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thinking about that one video

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"This is what you see?

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It was so nice to hear that I could still make people laugh. Smile. That I was still capable of making a little bit of light, even if I can't see it myself. Even when everything feels a little more dark every day. There's still just a little glimmer, just a tiny bit. It can still be good.

I spent a lot of time tonight thinking about my family. About how I grew up with such security and privilege. I know I was spoiled. I was provided for, I grew up well. But I also.. can't remember any of it. So few fine details remain. So little to vouch for that sense of comfort I know I was lucky to be raised with. It's all just... feeling, now. All just the noise that remains. And so much of that which remains isn't good. So much of it is actually quite horrible, I think.

I spent a lot of time tonight feeling profoundly dead. Realizing so little of what I can remember is good. And the more I'm able to dig up, the more I'm convinced I wasn't... I was loved, I was. But I wasn't always treated kindly. I was loved, but I wasn't... loved.

I couldn't stop thinking about one night when I was struggling with school, I couldn't have been older than twelve. Papers everywhere, my parents groaning and blaming. I was letting them down. I didn't know it at the time, but that was going to become the primary emotional lodestone I would have with my parents in every situation going forward: disappointment. I would always need their help, and I learned quickly to associate their help with their expectation that I would fail to receive it right. Fail to capitalize on it. Fail to convince them the effort they had spent on their son was worth it. Fail.

That was the first night I was really... aware of that. That when they tried to lift me up further than I could go, myself, the only place I could go from there was back down. I remember I was crying so hard, trying so hard to think through the issue, the problem. I realized I could barely breath, I was hyperventilating. I remember I tried to tell them, to say I couldn't breathe, that I was so scared. That I needed help.

And I remember... they told me I was faking it. That I could breathe fine, that I just needed to calm down. That I was just being dramatic. They were already helping me, that's why they were there. To help me with school. Why wasn't I trying?

Tonight I realized, I think for the first time, that I had suffered a panic attack that day. What I had experienced was a panic attack. I was only just in middle school, and I was having panic attacks, sobbing, drooling and choking with fear, begging for help from people who would teach me how to drive, help me with finances, send me to college, meet my medical needs, teach me to cook, who would provide for me as parents in ways other people would kill to have. And they told me I was faking being unable to breathe.

Maybe if I had fainted, or ran out, or started hurting myself, or. I don't know. I don't know what would have convinced them that night that something was wrong with me. I'm sure they finally had to accept it when I became suicidally depressed only a few short years later. But that night? I don't remember what happened afterwards. Only what didn't. I autopiloted through the lesson, as best I could. And if they were convinced of anything after that, it's that they were in the right. That I was being overdramatic, that I could be successful if I just applied myself. That they were doing a good job. They sat with me at the table, didn't they? I finished, didn't I? All's well that ends well. So eventually, a day like that could.. happen again, just slightly different. And again, somewhere else, somehow else. The same help. The same choking. The same disappointment.

And now here I am today, having spent so much of tonight still feeling like I couldn't breathe. Having it dawn on me, just how irreparably damaged I've become by things I can barely even remember now. Being unable to reconcile how much of it is me versus how much of it is them. I just. Don't know what to do with any of it. How to fix. Any of it.

Every day feels a little darker. But. I can still make a little light for the family I still have. My friends. I'm sorry I'm probably not made to last. Having panic attacks at 12, you probably won't squeeze much out of me after a certain age. But I'm not going willingly, okay? I'm. Still here. I'm trying. Im trying, right?

Please believe me. I've spent my entire life trying to convince them that I've truly been trying my best. And I've been trying for so long, I've been left trying to convince myself along the way, too. I have to be trying my best. This has to be my best, right? Or was I always made to choke at the slightest inconvenience? Was I always made to burn out fast?

I don't know. But the light's not out yet. I'll. keep it lit as long as I can. I'll try my best. Try.

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The transhumanists are sending theoretical gangs of hypothetical cyborg warriors to possibly some day kick my ass after I called their ideology reddit

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normal day in tf2 casual

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ily, menswear guy

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more Dungeon Meshi in Wind Waker style! (first part)

I like the idea that Link could stumble on Laios's party in dungeons, maybe after the miniboss, and they offer you a meal that replenishes your health, sort of like Yeto from TP! You could take some with you in a bottle like grandma's soup. There could be a funny interaction if you show Marcille a joy pendant, and she thinks it's really pretty until Laios and Senshi tell her it's actually a treasure bug.

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i'm bisexual because i'm attracted to both flesh and machinery

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when e.e. cummings said “i’ll live my life if it kills me”

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god i wish that fucking kid didnt have such bad aim

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the optician prescribing me new glasses

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Gatekeeping is so good and important

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Occasionally forget people genuinely think capitalism is thousands of years old

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To The People I Pass On The Train At Night - Jordan Bolton

My first book ‘Blue Sky Through the Window of a Moving Car’ is now available to pre-order! Get it here - https://smarturl.it/BlueSky