#Existential thought train

[toad-in-a-trenchcoat]

do y’all ever have those like- friggin reverse fourth wall breaks?

like for a moment your not just living your life you REALIZE you are and realize that this is stuff going on and these are people and you’re not just the viewer you’re an actual character

we’re all just humans doing a thing together

[phoenix-manga]

Twst teens are built different...

Me as an adult that is 20+... would feel such a failure in adulting when you put me next to Vil, Azul and even freaking Idia! One's an actor and model with hella loads of sponsors, the other can run a business and negotiate with a freakin adult to get permission to establish said business and the last one is living like Dexter's laboratory. Like... what the heck have I been doing wrong that these teens can adult better than me!?

[wanderingmind867]

I do think my mom's death had a profound effect on me. I mean, I never grieved in the conventional way. My brain didn't immediately go to tears when she died like my dad did (although i'm not a jerk, i did cry and miss her), my brain chose to focus in on the ramifications for me. And those ramifications... brother, were they bleak. And they're the things that stick with me.

Because, well...I have no real friends outside of my parents. I'm not open with anyone the way i'm open with my dad. My dad sees my bad and my good. But nobody else sees my bad or good the same way. My dad sees my anger fits and meltdowns where i can scream at him and act irate, but he also sees me excitedly rambling and sharing my hyperfixations with him. And he accepts both of those aspects about me, in a way i always feel scared nobody else would. So i do struggle with opening up to other people, and thusly have no friends.

And since my only friends were my parents...well, losing one of them really kicked that existensial dread into hyperdrive. I don't like aging or birthdays at this point, because they remind me of the eventuality that is probably me ending up alone. And i think you now see one of my more intimate fears. And one of the things that depresses me. So... yeah. I'm scared of being all alone, and that can make me depressed sometimes.

[dismalzelenka]

.

[cococaffeinated]

Sometimes I think about that song from Hamilton the Musical... Where the big question is "Have I done enough?"

Like if I died tomorrow, have I done enough for the important people in my life to remember me? Will the memories I leave for them be worth remembering?

I'm no iconic figure, for sure, so obviously world history will go on without ever knowing my name and that's alright but for the lives I've touched and changed (positively or negatively), the people I've intertwined destinies with by way of a simple" hello"— what would they say about me, if they had anything to say at all?

Sometimes it haunts me...

Have I done enough?

[blossompoet]

Sometimes, when I see a sunset or snow falling down, I ask myself if this is it. When you are a depression survivor, a trauma survivor, an abuse survivor - any survivor really - you tend to read about this point.

We grew up or grew up to the thought that it will always be awful, that we will never be happy or get to fulfill our dreams. And then, we read about the people who were just like us and still made it.

I remember this post where a once suicidal girl wrote she hears her fiancé and her toddler laughing in the other room now, that she really reached what she never could dream of. Maybe the details were different but the message gets clear, I think. And so many posts like this.

I love it, I love it for them, I love the fact that it gave me and other people hope. Once we're in recovery, we start to work towards this point. But when will it be? Every happy moment I experience, there's this little voice in my head that asks have we made it? Is this the moment where we stop being sad?

And every time I am afraid I will get terribly sad again, and every time I do, eventually. I start to realise that this point will never happen.

There will always be moments that remind me how great this life is and that all this pain was worth it. Maybe one day I won't count them anymore, they will be the normal. It won't stop hurting all the time.

There will be sadness and darkness. But I won't be waiting for the point anymore.

[esau-xo]

cells.

and like subway doors closing, all my cells happen at exactly the same time..

[sgkjd]

actually, the process of writing is painful to me. i dread it just as much as any other task that i know requires prolonged focus. i've tried many techniques to help myself ease into the process. but it just adds more steps to it. which makes me dread writing even more.

what i enjoy though is just getting those moments of Seeing or Realizing or Feeling that make me want to capture them. and what other possible way there is to capture my own subjectivities and personal reflections of the world around than to dress them in words that everybody else could understand? sometimes a feeling comes and i pull up my notes app to quickly put them down, other times i scribble and scribble and arrive at that golden Thought manually. writing, and writing a lot, is useful and i've confirmed it for myself.

so i always thought. lately i'm thinking if there possibly are other ways i could channel the impressions that arise in me, as someone who was brought up to believe i can do anything i set my mind to does. (problem was that damned mind of mine who didn't let me set it, not that i didn't believe myself to be able to do anything). what tangible form could my impressions take on that wouldn't be as painful to conceive...

perhaps i was put on this earth to be as alone and as lonely as possible so that my senses could perceive the world around them with the same sensitivity eyes experience when you step outside on a sunny day after watching a 2-hour movie in the darkness of the theatre. perhaps that's my gift i can offer to the world. perhaps it all has some purpose actually. or maybe it's just that i'll never be able to live with the truth that i'm lonely without rationalizing it.

writing is painful but it is everywhere. and i need it. i suck at talking even more so i really have no choice here. i still pretend that i do to trick myself into believing that i have control over my decisions though. even now – i'm typing all of this and it feels like i'm being put through a rusty cheese grater. yet i can't live without writing. i'm perpetually losing.

maybe i do have a wish that's stronger than my writing pains. it's to lay bare my insides completely. there's somewhat of a thrill in that. that's probably why i still write, and why i was able to finish typing out whatever this is.

i'm still very perplexed at the human nature to hold two contrasting feelings inside at once. how are they supposed to fit in me? but they do. they do.. i am here and i am breathing and i am writing. nevertheless.

[freebooter4ever]

it occurs to me now that you're so much more than my geno mutual... you're also my larionov mutual! 🥹💕

ha!!!! true true i do think he's my favorite bygone era hockey player. it also entertains me that everyone associates me with geno just cause i really like drawing him. bread's still #1 LOL!

[valtrain-of-thoughts]

Success

Why do we always compare ourselves to others? Why is it so important that I'm doing better than them? Or that they are doing better than me and I need to change that? Why do we measure our success in comparison to others' success?

That person that you're comparing yourself to, is comparing themselves to someone else, and someone is comparing themselves to you. It's never enough, is it? I wish that I could just be content with where I am and how far I've come. But no. It's always something, a little voice in the back of my head saying "You are not doing enough", "You are not succeeding", or "You are going nowhere". Why is it never "Hey, look at you! You are better than yesterday!", "Can you believe that we made it all the way here?", "Awesome, you left the house without it being a mess, way to go!"?

I wish I could celebrate the little victories. Focus on what I have and how far I've come rather than what I'm missing and how much further I want to go. Or do I even want to go any further? I'm not even sure if all of these expectations are me setting them for myself or if they are a result of how the world is.

I wish I could just be happy with the success of others and also be happy with my own success. Even if it looks different than other people's. It's okay that we have different definitions and ideas of what we want in life and what we want to do. I need to make my peace with that.

But it's hard.

[rragnaroks]

i just realised that it might be a little strange that for a person with limitless creative drive, i have very little creative ambition?

[ravenwolfie97]

just by sheer word association I just had my thoughts morph into "is the Zero Escape series at all related to or inspired by No Exit, the famous psychological short story by Jean-Paul Sartre"

[poetsmile]

December 12, 2023 8:47 pm

Me and a friend of mine were discussing about my train of thoughts. i told my friend that my train of thoughts doesnt necessarily need to be defined as over thinking. the track of my train does go in a continuous loop from time to time but most of the time it goes straight with slight bends and curves.

I told him there were happy thoughts in here too. nice and comforting ones. and the ones that save me too. And he asked me if i could give him an example.

I told him about one of my realization thoughts i had recently. it was one of those thoughts that just stuck with me. I realized i find my cosmic insignificance very reassuring. We are always waiting and ready to be alive and do something and exist. I know I am. To the point where it drives my anxiety. Existing becomes my greatest fear. Existentialism, something i have craved from as long as i could differentiate souls and objects, becomes so horrifying. So, at times like this, it is comforting to realize that universe might just not give a shit about me. Like the universe doesn't care that i messed up that one time two days ago. and the stars dont care wht i do. i exist on my on terms so i don't owe this life to anyone. and sometimes that thought really helps calm everything down.

[soobnny]

my girl — jeongin x f!reader ; the boys find out their youngest has a gf

(1.3k words)

It’s a once in a while thing for the boys to be able to eat out together.

Challenges usually pose through schedule conflicts, one or the other being absent, and timing. They can never truly catch a break. So, when the first sign of a temporary alignment showed, they took the opportunity in a flash.

It was going to be their first dinner together in months, one of their off days.

Usually, the next challenge of indecisiveness would present itself. However, their youngest is quick to suggest a place.

Apparently, they had really good jjajangmyun.

(The boys didn’t know then, but it was because the faster they could decide where to eat, the faster he could go visit you.)

(They also didn’t know then that jjajangmyun was your favorite.)

A chorus of laughter echoes through the little corner store as they’re served their third plate of food. Jeongin didn’t lie about their food, and it was a safe enough space for them to celebrate the end of their latest comeback season.

“Seungmin, you’re getting really brave with your jokes about PD-nim.”

“I ran that contract renewal like the military.”

They spend the night joking, revisiting their past, and being hopeful for the future. A few grateful messages are exchanged after liquid courage is brought to their table. And while a simple night, the boys knew they’d remember this day for the rest of their lives.

There’s quiet pop music playing in the back—the kind you’d hear in the early 2000s. And Han Jisung orders another plate of jjajangmyun.

“Ayen, the food here is crazy good. How’d you find this place?”

Jeongin snaps out of his mental chant at the call of his name, fox-eyes trained on the older boy before the question reverberates in his mind. “My girlfriend recommended it.”

A pin drops.

Their youngest has a habit of lying, taken after his roommate, Seungmin. He usually does it with sneaky smiles and a few giggles. However, both signs indicative of lying are absent, and the boy has the audacity to refill his plate and keep eating as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his members.

“Girlfriend?” Hyunjin is the first to speak, asking the boy to reiterate what he had just said, even though he heard. Loud and clear, in fact.

“Uhuh.” Jeongin replies through a mouthful of food. “What?”

He looks curiously around the table. His friends’ eyes are glazed, and he’d expected the conversation to be over three minutes ago, but it doesn’t.

Jeongin is in the middle of another bite when all hell breaks loose.

“Girlfriend?!” It’s said even louder now, more amplified, and Hwang Hyunjin stands from where he was previously seated in pure disbelief. All the while, their eldest is having an existential crisis. “Innie, what do you mean?”

He perks his head up, pursing his lips slightly and tilting his head. “What’s the big deal?”

“You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell us?” It’s Han’s turn to be perplexed, and it’s humorous the way his features mimic the dramatic shock on Hyunjin’s.

Seungmin simply keeps eating.

“Yah, Kim Seungmin. Why aren’t you as surprised as us?”

“I already knew.”

“Seungmin knew, but not us?!”

“Not my fault he trusts me with dating advice.”

That boy definitely knows how to add fuel to fire. Chaos erupts as the younger half harass Seungmin for knowing before them.

“How long have you been dating?,” Minho asks.

“Just around 3 months now.”

If Chan was out of it then, you wouldn’t know how to describe his state now. Felix sits next to him to comfort the poor boy.

“My baby has been dating for 3 months, and I didn’t know anything.”

“Sorry.” Jeongin responds bashfully, scratching the back of his head. He knew his hyungs would act this way, which had led to his decision of keeping it hidden for a while. He thinks he should’ve just told them right away.

Though, he thought they’d known by now. He wasn’t exactly the most secretive about it, and he was sure he’d mentioned you before.

And although shocking to suddenly hear that their youngest (and their baby) had a girlfriend, they will not have his head for it. They know he’s responsible enough to know what not to do, and it was a little touching to know the boy had enough time to fit romance in his life.

“Show us what she looks like!”

The boys get a selfie of you that’s set as his lockscreen, and it’s enough proof to have the boys cooing at how adorable you two would be together.

“Motherfucker, she’s really pretty.” Changbin comments.

“I know.”

Meanwhile, Han and Hyunjin are making up fake scenarios in the corner, scrolling through photos and videos. Then a message.

While their youngest is distracted, Han quickly taps on the notification.

(8:23pm) innie: I miss u

(8:30pm) ynie: miss u too!!!!

(8:31pm) innie: Wish you were here right now

(8:32pm) ynie: aren’t u celebrating with ur friends rnnn

(8:32pm) ynie: stop texting me and enjoy !!!

(8:33pm) innie: But i miss u

(8:33pm) innie: Call me later?

(8:36pm) ynie: after you spend time with ur friends let’s call

(8:37pm) innie: Wanna call now. Just for a second

(8:37pm) innie: Haven’t heard your voice in a while

(8:37pm) ynie: ok fine >:( give me like 10-15 mins

(8:51pm) ynie: i’ll call now

“Oh my god, she’s calling.”

That’s definitely enough to get Jeongin’s attention.

“Give me my phone back.” He reaches out to them, but Hyunjin is fast enough to swipe it.

“Answer it!” Changbin instigates.

Jeongin’s eyes widen in horror when he hears your voice go through his phone. “Innie? Oh—hello.”

You sound so shy, and Chan feels like he’s about to cry. “She calls him Innie.”

The youngest finally snatches his phone back when all Hyunjin could do was stare at you through the screen of his phone. You were real. Yang Jeongin actually has a girlfriend.

“Hi.” He mumbles, moving away from their table to talk to you privately. Though, before he does, he makes sure he leaves a threat to the boys not to follow him. “‘M sorry, did they scare you, baby?”

“It’s okay, I was just surprised.”

Jeongin visibly melts at the sound of your voice. “The boys know about us now.”

“I figured.” You laugh, and the service at the restaurant doesn’t do the warmth of your laughter any justice. He can’t wait to see you later.

“Can I see you later?”

“Mkay, but just… enjoy your time with the boys, okay? You told me it’s been a while since all of you were able to relax over a meal like this.”

“Fine.” He sighs, before a smile creeps on his face. “They liked your suggestion.”

“That’s good. Now go!” There’s a pout on his lips when you shoo him away. “Go have fun, go! I’m hanging up now. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

The wide, bright smile remains on his face even when he goes back to their table.

“Who has our Ayen smiling like that?”

“My girl.”

“Innie’s getting soft.” Minho teases.

Seungmin, on the other hand, fake vomits at his response, and another chorus of laughter bursts from their seats. The night continues through conversations over Jeongin’s sudden revelation, and the promise to let the boys meet you properly next time. He agrees if they promise not to scare you away.

And while he’d kept you a secret for a while, he can’t help but feel a tinge of happiness in his heart that the most important people in his life know about you now, are even eager to meet you. There is no better contentment than all of the people he loves aligning with one another.

The entire night, Jeongin itches in anticipation to hold you in his arms and hear your voice in person after his schedules had torn apart his much needed quality time with you. And when he asks to leave, they don’t need to know where he’s going.

One look at his face, and the only evident answer is you.

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

[ilona-mushroom]

Thinking about how friends come and go and how coworkers come and go and lovers come and go, family too, and even ourselves. God knows we’re always changing. Nothing stays the same yet the change is often so slow we don’t even notice ;-;