you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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My heartfelt apology for not posting for a while, enjoy :)
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cw: pure smut, that’s it
A video of you and Ellie in the car, it’s rather plain, actually. She’s holding your phone, facing her way, while you seem a little occupied. But for some reason, the point of the video seems quite unclear, because for some reason, Ellie just can’t seem to get the right words out.
And instead of words coming out of her mouth, its moans and whispered swears broken up with stifled giggles from the two of you. And oh, now it’s quite obvious, what with how her head is slowly leaning back and hitting the headrest, and the first syllables of a failed sentence tries miserably to escape Ellie’s throat.
“Say it.” You whisper, sounding as though your voice is muffled.
A silence follows, then a small slurp, then a snicker as you hear her whimper. From your point of view, it’s just so fucking funny seeing Ellie struggle like this. The camera’s out of focus now, shaking slightly and facing the wrong way, but who can blame her for not focusing on the angles? Bless her, with how she tries to lift her head and look into the camera as she speaks.
“I just….just wanted to-fuck- to say that I love my girlfriend so m-much.”
“She makes me….?” You stare up at her expectantly, wiping your lips with your tongue as you slowly trace two fingers up and down, the way she’s soaking the leather seats translating into such a wet noise that the video could pick up on it.
“…She makes me s-sooo happy, and……makes me feel so good-holyshitdon’tpleasedontstop-”
“I won’t, baby.” What you say is muffled once again, your tongue now occupied all on her puffy clit, sucking and swirling above your two fingers, thrusting in and out at just the right angle. And thank god for your other hand staying unoccupied, as you take the reins on recording (since Ellie is too fucked out to care at this point).
The new angle, showing your face as you tongue fuck her, and showing the foggy car windows behind you, just barely illuminated from that busted streetlight. As you glance up at Ellie, all your encouraging open mouthed “uh huh”s and moans at how she tastes just turn into little giggles at what the fuck you’re both doing right now - fucking your girlfriend in some residential driveway, meaning you need her to stay quiet because you both were too horny to wait until you got home.
But you couldn’t really care less, as you feel her clench harder and harder on your fingers, her tattooed arm coming down to card her fingers through your hair. And you really can’t find it in you to care about anything at all as her soft hold turns into a harsh grip and tug as you make her unravel in your tongue, using your fingers to brush against her sweet spot as you slurp and suck everything Ellie gives you.
You bite your lip and smile as her breathing finally goes from heavy, whiny pants to soft sighs, pulling yourself up from the floor and into her lap. And just as you lean down to kiss her, you make sure the camera’s got both of you in frame as you make out with Ellie. You make sure she tastes herself on you, coaxing open her mouth and slipping your tongue against hers which, to your delight, elicits another small groan from her, and then a slow, fucked out smile against your mouth - one that you reciprocate.
And it feels so good to slide your hand up and pull at her hair this time, while you start to slowly grind and swivel your hips against hers - a taste of what’s to come next. You feel her hands slowly begin to trace up, up, up your back and under your clothes, a small sign that she’s ready for another round. But before you can do anything more, the fucking porch light at the end of the driveway turns on, and fuck, did the front door just open?
“Shit!”
Followed by loud snickers from the both of you as you clamber into the passenger side and Ellie stomps down on the peddle, pants still down and all. And as she tries to navigate the unfamiliar neighbourhood, you lean over and try to help her with her pants - pulling them up and grabbing her belt. But she stops you, taking a hand off the wheel and gently pushing you off.
“We’re picking up where we left off the monent we get home. Don’t bother with that, baby.”
So you just lean back into your seat, watching the houses go by as you wait with a smile on your face. Something tells you she’s gonna do good on that promise.
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