#diagnosed with perfectionism

[stan-morley]

all my OOMFs* understand this; Can You say the Same?

*One Ofmy Morley Friends

[akito-shinonome-daily]

🎤 day 278 🎵

➥ today’s akito is from akito’s untrained “no compromises while making chocolates” card!

[freonblue]

today I played this short browser game about anxiety and uhhh I think it lightly rewired my brain???

https://ncase.me/anxiety/

this game makes you roleplay the anxiety and choose which things are scariest. which is a very powerful strategy. actually articulating the things you're scared of, right?

but some of the anxieties the author chose .....are things I hadn't identified as anxiety.

Like. The crippling fear of being a bad person and the way it manifests in compulsively reposting horrible news stories, or ghosting new people because you're afraid that by seeking human connection and being into someone you're inherently exploiting them.

I uhh.

I have a very very strong fear of being a bad person.

This is unsurprising, given that I grew up in a rigid fundamentalist framework, hearing over and over that we're all depraved sinners and everything we do is inherently wicked.

(...although, even within that framework, the people who raised me would say we need to accept our own imperfection and throw ourselves on the divine unconditional love and forgiveness, that the whole *point* is it's impossible to be perfect)

(which. interesting. I absorbed the "total depravity" but the "unconditional redemption" never sunk in.)

(interesting that this year my therapist introduced me to acceptance and commitment therapy)

but I sure do spend a lot of time worried about being a bad person. letting myself be taken advantage of because I don't want to be a bad person. getting stuck in indecision because if I don't find the perfect ideal solution then I'm a failure. avoiding people because what if I hurt them. but then I'm contributing to the loneliness and isolation problems so there's no winning against the anxiety.

it feels like I've spent so much of my life in the "zero hit points" stage of that game I linked above.

like I learned a long time ago that everything is going to hurt all the time and my anxiety is going to use everything against me so I might as well just distract myself and wait for life to go by. so I forget what it even feels like to do things because I want to, not because I've worked myself into an anxious lather and forced myself to

but the whole point of acceptance and commitment therapy is turning that upside down. Accepting that the fear will be there, and doing the things you want to do anyway.

Accepting that the anxiety dog is gonna bark but not letting it stop you from living.

I have more to say about writing but that can be a separate post

[monards]

guys I’d be unstoppable without self doubt & the worst case of perfectionism known to man

[screamingfrenchfries]

y'all is it normal to have a giant ass to-do list written out, and then have one of the things on that list to be to ORGANIZE said to-do list?????

[donatellosleftgoggle]

Burnout:

It's become a routine, at every break i get, to just fall apart. I spend weeks upon weeks pushing myself too far, ignoring my physical, mental, + emotional health in favour of working. Then when I get a moment to breathe, I break down. Becoming a shell of a person. I don't speak to anyone outside of my immediate family in these moments. I avoid calling my friends, even when I really want to or should. I sit there for days on end doing nothing.

Then, said break ends. I don't feel proud of my accomplishments, I don't feel well rested after having time off. I just constantly feel unfathomable guilt because nothing seems to be going right anymore. It doesn't matter that I'm thriving in an academic environment, that I've got an amazing support network, and that I'm your average perfectionist overachiever who seems to be excelling at everything I do. None of that fucking matters. I'm so tired and exhausted all the time. I can't keep doing this, I can't keep being this high achieving excellent well rounded person because it's costing me everything. I am so exhausted and done with living moment to moment just praying that one day I will get a real and full break.

I can't keep living like this because eventually I know that it will kill me. On the other hand, I don't know how to do anything else. I have to put my all into everything I do or I've failed by my standards. I'm stuck between completely giving up or doing this until I explode. A constant balancing act of giving up everything I've put my entire life and soul into, or pushing on knowing that it will wear me down to the point that I can't take it anymore. Either I stop trying and fade into the dust, or I go completely supernova.

At this point I'm not sure which one would be worse.

[hearts-hunger]

now i'm reading up on why i can't answer texts and i'm getting information that is explaining like. a lot of my problems in life 🧍‍♀️

[sassmill]

My mom: I don’t think you’re autistic stop saying that

Also my mom, repeatedly: stop doing that what the fuck is wrong with you

[bigthingsforeverintheworks]

I really need to stop going to the explore page (or me_irl)

This isn't really directed at the meme it's more of just a rant/vent

Despite going to a gifted school for like 5 years, I learned that being gifted was a neurodivergency... on tumblr looking at the nd-culture-is blog (love you). As for what it does... no clue? It makes you smarter but that's all I know, something something you make different connectons.

I've thankfully never experienced gifted kid burnout because 1) gifted school 2) anxiety trainwreck but this really does kind of apply. I'm a lot better at violin than i should be for the amount of work i'm putting in and it scares me, but at the same time I yearn to be able to draw better than a stick figure (just saying it's all shapes doesn't help) and it's that sort of admiration/jealousy of the craft that inspires me, and it might be so for other people.

If not... I'm sorry :(

However I do think work ethic is somewhat learn-able at least in theory. I know brains are wacky but like get a friend (who's either learning with you or already knows) and just like tell them 'hey i want to learn this' and then they hold you accountable, but at the same time you develop the intrinsic reward of having worked hard as well as the extrinsic motivation you set yourself up for.

Regardless, this sort of giving up is just bad (shocking!), don't be so pessimistic (I mean this could be misssing the context of "me having acknowledged by weakness and working to overcome it" sequel meme but this feels a lot more like a doomer 'idk guys' meme

[homo-house]

It feels so wrong that one person could have so many pathologies but alas

[ilostyou]

OCD?

no no just anxiety but tbh perfectionism 😗

[eoieopda]

insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you. 

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him. 

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts. 

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.  

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him. 

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine. 

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy. 

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?” 

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound. 

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know. 

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there. 

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —” 

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry. 

You don’t, thankfully. 

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling. 

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again. 

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case. 

He said he’d fix it, didn't he? 

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to. 

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach. 

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers. 

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely. 

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway. 

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded. 

He doesn’t. 

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge. 

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full —  for as long as he gives you. 

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —” 

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say. 

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea. 

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

[compassionatereminders]

Hi! I wanted to answer the anon who was asking about what ADHD meds do & don’t help with as someone who was late-diagnosed and started meds this year. However, the effect of ADHD meds and even experience of ADHD itself varies heavily from person to person, so do keep that in mind!

DO:

- Actually hearing and retaining what people are saying. I was never able to fully experience a college lecture without panic because of only hearing bits and bobs of the lecture, going in one ear and out the other. I can truly focus and actually respond to what people are saying in a single line of thought without desperately trying to stimulate myself as much as possible to maybe get 1/2 of the detail to stick in my brain.

- Time blindness!! At first starting meds it felt like the day went for 500 years. I felt so much slower and mentally calmer, and I was able to complete “simple” tasks in under 15-20 minutes that could normally take me up to 3 hours due to distractions.

- Memory! Off my meds I have an enormously hard time remembering anything I’m trying to accomplish. I bounce from task to task without ever finishing it. On meds I’m able to think “I need to do laundry” and I just. Do the fucking laundry. It’s magical and I’ve cried more than once thinking about how much I’ve spent my life thinking I’m stupid or lazy for not being able to “just do the thing” like everyone else.

- Shutting down/fearful procrastination— I would be stuck doing nothing for days and days because I would want to do a task so badly but overly think about it and essentially paralyze myself in the decision making/getting started process. When I’m on my meds I can just do the fucking thing! Even if I don’t really feel like it! When before I practically had to have the exact perfect circumstance and could never create them, I can just plop myself somewhere and do the fucking thing. Just like I’ve been told all my life— “Even if you don’t want to, do it anyways” except now I have the actual ability to do that like everyone else. Before it was like everyone else was telling me to turn on a light, but I had no switch.

DON’T:

- Help with hyperfixation. Sometimes I can fixate even worse when I’m on my meds, just because my mind is so single stream that I’m able to do things for even more excessive periods. I burn myself out accidentally a lot quicker if I don’t provide myself with manual distractions to take breaks from daily/academic tasks.

- Immediately fix you. It was hard to start meds because I had to unlearn a lot of habits I had developed to cope with my undiagnosed ADHD— such as constantly moving, stimulating myself, having candy, etc. Just because the day became longer didn’t mean my time management became awesome either. I’m still working on tools that help ADHD with my meds!

- Not really a don’t but more so an unexpected side effect was becoming very intensely angry or upset when the medicine wears off. I struggle with emotional dysfunction already but the anger was so severe and I didn’t know that ADHD meds wearing off can cause that.

- Work 100% all of the time. Some days things like stress, poor sleep, poor diet, etc, can alter the way the same dose of meds works for you. Especially if you are nicotine dependent or a regular caffeine consumer, the way your meds work can change on a day by day basis. Some days I feel like the meds aren’t working at all, but more often than not there’s still a difference between myself being unmedicated and medicated.

- Instantly make you better at studying/task completion. Apparently having ADHD for years made me so extremely avoidant of many things that I just don’t have the skill set to do them well yet. Like studying, for example. I still struggle with extreme perfectionism that impedes me outside of ADHD paralysis.

- I’m gonna say it twice but they DONT FIX YOU ON THEIR OWN. Yes, they make your life fucking way better than before especially if you’re an adult with undiagnosed ADHD, but you have to learn how to use tools and learn skills to support yourself for the medication to help you to the max capability! I will definitely say that being on meds helped overhaul my mindset when I’m off meds and improved my perception of myself, but again, the meds can only get me so far!

I hope this helped anon!!!

Thank you for taking the time to share this! I hope anon sees it 💕

[tarysande]

ADHD

I had ADHD for over thirty years before it was diagnosed, and part of the reason why it took so long is because a few specific things absolutely did not resonate with me. At all. And I saw them listed as "symptoms" of ADHD ALL THE TIME.

So, I thought I'd write up a quick list in case it helps someone else out there see past the stereotypes that are too often used as diagnostics.

ADHDers struggle with reading/words/speech etc.

ADHDers have a history of poor grades or attention at school.

ADHDers have a history of drug and/or alcohol abuse.

ADHDers can't sit still.

And how did I differ?

I read constantly. In fact, one might say I HYPERFOCUS on reading. I would rather read information than listen to it. (Reason #1 that I just can't get into podcasts!) The problem has never been reading--it's stopping reading. I'm a professional writer and editor with a background in acting. Words have never been a problem. Do some ADHDers struggle with words? Hell, yeah. Do ALL ADHDers struggle with words? Nope. Not even close. (PS: A lot of ADHDers who struggle with words may actually also have other learning struggles, such as dyslexia. ADHD loooooves a comorbidity!)

This is still SUCH a persistent myth. Even the psychologist who diagnosed me was hesitant because I had stellar grades all through my education. The more research they do, however, the more they realize that other things (autism, giftedness, etc.) can actually mask or mitigate the "typical" symptoms of ADHD that lead to it being diagnosed at school. And if you're an ADHDer who, say, hyperfocuses on learning (because it's cool! and you learn new things all the time!), or who has developed extremely effective coping mechanisms (perfectionism, people-pleasing, etc.), or who deliberately sticks to "safe" subjects to avoid challenge and possible failure, grades are NOT a good measure of ADHD. (Look into what it means to be "twice exceptional"--you may find a list of traits that resonates a lot more!)

ADHDers are out there looking for anything that'll give them a dopamine hit. Boredom is deadly. And the mix of novelty-seeking and low inhibition can often result in risky behavior. However, this can manifest in many, many ways. Drugs, alcohol, sexual partners? None of that was relevant to me. Spending, however? Especially spending money I didn't have on things I didn't need just to feel that itty bitty thrill of OOH SOMETHING NEW! ... yeah, that was a real problem. But not one I usually saw on those symptom lists, even though ADHD+finances can result in HUGE and life-altering problems.

Even bearing in mind that there are different presentations of ADHD--and that inattentive is one of them--ADHD does NOT always present as physical restlessness. Often, mental restlessness--racing thoughts, daydreaming, distractability, inability to "turn off your brain" to get enough sleep--slips through the diagnostic cracks and can be FAR more disruptive to one's health and happiness. And, again, many ADHDers develop coping mechanisms that can end up being very unhealthy or unsustainable in the long term. (I keep my ADHD in my thumb, for example. I can be perfectly still for a long, long time. However, my right thumb fidgets almost constantly. It's weird. Now that I've noticed it, I can't unsee it.)

I guess what I'm saying is ... nothing is set in stone where ADHD is concerned, so don't be afraid to dig deeper, especially if some aspects hit hard. Exploration is a good thing. Questioning is a good thing.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Hello, can I ask you as well (since i'd be interested in your opinion), do you think Paul is autistic? Only if you want to answer!

Hey!

So I don't know who else you asked, but I hope they give you a better answer then I will. I do know more than some people about autism, as my husband and son are both on the spectrum, but I also feel like I don't know anything at all, you know? I also only know the part of Paul that is publicly available. I know a lot more than most people, but I don't know him. All of this to say, I don't feel qualified to answer.

Some people will argue that it's none of our business and we shouldn't be diagnosing strangers on the internet, and I would agree to an extent. But to me, that argument ("it's bad to label people so I'll assume everyone is neurotypical because anything else is bad) feels the same as when people are like "it's bad to speculate on sexuality so I'll assume everyone is straight because anything else is bad". Neurodivergence is valid. Queerness is valid. So speculate all you want, I say, as long as you do it respectfully to the person and the community.

As far as Paul is concerned, he is the most prolific and successful singer/songwriter of all time, and people who are that successful in a creative field are often in some way not typical. There are also other behaviors, such as struggling to use words to express himself, intense masking, generally either extremely awkward or extremely gregarious social abilities, synesthesia, controlling behavior, insensitivity, sensory processing differences, tics or repetitive grooming behaviors, and perfectionism. Many of these traits could also be attributed to trauma. And maybe some things are both trauma and natural neurodivergence.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is this. Is Paul autistic? Maybe. And there's nothing wrong with digging into that. But we have no real way of knowing.

If you want a bit more on Paul's not typical attributes, I recommend this episode of AKOM.

As always with asks, I'm interested in your thoughts on the subject too. Thanks for the question!

[scarabjewels]

What Mad Girl Movies Taught Me:

Never Be Like Me

(Lessons From Helter Skelter and Black Swan)

Beauty and perfectionism has been ingrained to how we build our self identity, social acceptability and self worth. This just has to stop. So here I am, sharing my opinions and experience, in hopes that someone who is struggling the same way finds this and say " wow, I am enough. The world is just fucked up".

Let's get on to it as I dissect the moral lessons two beloved movies of mad women we can all learn from.

Helter Skelter: Beauty As A Trend is Never Achievable

I have noticed how fucked up body trends are, in all known genders yes, but especially the heterosexual ones.

It really is so fucked up how it is normal to treat the body like a moldable accessory, when it's literally what works hard keep you alive because it is you! In just a span of a decade from 2015 to 2024, the trends over body aesthetics is crazy. I can tell you that sexism and ingrained toxicity in social constructs are alive and maybe even so flourishing with globalisation, whilst civil wars are coexisting. It's crazy (but that's another conversation).

Lately, another wave of Heroin Chic is hitting the influencer network, this wave has been a long time coming, especially during and after the pandemic. People have been trying to get healthy, yes, but for the wrong reasons, so much so that people just try to look healthy when in fact they got there from the artificial place.

Just around mid-2010, big ass and a tiny waist were all the rage. Yes, it opened up the door to the body types acceptance but also glamorized it, too much. Then by 2020, healthy body figures became the rage again: abs, toned muscles and no fat. Interestingly, body positivity also came along with the trend, opening the new target audience in markets: the plus size. Here we are at mid 2020, where heroine chic came back, along with toned look. The influence of this trend came with the build of many celebrities losing weight, such as Kim Kardashian removing her buttlift, Christina Aguilera looking like she was in her early 20s again, Nikoavokado coming back with relatively a drastically changed body and many more.

I will be honest that I accidentally jumped into this trend train. I lost weight drastically in a span of 6 months, due to self harming habits. (Please be warned of the terms I am using to describe what happened to me, I did not get diagnosed, even when it is very obvious what is happening to me). Ever since I was younger, I unconsciously trained myself to not eat when I am upset which led to repercussions I am yet to recover from. My weight would fluctuate all the time as a teenager and even now as an adult, as I get upset for longer periods of time, and the stress of that period still stays even after I feel better. So my eating habits would have split days of completely normal times to eat or literally starving because I slept in the whole day, that is my journey right now which is actually quite better than before. I would be physically incapable of even digesting food properly, my stomach would reject just the thought of eating again, which would only happen if I try to eat outside of the house (very specific I know), yet I would eat just fine at home. I couldn't eat because it would literally hurt. It was the worst periods of my life honestly. I couldn't function well, I couldn't sleep , one time I fainted at work from extreme fatigue.

Needless to say, I lost too much weight. Not skin -bone, but a drastic comparison from before. I am not happy, I am not moving much, and I feel like I am not enough, because now I am developing body dysmorphia. I was fine when I was a little over weight, I am jolly, active and full of life (not all the time, but most is pretty good!) I moved a lot, I am talking about long walks and trekking, and it was just for FUN. I loved it. Now, I can barely move and at age 22, my bones would "pop" or "creak" just from an occasional stretch or kneeling.

Look at what happened to the patients of the clinic where Lilico and other people were obsessed with beauty. Suicide, because they couldn't afford to lose their new look. They would rather die beautiful than live. Lilico is fucked up in her own way, yet her actions' main motivation is because of the delicious power she has from her perfected beautiful appearance. Fame, a rich guy who is obsessed with her, money, easy manipulation of others. She wanted it all. She wants to be what everyone wants, and just from her monologues, you can tell she hated every single minute of it, especially in the manga. She treated herself like a perfect product no one should ever dare to one up, yet she knew she was just a product, that her market value will end eventually. That girl went bat shit crazy. She was addicted to the good stuff her socially praised beauty was. It is obviously not worth it!

Oh here is one too: ageism. Look, it is well and alive before so is today. The amount of males who told me women have a ticking clock of attractiveness is frustratingly high and even exists in younger generations. Age is the number of years you have been alive on this earth, not a set of intervals of attractiveness.

Like what the detective said: "Youth is beautiful but not inherently beauty". You know what you get with age? Wisdom, even more beauty, journeys of epics and living life to the fullest.

Look at the Golden Girls. If you ever have a chance to watch that show, you find that dating at an older age is great and sometimes rocky, like any type of dating. Their age in that show is supposed to be around 50 to 60, and they were ACTIVELY DATING. They even tackled the insecurities of being older, having wrinkles, a hanging stomach, and being unattractive, and it is always countered. It isn't true what they say, that you are attractive at only a certain age. Honestly, I prefer the type of dating in an older age. You MOSTLY know what you want from the other, and because you have gone through a lot already, it's faster to move on. Also, these ladies mostly dated men AROUND THEIR AGE. Now, this is important too. Males have told me that men just age better with time, and that's not true at all. It depends heavily on each individual, irregardless of age and gender. The Golden Girls dated handsome men, overweight men, men of different races and religions, average men, etc. They like to get to know the person (Blanch, though, is so hyperactive, so maybe not always getting to know them for who they are, but she does value traditional dating) because that is way more valuable than their looks.

Lilico didn't even like anyone, not even herself. Probably just her sister, she loves her but well she is Lilico so toxic af. Sex is not even making love to her, it's a business transaction, a tool for manipulation, and a means to an end. That's fucked up.

Let's this be a cautionary tale: achieving society's beauty will never be worth it.

I discussed said toxic beauty standards. Now, let's move one ahead with the toxicity of perfectionism.

Black Swan: There is No "Perfect"

Perfect? No, she was brilliant, but she was never "perfect". Perfectionism is so toxic in itself already, I know because I used to participate in it too.

I wanted to be perfect in writing the best, it didn't matter to me if I was not on the top ten highest grades in class, as long as I am the best in that one thing I am good at. However, my story is not close enough to Nina's extremely perfectionist behaviour, so I will share one that is closer to that tale as well as the point the movie and I am trying to make.

I am Asian (Filipino) and just from above, I can say that that really is the school system here, yes being a nerd is normal and being the TOP NERD was so important, I saw people broke down because they didn't win at a class competition. Toxic, right? Self-worth was associated with how good you are at academics and those over-achieving people envy others who had it easy. I was one of those who didn't struggle with academics as much, I got good grades , even when I didn't study. University did humble me, of course. Still, it doesn't bother me if I got a bad grade or a good grade. But the comments I hear from the one who worked hard to be "the best", damn. I once had a classmate who really wanted the best record in her academics. She was obsessed with it. Losing sleep, losing patience, and losing her mental health, basically. I did ask her once when she was stressing about not getting in a higher rank in the top ten, I asked her : "Does it matter?"I didn't mean it as a serious thing, but it came out like that because she replied,"It matters to me. " The tone was "I want to win." Look, her hardworking personality is ENOUGH to get her a job (she really wanted a job to get out of the house), I just wish she wasn't stressing out about winning so much. Back then, I remember her being in a bad mood, because she didn't sleep working on a project or she had a bad group mate (to be fair to her, everyone hated that person for good reason). She was ENOUGH, and I hope she sees that about herself now.

I think sacrifice is discussed a lot when talking about toxic perfectionism but behaviour from the get go isn't talked about enough.

Nina Sawyers is an example of the bad behaviour of any toxic perfectionist. She would do ANYTHING to get to the top. She tried to seduce the director to get the part she wanted, she would sabotage Lily who was friendly to her all through out as a person wanting to steal her part, she would do anything that it literally messed with her head, that her fate was her karma. She was jealous, envious and had no GOOD DAY unless SHE WAS THE PERFECT ONE. She loved the praise but couldn't handle anything less.

Nina needs to cut her mother out of her life, go out and actually have fun, and have friends who she doesn't see as competition. She needs to be friends with her peers of the same interest, too. God, that girl has no friends. She is too busy with her craft, and also, her mom is overbearing, which probably drove her to isolate from others.

One other thing, like in Helter Skelter, Nina sees her skill as a marketable tool that puts her above the rest, which is also why she is so paranoid when the director keeps comparing her to Lily, feeling threatened to be replaced. The director is an asshole, but it is pretty clear that those comparisons were meant to constructive criticism, though he needed to work on that bad delivery, also I think he was unconsciously and consciously manipulative of his muses in general. The past "Oddette", before Nina, probably experienced all the build-up paranoia that led her to extreme actions such as aggressively confronting Nina and stabbing herself in the face.

No person should ever feel like they are replaceable because they are worthless. No one should ever feel like they have to be the best because that's the only way that makes them worthy. You are worthy, nonetheless of your skill.

The Conclusion: You Are Never Enough For Them, You Are Enough For You

I know I discussed Nina and Lilico as cautionary tales, but we also to acknowledge the society that drove them to that point. We, as a society, glamorize the best of what we see: skill, craft, art, beauty, age and etc. We failed to acknowledge that we are putting impossible pedestals on them. We treat "good" things as if that is what should be good. We really failed to SEE BEAUTY AND GOOD IN OTHER THINGS.

Lilico was bullied for being fat, fetishised for being fat, and praised for being perfectly beautiful. Then, she is shamed for her past.

Society really ruined her.

As for Nina, she was always praised for being perfect, yet she had no friends because she saw them as a competition. Her over bearing mother would put her down (I saw more moments of her downplaying her skill, though in hindsight, rather than actually celebrating and supporting) .That is a factor as to why she thrived in praise so much in ballet. That is where she could be loved and FREE.

Her mother failed her, and the perfectionism ruined her.

Do not ever go to that point where you find yourself going crazy over an unreachable height. Be kind to yourself, so someone is comparing to other people? wow, aren't they someone who notices too much, that person has no life to live. Also, don't do that to yourself, don't be the loser who always looks down on others, who compares themselves to greater people because they are not enough, that is not a habit you want lingering.

I also was a person who compared themselves often to others, guess where I got that from? My flesh and blood: my mother. I still remember it, she compared me to a good friend of mine and it led me to compare myself to everyone. It was ONE passive-aggressive comment. I hated it so much, and I never did that to anyone.

I learned that I hated that feeling whenever someone does it to themselves or others to that to me, I take offence and say that that is such a sorry way to think then I realized I was like that. I had friends like that, and guess what? the Habit is still here, but I now combat it because I have no friends who do that to themsleves or others. I was done with that mentality.

I don't like it, so why should I linger in that energy?

Now, I implore you to really look at the bigger picture, think and do what is truly best for you, no matter what others say.