asexualpoppunk-blog

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Feels like they’re putting less meat in the hot pockets these days

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Hey this blog is ten years old! I'm 23 and engaged now ! I'm moving out of my house this month!! I'm

So happy - anyone who was following this blog because you related to how depressed I was I just wanted to say!! I'm okay I made it and I'm happier than ever

It's worth the journey I love you all

(And I'm still blogging over @vastveridian)

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HEY THIS BLOG IS PRETTY DEAD  BUT IT’S OWNER IS STILL ON HERE !!

oh gosh ... I havent used this blog since early HS 

if you guys still want to follow me my new blog is @lumophobia - 

I shut down this blog because I was depressed and had really bad dysphoria 

all the discourse on my dash was terrible and i couldn't open my tumblr anymore 

my new tumblr content wise isnt much different although i have embraced my families pagan heritage so that’s on there ... 

my pronouns have changed since I shut down the blog tho I think it has been a very long time 

I hope I see some of ya’ll on there it’s a real rad place I miss all those sweet messages I used to get lol 

Also if you guy’s are still looking to get those icons made I could still make them - probably better now im really good with illustrator and Photoshop - my blog is still an inclusive place an now is pretty much discourse free so 

if your’re into that head on over !  

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Praying is swell and all, but you can also preemptively donate to Hurricane Patricia relief organizations, such as ShelterBox or the Red Cross so that Mexico can receive immediate assistance. And please feel free to reblog this with additional and/or better donation links, as I could only do a cursory Google search while at work.

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the moment when the fire drill alarm went off

Things Public School Kids Take Way Too Seriously

Jeopardy

Review Games

Kickball

Spirit Week

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This is great until u realize I'm a film student who watches horror movies and the blacklist

As much as I want this

I don't want this

Someone should make an app called ‘Netflix and Chill’ that matches you with local singles who like the same shows as you

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The summer I turned twenty, I cut off all my hair, got wicked drunk and took shots at the stars, kissed a girl for the first time. I didn’t fall in love, but I tried to. It was the summer where three people died— where tragedy was never more than two weeks away from itself. First, it was Allison’s brother. Then, Mary’s fiancée. Then, my father. One. Two. Three. The men in our lives, gone in a heartbeat— too much death under one roof, too much emptiness for the Texas sun to lay claim to. We dug up parts of ourselves we could never put back in the ground, that summer. We learned that sometimes people wear grief too differently to hold one another: that no one knows what to say because condolences don’t pry nails out of coffins, that tombstones are not grave-markers for the dead, but stone slabs the living carry on their shoulders. We learned that the aftermath of death is unique as a fingerprint. Allison’s was brave. Mary’s was quiet. And mine, mine was furious— I wasn’t done with him, yet. There were too many battles left unfinished— this was not how I wanted to win the war. Grief looks ugly in the mouth of a girl still relearning how to love her father. It is a useless extra limb on the body of someone with ten years of bad blood to make up for. When you know your father as little more than sickness in a skin-suit, there is nowhere for the rage to go when you’ve lost him. I didn’t speak at the funeral because I couldn’t trust myself to be kind and much as I wanted to be angry at my father, his memory didn’t deserve that. My mother didn’t deserve that. See, there is this impossible love that children carry even for the parents that hurt them, and I remember what he was like before the pain and the medication got the best of him. And I just wanted to be good enough for that man. To everyone who knew me when my father was alive— to my mother, especially. I am sorry for the rage I hung my shoulders with. I am sorry for becoming all the worst parts of him. I’m sorry that I went looking for a place to bury all that heartache and that I became graveyard, instead. But the one who taught me loud, the one who taught me chaos and thunder and boom was Dad. And I learned it well. I didn’t have Dad’s excuse: how the medication wore my father’s face for him: shook my home down to its foundations then left when there was nothing left to lay waste to. I just kicked and screamed and rattled hoping that someone would hear me. I am quiet, now. Dad is quiet now. And sometimes I miss the way his voice could fill the house.

THE SUMMER I TURNED TWENTY by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)

[asexualpoppunk-blog]

Praying is swell and all, but you can also preemptively donate to Hurricane Patricia relief organizations, such as ShelterBox or the Red Cross so that Mexico can receive immediate assistance. And please feel free to reblog this with additional and/or better donation links, as I could only do a cursory Google search while at work.

[asexualpoppunk-blog]

me: [reaches the gates of the underworld]

me: [sees cerberus]

me: puppy!!!! puppy! :D !!!! pup

cerberus: :D! :D! :D!

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Studio portrait of an African American female equestrian from the late 1880s. Now that’s how to wear a top hat.

via Black History Album, The Way We Were

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dont let your white friends convince u to fuck with spirits this halloween

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I honestly cannot get over how disgusting this site is like You're calling someone attention seeking for being open about their illness / disorder? How toxic can you fucking be? Like everyone here is so up their own ass I can't believe you haven't suffocated yet like - was someone else's side bar bothering you /so/ much that you just /had/ to say some shit about it? No but you felt like it was 100% your place to "Anxiety and depression" lemme tell you that shit cannot compare to a personality disorder or a mental disability - being open about who we are and what we have isn't attention seeking - it Just isn't hiding from disgusting ass mother fuckers like you Literally everyone on this website has some petty ass damaging opinion that they should just keep to themselves until they get educated or die because honestly do you really need to be another asshole making someone feel bad ? No but you feel entitled to do that - you feel like somehow it's your right to verbally abuse and belittle the way that marginalized people live their lives because you don't have to live that way and some how it makes you better then us and we deserve to be made fun of for anything we do or any way we act just so you can cling to your own entitlement - Fuck you thatnewkindoffamous andrewbreital and fuck this website

over fifty thousand unironic, uncritical reblogs. a handy reminder that neurotypicals don’t want to accomodate you or stop treating you as abnormal. fuckers.

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So relevant now that I'm back to school

from the amazing hyperelasticzebra.tumblr.com

[picture of a Siamese cat’s head against a triangle-sectioned background with many shades of blue. Top line of text reads: Fatigue  || Bottom line of text reads: so much fatigue]

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Nickname: Views

This is really old - but - This is interesting