#when I am miserable that’s all i am and it feels like there’s no respite from that

[shalpilot]

.

#okay. observations about my mental state. #well first off it is bad #second off i feel like every emotion i feel is it’s own piece of me #with no overlap #when I am miserable that’s all i am and it feels like there’s no respite from that #when i’m happy i’m manic and overly energetic and i cling to it bc i know eventually i’ll be back to being sad and depressed #and recent update. the anger patch #maybe i want to believe these are all different personas or whatever (NOT SAYING THAT!! being so clear right now i do not believe that #it’s just what the experience feels like.) #but yeah i don’t want to think that the person i am when i’m angry is me #because it’s such an awful bitter feeling #and like i know i’m allowed to be mad #and given the shit i’m putting up with i mean who wouldn’t be #but it makes me so fucking unpleasant and i can FEEL that #just that directionless anger #and i feel like i can only condemn it after the fact in the moment I feel powerless to stop those feelings #uggghhh #anyways art imitates life or whatever

[baneshifts]

Do not try to make yourself happy, rather question your very search for happiness.

how desires and fears creates bondage.

It is because you are not happy that you want to be happy. Find out why you are unhappy. Because you are not happy you seek happiness in pleasure; pleasure brings in pain and therefore you call it worldly; you then long for some other pleasure, without pain, which you call divine. In reality, pleasure is but a respite from pain.

The very desire to live is the messanger of death, as the longing to be happy is the outline of sorrow. The world is an ocean of pain and fear, of anxiety and despair. Pleasures are like the fishes, few and swift, rarely come, quickly gone. A man of low intelligence believes, against all evidence, that he is an exception and that the world owes him happiness. But the world cannot give what it does not have; unreal to the core, it is of no use for real happiness. It cannot be otherwise. We seek the real because we are unhappy with the unreal. Happiness is our real nature and we shall never rest until we find it.

Momentary relief from pain we call pleasure - and we build castles in the air hoping for endless pleasure which we call happiness.

It is all misunderstanding.

You are like a child with a lollypop in its mouth. You may feel happy for a moment by being totally self-centered, but it is enough to have a good look at human faces to perceive the universality of suffering. Even your own happiness is so vulnerable and short-lived, at the mercy of a bank-crash, or a stomach ulcer. It is just a moment of respite, a mere gap between two sorrows. Real happiness is not vulnerable, because it does not depend on circumstances.

Pleasure depends on things, happiness does not. As long as we believe that we need things to make us happy, we shall also believe that in their absence we must be miserable. Mind always shapes itself according to its beliefs. Hence the importance of convincing oneself that one need not be prodded into happiness; that, on the contrary, pleasure is a distraction and a nuisance, for it merely increases the false conviction that one needs to have and do things to be happy, when in reality it is just the opposite. But why talk of happiness at all? You do not think of happiness except when you are unhappy. A man who says "Now I am happy" is between two sorrows, past and future. This happiness is mere excitement caused by relief from pain.

Real happiness is utterly unselfconscious. It is best expressed negatively as: "there is nothing wrong with me, I have nothing to worry about".

Once you have grasped the truth that the world is full of suffering, that to be born is a calamity, you will find the urge and the energy to go beyond. Pleasure puts you to sleep and pain wakes you up. If you do not want to suffer, don't go to sleep. You cannot know yourself through bliss alone, for bliss is your very nature.

You must face the opposite, what you are not, to find enlightenment.

#non dualism #non duality #meditation #não dualismo #advaita vedanta #sri nisargadatta maharaj

[royal-wren]

Because it's Wednesday and I feel in the mood for it, I'm going to share a WIP of another myth I am currently making. A little devotion for the bird I most associate with Hermes, the raven due to its personality and capability to mimic any sound/voice it hears and haunt the woods with it. Will it remotely look like this when it's finished? probably not but for now I'm happy with the start at least:

Hermes, among predators and prey that surround him in an odd display, notices the corvid all by its lonesome, despondent with a look of being lost and miserable. "You there, come here," caught off guard the inky black bird turned its head, shocked to be noticed by a god again after such misery. Hesitance colored its emotions, wary after the last experience with a deity, and even more so with the company of lions, wolves, boars, dogs, sheep, goats, rabbits, and hawks. The god of infinite domains noticed the restraint and answered gently, "Come, feathered friend -- you will not find history repeated here. I, way-god, take all under my wing that are lost and without a home or soul to turn to. I swear respite for you in my company where you will find no danger."

#dorian's polytheism diary #my writing #hermes #hermes deity #hermes god

[xerith-42]

Hmgngmhn dialogue idea between Travis and Aphmau that I can't be bothered to make into a proper scene yet but I'm very proud of

"Aphmau, are you a reader of ancient mythos?"

"I can't say I am. Laurance always has some comparison to make to their plays though."

"Hm. Guess I'll have to tell him this some time."

"Tell him what?"

"There's an old myth about a man named Sisyphus. I've thought about it a lot."

"Care to tell me what's on your mind?"

"The finer details don't really matter, what's important is that Sisyphus was punished by the gods. As a punishment for his ambitions, he was cursed to eternal torture. Push a boulder up a hill, and then push it back down."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Does it accomplish anything?"

"Nothing."

"That's awful."

"It's how I felt on that island. For a while, every single day was the same thing. Wake up, fight off the Demon Warlock, get yelled at for fighting off the Demon Warlock, go to bed. Then you wake up and do it all again."

"Up the hill..."

"...Down the hill. It's maddening."

"Strangely enough, I think I can relate to that."

"Really?"

"Not exactly, but a similar concept. Being a lord can feel like that sometimes. Wake up, check in on everyone, address problems in the village, start a new project, go to bed. Then you wake up and do it all again."

"But you like being a lord."

"I love it. And I would never call it a punishment."

"So it's not really the same."

"Why not? Who's to say Sisyph-- Sisy-- That guy! wasn't able to eventually love that boulder!"

"Wh-What??"

"Or maybe he loves the hill. But he has to love something, otherwise why would he keep going?"

"Well, the gods also cursed him with immortality so he couldn't die."

"You said the finer details don't matter!"

"Okay, but that's not a finer detail!"

"Then why didn't you say it before?! You said--"

"I know what I said--"

"No! No, you specifically said "finer details don't matter." You didn't say Sisy-whoever was immortal, so it's counted in those finer details!"

"Oh my Irene. I said that in regards to things like his family, and why he was punished."

"Are you saying that someone's family doesn't matter in their story? That they should only be known for their most miserable moment?"

"...It sounds awful when you say it like that."

"Then tell me the full story."

"Fine. Sisyphus was a tyrant, who slaughtered so senselessly that the gods sought to punish him. In response, Sisyphus attempted to cheat death. He used his own wife and risked her life while doing so. As recompense he was given the immortal life he craved, but burdened with the punishment of his boulder and his hill. An endless task with no meaning, no purpose, no respite. Endless solitude, endless repetition."

"Oh."

"I'm... still trying to figure out what it means."

"Why did he do it?"

"I don't know. I don't know why he did any of what he did. And quite frankly... I don't know if he deserved his punishment."

"I... Don't either."

#i will finish this one day #but it'll become a whole ass scene #i thought you guys would appreciate a sneak peek perhaps #aphblr #minecraft diaries #text post #drabble #mcd aphmau #mcd travis #do I tag this as sisyphus? #i feel like doing that ngl #sisyphus #teehee

[jennycalendar]

so. jenny lives timeline. when in s6 do calendiles have this breakup, does giles still go to england, is it still tabula rasa or do you place it somewhere else? does jenny stick around the scoobies and what happens with them when he comes back? is he feeling some (irrational) type of way towards jenny for willow going downhill "on her watch"? (or does s6 willow not happen like that in the jenny lives timeline?) what's buffy's feeling about jenny after giles peaces out? *sits cross-legged in front of the storytime chair*

oh BOY this is a fun ask. you literally never disappoint carolina i'm blowing u a kiss.

essentially, giles and jenny spend season six pre-buffy's resurrection having this very complicated thing going on, because this is a version of giles who has Lost His Daughter in a way that is much more difficult for him than in canon. giles in canon sorta deliberately cultivated emotional distance and detachment after jenny's death, but i think that this version of giles definitely would have started looking at buffy differently and at the very least allowing himself to admit and inhabit his love for her -- focusing on trying to take care of her, because jenny is in turn there to encourage him and to affirm that what he wants can sometimes have an overwhelmingly positive outcome! (she is the living example of him Pursuing What He Wants, and in a timeline where this led to him finding a happy relationship with a long-term partner, i think that would have really impacted the way that he looks at some of the other things in his life that he wants, i.e. to take care of and be there for buffy. especially with jenny there actively going "yes definitely take care of and be there for buffy.")

thing is though -- and i have perhaps talked about this before -- when the gift rolls around, this means that giles is hit with buffy's death in full force, and also very probably feels that his approach and his support may have limited her in her slayer-ness, because of course he feels responsible. so he spirals out into this all-encompassing grief that pushes jenny into a position of having to shove her own down to take care of him (i wrote a fic about this a while back!) and tensions are building but he's not really cognizant of it because, again, he's miserable. meanwhile jenny has no respite because she is just going "he's the watcher, it's obviously harder on him" and refusing to engage with how much SHE also cares about and misses buffy! she is being the adult in sunnydale!

so when buffy DOES come back, giles doubles down into the more familiar canon attitude of holding buffy at arm's length, because in his grief he has just completely convinced himself that that's what's appropriate for him to do. meanwhile jenny obviously hasn't changed her mind about anything she's doing at all, in part because i don't think she would have felt so immediately responsible for buffy's death in the same way as giles (but also because she literally Has Not Had Time To Process Her Own Shit), so suddenly she and giles are having these FURIOUS fights because he is seriously considering jetting off to england and she thinks that choosing to leave when the kids need them there the most is Absolutely Insane.

which is to say: giles still goes to england. still around tabula rasa. jenny sticks around w/ the scoobies, and i haven't really 100 percent charted out/settled on the ways that willow's own journey changes, but i am sorta enamored with the idea that not a lot about season six changes very much? willow definitely has this incredible intense downward spiral marked by antipathy towards jenny, who is constantly struggling to reach her. i'm on the fence re: xander and anya, because i think it really would impact xander in a big way to be around a committed, loving, supernatural-fighting couple through his formative teenage years, but i also think that seeing that couple break up right before his own impending nuptials might SIMILARLY really impact him.

buffy changes though! i think it would really floor her that jenny chose her over giles. this is probably the season where they end up actually getting closer in a way that's less superficial and nervous, especially since jenny is very team Buffy Needs Support In A Big Way. what i would really want as a theme is that jenny is making small amounts of positive change, but the overarching structure of everything stays the same, which in turn makes her convinced that she Isn't Helping and that Giles Was Right (when in reality what's happening is that, after such a long time working as part of a team to help keep these kids on the straight and narrow, she's floundering without her partner! she misses him! but of COURSE she is still doing good stuff here!)

i haven't really decided how far the willow thing goes. there is a part of me that's very attached to the horrible tragedy of all of it unfolding exactly the same way, especially because i think the giles/jenny confrontation at the end of season six would be A LOT. i like the idea of jenny reaching out to giles and saying "the kids need help, willow ESPECIALLY needs help" and giles brushing her off because he sees this as a continuation of their argument instead of an actual assessment, and then of course she's right and it all goes to shit and he comes back very gentle and apologetic and she is FURIOUS at him. especially furious because he's so much more what she remembers and loves, and she doesn't get the catharsis of being angry at someone who is being belligerent and shitty! but i ALSO like the idea of jenny NOT reaching out and trying to handle it on her own and being so humiliated and miserable by her perceived failure, and then giles coming in and seeing all of the little changes that she doesn't notice (buffy is emotionally present and comfortable with jenny in a way that did not exist before! post-breakup anya has a place in the group beyond Xander's Girlfriend, at jenny's insistence! pretty much all of the kids are so much more protective of jenny and SOOOO much less Team Giles about it, which in this weird way DEFINITELY makes giles really happy. like that IS his precious babe and she SHOULD be appreciated by the kids for it), & subsequently affirming that she did all she could!

also, post finale giles and jenny definitely have some very emotional poorly planned we-didn't-die sex after willow almost ends the world, and then jenny hits him with "i want a divorce." (what really happens is that giles takes this proclamation super seriously, as one would expect, and then jenny spends the first half of season seven being really weird and squirrelly and dodging all communication and never actually serving him with divorce papers. so they're sorta Loosely Separated for a while but it is very clear to all EXTERNAL parties that there is no breakup happening.)

#asks #scenes from the jenny lives timeline #this is all very loose and subject to change because it lives in my head! #someday i will stitch it all together into a real narrative #but for now: storytime chair :)

[pedropascalsx]

the joel miller diaries; diary entry #43.

joel miller x f! reader

summary: you update your diary after a long day hiking with cramps.

warnings: brief mention of masturbation, some pining, angst, mention of arguments, mentions of periods, mentions of cramps, brief mention of forced reproduction.

rating: mature.

word count: 950.

a/n: no physical description for reader. idk what this is. i’ll make this occasionally. it’s fun to write sometimes.

It’s one of those days, everything has feeling, and the only thing worth craving is numbness.

My body is betraying me, it’s punishing me for not giving it a child. The cramps are unbearable, and I feel dirty no matter how many times I scrub myself clean. Well the best I can, when he lets us stop.

We haven’t really stopped moving in days, and when we do it’s to sleep or eat and he’s clearly unhappy that I keep drifting off to find somewhere to wash myself. It feels like a sick joke that my body is doing this to me… I’ve heard that some people don’t menstruate anymore, that the living conditions, lack of decent nutrients and just poor health have made their bodies stop their cycles.

But it’s like clockwork for me, no respite, the second week of every month it comes. I heard someone tell Joel that people are hunting down those who can still reproduce; see if a new generation is immune to the hell we live in. I doubt it. I don’t know if it’s true, but he didn’t let us stop walking for days after hearing that. We walked and walked until the only thing that surrounded us was the wind and the cold hard ground we were walking on.

I think it frightened him, he doesn’t ask too many questions, but I think he worries for the girl now. Even more so than before. Me? Maybe not so much. But I think if they came for us, he’d protect us both.

*

We walked until she threw a tantrum, they argued and then they both sulked. He reluctantly let us find shelter and mumbled angrily about her attitude and her lack of respect. She didn’t mince her words, nor did she mumble, she called him some things that made him scowl harder than usual. And then he boiled some water and dumped in a bunch of rice. She was less miserable with some food in her tummy and so was he. She fell asleep with her head resting against my shoulder. I let her stay like that for a bit longer than he liked, but she rarely lets anyone provide her with comfort and it was just nice to give her a cuddle for a change.

We’re spending tonight in a cottage, abandoned of course, I can’t imagine who lived in this place before it all started. It’s the middle of nowhere and the wind makes the whole structure shake. It feels like one particularly strong gust would just blow the whole thing away.

But still it’s safe. It was empty and Joel was able to push a bookcase in front of the door… not that anyone would be disturbing us here.

She’s sleeping in the bedroom, all sprawled out and hopefully dreaming of nice things. She usually wakes in a good mood after sleeping on something that isn’t just solid ground, so I'm hopeful tomorrow will be less stressful.

Joel will sleep on the ratty sofa and I’ll take the floor. Which I don’t mind. The cramps aren’t easing up and I don’t want to disturb him by making the springs creek everytime I attempt to find a comfortable position. One I’m doubtful I’ll find.

He's reading a book right now, something he picked up off of the bookshelf and just threw himself into. It would have been nice to have talked today, I needed my voice to be heard, but I am not in the business of risking this. I don’t know how long he’ll deal with a straggler. God, if it wasn’t for Ellie, I’d still be stuck by myself… or I'd be dead or even worse. I could be holed up in some sick factory in which I’m forced to procreate with a stranger. Forced to give up something that is not for the taking and have my whole sense of self worth be evaluated on just how fertile I am. Not that I have a lot of self worth these days.

*

I kind of like the way he snores… is that weird? It’s oddly comforting. I think it’s really because I don’t like the silence. I was alone for longer than I can calculate and silence just reminds me of the hell I was living. Things are better now though. I think.

The cramping on the other hand… I want to cry out. I want my pain to be known because I’ve convinced myself that it will make it better. It won’t. But it would be nice to give into one of the two urges that are violently racking my body right now.

Screaming out loud in pain or pleasure. I learned that touching myself there helps when the pain is particularly bad. The rush of pleasure usually lingers long enough to help me sleep, but I’m not alone anymore. And I know what I'd think about. I know who I’d think about and I don’t think I’d be able to look him in the face tomorrow morning when he grumbles something to me about how a cup of coffee would fix everything right now.

Maybe there’s some instant coffee in the pantry, it wasn’t well stocked and I’m pretty sure most of what was left in there is bad. But instant coffee tends to last for years and years. I’ll search for some before he wakes up, when there’s enough light filtering through the windows to make it easier to see.

And for now, I’ll accept my fate. No sleep tonight. No relief tonight. But at least I have the sounds he unknowingly lets fill the air to keep my company.

And maybe tomorrow will be better.

#the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x oc #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fanfic

[shade-without-color]

Do you find knights on drunken parties?(A Midokirin drabble)

Note: It has been forever so I have to write a story based on my birthday piece from @clearwillow, so I am simply tapping upon my nostalgia for all things 2000's teen rom-coms, I am sorry if I took much longer than usual, as I have a bad writers' block- I hope you enjoy that!

On the starry night away from the laughter of college kids, Kirinmaru found himself moving away from the cheap shots of tequila and loud music blasting from cheap speakers in their phone, to see Midoriko rocking herself back and forth in a wooden swing, simply thinking, simply…

Simply….

“I suppose that Jakotsu’s snacks did not agree with you….” Midoriko found herself pausing her swings. “What are you going, drag my hair to enjoy another drunken night and wake up miserable and desiring to drink pickle juice to keep myself focused for next class….”

“No….” Kirinmaru shrugged his shoulders, conveniently shuffling himself unto that empty swing and began to rock his feet back and forth. “I would not let you, I think you deserve some respite. After all, I observe that you made a face to one of Jakotsu’s friends when he touched your butt despite your protests.” Midoriko chuckled a little, there is a term that the clique of girls said to guys who are genuinely thinking with their heads rather their dicks called ‘Green Flag guy’, “You read me too well perhaps…” distracting herself from Kirinmaru’s soft timbre, maybe he is doing that to slide his hands to her hips. “You read me too well…..”, her tone of voice betrayed otherwise, impressed and yet careful. “I went there, not to have fun, but to keep watch of my girlfriend-Yuna, I think you saw her, flirting with the other guys….” Kirinmaru nodded to Midoriko’s word as she recounted that Yuna went through a rough breakup and decided to got to that party to drown her sorrows, in hopes to find a cute guy. Kirinmaru frowned a little, recalling Yuna’s face- she was one of the prettiest girls in the party, drunk on cheerful oblivion, munching through all of the store-bought dips and giving sweet smiles to Kirinmaru.

 “I suggest that we can go for a small spa day at my house and watch shitty movies…” Midoriko kicked her legs back and forth, gazing over the shimmering night sky . “But she would not listen, instead she wasted herself unto that stupid party….”

Kirinmaru quietly looped his arms unto the wired ropes, mirroring her movements “And I suppose you feel like you could not do anything….” As if on cue, Midoriko noticed Yuna swaying back and forth, walking towards Midoriko and Kirinmaru, drunk with cheap liquor and misery. “Hey….I do not feel good at all….” Midoriko got out from the swing grabbing Yuna while Kirinmaru held Yuna’s back, sighing at her pitiful state. “Maybe…we….should… bring her somewhere quiet, if you want, I could drive her home if you want Midoriko….”

 Yuna meanwhile mumbled to Midoriko’s ear. “Hey….we should stay at Bankotsu’s place longer I heard that Jakotsu is ordering some more pizza….”, before nuzzling to her shoulder. “I…” Midoriko shook her head. “Hey….this party kinda sucks Yuna, we should head back….” , Yuna did not protest, but instead mumble to Midoriko. “Yeah….I got a stupid test to study….” Kirinmaru nodded to Midoriko, quietly nodding to Yuna. “You do….well Kirinmaru is cool enough to drive us back home, thankfully not drunk” Midoriko heaved a sigh of relief that Yuna actually comply to their words, as she watched that night sky twinkle brightly in the sky, As Kirinmaru quietly opened the door, allowing Yuna to pass through the car seat, Yuna mumbled to herself. “Shit I feel shitty…..” nuzzling at Midoriko’s shoulder. 

“Do not worry…..” Midoriko quietly smile observing Kirinmaru switching the radio on-to dull the sound of the car engines rubbling, with Coldplay’s Fix You playing softly. “We are going back to the dorm….I will get the painkillers and ginger sodas…” Kirinmaru observed Midoriko stroking Yura’s hair away from her forehead. “Hey, are you ladies comfortable?”, Midoriko did not reply, as she is lulled to the comforting aroma of pine in the car. Kirinmaru did not need to speak, expect to watch for the shimmering traffic lights and road signs.

////

Moments later.

“Here ya go….” Midoriko gently moved Yura out of Kirinmaru’s car seat, careful that she would not knock a lamp post or a sign. Kirinmaru meanwhile lean his hand onto the front of the car. “Hey you do not need to act like you are our bodyguard, we are big girls….” Midoriko smiled quietly. Kirinmaru has a slight blush in his face upon Midoriko’s statement. “Well, I do not feel good when I leave you two girls alone….” Midoriko sighed quietly upon Kirinmaru’s quiet quiver in his lips, as they are about to walk past the guardhouse.

It seems so endearing.

“Hey you know what,….” Midoriko grinned a little. “I will pass you my number, and I will update you on my friend….” That eased Kirinmaru’s heart. She quietly smiled at him. “Do you happen to have a piece of paper?”

“Well….” Kirinmaru muttered quietly. “Oh give me a moment

////

Few weeks later.

Midoriko with Kirinmaru standing together at the record store for their date, which Midoriko picked up the Cranberries- “You like that….” Kirinmaru rubbed smooth circles around Midoriko’s thumb. “I never expect you to like them…” Midoriko laughed quietly at his quiet affection. 

“Then what do you like….” 

Kirinmaru quietly took the record of Smashing Pumpkins, passing it to Midoriko. “This…Tonight, Tonight is so good….” Midoriko giggled a little. “Ok I will take your suggestion, Kirin…..” Midoriko brought to the cash counter. “Then in return, I will pick something for you….” 

“As you wish….” Kirinmaru smiled quietly, waiting patiently for Midoriko to choose the album for him.

Midoriko never thought on that horrid college party that she will meet her knight in shining armour, who eventually followed up with them with many acts of kindness- like checking on Yura’s hangover, or searching for that much needed library book- with the biggest surprise being that he ended up being her boyfriend.

And of course a very sweet one.

#writing #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #kirinmaru #midoriko #midokirin #inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #hope you enjoy this cute and sweet story I made #college AU #fanfic

[nisja888]

dear diary,

dear new diary, this is my new diary, i bought it today and whatever it is that i write here, i want it to be honest. that is the vision. the size and the feel of this diary is reminiscent of a similar one i had in seventh grade i think. growing up i would buy a lot of diaries and i was specific with the type i wanted; i had a vision in my head but all that was available to me in the small stationery shops in my hometown was just very corporate looking office type diaries, and the one i had was exactly that. you would imagine a man who works an office job(god knows what that is) writing down something like phone numbers of people or some type of math thingy. or maybe i just made up this analogy. the truth is that i had tea, and i guess the caffeine is making me feel this way, otherwise i’d be miserable i think. there is a lot for me to unpack right now. listening to la ka land ost, started with ‘another day of sun’. it is a good start. a beginning. the sun card. hope. renewal. a start. a beginning. where do i even start. language. i have been reading stuart hall's book on representation and he says a lot about using language to make meaning. so on and so forth. what really moves me is the very strangeness; paradoxical nature of language. why does everything become so profound and complex and layered with growing up, with time, with experience, with the going on-ness of life. i guess that is just the way it is. so i came across this line of thought: language is at once fixed and fluid. doesn't that fuck things up big time. it fills my head with a lot of ideas. such as, i can never express the depth of my feelings, i can never translate the feelings into words. for so long, i was under the impression that i am good at expressing my thoughts and feelings into words, into writing at least; but now i have sort of realised that i have not fully understood my feelings enough(melodrama is on shuffle now). almost like, writing for me has been some sort of manipulation, an unknowing warping of feelings(mine) which comes with the illusion of them being known but the truth us that they are unknowable, but have the potential of being known. what i am trying to say is that i am impulsive. words come out of me. translation of thoughts/feelings into more thoughts, words, writing, almost like a madman or like a possessed person speaking singing under some influence. once the translation happens, i think to myself, what have i just said, and it doesn't seem to align with how i truly feel; i just spew shit. i just spew shit without taking time to think it through or feel it through, immediacy. that happens a lot in writing, texting. it just comes out of me, and that is okay. no one really trained me to speak or write mindfully i think. what am i even saying.

i guess there is some respite in the fact that language, in whatever form, songs, images, eyes, face, hands, body, words, movement, telepathy, signs, can never communicate the truth, and there is also respite in the fact that truth is slippery and ever changing, so is language, and together they may never meet or intersect to create soul shattering somethingness. i feel so much, yet when i try to translate that feeling, it just detracts. the more i try to say how much i feel for you, or how much i hope for you, the love i feel and have for you, it shrinks as i try to put it into language. so i may never try. but language also has a fixed quality. it can fix, it can concretise, it can make something stand still and make it endure time and space. and there is something about the letters i l o v e y o u that fixes, clarifies the fluidity and ambiguity that persists. It reassures, and it will endure for as long as you feel it, and even if you stop feeling it, i l o v e y o u exists somewhere, it does not get erased. it is real and true.

#love

[binders-and-beanies]

Going off of last nights vent lol. A presenter at the social work conference last week talked abt maslows hierarchy of needs and ya boi is a huge proponent of that model. If u don’t know it’s a pyramid w basic human needs at the bottom and works up to things that help u feel satisfied in life and not just surviving. The idea is that if ur not getting those bottom level needs met how are u supposed to even worry about the upper ones. I’m used to the bottom level saying like “food water and shelter” and I’ve almost always had those things, it feels precarious and the fear of being homeless Someday weighs on me but at least I have the privilege of that being a hypothetical. Anyway the example this lady gave included “warmth” on the same level as those things and I was like wow. I don’t have that. Like, protection from actual frostbite sure. I’m not sleeping in the snow like my clients and I’m grateful for that every time I get in bed and I wonder where they are. But also I’m cold enough every day that my body doesn’t function properly, cold enough to give me emotional outbursts sometimes. I wear a marshmellow jacket to class and at work and yet I’m like not taking in information properly bc all I can focus on is how miserably cold I am. That rly is a maslow situation huh lol how am I supposed to feel things like confidence or peace when I’m just like “if I shake my leg rly fast maybe it will warm me up a little”. The next level up from that includes “safety” which is also iffy for me like again I have somewhere to Go but I can’t walk 10 minutes in public without someone threatening my life. I feel a substantial amount of the middle level things like love and a sense of belonging but I don’t get to *feel* those things bc I’m so consumed by the bare requirements that I don’t get to do. I have a partner and friends that love me dearly but when I’m in their presence I’m anxious bc there are more pressing things I need to get to (and bc I’m cold!!!) idk I feel like that whole theory is a great way of describing where I’m at in life rn like am I happy?? Idk maybe but I don’t get to even strive for happiness or recreation or sense of self. I strive for warmth and less pain and doing all the required things. And I never rly thought abt how the hierarchy thing also works in the sense of like,, yes you don’t get a chance to Try for those high level needs if ur stuck on the bottom but also even if you Do Have higher level needs met as a respite from not having basic needs met,, you don’t get to focus on that either bc ur still physically not ok. Much to think about

#continuation of last post lol #mine #txt #personal

[cattimeswithjellie]

Double Life Scar Impulse Bdubs WIP 👀👀👀 I am super intrigued, pls elaborate??

Let's see...

This one is actually probably my most developed unpublished WIP, it's more than 2000 words long already and is nearly a whole vignette, or at least a first chapter. Basically the story is that Bdubs and Impulse have just fallen to red after the pool party, and Impulse finds Scar dismally poking through the burnt remains of the cake fort. Even on red, good-guy Impulse finds it hard to kick a player when he's down, so they get to talking about Scar's significant relationship woes instead. Eventually the story is supposed to go into the Homewreckers attempting to help Scar break his soulbond with the golden apple they've got hidden away, and how the rest of the game unfolds from there.

Here's just a taste:

As the smoking husk of the Keep came in sight, it was clear that Impulse was not the only one with plans for this morning. Scar was standing in what had probably once been his living room, poking halfheartedly through a couple of burnt chests between bouts of coughing. Despite the supposed health of his green name he looked miserable, like he’d slept in a hole and rolled down a hill to wake up. Even the Jellie kitten on his shoulder looked rumpled and half-groomed.

The red in his blood sang at Impulse to draw his bow, to sneak and stalk and kill this apparently vulnerable prey. The rational part of Impulse remembered that Scar was a crack shot with a bow himself and that he had no idea if Grian was nearby. The part of him that could still feel soft things like compassion had him dipping a couple of rags into the pandas’ water trough and handing one to Scar as he walked up. “Here,” he offered, “put it over your mouth to keep out the smoke.”

Scar jumped with a startled little yelp, sending a stack of wheat flying in all directions as his arms flew up defensively. “Holy! Who? What? Oh, Impulse, you scared me!” He pressed his hands over his heart dramatically, then gave Impulse and the rag a nervous look. “Um, you’re not here to kill me, are you?”

“I’m taking the morning off,” Impulse told him. “Thought I’d come over here and see if there was anything left after the fire.” He tied his own rag over his mouth, appreciating the respite from the tainted air.

“Not much!” Scar admitted with false cheer, taking the proffered rag and clumsily repeating Impulse’s actions. “We really got got, that’s for sure. I probably shouldn’t even be here, but Grian took off this morning and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him! Unless I fall off a cliff, but how likely is that, right?”

“For you?” Impulse teased.

#hermitcraft #answered asks #fanfic #goodtimeswithscar #impulsesv #bdoubleo100

[dream-this-nightmare-over]

my friend lives in deep forest

Our family friend's friend had a son who ran to forest

Surprise was a word of a day as the word got out 

Bruised and blue unbudging gem of most crystal truth before gathered excuses at the wake all dressed in drought

Forgotten were the screams given as answer to heart begging to be listened

Wind rippled through his clothes shadows ran ahead of him before tree line closed 

They said there was snow on his soles

I imagine he outrun his demons and held victory ball in snow covered grove

My friend goes to party of some friend who is not my friend 

I text 'have fun' then wonder how to make new friends if you are never invited anywhere 

My friend talks about birthday dinner he is taking his friends to while I am waiting behind glass for irony to be acknowledge

He played it cool said he doesnt like mixing his friend groups

There are crumbs of cake for me if i wish to come day after at tea time

We are so polite makes me want to throw up aren't we supposed to be having fun before they come with chains cause we failed to do a runner while jury was out

I would say it's karma that coincidences aligned making him revoke his invite if i weren't taught to be polite and not this spiteful monster that resides behind my smile behind all my carefully crafted lies

Bluest eyes i have ever seen outside my mind 

How did it feel when your plans fell out

Did you think of loneliness between my cracks 

Did my words come back in sinister echo from place of regret

Taking red slip out of wallet like you could ever forget what you wanted from night out

Isnt it tragic to know love is conditioned paradox: made to be loved, unable to love 

You have so much to learn

I hope you will be free one day just like birds in your inked prayer

Blame it all on the date on calendar 

Ignorance has nothing to do with supernatural 

I have always wanted to find the culprit

Why does it matter if someone doesnt care 

We will all be oblivion one day

I wonder did son of woods keep a diary 

Did he write his thoughts hoping poison will get out 

Did the realization that hopelessness has no way of getting eradicated once it takes root made his handwriting messy and impatient 

Did he break his own heart during sleepless nights that became only respite from world that only knows how to shout

Did the daydreams fail him miserably did the dreams gave up on him 

Did he hold on till winter as last hope someone would follow the foot marks and stop him 

I hope he found freedom

I hope he howls with wolves

i hope he haunts nightmares of every soul that made him feel unreasonable and fragile

I wonder did they throw away the diary 

Did they burry the guilt to survive cause that's what this is all about

Survival of cruelest.

It's never no one's fault but your own for believing someone cares how you wish to live your life 

People will do everything to kill your will to live 

Build piers for your dreams then warm their socks on ashes of your descend now that you cant fly away 

Release arsenic if needed in air you breath  to kill whats left alive

People will rather kill the good that try to give advice in good nature mistake of putting themselves on line for someone who will never change when told their behaviour hurts those around them 

Snow melted three times over since lives faded into names parents are afraid to mention in front of those that stayed

Like escaping the doom of drowning in bilge of your burned ruined silenced potential is not the bravest con 

For someone who i never really knew outside birthday parties when we were still kids when we were still all invited,

His ghost sure does work overtime to haunt my words like we have shared history unfinished business cautionary tale keeping me alert never to drop my guard keep writing poison will only get blacker but dont you let it stain your heart 

Perhaps the dead get transcript of souls similar  to avert them from going over percipice before it's too late

How long were we fighting same war unknowingly on same sides different frontlines

Who counts fallen and lost 

Who reads anymore poems of the disturbed 

Run uncorrupted child, run away dont look behind 

There is nothing here worth saving 

All the good ones are dead or snuffed out anyway.

#poetry #poem #my poem #sad #depressed #pain #trauma #hoplessness #hopless #love #party #friends #i know no one cares #but people write poetry to feel better #maybe one day someone will see my words #and say 'this is how i feel' #at that would mean a lot #cause we all deep inside feel the same #lonely and broken #forest #suicide #why is life such a sad thing #guess sometimes all we have is art #winter #hanging tree #i didnt know you that good #but i hope you know i wished you stayed

[soft-whisper95]

Some days are harder than others. Today is one of those days. I feel the grief so sharply today. Even though it’s been eight years at this point, there are still days like this. I know that it doesn’t end. It never will. And even though there’s a part of me that wants respite, I want to always remember you. I have to remember that it’s OK that I love you. I can be happy in my life, but at the end of the day I can still miss you. I heard something just recently about how there’s this woman that lost her husband, and now she sees getting older differently. She turned 50 with joy. She knows that there are two options: getting older, and not getting older. I want to remember that. I want to remember that I have the privilege of getting older. I have the privilege of experiencing life. Some thing that you never got. That I just have to hold onto. It makes me miserable, sometimes thinking about your family, your son, and the many people that miss you. We all feel this ache. An ache that does not go away. I have to believe though that you would be happy for me. If you were healthy, despite the obvious difference that you would be here, you would be happy for me. Get to discover myself. I get to meet people and affect their lives. I hope that you could be proud of that. Because when I’m feeling good, I am. Proud of myself. Proud of the progress that I have made in my trauma therapy. I have to be. Because if I don’t, who will be in your stead? Because there is no one who could be anything in your stead. You were you, and I love you. Everyone in my life knows that you’re irreplaceable. That’s OK. I keep my promise. I love you. 

#grief #love #i love you #i miss you #mine #lost #rip #best friend #life

[unfounded-daydreams]

INSOMNIA :  for one muse to find the other still awake at 3 a.m. "I expected to face a long night, but it seems you suffer the same fate. What's on your mind?"

Sam @ Dream // Awesamdude pushes sleep to the absolute limit, understandably so when his mind is too busy mulling over every possible outcome or mistake his actions might have caused. It seems he's not the only one, especially when he finds Dream facing the dark as if it were a long-time friend.

insomnia: for one muse to find the other still awake at 3 a.m. || a comprehensive list of scenarios

Thoughts are quick tonight. Sharp, loud, and quick. It’s painful, Dream thinks. Dissonant swirls impede, relentless in their chorus. He wishes he could pluck them from where they linger. Sealed in labeled jars, they’d be so much easier to understand. Categorized chaos is what he’s used to, anyway. Not free-flowing contentions. Those are confusing, unhelpful, and above everything… discouraging. 

Discouraging. Ha. Perhaps he does need sleep. 

Dream huffs, miserable. Heavy-lidded eyes betray him. He doesn’t feel tired, in truth. Not in the physical sense of the word. Feet shuffle restlessly back and forth even when he’s meant to stand still. Perhaps, instead, he’s too pent-up. Adrenaline makes respite seem more like a distant memory than a promise. He isn’t even sure why, or from where the worries echo. Just that they do.

Sleep has been fleeting the past few weeks. He tries to catch it, pull it close, and let it wash over. But every time, misfortune constricts around his neck. Every time, it suffocates, forcing all sense of reason from his lungs. And every time, he wakes up a spluttering, coughing mess. Nothing actually drowns him save for the nightmares, but he swears his chest feels tight the rest of the morning. 

Avoidance thus took hold. It guides him to stay at the saloon later than usual. He’s not performing anymore tonight; that’s long since been over. Rather, he’s passing drinks around tables. A bold smile or playful wink is all it takes to keep the smaller crowd happy. It’s simple work, but anything he can do to stay alert is a win in his book. Even if it means laboring much later than usual. 

Glass in hand, he slides it across the table to their newest patron — a fresh face in a busy town. Dream offers a hello despite his exhaustion. Emerald eyes sparkle under his masquerade mask, stage attire still in pristine, model condition. He wouldn’t be caught dead these nights without it, not when part of the appeal to the audience is partial anonymity. 

What surprises him is the stranger’s voice. His frivolous greeting is met with an actual response, one showing attention. There’s a hardness to it — a rough-around-the-edges lure that prompts Dream to stay put. He pauses, mouth parting to admit that yes, it is a long night. Barely any others linger, most having left for the evening a while ago.

Lips press closed at the inquiry, however. What’s on his mind? Dream sends his weight to one side, appraising. “Am I that easy to read?” he asks teasingly. Seas of viridian settle upon the stranger. One hat, two boots, and a very lovely jacket. ‘Samuel’ is embroidered on it, and he tests the name out in his head. Samuel. Pleasant sound. 

“You missed the show,” Dream comments, hoping to change topics. Two fingers adjust his mask for emphasis. “Happens after every sunset.” He smiles. It’s not as forced this time. He can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “There’s a reason most people are here earlier, y’know. Not everyone’s a long-time friend with the dark.” 

‘Like us,’ the words settle on his tongue. He can tell. One look at Sam, and he can tell. He isn’t the only one fighting off sleep. For some reason, that hooks him. A stranger in a big town at his tavern far past midnight. He’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity. Shiny and new, that’s what Sam is, and Dream can’t wait to pick him apart. Besides, that hat breathes ‘cowboy,’ and he wouldn’t dare let one slip by without sparing a story or two. Not tonight.

Casting a precursory glance at other patrons, Dream drags over a chair. He straddles it, leaning over its back curiously. “Name’s Dream,” he says. His grin grows lopsided; oddly charming, maybe even playful. “You’re not from around here, are you, cowboy?”

#「dance with the devil」﹒dream﹒ic #「little nightmares」﹒dream﹒answers #「down we go」﹒awesamdude #「rattlesnake at a square dance」﹒western verse #cherubim-of-vvkastel

[ask-team-galactic]

Jeez, Cyrus. It’s really Not Normal for a young child to want to be unable to feel. Most little kids are tiny balls of happiness. What the hell was going on in your life that you wanted that? It’s honestly kind of sad that you gave up on love and happiness, and that you think that not wanting them is the best anyone can hope for. If Cyrus isn’t feeling very open on the subject, could Saturn weigh in?

Cyrus: “I was merely more perceptive than others. I don’t see my realizations as ‘sad.’ Not only are they the reason that I will be able to bring about a better world, they allowed me to focus on concrete goals instead of yearning for something out of my control.

“I don’t see becoming a purely rational being as settling for less. Imagine being able to reach your true potential, never being distracted or misguided by an emotional thought again. Never acting rashly out of anger. Never losing sleep or productivity to useless sorrow. Always making the choices you know you should. I would give up a thousand ‘happy’ lives to bring us all to that ideal.

“If I had been a normal child with a normal childhood, I may not have come to realize that pure rationality is our ideal state. For that reason, I am entirely at peace with my past.”

—-

Saturn: “I hope I get the details right... he opened up to me about this, but it was many years ago. And please don’t tell anyone that I told you this, okay? He wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Cyrus had a pretty miserable childhood. His parents expected the world of him, and even when he could live up to their academic standards, he could never be normal enough for them. He was an embarrassment in their eyes- a freak and an annoyance. His parents fought all the time and his mother took her misery and anger out on him. Between that and being an outcast amongst his peers, he started hiding away from people as much as possible and repressing everything, which only made him seem stranger and alienated him more. It was a vicious cycle. Even the other adults in Sunyshore came to think of him as this strange, lifeless, antisocial kid who didn’t seem quite human.

“He did have good people in his life. His grandfather loved him. His older sisters were nice to him when they visited. He was even best friends with a rotom for a while. But since it was all against a background of being seen as a freak by everyone including his own family, I can kind of see why he thought of kindness as a respite, and why he felt like it would be better to just not care about how others treated him.”

#asks #commander saturn #pokemon saturn #galactic boss cyrus #pokemon cyrus

[ipsomaniac]

knackered. went up to cambridge yesterday to visit j’s dad, who has (under fairly traumatic circumstances) now been moved into the care home where he may well spend the rest of his life. it was really tough. i was expecting to feel secondhand sadness - hurting for j and j’s family - but instead i am directly grieving for mike.

mike is a lovely man. before the alzheimer’s progressed, he was a magnificent guitarist. he could litigate in 3 languages. he was an amazing photographer. and he was, and still is, a real gem of a person, very kind, always goofing around. even now that he is mostly incoherent in conversation, his instinct is always to try and gesture towards a joke.

he started exhibiting symptoms of alzheimer’s in his late 50s/early 60s but wasn’t formally diagnosed until about 5 years ago. he is now a wiry 72 year old - not as fit as he used to be but basically physically healthy and mobile. he could conceivably live another decade.

seeing him in that care home... god. even a nice care home is still a care home, it has the dreadful scenes of decrepit old people gormlessly gathered around daytime television, silent communal mealtimes, the faint whiff of piss in the hallways, the glimpses through doors of an aged figure lying in bed garbling to herself. mike, upright, mobile, healthy, sticks out like a sore thumb. the awful thing is that this is the nice care home. the first place he went to, last week, was apparently much worse. here, the care staff are friendly and familiar; there’s a narrow garden area that wraps around the home, with plenty of outside seating. the narrative is meant to be: after all the trauma of the past few weeks, after all the instability in the care situation, finally we have found the right place for him. finally we can rest easy in the knowledge that he’s in a good place.

but he’s not stupid. he’s got dementia but he knows where he is and he has a subjective experience that you have to take seriously. it is easier when someone is so far gone that you can’t empathise and you can let yourself off the hook from imagining yourself in their place, but no such respite with him. he has interiority, he has desires and he clearly states them: “i want to get out of this place”. and there’s nothing you can say. i know. im sorry. you have been buried alive. you have been trapped in a pocket dimension. you are looking down the barrel of years of empty hours, eking out your time in this futureless holding cell. this place was built to house people when they have not yet died but there is no longer a place for them in the world of the living. you are waiting to die; there is nothing to disguse this fact; it may take a very, very, very long time. your illness has made you lonely; now you will reach new depths of loneliness. there will be a stream of visitors in the early days but it will slow to a trickle. i wish i could break you out of here. if i were you i would want to die rather than be forced to live through such torture. but you do not have that choice. you have no choices left to make. im so sorry.

my mind keeps gnawing at it; what is he doing now? what is he feeling now? how does he while away his hollow hours? he is eating his meal in silence, surrounded by decrepit strangers. he finishes his meal; now what? perhaps he wanders around the ugly hallways aimlessly for a while and then settles in front of the tv in absence of any other obvious source of stimulation. perhaps he wanders into his cramped little room overlooking the business park. and then... i run out of ideas. there’s so little to fill his time. somehow he exists until it is time to lie down to sleep in his narrow uncomfortable-looking medical cot and then he sleeps until he must wake and endure all this nothing again tomorrow. i am so miserable contemplating this, so i seek stimulation where i may: i hug my partner and talk with him, go for a walk in the open air, read, write, blob on my computer. and as i do these things i am all too aware that none of these options are available for him. he has so little to cushion the hard blankness of time.

i am grieving for the half life he must live, but i am also so angry that it has come to this. mike is physically healthy, does not require intimate or medical care but basically just needs full-time babysitting - you wouldn’t think it would be impossible to sort out live-in care for him, or find some way to enable him to live in the world. but it’s not. clare has exhausted her options and the right care just isn’t available. instead she must pay a fortune to shut him away - as if this is a privilege! i dont have a good way to end this. i hope he is tired and sleeps quickly.

#babble #cw care homes #alzheimers #death

[rachymarie]

So I went to doc yesterday for a medi certif, and she read me the response from the local NGO(?) local support team I requested to be connected back up with, because surprisingly, my chronic incurable illness is chronic/incurable??

Apparently they came back rejecting my application saying I broke rules in the respite facility? But the so-called "rule-breaking" they cited (I stayed at someone's house one of the nights) I had discussed with them at the time and they didn't say I couldn't or anything about it being wrong? So apparently respite is supposed to be a prison and we are not allowed friends or anything we have to be miserable and suffering on our own?

Idk it left me fuming. So much that I could barely ramble about it following the appointment and was irked/cross/mad/upset/blindsided/exasperated. That's not even the reason they used for ejecting/yeeting me in the first place. I was told their reason for yeeting me was I wasn't trying to hit their arbitrary goals they made me set (such as learn to take the bus) aka jump through neurotypical hoops/perform for them to get support, so I didn't realize they basically thought I was some kind of horror of a client (?? Most people/old school reports/employment reference letters say I am conscientious and sweet, wouldn't hurt a fly etc) when they literally had clients knifing the couch, punching holes in the walls, taking apart the windows and stealing shit. It all feels a bit two-faced to me. Might have to try the other local support team now which is a bummer cos they don't offer respite. But mum said do we really want me to connect back with the original ones if they are that mean that they make up random shit I apparently did wrong that they have probably been complaining about behind my back

Imagine turning a schizospec away when they actually finally ask for help? And New Zealand is supposed to be one of the better countries for mental health system etc. Everyone says speak up about your mental health struggles and ask for help but often when you do this kinda shit happens.

This stupid ambulance at the bottom of the hill situation of the health system only gonna get worse under the new govt. Like sorry I don't seem "broken enough" to you just because i use big words (in itself a symptom/trait of the illness/autism). My excessive wordiness/rambling is often debilitating and can also lead me to being ignored/dismissed or even that I'm using such big/advanced vocab that people don't understand me. (Language is actually a passion of mine so please bear with).

We need a better system for long-term support for our lifelong illness, other than just plopping us on medication that doesn't even begin the fully treat the schizospec illness

And if everyone else could stop bullying/kicking us when we're down by using terms such as schizoposting, delulu etc and media stop with all the negative/unfair portrayals that would be great thanks. We are dealing with A LOT and most often not getting the support we need

Anyway I can only keep trying, on the upside I got connected with the female HIP (health improvement practitioner) who is nice and we will see what we can do with that. Ever grateful it's funded, and that they got a woman/someone other than my high school ex into the practice. My gp has also been pretty amazing. If I am too advanced of a mess for the HIP I'm told at least she can refer me on to like a psychologist. Female would be good because of my tendency to decide that male therapist etc are attracted to/in love with me lol "pls, you're not THAT special"

#personal #Rachel rambles #vent #chronic illness #mental health system #ambulance at the bottom of the hill #schizospec