#negative self talk

[rosydraws]

Actively working to correct my negative self talk. It’s not hurting anyone but me.

[zee-rambles]

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Hard work.

First I Prev I Next

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Guys! Don’t give up on Rise! Watch it! Tell people about it! Make videos/social media posts about it. It will only die, if we give up on it! Even after Mutant Mayhem, don’t let the ship sink!

Save Rise of the TMNT

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

Someone recently messaged me about having an inner voice that bullies her and preys on her most sensitive insecurities. Maybe this sounds familiar to some of you. Because healing an eating disorder requires work on the underlying mental health conditions, I figured I might copy-paste part of what I said to her, in the hopes that others may find it helpful. I tweaked it a little so that it applies to a broader range of people.

A lot of people try very hard to keep from hearing or acknowledging thoughts that make them uncomfortable, the kind that they know are "bad." To my knowledge of healing, trying to ignore a persistent thought does not make it go away, just reinforces the idea that it is not acceptable to struggle with these thoughts. May I suggest that instead of trying to pretend the inner voice isn't there, why don't you gently challenge their thoughts? I find that when my own inner voice is acting like a bully, it's because she's scared I'm displaying the things that she remembers being bullied for herself. She hopes that scolding me into submission will make me better, because that is what she she learned from having it done to her. But this is not a healthy approach to self-growth, so I would consider talking to your inner voice and asking her why they think a cruel approach would be productive. Is it because they experienced things that were painful to them, way back when? What more positive approaches might they try? If a dear friend was struggling with the things they were making fun of, what would they say? Can you practice self-love by treating yourself as you would a dear friend? Can you help your inner voice learn to do this for you? When they are bullying you, call their attention to it. Have a conversation with them. Work with them. And give them the empathy they need for all they have been through.

[mactiir]

The other day my girlfriend and I got to talking about our strategies for self talk especially re: hobbies and sports.

She was talking about how she has read study after study about the effects of positive talk. if you have a group engaging in negative self talk, one engaging in neutral or solutions-focused ralk, and one engaging in flatly positive self talk, and set them to complete a challenging task -- say, a climbing problem -- the positive talkers will come out leaps and bounds ahead. As a result she has adapted the Bob the Builder theme song into her rock climbing anthem, and she softly sings it to herself on difficult or frightening problems.

Meanwhile, I've been getting into fantasy lit again. As you might know, fantasy heroes occasionally encounter awful mind-warping psychic baddies, who always have some brain attack in their arsenal that tells the hero to give up! you're worthless! you could never win anyway! with the motivation behind the psychic attack being that actually, the heroes are a HUGE threat to the bad guys and will probably thwart all their plans, and that if they could shrug off the mind assault they would absolutely body the bad guy in a fair, non-psychic fight. So whenever I start to beat myself up I internally pretend I'm a Force for Good or like, an anime protagonist so I grit my teeth and go "No... you will not Corrupt me, Demon! I am destined to become the one to defeat you!!" and imagine the unkind words burning away and shrieking like, AIEEEE NOOO.

Anyway, all this to say that the end result of us both having Succeeded at Therapy is that when we run into a really difficult climbing problem she ends up breathy-singing Bob the Builder while I sit broodily on the mat with my brow furrowed doing my best impression of an anime protagonist with beads of sweat dripping down his temples from the psychic exhaustion. Yes, it works. No, we haven't made many friends at the climbing gym.

[my-self-reflections]

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

I’m Done Running part 1

It was supposed to be easy.

Fox’s eyes glance to Cody’s, feeling as though it was miles between them when it was just a couple feet.

He was just across the room.

His Ori’vod is just across the room…and he can’t help Fox.

Fox’s breath hitches when the heat of the lightsaber gets closer to his throat. He doesn’t dare swallow the saliva that’s pooling in his mouth, afraid that even the slightest gulp will cause him to touch the weapon held against him.

His heart speeds up when the other Jedi in the room power down their sabers in contrast to his batch who still have their blasters aimed at the newly turned Sith.

Obi-Wan raises his hand up, speaking in a soft tone. “Let him go, Anakin.”

The pressure on his heart hurts, the squeezing phantom pain and Fox grits his teeth as he feels the hate pour from Anakin to him through the unconsented bond Palps forced on them both.

A tear drips from his eye, trailing down his cheek and why didn’t his batch see? Why couldn’t they see him in pain and in the dark and why couldn’t they see the signs of Palps sooner and that he was being manipulated - Fox did everything he was asked to. He followed orders and look where that got him.

Anakin pulls him closer, the blue blade dangerously close to Fox’s face.

Cody aims straight at Anakin and Fox knows if the word was given, Anakin would be dead in less than a second.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pain and grief and disbelief on his face. “He isn’t a threat. Palpatine is dead.”

The mastermind behind the war - the one who created Fox for no reason other than to use him for his new Empire - the reason Fox could barely remember his time during his job due to blackouts - Anakin’s mentor - the one whom Anakin trusted since he was a youngling, who was supposed to guide him and help him and and be his friend and not betray him!!

He lies dead on the floor, his desk hiding his decapitated head from sight. He stood no chance against the Chosen One on a mission.

Fox was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and as Commander, it is his job to protect the Chancellor but that was the worst thing he could have done and now they’re bonded.

Whatever Palps did before he died got Anakin and him intertwined and Fox never knew what it was like to feel so much and it’s intense and overwhelming and completely differs from his locked up emotions.

Is it healthy? Probably not but he can barely talk about healthy emotives.

“He’s not your enemy, General,” Rex says, his hand steady despite his clear unsureness of the situation.

Fox wonders if Anakin would listen, if he can even hear past the anger that he feels so intensely.

Anakin lowers his head, his hair brushing against Fox’ neck and he whispers so softly it almost takes away the cruel statement. “You don’t deserve to live.”

Fox knows the truth behind that statement. How often has he told himself that? From the nights he filled out recon and decom forms to the missions he partook in that costed innocent lives to the orders he obeyed? There wasn’t a second after the first year into the war that he didn’t believe that to be true.

It was a constant mantra in head and to hear it spoken out loud steals his breath.

Because he doesn’t want to die.

He doesn’t deserve to live but he doesn’t want to die and how selfish is that?

But Fox has never been one to go down without a fight and if Anakin is pulling the trigger, Fox is damned if he goes out alone.

“Neither do you,” and Fox takes a step back, forcing Anakin to follow. The saber burns on his skin and Cody’s hand twitch ever so slightly and Anakin’s confusion paves a way for Fox to do the unexpected.

The window was broken from the fight, and maybe it was arrogance that had Anakin standing near the edge. Either that or ignorance but Fox won’t give Anakin the chance to analyze that.

He puts all his body weight against the Sith and lets his feet step back and tip them over the edge.

It’s risky and stupid and terrifying and Fox has no time to second guess his decision before they both go free falling.

[howifeltabouthim]

That he had hunted me so quietly, that I had allowed my neck to get caught in the teeth of something stupid.

Lisa Taddeo, from Animal

[healing-better-faster-stronger]

Be softer with you.

You are a breathing thing,

A memory to someone,

A home to a life.

Nayyirah Waheed

[redfirefox-55]

Might delete this later idk

[positivepostoffice]

[livingforthewhump]

Could you write a prompt with a whumpee with a leg injury (maybe a stabbing or something) who has to completely act like nothing’s wrong because they’re walking back home with their friend who is already suspicious and they can’t let them know (for some reason)? Sorry that this is uber-specific.

No 4. Dead on Your Feet

Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

The night air hit Whumpee’s face in a rush. Their eyes flickered close, soaking in the warmth for a single moment before they had to keep moving. Whumpee followed Caretaker into the street, sprinting to a nearby alley that they could only barely see through the tears blurring their vision.

Their leg was a cacophony of pain. Blood had seeped down a good half of their pant leg, blessedly invisible against the black fabric in the dark night. Each step felt like it sent shards of glass into their bone, as though the knife was still embedded there. It wasn’t, which created more problems, as now they were bleeding out a lot faster.

“Whumpee, hurry up,” Caretaker hissed. Whumpee winced at how strained their voice was, even in a whisper. Maybe now that they’d finally gotten the job done, Caretaker would get some rest.

“Sorry,” they breathed back, fighting against a limp as they reached their friend.

Caretaker glanced back at Whumper’s base where it loomed behind them, jaw twitching in the dim light the street lamps provided. “If no alarm has been raised by now, we probably have until that guard you knocked out wakes back up. Are you okay walking back home?”

Whumpee furrowed their eyebrows. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” They took another step and briefly found themselves unable to breathe. Lovely.

“Just making sure,” Caretaker said slowly, eyes just a little too perceptive. Whumpee stayed on the inside as they moved into the street, hugging the buildings and the shadows that clung to them. Their ragged breaths seemed to give life to the walls towering on either side, making them tilt and sway, the ground swelling.

Their shoulder hit the brick wall hard.

Caretaker turned towards them, face shadowed in the hazy streetlight. “Whumpee?”

Whumpee screwed their eyes shut, using the wall to push themself back upright. “Yeah. I’m good. Just tired, I guess.”

They didn’t get a response from that, only Caretaker watching them, a silhouette in the dark that Whumpee would give up everything for. Their leg was a dead weight beneath them now, heavy like lead and filled with glass that bit deep into their skin, their muscle, their bones, with each hesitant movement. Whumpee locked their knee when putting weight on it (wouldn’t want to be caught limping, would they?).

The world was still spinning. Whumpee leaned their head back and looked at the sky for a moment to try and disguise it, to hide the tears building in their eyes as sure as the headache embedded in their skull. “The sky is beautiful tonight,” they whispered. Not that they could see it.

Caretaker let out a small breath. “Yes, it is.” Their tone was softer now, and something gentle stirred in Whumpee’s chest.

“We should get home before Whumper wakes up,” Whumpee continued in that same soft tone. “You need sleep.”

“Is that honestly what you’re worried about right now?” Caretaker snorted, but there was no malice behind it. “You look exhausted yourself. But we deserve to celebrate tonight.”

Whumpee’s tears receded and they dropped their head back down. Their throat burned with the effort when they spoke. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Caretaker deserved to have a night of celebration more than anyone else. Whumpee wouldn’t take that away from them for the world. They walked on in silence, Whumpee’s hands burrowed deep in their pockets. Their fists were clenched against the pain, but beyond that, their extremities were getting very, very cold. They were almost surprised there wasn’t ice crusting along their fingertips, despite the warm night. Best to just keep moving.

Their vision was shifting in and out of focus, flashes of black coming in when they were certain they hadn’t blinked. They were shaking from the effort of keeping their leg moving, now. Their muscles were growing stiff around the weeping wound. Still, they kept their back straight. They kept their knees locked. Their breaths grew more and more labored, burning their lungs, but their breaths were there.

Then their leg buckled underneath them, and none of it mattered.

The world swung back into place slowly above them, circling and circling like water going down the drain, long after Whumpee had gone still. A muffled ringing filled their head. A noise was lingering beneath that, thick and soft like whoever it was was yelling through a mattress.

Why did it all hurt so much?

A face appeared right above them, blocking out the golden streetlights. Whumpee stared blankly. They were terrible at reading lips, and for some reason Caretaker was just mouthing words. Or—no, they were speaking. Whumpee just couldn’t hear them.

After a moment, Caretaker seemed to realize this. Their face was creased deeply in worry, and Whumpee felt a spear of guilt thrust into them at the realization that that was their fault.

“‘m sorry,” they forced out. Caretaker froze. Their expression changed, tightening. When they spoke again, it was very deliberate, so that Whumpee could make out what they were saying.

“Can you hear me?” The lips said. Whumpee shook their head, closing their eyes as the world dipped around them. Caretaker waited until they were looking again. “Where are you hurt?”

Whumpee hesitated, tears rising to their eyes again. They didn’t want Caretaker to have to deal with it.

Something like anger swelled in Caretaker’s eyes. They grabbed onto Whumpee’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet. The intensity of Caretaker’s expression cowed them, and one of their shaking hands reached down towards their leg, then slumped down in defeat.

Instantly Caretaker was down beside it, ripping away the soaked pant leg. Whumpee was pretty sure they screamed as it came away from the wound. They didn’t have time to think about it, though, because they promptly passed out.

When Whumpee woke up, their hands were warm, and their clothes were dry. It took them a moment to process anything else.

Slowly, they opened their eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. They didn’t remember going to bed.

“You’re awake,” a strained voice said. Whumpee sat up, wincing at a pain in their leg. Caretaker was sitting at their bedside, face like stone and eyes red and bloodshot.

Another sleepless night on their part. Whumpee could have drowned in their guilt. Their hands felt out the lump in the covers where their bandages were.

“I passed out,” they remembered. Their voice was weak.

Caretaker took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“I don’t—” they started, then deflated under Caretaker’s hard eyes. “I thought I could make it.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m sorry.”

“…I don’t understand.” Caretaker crossed their arms over their chest. They hadn’t accepted Whumpee’s apology. Whumpee waited for them to continue. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Whumpee’s eyes dropped. “I. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m worried now, Whumpee.” Their voice was sharp as a dagger. Something dark flared across Caretaker’s face, receding just as quickly. Whumpee knew it was still there. They just nodded, morose.

A thin silence stretched between them. Whumpee’s head started pounding, and they leaned back against their pillows.

“I went for a walk this morning,” Caretaker said suddenly. “When you were still asleep. I was tired of sitting here.” They swallowed, brows lowering over their eyes. “You left a trail of blood last night, did you know that? I could follow your footprints all the way back to Whumper’s. And last night I didn’t even notice.” Their voice broke off suddenly, and for the first time Whumpee noticed tears in their eyes. “Why didn’t I notice?”

Whumpee hugged themself. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s not my fault that you decided to just ignore your stab wound. It is my fault that I noticed something was wrong and I didn’t do anything until you were bleeding out on the ground.” Caretaker’s voice was raised now, and they cut themself off with a grimace. Their voice was soft the next time they spoke, but still shimmering with anger. “Were you going to tell me?”

“Caretaker…”

“No. Answer the question, Whumpee.”

“…no.”

All the air seemed to leave Caretaker at once. They slumped over, elbows resting on their knees and face in their hands. Whumpee had never seen them brought so low.

“Why?” they asked again, and it sounded almost begging.

Whumpee didn’t have an answer. They just sat there battling back their tears, because Caretaker deserved to feel upset without Whumpee stealing the moment again.

When Caretaker lifted their head up, their eyes were wet. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I am going to go get you some food and medicine. When I get back, I am going to be calm, and you are going to have some damn good answers for me.”

They stood up while Whumpee cringed and nodded. As they got to the door, Caretaker looked back.

“And Whumpee?”

“Mm.”

“Never let this happen again.”

—

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[sanctuary-for-the-mad]

Confession of a writer:

As much as I hate my work normally, I double down and hate on it much harder than I actually feel about it, in order to make me feel less excited about it. I'm not supposed to be excited and proud of my work, that's the fan's job. My duty is to make it. To make it for my fans. I'm not allowed to be hyped about it, because that's not my role.

A necessary action to stay humble. It may hurt to keep constantly talking badly about what I made, but it must be done. Killing my excitement for it, as difficult and hurtful as it may be, is vital to stay humble and keep working and facing the challenges.

Remember, my duty is to make, not to enjoy. That's the deal. I make things, and my readers enjoy them. This is how it is. I'm not allowed to be a fan of my own work, then what are the normal fans for?

[aro-culture-is]

Lonely aro culture is pretending you have a crush so you finally have something interesting to say to friends

(some advice in tags)

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

Jonathan: I am worthless

Steve: You should try being more confident, Jon

Jonathan, confidently: I am worthless!!

Steve: Nooooo

And then they have a long cuddle session and Steve sings to Jonathan to calm him down

[mactiir]

So u know how in fantasy books sometimes the enemy will have Psychic Powers™️ and they will use them to whisper dark thoughts into the hero's mind, trying to convince them to give up fighting?? And before they can win, the hero must realize that the ugly thoughts are actually an attack from big bad, who is trying to get them to submit to hopelessness because the only way they can win is by convincing the hero not to fight? And then once they've realized it's a trick, that the words they're hearing are not true and their despair is a not based on truth, they totally stomp the great evil? Anyway, my new strategy for dealing with negative self talk is being like: "This is actually a psychic attack from an evil entity who is trying to use hopelessness to prevent me from becoming a great hero and crushing them later on. I must throw off this attack and forge my destiny" and it's. Weirdly effective?

[serenityquest]