#plus you don't always know why someone's visiting your inbox

[carolmunson]

you keep me without chains | em.

this is a re-post of a ramble fic of me processing some stuff i've been through and am struggling with in my own healing. if you're familiar with my 'bad at feelings' series, it's in a similar vein of writing except eddie is incredibly soft and sweet to reader who is going through her own stuff. eddie sucks here, i don't think it's a correct characterization of him but it's just me using him as a placeholder.

originally, i didn't want to put this story in the tags because it's sad and explores the mindset of someone in a non-physically abusive relationship. however, since it is DV awareness month, i wanted to make sure to express that if there are people reading this who are struggling that they aren't alone and there are people there that understand and support them. and also that if there are younger readers reading (still eighteen plus!) who aren't sure if they are in an abusive relationship they are maybe able to get some context via fiction. my inbox is always open. DV Hotline US: 800-799-7233 DV Hotline UK: 0808 2000 247 tw: 18+ mindors dni, references to emotional and psychological abuse, minor threats of physical violence.

he left this morning with a kiss on your cheek and your lips, a nuzzle against your temple when you gave him two thermos's, one with hot black coffee and the other with the beef stew you made last night. hot hot hot. the way he likes it.

you made bread, so crisp on the outside, pillowy soft on the inside. he groaned when he popped it in his mouth at the dinner table, soaked in broth and butter. you warmed some in the oven when you put his lunch together, wrapping it in foil to trap the heat -- maybe it'll keep until his lunch hour. he might eat it all before his lunch hour. he never eats breakfast really.

you clean the counters and do the laundry while he's away. no kids to take care of, not yet at least. you mend his spare coveralls, treating the grease and oils stains, resewing his name tag stiched in red thread. you shine your mary janes and stilettos, shine his doc's just to be nice. you fix his patches on his vest from the last show he went to. you clean the stubble out of the sink in the bathroom.

he has the car so there's nowhere to go.

you shower, you do your hair, put make up on, go through the motions while he's not home. he hates to wait for you to do it but you hate looking tired when you're out and about. better to do it when he's busy doing something else.

next door neighbor is heading to the library, knocks on your door to see if you wanna come with. she just wants you to get out of the house for once, stop playing wife to a man who hasn't married you yet.

you hesistate, wanting to be home in time to make dinner, but you can't imagine the library taking too long so you go. she looks at you with a strained pity that you can't stand. he doesn't hit you, so why does she even look at you like that? he'd never do that. he just got back from all that shit with a few screws loose. he never knows what he means when he says it.

he's always sorry. y'know? he's always sorry. sorta.

doesn't hit you but you know how the day will go by the way he says good morning. by the way he wakes up with you -- or without you. know how the night will go by the way he breathes when he comes in through the storm door. by the cadence of his steps on the metal stairs. by the way the van pulls in.

sometimes things break and that's fine cause he just replaces them. he knows he shouldn't have thrown it, he knows he shouldn't have tossed it, he knows. he knows. that's why he gets it the very next day. new plates, new house phone, new coffee pot, new records, new casettes, new picture frames, new flower pots. he doesn't throw them at you. he's only punched the wall twice. he slams his head against it all the time. cause he knows he's not good. he knows. you go to the library and check out some books, laugh at your neighbors jokes, tell her about your weekend in the city visiting his friends. he held your hand in front of everyone and pulled you onto his lap, he joked with you and you laughed the whole time. you went to see a band play that you'd never heard of and he got you a t-shirt and the next morning you all went out for hot chocolate and breakfast and he kissed the whipped cream off your lips and ran his thumb over your engagement ring over and over. he never stopped calling you baby. so charming. so perfect. you don't know what you did to earn it, but you've been chasing it ever since. modeling that week's behavior into this one. tip toes through the tulips of the trailer. jagged. shell like.

you get home from the library and lunch, she even stops with you when you mention you have to go to the grocery store. out of eggs for meatloaf, needed some canned string beans for one of the sides.

it's the best dinner you've made in a while and the mashed potatoes are double whipped and extra buttery because he can never get enough of them. you know that it's little things like that. you love the smile he gets when you tell him you do some things just for him, so blushy and boyish.

'that's so nice, baby,' he gushes, 'thinkin'a me.' and god he gushes. cries when he can't contain it. saw you in a new dress and wiped his eyes. new hair cut sent him into orbit.

so pretty.

you're so beautiful, i don't deserve you.

you're gorgeous i -- i can't even like, think.

presents on your birthday. handwritten notes with tear drops washing over the ink in a wave, blurry letters blue and black, black and blue. he'd never hit you. too in love. too bursting with affection when he looks at you. too nervous when you look at him when he takes you out. when he plays a show. when he sees you get dressed into your pjs at night. you're so good to me. especially when you hold him through those nightmares. when you calm his anxiety, those deep breath panic attacks. the ones that the meds miss when he misses them. you're patient through the mood swings and he always says thank you. he always says it -- you're the only one that understands him. that sees him. sometimes you don't get it. that's what he says at least. you don't get it and that makes him upset. but you're not sure what there is to get. and you try not to get sad about it -- 'bout anything really 'cause you're not the one who got a few screws knocked loose. nothing bad like that happened to you. i mean, sure, maybe some bad things happened to you but not like the way bad things happened to him, right? you wouldn't get it. but he gets you, he tells you all the time. he gets you so well. symbiotic. the only person who knows you, the only person whose been in your skin -- right? at least that's what he says, and he's said it so long you can't help but believe it.

your eyes fall on the newly vased roses he bought you two days ago from the florist near the shop. bright red petals opened and fat, contrasting against the pea green of the walls. you smile at them while you pour gravy over each plate, extra on his mashed potatoes. he kissed you this morning, he was almost late leaving the house -- couldn't stop kissing you. couldn't stop looking at you with those brown eyes, sparkling with a mischief saved for tonight.

the van rolls in as you set the table, still in your outfit from earlier, the books you checked out on the counter need the flowers. the storm door opens off kilter, your throat constricts. you know by the way he doesn't say anything when he comes in the house. work boots kicked off with loud thumps. his jacket swishing with a thwap when he throws it with a grunt to the ground. something bad must've happened at work. 'hey honey,' you say quietly, 'got dinner for you.'

you know better, watching him turn the corner into the dinette, looking down at you from where he stands and you sit. you hold a mug full of orange juice on the table, fingers tapping on it silently while he holds his gaze. 'you goin' somewhere, dressed up like that?' he asks, there's nothing behind those sparkling eyes now. dulled out to hollow brown.

'no,' you shrug, you know how to coreograph your responses now -- still stepping on his toes sometimes, 'went to the library with gina, she just wanted a friend for some errands.'

'you know gina doesn't like me,' he nods, walking to the fridge to grab a beer, 'she doesn't like us together. she hates me.'

'she doesn't hate you, ed,' you assure, voice still calm, mediating, 'no one hates you.'

'your folks hate me, your sister hates me,' he nods, curls bouncing while he takes a swig, like it's normal conversation. so steady, 'you think they like that i got you ever here in this trailer park?'

'my parents don't ha--'

'they do.' and that's final. you don't argue. and he's right. your parents don't like him and that's why you don't call anymore, and they stopped calling you too. so did all your friends from back home.

'so what'd gina tell you about me today, then?' he presses.

'nothin'," you shrug, 'we didn't talk about you.'

'of course not,' he laughs but it's one that sends a chill under your skin, a laugh to not seem so mean when you know he's about to be, 'she was prob'ly tryna set you up with someone. that's why you got all dressed up right? anything to look good for other guys out there.'

's'cuse me?' 'you heard me,' he nods, voice still steady like nothing's wrong, 'that's why you wore all those tight jeans in the city last weekend, right? those dresses? tryna show off to harrington and the guys. don't act like i didn't notice.'

'what are you talking about? why didn't you say anything when we were there?' you heart rate quickens, you try not to get mad.

'i shouldn't have to. but that's how you are, y'know?' he shrugs, another swig, another chuckle, 'makin' dinner and everything, you must've been out there makin' eyes at everyone if you made my favorite.'

'i wasn't doing that,' you urge, voice raising, tears threatening to pool, 'i just made it cause you like it, cause it makes you happy.'

'so you just do anything to make sure i don't get mad? do you even know why you do stuff like this for me?' he asks.

'what are you even saying?' your voice raises again, a mild yell. you're frazzled now, heart racing, head already scrambled.

'don't yell, what're you -- fuck babe, see! this is why gina doesn't like me,' he grits through his teeth, 'cause you're always making a scene over nothing. you're over fuckin' reacting.'

'i --' your voice catches in your throat, quieting, 'i'm sorry? i'm sorry.'

'd'you even know what you're sorry for?' he nearly sneers, 'always sayin' your sorry over nothing. y'know somethin' babe, sorry loses it's meaning when you're sayin' it all the time. it doesn't mean anything from you anymore.'

you nod, losing your resilience, too confused about how quickly you got here -- and he's right. you're always apologizing but half the time you don't even know what you're apologizing for. just that you feel like you need to be sorry. like you need to say sorry.

he holds that stare on you like he's waiting for you to speak again. daring you to say something. you stare down at the wood grain of the table, blank and empty -- numb, even. the mug between your hands is warm from how hard you were gripping the ceramic to keep you grounded.

's'what i thought,' he nods, voice a low rumble while he makes his way to the bathroom.

he'd never hit you.

the slam of the bathroom door makes you flinch.

sometimes you wish he would. maybe it would hurt less than this. at least that physical pain fades, right? at least it wasn't the same dull ache on a bruise that won't go away. are you hemmorhaging? do you just not feel it yet? will it be too late when you do?

he slides into bed with you at night after spending the rest of the evening out back with the other couples and families that were smoking ribs, having a little fire out in the brush. he smells like cigarettes. you could hear his grizzly laugh through the windows while you laid in the dark of your bedroom. too tired after the way he spoke to you to do anything else. everyone's favorite mechanic loverboy in the park.

you feel his fingertips on your shoulder, one of them gliding down the slope of your arm. he presses his lips to your shoulder blade, your eyes shut -- blearing with tears from that dull ache.

'dinner was really good, baby,' he says softly, a whisper.

you try to get out a thank you but it becomes a choke, a sniffle, a gasp. then a cry and then a harder one, remembering how he rolled his eyes at you two weeks ago when you cried after he threw out the love letter you wrote him for your four year anniversary because 'you didn't mean any of that shit anyway'.

he sits up, shushing you softly while his hand smooths over your bicep.

'what is it, sweetheart?' he asks, 'are you mad at me?'

you shake your head no. looking up at him, lying flat on your back. he looks so handsome in the moonlight, concerned eyes and tilted head peering down at you. 'n-no, ed. m'not mad at y-you,' you push out, head still scrambled. you feel guilty about last weekend, about going out today. what if guys really were looking? you know you weren't looking at them but what if they got the wrong idea? gina doesn't know what she's talking about, she's always hated ed. ever since they were kids.

'you just havin' one of your moments?' he asks, soothing voice, 'yeah?' one of your moments. always just one of your moments. couldn't be him, you're just -- maybe you're over thinking it.

'yeah,' you nod, 'm'sorry i went out with gina, baby i -- she didn't say anything bad about you.'

'it's okay,' he smiles, 'm'not mad at you. never mad at my girl.'

'no?' you ask, swallowing hard -- your heart leaps. he's not mad. maybe he just had a rough day.

'no doll, m'never mad at you. you always think i'm mad at you,' he says, thumb brushing away the tears that threatened to roll down the sides of your face to your hair line, 'you need me to kiss it better?'

another sob rips through you, nodding, because you do. you need it. and you sort of hate that you need it. you hate yourself for needing it. but he kisses you and it does feel better. he knows how to kiss you just right, he always has. he knows just where to put his hands. just how to pull away and brush his nose against yours. how to kiss your forehead between affirmations. smooth and understanding, like a movie scene. his kisses are his apologies. his sorry. you accept it every time.

because he doesn't hit you and he never would. in the morning, when the bathroom door slams so hard the walls vibrate, you flinch.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

🌸hiii i want it to be known that you have become The Comfort Blog Ever. ive been seeing a lot of not so nice stuff in the SAMS community lately and your stuff is part of what makes continuing to participate worth it, so thank you for that :)

Why thank you and you're welcome! I try to be an impartial safe zone, since I know there's always someone who likes a certain character and I try to be fair to all of them.

[twotangledsisters]

Update.

First, I just want to thank everybody, I didn't want to re-blog an answer each individual post because; I don't wanna spam people?

So very quickly:

Thanks to @frozenwolftemplar cause your always so gentle with your words and the (like that festival with the sculptures that go 🔥🔥🔥) got me laughing. Also, I'd love to see more fics in different styles? I love when writers experiment! (same for any artists, I get so excited when an artist I follow tried out a new medium!)

Thanks to @nyleeu-e especially cause, knowing you also went through like, going into tumblr not logged in (might of misunderstood that) and found out the same thing brings my social anxiety down a lot. Cause... I just start overanalising soooo fast and end up thinking the worst, but I love your blog, there's nothing problematic going on? So I guess that kinda reinforces what a lot of people have said about it being a tts thing.

And @batata-doce-com-farofa of course thanks for the king words and yeah, the tags, a lot of people have suggested it's along those lines.

I'm not sure if in the past I've been very lucky to be in chills fandoms. I've been extremely ignorant to drama that was happening. Or times have just changed and in the time I was in uni unable to really be in a fandom interacting the way I am now, I was caught off guard by this change...

A friend also reminded me on the phone about how I use a 'mute' feature, so I don't block people unless it's absolutely necessary, I just have a feature which stops posts showing on my dashboard and stuff. And I do this mainly because, I may not like a certain ship or dynamic but that doesn't mean I won't enjoy other content from people? Also, I don't know if that person is reading a fic of mine on ao3 and there going to one day try to reach out on tumblr and find out their blocked and a have panic attack...

And saying that, I realize the fact my mind goes over this whole thought process as to why not to block someone, probably say a lot about my own socialy anxiety.

I think as well this hit me hard because I did a post a while back being like 'I have this paranoid feeling I'm invading the tts fandom space', and this felt like tumblr screaming that paranoia was correct...

That and there were a few people who's fanfics I interact with on ao3 who had me blocked... So... That's fun.

Plus, I've actually had a few hateful anon asks recently that I've been ignoring and kinda hoping/assuming it's all one single person... But there's always that bit in your brain that says 'what if it's a bunch of people!' But I have had A LOT more positive anonymous asks in my inbox (plus I value shy people and I think people who don't have a tumblr account can only ask anonymously so I wanna leave them on for fic readers who aren't on tumblr?)

Rambling, sorry.

I reached out today to my doctor and I'm going to get an 'emergency' meeting to get my anxiety meds checked cause... Something's not working. I've also been pulled aside by another doctor over weight loss the other day so, maybe that's something to do with my anxiety? (It'd be kinda nice if it was, like, two stones one bird?)

I should probably fully step away from the internet but, cause I work from home and my friends live 2 hours away... Tumblr, fandom, it all kinda becomes my social interaction between friend visits? Like, I'm an introvert but, it's nice to not be completely alone. I'ts hard to say if the internet does more or less for mental health some days...

I'll definitely be a bit less active on here while I reign in my anxiety.

None of this will affect Ao3, I am always like 40 days ahead of schedule!

I'll probably just log into Tumblr when I'm going to post something (like if I finish an animation, probably won't be doing all the works in progress stuff...) but if anybody wants to chat just pm me and I'll sell you my discord, that's on my phone so that notified me even when I'm not logging into tumblr!

I also have some anon asks in my inbox to do with animation suggestions, I've seen them! Except for one they're all great ideas I'd love to get around to! It just takes time I'm afraid, but I promise they've been received.

So yeah...

Huge thanks for all the kind words.

I think I'm going to go take a nap.

So I just made a huge mistake because... I was browsing tumblr from my ipad and didn't realize I wasn't on my usual account, and I was on the tangled the series tab and there was soooooo much content!

I was thrilled and then I realized...

It's not that there was a lot of content today.

It's that half the fandom seems to have me blocked.

And I don't know which fandoms rules I've broken to earn my exile...

But yeah.

I'm feeling.... Honestly, extremely, extremely unwell right now.

Like... I don't know what I'm going to do.

My instinct is delete tumblr, NEVER EVER EVER comment on a fic ever again because that's the only negative interactions I've had... And just.... Disappear off of tumblr (not ao3, I don't think my fanfics are the drama and I'm too deep into that rabbit hole)....

But obviously I'm writing this literally as I am made aware....

I'm just feeling extremely shitty right now.

And as though all my social anxiety is correct and most people hate me and.... Yeah.

I think I'm going to just go make a tea and watch some cartoons.

I wish I knew what I did...

I feel like I mostly just post animations and jokes and... I try to interact with the community but maybe I shouldn't have tried to interact.

[zillychu]

I apologize for going anon on you, seeing your inbox note. I'm aware I probably won't be answered. Earlier on Twitter you talked about popularity and social media. I have a personal situation and I wanted to know your thoughts, even if it might be harsh. I know notes =/= worth. I like what I make. I was also bent on improving. Yet it hurts when I barely get recognition when I've been in a fandom for years. I don't feel like I exist. -

- Plus I’ve become a little jealous over someone with same interests yet they’re popular. I try to avoid them, but I see their stuff everywhere. Their existence reminds me of my own ‘failure’. It’s not that I want to be wildly popular. I wish more people cared. I do feel as though communities aren’t as supportive as they could be. Thank you for taking the time to read this.           

I really don’t make a habit of answering anons, but if you have something that’s sincerely upsetting… well, it’s very hard for me to ignore that. We’ve all got weaknesses and sometimes it’s really super hard to talk to anyone about them.

No worries anon, I think this is something a lot of people struggle with. I don’t claim to know the answer, but I can certainly give you my two cents.

For anyone who doesn’t follow my Twitter (it’s a mess, I don’t blame you), this is the thread they’re referring to:

In addendum, it’s really easy to say things like recognition don’t matter. Numbers don’t matter. Twitter doesn’t lend well to talking at length about sensitive subjects, so I didn’t really delve into that part of it.

If I sounded like I don’t have my own problems with envy, don’t be fooled! I think even at our best, we all experience envy of others. No one is perfect, and we all crave what we lack, even if it’s not from a place of malice or ill-will.

It’s a really rough struggle, I’m not gonna lie. Things like natural advantages/disadvantages can take their toll (natural talent is a thing, friends), things like dumb luck can be downright infuriating. And a lot of times, that’s what it boils down to - because everyone works hard when they’re passionate about something. Sometimes, it’s about being in the right place at the right time, being born into an optimal environment, having the right resources, being in the right fandom, stumbling into the right group of friends, etc. Hell, the professional world is more often about networking than anything else, and that’s kind of a version of that.

Long story short, there are too many things out of your control. Which to me, is yet another reason why you shouldn’t beat yourself up over lack of popularity. Not to say that hard work and self-improvement should be thrown out the window, that’s not the point I’m trying to make; I’m just trying to say that there’s so much more that needs to be taken into consideration before you beat yourself up over low followers/likes/etc. (Not that you should ever beat yourself up for that)

So I suppose my advice is this: go out and make friends. Tailor your experience so that you no longer care about those numbers, or at least care less. Baby steps. Get more excited about sharing your work with close friends than posting on your blog and watching notes come in. Show your work to people who really matter to you - more often than not, a few kind words from them will mean more than 100,000 likes from some random strangers. If you think a community isn’t very welcoming or accepting… then look elsewhere! Other social media sites, other fandoms if you have to. No two places are the same.

Get more excited about self-discovery. Get more excited about self-improvement, learning something new. Your world is about you, your thoughts, your experiences. Not the opinion’s of random people on the internet. If you love something, if you enjoy something, they don’t matter.

It’s often a very slow process, learning to let go of envy and jealousy. I’ve only loosened my grip on it, it’s still there. I still feel petty and gross whenever I see an artist half my age and twice as talented, and I wonder, what sort of luck did they have? What silver spoon were they born with? Must be nice, I think bitterly, and then I catch myself and have a nasty taste in my mouth until I can let it go. Remind myself they’re a person too, and never wished to be better/more popular/successful to put others down.

Nobody is perfect. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, and at the end of the day, only you can make the art you make. No one else can, not even so-called master artists. They don’t have your mind, your eyes, your touch. Only you can bring your art into the world.

Life is fleeting. Enjoy yours as best you can, be happy. There’s more to life than comparing yourself to others. More to life than art, even. There’s tasty food to be eaten, new places to visit, new friends to make.

It’s little things like these that help me loosen my grip on envy’s hand.

And on a lighter note… do you even want to be popular on this hellsite. ‘Cause let me tell you a thing, back when I had, I think I peaked at around 80k (maybe 100k) followers on my old blog? The amount of harassment I got was ridiculous. Turning anon off at that point didn’t even work, I’d get just about everything under the sun on par for internet culture. Popularity means visibility, and holy shit that isn’t always a good thing. I’m 10000000% happier in my tinier fandoms, and I hope I stay here.