#i'm tired of holding myself back because i am burnt out

[void-dragon4]

tired of how ecology is seen as biology's useless cousin because it won't get you into med school. ecology is so fucking important but the only people who seem to recognize that are fellow ecologists.

when i do a basic surface level search for ecology jobs all that comes up are flavors of park ranger, educator, and researcher. which completely ignores the policy/engineering sides of ecology but also makes those other jobs seem so insignificant when I've seen people have some of the most fulfilling and impactful careers working in museum collections or being professors.

it's not environmental studies either. sure environmental studies is incorporated but ecology is an individual scientific field that overlaps a lot with biology, genetics, chemistry, geology, hydrology, and so much more. it is the science of connections.

in conclusion fuck you and shut the fuck up ecology is underrated and yall better give it more respect as a science.

[melissatalks]

Hold me tighter

A/n: For this one, I did two requests (both being about comfort). I know I've been very inactive but I felt like writing :) BYE I STARTED WRITING THIS LIKE A MONTH OR TWO AGO I FINISHED THIS AT 1 AM SO DONT MIND THE SPELLING AND WRITING. PLEASE.

You're burnt out and need comfort :))

Y/n pov:

It was a Thursday night, I was coming back from work with so many emails to read and answer as a former assistant and so many essays to write as a student. Thursday was always the busiest day. The teachers would give more work so that students work hard even on the weekends and for some reason, customers reach out way more at the end of the week. I just wanted one day where I could be free. One day where I could just lay in bed holding my girlfriend all day. I couldn't even remember the last time we shared a meal. We were both very busy but it shouldn't keep us away like this. But truly, I shouldn't complain because it's simply my job.

Unfortunately, this day is only possible once I get my degree and once I can take days off again. I've always had issues with my stomach. Sometimes it would randomly start hurting. I've always been told "It's just stress" but it's still a pain in the ass to feel like you're being stabbed with every move you do and because of that, it leads to me having no more days off. I dreamt of the day I'd finally have an answer to how I can stop these cramps but it never arrived. So I would just miss an average of one day every week because I had difficulties even getting up. After that, there were also my horrible migraines that happened every two days. It was a living hell.

When I finally arrived home, I broke. I didn't think it would happen but it did. I sat in the corner of the kitchen crying for an hour until Billie arrived. I could see the shock on her face when she opened the door that led towards the kitchen and saw me curled up in a corner. I had never broken down in front of her. My immediate reaction was to try to stop crying but I couldn't. My vision was only getting blurrier from the stress of being this vulnerable with someone I love. I tried to explain myself from fear but nothing other than broken sobs came out of my throat.

"No need to talk sweetheart. I know." She whispered as she was kneeling to be at my height.

3rd pov:

Growing up in a place where you would get screamed after if you cried as someone sensitive had negative consequences on how you act and your trust towards the people you loved the most. One of those consequences being to push away some of your loved ones when they are just trying to help. But Billie knew that. She slowly got closer, with no physical touch at all, waiting for a signal that could indicate that you were comfortable with her getting closer. As time went by, she inched closer and closer, taking your hand in hers at a certain point which helped you calm down until you were calm enough and comfortable enough for her to be holding you. You stayed sitting on the floor in each other's arms for a little while just enjoying the comfort.

"Y/n?" Billie said softly, breaking the silence.

You only nodded, not finding the strength to even talk.

"Let's get you in bed okay? You're overworked baby and it kills me that you don't realize it. Gosh, can't stand seeing you this tired..." She said, this time with a more concerned tone in her voice.

She helped you get up, pulling you towards the bed. Once you got in, she joined spooning you.

"Are you comfortable..?" She whispered making sure you felt as good as possible.

"I'm so fucking sorry." You let out. "I feel like a burden Billie! I'm always the one who's late, the one finishing essays at crazy hours, I'm never there!" You exclaim, tears pricking at your eyes again, threatening to fall down on your cheeks.

"I'm holding you back Billie." You said, quietly this time.

"You know that's not true..." She answered. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you closer and tighter. "I love you y/n. More than anything. And if staying with you means waiting for you to finish university and get your degree then I will because I truly do love you. How about we talk about this tomorrow? I know you're tired." All you could do was let out a soft hum before falling asleep in her arms. Your girlfriend's arms. Holding you tighter and tighter than she ever did every single time.

A/n that's fucking crazy it is 12:50 am and I am tired and this ending is probably fucked

[delusionalfanficwriter]

illness pt. 1

"Y/N, there is obviously something wrong," Jessie insisted, her voice laced with concern.

"Jessie, I told you to leave it alone. I am fine. I am just a bit more tired than usual," Y/N replied, her voice strained with frustration.

"No, Y/N, it's been a few weeks now of this fatigue, and you look like you are losing weight," Jessie continued, worry etched across her face.

Y/N huffed as they walked together toward Sam Kerr's apartment, the brisk evening air doing little to alleviate her discomfort. She decided to remain silent, not wanting to discuss the persistent issues that had been plaguing her.

"Bubba, don't be like that," Jessie said gently, grabbing Y/N's hand and halting her in her tracks. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Y/N's forehead.

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, savoring the affection but still reluctant to admit what she had been going through. "Jess, I promise it's nothing serious. Just some stress, maybe."

Jessie's brow furrowed with worry as she studied Y/N's face. "Y/N, you know you can talk to me about anything. I'm here for you."

Y/N gave a weak smile, appreciating Jessie's support but not ready to share the full extent of her concerns. "I know, and I love you for that. But really, it's nothing I can't handle."

When they got to their Chelsea's teammate's apartment they were greeted by Kristie, y/n’s USWNT teammate, who hugged both Jessie and Y/N. 

Y/N couldn't help but tease Kristie as they all gathered around the living room. "Couldn't be away from Kerr for longer than a month, huh?" she quipped with a playful grin.

Kristie laughed heartily at Y/N's remark, her playful banter easing the tension in the room. "Very funny, Y/N. But you know how it is. We can't stay away from each other for too long."

Sam, who had been busy in the kitchen, emerged with a tray of steaming mugs of coffee, her signature grin lighting up her face. "Coffee, anyone?" she offered, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

They each accepted a mug, the warmth of the cups a comforting contrast to the cool weather outside. They settled into the cozy surroundings, the sound of friendly chatter filling the room.

For a while, the conversation revolved around lighter topics—football anecdotes, upcoming matches, and their favorite training moments. It was clear that the bonds between these friends ran deep, and they cherished these moments together.

But as the hours wore on, the earlier concern about Y/N's health lingered in the background, an unspoken presence in the room. Finally, it was Kristie who gently broached the topic, her voice filled with genuine concern.

"Y/N," she began, "I've been watching you, and it's not just fatigue. You've been off for a while now. Are you sure you're okay?"

She shifted uncomfortably on the couch, her mug of coffee suddenly feeling heavy in her hands. Y/N's gaze flicked to her friends—Kristie, Jessie, and Sam—all of them wearing expressions of genuine worry. She wanted to reassure them, to put their concerns to rest, but they weren’t wrong because she does feel off.

"I appreciate your concern," Y/N began, her voice wavering slightly, "but really, it's probably just a phase. I've been pushing myself hard, and maybe I'm just a bit burnt out."

Jessie's brow furrowed with worry as she reached out and gently placed her hand on Y/N's arm. "Y/N, we're not trying to make a big deal out of this, but we care about you. You don't have to hide what's going on."

The room fell into a contemplative silence as Y/N's friends, Jessie, Kristie, and Sam, continued to express their concerns about her health. Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and vulnerability, but she was determined to hold onto her denial a little longer.

"I promise I'll take it easy," Y/N reiterated, her voice tinged with desperation. "Maybe I just need some rest, and everything will go back to normal."

Kristie exchanged a knowing glance with the others, her expression one of gentle concern. She knew that Y/N had always been reluctant to seek medical help, and it was time to address that issue.

"Y/N," Kristie began softly, "we understand that you might be hesitant to see a doctor. But we've also noticed that you tend to avoid them at all costs. Is there a reason for that?"

Y/N's shoulders tensed slightly, her gaze flickering away. She knew the truth—they knew her well enough to see through her bravado.

"It's just... nothing good ever seems to come from seeing a doctor," Y/N admitted hesitantly. "I've had bad experiences in the past, and I guess I've been trying to avoid going through that again."

"I understand your past experiences have ingrained in your mind, but sometimes doctors are the only way to get to the root cause to help whatever your body is going through," Sam gently tried to talk some sense into Y/N.

Y/N sighed, her resistance slowly eroding in the face of her friends' genuine concern. "I know, Sam, but I've always felt that nothing good ever comes from doctors. I just... I don't want to go through all that again."

Kristie, her voice filled with empathy, added, "Y/N, we're not pushing you to do anything you're not comfortable with. We just want to make sure you're okay."

Y/N nodded, still reluctant to confront the possibility of a health issue. "I promise I'll think about it, okay? But let's not talk about it anymore tonight."

Her friends exchanged glances, understanding that Y/N needed time to come to terms with the idea of seeking medical help.

[littlebitsmile]

in flames [C.L.] | Prologue

Hello and welcome to my very first content post on this page! I couldn't be more excited. Join me on this journey of F1 drama (and help me bridge the gap until the 2024 season starts) and let's see where this will go?

Here's the link to my Masterlist, in case you want to get in touch with more of my work.

Have fun!

story: in flames driver: Charles Leclerc [C.L.] trope: #haterstolovers summary: Always working three times as hard as everyone else, Emma does not intend to blow her chance of driving among the best of the best in her very first season in Formula 1. Concentrating on first and foremost getting ahead of her brother, she does not even notice that there are some people even in her own team who think she does not deserve this spot and would rather see her fail. And one driver in particular seems to have a need of always reminding her of that.

────ʚ P R O L O G U E ɞ────

There is something in the air, and for once, it is not only the smell of gasoline or burnt tires. An almost electrifying feeling spreads, one that permeates even up to the stands. My heart is pounding in my throat, my eyes wide open, and my hands have a firm grip on the steering wheel, as if it would slip away if I relaxed for even a second.

It is the last race of the season, and although I have a clear view on the first corner with not a single other car in front of me, I am more tense than in any other race. Whether it's because it is my final race in F2, and I am emotionally charged anyway, or whether I am more apprehensive about what to expect next year, I cannot say for sure. However, I can feel that expectations are already higher than they have ever been.

The first red light goes on. Then the second. Three, four, five. And then they all go out. My foot presses down on the gas pedal as if of its own accord, while my hands clutch the steering wheel even tighter. I breathe faster, my eyes fixed on the first bend. I can feel the engine beneath me, every single stone on the asphalt, how my car leans into the bend, skids over the curbs, and how I am pressed into the seat as soon as I brake. A smile spreads across my lips.

At this very moment, I'm proud of myself. Proud of all the countless hours in the simulator, on the track, and my entire life devoted to just one thing: racing. Whether it's racing cars, karts, or even supermarket trolleys – I take pride in it all. I'm proud of how my whole team rallied after a horrendous season start with "DNF" next to my name like it belonged to me. Despite numerous mistakes with tire choices, pit stops, understeering, oversteering, or just misjudging when to brake, giving up was never an option.

I can't recall my first day in a racing car, but my first win is etched in my memory. It was the year my brother switched karting teams, and since he was predicted to be the next rising star, they probably thought getting me that seat would boost their popularity even more. It wasn't until the second year in karting that I got the chance to stand on that small podium and finally win a race.

Whenever I think about that day, I see my mom cheering me on and my dad coming to me afterward, checking statistics, racing strategies, analyzing the track line, and telling me that I still wasn't giving it my all compared to my brother. But at the same time, my skin remembers the tingling feeling when I got to hold the trophy in my hands, which I could barely wrap my hands around. My cheeks were burning from all the smiling, and I probably had tons of bruises on my shoulders from people patting me on the back, telling me how much I deserved this. That trophy still sits on the top shelf in my bedroom, and every time I look at it, a wave of gratitude and happiness washes over me instantly.

“Emma, are you listening to me? Box, box.” The voice coming from my earplugs drowns out the noise from the motor. My race engineer, Enzo, has been with me for quite some time, and somehow, I cannot shake the feeling that I will do a lot worse without him next season. I will hold him accountable if my only chance in Formula 1 goes to waste because he did not want to “be part of seeing you crashing under the pressure of people who do not know you.”

“Copy.” I navigate the car into the pit lane, where I can already see a team of blue mechanics with “DAMS” written on their backs waiting in their positions for me to come in.

The car screeches to a halt as I position myself between the white marks on the floor. The jackman lifts the car, allowing the tire changers to swoop in and perform what they have been training for in countless hours of practice and all the races during the season. Metallic clatter fills the air. Relying on such an iconic and well-oiled machine, a team, and their actions which are completely out of my control, while I am sitting here not being able to interfere has been the hardest part to accept. To be honest, that took a lot of time and work on myself, being able to trust these people every week, not blaming them or myself for any mistakes that happened. For two years they have been nothing short of supportive, understanding, and calm, kind of like a mountain in a storm. A wave of emotions hits me.

As the last nut tightens, the jack is released. I feel the jolt and with a nod from the pit crew chief, I am out of the box again. My car rejoins the track.

“That is Vesti in front of you, 13.9 seconds for P2.”

“Copy.”

The hum of the engine, the wind against my visor, the grip beneath me, thanks to the fresh rubber – most of the time, this is the moment where I appreciate where I am. For the first rounds of a race, anxiety and adrenaline are overruling every other thought, every other feeling, every other impulse. But after the first pit stop, the weight falls off, the clouds in your mind clear, and you can fully focus on what is ahead. The car starts to feel like I am an inseparable part of it. A sense of purpose and determination burn bright in my heart. I want to win this race – not for me, but for the team.

Frederik Vesti has been one kind of a competitor this season. The Dane coming from F3, where he got crowned champion, was nothing short of passion for racing. The battles with him were ones to be remembered, with one of us always having to retire from the race. Our respective teams were not very fond of our rivalry, but I saw some mechanics taking bets on the outcomes of these battles for the last few races.

I gain ground with every corner, chicane, twist, and turn.

“Emma, you’re closing in. The gap is down to six seconds. Push, push!” Enzo’s voice crackles over the team radio. I nod, until I realize that he cannot see me.

“Alrighty, let’s do this.” My grip tightens, the engine roars in response to my foot applying even more pressure on the accelerator pedal. It feels like eternity until I am somewhat close to a position I can overtake from.

“Fastest sector 1 and sector 2. Gap to P2 is two seconds.” Adrenaline along with anticipation is pumping through my veins. Approaching the straight, cheers blend in with the sound of the engine and the voice in my headphones coming from the team radio. With each passing meter, I am getting closer to Dennis in front of me, with the vibrations of the chassis reminding me of the power, elegance, and trust that lie within my hands.

I dart out behind him, unleashing the full power of the car. It is risky, but my gut tells me that this will work out just fine. My eyes focus on the next corner, trying to give my senses a feeling of where I would have to brake at the latest to not mess this opportunity up. The crowd cheers. I get ahead, timing my move perfectly, hitting the brakes like never before, giving it my all. As I move into the corner with my opponent being stuck behind me, I try to block any gaps he could use for a counterattack. And then there it is.

“YOU DID IT! P2! LET’S BRING THIS HOME!”

In this moment I can feel Vesti’s acknowledgment. Many of the men I met on my path were belittling and smiling at me whenever I voiced my dreams of becoming a Formula 1 world champion, but I met so many more who told me that they have never seen such potential within a young woman. And every time I won a race, made it on the podium, or succeeded in a maneuver, I knew that I should rather listen to the second group.

The last lap unfolds. My emotions are running wild, and I can already feel some tears coming. “Guys, I just wanted…”

“Not now, Emma. Bring it home. This is yours.” Enzo’s voice is not as strong as before, maybe because he as well is a bit emotional.

Suddenly the whole world comes to a halt. The last straight lies ahead of me, but all I can think about is how I am going to miss my team. I think about how everything will change from now on, how all these people will continue with their life, and the next driver that comes along, whereas for me, they made such a big difference in my journey.

A fleeting moment of victory evokes as the checkered flag is waved as I cross the finish line.

“P2, Emma, P2. Congrats, you did an amazing job! What an ending to this season. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Great job, Emma! I hope you will show some of those F1 monsters where you came from!”

“YES, WE DID IT! P2, what a result!”

Tears are dwelling up. I take a few breaths in to calm my nervous system, but it does not seem to work. “Thank you so much, every single one of you. I don’t know who I would be without you. I’m going to miss you so much, guys!”

The crowd roars, celebrating Théo Pourchaire’s win. There are congratulations over the team radio, people waving flags of different drivers in their respective team colors.

As the victory lap ends and the car comes to a halt in front of the banner with a big “2” on it, I need a few seconds to sort myself out. I sit and breathe. This is the last time getting out of this car, the last time celebrating with this team, the last time hearing applause, and cheers. After that, it is back to square one with an even more demanding car. The next season starts as soon as I step out of this car. Shaking hands with my future race engineers and team principal, and talking about how soon I can fly out to get some hours in the simulator done. Reaching out to my personal trainer to redo my schedule, training not only 6 times a week but rather twice every day. Going for a mental coach. And on top of that, getting back in touch with my family. The weight of the moment settles in.

I unbuckle the safety harness, take out the steering wheel, and lift myself off the seat. I stand on my car, having a look around. Then I jump off and run towards pit crew, the mechanics, and engineers who all gathered behind the gates. They embrace me in a tight hug, patting my shoulders and my head that is still covered in the helmet. No one can see the tears of joy that are soaked up by the material inside the helmet.

As I make my way back, I take my helmet off. I am sure the mixture of sweat and tears let my face burn in a bright red color, but the smile on my face should let the people know that I am filled with gratitude.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my father standing there. I smile at him, but I get nothing in return. Time seems to stand still; I do not even hear how the third-placed driver is being interviewed. I furrow my eyebrows. Why is he not smiling? He shakes his head, his eyes dropping to the ground. Then he turns around and walks away.

And suddenly I remember why my father was not smiling. It is because I did finish second. I did not win the race. And as he used to say: Being the first loser is still being a loser. And a tiny voice in my head tells me, what I am trying to shove away during races: Your brother could have done better.

“And now, on to the second place, the surprise of the season: Emma Verstappen!”

────ʚ [Masterlist] [Chapter I] ɞ────

[muttfangs]

walking on my way to work this morning felt like idk I can feel the cyclical futility sinking in and I'm trying to like. give myself space and time bc I know it'll probably take another full week for me to feel 100% myself again from the meds, I was pretty severely sick and I think I did my usual old man like. downplay of just how fucked up I actually was from this so I can feel "strong" and not helpless

i'm so deeply exhausted and depressed from the struggle tho fr. im tired. my entire life has been an overwhelming, violent fight for stability and there isn't any relief in sight. therapy does nothing. I know who I am, what i want, where I want to be and what I need to not feel like I want to end myself. but I'm literally stuck in constant limbo because I'm poor, and I do not have a choice but to keep destroying myself at jobs that exploit the fuck out of me so I can live in squalor and feel miserable and have no social life bc by the time I get home I'm so burnt I cant even speak.

going back to school feels so far away. this is going to take me another year, maybe two, to even get back into school. at least three or four to finish school. and the idea of having to put up with being this miserable for that long makes me feel like I'm going to scream and explode into a shower of blood and viscera.

this shit is bad enough on its own, but being brainweird and chronically ill / in pain on top of this is just making my life so much harder and it feels so much more inescapable. I don't know. everything feels super, super awful. I'm trying to hang in there but I feel like I've been white-knuckle gripping what shreds of a life I have for the past decade. and my muscles are shaking and weak and I can't hold on forever.

idk. I don't really need like a reply, I'm just. I wish I had answers. I wish I could feel better. I want solutions so I don't feel the drudgery and I want to live, at least a little

[bunnymcfoo]

I'm just working some shit out in my head right now and this feels like the only place I have to put it. Trigger warning for suicidal ideation.

I am really really really really really not okay right now. We've spent close to $3k on vet bills since last Thursday and while we certainly do have time to pay it off (thanks care credit!) it's still a hell of a lot of money, especially for our poor asses. It's legit an entire month's worth of income.

My best beloved elder cat Cassandra is still dying of kidney disease and there's literally nothing I can do about it and we're getting closer and closer to the end and I just can't. I can't. I love her so much and I'm gonna miss her with every atom of my being.

I've gotta call my agency and tell them that I need a new client, because the lady that mom and I both take care of is going into a care facility as soon as the end of this month and that's when two thirds of our income will just, like, go up in smoke. I cannot express strongly enough how much I do not want to do this. I'm so burnt out on caregiving that just the idea of taking on a new client makes me want to crawl under the covers and never come back out. The doctor called today to tell me that I'm too fucking fat to have breast reduction surgery. Like, not just a little bit too fat, no, like, I'd have to lose over a hundred pounds before they'd consider it levels of fat. I'm pretty sure that the only way my eating disordered ass can do that is via weight loss surgery (which, ironically, they'd be happy to do for me) so that's not gonna happen and I just get to be in pain forever.

And then there's just, like, That. Trump. The senate. Probably the house. Every hour something new hits me, like, they're 100% gonna get rid of the Endangered Species Act and we're gonna lose so -- god. We're gonna lose so much. I was already struggling hard before this week - winter is always harder. Always. and I've been fighting and clawing and holding it back, but my god, I wanna die so badly right now. I just want to hold my cat and go to sleep and never ever ever wake up, because I'm so scared and feel so helpless and like nothing will ever be good or worthwhile again. It's been a long time since I felt this way, like, just this deep and terrified exhaustion, and I didn't miss it. But here I am, hip deep in mud and I'm so tired of struggling and it's just getting deeper and deeper. I'm not gonna do anything. I wanna be dead, but I don't wanna kill myself, and even if I did, I wouldn't, because I couldn't do that to my mom. She's lost both her parents and I cannot take her child away. Plus, leaving her with four cats - well, soon to be three, but whatever - would be incredibly shitty. But this is the first time I've felt like this since I got medicated and I just don't know what to do about it - I'm maxed out on my lamotrigine and most of the other meds we've tried have had really bad side effects for me. I'd say I hate this so much, but honestly, I'm too empty to feel hate right now. But instead of dying, I'm gonna go eat something. I'm gonna hug my mom when she gets home. Tomorrow, I'm gonna call my psych's office so we can talk about possible courses of action. I'm gonna cuddle my cats. I'm gonna email the therapists I have pulled up to email. I don't get to die, I have plane tickets to Seattle and Columbus and friends to hug, and to get there I just have to keep going. So I'm gonna put one foot in front of another because there's really no other option. And yeah, I'm maybe gonna be crying the whole time, but that's sometimes the way it goes. Anyway. Sorry to anyone who read this, but also, thanks for listening I guess?

[alta-et-astra]

I've been thinking a lot about how hard everything is becoming. Below are my very rambling thoughts.

In my 20's I was having a Hard Time(tm) what with the Depression and everything, but I feel like the general trend of my life so far has been that I've been putting in the minimum effort possible to do whatever it was that I had to do.

In school I did really well. It came easily to me and I worked hard, but because it came easily, it was more of a situation where I spent a lot of time making sure I did all my homework rather than working really hard to understand something that I didn't get. Maybe I'm doing my younger self a disservice.

When I was in college I originally majored in Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies (and also French). Liberal Arts things came really easily to me so while I worked hard in the sense that I spent a lot of time doing all my assignments, I didn't have to break my brain and work hard in that way in order to understand something.

Then I got disillusioned or I got spooked or something and I switched my major basically by throwing a dart at the wall and picking the major that looked the hardest: computer science. And I struggled SO HARD. It didn't come easily to me and all of a sudden school was really difficult and I had a hard time with everything. Of course throughout all this I was also still suffering from undiagnosed depression, but this extra mental load of not Getting It and needing to bang my head against a wall to get anywhere with my classes was an extra level of difficulty. It was very much a discovery of I'm a small sort of smart fish in a big pond of many larger, smarter fish. The experience rocked me and my academic standards slipped and I pretty much barely graduated, coasting along on my GPA boosting Liberal Arts classes. C's get degrees, after all!

After graduation I had a string of software engineering jobs where I was just barely putting in an effort, but it was enough. And then I had a baby and couldn't commute anymore so I got a remote job that I managed to hold down for four years. It was a good job but it was difficult and I learned a lot. At first putting in a bit more than the bare minimum was enough. And then it suddenly wasn't. Things got hard and I put in less effort. And then it all blew up in my face and I couldn't work there anymore.

After four and a half months of unemployment I got another job but I was falling into old patterns of barely putting in any effort. And then my whole department got laid off after two months and it didn't matter. And now once again I have a new job, now going on two and a half months and I'm falling back into barely putting in effort.

And I don't know how to change that. My bare minimum is clearly not enough. And yet between kids, work, hobbies, household, etc. I'm spread so thin I can't imagine putting more of myself into work or anything else. I'm so tired. I feel burnt out. Maybe I'm doing myself a disservice. Maybe I'm just looking to excuse my lack of hard work.

Soon I won't be the new person at work anymore and I won't be able to rely on that as an excuse as to why I haven't been finishing things quickly. Soon there will be another new person and it would look really bad if they start doing better than me who has been there for three months.

This lack of hard work is happening in my art too. I've plateaued in my skill level.

I should apply myself more.

For a long time I flailed around wanting to get out of tech and thinking I could run away to graduate school, though I didn't have a plan and despite applying and getting in a few times, I never actually went. But now I have a direction I think. I know what I want to study and why I want to study it. I have a goal.

I want to think that I am a wiser person than I was in my 20's having never needed to apply myself before I never learned how to. But now I need to apply myself. I can give myself grace where needed but my goal needs to be to not bite the hand that feeds me and my family. Try a little more at work. Butt in chair, stop letting myself get distracted by literally everything other than what I need to do for work.

With art, enjoy the process, do challenging things because they are interesting.

Stay curious in all things, even if they are hard, even if they are for my job and I feel like there's a wall between me and the thing I need to get done.

Work hard on my grad school goals. This is not a waiting period, this is my life and only I can build it in the direction I want it to go.

Do the hard thing. Climb the wall.

[neurodivergentbraingoblins]

Let's start rephrasing some things here because I'm tired of people thinking they can treat me like shit without consequences.

I don't have "trust issues" - I struggle to trust people because I've never been given any good reason *to trust people*. Everyone I've ever trusted abused it and used it as a way to manipulate me into getting what they want at my expense. Me recognizing manipulation for what it is and calling you out on it isn't "trust issues", it's common sense.

I don't have an "attitude problem" - I have valid emotions as a result of being screwed over and treated like less than human. I'm upset / angry / frustrated / sad because people refuse to hear me and help me process those emotions healthily. So they build up until the point of exploding forward in violent fits of rage because I reached my breaking point.

I'm not a "cold and distant bitch" - I'm emotionally burnt out from being an emotional dumping ground for everyone else while having to repress what I'm feeling because other people don't care. If I seem cold and distant to you, it's because you abused the privilege of my compassion and I finally put up a wall to protect myself from you.

I am not an infinite fountain of compassion and understanding. I have my limits, and they have been reached. But I refuse to compromise my kind heart by falling into the anger and hate I'm holding right now. I will not deny kindness to people who have never wronged me. But to the people who have repeatedly taken advantage of me, I will be directing my VALID frustration and anger back at them. That doesn't make me a bitch. It makes me human.

[pandorashearts]

my mom has repeatedly dismissed the idea that she has favorites between us, and yet earlier this year she literally admitted to my face that she's prioritized my abuser over me bc she's 'going through worse stuff'.

and constantly. fucking CONSTANTLY i have to hear abt my abuser, how much she's 'changed' and 'loves me' and 'wants a relationship with me' etc etc etc

and the most draining part of all of this is that i busted my ass for multiple fucking years to finally break the shackles off and get the fuck out of here, only for a selfish, heartless, absolutely piece of utter and complete shit to damn me back here.

and now, im stuck in this cycle again. where spending EIGHT HOURS on the phone trying to get my phone shit settled, and being at my absolute fucking limit bc on top of dealing w that crap, i had to listen to my abuser and her kids screaming at the top of their goddamn lungs for the past two days, and snapping to shut the fuck up,, gets me dealing w my mother holding a grudge w me.

bc 'oh let me have kids and then maybe ill understand' IT'S LIKE THIS EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME SHE'S OVER HERE. AND SHE WAS LIKE THIS BEFORE SHE FUCKING HAD KIDS. THE BRUNT OF MY ABUSER WAS LITERALLY BEING SCREAMED AT AND BERATED BY HER OVER STUPID SHIT.

/IM/ THE ASSHOLE FOR BEING INSISTENT THAT SHE HASNT CHANGED ?!?!? WHEN SHE LITERALLY HASNT FUCKING CHANGED!!!?!?!?!? SHE'S /WORSE/ NOW /BECAUSE/ SHE STILL HAD KIDS ANYWAY WHEN LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN HER LIFE WARNED HER NOT TO BC WE ALL KNEW SHE'D BE A SHITTY PARENT. AND WOW, HUGE SHOCKER, SHE IS!!!

i made the decision when i was VERY young, but also old enough to realize just how deep rooted my trauma runs & how much it affects my responses to stress & other shit, to not have human children bc i fucking KNEW. no matter how much i try to be a nice person, no matter how good my intentions try to be, i can be very nasty. i can be harsh. i can be snappy. i can be violent. i can be completely apathetic to how my actions affect other people when i'm angry enough.

i ACKNOWLEDGE that shit. i will be the first to admit when i probably went overboard, but i am so fucking sick of being put in a position where if i dont apologize for being fucking straight up verbally, emotionally, mentally, or even physically abused, & responding to that abuse like any fucking body would, ESPECIALLY a person who has existing trauma, im an asshole.

im so. fucking sick. of being alive. this year has broken me. it really, truly fucking has. i lost EVERYTHING. i dont even have a fucking doctor. i am back in the house all my trauma happened in, damned by someone i thought was my best friend who looked me dead in my eyes a month after my daughter died in my arms & told me damning me back to the house every traumatic thing ive ever gone to 'wasnt her problem'. & having to be put right back in the cycles i brutalized myself to get out of.

and the worst fucking part is that this year has left me in such shambles from stress, i physically cannot pick myself up anymore. my alters can't pick themselves up anymore. we are all so fucking burnt out, and it is so fucking draining to lie to ourselves that hope is worth it when we had it all stripped away from us repeatedly in such brutal ways. nonstop. i swear to the moon herself, i mean it when i say not one single day this entire year has been peaceful. has been free from some degree of pain, or straight up agony.

i am tired of beating myself up for being angry. i am tired of being berated by other people for being angry. FUCK all of that shit. this year, and the shitty people who refuse to fucking offer me the same empathy they DEMAND from me, have fucking destroyed me. and i DESERVE TO BE FUCKING PISSED OVER THAT SO I FUCKING WILL BE IM FUCKING PISSED FUCK THIS YEAR FUCK MY ABUSER FUCK HER GODDAMN DEFENDERS FUCK THE BITCH WHO DAMNED ME HERE FUCK MY ENTIRE LIFE IT'S NEVERENDING BULLSHIT AND IM TIRED OF ACTING LIKE ANYTHING THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME WAS OKAY OR THAT I HAVE TO BE OKAY WITH IT!! NONE OF IT WAS OKAY!! IM NOT FUCKING OKAY WITH IT!! NOBODY FUCKING WOULD BE!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[ohyoru]

Hey im not good with words or english, but its ok to feel burnt out or tired. Youre not obligated to provide anything to us. You are an author who writes for free. Maybe to have fun maybe to express yourself. You have your own life and thats a good thing. I havent been playing genshin in a while because theres so much work i need to do there like building characters. I havent watched link click s2 because i cant bring myself to sit down for that long. Im sure everyone has something like this happening to them and i just remind myself that it doesnt matter that much. Post unfinished things, make your character builds crap, dont finish a book youve started it doesntmatter. Its about having fun. Its about forgetting your problems(at least for me) or its about spending time with your online friends. Taking a break is necessary. Spending time for yourself is necessary. Taking care of yourself is necessary. I hope i could get my message across. I cant even take my own advice seriously as im too scared to post this without anon but i hope i was able to make you feel better somehow. I also want to say i really love your works even if i dont know who the person you’re writing about is. Ive been following your works for a while and i dont regret it one bit. I would be pretty sad if you were to stop writing for certain people but if it makes you feel happy then i dont mind and im sure others wouldn’t mind it as well. Youre free to do whatever you want ( as long as youre not intruding on other peoples freedom obviously) thank you for reading my wordvomit written in an attempt to comfort you.

dearie anon,

to have you in my inbox is already a blessing enough for me. thank you so much for taking the time of your day to cheer me up, you have no idea how much this means to me (brb crying i dont deserve you sob)

first of all, your message got across. i'm not sure about your english being not good part, but really, your message resonates with me on a level deeper than language can ever explain, truly.

i appreciate your kind reminder that i shouldn't feel obliged to write for anyone. i honestly feel like it's eating me out because i put myself in the equation as well. i had been a writer before, back when tokyo revengers (anime) was still in its first season since i'm more of a manga reader. if you were in that era, you might came across my work. alas, things happened. what used to be good memories (including writing) turned into very hurtful ones and i stopped doing what i love because they're causing me so much pain. nonetheless, i still slowly died inside. it took me a while to be at peace with my past and understand that writing is what makes me the person i am. so i'm determined to start again and keep it up. but when life gets in the way and hold me back from writing (again), it depresses me. (including not playing genshin). honestly, i'm feeling lonely. what and who i used to know and love seemed to only exist in the past. people moved on, topics became irrelevant, relationship broke. which i don't blame, but it still makes me cry once in a while.

sorry for the traumadump uh- i feel like i should explain myself a little. i hope that didn't scare you too much. but anyway, you're right! i should do whatever i want. maybe i need to reframe my perspective. i love that you mention about reading book thingy because i have the same issue and yes, i'm a reader through and through. but it's been so long since i read.. the irony. maybe all i need to do is start. and love myself a bit more to stop torturing myself with unnecessary thoughts..

you know what anon? i love the past me. i dont remember exactly what i love about her, but she used to be so at peace. i'm trying to find my way back to her, and i think you're helping me set my way there, so thank you. i dont know about your problems, but if you're willing to share, i'm more than happy to listen. don't forget to take care of yourself too okay? i hope your days ahead are the loveliest yet!

also, thank you for appreciating my works! when i started writing again, i told myself and whoever that's willing to take the time of their day to consume my content that i don't need anyone's attention or approval (shadowban be damned. if it happens, it happens). i did it solely for myself. but god knows how much your kind words and others' fill up the spaces in my heart.

i'm not going to ask anything from my works. your support is something i could never repay, but i'll always appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

(btw yes, you did send this on anon hehe i got a hunch on who you might be but if you prefer to keep it a secret, then rest assured, your secret is safe with me!)

[that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict]

French (📯/💋)?

seungmin x fem!reader (past/current French horn player)

!!!NOT ENTIRELY PROOFREAD!!!!

Writer's note:

so I myself am a French horn player (band kid of 5 coming 6 years), and just today I learnt a VERYYY interesting fact about fh players (and I think basically all brass players/band members);

apparently we're known to be good kissers 👀

then I remembered jeongin's cover in The Sound's album cover where he was holding a french horn (wrongly, may I add😭), and I started thinking; what if seungmin had a partner that was or is a fh player, and he found out about the kissing thing? (I spent the rest of the day daydreaming about this oddly specific concept)

!!no particular reason for choosing seungmin!! I just thought he might tease this kind of thing :'))

ADDITIONALLY! This is like my first ever fanfic so please bear with my crappy writing ;')

content upcming below the cut: established rs w idolseungmin, bestie jeongin for like a minute, fluff, mentions of making out, slight sexual tensions???

You were lounging on the couch of your boyfriend's shared apartment with his friends when you heard the door open. Lazily twisting your neck around to glance at the entrance, your eyes lit up when seungmin's figure approached the shoe cabinet next to the doorway. You padded over in excitement and saw his friend Jeongin had arrived home as well.

"Seung, you're back¬"

You pulled him into a hug and he laughed while leaning over to give you a kiss on the cheek. Jeongin rolled his eyes and muttered something between the lines of "get a room" and "seungmin you're stepping on my shoes". You looked behind the two boys, and saw no other members, so you assumed they had stayed out to do extra work.

The three of you entered the living room together, seungmin and jeongin collapsing on the couch the moment they did. It wasn't odd for them to be so burnt out, especially after they spent an entire day out being idols. You knew how mentally and emotionally taxing the workload could be, so who could blame your boyfriend and your bestie for their fatigue? You slid onto the couch next to the 2 exhausted idols.

"You guys seem especially tired. What was on your schedule today?"

"Album cover photoshoot for our newest album...We had to pose with actual instruments."

Jeongin replied, still showing no signs of getting up from the beige couch anytime soon. Seungmin rolled his eyes at him.

"Yeah, i.n. here got into an argument because of his prop...something about holding it the wrong way."

"Really? What instrument was it?"

"It was a french horn I think? i.n. was really confused by it."

"Y/N, didn't you play it last time? I swear I heard you mention it before."

Your eyebrows raised at jeongin's question. He was right. Having been in your primary and secondary school's band, you had played the french horn for 8 years, and had even played a little every now and then in university. And, not to brag, but you were pretty good at it too.

Seungmin turned to you, a look of surprise on his face.

"Really? You did? Why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?"

"Its just an instrument! Not really relevant information in my opinion."

Seungmin grumbled and tackled you into the couch, earning a yelp from you.

"It is to me¬ I wanna know everything about you, sweetheart."

You playfully fought back as jeongin slowly started backing away from the two of you, a look of disgust plastered on his usually smiling face.

A few days passed by after that conversation, and you had honestly thought nothing about it, until seungmin entered your shared room one night.

You were reading a novel when he entered the room, fresh out of a shower. His short brown locks were sopping wet, droplets of water dripping and leaving dark stains on his grey sweater; obviously seungmin hadn't made an effort to dry this hair. He plopped into bed next to you, silently screwing up his nose in annoyance when you didn't immediately pull him in for cuddles. You looked away from your book to see him sulking next to you, and smiled.

"What?"

"You're ignoring me."

"Well, fun fact; your girlfriend doesn't exactly enjoy cuddling with soaking-wet puppies."

Hearing this, he playfully punched your shoulder, continuing to scooch closer to you. There was a mischievous look on his face, and you discreetly pulled over a pillow with your free hand, your past experience with that expression anticipating you for a surprise pillow fight.

"Well...let me tell YOU a fun fact too."

He sat up and slid his arms around your waist, pulling your back into his warm chest. You rolled your eyes and tossed the book to one side, giving in to him. "And what would that be?"

"After our conversation with i.n. a few days ago, I happened to do some research on french horn players, and I found some very interesting facts¬"

"Yeah?? Out with it already, the suspense is killing me."

"Mm, say please?"

"Seungmin!! You need to stop watching chan's streams!"

He chuckled, the low sound vibrating in his chest and against your back.

"So apparently...experienced french horn players, or basically any brass players, are known to be especially good at kissing."

You blinked a few times at him. What the hell? Actually, that would've made a lot of sense. Based on what you've learned from your 8 years of experience, brass instrument players had to have VERY good lip and tongue control. And since french horn is one of the few brass instruments that require a relatively smaller mouthpiece, your mouth control was particularly well-trained. It had to be.

You grinned like a loon and swiftly turned around to pin seungmin to the bed's headboard. He widened his eyes in pleasant surprise.

"Really? Care to help me test that theory?"

Hearing this, seungmin's lips spread into a cheeky smirk. He extended a hand and caressed your jawline.

"Gladly."

WHABSGUDGAG I SWEAR THIS CONCEPT CAME OUT BETTER IN MY HEAD 😭😭😭😭😭

hopefully this story's decent enough for my fellow seungmin stans and/or fh players,,,it would be really awkward if it wasn't (crying rn)

also to any Stay thats a brass instrument player (current or past), is the kissing thing actually true? My aroace ass has like zero exp with that kinda thing T.T

[annaizscribbling]

Needed to write something for me. Loosely inspired by the library scene from Low Battery, but for myself.

Sometimes you gotta talk it out with your girl.

CW: suicidal thoughts mention, depression, anxiety mention.

"How did you get so horrible?" She asks through watery eyes. She's so thin and frail. Her skin was pale back then, and her hair was spun into delicate ringlets that framed her face.

I just shrug for now.

She's right though. I'm horrible. So much pain, so much hurt. So lonely, so tired, so scared. What have I become? Not what little girls dream about.

"Why?" She presses again, there's devastation lodged in her throat. She's wearing a faded barbie themed nightgown. Her feet are bare. Cheap, brightly colored braclets hang from her tiny wrists.

"Life got hard, kid. I-it just happened," I tell her simply, I'm trying to smile as I do. I don't know how to explain it to her. How do I tell this frail little thing what happened? Am I supposed to recount over 10 years in just a moment? Am I sparing her? Or can I just not bear to see her disappointment?

"How?" She whispers at me. Her eyes are so glossy and big. She's so innocent. She's so precious. God, she doesn't deserve this.

"I'm not sure yet," I admit quietly, "it's big and complicated, and I get lost if I look for too long.

After a long pause, she looks up at me. Her tiny hands are tightly clasped together in her lap. Her lips are pressed together in clear distress. It hurts me to look at her. It hurts to think about where she's going.

My heart floods with pain when a tear runs down her cheek.

"I'm scared," she says, choked up with the tears she was clearly holding back.

"Me too," I whisper. My own throat starts to hurt as I look up, blinking rapidly. I don't want to cry. I don't want to make it worse. I don't want to upset her. She doesn't deserve that.

"I don't wanna hurt," she says, tiny body heaving with a sob.

"I know," I tell her. Because I do.

"Why?" She begs for an answer that I don't have. I wish I knew. I wish I could tell her a lie, but she's too smart for that. She's too perceptive. She's always been good at that. She could never be fooled.

I don't get a chance to respond, because my own tears are falling freely now.

Gazing at her face hurts. I want to cradle her. I want to reach out and cup her face. I want to shelter her soft baby skin and her angelic doe eyes. I want to brush her curls from her face and kiss the bridge of her nose. I want to hold her and shield her from the world. I want to shield her from myself.

She's so beautiful.

I look at her, sitting beside me. I want to weep.

She'll suffer like me and end up exactly where I'm sitting now.

Another sob tears through my teeth. I can't hold them back anymore. I look at her and know she'll be hurt so badly. I look at her and know one day she'll stop sleeping for a few years. She'll be so lonely that the days become a blur. She'll become numb to the world for a time. She'll blame herself for whatever she can to cope. Soon, she'll be stuck with daily fears that never quite leave. She'll want to die eventually. She'll be burnt out, beat down, bloody, and exhausted. She'll end up in places she never imagined being.

She doesn't deserve it. How am I realizing this for the first time? How could I blame her once upon a time?

I wish I could make her proud, but all I've done is devastate her.

"I'm so sorry," I say, and I mean it so deeply that my body aches with the statement, "I'm so sorry. I love you. I love you, I swear."

"I love you, too" she says back, rubbing her tears with a pastel pink sleeve.

"I know I got horrible," I say to her, now wiping my own tears, "I know. I know it looks so bad, but I'm not done yet. We're not done yet, kid. It won't be horrible forever."

She wordlessly took my hand, squeezing it tight.

"We're doing this together," I say I as I draw her closer to me.

I wrap her in my arms, holding her tight. She clings to me, and my tears return silently as I rock her gently. I hold her like I'm holding the world in my arms. I hold her against me until I can't tell if I'm hearing my heartbeat or hers.

And eventually, I'm sitting alone, hugging myself and weeping. I don't know if it's hopeless tears or hopeful ones.

Either way, it can't be horrible forever.

[warishaaa]

It was a dewy morning, Covered in rains from previous nights. The tragedy of yet again a sleepless night made me dress up like a person for the first time in a while, just for myself or maybe just to pass thirty more minutes till the pg gate opens. I applied kajal over the growing darkness under my eyes to mark the line that it isn't permitted to cross, more like a hopeless attempt to stop the darkness from spreading much like fire doesn't burn burnt grass- a concept I learnt watching those survival in the wild shows on discovery channel as a kid. Real life is much like the wild except for the fire doesn't burn your skin but your heart,your home, your childhood,your existence; Here the thorns don't scratch your feet and make them bleed but you're always bleeding,you carry internal piercings all over which can not be decorated with dangling shiny pieces.

I walked and walked until the skin of my ankle got a splinter from the friction of my stubbornness to not let go of the footwear that carries footprints of old letters and post cards but everyday I'm trying and even if I don't it will eventually slip by, I just don't know how to make it easier.

Life could never again be like those Wednesday evenings, from years back when i would go and sit at my English Teacher's home just to listen to Stories and write articles and talk about life and nature in a romanticized way. I could never stop being a romantic after that, except for life never showed a twilit sky that could make my eyes giggle so i continued to romanticize pain and now there seems no end to it.

I walk and a flower falls on my head from the trees so high above, I almost didn't realise there were flowers and it felt like the most magical thing ever in those streches of puddle and mud-a tint of colour, a touch of blossom, I pick it up and tuck it in my hair, but soon another falls and i almost didn't care about the first one and eventually a lot more fall and I almost stopped caring about any. I think somewhere in those flowers i found parts of me.

On usual mornings like this a cat smells around wet mud looking for bugs to eat and often chews on brown leaves that resemble them.Your heart aches seeing her hopelessly searching for something that she won't find there. But to her it doesn't matter,She is adapted to the streets, the openness, the chaos, the disappointments, it's her life.l think a heart that is used to the emptiness often shrinks, or else the echoes of little noises wouldn't let it continue having its rhythm.

I am swaddled in silence that is born of cluster of anxiety longing and pain and most evenings i wake up from a nap watching a dream that stays longer in my consciousness than the roads,the places, the cars i saw. I wake up with heaviness in my thorax and I'm tired of the unending sadness, I think now it has become a part of me and i wish to explode happy bombs over me, because even if happiness means to die i would risk it to get out of this loop. Honestly I am a person with honey combs for eyes comparing all cracks with that of craters of moon but not for myself. For me i weave ivory necklace to wrap around my throat. I think it's not me but the sadness that's stubborn, I'm not holding it but it's stuck with me like the fishing hook passing through the throat of a fish.

[haptureratch]

To say it was nice while it lasted would be a lie. It was messy. It was mercurial. The good moments were damn fine. But there were more that were...not fine.

Time to brace myself for however many years of solitude again. I KNOW IT'S FUCKING DRAMATIC TO SAY BUT SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA BE LIKE THIS INSTEAD OF BEING AN ALCOHOLIC OR SOMETHING

Maybe I am narcissistic. There's no way anyone with real empathy could shut out someone they cared about that quickly. I feel completely numb. Am I that burnt out? Or am I a bad person.

And I wasn't even myself. I broke my own rules. I did wrong by past-Jess by getting demanding about sex. That's wrong. It should always hinge on the other person's feelings and safety. I did ask if he wanted to stop. I gave him a chance to open up about why he backed off of me. He didn't say anything. I tried to be gentle...but I ended up holding it against him because I truly felt like our interactions have become a joke. So, have they? I even gave him a chance to own up to that; I must have looked completely paranoid and not very sane.

I feel gross. I feel like I'm acting like men acted toward me in the past. I don't want to apologize though because I'll get soft and let this mess will rip back open again. I'm the only one aware of it; he just rides the coaster over and over. I really want it to stop. I don't want to do it anymore. I want to be taken care of too. I don't want to be the caregiver at home when that's what I do in my profession. I need care too. So I found the absurdity in the situation and painted it disingenuous. I approached it with incredulousness and humor. And I found myself blurting out that I was done.

Welp.

Can't go back now

----

Maybe I've dealt with heartbreak and let-down so many times that I'm numb to it. I know that eventually something will happen at some point down the line. And all things in the past ended despite me finding signs and feeling things that screamed MEANT TO BE. Despite me thinking it felt stronger and more destined and right with each subsequent joining.

Maybe I'm tired of my own bullshit more than anything. Stop falling in love so easily and getting so carried away in your physical sensations. This has always been your downfall.

[microcosmiclymbic]

Reasons #1-26 Why I am fighting for my physical and mental recovery:

1. Because my functional abilities have a lot of room for improvement. I can gain more access to the world so it would be silly not to

2. There are others with less access to personal freedom and they deserve my advocacy and I don't have spoons for that work right now

3. I want to actually play a game AND finish it AND enjoy it the whole way through

4. I don't want to remain so dependent on people or systems of power that aren't good for me. Especially not without a voice to advocate for myself

5. I want to travel AND by myself AND not get burnt out by the break in routine

6. I want to hike the Appalachian trail

7. I want to be able to fund people's crowdfunding campaigns

8. I want to become a really good Foster Parent. So I wanna be qualified to handle the kid's needs AND be capable of supporting them even after they leave AND have the capacity to adopt if needed AND support the parents/kids for reunification if ever desired and.... all that is a lot. I can't even take care of a dog rn. But I can learn and grow and gain the skills I need.

9. I need to divest. Which means I have to be brave enough to face the hard stuff AND kind enough to forgive mistakes AND disciplined enough to follow through with change even when it gets tough AND honest with myself when I'm doing wrong AND strong enough to stand against others AND.....

10. I need the spoons to build more spoons

11. I want to help build a self sufficient urban community as a safe haven for the disabled & divergent. So I want to be capable of managing a homestead AND solving complex accessibility puzzles AND raising funding

12. I want to playfully wrestle my lover

13. I want to enjoy sex. To laugh, gasp, be untriggered, unrushed. To experience new depths and new understanding

14. I'm curious about who I can become. Who I am for that matter

15. I don't want to ever harm anyone else again. And when I do I want to be capable of recognizing it. And when I don't I want to be able to listen when someone tells me I did wrong. No matter what I want to be capable of repairing the harm I have done. I want to end cycles

16. I want to gain health certifications. Personal training. Massage Therapy. Physical Therapy Assistant. Nutritionist. Nursing. I want to never stop gaining credentials that will inform and improve my ability to help others

17. I want to learn to prioritize my own needs. To never wonder if my cup is half full or half empty because I know I've already done what I need to fill it. I want to set a boundary the moment I notice discomfort and to do it with love.

18. I want to learn how to dance. To intimately know the boundaries of my body. To be in such close relationship with it that I have fluid access to movements that are enjoyable to me.

19. I want to go to a theme park without worrying about accessibility. Because I'm already experienced with all my needs and prepared to have them accommodated

20. I want to be able to cuddle for more than a few minutes

21. I want to be a good friend. To maintain a healthy friendship with boundaries, emotional intimacy, trust, communication, growth, joy. To build a container capable of holding every part of us.

22. I want to be a qualified crisis supporter for respite. Capable of holding space for someone in the midst of a mental crisis free from any carceral "support."

23. I have unique skills that deserve to be witnessed. Skills that are both known and unknown to me.

24. I'm honestly tired of being dissociated so dang much. I want to be present all the time. I want to notice the little things and feel grateful for them

25. I want to feel connected to other humans. I don't like feeling so deeply misunderstood and alone. And I know the connection needs to grow from me.

26. I want to be a vagabond like the crusty kids who came through with stories galore back when I was a sad little homebum. I wanna catch trains, hitch rides and yearn under a different bridge every week

[belfrygargoyles]

1) the composition, posing, framing, anatomy, stylization, all has to be consistent and done with purpose. it cant be done clumsily, appear as a "regression" in my art style, or have any room for visible error beyond what I can categorize as "permissible". The process of art generally is not a very easy or smooth one, and the less time and paper space "wasted" on adjustments, the less revisions i have to make, the less i have to erase and redraw and put the entire piece on pause at a rudimentary stage lest i waste time on details that will be erased, the better.

2) I can say "i want to draw a character." okay, now what pose? what style? what focus? what composition? what outfit, color palette, tone, etc. too much decision. unless i already know what i want i just... can't. really decide.

3) Idk man I stopped drawing consistently some time during high school and just got out of a 5 year relationship during which i rewired my brain to constantly think about & create for another person to the point that even when i got out, i found that i couldn't even write or come up with ideas for myself because i was stopping every step with what someone else would want instead. the act of writing and drawing and engaging with ocs had for the past 5 years stopped being something to do for fun and instead been made into a primary and foundational means of reciprocal "proof" of interest and investment in the other person and for at least a full year and a half I stopped getting anything back. Part of my brain is still stuck in that tired, burnt out, frustrated resignation. Part of my brain is still trapped in the mindset that i have to focus on and create for someone else specifically, that i have a target audience that i need to regularly and consistently "prove" that i care about by making things not because its what I think about, but because everything i make HAS to be for someone else or else I am being self centered and neglecting my upkeep of the relationship. Part of my brain still just feels so dead, like it's given up entirely, after repeatedly putting 110% into catering wholly and perfectly to someone else with the expectation, promise, and increasingly desperate belief that it would be mutual, that it was mutual and my expectations were too high or my memory too unreliable, only to finally learn that no, i was right, i actually wasn't getting anything back, i was being fed empty promises to "try harder" and "be better for me" for years and put my full faith that change was happening, an effort was being put in, that i'm just too self-centered and want too much attention to myself to notice.

and, if i'll be honest. there were some comments made during that time about my art that have still stuck. really minor comments, well meaning, honestly pretty inoffensive (if not a bit annoying) unwelcome and unasked for critique on wips i was showing progress on, without the context of how it felt with the years of invisible, built up, unidentifiable frustration that made me a hair trigger desperately trying to validate my feelings by finding fault anywhere and everywhere. i dont want to hold onto those comments like this, but something about them is sticking, and i still feel stupidly hyper defensive over my art. they were just small, unintentionally mildly rude comments made without thinking that they could cause offense at all, but who they were coming from, the time they were said, the state i and the relationship was in- they really meant so, so much more, in a way that is kind of emblematic of everything that was wrong with the relationship. and part of me is still holding onto those feelings, i guess- maybe because it was about something that's always been deeply personal in a kind of delicate way for me?

ugh

hurgh i wish i could still just pick up a pen think of a character and draw when the fuck ever- now even if i want to draw, if i dont already have an idea of what exactly i want to draw i just... cant. i dont know if this is a result of focusing too much on quality/the "it has to be perfect or it cant exist at all" mentality, a weird kind of decision paralysis (which it actually is sometimes), or longterm effects of burnout and relying on extrinsic motivators for so long.

actually its probably all of that at the same time now that i wrote that out