i'm very sorry that i haven't been posting much- as an explanation, my mental health has declined significantly in the last couple months and its affected my motivation to do... anything
thank you for all your lovely messages, i really appreciate all of you and your endless patience <3
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something bad happened to you, and you died, and you came back wrong.
not wrong all the way. the little ways. you forget important dates, stopped going out with friends. it's harder to make you smile. you're apathetic towards things you used to love, afraid of places you used to go to cheer up. quieter. flinching. different.
you came back for love. you're still here for love. what pulled you back was a brightness so loud that even death couldn't outshout it. death heard the call and smiled at you and said okay. go home. somebody is waiting for you.
but you came back different. like lot's wife; you've turned into salt. you used to chirp through life in hops and skips; but now you lose skin just standing up. you have to move slower, skimming across this world without-touching-it. most things feel dull - until they're suddenly all-too-much. life, and being alive just rushes up and over you and you get hopelessly crushed.
you try to explain it to them: it is ugly, but this is what you are, now. the huge golden hoop of your halo now a little bronze ring. you are still watering your plants and wearing the same clothes. after all, you worked hard to come home. this life; so odd and off-color, now that you are wrong.
but they waited for you - it's just that they wanted the "you" that happened before this. the "you" that could sing in the show and hug people tight and look at a blade without breaking down to cry. the you with a smile in pictures. god, holyshit, it's like looking at a completely different person, isn't it. that other-you; the one they actually wanted.
you are the consolation prize. you are the body that forgot the ghost. you are the memory of the bad thing, and the death after; like you are wearing that memory as a banner. you are a fragment, an assembly. simulacrum. you don't make eye contact in mirrors, afraid the light will glance off and your true nature will flash back at you.
you hear them talk about it in their hushed, desperate whispers. sometimes they even admit it to your face; harsh and violent, acid thrown at christmas dinner. god, can you just fucking be normal again. you do not remember what normal is. you had to climb so far to get back here; you are far too exhausted. you want to open the glass door of your heart and show all the gears. can you help resolve whatever got messed up?
you try so, so hard. you came back for them. because you believed they would love you, even when you were so horribly broken. because you believed they would be patient. because you believed unconditional meant "without exception." you cannot do things the same way. you just get tired too quickly these days.
you want to put them on a couch and pour them the tea with hands that shake more than they remember. you want to line them up and draw them a map of where you have had to wander. you want to show every bruise in a backsplash; the little helpless ant of your soul carrying all that weight, over and over. you want to say: yes! it is different! but i did it for love!
you want to say: "i'm not the same, but i'm yours and i'm here. can that be enough?"
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im afraid the brocedes brainrot has taken me. childhood friends who banded together because no one else liked them who spent years growing up together and helped each other to set up their karts and went on holiday together then ended up at a team (bought for them) before getting to f1 and living their childhood dreams and becoming teammates and outright saying that nothing could get in the way of their friendship only to be proven wrong in the most slow, agonising and horrific way possible and suddenly all those childhood secrets that you share become important weapons in a war against your arch nemesis as you turn an entire team against itself and you can’t eat can’t sleep all you can think about is beating your enemy, your rival, your best friend, your closest confidante and the fallout of the civil war that raged inside your team, inside your friendship, and inside your own head is so toxic and absolute that you can barely say each other’s names years later all you can manage is thinly veiled apologies on TV or declarations of love and remorse to the entire world except the one person you hurt the most and you’re adamant that even though the world whispers in quiet remembrance at the destructive nature of this war they have no idea what really went down or how completely you destroyed each other.
oh and also throughout all this you lived in the same apartment complex and take the same elevator and you do still.
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I don't appreciate my brain being a little bitch like sir can u stop making me depressed? give me a break bro 😞
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my dentist genuinely sounded so proud and happy when he announced that this was the most he’d seen my mouth been able to open. i am getting a good grade in going to dentist
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thinking about how arthur shoved a dagger into his own throat to save john from the king because john's his friend and he loves him. and then when arthur finally collapses beneath all of that pain and grief and guilt he's carried for years john saves him from being buried and then saves his life in the mines and arthur believes it's because john feels the same. they're friends and they love each other so of course. of course you would do anything to save the one you love.
so he trusts him. he trusts him all the way to new york and doesn't think for a moment that there could be something amiss. that john, his best friend who killed the last person he loved and whom he himself almost willingly died for, is lying to him. again.
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