you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.
(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)
but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.
(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)
there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.
(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)
you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.
(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)
you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.
in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.
but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.
they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.
it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.
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i think in general sometimes when people interpret characters they give them too much credit in a sense that they forget that people are often very much contradictory in their beliefs and sometimes they believe one thing but do another like. sometimes people say they want to leave when they want to stay. sometimes they stay when they want to leave. sometimes they say they understand something when they don’t and sometimes they say they don’t need things that they’re desperately yearning for. and if you want to create an appropriately multi dimensional reading of a character you need to accommodate this.
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I'm thinking abt that pretty fall leaves embroidery pattern post and about how like... it is categorically a repost, it's a reupload. right? a thing that is generally disliked. but because it's credited, it's genuinely boosting the artist in question.
and it could ALWAYS be like this. reposting content could ALWAYS be a symbiotic relationship, but because sourcing back to the original creator of something is so uncommon, it's just easier to ask people not to repost it at all. and people still don't understand the difference. or they'll go to the effort of cropping out usernames/signatures to repost something, which is More Effort than literally crediting the creator of something you liked enough to want to repost.
Like. I literally don't actually care if my own shit gets reposted, you have to understand. I just don't want it STOLEN. But "do not repost" is easier to write on my art than "you can repost this, but don't alter the image/remove my signature, don't you dare write 'credit goes to the artist' because that is not credit, please link back to my original post or someplace that you can actually find me. please use an actual link/url instead of writing a non-clickable link of my username, because making it text instead of a clickable link cuts the number of people who will go to the effort of visiting my own page in Half."
All those aggregate themed accounts, those fuckin annoying as hell instagrams and facebook groups that are like "body positive art we love wamen 💕 hashtag feminism" and then MASS-STEAL plus sized art created by women, if pages like these that always go and steal my older self-portraits and other works... If they just put a link to my prints of those pieces in the text of those posts, or, fuck, my commission info page? I would literally be living on the moon right now. I would have a house on the moon
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cw yandere themes, stalking
thinking about a superhero au that's similar to the setup in "the boys" where superheroes are celebrities, backed by a company/management team + you are promoted to be character's handler. you're the one who finalizes his schedule, tells him where to go, accesses all the classified files that detail the missions he goes on (+ sometimes even accompany him to said missions). you know the ins + outs of his life (career-wise, he's doing fantastic; does well in polls, the public loves him, and his reddit snark page is itching for him to do anything they can complain about. his private life... well, he doesn't really have a life outside his job — or so it seems). he's a very black noir inspired superhero; no one knows what he looks like underneath his mask; no one knows anything about him since he stays consistently covered in his nearly indestructible suit that only emphasizes the flex of his muscles and the tightness of his abs. he never talks, which took some getting used to. you thought that was just his bit for the public, the whole "silent killer" persona, but he only nods or shakes his head when you're going over his itinerary for the day. you eventually get used to his silence & you two sort of come up with your own secret language. you can't see through his mask, but sometimes the two of you will look at each other when something happens and it's like you just know what he's trying to communicate + vice versa.
being a superhero's handler means your own private life — or lack thereof — is pretty boring. you don't have a lot of time for anything, but you finally get a chance to go out on a date. but it's just your luck that your date turns out to be a small-time villain on the side. when you think things are going to take a turn for the worst, who shows up to your rescue?
your superhero, of course.
you don't question how he knows where you're at; you're too busy being grateful for his help. you can't see the gleeful expression he's wearing under the mask when you're cooing words of praise at him. you look so cute, he thinks. you're always cute — when you're kicking off your heels after you get home from a long day of work, when you're slipping off your blouse so you can hop in the shower, when you're rushing to get to work on time in the morning, when you're hiding away in one of the many break rooms inside the company's building.
that night proves to be a series of surprises for you; first, you literally went on a date with an actual criminal. and second, you actually hear character speak for the first time ever. he has a nice voice, deep and a bit gravelly — probably due to the fact that he chooses not to speak most of the time. but it's what he says that almost wipes your grateful smile off your face.
"don't go out with anyone. you're supposed to be mine, remember?"
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