#probs mental illness

[funeraltrafficcone]

Running out of ideas gonna start posting diary entries from when I was like 12.

[skitskatdacat63]

Roleswap anyone??

Tell me Fernando wouldn't make a fantastic general/emperor, and that Napoleon wouldn't make a fanastic driver/tp!!

[iraprince]

I was off my meds for a while and I think I might've sent you some weird and/or inappropriate asks 😬

I'm very sorry if I did and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable

I hope you have a good day!

i really don't think so! that i can remember anyway. if i truly don't like an ask or it makes me uncomfortable i just delete it, which means i forget about them almost immediately, so no worries.

on the other hand if you were the anon who sent me something about being wasted and eating lasagna while reading my comics out loud to your dog, that one was good

[milkbreadtoast]

🫡 (wasnt sure abt some of these but. others im v sure abt dmcbdmdj)

[peadackles]

Yeah that's not my definition of festive dawg

[freshpickle]

can someone pretty please come and hold my hand and remind me I'm not alone and I'll be okay

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

I think fans want Jason to be a good person or be becoming one. To have a character that is well meaning and compassionate but decided murder is ok and to stand against main heroes who’s beliefs and actions go against the people he cares about and wants in his life. It’s confusing for people. People want their fav characters to be happy. But Jason can’t have his family’s support and follow his moral code. He’s cares about people and Gotham, and he’s an asshole who kills. It’s messy. It’s not black and white. I don’t even think Jason cares about being a good person or in the right anymore. I think he cares about what will save the most people instead.

Oh my goodness gracious I’ve been bamboozled

Batman’s definition of Good is not synonymous with absolute good/right no matter how much dc insists it is. Torture, battery/assault, surveillance, those are all condemnable actions too. I won’t get into the exhausting and frankly dumb debate of comic book morality wrt killing because I’ve already reblogged plenty of posts from other people who explained my thoughts on the matter far better than I ever have the patience to sit down and articulate. I also just think the notion that there’s something to be done about fictional characters who kill nazis and senseless murderers is stupid. Jason’s point is that the “main” heroes’ sanitized definition of right has its unaddressed holes and flaws which ultimately result in more preventable fatalities, and that he’ll work to correct those missing spots.

He doesn’t not care about doing what’s right. What he doesn’t care about (at least during his Winick characterization) is whether Batman thinks he’s right or wrong, because he sees the flaws in Batman’s methodology (and since he has a mind of his own). Batman’s methods alone cannot address Arkham’s revolving door and the rogues that come and go through those doors who have no intention (or capability from the doylist pov) of ever changing or undergoing redemption. Jason knows that he’s minimizing the number of preventable deaths by killing his targets, typically Characters Who Simply Do Fucked Up Shit Just Because, Why The Fuck Not?

Secondly, Jason is compassionate … to a fault. That was his fatal flaw. If he wasn’t so hell-bent on saving his potential birth mother he just met from that bomb despite everything she did to him prior, he could have protected himself instead, however slim his odds of survival were. What about his relationship with his other parents? He was a caregiver during his early childhood years for Catherine, until her death. Even mature adults who are financially stable find being a caregiver to a dying parent to be extremely burdensome on their bodies and minds, but he never complained about it or resented Catherine for being unable to care for him. Despite how none of his parents have really been what he needed them to be, he doesn’t blame them for their failings, and even continues to think highly of them (Bruce included).

And post-death? Enter Lost Days. Despite being dead set on plotting his revenge on Bruce, he constantly sidelines this in order to save other victims who are helpless like he once was. His own anger, trauma, and mission don’t remain his priority. (Sound familiar? Something something my own trauma above my son’s, mission above all else, etc.). Why would he waste precious time and risk his own life to do this if he wasn’t empathetic towards these victims or didn’t care about doing the right thing. He is simultaneously horribly traumatized and full of rage, and also incapable of ignoring what’s happening to victims around him (even as he claims that it’s indeed not his priority). And in that same vein, the entire premise of his rebirth outlaws run was that he doesn’t care if the public views him as a villain, an outlaw, so long as he can protect Gotham. And anyway where is this portrayal of him not caring about being in the right anymore. Almost every modern Jason story is about him grappling with where he stands with Bruce/Batman. During the early 2000s was probably the last time he did not care (hello, tentatodd??).

Jason has very evidently been portrayed as a kind and compassionate character. He is also simultaneously a calculated killer who doesn’t hesitate to kill when he deems necessary, and does so without remorse. It’s called being a Complex Character With An Edge™ that as you said, people so often claim to love. However when he fulfills that latter part, that seems to upset people because “killing bad”, and they then try to shave off and round out all his edges and claim he shouldn’t be that angry. In that case I guess you should just stick to liking traditional one-dimensional characters instead of claiming to like Jason but then encouraging his character assassination attempt by dc. Lol.

Lastly, who said anything about the batfam making Jason happy? Just because he’s written nowadays to want acceptance from Bruce (a shoddy attempt at forcing a non-existent nuclear batfamily), doesn’t mean that it’s a sound decision or that it does his character justice. I certainly don’t empathize with the idea that Jason needs the family’s approval or acceptance to be happy. (And anyway he has enough outlets for angst and pain aside from the batfam hello explore his other sources of trauma and do more deep dives into how he thinks when he’s alone). I don’t want them to magically make up and become one big happy family. This is not disney Lol. Besides, there are plenty of stories from dc that have that type of “wholesome” (hate that word utilization) characterization for Jason (Li’l Gotham, Tiny Titans, wfa, and even new stuff like the brave and the bold mini) and that is sufficient imo. Jason fans who are invested in the character deserve accurate, nuanced characterization and well-written stories, whether they be from his robin days (e.g., Batman: The Cult) or as red hood.

[simelune]

guess who’s writing a legacy challenge 💃

[pessimisticfvck]

pov: u do eyeliner for the first time EVER for shits and giggles but it’s midnight and skincare time🤡

[betarat]

Happy Valentines! Who needs a partner when I can just ship my favourite block men together?

[anthenasikes]

i cant stop drawing her . halp

[alittlemxchievous]

✨✨ I just want to be a cute horny online trans girl. Why did my load out have to come with depression and personality disorders???? ✨✨

[aestriiea]

─★°࿔ 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚 ₀₁ .ᐟ

tw!! mentions of drug & alcohol use (fleeting), somewhat in depth description of a depressive episode, overall mental health tw, & familial issues. word count: 1477

(how's it going with the music art?)

(last i heard you’re going through it)

solstice was a strange concept to astrid; she’d never found herself to be a person capable of finding peace. there were only moments of rest and relaxation, where her mind would halt—the river quelled by a temporary blockade, the dam awaiting any number of mild inconveniences that would undoubtedly tear through both it and the moments of peace she never thought to treasure whilst in her grasp. still, when faced with her art, astrid always felt she could manufacture a semblance of that solstice: a sakura micron gripped in her hand, fresh sketchbook open before her, already marred with stains and idle graphite swirls lining the edges of the pages, ink seeping through the pages as her mind wandered—the pen still stuck fast to the paper, ready to tear her thoughts from her head and place them on display. 

there was much she wished to place before her, to clear from her mind and move along with her days unfettered by guilts and nagging doubts chewing away at her from within; yet she couldn’t.

she found herself ensnared within a labyrinth, her ideas stagnant and thoughts wandering aimlessly, veiled by some impenetrable fog. it settled over her mind, bleeding through her bones; her limbs heavy, eyes ringed with red from tears or the comedown—she could rarely ever tell the difference. the fog was cold, unforgiving, and cruel; this wasn’t her first time encountering it, but they’d never gotten along. she’d go from embodying the mentality of a messiah—just a matter of days ago she’d be a concept of sorts, untouchable by the standards laymen had been forced to subject themselves to—and now forced back into her body she was just another ant. worthless. stupid. the stress-coating voices of her friends as they retold her grand adventures to her, worry still present in their eyes only added more adjectives. burden. just utterly insignificant. 

she could feel the fog whispering the disparaging adjectives into her ear, the damp icy tendrils holding her in place. she’d been the one to drag herself out of her bed, ‘ you have to get up astrid. please ? at least talk to me. ’ the sentence repeated day in and day out. the voices and faces of the speakers melding into one dark mass. still, she obliged filled with unforeseen strength, determined to do something to lift a fraction of the weight from her chest. how stupid. to think she could outsmart it. it listened and laid in wait- draining from her the breaths she could barely even take. the pen finally falls from her hand, the state of the effectively ruined sketchbook of no concern to the woman. she rises to her feet, joints tight near unyielding but operative, shuffling back to her unmade mattress she falls onto it, the blaring fan fighting against the heavy blanket wrapped now around her head. this weight was comforting; it deterred the fog even if just for a minute or two she could breathe, she could think. with the clarity came a question: ‘ how’d it happen this time ? why can’t i remember ? ’

no, I can’t even remember

been on a year-long bender

destruction had always come easily to her. it was seemingly sourceless yet unyielding; flowing through her veins only facilitated by her unchecked rage often coming to fruition in blowout arguments with her father and messy late nights spent whirlwinding through grime-infested underground clubs fueled only by drinks too sweet to be legitimate cocktails and mysterious packets offered by fleeting acquaintances she'd swiftly forget. yet amidst the chaos, there was a peculiar allure to the destruction she wielded. she drew attention, feeling alive, irreplaceable. but the nights would end and dawn would break, sending her wandering along roads unwilling to return home. she'd have been a liar had she denied knowing she was unusual, a slave to the whims of her ever-shifting emotions; fears lacing the confidence she fought to exude. she’d mentioned it once to her parents; there’d been another bender ending with an argument, fire spat from her father’s mouth, her mother silent, looking on, disappointment coating the lines of face 

‘ what is wrong with you ? oh you don’t know ? so you think i’m stupid ?‘ yes. ‘ i’m tired of your shit you know ? enough is enough. no more excuses. fuck up like this again and we’re done with you. ‘

 a lesser person would’ve likely folded in the face of such pressure but astrid was her father’s daughter. vitriol met with icy stares as their confrontation escalated, each word dripping with venomous intent. ‘ i hate you ! i wish you were dead. ‘ she knew this had gone too far. for an active duty solider her wish could be made reality in a matter of days, but she didn’t care. he was evil. in her black-and-white world, the murky grey that most people inhabited didn’t exist, and she hoped the same would come to fruition for him. when enraged. break shit. it was the law of the land, she’d been driving a wedge between them since she’d been nine, with that final strike it shattered. she moved through her home as a ghost from then on out, her window becoming her door to the word it wasn’t as though they cared about her anyway. there’s another move. for once, her padlocked journal hears her thoughts on the matter. ‘ heard about a whirlwind that's coming 'round / it's gonna carry off all that isn't bound / when it happens, when it happens / i won't be holding on ‘

japan is different. she’s effectively emancipated, living in a boarding school with less patience for her then her former family. the freedom she’d so desperately craved at the tips of her fingers, begging her to just reach forward and grab ahold of it. something holds her back, and for a while, astrid finds the ever-elusive solstice. she still can’t regulate and gets into far more trouble than one her age should but the war raging within is at a stalemate, art turns into a more present outlet-poetry joining the ranks. she’s sure she’s cured herself, cutting away the tumor her parents had to be. but as with all good things, it ends, and her rage returns; burning from within eating away at all she’d built. hypomania feels like a blessing when it returns for her, bouncing from walls, she’s fine; no one with issues feels this way. no matter what school counselors try to feed her, she knows she’ll be alright. the envelope comes as a surprise: a check. her paperwork. a sealed letter with no return address. she thinks about burning it all, but a small unknown voice pipes up, ‘ maybe it’s time to get my shit together. ’

thought I'd get my shit together

but I blacked out all december

chile was supposed to be different, and in its ways it was, she’d stayed for the art, but the people, the places, found themselves worming their way into her heart. always careful to avoid forming attachments, she’d failed miserably. her attachments had to be all or nothing; with the way her closest friends had become enshrined in her chest and immortalized in her sketchbook, she could only fear it was the former. she’d put on a show for them, ‘eccentric astrid ‘, perhaps even for herself. even her roommate, her best friend, couldn’t know. shouldn’t have known. but as astrid does, she fucked up. ‘ why do you ruin everything ? ‘ it was back. hissing into her ear once more, she was so paper thin, unable to just be normal. it wasn’t her fault; she tried. but the cracks appear, hairline fractures growing into a massive spiderweb, shattering all she’d put together. soon she’d be abandoned, left to her own devices once more. no one to blame but herself, she’s still unwilling to do so. if only she could wait for nightfall and crawl away. 

crawl in my skin sometimes think I’m paper thin

porcelain, tap tap, see the cracks are showing

but she stays in chile, and in her bed, unchanged, unmoved. viña del mar is her home, and the check is long gone. she doesn’t want to leave. she wishes to get better, the fallen stars and burnt out birthday candles carrying her hopes away. but how? how could she rid herself of this ailment, something that’d haunted her across countries, souring relationships, a beast rearing its head only intent on destroying her. she didn’t know. astrid didn’t know a lot of things. but she was sure of one. ‘ i’m so tired of this feeling. ’

all I do is sleep in

i’m so tired of this feeling

maybe a nap would make her feel better. at least she couldn’t hear it when she closed her eyes. 

(don’t know what you’re supposed to do)

(way too old to be this confused)

[dersandmannkommt]

!! tw: ocd !!

new contamination trigger!!!!! woohoo! guess what it is?!?!

showering. yes. showering. y'know, the thing that makes you clean?...had a panic attack in the shower not even 20 minutes ago because if the water if touching me, then it's also touching potential germs and viruses and rashes, and the water will spread to non-contaminated parts of me, and spread it there, and so on. ive convinced myself that i somehow have mrsa??? i know that in less than a week, i'll be okay again, but ocd is ocd. writing these out actually help a lot; reminds me that even though my fears are valid and justified, obsessing the way i do is a bit silly.

if you have ocd, and youre still reading, heres a coping tip (this works for all ocd's btw) (currently the only thing keeping me from running to urgent care "just to be sure"). let's say theres a spot on your arm, dont tell yourself that "its not (fill in the blank), its not ____, its not ____, its nothing contagious!!" because youre only feeding into the fear. instead, imagine the worst case scenario head on. you have to. otherwise you'll just be running from the fears you obsess over for the rest of your life.

you have to imagine the worst case scenario, and then walk yourself through it all working out. like, i also have a fear of cars. ever since i was a kid, i would imagine them flipping over, me getting impaled by whatever i was holding, flying out the window, getting crushed, ect, the only reason i can even get into a car is because i imagine the worst case, and then picture everything working out. the car flipped over? im okay, a trip to the hospital and im home within a few days. or what about something like pink eye? worst case, i get it in both eyes. does that suck? yeah. is it scary? yeah. BUT people get pink eye, and then they. get. better. they wash their hands after touching their eyes, wash their pillow case, put some eye drops in, and move on with their life. i have to be able to do that. i have to be able to continue living.

so yeah, i was afraid to shower. but i did. i dont think i have mrsa. but even if i do, the sun stays warm, the earth spins, and it will heal and go away. if i have it, i will live as i did last week, but be a bit more careful, and change the bandaid out. i will have to contintue to live. just as everyone else.

if you're still reading this, and you have ocd, you'll be okay. stop getting stuck in your head, you know your brain is a little off, thats not good, but it is okay. you're okay. the earth still spins, the moon still rises. if all is not well, dont panic, because all will be well.

[todayisafridaynight]

family outing

[leastdepressedomorifan]

terusai headcanon they love dancing together in any style because theyre allowed to just have fun dancing with each other and kokomi also loves to show kusuo off as her boyfriend because shes the perfect pretty girl then theres just mr average man