#the broken pot

[cithaerons]

Rosanna Warren, The Broken Pot

[huariqueje]

Plant Pot - Aarne Jämsä , 2005.

Finnish , b. 1956 -

Watercolour, marker pen and guache

Broken Promises Serie

[ghosttotheparty]

platonic soulmates eddie and nancy getting high and steve being Responsible; ty for the help @spectrum-spectre and @username-i-guess <3

---

The door swings open a few seconds after Steve knocks hard. (Probably a little too hard given the time of night, but someone down the road from Eddie’s trailer is playing music that Steve would be able to sing along to if he knew the words, so he didn’t worry about it.)

Nancy’s hair is frizzy, and her cheeks are flushed, her eyes glassy and red. A smile is teasing at her lips. Steve’s stomach twists as he looks at her. She’s wearing a Slayer t-shirt, wrinkled and too big for her, falling to her knees and hiding whether or not she’s wearing shorts underneath.

“What the hell’s going on?” Steve asks sharply. It’s cold out, and it’s late, and the last thing he was expecting while staring at the ceiling was to hear Nancy’s voice over the phone, sluggishly telling him to come over to Eddie’s as soon as possible. (And if Nancy is telling him something so pressing, of course he’s going to listen.) But as she grins up at him, flushed and sleepy-looking, he wonders why the fuck she’d invite him over for this. Which is something he really never would have seen coming. Nancy and Eddie.

“We’re high,” she says, and he blinks.

“You’re…”

“He’s higher than me,” she says, and Steve’s never heard her voice like this, mumbly and slow and almost childish. Her lashes flutter as she blinks, gesturing with a lazy hand. “But ‘m also high. But you’re not.”

Confusion tangles with frustration in Steve’s chest, and she can see it on his face as he looks her up and down again, his eyes skimming deftly over her bare legs and Eddie’s fucking t-shirt and her tangled, frizzy hair.

“We didn’t fuck, Steve,” she says too loudly, looking at him like he’s being ridiculous, and he splutters out, “You can’t— You can’t blame me for thinking that!”

“Oh my god,” she says, exasperated, and he huffs.

“Why am I here? It’s like three in the morning.”

“Look,” she says, looking at the ground, holding a hand up. “I made brownies. We had one each, and then we shared two blunts, and then Eddie got hungry and forgot there’s pot in the brownies. And now he’s too high.”

“You made… pot brownies,” he says slowly, his mind reeling. Her expression changes, shifting into a terrifying combination of annoyance and frustration.

“Focus, Steve,” she says loudly. “He’s too high. I’m too high to help him.”

“Why’d you call me?”

“You’re, like— the mom!” she says, tossing a hand in his direction, gesturing aimlessly.

“Wha— Why?”

“You were a lifeguard.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“What, would rather I call Mike?” she asks, throwing a hand again.

“Why are you shit-talking your little brother?”

“Everyone else does.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t, he’s your brother.”

“Steve,” she almost shouts. “You’re not focussing.”

“Oh my god,” he says, exasperated, trying to push past her. “Where is he?”

“Sofa,” she says, pushing the door open further and moving aside so he can come in. “I can’t move him, he’s too heavy.”

Steve steps inside. The smell of weed hits him hard, and he holds back another Oh my god.

Eddie is laying on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling blankly, his eyes glazed over and unblinking. One of his arms is up against the back of the sofa and the other is hanging down, his fingertips brushing the ground.

“Eds,” Steve says, crouching by the sofa and nudging his shoulder. “You in there?”

Eddie stares at the ceiling, silent for a moment before, “…Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“…Where are you?” Eddie asks lightly, his eyes searching the ceiling like he’s going to find Steve on it.

“Turn your head,” Steve says, begrudgingly amused as Eddie turns his head slowly to face the back of the sofa. “Other way, Eddie.”

Eddie’s bloodshot eyes widen when they find Steve, and Steve suppresses a smile as Eddie breathes, “Wow.”

“How you feel?” Steve asks softly.

“Goo-o-o-od,” Eddie slurs, grinning deliriously. “Nancy’s a baker.”

“Is she,” Steve says dryly.

“Mm. Nancy baker. Good ass baker. I’m a baker. I’m baked. Steve, I’m baked.” He giggles, his whole face lighting up, eyes squeezing shut as his cheeks squish up, the lines in his skin deepening beautifully.

Nancy is giggling behind Steve, and without turning to look at her, he calls, “Nancy, don’t you touch those brownies.”

There’s a moment of silence, except for Eddie’s giggling, and then she huffs and there’s a clatter of a knife on the counter.

“Mom,” she calls back, and he rolls his eyes.

“Steve,” Eddie stage-whispers. “Do you wanna bake?”

Steve blinks at him.

“No, Eddie,” he says calmly. “No, I don’t.”

“But it’s so fun-n-n…”

“I know, Eds, but someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

“‘S nice of you, Stevie.”

“Eddie!” Nancy calls from the kitchen, and Eddie beams at the sound of her voice, his eyes closing as he lifts his chin and says her name back. “Steve thought we fucked.”

“Nancy,” Steve snaps, looking at her with wide eyes as Eddie gasps dramatically.

“I would never,” Eddie says loudly. “Nancy Baker is a beautiful woman, but she is not my type, ‘m afraid.”

“Nancy Baker,” Steve repeats under his breath, turning back to Eddie as Nancy laughs in a way Steve’s never heard her laugh, open and loud and childish.

“Why?” Nancy says, her voice teasing. “Why am I not your type, Eds?”

“You be quiet,” he says to the ceiling, closing his eyes, his face red.

“Tell him!”

“No.”

“You can tell him!”

“I’m not gonna,” Eddie sings loudly.

Steve huffs.

“Nance, leave him alone,” he says. “Eddie, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Eddie,” Nancy sings back, ignoring Steve. “Tell him!”

“I am not telling Steve Harrington I’m gay, Nancy.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and Nancy claps a hand over her mouth.

“You said it,” she says gleefully after a moment as Steve stares at Eddie, his stomach fluttering, because Eddie’s gay. Because he didn’t want to tell Steve.

“I didn’t tell Steve, I told you.”

“Steve is in the room, you dumbass.”

A few seconds pass before Eddie’s eyes widen at the ceiling, and his face flushes darker, and he looks at Steve, his eyes shining with a fear that Steve fucking hates.

“It’s okay,” Steve says quickly even though he’s still reeling. “It’s cool, Eddie, I don’t— I don’t have a problem with it.”

Eddie blinks at him.

“It’s okay,” Steve says again, nodding. “‘S fine.”

“I told you,” Nancy says from the kitchen.

Eddie rolls onto his side, hiding his face with his hair, groaning, and Steve takes a moment, lowering his head to the sofa cushion and exhaling shakily. He can feel Nancy watching him, but he can’t even bring himself to care.

“Okay,” he says after taking another deep breath. “Bedtime, Eds, come on.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Come on, Wayne’s gonna be here in a few hours,” Steve says. “He doesn’t wanna sleep in your bed.”

“…You know Wayne’s schedule?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “Of course.”

Eddie is quiet, still hiding from Steve.

“Eddie, get up."

“Can’t move,” Eddie mumbles into the sofa.

Steve sighs, rubbing his cheek as Nancy snickers.

“Come on,” he says, standing and wincing as his knees pop, tugging at Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie just groans loudly, and Steve sighs again. “I’m gonna help you, Eds, c’mere.”

He leans down and picks up Eddie’s arm, pulling him up so he’s standing, and he’s heavy on Steve as Steve wraps an arm around his waist. He’s soft.

Steve stumbles down the hall with Eddie, whose head falls forward as he groans, his hair hiding his face, and Steve calls to Nancy to not touch the brownies. He smiles when he hears her blow a raspberry at him.

“Oh no,” Eddie says when they sway together, and Steve stops before the doorway of his bedroom.

“You feel sick?”

Eddie stares wide-eyed at the floor, unblinking, unmoving.

“Eds?”

Eddie hums quietly, standing still before his head turns in Steve’s direction slowly, his eyes following behind after a moment.

“You gonna be sick?” Steve asks when he doesn’t say anything.

“…No.”

“You okay?”

Eddie exhales, his glassy eyes skimming over Steve’s face.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

“Bed,” Steve says. “Come on.”

“‘M coming…” Eddie mumbles, and then he giggles. “Coming.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, his cheeks flushing.

He gets Eddie into his room and into bed, carefully lowering him so he doesn’t flop, and Eddie writhes, pushing his face into his pillow. The room is dark, lit up by the hall, and Steve flicks on a lamp.

“Where’s Nancy?” Eddie says, his voice muffled by his pillow. “Nancy. ‘S a pretty name. Nancy Wheeler Baker. Nancy. N’ncy…”

Steve gets up to call Nancy’s name down the hall, and she appears after a moment, after flicking off the lights in the living room.

She climbs onto the bed next to Eddie as Steve watches. Eddie wraps an arm around Nancy’s waist, hugging her and grinning as she looks down at him, poking his cheek.

“Edward…”

“Nancelot,” he slurs, and Steve scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty lady.”

“You are so high,” she says, emphasising every word with a poke to the tip of Eddie’s nose.

“You make good brownies,” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut as she keeps poking his nose. “Chef Nancelot.”

“It was a box mix,” Nancy giggles, leaning over his head as he snorts.

“But I could taste your lo-o-o-ove…”

She snorts, snickering and running her hand over his face.

“Are you guys set?” Steve asks, still watching from where he’s leaning against the doorframe. “Am I free?”

“Don’t go,” Nancy says, whining, reaching out and making grabby hands at him as Eddie groans. “Sleepover.”

He stares for a moment, hesitating, and then Eddie says his name, dragging it out dramatically, desperately.

“Stevie-e-e-e…”

Steve sighs, glancing at the dark window, and he gives in, kicking his shoes off as Nancy cheers, clapping happily. He climbs onto Eddie’s bed on his other side.

They’re all too close, Eddie laying partially on top of Nancy’s legs, and Steve leans against the wall next to Nancy, their shoulders almost touching.

Eddie rolls over, against Steve’s legs, and Steve looks at him. His eyes are closed, his lips curved into a happy smile, and Steve can’t help but reach down to the top of his head that’s at Steve’s waist. His hair is messy, tangled, and Steve pushes his fingers into it. Eddie hums.

“Didn’t know you guys were so close,” he says softly to Nancy.

“‘S my best friend,” she says lightly. “You know… your whole thing with Robin?”

“Platonic with a capital P,” Steve says softly.

“Mhmm. ‘S Eddie and me.”

“Soulmates?” Steve says softly. Nancy nods, smiling. “Never would’ve thought.”

She giggles quietly, scrunching her nose.

“Valedictorian and super-super senior.”

“Mhmm.”

“Eddie Munson,” she sings softly, reaching to play with the end of one of Eddie’s curls. Eddie is still smiling, head tilted up into Steve’s hand, and Steve can’t tell if he’s asleep or not.

“Eddie Munson,” Steve repeats like he’s agreeing.

“Never would’ve thought,” Nancy says quietly, almost pointedly, giving Steve a look.

“Thought what?”

Her gaze lowers to his hand in Eddie’s hair, eyebrows raised, and she reaches out to poke the back of it. (Nancy pokes a lot when she’s high, apparently.)

“I’m just…” Steve trails off, unable to find an excuse, and his cheeks flush.

“‘S cool,” she says lightly.

They’re quiet.

Steve listens to Eddie breathe, and as he scratches at his scalp gently, he thinks he doesn’t mind that Nancy called him as much as he did when he arrived.

“Steve,” Nancy says quietly after a while, after shifting and slumping against the wall. She’s resting her arm across Eddie’s chest.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers.

“…You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?”

He blinks, his eyes looking across the room at the mess of posters that are covering Eddie’s wall.

“Oh,” he says.

“You, like…” She sighs heavily. “You’re not… the same. But you keep all that guilt inside you. And you… act like you’re this whole new person, this… this nice guy. But you’re still a bully.”

His chest clenches, and he looks at her, his eyes burning.

“Because you’re so mean to yourself,” she adds after a moment. “I think… there’s a little part of King Steve still inside you, you… beat the shit out of him every day.” She’s mumbling, talking so softly that it’s almost like she’s talking to herself.

“But if you’re— if you’re gonna be Steve Steve, our Steve, the— the Steve that’s best friends with a dorky lesbian and a fourteen-year-old nerd, you gotta… forgive yourself. Let King Steve go.”

Steve blinks tears back, swallowing thickly, exhaling shakily, because she’s right. King Steve lives inside him, like he’s hiding in his ribcage, and Steve won’t leave him alone. He torments him, bullies him. Even though King Steve is just a kid, just a scared, lonely kid without a clue about what or who he is. Even though Steve knows King Steve was pretending the whole time. Lying. Wearing a false crown.

“…You know about Robin?” he asks weakly, his voice wobbly, and Nancy smiles a little bit.

“I know well.”

He looks over at her, and she looks up at him, seeing the confusion in his watery eyes.

“Like recognizes like,” she says softly.

Oh.

His lips twitch into a smile, and she grins.

“Who would’ve thought?” Steve murmurs.

Nancy smiles so brightly that her eyes squeeze shut, and she leans so her head is resting on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve tilts his head to rest on hers.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t love you like I was supposed to,” Nancy says after a while, her voice soft.

“You weren’t supposed to love me, Nance,” Steve says, closing his eyes. “You can’t… You can’t make yourself love someone just because you think you have to. It’s okay.”

“I wanted to,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” he says again.

She’s quiet again, and he thinks she’s fallen asleep until she speaks again.

“I do love you,” she says quietly. “Just… platonically.”

“With a capital P,” Steve murmurs, and he can practically sense her smile.

“Yeah.”

“‘S cool, Nance,” he says softly. “I love you too.”

He drifts off as she falls asleep, feeling her head become heavier on his shoulder, and at some point they both shift in discomfort on the wall, sitting up straight and groaning quietly. They glance at each other in the dark lighting of the room, and Nancy shifts to lie down on the bed next to Eddie, wrapping her arm around him and sighing. Steve follows, moving slowly so Eddie can shift with him, still laying on top of him on the small mattress.

Steve falls asleep.

He wakes up to Eddie climbing on top of him, and he winces, cracking his eyes open to squint in the bright sunlight that’s shining through the room. Eddie’s legs wrap around his hips and he buries his face in Steve’s neck as he sighs, and Nancy shifts closer to Steve in her sleep.

Steve sets a hand across Eddie’s back, holding him, and Nancy finds Steve’s other arm before he can wrap it around Eddie, hugging it to herself and nuzzling into his shoulder. Steve smiles.

Eddie rubs his face into Steve’s neck again, taking a deep breath, and then he lifts his head, his body tightening and trembling for a moment.

He’s squinting when he looks down at Steve, brows furrowed adorably. He blinks blankly at Steve, whose smile widens.

“You still high?” Steve asks softly.

Eddie stares for a moment before his lips curve into a smile, and he shrugs.

“‘M on top of Steve Harrington in my bed,” he says, his voice rough. “Might be.”

Steve laughs lightly, closing his eyes. Eddie shifts to touch his face, poking his cheek and tracing the bridge of his nose and outlining his lips.

“Feels real,” Eddie murmurs.

“‘M real, Eds.”

“‘M gonna go back to sleep,” Eddie mumbles, sticking his face back in Steve’s neck. His breath is warm.

“Okay.”

[ljesak]

[moths-wc-aus]

Main Arcs in 3 Sentences or Less

Arc 1: The Prophecies Begin - House cat joins a cult to avoid getting his balls cut off. He then proceeds to expose a terrorist. The fandom generally agrees this is the best arc.

Arc 2: The New Prophecy - We spend several books traveling. The fandom generally agrees that this is the worst arc.

Arc 3: Power of Three - Three cats have superpowers. Wait, only two have superpowers? Damn, guess we need to find that third guy.

Arc 4: Omen of the Stars - PoT 2: Electric Boogaloo. We fight demons from literal hell. Why did they split this into two seperate six-book arcs, I don't understand.

Arc 5: Dawn of the Clans - The reader time-travels to see the Clans be created.

Arc 6: A Vision of Shadows - Basically six books in a vaguely arc-shaped lump. Also SkyClan shows up, but you haven't read anything besides the main arcs, so you don't know who the hell they are.

Arc 7: The Broken Code - Incel possesses "beloved" cult leader to make a woman love him. Also heaven is gone so that's a problem.

Arc 8: Starless Clan - Murder mystery horror that keeps getting interrupted by a slice of life romance.

[stuartsspot]

our love, its broken 🏝️🎶🪸

[microsoftoutlook]

get freaking grabbed dude

[multicolour-ink]

Okay, imagine the who broke it meme but with the Mario and Luigi’s from their respective worlds.

1993 Mario: [to all the Mario's and Luigi's gathered around a coffee maker] So... who broke it? I'm not mad. I just want to know.

Game Luigi: I did. I broke-

[Game Mario goes and holds his Luigi, glaring at everyone else]

1993 Mario: No, no you didn't. Luigi?

1993 Luigi: Don't look at me. Look at this guy. [looks over at Supershow Luigi]

Supershow Luigi: What? I didn't break it.

1993 Luigi: Huh. That's weird. How'd you even know it was broken

Supershow Luigi: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

1993 Luigi: Suspicious.

Paper Luigi: If it matters - probably not - but that Mario was the last one to use it. [points to Movie Mario]

Movie Mario: Liar! I don't even drink that garbage!

Paper Luigi: Oh, really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Movie Mario: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles; everyone knows that!

Movie Luigi: Ok, ok! Let’s not fight! I broke it, let me pay for it!

1993 Mario: No! Who broke it??!

Supershow Luigi: You know....Paper Mario has been awfully quiet.

Paper Mario: ?!

Supershow Luigi: Yeah! Really.

Paper Mario: [angry paper noises]

[everyone starts arguing at one another except 1993 Mario]

1993 Mario: [thinking] I broke it. It burned my hand, so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

- - -

meanwhile Supershow Mario is just sitting in the corner eating pasta

[snobgoblin]

I just thought of something funny.

Imagine 2-D or Murdoc on the Maury Show trying to deny the kid but it's so obvious the kid is theirs.

Murdoc trying to say the baby isn't his because it's a slightly different shade of green then him:

HTBENNSNFN imagine they try to deny it and the kids look like this. Murdocs like "uhm it has blue hair. I don't have blue hair" and shit

some poor lady had both of them.....

[aquaticaeronaut]

A little scribble of 2D Gorillaz as a silly troll, if you care.

[inkinthetypewriter]

Lu Guang walking in the room while dinner’s being cooked: Cheng Xiaoshi, are you cooking frittata in a saucepan??? What is this, prison??

[auntie-doom]

Folks, my POTS is broken.

This is easily one of the most bizarre things in my life with this lemon of a body. I've been experiencing this predictable heart rate jump when I stand up, without fail, for over three decades... until the heart rate increase started failing mid-leap.

I thought I just wasn't recovering from a cold in March, went to the doc in late April; my lungs were clear, no high WBC, wasn't a secondary infection. But the symptoms were apparently consistent with heart or lung damage. Doc sent me to the ER. The ER chest CT was clear, but while I was hooked to the ER machines I noticed my oxygen saturation kept doing this slow dropping down to alarmingly low levels--and I felt fine--then slow climbing back to 99%. A few minutes later I was hit by intense fatigue & pain.

I checked it on the fingertip pulse/ox after I got home, still happening, but fingertip machine had difficulty with motion and rapidly changing numbers. I got a wearable bluetooth pulse/ox. I'm still seeing the oxygen saturation dips and it's pretty terrifying, yes, WTF is this meat machine doing now? (My doc thinks leakage between oxygenated and deoxygenated blood, which is not reassuring at all. I have a cardiac referral.)

But seeing my POTS get tripped partway through a jump is *freaky*.

Look at that (about 11am). That's not right. My heart rate started to do the typical POTS jump and crashed to below 50 instead, coinciding with a dramatic O2 drop. What the hell. (full screenshot under readmore)

How long has it been doing this? Is my physical hardware just unable to react to the dysautonomia "speed up" signals? Is this why the fatigue has been increasing way past reasonable?

I had a heart ultrasound and multiple EKGs during the POTS diagnosis, but apparently what I need is a heart ultrasound with "bubble test," which I have never had. I even wore a pulse/ox for a sleep study but this doesn't happen at night! Mostly. It does coincide with activity... frequently... sometimes I am not doing anything... but almost always I am awake.

My POTS is broken and I am so weirded out.

[oknowkiss]

4, 20, and 69 for dealer's choice.

oh you! cheeky cheeky. have some harry/pansy in three parts (songs #4, 20, and 69 respectively), ~400 words, rated M for sex & a bit of angst

the waiting - angel olsen

The only thing about fucking Harry Potter that was surprising to Pansy was that it took him so long to work up the nerve to ask her. They weren’t dating, he made it very clear, and that suited Pansy just fine. What suited her even more was being the last to leave the parties he’d throw at Grimmauld, lingering with her feet on the coffee table as she watched Granger and Weasley and all the other ones shrug into their coats against the cold. Curling her toes around the edge of said table when Potter pushed her dress up her arse and fell to his knees. 

Potter was a great fuck. Eager and giving, he listened when she said harder, slower, don’t come, not yet. Still: there was a great vacancy inside of him, a dark pit he was filling with her pleasure, just to prove himself capable of it. They were using each other, they both knew. Just until something better came along. 

It all suited Pansy just fine.

fake plastic trees - radiohead

They tried dating, three years into steadfastly not dating. Pansy was more or less living at Grimmauld, anyway, having intended to bunk there for a week whilst her flat was fumigated. She hadn’t ever left. This made it difficult for either of them to bring home other dates, a threat they both liked to pretend wasn’t empty. What good was a stranger, anyway? A stranger wouldn’t know why Potter shook with terror in the middle of the night, or how when Pansy threatened to leave it was a lie. 

It was easier, Pansy told herself, to be worn thin by the devil you know. 

come on eileen - dexys midnight runners

Their wedding was a massive affair, naturally. Pansy wouldn’t have settled for less. Potter had money, much more than her family’d ever had, and now it was Pansy’s money too, so she figured what better way to get him used to her spending it. 

“Compensating for something?” Draco asked her, drunk as all the rest of them, breathless and sweaty from dancing. 

“Making a statement, darling,” she retorted, adjusting her dress where the straps had begun to slip down her shoulders. 

“I see,” Draco said, an eyebrow arched as he followed the dip of her neckline. “When you leave him, do try to leave a little something on the plate for whoever comes next.”

“Do you prefer breast or thigh?” Pansy grinned, before unseen hands pulled her into the night.

(give me a number 1 - 100 & i'll write you a drabble based on the corresponding song on my spotify wrapped)

[spooky-pumpkinz]

As someone with Invisible Chronic Illnesses. I experienced first hand the ablism against young people while i was in hospital.

I have Fibromyalgia, POTS, Scoliosis among other things.

I kept being told their not too worried about my leg healing because I'm young "healthy" 24 y/o.

As if fibromyalgia isn't gonna slow my healing process.

I was told in the ER, I was very calm for the situation i was in (my leg wasnt pretty, my foot had to be realigned, i was waiting for surgery on top of it all)

I just replied i was used to being in pain. Everyone looked uncomfortable when i said that.

When on the ward healing for a week, a few of my nurses asked me what i did for work.

I simply replied "I'm disabled"

The immediate response everytime i was asked was "Oh im so sorry-" as if its not okay to talk about.

I could be reading into this stuff too much. I mean they probably dont know all my medical issues as I'm just there for a broken leg.

I also didn't make my Fibro a big deal because 1) i have a much more serious problem at hand and 2) there's such a prejudice about Fibromyalgia being a fake illness.

[smashwolfen]

Decided while I had the focus to do it, I updated my Icon to reflect the me of today......

TOO GOTTDAM TIRED

I got my older icons under the cut to show just how much i've changed over the years, but yee this is the icon for me now XD

My previous icon was made back in 2019 vvvvvvvvv

and the one before that on Deviantart was from 2016 vvvvvvv

and the one I made initially for my first icon ever of my own creation was back in 2012

I had a theme and stuck to it XD

12 years of being active online its insane to think its been so long!!

[acutabovetherest]

Friends

I am trying really hard to stay alive

But I’m really not ok

And I don’t know if I can do it anymore

The chronic physical illness

The mental illness

The pain of relationships

Trying to afford to stay alive when I can’t work

Having to prove myself constantly that I’m too sick to work

Not having hope that there’s a better future

I feel like the kindest thing I can do for myself is end my life

Not very demure or mindful to others I know

I don’t want to hurt them

But I also don’t want to hurt me anymore

And being alive fucking hurts

X