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whiskeysorrows · 2 years

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I shall write myself no mercy for there is no use. What a fruitless endeavor it is to fight against the mind, don't you think?

~m.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #dark academia #mental illness #prose #prose poetry #writing #bad writing #vents #ventcore #vent prose #traumacore #actuallytraumatized #actually mentally ill #mine; words and more

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fadingember · 8 months

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wrote a vent piece today

#Undescribed image #vent prose #do not reblog

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megofwands · 4 months

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There’s a mixture of pain and adoration.

Journal Entries

#mm #prose #my writing #my edit #vent edit #handwriting #trying to stay clean!!!!!#oddcore #weirdcore #ventcore #angercore #ragecore #horrorcore #strangecore #creepycore #digital edit #mixed media #typography #fake gore

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vizthedatum · 6 months

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An apparently unpopular opinion: disabled people can have and do their hobbies. They deserve to have fun. They deserve to live their lives.

Their inability to do some things (like work, for example) does not mean they should be judged for… idk hanging out with their friends or to going outside. After all, having interests outside of work is often essential to our mental and physical health OUTSIDE of our disability.

And also *you might want to sit down for this* disabled people know what’s disabling for them (unless they people-please or push through due to necessity or survival of some sort). Disabilities don’t have to be visible or persistent to be disabling.

So yeah - my declaration: if an activity you want to do feels good and you’re able to do it, then do it. REGARDLESS OF YOUR DISABILITY WITH OTHER THINGS.

#disability #disability advocacy #disabilities #invisible disability #healing #trauma #neurodivergence #autistic #self love #prose #a rant #a vent #sigh #a lot of ppl don’t get this #thoughts

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lucidloving · 18 days

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I learned how to be quiet about pain when I was very young. I learned how to fold in on myself like laundry, to take up less space in the cupboard. I learned how to keep the peace around me by sweeping the dirt under my own rug.

I have been taught that expressing my less favourable emotions is just complaining—something weak people do when they're too incompetent to solve their own problems.

Incompetent. Incompetent. This word is very important to me. Incompetent is the word I am always running from. To run from incompetency means to run from feeling dejected, feeling lost, feeling hurt. To run from incompetency is to run towards goodness. To run towards a me who knows all the answers and shoulders all the burdens and shrugs off all the pain.

Some days I am not very good at this race I am running. Days when the past lurches forward to bite my ankles, or days when the future looks back to scorn my present.

On these days I am weak. The poise slips. It's all too easy to cry a little and vent my fears. I forget that I am supposed to be keeping all of this shut away where no one else can see. I forget that I am not supposed to be dragged down by these feelings in the first place.

Today I feigned nonchalance and I feigned it well. No one noticed that I was hurt by the thing that happened, and sitting alone in all my hurt, I was bitterly gratified. I had fulfilled the proper narrative of an animal who is injured and returns to its cave to lick its wounds only in private.

But there is a desperation for the hidden pain to be noticed. This is the Achilles' Heel of the whole stealth operation; it threatens the little play I have constructed in which I suffer alone and inconvenience no one and am all the stronger for it.

Today I stood upright to talk to my mother and doubled over in pain the moment she left the room. It is satisfying, knowing I did the valiant and honourable thing of keeping the damn pain to myself. It is infuriating, the way my eyes flickered to the door in the dark and private hope that she would come back in and witness me while I was down.

I want to be strong and hide all the hard things away. I want someone to see my efforts to hide all the hard things away and realise I'm strong. I want to bring to life this character I have created who suffers without complaint and is loved when the truth is revealed. Who suffers well.

This is the person who stores up agony to a breaking point, to justify the ultimate snapping of composure. This is the person who wants to be depended on relentlessly and one-sidedly, so that someone someday might notice the unfairness of it all. This is the person who virtuously and righteously take all the hits without a sound, so that when they finally, inevitably break, their pain will come to light all at once and inspire awe and guilt in equal measure.

Who am I, really? Is it terrible to want to play this character? Perhaps some old wound craves acknowledgement and understanding and doesn't know how else to ask for it except by hiding until it festers.

Strength. Competency. Resilience. Dependability. Independence. They have all become synonyms in my black and white dictionary. They have all become straws for the drowning man.

I self-impose silence. I take pleasure in denial and secrecy. I take pride in successfully keeping a problem to myself.

Pride. That's another important word. I think I have too much of it, although it pains me when others point it out. Pride implies I think highly of myself, which is something a good person should never do. Pride is so audaciously self-absorbed, so high-and-mighty, so filthy with ego. There's probably a lot of it in this damn thing I've written.

Pride is the other thing that keeps my mouth shut. The thing that says I should be austere, untouchable, immovable. Pride is the thing that says look here, you don't have a lot going for you so you better keep this mask on right if you want to be good. If you want to be admired.

These terrible things keep me safe. I can't let go of that stupidly noble character or that cowardly pride. I need them to shield me from the reality that I am emotional, not all that put together, and honestly hopeless most of the time.

I need to have something worth liking about myself. I need to have a grit that makes me undeniably good. I need to have a strength that goes unsung, that lies in wait of discovery.

What an exhausting way to live. But it's the only way I know.

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royalarchivist · 2 months

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I say this in the kindest way possible, but I think this style of prose is more appropriate for a personal account rather than an update account. I have no idea who's being talked about half the time. 🥲

[ Tumblr meme via @mikaikaika ]

#QSMP #Philza #Edited #Phil #Let me know if this needs an additional tag #I don't think this necessitates a discourse or neg tag or whatever because I'm being silly but I'm happy to add one if folks need it #I won't post this one on Twitter I don't think because I genuinely don't want to hurt anyone's feelings #but. I feel very strongly about this. It's not helpful #I say this as a fan and as a professional writer (who also worked in the Marketing and Communications field for far too long)#The prose is nice! It's very whimsical and they're having fun! But I don't think it's appropriate for an updates account #I recently turned off notifications for QsmpEN and I'm considering muting them because half the updates just aren't helpful to me #I want to be able to speed read through the update thread I don't want to spend an additional 30 seconds trying to decipher who's who #I don't like posting complaints so I tried to make it a funny complaint #because I do think feedback is good! And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way #but at the same time: these update writers ARE volunteers #(As a side note -- I personally think anyone running a large social media account should be paid)#(I did that for a few years and it was hell. I can't imagine doing that and NOT getting paid for it)#But anyways #They're all volunteers so I don't actually wanna go all pitchforks and torches on them (which I wouldn't do anyways even if they WERE paid)#I'm just venting my frustrations in what is (hopefully) a funny way #but you're welcome to disagree! That's ok too #Portfolio

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fuckingwhateverdude · 2 years

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it is july and no one loves me, 2022

#my writing #my writing tag #poetry #poetryblr #poetry on tumblr #mental illness #prose #bipolar disorder #vent art #touch starved #july

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darkhousepoetry · 16 days

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instagram

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flooded--skies · 3 months

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#on apologies #poetry #my poetry #original poetry #my writing #poems #poem #prose poetry #vent #this one feels unfinished but whatevry #*whatever

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emberglowfox · 3 months

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being obsessed with an oc story is such a different experience than i understood before mine. ESPECIALLY if its a story you want to tell and therefore can't 'spoil'. it's much much different from a fandom fixation, in my opinion. like.

i have poured my heart and soul into this story and i am unbelievably proud of it. it's been over a year and it's still not finished and i feel like i've gotten nowhere. content of it brings me immeasurable joy. i have to make all of that content myself, or pay for it, or get incredibly lucky when people get interested enough to draw some themselves. i think about it for literal hours a day, almost every day. i can't think about anything else. people talking about it with me is one of the most joyful experiences i've had. i think i've fully exhausted the people close to me with it and i don't blame them. this is maybe the most dedicated i've ever been to something. i don't share interests with my friends anymore and i'm scared i'll fall out of relevance. i created these characters. i feel like they're real. i came up with this plot thread. the characters told me it would happen, and i had little say. they're me. they're not. i feel like it's controlling me. i let it. it lives in my head in the realest, most physical sense. i let it. i love it. i won't leave. i can't leave. i'm not sure anymore if i'm the spider, the web, or the fly

#i've stepped back from using the word hyperfixation because i'm not sure where on the neurodivergent scale i fall #(in terms of conditions that experience hyperfixations)#but there's not a lot of words that capture that similar intensity of investment that aren't similarly charged #this is a bit silly and prose-y but i wanted to talk about it #ftr i talk about this w my friends and think about it FAR more than i post about it Anywhere #for aforementioned reasons and also its just. so unbearably constant #sparks speaks #should i put this in my vent tag...?#oh the wonderful joy of being a creator

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golden-letters · 9 months

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the thing is, i'm pathetic. you'll watch me try and try again and again and still be a hopeless novice. you'll grimace with embarrassment when i fail again and again but continue to try and win. and the thing is, i'm pathetic, in the way that i'm a try-hard wannabe who's not really that good at anything at all. but you'll watch me, with pity, as i finally manage to achieve something average, and you'll watch me, as you're about to lose all the patience you have (or maybe your patience is already lost), as i succeed.