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I am officially the Assistant Manager of my Hot Topic.

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Proclaiming that you don’t care about anything and are dead inside and don’t give a shit about anything is easy.

It’s quick and dismissive and could even seem sickly romantic if it weren’t so trite given the pervasiveness of the general attitude splayed across t-shirts and text-based forms of communication.

What’s difficult is sharing the fact that you do actually care.

You care a whole fucking lot about everything and everyone, so much so that it causes the kind of emotional churning that gently requests that you pretend that it doesn’t exist, no matter how feeble and transparent your learned and gradually practiced, reactionary defenses are.

Look.

I really have always hated using “I” as opposed to a more universal and inclusive “you” when writing anything.

But over the past year I’ve realized that it’s downright silly - to put it lightly - to play at not caring. I care a lot. I care a whole goddamn bunch and it makes me very skiddish and afraid of dissapointing people. Because I do care. And I do not want to be horrible. I do not want to be a villain. The illusion of the dark and evil and villanoius as something to aspire to has gone from me.

There’s value in talking about stuff and feelings for the sake of talking about it - with no ulterior motives. Not for some kind of pity part contest, not for some kind of general ego-fishing or reinforcement of an artificial sense of self, bolstered by equally misguided methods of communication and strange underhanded subtext.

It’s fruitless and empty.

There’s freedom in leveling with safe people and being candid. You have to say what you mean and mean what you say, all the while giving the benefit of the doubt to others, in that there is the hope that they too only really want to be able to share what they may without fear.

It takes removing that fear to really begin the process of being okay.

And it’s okay to be okay.

I mean let’s not get ahead of ourselves I’m still a goddamn mess but less of a disaster than before, and that’s something. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s okay to be a clusterfuck of “I have no idea what I am doing I probably need an adult” as much as it is okay to say “I’m not that much better at goddamn all but I’m at least not actively trying to make things worse or ruin lives”.

Honestly it’s a whole lot more comforting (and fun) to look forward to being okay - while recognizing and accepting that it’ll probably take a while - than it is to hope upon wicked hopes that you’re worse off than the person next to you.

And even when you take that one step forward and seemingly sixty-two steps back, it’s alright. Fucking up is normal. It happens. What matters is how you progress and learn from it all.

Being okay doesn’t make you any more uninteresting than how being messed up has been romanticized into seeming as though it would make you moreso.

Like dude come on we can’t all live in our middle school vampire fanfiction forever.

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Hey I have trichotillomania too and I was wondering if any of the bullshit tips people tell you to help you stop pulling ever worked for you. I've tried acrylic nails and hats so far but neither have worked

The problem is that it’s such a personal thing that it varies so much from person to person with regard to what exactly is the trigger (ranging from the most mundane non-thought “hand-suddenly-very-concerned-with-scalp“ while driving (For me it’s my right elbow propped against the door while driving, hand supporting head, fingers freely paging through hair at various degrees of intensity and overall absent mindness to very side-focused hyper attention, like when I find those few strands that have a rogue bead of hair glue gobbing them together and cannot rest until it has been removed) to the more fervent “fuck fuck fuck fuck” that has those fingers somehow still working to prize hairs apart, feeling them for whatever “abnormality” you’re gunning for, and “fixing” the immediate perceived physical incongruity while your brain attempts to ignore whatever major stressor has sent it into “fuck fuck fuck fuck” mode.

It’s a real beast to try and fake out the satisfaction.

Like at least a bit of it.

For me there’s this sense of accomplishment I’d get from removing offending glue/knots/generally uneven lengths from whatever spot on my head (largely the left side, via my hand resting there while driving). Like, you know as well as I do the illogical sense of calm and release gained from it.

I haven’t found anything so far that really would count as advice for a way to curb pulling. However.

Even if it’s about as useful as slapping a bandage over a shotgun blast, I’ve found that having a bit of hair extension (like a two inch wide segment) on hand and in hand can help. Like, applying hair glue (which is basically liquid latex) to two wefts of hair and allowing that to be the thing from which you fiddle and pick from serves as a distraction.

Trich is mad fucking frustrating - in my opinion- in that it’s neigh impossible to simply avoid/remove the things involved lest you wish to cut off your hands or shave and wax your head, eyebrows, nethers, etc.

SO YEAH my advice here is barely helpful because I’ve got only the shaky logical view of it all which clearly does nothing to impact the emotional/base emotional/biological reward-system of it.

But I guess maybe it helps a little just to talk about it.

So thank you for letting me type.

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I sincerely regret all of the times I was so concerned with being too fucking cool.

God it’s all so fucking embarrassing.

You take a step back and see just how hard you’re “trying” - at anything at all really, anything - and it’s so terribly pathetic.

Goddamn what a frighteningly mortifying existence.

Take note because you’re part of it.

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How to have a popular tumblr/website.

(since 2005)

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When people tell me I’m going to Hell

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I’m going to tell you what a demon once told me: It is okay to want your own happiness. It’s okay to care about yourself the most. It’s okay to do what’s healthy for YOU. When someone hits you, it’s okay to hit back and then ask them what the hell they expected. It’s okay. You are not obligated to sit there and smile and swallow every bit of shit everyone heaps on you. You are more than furniture, you’re more than window dressing, you’re not their shiny toy. You’re human, and you have the right to say “That was shitty of you”. You have a right to say “Let me feed that back to you; tell me, how does it taste?” You have a right to protest your own mistreatment and set boundaries for respectful interactions. The rest of the world doesn’t realize you have this right, and they will act offended and appalled when you exercise it, but it is yours.

SonneillonV (via albinwonderland)

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For years mental health professionals taught people that they could be psychologically healthy without social support, that “unless you love yourself, no one else will love you.”…The truth is, you cannot love yourself unless you have been loved and are loved. The capacity to love cannot be built in isolation

Bruce D. Perry, M.D., Ph.D. — “The Boy Who Was Raised As A Dog”  (via zsrmx)

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Hi, I've followed you for a couple of years and I remember you saying how much you love Avril Lavigne's nose. I wondered if you saw Frances Bean Cobain at the Montage of Heck premier a couple of days ago? She has such a striking side profile, eerily similar to her fathers. (Anyway, you've probably seen, I just thought I'd mention it!)

Thank you for this because the chance to talk about let alone think about something trivial yet able to bring forth such a rise in passion within me is really really nice and I’m really really happy to have a moment to basically think about/talk about the most trivial subjects without feeling mad guilty or weird or like I’m oversharing.

Plus the fact that you somehow have lasted this long and recall my preoccupation with noses is really important to me because that’s such a dumb detail yet still such a big one? Just an omg they know about my nose thing makes me happy because it’s a true real thing and that is a good thing.

Anyway wow.

The nose that she and her father share is basically a pair of exquisite examples of incredibly noteworthy noses. To me, worthy candidates for “doc gimme this kind”. 

It’s incredible how genetics work in that the similarities are undeniable and yet the slight variations to suit the individual still exist.

And even though Avril doesn’t have that slight bump (the bump being something I actually prefer upon comparing the above photos to the below**), you’re right on the money with mentioning Frances’ as being in that same style.

**though I may be biased towards the bump in that my nose has it’s own thing going on in that area. So perhaps the notion of the nose being one smooth shot is unfamiliar (and goddamn intimidating in its perfection) enough to be second-best within a real-world context.

p.s. thank you for letting me talk about noses because it’s like being reminded of what I used to think about a lot and any and all reminders of that kinda stuff is kinda like gradually rebooting a computer to make it act like itself again before it got bogged down and freaked out with viruses and the like.

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