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I love seeing people passionate about things, like fanfiction for example. These people are not getting paid or getting anything for their work, and yet I have read full novel-length fanfics that have changed my views and perception of life more than any published book I’ve ever read, yet what do you mean they get nothing out of it besides just sharing what they love? It’s crazy.

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I’ve spent a long time either stewing in my thoughts or pushing them away, with no in between of the two. Recently I’ve been doing more of the latter, trying to fill up my days with activities and feeling bad when I’m too tired to keep up with it all. I saw a post somewhere recently about how you need to let your mind wander sometimes, that you shouldn’t be constantly hiding from your own brain. I think I needed that reality check, but it’s weird when in the past I’ve been in my head too much, and I guess now I’ve gone to the extreme on the other end of the spectrum.

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You should write the most niche, indulgent fiction that appeals to you specifically, because it will be much more artistically authentic and valuable than corporate slop that has been focus tested to death to appeal to the widest audience possible.

Write for yourself and you will always be making authentic art that has an uncompromised vision, and you will gain an audience that appreciates that.

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Anyway, I might need tighter stockings.

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I think I can comfortably say that I am the only person on the planet who has drawn a Wonderbread manatee.

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✨️🎶✨️🎶☀️🎶✨️🎶✨️

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Help me make a masterlist of the best electrolyte brands used for POTS/Dysautonomia

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Tales from The Overgrowth: Part 1- The Bookstore

Farren knew today was going to be a rough one. The air quality was shit, the dark grey clouds were still covering the sky meaning a storm was coming, and she was not looking forward to the possibility of acid rain again. The city was not a good place to stay for an extended period, yet here she was, sheltering in an abandoned retail store hoping that the storm would pass quickly.

As the first drops of rain began to sizzle on the concrete in front of the store, she cursed whatever gods were up there; guess she was in it for the long haul.

“Screw it,” Farren said, deciding to explore the store. Upon a closer look she could see books lining the walls making her think this was probably a bookstore once. She surveyed the titles, noting that all the authors were probably long dead.

It’d been ten years since the start of the apocalypse, Farren herself had only been around fifteen when it’d begun, and now at twenty-five things hadn’t gotten much better. She tried remaining in her small town but with neighbors quickly turning on each other she’d left. Now years later she still couldn’t believe a city this big was empty, she’s sure there were some survivors, but she wouldn’t bet on running into any of them, lest she want to be killed.

Farren walked further into the store, noting a staircase in the corner, probably leading up to a loft area. She ran her hand over the dusty books that lay on a table next to her and pushed down the urge to pick one up. She doesn’t know the last time she read for pleasure was, though before the start of this all she’d hated reading, but with the fall of the internet and power, books quickly became her chance for survival.

She walked up to the staircase, testing her weight on some of the rotting stairs before cautiously walking up them. She was proven right when the room opened into a living space, the door to it busted open as if the owner had left in a rush (they probably had).

“Please don’t be any dead bodies.”

The small studio apartment was cozy, and there were many dead plants in various stages of decomposition, but no bodies.

She entered the kitchen and instinctively tested the faucet, surprised when a small trickle of water came out. It was only upon walking back into the living space did Farren find a small alcove with a bed inside, bookshelves surrounded it creating a closed in space within the studio.

She hummed, “Not a bad spot for the night.”

She looked through the bookshelf, just as she’d done downstairs, and noted the various journals that sat there. Despite the questionable morality of it she reached towards the first journal all the way to the left, it was labeled ‘one.’

Opening it up Farren was met with neat handwriting lining the page, and upon flicking through the rest of the pages she was met with a similar sight.

Entry 1:

Hello, I guess this is a thing I’m doing now, writing I mean. I’m not going to act like this is not some way for me to get rid of my loneliness, because it definitely is, but considering I haven’t had a civil conversation in years I think it’s fair.

I’ve been trying to keep up with the maintenance on this place, I’ve kind of been ignoring the mess that is downstairs, but my actual apartment remains functional. I got the water running again, it wasn’t very hard to be honest, but I won’t bore you with that tedious process.

Electricity remains an issue, but I was able to find a shit ton of batteries from the convenience store down the road and some gas from all the cars still left on the main street. I know the store next door has a generator but it’s a bit heavy so I’m struggling to come up with a plan there. It’d be so nice to have electricity again, even if it was just to get the lights on for an hour out of the day.

I’m going crazy in the darkness, I’m half tempted to punch a hole through the ceiling just to get some light in, but that wouldn’t do great for the never-ending rain.

At least I won’t get bored, I can finally get to that reading list, and money is obviously not an issue anymore- ha-ha, if I don’t laugh, I will cry, I’ve done enough of that though.

It’s beginning to get colder outside, another reason to get the generator running. If I don’t figure that out soon I’ll surely freeze to death, I’ve come too far to die now though.

God what I would give for one normal day again… okay now this is just getting depressing, maybe writing wasn’t the best idea.

-Wren

It felt wrong to be reading something that was most definitely from a dead person, but Farren felt sort of connected to them. The struggles in this notebook were not unknown to Farren, hell they were things she’d gone through herself; it made her feel less alone. Maybe that’s why she continued to read the journal, that or morbid curiosity, she could only hope that this person was still alive out there, somewhere.

She flipped through a couple of pages, skimming the words. A lot of it was Wren talking about their supply runs and efforts to try and get a generator running, something Farren found out through a later entry that they’d succeeded at. That made her pause, if the generator was still here then maybe…

She stood up, quickly scanning the apartment again, noting the balcony that was on the far wall. Walking over, she opened it and realized that it was a pretty big area, more like roof access than a balcony, and there were stairs going down the side to a courtyard behind the building.

To the right of the door she had walked out of stood a big generator, one likely meant to power a whole building and not a small apartment. There were a couple gas cans next to it, all of which were full.

“Holy shit,” could she have gotten any luckier?

A creeping feeling entered her chest then, nothing this good ever happens to her. She couldn’t help the doubt that entered her mind, what was the catch here? Surely this Wren person wouldn’t just leave all this here. Why didn’t they take it with them when they abandoned this place?

Obviously there were the common sense answers, they probably didn’t have the room or means to take all this stuff with them, maybe they knew the risks and decided to let looters like Farren stumble upon it.

Well, she wasn’t one to not take opportunities like this one up.

“Screw it,” she said, deciding to start the generator. It likely wouldn’t start, it’s probably been sitting here for a while, but she figures it’s worth a shot.

Within the first couple pulls on the ripcord she gets it started, surprising her.

“Holy shit.”

Farren walked back into the apartment, closing the door and noting the extension cords that laid throughout the place and where they lead to. One leads to the kitchen, another to a light in the living room, and one to the bathroom. Turning on the light in the living room lights up the small space, illuminating all the things she hadn’t noticed before. Picture frames covered the walls, along with a huge cork board with a map and strings pinned all over the place.

Farren walked closer to the board, noting the red circle that seemed to be the location of the apartment. Words were scrawled all over, locations of stores and water tanks, there were even marks of the places Wren had taken gas from making it easier to know where to try next.

It was a smart but stupid move, staying in the city. Farren herself hadn’t been here in years, the last time hadn’t been a good experience to say the least, but she was in desperate need of supplies, supplies that the smaller towns were out of. Luckily, this place was still intact, but it was almost too perfect.

Her eyes were drawn to the many picture frames, almost all of which contained the same person repeatedly. She could guess that that was Wren, it was just weird to see another person, even if it was just through a picture.

Farren was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t hear the creaking of the staircase, though she did hear the cocking of a gun making her instinctually reach for her own.

“Don’t even think about it,” a rough voice said from behind her, she guessed they were approximately near the door that led back down to the bookstore.

Read more here or here

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It’s frustrating when your body can’t handle the amount of activity you want or need to do- and I’m not talking about exercise, I’m talking about activities as in the things you do everyday: showering, hobbies, work school, chores, hanging out with friends, watching tv, etc. Now just imagine not being able to do all of those things, even if you absolutely need to, imagine having to pick and choose every single day what you can do, and what is worth pushing past your symptoms for. Will I shower or do the dishes today? Cook dinner or do a hobby I haven’t been able to get to in a week? Rest or ignore the symptoms knowing I will feel worse later if I do so? It may seem like a silly, inconvenient, even stupid way of doing things to you, but to me this is my everyday life, if I do not make these wagers I will suffer for it, and oftentimes I will still suffer for it despite these sacrifices and my best efforts.

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I copy pasted parts of this but I do hand letter everything, because while I'm trying to work easier as I'm chronically ill, I am still chronically stupid

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People tend to think that when you're not able to do work because of chronic illness or disability (taking days off, not doing housework, being unemployed etc.) that you're just able to have fun and chill out like it's a holiday but that's so far from the truth.

The symptoms preventing you from working usually also prevent you from doing things you enjoy, or at least make doing those things significantly harder and less enjoyable.

It may seem like someone not working due to an illness has lots of free time, but that's not correct. The time is not free, the time is being used to rest and recover, which is really a task in its own right.

When I'm in a state where I can't go to school, I usually can't do much else either. I'm too fatigued, or in too much pain to make art or play games, too fatigued to read and actually comprehend what I've read. The only thing I can really do is lie down and scroll social media or watch TV, anything I don't need to actually think about or put physical effort into.

And it's not enjoyable. I'm still suffering from symptoms. I want to do other things, but I can't.

I would much rather feel healthy and work than be ill and stay home

(Disclaimer: this isn't to say that everyone with a chronic illness or disability is always suffering and unable to do anything or that disabled people can't have fun or that anyone who is able to participate in hobbies and fun things must be well enough to work, just that it's frustrating to see people think disabled people are "lucky to not have to work". Wanted to say this in case anyone gets the wrong idea or feels invalidated - you don't need to suffer greatly to be valid in your illness)

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not every disability is a chronic illness

not every chronic illness is a disability

you can be disabled without being chronically ill and vice versa

you can be disabled and also have (a) chronic illness(es) that do(es) not disable you

it's okay not to want your condition or disability to be seen as an "illness" when it isn't; for many people this is a form of ableism experienced throughout their lives

there is overlap between the two communities, but using these two terms as interchangeable is ignorant at best and erases the experiences of many people across the spectrum

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My health grief comes in waves, one minute I could be fine and the next I’m realizing how much I can’t do anymore and how much my life has changed. It may be in the little things, like realizing I can’t do anything for very long without symptoms popping up, or realizing that a new symptom has gone unnoticed. Sometimes it’s bigger things, like quitting a job or school, realizing I can’t take showers standing up, or that some of my hobbies have been abandoned due to how much energy they take up. I grieve at these things, sometimes I’ll crack under it all, even if it may seem small to outsiders, something as little as someone making an ignorant comment can set it off. I feel tired and sad and just utter devastation that my life has changed irreparably.

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I just saw such a great disability term I personally haven’t ever seen before and I wanted to share it with everyone so here it is:

Usable hours, aka the amount of hours a day someone has where they can carry out tasks (school, work, showering, cooking, household tasks, being out of bed etc.)

I don’t know why but this feels so revolutionary to me 😂

If I’m honest it changes a lot for me but on average I can manage 4-5 whereas a healthy person might have 10-12 usable hours. Otherwise I’m sitting on the couch scrolling and watching YouTube or resting in bed.

Some days I can handle more and sometimes a lot less depending on how much I’ve done previously that week/month etc. It also depends a lot on the type of tasks, I manage mental tasks pretty well and typically write a decent amount but physical tasks exhaust me much more quickly.

I know this is a lot more than some people but instead of focusing on that I’m trying to focus on how much less it is than a healthy person. Having half as much time in a day I can be functional as the average person and during that time I’m still exhausted/in pain/having symptoms/struggling in ways an abled person wouldn’t.