as bad as that anymore. I’d like to think that it’s because I have become more resilient and mentally strong since then, but I’m not even sure anymore. All I know is that when I lie in bed at night and try to allow myself to cry to let out all the pent up emotions, the tears don’t even come. That’s how I know that something is very wrong.

Whenever I feel myself slipping into this rotation of mindstates, I desperately try to find a way to get out of it because I’m scared of how long it is going to last this time. You might as well call me Solange, because I literally try to work, laugh, sex, joke, eat, drink, shop, clean, read, cry, sleep, pray, ignore and - as you can see - write it away. Sometimes I’m able to distract myself for brief periods of time, but as soon as the good feeling wears off I’m just back to feeling like sh*t again. I’m scared now that all the positivity that I’ve been feeling in conjunction with moving and starting a new job is beginning to wear off, and that going back to constantly having this underlying sense of sadness and loneliness will fully take over my life again.

Unfortunately, only time will tell. And much like Solange implies, I can’t keep trying to avoid confronting my problems. I’m just going to have to ride this sh*t out, hope for the best and force myself to stay positive, even though it all feels really hopeless right now. Hopefully one day I’ll be able to revisit this post and share the lessons and solutions I’ve been able to devise by going through it - after all, that’s what I’ve been doing in my previous posts. But I don’t know when that will be.

I could go on writing about this forever, but my mind tends to go around in circles when I feel like this and I feel like I’d just be repeating myself. Although the purpose of this post was for me to have an outlet for my emotions before I ended up snapping and going full on Mrs. Hyde, I hope that me sharing how I’ve been feeling can let whoever might be going through a similar period know that they aren’t alone, regardless of how lonely and alienated the sadness makes them feel.

I want to round up this post with a short list of tips for whoever can relate to this post, on how I personally try to make these episodes at least slightly easier to deal with (Because is it even a Bounce Back post if it doesn’t have tips in bullet points? I don’t think so):

Time your productivity with your emotional upswings.

If you’re anything like me, the particularly bad feelings come and go in waves. When you can feel that you’re in a good-ish state of mind, make sure you address all your responsibilities, chores and other things you need to do. Don’t worry too much about the amount of extra time it ends up taking - taking slightly longer on a task is much better than doing it when you’re in a sh*t mood and would honestly just want to off yourself. For reference, it’s taken me two weeks to write this blog post just because I didn’t want to write it while being miserable - because I knew it wouldn’t be very helpful, would make me feel worse and probably wouldn’t make much sense.

Don’t neglect yourself.

Luckily I have a full time job now that doesn’t allow me to fall into patterns of self-neglect anymore. But if I didn’t, I’m positive that I’d just be in bed taking depression naps, netflixing, ignoring everyone and either overeating or not eating at all. In fact, that’s literally me on weekends when I don’t have plans. Not healthy or helpful at all, in other words.

A shower (or even better...a bubble bath), brushing your teeth, leaving your room, eXeRcIsE, fresh air and a cheeky cuppa really does do wonders in terms of mood-lifting. I promise that giving yourself that extra push to do at least 3 of those things will make you at least feel like you’ve done something with your day so you don’t have to be so hard on yourself for being a lazy sh*t.

Keep your living space clean (!!!)

Fun fact - I may or may not have burst into tears after coming home from work the other day and seeing that there was a whole lot of sh*t on my unmade bed and on the floor. On my good days I’m usually a bit (a lot) of a neat freak, so when my living space is disgusting it really just is a reflection and a brutal reminder of how bad my state of mind is. Of course, I had no one but myself to blame for the mess but it really ended up being the last drop that sent me over the edge.

If you at the very least make sure your floor, bed and other areas you know you’re going to want to wallow in self pity in later on are tidy, it really does make a huge difference. One less thing to have a meltdown over; we stan.

Force yourself to believe that it will pass.

This is really difficult when you literally feel like you want to play in traffic. But try your best to remember other times in the past where you felt like your life was falling apart and appreciate that the lessons you learnt from that have made you slightly more resilient this time around, even though it may not feel so.

For example - regardless of how terrible I feel right now, I remember times when I couldn’t even brave leaving my bed to go to uni or work...and that was for a lot less bullsh*t than what I’m going through now. Furthermore, the more of these episodes I have, the easier it is to convince myself that it will, in fact, pass. It always does. You just have to ride it out.

Don’t isolate yourself.

I thought I’d finish with the one that’s the most challenging (for me). I’m naturally a bit of a loner - always have been. Going to other people to talk about how much I’m struggling has never come naturally for me - it’s not really until my adult life that I’ve learnt to understand the importance and benefits of talking to others. Furthermore, when my brain tells me that my family and friends don’t even f*ck with me like that, it really is a huge challenge to overcome that feeling of insecurity and reach out to the people that supposedly hAtE mE. I’d rather just stay in bed and protect my feelings by just being alone and then cry about feeling lonely. Make it make sense, please.

Of course, this is far from healthy and it is imperative to learn how to break away from this pattern of thinking. Nowadays I force myself to leave my room and annoy my housemate, force myself to grace my friends with my comedic abilities so I can at least try to have a laugh, and force myself to reach out to family members that I’ve managed to convince myself don’t really want to talk to me.

It really does make a massive difference and I promise you that you will be positively surprised. It really makes you remember that it’s all in your head and makes you more able to disregard the feelings when they come and try to attack you.

Whew enfant. I definitely feel better now. Apologies in advance for the rambling and the probable confusion, but to be honest no one really forced you to read it. I don’t really know how to end a post like this, so I’ll just finish up by reminding whoever needs to hear it (including myself) that these feelings are normal and will pass, as well as that feeling like this doesn’t imply weakness or a lessening of worth.

Keep telling yourself that until you believe it.

In the meantime, I’m going to try my best to keep my head above water and keep dishing out posts about how to get through times like this. Fear not, I still have loads of ideas that I want to share - and I’m not letting a sh*tty couple weeks ruin the good thing I’ve started.

Love,

Liv

#mentalillness #selfhelp

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jamlocked · 7 years

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Sheriarty for Prompt #4, "Who did this to you?" is everything I need in my life if you are willing to write it. 💜

Bit of a rush job I’m afraid, but I hope you like it!

Sherlock doesn’t like the hospital at night. It’s as quiet as Baker Street; that is, long stretches of silence, made alive by the hum of streetlights and city - or now, corridor lights and the distant ring of the phone at the entrance to the ward. Silence that is never quite dead. But it’s broken at home by the warm rumble of a passing car, or a voice raised loud enough to make it from the street on the other side of the flat, and through to his bedroom. Here, the voices are too close. The machines are less friendly than cars, with their beeps and buzzing, and the lights that never disappear. Though, he supposes, the lights are a good thing. If he can’t see them, it won’t mean anything good. But he doesn’t have to like them.

It’s also too warm. And Mycroft’s security - along with the Met guards Lestrade has provided - means there are too many people who could open the door at any moment, and disturb…he’s not sure. Not his thoughts; no one disturbs his thoughts when he doesn’t want them to. Disturb something. His peace? Something. He can’t think. Maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe it’s the pain, when he tries not to take the drugs. Maybe it’s the memory of that long, long, second, between the crack from the barrel of her gun, and the white hot agony tearing through muscle and skin, thudding through soft tissue, ripping, and ripping, and ripping…

…he pushes the button along his morphine drip, eyes closed, sighing at the flood of relief. He’s not prone to ‘what if?’ because his brain is quick to discard useless speculation. What if she hadn’t meant to miss? What if she’d gone straight for the heart? What if …no. He’s not doing this. Just because he can’t think, it doesn’t mean he has to give in to the banality of fear. It’s just the wrong sort of quiet, that’s all. It’s too warm, and too…beepy. And he knows she won’t be back; there is no danger of another bullet, not here, not now. Not from her.

His eyes cast around in the dark. Lestrade’s team sent a card that he no doubt had to bully most of them into signing. Various ones from old clients, and fans of the blog. Flowers from his parents. And one rose, with a card. A single W. He looks at it for a long time, watching the darkness morph its shape into a moving shadow, growing against the curtains stirring from the breeze. It could be a hand. An arm. A face. He closes his eyes and lets the morphine work, cold sweat on his forehead and prickling behind his ears. When he opens them again, the rose is just a rose, and there’s a figure standing by his bed.

He smiles weakly. ‘Wondered when you’d show up.’

‘You know me, Sherlock. I know just the right moment for an entrance.’

He can’t dispute it. He can’t move either. His eyelids are heavy, and his brain is mired in treacled fog, every word a thick drip, drip, drip into his mouth, struggling to rise free.

‘Sure I didn’t let you out.’ Stupid morphine. Stupid, lovely, morphine. ‘You look better like this.’

‘Compared to what?’

‘The straitjacket. I sometimes feel bad about the straitjacket.’

The figure is silent for some time. For once, Sherlock is not sure exactly how long. Things are hazy, and he doesn’t know if this is sleep, or what. He could be dying, but things are not beeping enough for that.

‘I see,’ it says eventually, and sits down on the chair next to the bed. ‘You prefer to think of me unfettered.’

‘Always.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Though I suppose you don’t allow it often.’

‘Never.’

He gets the impression of a nod, from a head that is whole, and with hair slick enough to bounce light off. It shines in the darkness behind his eyes; gleams in the imagined reality of this awful room.

‘Why are you here? You did your job.’

‘Did I?’

‘You made me…you said the right thing. You made me come back.’

‘How very altruistic of me.’

‘I never lose to you. I’ll never let you beat me.’

There comes a chuckle, and maybe a spread of hands. His suit is very dark. It’s difficult to see. ‘And yet, here I am. Free and whole. And I have so many questions, Sherlock.’

Sherlock frowns. That’s not right. He doesn’t usually have questions; he’s the one who sits there with the answers, and refuses to give them up.

‘Then ask.’

‘There’s only one that matters. And I know the answer, but I want to hear you say it.’

His voice is different. Less the joking trickster, laughing in his sleeve. More a snake, fangs locked in, ready to squeeze just enough to let the venom slide free. Sherlock thinks there’s a voice somewhere in his mind, screaming to be heard. A hand waving three miles out to sea. Something.

‘Ask.’

He hears a soft intake of breath. The curtains ripple. And there’s a touch to his chest, fingertips only, drawing cool lines on his heated skin. He catches a word between his teeth, and bites on it. The fingers pause, half on the line of tape at the edge of his dressing, half on his body. And then the palm falls flat, covering his wound as gently as a priest lays his hand on the head of a sinner.

‘Who did this to you?’

Sherlock’s consciousness gathers beneath that palm, aching and throbbing around the edges of his punctured body. There could be so much pain. But it doesn’t push down, that hand; it covers, holds. Protects.

‘Mary,’ he says, whispered to the air. ‘Mary did it.’

And nothing moves, and nothing changes. It is not a truth he has to come to terms with, or convince himself of. And it’s safe, isn’t it, admitting it to someone who now only exists in his mind.

The touch disappears. The figure stands, disappearing thanks to his black-on-black suit. Sherlock is breathing harder, losing the fight to keep his eyes open. He barely registers the brush across his lips, and the whisper next to his ear. But the smell; he remembers the smell. That cologne, the hint of spice. The old-fashioned styling wax, which reminds him of wood, and takes him back to Oxford. And mint. Peppermint. Fresh, barely chewed. Jim.

‘You rest easy,’ is what he hears. ‘I’m going to make it alllllll better.’

‘But-‘

‘Sshhhh, Sherlock. Sleep now. And remember-‘ another brush, speaking so close he can imagine the soft pull of stubble against his cheek, ‘no one kills you but me.’

* * *

Sherlock wakes in the morning to find Mycroft in the chair, and the air filled with new things, yet to be spoken. The morphine has been turned back down, though he doesn’t remember doing it. The pain makes him begin to heave against the fog, pulling himself towards clean air.

‘What happened? You’re not saying something. Say it.’

Mycroft sighs, but it’s not impatient. He appears to be trying to pick his words for once. ‘It’s Mrs Watson, I’m afraid. Mary. She’s…’

‘Missing?’

‘No. We know where she is. I’m sorry, Sherlock, but-‘

He tunes out. He thinks, John. He thinks…he thinks nothing, he can’t, he can’t breathe. He thinks…of peppermint. Tastes it in the air. Breathes it over his lips.

‘Leave. Go and find John.’

‘I hardly think I-‘

‘Go.’

‘Sherlock, if you know something…’

Sherlock stares forward. The rose stands as it did last night, only it’s still just a rose. Straight, and blood red, and alive. The card that came with it has been turned the right way up, and he can’t believe he never saw it until now. Not a W. Never a W.

‘I don’t know anything. But you can take the guards off the door.’

Always, ever, an M.

#sheriarty #ficlet #sherlock holmes #jim moriarty #mycroft holmes #fic prompt

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itistimeforalearntimenow · 6 years

Text

Lesson Five: Lose Weight and Keep It Off

Oh, hey! My name’s Lauren and I lost kind of a lot of weight over a number of years and it was kind of a thing and now I’m doing my best to maintain all that and that’s proving to be like this whole other thing.

I actually do have other goals and aspirations but I go on and on about this one because it actually helps me with the other stuff and it seems like other people can relate sometimes.

“Good for you. Quit going on and on about it though. This is just really annoying and helpful to no one and you’re just really beating a dead horse here.”

Thanks so much for your feedback. I’LL SEE YOU IN HELL. Shoo, shoo, shoo, go on and GIT!

Anyway, now that they’re gone, if you’re trying to maintain weight loss, or stick to healthy goals to achieve weight loss this year, take my metaphorical hand over the Internet via this blog and let’s take a walk.

First thing’s first: Losing the weight.

There are as many ways to achieve weight loss as there are menu items on the Chesecake Factory menu. However, most likely just a few will actually work for you, so that’s truly 90% of the whole ordeal.

Also, most people can adhere to a soup cleanse for 24-48 hours however can you keep that up indefinitely? Let’s hope not. To give you some perspective, some cancer patients just can’t even at a certain point and struggle to put up with even a few assorted liquids when absolutely needed just to stay conscious basically. So, if you’re emulating that so you can fit into a dress you bought on Wish.com, I actually totally understand where you are coming from 100%, however at a certain point your hair will look like trash and possibly fall out and then you might as well just get cancer at that point, your body fucking can’t with you anymore.

In all seriousness joking about cancer and eating disorders is completely uncalled for.

“But when it comes to weight loss those can work like a charm.”

Oh. You’re back. Hi, SATAN. Unless you have something of value to contribute to this, please go crawl back into your hole.

“If you drink 40oz of hot lemon water and cayenne pepper every 3 hou...”

OK, BYE!

Bottom Line: Weight loss is a process and you can do cocaine and only drink weight loss shakes as you watch your face slowly become indistinguishable from some kind of fucked-up horse person or you can educate yourself on nutrition and find something active that you can actually see yourself doing several times a week.

Both are effective.

One is much less expensive and way more sustainable over time.

Your call!

Hey good job, you lost weight: Now what?

Holy. Shit. You lost weight and you are looking like one fine-ass motherfucker. I know that one lady just called Trump a motherfucker in a bad way. But I mean it in the 70’s cool-black-guy kinda way. You look fucking awesome, you achieved something a lot of people just do not have the discipline to achieve, and you look amazing!

Let the terror begin. Half joking!

First of all, after the initial shock and awe of transforming your body you’re going to start second-guessing yourself because you’re going to revert back mentally to who you were before.

The funny thing is, you’re still you, you’re just being less of an asshole to your internal organs and they absolutely appreciate that.

People can be shallow. That’s just the breaks. It sucks, and not everyone necessarily is, but a lot of people are and you just have to worry about you.

If you lost weight specifically for another person or for some reason involving another person, I hate to break it to you, but you’re most likely wasting your time. People are going to do what they are going to do and most people (at least the kind of people that you want to be active in your life) are going to love you regardless and if your weight and appearance is someone’s sole reason for allowing you in their sphere or not, hey guess what, that sounds like a shitty sphere, go get hot and then erase them because hey fuck that person, right?

No, but in all seriousness, if you truly want to be able to actually really enjoy all the hard work you’ve done, if you can truly say you did all that because you honestly value yourself and know you of all people are worth looking good and experiencing the wonderfulness that is good health, then you’re actually going to be able to enjoy the process of losing weight and really enjoy yourself once you’ve achieved it.

Side note: If you make drastic changes to your appearance you may start getting attention that you haven’t had before. Or maybe it’s been way too long and you were super party drunk back when you looked this good many moons ago, so you don’t remember what it was like.

Bottom line: You’re a good person who values yourself and can achieve goals. You are like the top 5% of people. Now that you look amazing too, people are going to be drawn to you naturally. Don’t freak out! People look up to others that are doing what they aspire to do.

Don’t be an asshole to them. You lost weight, you’re not suddenly the Prince of Portugal. Keep your humility and kindness. There are already hot people monopolizing the dickhead market, there’s no room for you, no matter how low your goal weight is.

Ok, so your new, lower weight: Maintain that shit

Oh hi!

WELCOME TO HELL.

I’m like 70% joking with you but like with a strain in my voice because I am 100% serious that this is the hardest part.

Everyone says that, but this thing that everyone says is actually true!

If you took the cocaine and weight loss shake route to get here I hope you don’t have a drastic income bracket change south because you’re just going to have to stick to cocaine and weight loss shakes at this point, I’m not sure what to tell you.

If you took the longer route to get here are you ready to suddenly, for no fucking reason whatsoever, find that some of the meals you’ve come to rely on during your journey become absolutely repulsive?

Maybe you really found a love for salads.

Guess the fuck what?

Get ready to wake up in a cold sweat screaming to yourself that you will fucking light yourself on active and uncontrollable fire if you have to even look at a salad again.

Take a deep breath because actually I know some good salad places but for real you gotta just chill.

Losing weight is a totally different process than living at a new lower weight. Depending on how much less of a person you are, your body is going to want to make adjustments. That’s natural. Maybe it’s gaining some weight back.

Don’t lose your shit completely!

You definitely worked your ass off and I get that there is NOFUCKINGWAYINHELL you’re going to let yourself go back to the old you, but micro-obsessing over whatever your scale says will drive you to murder. It just will. Maybe you’ll murder three large pizzas and a gallon of ice cream in one sitting maybe you’ll murder the next person who you hear audibly breathing.

Either way, not ideal.

Maintaining weight loss is almost like you’ve died...

“...and gone to hell?”

Man, I told you to go on and GITONOUTTAHERE!

As I was saying, if you lost a significant amount of weight you can basically consider it like you got a new body. If you’re into metaphysics or anything like that, feel free to let yourself wander through your mind’s eye to really ponder your new existence, however, bottom line: you actually are a new person, physically.

Just like you went to all the trouble to educate yourself during your weight loss, now it’s up to you to educate yourself on your new body and figure out how to work with it.

It’s like when you first get a new car and depending on the year make and model maybe you don’t even know what the actual fuck all the buttons and shit do and, no, fuck the owner’s manual, no one actually reads that.

Well, same exact concept for your new lower-weight body.

You will figure it out.

Also, try making the figuring out part fun because otherwise you might lose interest and give up and end up back where you started and fucking hello what was even the point of all that?

I wish I had a better way to end this post, if anyone actually made it this far. However, I’m like deep in the thick of still figuring out to sustain my weight loss so if this is you and you’re feeling frustrated, you are in no way alone.

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sheilasministry · 8 years

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Jesus say’s it’s time for me to not watch certain movies. It’s not that I don’t want to but when I do. I want to not be with Him as much. These movies are so violent that I think I can’t be with God Jesus as much. I don’t know what to expect of these movies but when I’m watching them, I just don’t know if I should stop or go forward. Especially when there is some person or actors I like in these in these movies. So the R rated movie is a hint. From now on I will just say no thanks. Sometimes some R rated movies aren’t to bad but lately all I can say is they make a whole lot of money for not much of a movie. So here I’am feeling guilty again for finishing a terrible movie when I could have had some blogging done & some tweeting. But God say’s it’s all okay. I have to learn to say no that’s all. So what is new here in this old world then? Well I keep Praising God Jesus & God Jehovah like crazy. I know that’s not knew for me but God say’s that since these blog’s & His tweet’s have been out all over the place. Many have come to know Him as God to with God Jehovah & The Holy Spirit. They are One God but Three in Presence as One God Alone Still. It’s not that big of a deal. You can deny God as Jesus. Or deny God all together but you will not be in Heaven with me & God’s beautiful Angel’s. God say’s some day we all here on this planet will get to see one Angel before we go home for good. So I’m looking forward to seeing my one Angel. If I’m lucky maybe I might see some other Angel’s but God say’s I have to wait for the big surprise for me. I have to wait & see the surprise for some & I have to wait for just anything to happen at all. So I know I’m not all that excited but I’am. Because I have a lot of time here in my life & I’m glad I’m just saying over & over & over again. Praise God, Praise God, Praise God. It’s like sometimes I can’t wait to just say His Name in Praise because of Him Being God Alone with God Jehovah to. So where was I when I left off the other day? Well I know that I’m good without Harry but God say’s some special Prayer’s about Harry & me have gone up. If I can say this. Why? He is not with me now or may be never with me or Goldie. The story is not real but to some people it is. So if God wants old Harry & me & Goldie to become a real thing. Well you have to tell God to help me find Harry then. As for Goldie, well you have to say she might not want any of this stuff to happen for real. It doesn’t sound like much fun for her or me. So Mel the camera guy is not on board either. So when or if he even shows up. I will let all of you know bit by bit. That is after we make our first big blockbuster movie. It will be a surprise to me if we ever get it out of the wood’s or out of the air or just plain & simply me out of my house. It’s awfully cold outside. I don’t like being cold & I know that I will have to share my two spare pants for Angie & Goldie for them to stay warm one more night. Which turn’s into about four more night’s. I should have put in more sweat pant’s & I did but their not with me. So I have to go back to camp & get more pair’s for me & old Angie babe. She’s not that old now but the way thing’s are going now. She probably might be my age or worse yet Goldie’s. So if I have a dime for all thing’s I say that God writes that is funny. I would not be a millionaire but I would be wealthy enough to have some fun by myself. My husband would have to wait until God writes more of Harry’s particular situation’s for us three before we could make any more money on that fun funny laughing stuff for me. Okay so Goldie is with me & Angie to. I hope we make it out of these wood’s today Goldie say’s. I have to be back home for some thing. I know it’s not something. It’s some thing. So we can all guess that she is making an excuse already half way through God’s blockbuster movie. I think I would be okay with leaving but God say’s; Go find the little guy. I ask God. What little guy? I didn’t know there was a little bigfoot in these wood’s. Well God say’s Goldie & Angie have to wait to go home. So I took our supplies & split them up between them & me. So where is Mel & my husband? Well who knows. The last we saw of them they were still up in that old tree. So here is Angie babe. A little teeny tiny thing of a beautiful person & she makes it all the way up the hill to our cave with Harry. How does that happen anyway in the middle of the night with Goldie & me inside this one particular little tiny cave & Harry & his bud’s? I know that’s one long question but it does get me to thinking. I finally remember to ask her; Angie how did you find me & Goldie & why are you here & how did you find us all in these wood’s? She say’s she followed us in her car. I didn’t see anyone following us but then I don’t see someone waving at me frantically across some four way stop not that big & I don’t see them at all. I just keep right on driving through it & right by them. Okay so that doesn’t gather me into a big old ooooh but it does put me into some way of saying this to her; Oh you followed us when? She say’s the whole time. I asked Goldie; Did you see her? No. Well then Angie how did you find us in these old wood’s in the middle of the night? And weren’t you afraid of getting eaten by some thing or animal or maybe beaten up by old Goldie girl here thinking you might be another predator coming to take her to another cave for Harry’s bud’s to laugh at her golden kind of hair? Well I had a tracker put into Goldie’s bag. What? A tracker? Yeah I put it in her bag when she was not looking. So where she went & you all, I could track you. Why would you do that Angie? I wanted to see if bigfoot actually existed. That’s it? That’s why you took this time to be with us now? Because you wanted to prove bigfoot was real Angie? Yeah & I was kind of hoping to be in the movie to. It looks like it’s going really well don’t you think guy’s? Okay we do but you haven’t brought anything to sleep in or gear or food & Goldie babe here does not share anything like at all. I have to swear I won’t eat her stuff or take her food or whatever that is right there. Okay I have to admit I do have my own stuff with food & anything else I need. But I have to go back to my cave to find it. You have a cave Angie? Yes I found it later yesterday & I thought if I got outside in cold wet weather I would go back to that old cave & stay for the night until I found you two goof ball’s today or tonight or now this morning. Okay fine with me. I don’t care if you come. All you had to do was ask. Well what’s the fun in that? I have some good stuff on my camera here to show Mel the camera guy. We will I’m sure add it to his or yours or God’s movie. Well it’s God’s way of saying He wants all involved however that might be. Just so it’s a hit for God Jesus is fine with me. Okay let’s go I’m tired & hungry to. Okay where are we Angie? Do you have your tracker on? Well yeah, okay where did I put it? Oh great. You haven’t found it yet? No I wanted to know if I could take one last picture or spot for a movie shot. I left it on the ground over there. Well let’s go find it. Oh here it is. What happened to it Angie. Well if I can say this babe Sheila & Goldie babe to. I lost it & this is what’s left of it. I guess we are lost out here for sure. No we are not. They brought us here. So they can get us out of here. So let’s go back & ask them to do that okay guy’s? Well Sheila since you have such a great time with these guy’s. You ask them & we will just stand right here until you get back. No I want all of us to go back. We are not going to lose sight of each other now. It’s getting dark here in these creepy wood’s. Well okay I guess we can go all the way back to that cave. Well what else is there to do? Anyone have a compass? Or something to get us out of this place for the night before we get stuck out here in the cold another night? Okay let’s go back to them as quick as we can. Okay here is the path right guy’s? I don’t know. You are the one who said you could get us out of here. Okay I’m not sure who is going to get us out of here now but in time someone will. Back to the stage for me now. That means that God say’s I’m here but I’m not into too much involvement now but I will be sooner then later. That means no more Harry for now but God say’s I can say this to Him anyway. That was fun & funny but I’m not sure if I’m ready for any trip with anyone out there in those old cold wood’s. So I’m not sure about this story being true but God say’s yes. So if I can say this to anyone now. Don’t be disappointed with anyone else but me. I have to say I’m not sure but I want these things to happen but not. It’s just God having some fun but only time will tell. So Goldie & Angie will have to wait for now but God say’s old Hillary is not wanting anything to do with Donald now. So be in your heart about him & her just getting along for the next four years. This is about it for me tonight. It’s been a great day but I have some tweeting to do. My time here is always in my life in my heart. I have two pup’s who want some attention as soon as they both wake up. My bird is fine but wants some time with me to. So bye for now. amen

#gospel god jesus bible savior christ master christian religion sermon eternity

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