#making it worthwhile

[burntblueberrywaffles]

[I.D. an edited version of the "is this a pigeon" meme. A man with glasses, captioned "my overstimulated ass" points at a butterfly, captioned "someone making an annoying noise". At the bottom of the image, a dialogue caption reads "is this a crime deserving the death sentence?" end I.D.]

[c-rowlesdraws]

Ratatouille would have been a better and potentially much more interesting story if Remy had partnered with Collette instead of Linguini. Two underdogs with talent and passion forced to maintain a dangerous ruse. Fiercely independent Collette giving up temporary control of her body to a creature who, despite the insanity of a rat wanting to cook professionally, she can relate to on a personal level and who she does want to teach. The inner conflict of wondering if Remy’s growing talents are eclipsing her own, if the praise their food is earning belongs more to him than to her. Her guilt over feeling resentment and jealousy towards this little guy who wouldn’t have a hope of realizing his talents if not for her trust and protection. Both of them unraveling the mystery of that sweet but bumbling kitchen boy with the obvious crush on Collette being Gusteau’s secret son, and working together to thwart the new evil owner’s plans to stop Linguini from claiming his birthright. The message of the movie not being this weird, almost smug “some people are born with talent, some people aren’t, and that’s how being a ~great artist~ works”, but something more like, “if you have a dream, you deserve to pursue it, and be supported and encouraged in your pursuit of it, even if other people tell you that, because of some intrinsic aspect of yourself or the circumstances you were born in (like being a human woman in the restaurant industry, or being a literal rat), you have no place pursuing this dream. Also, raw talent can only get you so far, and skill and passion existing in the right balance is key.” I’ve been thinking about this for seventeen years. I’m breaking my silence

[wordpress-blaze-157764418]

numb little bug

I want to start this off by saying—loud and proud—I am a BIG believer in mental health treatment, medication, therapy, Reiki, moon water, yelling into the void... whatever it takes to feel okay again when you’re not.

That said, this is not a post about bashing meds. This is a post about finding the right ones—and the very real hell of wandering through the wrong ones like you're in the world's most depressing pharmacy-themed escape room.

For years, I was in and out of medication. I always had this mental image of the version of me I wanted to be—happy, light, energetic, sarcastic in a charming way (not the burnt-out feral goblin flavor). And for a while, I was that person. I was active, smiling, fun, present. A good mom, a good friend, a good me.

Then life did that thing it does. You know, where it sucker punches you and then asks why you’re crying.

Between COVID, burnout, isolation, and the thousand papercuts of adulthood, I slowly became a version of myself I didn’t recognize. Introverted became full-on hermit. I hated leaving the house. Hated even thinking about it. I was trapped in a cycle: Work. Home. Despair. Insomnia. Repeat.

And because life wasn’t spicy enough, I started drinking way too much and mentally berating myself for not “getting it together.” I thought, I used to be strong. I used to be fun. I used to laugh more. So, like any exhausted, overwhelmed, emotionally constipated healthcare worker, I went to the doctor.

We ran through the Greatest Hits: insomnia, panic attacks, depression, that “everything is wrong but I’m still somehow functioning” vibe. I’d always been high-strung, perfectionistic, a bit of a control freak (Type A, but make it spicy). Eventually I was tested for ADHD and autism—and surprise! My brain’s just a limited-edition collector’s item.

I left with a pile of prescriptions and a flicker of hope that maybe this was the start of getting myself back.

At first? Magic. I was sleeping. I wasn’t panicking. I didn’t care so much if the towels weren’t folded the “correct” way (and that’s saying something). But… I still wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel like me. I felt numb. And yeah, numb can feel like “better” compared to raw despair—but eventually, it’s just another prison.

New meds, new hope, same result.

I was exhausted no matter how long I slept. I was hiding in bed from my own life. I watched my dogs—who just wanted to play with me—lay by my bed like little furry emotional support sentinels. My kids needed me, and I couldn’t reach them from whatever fog I was buried in.

It got dark. Really dark. Like “do I even want to keep doing this?” dark.

I finally sat with my little cocktail of pills and wondered: what if part of what’s wrong is right here in this pile? SSRI after SSRI, they numbed me, but never healed me.

So I did what you’re not supposed to do (don’t be like me, seriously), and I stopped everything except my sleeping meds. Withdrawal was like fighting a demon in a Walmart parking lot with flip-flops on—but eventually, I surfaced. And something weird happened.

I started to feel… better.

But of course, life tossed another curveball and my anxiety and panic attacks came storming back in like they were late for a meeting. So I went back to the doctor, hat in hand, feeling like an idiot. Another SSRI. Round four. Spoiler: it did not fix me. I was back to dragging myself out of bed, missing out on life, watching time with my kids and dogs vanish into a medicated haze.

So yeah, I finally said, enough. We tried a different class—an SNRI this time, with Wellbutrin in the mix.

And then…

I. Woke. Up.

Like really woke up.

I felt rested without a pharmacy’s worth of pills. I cleaned my kitchen at 10 p.m. because I wanted to. I started talking with my kids again, asking questions about their lives and actually being present. I didn’t cancel plans last-minute. I walked the dogs. I got up the first time my alarm rang. I didn't feel like I was existing in some doomsday fog. I started living again.

The worst part of feeling good again is realizing how long you didn’t. How much you missed. How much of yourself you lost—and how alone you felt in that hollow space.

And I’ll be honest, I still wake up wondering if it’ll slip away again. If it’ll all fade back into the haze of too-much-and-not-enough.

Because here’s the truth people don’t talk about enough: not all meds work the same for everyone. SSRIs, SNRIs, tricyclics… it’s all trial and error. And error. And another error. And then maybe a win.

You think you’re doing everything right—taking your meds, seeing your doctor, checking all the boxes—and you still feel like a ghost in your own life. And worse, no one gets it. They don’t understand why you can’t just “come out,” or “go for a walk,” or “snap out of it.” They don’t understand the bone-deep shame of missing your kid’s milestones because you were too tired or anxious to get off the couch. They don’t get that you want to do things, but your brain has other plans—usually involving doom spirals or hiding under weighted blankets.

But if you’re in that space right now, let me say this: Don’t settle for half of you.

Keep going. Try the next thing. Advocate for yourself like your life depends on it—because sometimes, it really does.

I’m still on medication. I’ll likely always be. But now, I’m on the right ones. And for the first time in years, I feel like myself again.

Not numb. Not empty. Not just surviving.

Me. Whole. Here. Living.

And that… makes all the difference.

Source: numb little bug

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time for fashion, we have a stat bonus to collect.

[for-horsemens]

JESSE EISENBERG'S ACCEPTANCE SPEECH (BAFTA 2025)

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY "A REAL PAIN"

[maze-of-my-design]

Y'know what? In a dying world so cruel and bleak, I think loving is the most powerful thing you can do. In a world where capitalism wants us to break our backs, where peace is scarce, and where some of our brains decide to say mean things to us. It's so important, actually, to be kind and share joy and take care each other, and ourselves, in spite of the way the world is. To love is one of the most rebellious acts one can do

[clareguilty]

There should be a way to borrow the motivation and confidence authors get from fanfic comments before they actually post the fic why hasn't science figured this one out yet

[wordpress-blaze-157764418]

numb little bug

I want to start this off by saying—loud and proud—I am a BIG believer in mental health treatment, medication, therapy, Reiki, moon water, yelling into the void... whatever it takes to feel okay again when you’re not.

That said, this is not a post about bashing meds. This is a post about finding the right ones—and the very real hell of wandering through the wrong ones like you're in the world's most depressing pharmacy-themed escape room.

For years, I was in and out of medication. I always had this mental image of the version of me I wanted to be—happy, light, energetic, sarcastic in a charming way (not the burnt-out feral goblin flavor). And for a while, I was that person. I was active, smiling, fun, present. A good mom, a good friend, a good me.

Then life did that thing it does. You know, where it sucker punches you and then asks why you’re crying.

Between COVID, burnout, isolation, and the thousand papercuts of adulthood, I slowly became a version of myself I didn’t recognize. Introverted became full-on hermit. I hated leaving the house. Hated even thinking about it. I was trapped in a cycle: Work. Home. Despair. Insomnia. Repeat.

And because life wasn’t spicy enough, I started drinking way too much and mentally berating myself for not “getting it together.” I thought, I used to be strong. I used to be fun. I used to laugh more. So, like any exhausted, overwhelmed, emotionally constipated healthcare worker, I went to the doctor.

We ran through the Greatest Hits: insomnia, panic attacks, depression, that “everything is wrong but I’m still somehow functioning” vibe. I’d always been high-strung, perfectionistic, a bit of a control freak (Type A, but make it spicy). Eventually I was tested for ADHD and autism—and surprise! My brain’s just a limited-edition collector’s item.

I left with a pile of prescriptions and a flicker of hope that maybe this was the start of getting myself back.

At first? Magic. I was sleeping. I wasn’t panicking. I didn’t care so much if the towels weren’t folded the “correct” way (and that’s saying something). But… I still wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel like me. I felt numb. And yeah, numb can feel like “better” compared to raw despair—but eventually, it’s just another prison.

New meds, new hope, same result.

I was exhausted no matter how long I slept. I was hiding in bed from my own life. I watched my dogs—who just wanted to play with me—lay by my bed like little furry emotional support sentinels. My kids needed me, and I couldn’t reach them from whatever fog I was buried in.

It got dark. Really dark. Like “do I even want to keep doing this?” dark.

I finally sat with my little cocktail of pills and wondered: what if part of what’s wrong is right here in this pile? SSRI after SSRI, they numbed me, but never healed me.

So I did what you’re not supposed to do (don’t be like me, seriously), and I stopped everything except my sleeping meds. Withdrawal was like fighting a demon in a Walmart parking lot with flip-flops on—but eventually, I surfaced. And something weird happened.

I started to feel… better.

But of course, life tossed another curveball and my anxiety and panic attacks came storming back in like they were late for a meeting. So I went back to the doctor, hat in hand, feeling like an idiot. Another SSRI. Round four. Spoiler: it did not fix me. I was back to dragging myself out of bed, missing out on life, watching time with my kids and dogs vanish into a medicated haze.

So yeah, I finally said, enough. We tried a different class—an SNRI this time, with Wellbutrin in the mix.

And then…

I. Woke. Up.

Like really woke up.

I felt rested without a pharmacy’s worth of pills. I cleaned my kitchen at 10 p.m. because I wanted to. I started talking with my kids again, asking questions about their lives and actually being present. I didn’t cancel plans last-minute. I walked the dogs. I got up the first time my alarm rang. I didn't feel like I was existing in some doomsday fog. I started living again.

The worst part of feeling good again is realizing how long you didn’t. How much you missed. How much of yourself you lost—and how alone you felt in that hollow space.

And I’ll be honest, I still wake up wondering if it’ll slip away again. If it’ll all fade back into the haze of too-much-and-not-enough.

Because here’s the truth people don’t talk about enough: not all meds work the same for everyone. SSRIs, SNRIs, tricyclics… it’s all trial and error. And error. And another error. And then maybe a win.

You think you’re doing everything right—taking your meds, seeing your doctor, checking all the boxes—and you still feel like a ghost in your own life. And worse, no one gets it. They don’t understand why you can’t just “come out,” or “go for a walk,” or “snap out of it.” They don’t understand the bone-deep shame of missing your kid’s milestones because you were too tired or anxious to get off the couch. They don’t get that you want to do things, but your brain has other plans—usually involving doom spirals or hiding under weighted blankets.

But if you’re in that space right now, let me say this: Don’t settle for half of you.

Keep going. Try the next thing. Advocate for yourself like your life depends on it—because sometimes, it really does.

I’m still on medication. I’ll likely always be. But now, I’m on the right ones. And for the first time in years, I feel like myself again.

Not numb. Not empty. Not just surviving.

Me. Whole. Here. Living.

And that… makes all the difference.

Source: numb little bug

[archive-professional-jaywalker]

Mildly annoyed at the trend of people... Forgetting that many of the strong experiences one can feel about alterhumanity are historically very very common in otherkin and therianthrope? This is not... Beef toward anyone, in fact this popped up bc I checked in on a non anglophone alt-h server, but god. Like speed round. As a note this is gonna be more therian linguo heavy just bc I'm very tired, a therianthrope, and mostly was in therian spaces so it's what I default to but a lot of those are applicable to otherkin n fictionkin.

"can phantom shifts feel like physically shapeshifting"

-> yeah this was an experience talked about not uncommonly on forums. A lot of therianthropes expressed the feeling of "a pelt under your skin begging to breach out" or feeling limbs push out against their skin as the phantom shift took place. Sure a lot of people also feel very mild phantom shifts. Both exist. But this experience is in fact a phantom shift experience. We called ourselves "weres" for a reason. Seems more common in people who distinctly see themselves as werecreatures, but this is not abnormal for a phantom shift, although preferably you should do a doctor check if you feel pain (also an experience ppl talked about, but it's not usually thought of as "normal" just bc. Well that's kinda bad and may hide an injury or whatever so it's better to check mundane reasons first. But painful shifts seem to exist you should just be very very certain nothing else could be causing it).

"I can't turn off being an animal / I can't stop my instincts at inconvenient times / I don't feel suited for human society"

-> this one always surprises me when it's presented as bizarre for otherkin/therians. That was like... A baseline therian experience. Yeah no a lot of us can't either. Usually the difference is that this feeling is at an all time high when in situations where you are constantly pressured to "human" correctly, socialize and have no breaks to wild it out, which corresponds a lot to The Entire Duration Of School and is therefore a more common complaint amongst teenagers than adults. It gets a bit easier as an adult sometimes if you're lucky to have opportunities that let you manage your life around instincts and such, although sometimes, well, you gotta play by societies rules to survive n it stays hard. Also a commonly reported experience. You do learn! But some people are better at hiding instincts than other, some instincts are easier to hide than other, etc.

"I have shifts I cannot control under very intense emotions"

-> "Berserker shift" is a controversial term due to a variety of reasons that span the usual "that's too weird, don't talk about that", the fact you're still responsible for what you do while shifty, or just bc it sounds kinda... Edgy, from a first glance, but it IS a term from our history and a lot of people do report the experience of going fully animalistic if freaked out enough. Sometimes alongside extremely strong phantom shifts as described in the first point! I've heard of people who had complete verbal shutdown and could neither speak nor understand speech, could not walk on two legs, reacted with growling spitting and biting, just the whole thing. I think this experience is a bit harder to find mostly because it's... Very vulnerable, usually. It tends to require less than pleasant conditions, and tends to be very vilified, so not talked about much, but very much something that is recorded.

Transhumanism, species transition and body mods overall

-> I'm not gonna talk much about this one bc I've said a lot in other posts, but there's a reason trans species and therianthropy are super intertwined and it's... Because a lot of therianthropes did historically attempt to transition or at least modify their body and surroundings to their best capacities. The idea that therianthropes, as a rule, mostly do not attempt to modify their bodies seems to me very incorrect.

"I feel a strong, almost supernatural drive toward nature / I feel in my bones I am nonhuman / I believed I could physically shift during most of my life under the right conditions"

-> This one is going to be a bit hard for me. As a result of having psychosis, I have kind of a mental block over thinking too much about it in regards to myself. It's also I think A Major way ppl seem to be confirming physical nonhumanity, so like, you do you, I'm not Telling you anything about yourself. However I do want to note that these feelings aren't particularly rare amongst nonhumans overall. A reason why so many therianthropes got in toxic groups that promised being able to go back to one's true form was... Because a lot of us are deeply convinced in some way or another that if things align juuuuust right maybe just maybe we'll have our bodies again. It's not hard to. Understand why an entire community defined by being in the wrong body would have this trait. A lot of us felt a strong drive toward nature, a feeling of being displaced amongst humans, a lot of us attempted to physically shift.

"I wish I could have my species's offsprings / I feel dysphoria over my sexual functions / I have sexual drives that align with being weird fetishes in a human society"

-> this one is more getting erased due to puritanism I think but yeah no for a lot of nonhumans it. Does not stop magically under the belt. And it's not a problem unless any theriform animal is involved. Yes even if it's kinda nasty to think about. I will however note for the first point "no theriform animal is involved" kinda still goes, please do not adopt animals, especially exotic animals, under the impression that you can parent them as a theriform animal could? It CAN be possible to raise a theriform animal in a way that would satisfy parental instincts if you're trained for it, but we're not special. We got raised by humans, we don't magically understand our species better than people trained for it. Very imprinted animals commonly make poor parents.

"I remember my past life / I communicate with my animal self spiritually / other spiritual experiences"

-> this one is such a surprise to me to see so uncommon now. Spirituality used to be a cornerstone of otherkin and therian spaces and it's kinda wild to me to see it's so rare now. So yeah no that's very much a thing. I don't think I've seen someone soul search for their "true name" in ages, when that was everywhere on old spirituality inclined forums. I can't speak much on this bc I am not a spiritual therianthrope + point about psychosis made before but I've seen parallel lives, I've seen past lives, I've seen future lives, I've seen misplaced souls, I've seen having a chat with your theriotype as a representation of your soul... Awakening seemed to have a meaning of the... Spiritual event of your soul kinda ripping to reveal your inner self for a while, a singular event in which you start remembering. Was very common on an old french forum over here. Not sure if that was as common in English ones. A lot of people's nonhumanity was not as based on shifts and instincts as on uncovering that hidden self through spiritual means, memories, and such.

Weird Shit Happens Around Me ("I can't digest things a human should digest in accordance to my species, ppl have noted my nonhuman traits as if they could see my invisible limbs, animals react weird to me, etc")

-> noooooted in the past but I think these have always been subject to doubt to be fair. Like you can find records of stuff like that quite easily, but also its very hard to prove in any way, shape or form. So that's a reason it's not in the basics of nonhumanity. But yeah historically a lot of otherkin/therianthropes have claimed Weird Shit Happens. Not rly my case so can't speak on it.

And I think I've mentioned what I had in my brain but this is just to remind ppl like... The therianthrope who wears a mask for fun and is only mildly inconvenienced by their animality is not really a representation of the community historically. Weve always been pretty fucking intense and pretty fucking weird. Chances are, if you are experiencing a very weird thing, it's not particularly a disqualifier of therianthropy or otherkin historically. Not that people might not give you shit about it! Pretty much all the points here, while not uncommon reported experiences, ARE in fact also things I've seen ppl be antagonistic about in the community. Which to be clear is stupid. But yeah it doesn't mean you're wrong, it means they don't realize the extent of our experiences.

[bookishable]

it's always better to have loved.

philip pullman, the amber spyglass / guillermo del toro's pinocchio (2022) / fleabag (2016-2019) / andrew garfield / art by @catadromously / anne carson, euripides / markus zusak, the book thief / shannon barry / little women (2019) / the good place (2016-2020) / fyodor dostoevsky, crime and punishment / his dark materials (2019-2022) / @starpeace

[g0nta-g0kuhara]

Danganronpa billboards I spotted in Akihabara today!!

[louwhose]

Longing for what could have been...

Happy anniversary, Twilight Princess!

[demilypyro]

I don’t know if you been asked this before, but if you had a stand, what would its song reference and ability be?

I kinda like the idea that "Wild Child" would function similarly to when Diego from part 7 uses Scary Monsters to partially become a dinosaur. It could make me go "feral" and give me big teeth and claws and I just fucking rip you apart. No major abilities there other than strength and speed but it's like. fun. and kinda similar to a devil trigger or dragon install. and it uses my sona's "demon" theming

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

That building barely has walls, man. Like, half of Skyhold probably saw you. And the other half heard you.

[anghraine]

I've seen some posts lately assuming that the Rohirrim are basically descendants of Hadorians who didn't go to Númenor. It's an understandable assumption because that is an in-story belief about the Rohirrim. However, Tolkien repeatedly suggests this is essentially a Gondorian myth.

They're not lying—by the WOTR, they genuinely believe it's correct—but it isn't true. In "Of Dwarves and Men," Tolkien wrote (c. 1969) that Gondorians "attributed to them [the Rohirrim] actual direct descent from the Folk of Hador in the First Age." Furthermore, he said:

This was a general belief in Gondor at that time [the War of the Ring], and was held to explain (to the comfort of Númenórean pride) the surrender of so large a part of the Kingdom to the people of Eorl.

In a footnote, he adds that the Rohirrim had no ancestral traditions or cultural memories of the wars of Beleriand at all. They don't really have any reason to care about this version of their history, though they accept it as it contributes to the strength of their alliance with Gondor.

Then there's a marginal note about the footnote (because this is Tolkien) that says this belief in an ancient Edainic kinship with Men of Middle-earth could have actually been true of some of the Men the Númenóreans found when they came back to Middle-earth, but not of the Rohirrim specifically. The Rohirrim may be similar to the Hadorians in appearance and temper, but they are at most related to the larger group of First Age Men that all the Edain had originated from and not any of the Three Houses in particular.

This "Edainic" concept of the Rohirrim's history is also thrown into doubt in Lord of the Rings itself, right before their first appearance, when Aragorn explains to Legolas and Gimli:

'they are true-hearted, generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs, after the manner of the children of Men before the Dark Years ... They have long been the friends of the people of Gondor, though they are not akin to them. It was in forgotten years long ago that Eorl the Young brought them out of the North, and their kinship is rather with the Bardings of Dale, and with the Beornings of the Wood...'

You know who are actually kin to the Edain, though?

Also it must be said that 'unfriendliness' to Númenóreans and their allies was not always due to the Shadow, but in later days to the actions of the Númenóreans themselves. Thus many of the forest-dwellers of the shorelands south of the Ered Luin, especially in Minhiriath, were as later historians recognized the kin of the Folk of Haleth; but they became bitter enemies of the Númenóreans because of their ruthless treatment and their devastation of the forests, and this hatred remained unappeased in their descendants, causing them to join with any enemies of Númenor. In the Third Age their survivors were the people known in Rohan as the Dunlendings.

[faunandfloraas]

Really love this thing where I post a not even particularly strong opinion only to get an ask acting like im stopping anyone from feeling differently. I didn't actually know I had all that power! kinda thought this was my blog and I was just chatting on my own personal post or something 🤔

[joongdunking]

I mean Pond tried to kiss you already.. 😆

[wordpress-blaze-157764418]

numb little bug

I want to start this off by saying—loud and proud—I am a BIG believer in mental health treatment, medication, therapy, Reiki, moon water, yelling into the void... whatever it takes to feel okay again when you’re not.

That said, this is not a post about bashing meds. This is a post about finding the right ones—and the very real hell of wandering through the wrong ones like you're in the world's most depressing pharmacy-themed escape room.

For years, I was in and out of medication. I always had this mental image of the version of me I wanted to be—happy, light, energetic, sarcastic in a charming way (not the burnt-out feral goblin flavor). And for a while, I was that person. I was active, smiling, fun, present. A good mom, a good friend, a good me.

Then life did that thing it does. You know, where it sucker punches you and then asks why you’re crying.

Between COVID, burnout, isolation, and the thousand papercuts of adulthood, I slowly became a version of myself I didn’t recognize. Introverted became full-on hermit. I hated leaving the house. Hated even thinking about it. I was trapped in a cycle: Work. Home. Despair. Insomnia. Repeat.

And because life wasn’t spicy enough, I started drinking way too much and mentally berating myself for not “getting it together.” I thought, I used to be strong. I used to be fun. I used to laugh more. So, like any exhausted, overwhelmed, emotionally constipated healthcare worker, I went to the doctor.

We ran through the Greatest Hits: insomnia, panic attacks, depression, that “everything is wrong but I’m still somehow functioning” vibe. I’d always been high-strung, perfectionistic, a bit of a control freak (Type A, but make it spicy). Eventually I was tested for ADHD and autism—and surprise! My brain’s just a limited-edition collector’s item.

I left with a pile of prescriptions and a flicker of hope that maybe this was the start of getting myself back.

At first? Magic. I was sleeping. I wasn’t panicking. I didn’t care so much if the towels weren’t folded the “correct” way (and that’s saying something). But… I still wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel like me. I felt numb. And yeah, numb can feel like “better” compared to raw despair—but eventually, it’s just another prison.

New meds, new hope, same result.

I was exhausted no matter how long I slept. I was hiding in bed from my own life. I watched my dogs—who just wanted to play with me—lay by my bed like little furry emotional support sentinels. My kids needed me, and I couldn’t reach them from whatever fog I was buried in.

It got dark. Really dark. Like “do I even want to keep doing this?” dark.

I finally sat with my little cocktail of pills and wondered: what if part of what’s wrong is right here in this pile? SSRI after SSRI, they numbed me, but never healed me.

So I did what you’re not supposed to do (don’t be like me, seriously), and I stopped everything except my sleeping meds. Withdrawal was like fighting a demon in a Walmart parking lot with flip-flops on—but eventually, I surfaced. And something weird happened.

I started to feel… better.

But of course, life tossed another curveball and my anxiety and panic attacks came storming back in like they were late for a meeting. So I went back to the doctor, hat in hand, feeling like an idiot. Another SSRI. Round four. Spoiler: it did not fix me. I was back to dragging myself out of bed, missing out on life, watching time with my kids and dogs vanish into a medicated haze.

So yeah, I finally said, enough. We tried a different class—an SNRI this time, with Wellbutrin in the mix.

And then…

I. Woke. Up.

Like really woke up.

I felt rested without a pharmacy’s worth of pills. I cleaned my kitchen at 10 p.m. because I wanted to. I started talking with my kids again, asking questions about their lives and actually being present. I didn’t cancel plans last-minute. I walked the dogs. I got up the first time my alarm rang. I didn't feel like I was existing in some doomsday fog. I started living again.

The worst part of feeling good again is realizing how long you didn’t. How much you missed. How much of yourself you lost—and how alone you felt in that hollow space.

And I’ll be honest, I still wake up wondering if it’ll slip away again. If it’ll all fade back into the haze of too-much-and-not-enough.

Because here’s the truth people don’t talk about enough: not all meds work the same for everyone. SSRIs, SNRIs, tricyclics… it’s all trial and error. And error. And another error. And then maybe a win.

You think you’re doing everything right—taking your meds, seeing your doctor, checking all the boxes—and you still feel like a ghost in your own life. And worse, no one gets it. They don’t understand why you can’t just “come out,” or “go for a walk,” or “snap out of it.” They don’t understand the bone-deep shame of missing your kid’s milestones because you were too tired or anxious to get off the couch. They don’t get that you want to do things, but your brain has other plans—usually involving doom spirals or hiding under weighted blankets.

But if you’re in that space right now, let me say this: Don’t settle for half of you.

Keep going. Try the next thing. Advocate for yourself like your life depends on it—because sometimes, it really does.

I’m still on medication. I’ll likely always be. But now, I’m on the right ones. And for the first time in years, I feel like myself again.

Not numb. Not empty. Not just surviving.

Me. Whole. Here. Living.

And that… makes all the difference.

Source: numb little bug

[tiktowafel]

in celebration of Deltarune Tomorrow, have a Kurouxlsiro