#i wish you did though

[i-was-good]

you don't like me. i understand.

[exospherethoughts]

This isn't about you, but it's something I wish I could talk to you about, and I can't because if I try to then it'll be a wall of text I send you and it will be ignored. Or met with some short "thanks for sharing" type message. Even if you asked to call me, I don't think you want to do emotional vulnerability with me anymore, so the void gets this instead.

I wish my mind could grasp onto solid feelings and thoughts, but catching fleeting ideas or keeping track of a single coherent thought process is much akin to attempting to juggle thirteen wet thin bars of soap whilst rattling off the periodic table of elements in order. To communicate any of those bars of soap in a sensical and terse manner is practically impossible. It's highly frustrating to live inside my head, and when I think too hard about it, I want to tear my hair out. I'm trapped in a mental prison and I have no way of reaching out between the bars to talk about it or even just hold someone's hand. It's as though the version of me in my head is completely separate from that which everyone in the real world perceives, and when I let myself be consciously aware of that disconnect or try to reconcile the two entities, I run into walls, I feel trapped, and I panic. There is no way out.

Yet here I am, desperately trying to communicate it anyways. None of what I just wrote adequately describes what I've been experiencing my entire life (although it's been getting worse and worse lately as I become more aware of it), but I am trying. Maybe one day I'll land on the right combination of words for it. Probably not, but I can try.

I wonder how much of this summer I'll remember. Will it be lost to the depths of my mind like every other summer? Is it really just summers that are bad, or am I just telling myself that because I don't want to admit that every single month of my life ends up fading away so quickly, it's like my life only started two or three weeks ago?

What strange plane of existence is my mind on? Today was objectively good. I spent time with someone I really enjoy being around, they have been *incredibly* generous with their time and knowledge, I was productive today, I went outside, I got to do some crosswords, my smoothie this morning tasted good, I socialized with some fellow grad students, it was an objectively good day. I should be happy. I should feel connected and valued and appreciative and like I matter. But when I was walking home, I felt empty. The version of me that walks around and talks to people and makes facial expressions did all those things today. The version of me that exists in my head was holding her breath all day, for who knows what reason. Despite having felt like I was mentally present all day, it was as though that was a false perception, because once I was alone it was as though I was being set down after being tossed around in a hurricane, I had to catch my breath and felt overwhelmed by the day. But it was a good one. Why do I feel overwhelmed by a good, straightforward day? Why did that only kick in after I was alone and on my way home? Why did I think I was present in reality only to realize at the end of the day that I was as disconnected as ever?

Is it perhaps not that I am really disconnected in the moment, but that External Me is present in reality and Internal Me is not, and when I am alone, External Me goes away (except for the part that goes through the motions of making tea, cooking dinner, and typing on my computer right now), leaving Internal Me to take over the majority of my mind? Is it really just an issue of Internal Me not being the one who is experiencing any of the things I say or do every day, and External Me has no real short or long term memory, so whilst I may be "present" in the sense that I am doing everything I can to experience things in the moment, I do not remember any of those things as if it were really me there? Is that why all the memories I do have feel like stories someone else told me rather than memories of my own experiences?

Is that why, when I think of anything we did together, any time we spent together, my chest feels devoid of any emotion and my mind plays out vague images as though from a film? Is that why I keep finding myself sobbing on my bathroom floor playing music I know used to make me feel love or longing or heartbreak or joy or warmth or safety or forlorn about you, desperately trying to feel any of those emotions again, closing my eyes and imagining myself in those memories, searching for a shred of reality to cling to; but instead finding only grief for the lost parts of those memories? The lost parts... the important parts. The parts that made them *my* memories. The parts that made me feel something rather than remember a description of what I was feeling. The parts that kept your face and voice crystal clear. The parts that made them feel real.

It's funny how this wasn't supposed to be about you, but we ended up here anyways. Sometimes I wonder how I know I love you, the you sitting on the other side of the planet texting me once a day (if I'm lucky), because to my mind you've already turned into some distant character entirely separate from the person who I fell in love with and spent so many dozens of hours talking to.

Then I look at the mug on my desk with so many dried flowers in it, all picked for you. I notice how every time something good, or happy, or painful, or funny, or interesting, or mundane, or anything happens, I want to text you about it. I think about how I do grieve the lost parts of those memories, rather than being indifferent to them. I see how I have to exercise so much self control to wait until next week to ask you to call me (I really want you to ask first). I find myself running down the same paths we used to walk together, letting your ghost haunt me, wishing I could go back and do it all over again, just to hold your hand and hear your laugh and listen to you talk about your day.

I may feel empty, I may not be able to reconcile the you on the other side of my phone screen with the you I knew here and love, but I would be doing myself a disservice to deny how I feel about you. Even if my mind cannot grasp that you are still the same person, even if my mind cannot remember any of what we had as reality, I think my heart knows. It knows and it grieves for my mind because it knows how much my mind is missing out on. It knows how wonderful those memories are in full colour and emotion and reality, and it is in pain because without my mind to remember them for it, it cannot relive them. It cannot miss them properly. It can only grieve.

And so I sit here, ribcage hollowed out, grieving something I know I've lost but cannot fully experience the pain of losing because it does not seem real.

It is a kind of torture I wouldn't wish upon anyone. My entire life is going by and none of it has felt real. Not you, not any of the time I've spent with friends, not any of the time I've spent with my parents, not any of the trips I've gone on, not any of the things I've learned, not any of the music I've played, not any of the places I've seen, not any of the things I've said or done. I don't even really know who I am, I don't know how others perceive me, I look in the mirror and see a stranger staring back. I see a body but I do not comprehend that I am inside that body. I know when I speak my voice comes out but if I listen to it, it does not sound like me. I know I interact with people but those interactions are like watching two other people interact, neither of them seems like me. I don't know who I am and none of my life has felt real. At least when you were here, I had moments of feeling real in the moment, I had moments of feeling loved and safe and I felt like I could be completely myself with you. It was the closest I've gotten to feeling like Internal Me was the one existing in reality in a very long time. But apparently it wasn't close enough, because you are now another lost part of my memories.

The worst part of it all? Despite sitting here, typing away, trying my best to line up my thoughts in a row, grabbing at any ephemeral emotion I can, it still doesn't come anywhere close to properly conveying what I'm experiencing.

It's one thing to suffer. It's another to suffer knowing you cannot make anyone else understand your suffering.

[thetimelordbatgirl]

The police in Scotland have the chance to do the most funniest thing right now.

[theceaselessidiot]

Eloise Bridgerton being an absolute mood:

and Cressida's reaction of 'this girl is so weird, but I'm into it??? Wait am I into this??'':

[cubbihue]

What does Timmy think of his little brother Peri growing up to have a neurotic personality?

Peri's always had severe anxiety. It sorta comes with being the first baby born in a 1000 years and constantly being kidnapped by everyone around you.

Timmy's just glad Peri grew up to be more confident in himself, and more assertive.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[fiepige]

Compilation of EVERY single time they changed Hobie's filter in the digital version:

Left: Theatrical release Right: Digital release

You might have to click on some of them to get a better look at Hobie, sadly I don't have a video editor that allows me to make better edits than these :')

[shizunitis]

do you think airplane might have intended to draw a parallel between shen qingqiu and the old palace master in the original outline?

present shen qingqiu as a monster, a lecher, a horrible, evil man, and slowly unspool the threads of his history. the readers learn of what, exactly, made him the way he is, and what his crimes are. which are true, which are not. his intentions, his failures, his hopes, how they got crushed, how he’d been misunderstood. from an incomprehensible vile man to a pitiful, cruel one.

after being thrown into hell and clawing his way back out, luo binghe is taken in by a proper, protective shizun, who treats him with the respect he deserves. who wants him under his wing, who is proud to be his shizun, who wants to become his family, via marriage with his daughter. then, he is discovered to be exactly what luo binghe thought his former shizun to have been, perhaps worse, and to have been the very reason luo binghe never had his biological parents in his life and all that resulted from that.

when exactly does luo binghe see the palace master’s true colours? after shen qingqiu dies at his hands? before? does it make him see shen qingqiu as he is, if he’s yet to get his revenge, and does it make it worthless, to kill him? does it drive him further towards insanity? does it leave him hopeless, jaded, despondent? with no one to trust, with nothing to hang his hopes on, no one to comfort him, what, exactly, does he do?

original outline luo binghe. speak to me my boy. tell me your secrets

[accirax]

a collection of DCAS memes so far

[shalom-iamcominghome]

POV: you block antisemites on this site

[daily-sifloop]

Day 44: Little Goody Two Shoes (game by AstralShift) AU

Spoilers for Ending No. 1 - Moira under cut

[dreamsy990]

when i was a kid i fell in love with dandelions. when i told my parents, they said they were just weeds, not flowers at all. i was always upset on the dandelions behalf- why didnt people love them too? why were they a problem when they were just as pretty?

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[gophergal]

Shout-out to women who don't shave. Y'all have the right idea cause that shit is annoying

[bluerosefox]

Of Godsons, Fruitloops, and Lois 'I will drag all secrets out into the sun' Lane

Danny loses his parents due to their own lack of safety in the lab (death? Coma? People finally putting their foot down about the Fenton's endangering their kids? Idk pick). Jazz can't take him in due to being in college and living on its campus (and he didnt want to force her into an apartment just to keep him, he saw the prices and knows she'll have to work to make rent) and Danny fears the only place he can go to is... Vlad. (Sam's parents would never let him live with her and Tucker's place doesn't have the room)

Vlad's been lording it over Danny, smug about it all, after all he IS Danny's godfather and he has the space and money to provide for the boy in his time of need.

Only, when digging into Danny's files, his social worker discovers Vlad isn't Danny's godfather, he was meant to be but the Fenton's forgot to send/sign in the final paperwork (even if those documents were the only contact they had with Vlad over the years before the reunion)

No Danny's godparent, the person to take him should anything happen to the Fenton's is....

Lois Lane.

His mom's childhood friend.

[darth-does-stuff]

ok everybody saying dan fucks is conrad’s dad you do you but for ME personally the fix will always be conrad’s dad because dan gives cool uncle vibes 1000000% percent more than the fix ever will. but we will both live our truth and we will both be happy 🤝

[canisalbus]

*gasp* ITS THE PERSON WITH THE SICK DOG ANTHRO DESINGS AND INTERESTING AS FUCK LORE WHO'S ART I FOUND UNCREDITED ON PINTEREST!! I HAVE FOUND YOU IN THE WILD! FUCK YEAH

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