that feeling when you're autistic and put on so many masks, played so many parts, created so many personas, etc. to try to fit in and please people due to being severely bullied or abused or whatever, that you have no clue who you are. you never developed a "self" ever. you don't have a personality, but you also have 10+ different ones that come out at different times. you don't know what you like or enjoy because it depends on what persona is in control at the time, so it always changes. you contradict yourself a lot. you like something one moment, but can hate it the next. you try to ~be yourself~ but you don't know which of these persona masks are "you." are they all you? are none of them you? how do you know?
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if i see one more article, post, or news anchor talking about how joe biden is old, i'm putting my fist through a window. i feel like i've gone through the fucking looking glass.
this is project 2025, trump's plan for what he'll do if elected. whatever you think is in there, it's worse. watch a breakdown of the highlights here. this man wants to unravel the fabric of our democracy for good - this all aside from his vitriolic hatred of poc, his determination to start ww3, and the fact that he can't string a sentence together without telling outrageous and easily verifiable lies. his administration will start their crusade to exterminate trans people on day one, and they won't stop there.
do not talk to me about how joe biden is old, as if that could ever matter to me more than my life or the lives of my friends and family. my little sister is 14, she's trans, and i don't know what to tell her when we talk about politics, because one of these people wants her dead and the other one is old and some of you are still acting like those problems are equals.
i can't fucking stand this. i'm not hearing it this time, we are not repeating 2016. refusing to vote is not an act of protest, it is an act of complacency, and our most vulnerable will suffer for your negligence. vote like your life depends on it, because for some of us, it really fucking does.
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Bitches will find a fictional man attractive and then immediately imagine him in situations where he is losing alarming amounts of blood
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Human Bill Cipher
(Based on Alex Hirsch's "canon" design)
And just to be clear, writing dissertations at me justifying why he should instead be a conventionally attractive twink will involuntarily cause me to draw him with even fewer teeth.
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had a fucking hilarious dream that tumblr replaced the "block" function with the far funnier "glock" function, which did the exact same thing except whenever anyone blocked you a random bullet hole, like a png of a bullet hole, would appear on your blog. discourse blogs were unreadable bc you'd go to the page and the sheer amount of bullet hole pngs stacked over the blogs obscured everything. I woke myself up laughing
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Bruce keeping a tighter and tighter lid on his identity around the Justice League because with each new person to reveal their identity he realizes that he has fucked far too high a percentage of his co workers as Bruce Wayne and he has to take this secret to his grave
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its true that romance amd friendship will not solve everything but. objectively speaking its very hard to get sad when you can say 'lets go get cake tomorrow okay' and someone will go get cake with you. like there is some good at least. you know
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like. imagine seeing your sibling at 18. and then not seeing them again until you’re 28. and then not seeing them again until you’re both 58. but you’re identical twins so every time you look in the mirror you wonder if this is what they would’ve looked like.
imagine never needing glasses but your brother did, and then in your adulthood your eyes get worse and you suddenly need glasses and you pick out the same frames your brother wore.
imagine always protecting your brother growing up cause he was different and kids picked on him. but you always protected him. and then you have a falling out and neither of you speak for years, and then finding out that in those years you didn’t speak, he was being isolated and tortured by a monster and didn’t think you’d come if he called. but then he calls and you go. and his house has blood on the floor in every room and writing on the walls and his journal devolves into paranoid ramblings. and you can’t protect him because you showed up and he got ripped away. and you can’t even ask him what the writing or the blood or the state of the house means because he’s gone. and you don’t have a penny to your name so you have to clean the blood up yourself and fix the house and live there. so you board up his room.
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