#desperate cry for help

[i-am-trans-gwender]

In honor of Father's Day what fictional character is most like your dad?

I'll start

[slutforwings]

who knows marks&spencers lore and can tell me why the glass ramekins for chocolate ganache have different numbers on the bottom

[necromanticowboy]

Anyone have experience with no mow/ low mow yards?

[gormfullray]

The story of my depression

Gonna be a long and earnest post. It's not really the sort of thing that's really fit for this public of a medium, but I don't really have anyone in private to speak it to, so better to scream into the sky than into the void I suppose. Gonna do my best to minimize the life-storyness of it and focus on the relevant portions, but since my presumed audience is that of the complete stranger a decent weight of context is going to be necessary before I'm able to get to what I actually want to talk about.

I hit my all-time-so-far low in August of 23: a period of severe depression, continual suicidal ideation, and daily cannabis consumption which lasted until late January of 24. I'd have called it rock bottom, but as far as most folks are concerned I'd probably already been at rock bottom for a while by the autumn of 2023. Autumn of 2015, around the time I turned 16, is when I think I first really checked out on the whole living-life thing. I don't really know whether before that time I was displaying signs of depression, but 2015 and 2016 is when my condition deteriorated to it's long-term resting point. The people in my life, my parent and my family and my teachers and my classmates, there's no way they could have failed to notice the worsening of my condition, the life draining out of me with each passing day, but no one ever said anything, or atleast not to me. By the end of my time in school it would have been blatantly obvious that I was in severe need of help, beyond pure attendance I had given up on any pretext of involvement in school even as I was still legally obligated to attend it; the charitable read of it I've come to, if only to give me peace on the matter, is just that no one knew how to approach the subject of the dead autistic boy gathering flies at his desk. Additionally, the punishments I was receiving from the school, on account of having stopped turning in any work to speak of, completely segregated me from the rest of my peers, with whom I had perhaps fifteen minutes of permitted socialization a day; I had no contact with anyone outside of my household outside of school. Some time in the winter of 15 or spring of 16, later into my 10th grade year, was my last day in school; I didn't say goodbye to any of the few people I spoke to, I simply went home that night the same as I ever had, and never left my house again. I didn't feel happy, or free, or really even relieved to never have to go there again; I just felt tired.

At that point myself, my parent, and my sibling were all still living in the one room basement apartment of my grandparent's home, where we had moved in after leaving my other parent. In the corner of the room I had a little desk and a bribe Alienware laptop, and when I would wake up I would get on it, and I would sit at my desk for twenty-four hours, and then I would sleep for eight hours. I didn't have any friends and there wasn't anywhere to walk so I wouldn't ever leave the basement except to occasionally use the bathroom or scrounge for food, always well after everyone was asleep if I could manage it, and if I could not manage it then I would more often than not choose isolation over eating. Any routine of hygiene I may have had as a kid didn't survive the transition, one less chore to pull me away from the trance of my 32 hour lifecycle; I always justified it as simply not being relevant since no Humans spent any meaningful quantity of time around me, but the truth is I just didn't have it in me to maintenance myself. Any exercise was likewise a nonstarter, and eventually so too did food become something I may at-best force on myself; today at 24, I stand at around 5"8 and weigh in on a good day at around 115 lbs, but I'm getting way ahead of myself.

Congratulations on making it this far, most of what's left is filling in the dates between then and now, because the depressive period described...never concluded. My 18th birthday happened to coincide with my small family moving into a home of our own, and the child in the basement became the adult with their own room. It was actually the first time I had ever had my own space, my own door, and I would spend the next few years never leaving it. Between 2016 and 2021, I probably left the house twenty times or fewer, and probably showered fifteen times or fewer. I simply spend every day trying as hard as I could to distract myself as completely as I could, and staying awake as long as I could so that I spent as little time as possible with my thoughts as I tried to fall asleep. The wake-sleep cycle I lived on, for years, was well over 24-hours; every "day" I would wake up and go to sleep 2-8 hours later than the previous "day", and over the course of a couple of weeks I would have had a bedtime at every hour of the day. To myself, I conceptualized this lifestyle as killing as much time as possible, years spent just waiting for something to happen.

October of 2021 is when everything (but also nothing; it'll make sense what I mean) changed for me, which has a sort of cosmic irony to it I suppose: year everyone couldn't leave their home, I left mine for good, and left Indiana for good. World's full of the strange and the sick, and I suppose I'd spent enough years waiting that something wound up happening: I met a very generous person on Discord, and they agreed to let me come live with them in Massachusetts. I'm not proud of it, in truth it involved a great deal of dishonesty in regards to the sort of roommate I'd make, but this person was kind enough and sick enough to think letting me come live under their roof was a good idea. For a moment it felt like my luck had turned around, like something akin to whatever saviour delusions I had told myself up to that point had come to pass, but in truth there wasn't even a honeymoon period. My parent and sibling had moved out of the house we had once shared by 2021, and transitioning from living alone to living with a bunch of strangers was difficult for me, but by the end of 2022 I had returned to the same basic routine of life. The change in circumstance, living with and spending time with honest to goodness other Humans, was change for the better; in retrospect, it was an incredibly dumb and risky move, but I'm happy I made it, if only because living with other people made me go back to living on a 24-hour wake-sleep cycle (even if I still don't have it lined up particularly well to day and night); but it wasn't all good. For the purposes of living life, I essentially lived alone, and my eating and self-maintenance would only become worse. I had thought coming to live in such an urban and walkable place would more substantially change my lifestyle, but after two more years of self-isolation I have only found myself more afraid of the outside world and the strangers in it.

I first used cannabis in 21 or 22, I'm not sure exactly when, but it was fun, and I would have some a couple of times a week with my friends in the apartment, and that went on for a couple of years. But eventually one quit, and then so did the other, and before long I realized I was doing more alone than I had ever done when I with them, and when I received a particular piece of news in the middle of August of 2023, I stopped being able to make it through the day without it. I'd wake up in the morning wishing I hadn't, wishing I didn't have to exist in the world I lived in, in the body and brain I lived in, and where once I would once play fast games and loud music for eighteen hours at a time to drown out my thoughts, instead I started using the herb. From the period of August to January, I woke up every morning dreading my own existence and despising my own life, and every night I would get as high as I could to drown the feelings of depression and anxiety that I had lived with all my life.

My daily usage ceased on the second of February. I smoked socially with friends yesterday, and after I finish writing this I've decided that I'm going to smoke tonight before I go to bed. I don't really want to, I don't like what it makes me, or how I live. I don't like that it makes more sense to drown my brain than to let myself just be sober.

The reason I wrote this is because I hoped that a saviour would take pity on me and rescue me from myself. Rescue me from the holes growing in my teeth, from the cage I keep myself in. My initial intention was to conceal this fact, and that the only inkling of it which may be visible would be the hidden little "Massachusetts" at the end of the tags, which would somehow entice some prince or princess charming to take note of my proximity and sweep me off my feet. I am telling you this now because I am lucid of how delusional I am for hinging everything on that same sort of fantasy, the same sort of fantasy that 15 year old kid would tell himself in his cat-piss sheets in that Indiana basement. On being willing to drown my sorrow and wait another decade.

I originally wanted to end this on a questioning note, as I do a lot of my posts, a vague gesture into the night sky for the hope that the future might hold. But I don't know if I have any hope in the future. It feels like all thats left to do for Project Ray is to try and stop myself from going any more stretches of time getting high every day, but I dont know if theres anything I can do about the feelings that make me feel like I need it. I hate my life. I hate living every day of my life behind my desk in my room. I hate easy my life gets to be while my friends work their asses off to keep a roof over out heads. I hate skipping the one bowl of ramen I eat a day because I'm sick of it or because I'd rather get high instead of eat. I hate eating nothing but ramen and soylent.

It feels like every day since I was 15 I've woken up wishing I hadn't. I wish this wasn't my life. I wish there was a way out. That's what drives me to go on nonsense tirades about hippie busses and revolutionary Parties, I think. The only thing Ive ever wanted, my entire life, was to escape my life.

[biruesque]

[horusmenhosetix]

Hi, my name is Ella, and I have had a constant headache for 14 years. I am 26 years old. Painkillers do not work.

I need Pineal Cyst Removal Surgery if I am ever to experience a pain free day again.

I cannot afford the surgery but it would drastically improve my quality of life.

I am suicidally depressed because of my chronic pain.

Can people please reblog this so that it can get traction?

[franzsiska]

"No one can come or go, my island stays unknown." and "No, no, I don't belong here. There's something wrong here." lead me to believe that Calypso's island was enchanted to the degree that not even prayers were making it out of there.

And then I imagine Odysseus, at the end of his rope and not seeing any other way off of the island, putting aside his pride and calling out to Athena. But she can't hear him. She can't hear him begging, pleading, screaming his throat raw for her through the years as the sea nymph climbs into his bed every night and caresses him with hands too cold to feel safe. Athena can't hear him screaming for seven years for her to just come and save him, please, please–

He stops calling out for her eventually, when he thinks his goddess has abandoned him. The last time he calls out, it is not even a prayer, really. He wants to die — wishes he had died when Zeus had given him the chance. He calls out her name more as a formality than anything else, a nod to the patron goddess who had taken care of him since he was a boy, who had sculpted him into her hero. Surely even she couldn't have imagined Odysseus would die, lost and forgotten, on an unknown island so far away from home.

This prayer from her dying hero is the only prayer that reaches Athena. Because apparently, the only prayer strong enough to break through a sea witch's magic is a dying man's death rattle.

[sapphicmutt77]

Is it really so hard to find a girl that is in your area that will call you little sis while she cuddles you? Is it really so hard??? APPARENTLY.

[nickbutnodick]

how do you make friends again?

[i-am-trans-gwender]

What If instead of being called parents they were called flonqulars and instead of giving you trauma and making you hate yourself they loved and cared for you?

[mosslingg]

called my uncle who's an IT guy

i asked about the laptop he's fixing for me.

here's how it went:

Uncle: uh yeah. it's not really uh. working.

Me: what do you mean

U: i mean that it worked fine after i booted it up for the first time but 2 hours later it uhhhh. died.

M: so. what you're telling me. is that it pulled a plug on itself for a second time.

U: yeah. essentially.

how am i supposed to draw toxic man yaoi without a puter in any shape or form. am i asking for much. am i really.

anyway this is a cry for help. if you have 10 bucks to spare PLEASE go to my kofi, i can't get the money for the laptop in an amount of time that would allow me to buy it on my own and ANY amount helps. im stuck at my grandma's for the time being with essentially only my phone, sketchbook and my brother coming over occasionally, which gives me temporary laptop access. this sucks.

[breadmecoshy]

The beautiful Lady Marissa in hollow knight

The most beautiful and peaceful memory in the game is associated with her wonderful song

And, yes, I'm going through the game for the fifth time хD

This time, my thoughts turned to Marissa, because even after so many walkthroughs, her song and look fascinate me

This is a portrait that Lurien drew for Marissa shortly before becoming a Dreamer. As a last gift and thanks for all she does for the city, and still can, to spend the last quiet moments together before the eternal goodbye

I think she and Lurien were close friends, and he liked to draw quick sketches during her concerts. Perhaps he would have liked to portray her one last time as bright and cheerful as she usually was, but her beloved city and its people were already slowly dying, and a good friend was sacrificing his life for some higher purpose, so she just couldn't portray joy, and she didn't want Lurien's last portrait to be fake

[pasha-rabbit]

Ok listen im the type of person who doesnt and WILL NOT simp on married men or women even if its fictional

HOWEVER Lillith and Luci are both a catch simping on both somehow cancels it out so WHY is there so little/no Lilith/reader/Lucifer works i cant find them on here or in ao3 im actl ripping my hair out this is the only time ive searched for an x reader in my entire life and theres little to no content for it on mh kneese begging the fanfic writers for this.

CAUSE AINT NO WAY YALL SITTING HERE THINKING LILITH AINT A DAMN FINE ASS HELL CATCH, THE THING I WIULD LET HER DO TO ME

I want her pick me up on her left shoulder and lucifer can be on the right she can carry us to the bedroom or couch and cuddle and kisses pls

Adam fucking FUMBLED hard can u imagine fubling such a woman i CANT AND NEITHER DID LUCIFER MANNNN

Im so absjejdkrpptgo

Am i incriminating myself rn? Yes however i must spread the word man...

Anyways

Charlie the fish:

[voidzphere]

i dont like thiz but beggerz cant be choozerz !!! killer sans belongz to rahafwabas

[n0tgracefull]

hello fellow mentally ill people. i need help. i am DESPERATE for a jegulus fic but i can't find any in the description im looking for. i just want a roommate or college au where james and regulus are forced to live in the same place and bing bang boom they're in love. i'm currently making my way through crimson rivers and i need to take a break from depressing and go towards angsty fluff. i will literally love you if you could give me a recommendation 🫶

[itsdrawingmen]

Completely randomly wanted to draw protective Zen