phdinpessimism

[phdinpessimism]

More pixel art:

[phdinpessimism]

Learning how to do pixel art. I think I made a depressed Nacli. Or an emo mushroom:

The photo I was attempting to recreate:

[phdinpessimism]

First semi-proper attempt at pixel art:

[phdinpessimism]

Learning how to use Photopea

Edited Photo:

Original Photo:

[phdinpessimism]

Some old poems of mine (5):

TW: depression

Dreams:

To get away from this house.

To be myself

and get away from these shackles

that drag me down.

To be happy and love myself.

But the thing about dreams

is that they're impossible to accomplish,

and few ever succeed.

[phdinpessimism]

Some old poems of mine (4):

TW: depression, mental & emotional abuse

Mornings:

What I dread the most about mornings,

is waking up.

Waking up to a new day of pain,

of anguish,

of a never-ending cycle

that tears me apart.

Waking up to a family

that isn't family,

and being beaten

until I wish it would all end.

The worst part about mornings,

is having to stop dreaming.

[phdinpessimism]

[phdinpessimism]

[phdinpessimism]

TW: poor mental health, self-harm

Help Me:

Can you help me feel comfortable in my skin and keep the demons from getting in?

Can you help me silence the voices when I'm going deaf from all the noises?

Can you help me keep my hands away from my itch though all I want to do is tear my skin off when I scritch?

Can you help me steady my breathing if the choking air gets too seizing?

Can you help me save myself from drowning in my negativity before your place in my life starts uncrowning?

[phdinpessimism]

Might be part of something larger.

TW: depression, self-harm, suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, blood

Red. Red was a beautiful color. It wasn't her favorite color but there was something enchanting about it. The way it flowed down her arm into the sink, taking her pain and memories with it. She couldn't tear her eyes away even if those people were screaming at her. Red. Down her arm. Red. Down the sink. Red red red. Down the drain. It was the only time she felt okay. Though she had to do it often since the feelings didn't last long. The relief, the comfort she felt in her skin for once, how she finally loved herself in those moments, it was all too short. She needed more red. Enough to last longer. To last the rest of her life. It was the only way she'd ever be okay.

[phdinpessimism]

Some old poems of mine (3):

Screaming:

He won't stop screaming

I can't stop scratching

Day after day after day after day

He keeps screaming

I keep bleeding

Day after day after day after day

He still screams

I still scratch

It never ends

He never stops

It won't stop he won't stop

So my heart stops instead

[phdinpessimism]

Some old poems of mine (2):

Headphones:

He yells

I put on my headphones

But even they can't drown out his anger

Or the looks that say:

"This is your fault"

"You just get in the way"

"It would be better if you never existed"

But all I can do

is put on my headphones

[phdinpessimism]

Some old poems of mine (1):

Leave:

Blood is thicker than water.

Or so they say.

Maybe they lived in a different world.

I believe,

that what doesn't have a form

is even stronger

because it's what you imagine.

Family can become enemies

and friends can become family.

Strangers can catch you when you fall

while people you know are content to let you hit the ground.

Forget the mindset that you have to stay

and take care of yourself.

[phdinpessimism]

The hardest thing to do, is be a digimon fan outside of Asia.

[phdinpessimism]

A few days late but new Endless Ocean!!

[phdinpessimism]

Some old photos of mine that I'm kind of proud of.