You know, a barista said the nicest thing to me yesterday. He said "Don't ever apologize for taking up space in this universe. You deserve to be here as much as everyone else." And it got me thinking.
I hear a lot of people say you don't have to talk about your trauma, and that's absolutely 100% true. And you deserve not to be exposed by possible triggers, or warned so you can make that choice. But that isn't the case when it comes to real life, where there are no filters.
But you know what? It's ok if you want to talk about it, too. You didn't do this to yourself. You didn't ask for this black cloud or this thing strangling your neck that you can't shake off. You didn't ask to be weighed down by the shame and the stomachache of guilt that goes with it.
You don't have to feel bad for making someone else uncomfortable at the expense of your own discomfort. Because you live uncomfortably every second of every day, even in your sleep, because you can't even get any peace from it there.
So when someone says something that triggers you, you should be able to ask them not to do that in the future instead of wallowing in the shame. Except you can't because their reaction always causes the shame to grow exponentially. Their voice is so much louder than yours, and it takes up so much room.
But you deserve to take up space, too. You deserve so much more than that.
You deserve a space to say something. You deserve to talk about it, say something, anything, as loud as you want.
Just as there's no shame in saying nothing, there's no shame in having your voice take space either. You deserve it. You deserve to be heard.
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.
No matter how long I live, I will never get used to the cruelties that infest our world.
That such evil is allowed to breathe the same air as us…is an abomination.
OK i’m getting more into rayman now and i need someone to explain to me why the fuck i have not seen a single person on the internet talking abt this pairing . Am i losing my mind??? Am i the problem ???? Please
someone said it on twitter but i can’t find it - but it’s astonishing how people found it more believable that a woman in her 20s concocted a scheme over multiple years to frame her millionaire, worldwide-famous actor husband of domestic abuse, as opposed to the possibility that this famous actor (who is almost 20 years her senior and has publicly-known problems with alcohol and drugs since the 90s) was so angry that his moment in hollywood had passed, he wasn’t as popular as he used to be, but that his wife was doing better at the box-office than he was, she wanted to leave him and he just couldn’t stand the idea of her being happy or financially stable without him. misogyny is a fabulous thing isn’t it.
the one thing that makes me absolutly feral is the fact that Adam is going to hell after he dies. it was established in the show that once you went to hell you are kinda lost cause (unless you're Sam or Dean 'cause the rules don't apply to these bastards). so. no matter what Adam does, no matter how he lives his life, he is still going to hell. after everything he's been through. meanwhile the fucking Winchesters who killed so many people, who lied, stole and shit, are chilling in Heaven. i can't do it. i can't do it today