You know what, i'm a bona fide pessimist. That's really just what being mentally eel is like, but yeah, it's a thing. It's spectacularly easy for me to focus on the things that aren't working out, things that are going wrong, things that are unsatisfactory, focusing on fear and grief and frustration to the point that it's almost all i see.
I like problem solving. I like a good challenge and i like getting rid of problems but for problem solving you first got to acknowledge the problem and sometimes you create problems where there's none because focusing on problems becomes a comfortzone, it feels safe. It is what you know, it is what you're good at. And everybody likes a little bit or a lot of comfortzone.
And the "just think positive thoughts!!! see the bright side!!! there's nothing wrong here keep a gratitude journal count all your blessings!!!" shit never worked for me, i doubt it ever will (HAHA PESSIMISM). When optimistic people try to point out the good things around me and in my life, i often dont percieve it as a geniune offer of help; all i feel is misunderstood, my concerns trivialized and my legit [to me] worries dissmissed. I feel unheard and small, and end up feeling so much resentment towards the aforementioned optimists.
But there's something, i discovered it a month ago, and it's doing wonders for my sanity. There's a long road from pessimism to optimism, it's a long journey and it's not one you can take when you're feeling particularly overwhelmed and terrible.
But there's a relatively short distance from pessimism to neutrality, and it works.
pessimism is a super narrow mindset; so is optimism. In both cases you eliminate and gloss over half of reality in order to keep persevering in what you think is the key to survival. Neutrality is the ground between the two, it's where most of life happens. It's where things aren't good or bad, they're just complex and nuanced and real with all the good and bad and everything inbetween.
And neutrality is the space in which your point of view expands.
So what i've been doing is, when i start to hyperfocus on things that are going wrong and it's all i see, i tell myself that it's okay, and what i percieve is true. It's legit, it exists, i accept it. But it's not the entire picture as i think it is; it's only half of it, most likely even less than half of it. And then i keep asking "what else? what more is here? what am i not seeing?" and most often it's the neutral things, besides the obvious goodness in the world. Neutral grounds in which nothing too big or extraordinary is happening, small stuff that dont feel special. "This tastes terrible" turns into "this has a sharp taste. I dont have a preference for sharp taste; i have a preference for sweets." "this person is being mean" turns into "this person exists in the same space as me, they're using their vocal chords and producing words. humans tend to do that."
And suddenly the world is so much more bearable to be in. I catalogue taste, touch, sound,smell,sight notes in the environment in a neutral language ("this table is dark blue; the edges have been rounded up to avoid injury"), and it actually helps me to catalogue the goodness in my environment too, simply because neutrality is inclusive, it doesn't cut off mountains of data just to keep you on your respective bullshit. Neutrality is where you say, "that's true. What else do you see?"
8 notes
·
View notes
i want you all to understand this.
insulin pens are very often used by diabetic children (or their parents, but they were very easy to use during the short time i was prescribed them when i was a child myself). they’re less cumbersome, produce less waste, and are far easier than pulling insulin from a vial with a single use syringe, as syringes are much more susceptible to air bubbles, which result in the diabetic not getting enough medication. i’m explaining this part because i know that some diabetic adults do also use them, and i’m sure that that’s true of diabetic adults in palestine with such scarce resources. when it’s life or death, you can’t really be picky.
the israeli occupation is now banning insulin pens from entering gaza.
lack of insulin results in diabetic ketoacidosis — essentially a very, very dangerous version of the effects of the keto diet. insulin is a key for the sugar from one’s food (both slow and fast acting, since all food has some carbohydrates, from nuts to potatoes to table sugar) to get from their bloodstream into their cells. without insulin, the body resorts to eating through its own fat stores rather than the sugar it cannot access and tries to flush the excess glucose that is in the blood through the urine. this results in weight loss, headaches, nausea, dehydration, blurred vision, abdominal pain, impaired mental faculties, and, if left untreated, will result in a coma, and eventually death within a matter of weeks. not “can.” it will kill you if not treated, and was largely considered a lethal diagnosis until insulin was discovered in the early 1900s and made readily available in 1922.
i’ve been in dka. admittedly, i was very young and have blocked much of it out. but i do remember that it fucking sucked. i couldn’t focus on anything, i was ravenous no matter how much i ate, and the room spinning to the point i felt like i was going to throw up became an increasingly regular occurrence. i was seven years old and wasting away like i was starved. i was dying. a few more days, and i likely would’ve gone into a coma and might not be here now.
to inflict that, willingly and knowingly, on innocent people, is nothing short of a crime against humanity, and violates the geneva conventions (item 2.a.ii. torture or inhumane treatment, including biological experiments and item 2.a.iii. willfully causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health). not that the israeli occupation cares, of course, as south african prosecutors have already extensively detailed their crimes in the icj, and this one in particular has already been committed near-countless times.
this entire occupation is a genocide, and this is only one more nail in that coffin. but, as a diabetic — as a human being who has been in that state and was lucky enough to have the resources to live almost another fifteen years (with the anniversary of my own diagnosis about halfway through next month), i can’t find the words to express my disgust and rage anymore. maybe it’s selfish to be so deeply impacted by this particular blow. i don’t know. but these people have done nothing wrong but be disabled in gaza, and as someone with the same disability, i know that no one deserves this, even if they have committed a crime (which, again, these civilians, largely children, have not). i will not fucking stand for it.
we need a ceasefire. we need an end to the occupation. we need a free palestine. now.
here’s a masterpost of how you can help.
EDIT: here’s a post on how to help diabetics in gaza specifically
7K notes
·
View notes
i have an idea :]
ok so i always see people asking for gentle/needy/desperate choso. and i love it, but…
what about unassumingly ruthless choso? reader doesn’t know what she’s getting into? reader is cocky and gets humbled FAST? idk i just…
👉👈
❤︎ ໋𓈒 choso who puts his cute bratty gf in her place
warnings. fem! reader, attempted brat taming, doggystyle, big dick choso, unprotected.
you’ve always been one to push his buttons, mainly because he always made it so easy.
choso was as intimidating as a kitten, whenever you’d tease him he’d always keep composure or restrain himself.
briefly smiling nervously, kissing your wrist and telling you to be a good girl and wait until you each return home.
but one day, he kind of just snaps…
he takes you home from shopping nearly all day with you, and you were enthusiastically ecstatic. you wondered what he’d do this time, but your thoughts were no match for what he had initially planned. to put it brief, choso had you laid on the bed on all fours. he’s drilling ruthlessly into your pussy and you’re just…speechless. choso’s so handsy, every few seconds he’d spank your ass to hear you whine out his name—in such two slutty syllables.
“c-choso..” you’d moan, the left side of your cheek attached practically to the silk bed sheets as if it was velcro.
“shh, no talkin, princess,” he grunts, and you could hear the slight whine picking up his voice before he stops himself. “i-i have to be more stern with you it seems. can’t always be so nice, gotta humble you just a little bit, fuck.”
if it was a word to perfectly describe you right now, at this particular moment…it would for sure be…dumbfounded.
you couldn’t see yourself but you’d bet money you looked stupid.
choso’s dick was so lengthy, appetizing and hitting every spot with just the tiniest amount of pressures his thrusts had you gnawing on the inside of your cheek with your toes curling tightly.
“what’s the matter? no more attitude?” he huffs, tilting his head to move some remaining strands that were starting to occlude his vision.
“i-if you’re gonna be rough, at least go h—”
“…oh, baby, you’re jus’ asking for it by this point.” he murmurs, wiping his forehead with the back of his palm.
your eyes rolls at feeling the very tips the curve of choso’s cock kiss against your folds. so deep, his thrusts were sloppy. purely responsible for the squelched that continuously sang throughout the room.
choso grabs onto both of your waist, and you moan once he’s just dragging your hips back and forth against him, making sure you feel every thick inch of his.
“do me a favor ‘n arch your back more,” immensely, you do—your body responds to choso with such a quickness it was simply humiliating. “good girl….now,” and you barely recognize choso’s voice. usually it’s so sweet and tender, now it was rough and a bit husky, a rasp hidden underneath each sentence he spoke.
needless to say, you found this version of choso to be quite hot.
“wait,” he pauses, pausing the mood with his own cute stammer in his voice, back to normal. “not goin' to rough, am i? i want you to be comfortable and-”
“baby, ‘m fine. keep fucking me please.” you pleaded, feeling his hips stutter as he was in the middle of talking. even trying to keep up a act, he still wanted to make sure you were okay—choso simpers to himself, caressing your ass before spanking it yet another time.
“okay okay,” he hums. his hips pick up again and you’re basically being pounded into the bed. the grip he had on your hips wasn’t too rough but just the perfect amount.
choso’s breathing starts to pick up, and he enjoys the view of you more than he thought he would. his head goes back, along with his let down hair before he pivots his hips a certain way. your pussy clamped down against him and you hear his jaw clench in pleasure. “…shit.”
your legs quavered beneath him, and he then used a hand to bring both of your wrists behind your back. “j-just like that choso, please, please.”
“baby, you’re not supposed to be praising me,” he pouts, and you giggle before moaning again — a sudden moment occurs where you thickly swallow, only to continue your sweet whimpers. “this was s-supposed to be a punishment.”
“so punish me then.” you mewled, your cunt easily hugs him like a vice, the noise it makes, a wet pop and you’re just soaked. choso’s ears grows hot from the feeling and he knows you can feel it too.
he sighs, shoving you further into the bed. “you’re something else.” and his voice grows low and pitched again—yet choso does the unexpected. he leans right into you, and you instantaneously feel the heel of his foot press against the very back of your head.
he wore socks, the soft padded wool brushes against your neck, and he’s roughly driving into your pussy now to where you can’t even saying anything.
all that came out of your dumb mouth was a squeal, this angle…
“let me have you,” he grunts, balls deep, his base was thick and repeatedly thwacked against your entrance. you were dizzy…drunk, but not that kind of drunk. the good kind where all you could think about was how good you were getting stuffed by your boyfriend’s hefty cock. “yeah, just lie down and let me—fuck.”
you’re panting, and it felt so good.
choso was always used to being gentle and tender with you, although if you wanted him to be a little rougher, he was more than happy to oblige.
“i-i’m gonna cum, choso… gonna make me cum.”
“don’t think you deserve it, he utters, and your lips part, jaw dropping, plethora of sweetened moans only escaping as a subtle response. “you’ve been teasing me all day. even started to stroke me in the dressing room.”
“s-sorry.” you moaned.
choso remains with his foot near the back of your head before pursing his eyebrows together. “you’re not sorry are you, baby? be honest.”
“n—no,” you whined, the thickness of his shaft twitching inside of you felt so heavenly. you could have sworn you felt a vein that ran down his length pulse inside of your tight cunt. “you’re right, you’re right, ‘m not s-sorry.”
he chuckles. “you could have just lied, you know?”
choso’s angle and thrusts against you were so pivotal inside you, so astonishingly deep that not even moments later you end up cumming hard. leaving a ring around his base. your breathing was irregular and heavy, eyes half-lidded and just convulsing underneath him.
“messy girl,” he whispers, pulling out, not even caring that he didn’t finish, all that matters was that you did. choso turns you over before planting a kiss on your lips—you pull him in for another, and another, before you make him trample onto you. “did you learn your lesson?”
“no,” you moaned, sitting up before lightly shoving him down on his back, straddling his lap now. “i want more.”
choso smirks, sliding a hand down your waist, fully disregarding his flustered face at seeing you attempt to take control. “of course you do, brat.”
5K notes
·
View notes