#i was like this guy has a disgusting vibe. which apparently in my brain connects/connected to “i must learn more”

[g8d]

i feel like if that one guy ever dare make eye contact with me he will die on the spot that's how much i hate his pathetic coward hypocrite guts.

[anonymoustoddler]

I got stoned and found out some things and started writing a facebook post. And then... it turned into whatever the hell this is:

I went to NYU from 2005-2009.

Ilana Glazer.. apparently went to NYU from 2005-2009.

We graduated at the same time.

ALSO, I thought Rachel Bloom was older but NO, she was there too. And everyone seems to know her except for me.

She didn’t even go to Tisch, or study acting or writing or.. any of it. Rachel did. But all three of us sat in Yankee Stadium at the same time and listened to Hillary Clinton give our graduation speech. We had all the same opportunities and general access, the same potential for experience, exposure, connections, and a career.

And now they are there.

And my BFA’d ass is... right here.

It’s just really strange to think about that. Maybe if I had somehow done things quite differently, I’d be there instead.

Probably not, to be honest. I know I’ve never had whatever that thing is that makes certain people magnetic. I’ve never been the one to stand out in adulthood. I think, in fact, that many people find me rather dull compared to the shine of others in this field. But maybe... maybe if I’d really worked for it, for real. Maybe if I could have put everything into the work instead of most of it into all the wrong places with just a shaving of energy and effort and commitment left over.

But also. Something happened to me, back then. When I left Northview and Grand Rapids and Michigan to head for New York, I believed in my talent. I believed in myself in that way, if not much else. I knew I could do it, and do it well.

A lot of people seem to come into themselves in college. Find themselves, find their people, their passions and strengths, their future. But I think I had the opposite experience altogether. From my very first day in New York, I felt Weird. Different. Loser. Less than. Behind. Misunderstood. Shamed. Overlooked. Ignored. Doubtful. Anxious. Depressed. Afraid. Embarrassed. Hidden. Invisible.

It was a slow motion dissent into the earlier stages of where I am now. But nobody noticed. No one saw an eating disorder or depression or tremendous anxiety. No one saw severe mood instability, executive dysfunction, a strained and codependent and complicated two person family relationship. No one saw the things going on and attributed them to “She’s not ok.” It was always, “She’s immature. She’s selfish and lazy. She doesn’t WANT to grow up, so she’s keeping herself in states of dependency so she never has to try.” “She just doesn’t want any of it badly enough. If she did, she’d be doing the work to get it.”

I wonder, sometimes. If I hadn’t been sick and scared and alone, with only so much understanding at the time of what was happening to me and no understanding of what I was preparing to become; if I had real and proper help from any doctor or professor or from my mom - because I did not understand the severity of my need for help back then, and I thought my family doctor, a PA who actually really fucked up my life multiple times with her loose prescription pad and severe lack of knowledge of what she was doing, had me covered - what might I have accomplished instead of spending most of my free time in bed, balancing a part time job but barely able to take on anything else. 30 hours a week in retail plus commuting was literally everything I had in me WHEN I WAS AT MY BEST IN LIFE. When I was the closest I ever got to being a rack rate size, when I was still able to prioritize limited money spending, still eating both regularly and healthfully (as much so as I’ve ever been), still exercising simply by getting around, sleeping ok enough for the most part and generally on a more normalized schedule. I mean — I got up at 6 to be at work at 8 OFTEN. It was excruciating sometimes, but other times it was fun to get up and get ready for work. I had routines. I loved getting off the train at my SoHo stop and, depending on which line I took and how much time I had, getting my coffee at Starbucks or at Aroma, so overpriced but an entirely different experience and worth the convenience and sometimes a pastry to go along.

I’ve gotten quite entirely away from myself, but.. I was doing the best I’ve ever done or maybe will ever do. And I still could not work to pay my bills and also take voice and tap and jazz and scene study and exclusive workshops and networking events and open calls and appointment auditions and keeping up with theater and film and the business and and and.

I went to a handful of auditions in 2013 and 2014 - My Only Almost Good Years. Things were actually pretty horrible for the majority of them but it was also mostly the closest I ever got to Good in the beginning.

Regardless, I subscribed to Actors Access and I got the only real headshots I ever had taken and I submitted and submitted and submitted (not nearly as regularly or often as I should have, because I was still too scared then. I still gave a shit.) and I very occasionally got an audition. I submitted for a commercial call Under 18 girls skin care. I got called in. When the CD saw me, she told me they were only considering minors, but she wanted to keep my headshot and info anyway. I never heard from her again.

I got a call for a short film once (or was it a web series? Who knows) and even got a callback. But no part.

I did one show in those two years. Technically I guess one could argue two if you count the weird little Christmas play I did for no money right after I moved at the end of 2012, but. Aside from that... one casting. One.

In New Jersey. No pay - travel stipend included.

I was 24 years old playing a 12 year old in an aged down musical version of Three Sisters set in 1970s New Jersey. “We have to get back to Mosc- New York City!” But with generic numbers telling most of what little story there was.

And then I took an acting class, I fell and injured myself, my body wasn’t ever the same after that, and by the time my shoulder was as normal as it would ever be again, my brain was really starting to crack. I was depressed and anxious. I hated living in Brooklyn, I hated having no friends after so briefly being close with Jenn. I hated my roommate, the only man I had ever lived with before George. And no wonder. He was one of the worst people I’ve ever met, I think. The worst kind of fucked up Entitled Vaguely Wealthy White Male. He enjoyed making me upset, making me feel unsafe. He listened to me express my issues with things he did and instead of even pretending to care about living harmoniously, he laughed in my face and used every chance he could get to fuck with me for the kick of it. He was rude and weird and cold and cruel and cocky and prideful and hateful and gross and mean. He was selfish and thoughtless and manipulative. I knew he felt wrong from the moment I met him. I knew. But our third roommate was chill and relaxed and flexible, she seemed to get along with both of us enough so I thought she could and would act as a buffer if it ever came to that. I knew but I loved the apartment, and he found it and I didn’t have any friends to grab it out from under him with. I knew he was a bad guy and someone I might well have real trouble with and discomfort around, but Jenn had gone silent and enemy for reasons and in ways I will never, ever understand. One day she was my friend, and the next she was putting locks on her doors and saying I should really move out of HER apartment as soon as possible. She stopped speaking to me. She passive aggressively left disgusting messes all over the apartment. She locked the living room television in her bedroom and told some version of events in which I was the bad guy somehow to friends who we both went to school with, people I knew and liked. They in turn randomly met my coworkers and proceeded to say horrible things about me, and the only reason I even know is because one of them told me about it in the break room the next time I worked.

I knew Nick was a terrible risk in multiple ways. But I had to get out of the apartment because at the time I didn’t think it could be worse than living with Jenn, and Dan was a third who I thought would be in my corner, and the apartment was so much nicer than most of the places I had lived. I thought I could make it work. I thought that move was going to save me.

By the time my headshots were taken, I was beginning to lose feeling in my legs. I was struggling to keep treading water and starting to drown. I never got the free retouching because I never chose my final shots. I never chose because I barely submitted for auditions. I was doing on partial leave from work and doing as much physical therapy as I could afford to copays for, I was taking percocet for months and months because the pain wouldn’t go away. Something’s Wrong, I said. The Scans Look Normal, Try Taking Ibuprofen. I was home and hiding in bed more and more often. I extended my work leave and gave shifts away as much as I could. I went to therapy and a middle aged white woman with long beaded necklaces and a New Age Buddhism vibe in a shoebox office on the Upper East Side was getting tired of me and my lack of progress and consistent last minute cancellation of appointments. I went back to work and had panic attacks that kept me sobbing uncontrollably for over an hour, so many shifts spent partially alone sitting in a little room in the basement back of house, steam pumps taking up much of the space and nothing else there aside from a single office chair and a little grey table. I spent my entire hour lunch chain smoking on a stoop down the street. I smoked cigarette after cigarette, compulsively and even when I did NOT want any more. I talked more loudly and often about how bad things were, about my disorder and anxiety and depression and people liked me less and I was alone at work more. New people came on and old people left and new cliques formed and I had no friends. Work was torture and home was terrifying. I got through the summer by getting stoned on the roof so I wouldn’t have to be in the apartment in case he was home. But then one day my door knob broke and I was so terrified he would go into my room and take or break or mess with my things and the fear and panic were so real and so severe that I missed my best friend’s baby shower because I couldn’t find a locksmith on a Sunday and I couldn’t leave my room until I fixed my door knob. She was angry with me for a long time after that. We never saw each other before I moved back to Michigan. I don’t even know when we last saw each other anymore.

I could keep telling this story for hours, days. Tell every piece as I remember it straight on through 2014 and into 2015 and cancer and treatment and 2016 and George and more cancer and the worst possible conditions for a new relationship and relapse and the beginning of my current inability to function because everything was depression and exhaustion and loneliness. And on and on through five more moves and break up and emergency surgery and being thrown into the drivers seat and struggling with my mom’s health changes and selling my home and leaving everything I had for something new that was just more versions of bad. The scariest loneliest months of my life. And then the even scarier even lonelier ones after she died.

But just... just think of all that. And what if most of it had never happened?? If I’d gotten proper help a decade ago, who would I be now? Where?

Maybe I’d be there. With them.

Instead of here, alone, with nothing but memories of other times when I was also sad and life felt pointless.

I wonder what it would have been like to be there instead. I wish I knew.

[iamsodoneohmygod]

-Limitless- Boku No Hero Academia x Male Reader Ch 3

(M/n) POV All I could see was black, a void and nothing else. Was I dead? I didn’t feel like it. Why am I still alive then? Why didn’t they let me die? All of these questions coursed through my head as I stared into the abyss in front of me and yet I could hear them. Their thoughts. Another mess my quirk has created for me, am I even me anymore? Or am i just a host for this force inside of me. No one knows what to call it because I’m not just some psychic gypsy. But then what am I? Right now I really want to be dead, but hearing the thoughts of the people proved I was sadly still alive. The void began to disperse as a bright light shined through and I opened my eyes. ‘Poor child’ ‘ who the hell is this’ ‘ what the hell is going on’ where are you’ what does he know’ thoughts I heard before i shut them out. I saw that i was in a hospital room as I began to hear the heart monitor make that annoying beeping noise. Also I couldn’t speak or move and there was an oxygen mask over my face. The first and only person that I saw was the pro Hero Eraserhead. He was standing over me looking at me with a strange look, one between the faces of pity and rage. Looking to not stay long he was aware when i was conscious. “I’m not going to say this again and I don’t want to see you again after this. For crimes against the public, arson, attempt in murder and murder in the first degree along with the evaluation of your quirk. As soon as you are discharged you will be transferred into the custody of the Oni Penitentiary facility. From this point forward you will be registered as villain.” That was it, after that he left and I was left to rot. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. Nobody knew me and nobody wanted me. I didn’t blame them, it was all my fault wasn’t it? Right? I knew that I would end up somewhere terrible, I never got a break and I never will. So why as soon as he left I couldn’t stop crying? I guess living like I do you don’t ever get used to it. I wanted to scream that it wasn’t me, I didn’t want to do any of those things, don’t blame me. Soon I was discharged and was on my way to prison. Being processed involved getting a mugshot, fingerprinted, blood tested, drug evaluations, and quirk evaluation. I was given a black jumpsuit with a white belt around the waist, apparently this was the uniform for new prisoners. I was then brought to a machine that clamped around my neck causing a pricking feeling then a burning feeling that caused me to bite my tongue so I didn’t yelp. When the machine removed itself there was a black band left around my throat. This was a quirk inhibitor mark for people with non body based quirks. It being centered around the part of the neck that connects all the nerves and brain functions and controls if you can use your quirk or not. My messy hair wasn’t a problem anymore because they had shaved it all off leaving a (h/c) tint on my head. I was given a second set of clothes to take care of and was led to my cell. As we walked pass the prison cells men would reach out and tried to grab at the guards and say what they usually said when a new prisoner would arrive. My cell was at the end of corridor and was the last cell on the right. “You got a new roommate Lee.” The guard said as he opened the the cell door and pushed me inside. The cell had to beds parallel from each other and a toilet in the corner. Sitting on the bed in what seemed to be a meditating state was an old Chinese man, around the age of 75 to 80. He looked like and old chinese man with bald head that oldly still had some hair on it in the back and long beard. He wore a baby blue prison jumpsuit and a pair of circular black sunglasses so I assumed he was blind. Also he had a dark brown cane in his lap that was used for his mobility. Once the door shut he looked at me quietly and left his spot from his bed and walked in front of me with his cane. Observing me with his non functioning eyes he looked me up and down and hummed a little to himself. “So you’re the one I’ve been hearing so much about. The one who could throw cars and hero students around like rag dolls and shot one of the most feared villains of Japan point blank in the face?” he questioned. Before I could say anything he reached up a patted me on my now bald head. “Good job.” “Excuse me?” I asked. “People like you and me aren’t viewed as Villains because of our actions but more of how they see us. For example, a boy with a very powerful quirk gets taken advantage of and shows some real strength. How do the heroes handle it? They throw that poor boy into prison because they don’t want someone that powerful around that they can’t control.” He lectured to me. “What are you talking about? It was my fa-” “Fault? The only people at fault here are the people who didn’t try to save you when they had the chance.” His words confused me too a large extent. “How do you know so much about me?” I asked him to which he chuckled and went to sit back on his bed. “I have been in this prison for a good thirty years. I’ve seen your kind come through here and not last a week. By the way if you’re going to kill yourself can you do me a favor and just hang yourself? Last guy slit his wrist by the toilet and it took weeks for them to clean all that rotten blood off.” he replied. “My name is Lee, just Lee, and I was once the greatest assassin in the world. But now I’m just the old man that they room the suicidal ones with because I complain less.” “I’m not suicidal.” I snapped. “Yes you are you already tried to kill yourself with that fire show.” He retaliated. I couldn’t really argue with that, I didn’t care if I died. What’s the point trying it now? I kind of wanted to live and prove this guy wrong. “But if you’re positive i won’t find you playing hangman after lights out then I don’t mind showing you how to not die from the other inmates.” he murmured as he was getting back into his meditation stance. “Who did you kill?” I asked him out of nowhere. “Hmm?” “Who did you kill when you were an assassin?” i rephrased. He let out a small chuckle before answering, “The worst of the worst.” Time Skip About an hour later it was time for dinner and Lee gave specific instruction to walk behind him as we made our way to the mess hall. I could feel the eyes of other inmates stare at me as I walked close behind the old man. My palms began to feel sweaty when we moved through crowds of larger people and I was barely keeping up with blind man. We finally got to the mess hall and I grabbed a tray of food, but now I lost Lee. I looked at the food tray and found no taste in it, it being weird meaty slop and a loaf of bread. I already found food disgusting and this form of it was not helping the case. Right before I was about to dump it someone grabbed my wrist, it was Lee. “If the guards catch you dumping food you're going to get punished.” he then grabbed my tray and dropped it on a table filled with a group of large men who took no time feasting on the extra meal they were given. Lee sat me down at a table behind a support beam that had a good view of the entire mess hall. “Now that we got a view of everyone this is what you need to know, everyone here is labeled for their crime by the colors on their clothes.” He started. When he said this I began to notice that the inmates were all wearing certain colors, pink, purple, blue, red, green, and yellow. “Red is for public destruction, what you will be wearing soon. Blue is for manslaughter, green is for large scale robbery, yellow is crimes against the government, and purple is for sex crimes.” He said quick and to the point. “What about pink?” I asked. “Pedophiles of the worst degree. Some real twisted shit.” Those words crawled up my spine. That description pretty much cleared up who to stay away from. “Don’t worry about the guys in pink. The reason why they have this damn color system is to zone out those types of people. If there is one thing you don’t want to be in this hell hole, it's an inmate wearing in pink.” he explained. Every inmate had the same black band around the their neck like I did, even Lee had one. I saw that some inmates were sitting color coordinated and some were mixed up. While I was in my own mind I felt a present sit next to me. Turning around I was met with a big muscular man with long brown hair and a beard. He also had a large scar going diagonally across his face, stood at about 2 and half meters (me standing only at one and a half), had very large muscles, and was wearing the same baby blue as Lee. “Teo, this is my new roommate (M/n), he says he’s not suicidal.” Lee announced to the VERY large man. Teo simply looked at me up, then down, and scoffed, “ You’d be the first.” He said in a deep coarse voice. “You might not be suicidal but you are anorexic.” Pointing out I was giving off that malnourished vibe that you’d get from an abandoned animal and had the body type that could barely win in a fight against a stick bug. “Teo is in the cell next to us and I know he looks like a cold blooded killer, which he is, he is actually a big teddy bear. Leader of the mafia this one was but will hold up traffic to help a bunch of baby ducks cross the road.” Lee said as he started eating his loaf of bread. I looked at Teo as soon as he looked at me at the same time as I was skeptical of what Lee was saying. My body tensed up as Teo reached into the inside of his jumpsuit while still looking into my eyes. To my surprise he pulled out a gray wool knitted beanie and put it on my head and patted it in place. “I like to knit. It’s my passion.” he said emotionlessly. My soul soon re entered my body and I was able to breathe again. Lee and Teo continued to eat as i processed what just happened. I decided it was okay to be relax at the moment, I trusted Lee and could only hope he wasn’t leading me down the rabbit hole to hell. However I knew for a fact, that not everyone in this prison would be like Lee and Teo.