#therapist's words

[kindofsharethat]

i can’t believe i’m making this post. i feel sick to my stomach. everything is in a fog, like this is all a terrible dream.

i didn’t know liam personally, but even just watching him move about life being his tactile, steadfast, human-labrador self with boundless amounts of love to give, even if it meant taking on the brunt of others’ pain himself, as a bystander has been an honour and a privilege.

he had a talent—a true gift—and chose to share that with us. and through that talent, as a disabled high schooler who literally had trouble finding my voice and never fit in anywhere, i found a community. a home. somewhere i knew i could always turn, through the good times and the bad. in many ways, one direction saved me. there’s no “thank you” that feels big enough to encapsulate what he did for me and so many others.

all my love and well wishes to his family, friends and whoever was lucky enough to be in his orbit.

rest in peace, liam. ❤️

[dumblr]

If i were your therapist, i would give you heart-shaped meds.♡

[whendidmythoughtsgocrazy]

If you don't have these problems with any other person in your life, why do you think you're the problematic person in this one?

k.b. // therapist quotes

[karliahs]

I tried to give myself a little break from writing because I thought that's what I needed, but turns out the writing is load-bearing at this point. what I really needed was a break from writing stuff that I ever intend to polish up and show anyone. tapping out random comfort daydreams full of square brackets and 0 context is vitally necessary in fact

[justmelookingbackatme]

A while ago, my therapist talked to me about dialectical statements. They're two seemingly contradictory statements that are both true. I'm happy and I'm sad. I hate you and I love you.

We weren't talking about gender, of course, but it's what my mind jumped to. I'm a man and I'm a woman.

Dialectical statements aren't about having these statements fight until one is proven to be true and the other is proven to be false. Neither statement has to be more true than the other. You can let them exist in opposition to one another. Not even opposition, necessarily. They can just coexist.

You're meant to accept the contradiction, and that's what I'm doing. Trying to do, at least. I'm a man and a woman. I'm a contradiction. I'm trying to accept myself.

[xiaq]

Publishing is weird. Especially when you're used to fic. Because you write this thing. And then a year later you cut it in half and edit it for publication. And then a year after that, the first part comes out. And then a year after that the second part comes out. And you finally decide to sit down and read both of them through after a bit of distance except then you're immediately going "look at this glaring plothole, why did you use so many en dashes, stop saying the word 'like,'" except, unlike Ao3 where you can just go...make adjustments as needed, you're stuck with everyone seeing your writing's flaws.

And now I'm being overly critical about the things I'm currently writing because god forbid I'm making mistakes (not recognizing them) that I will someday kick myself for once I have further matured as a writer.

I guess the good news is that I'm writing at all? But that bad news is I'm a neurotic mess.

[a-j-s-the-only]

you search for chaos because you don’t know how to sit in peace. You’ve never had the opportunity to rest.

-my therapist

[ticklepinions]

Raise your hand if you feel utterly behind in life 🫠

[variousfandomthoughts]

Shallan talking to Pattern after the ship sinks in Words of Radiance: Jasnah’s death has traumatized me, and, being in a state of shock and horror, the only thing I can now do to cope is attempt to regain some of what I lost by further dedicating myself to becoming like Jasnah and preserving her work and memory. I believe this profound realization about myself and my experiences will lead me to healing and recovery.

Pattern: What’s a “death”?

[loveyourlovelysoul]

Sometimes we seek external validation in order to feel like we can still earn the love and approval we might have been denied in our childhood or past experience/s. We can do this in many different ways, developing different "abilities" in order to have our emotional needs met "at all costs": for example we become a perfectionist (we were praised only after overworking/reaching certain results); we start people pleasing (we were taught others cannot leave if we're what they search for and are always there for them no matter what); we learned to downplay our needs to avoid conflicts or problems of sort...

These (and others too) are all copying mechanisms we developed to fill the void/emotional neglect/absence of unconditional love we've been experiencing in our past. Living this way though can make us develop other problems in our self: eg. digestive problems, chronic stress, dissociation. But the thing is: no matter what we do or how much we change, an emotionally immature caregiver is blocked by their own self limitations and fixed views so they won't show up for us as we need.

And it's not our fault: they just weren't given the correct infos to handle their emotions and cannot see where they're going wrong (maybe also cause they were taught from another wounded generation that this is how you do things, no matter if they pain you or what), so please forgive yourself and free yourself from shame and guilt. It's not your fault if your caregivers couldn't show you that you don't have to gain love in any way cause you're already lovely and worthy as you are.

The moment you miss your parents' love in your childhood (a foundational moment of the life of any human being), you carry this void in your adulthood and it may even get enhanced, or make you search for the same type of relationship where you need to show up in a certain way to feel like you deserve love (and this keeps you stauck in the same place of pain and self hurt). You will always need to seek approval, to act in a certain way, fear being abandoned, wonder about your worth/being enough, and that's cause of your rooted habit born from the lack of emotional consistent support.

To get out of this cycle, try to understand why and how you had to develop this copying mechanism and why you keep it in your life these days (ofc ask for help to professional figures too if you need). You can get out of it and find the right emotional nourishment you need and deserve: let yourself try to see things from another perspective.

(source: insta + please check the description OR here)

[botanybulbasaur]

[websurfshark]

save me slice of life cancelled s19 idea

[fisheito]

Me: Everything i make is garbage i shouldn't even bother

The eiden in my head:

Me: Sorry eiden you're right my efforts have value

[bogkeep]

[now entering: the OPINION ZONE]

the way i feel about Booktok(tm), as a phenomenon, or maybe more as a weird miasma that is seeping through every bookstore i enter, is that we don't see eye to eye. i'm sure it's got a lot more variation and diversity than whatever weird takes bubble up to the surface for my tiktok-less self to stumble upon - mostly i just feel like my motivation for reading books is different than theirs. there is the occasional overlap in the Books I Enjoy / Big On Booktok venn diagram (which makes me feel very weird about those books but that's for me to sort out), but i cannot personally Trust a booktok recommendation, if that makes sense. either way, it's none of my business what other people like to read, and i think me and booktok can peacefully coexist in each our own spheres. (if all of this is completely incomprehensible to you i salute you and envy your peace of mind.)

anyway, a very fascinating discussion that keeps showing up recently is the phenomenon where popular booktok influencers admit to skipping paragraphs that are too long, or only reading the dialogue of a book, or performing shock at a printed book containing Too Many Words Per Page. what fascinates me is not so much that it is happening (though it DOES fascinate me), but how much people reacting to this struggle to explain exactly Why it's so aggravating.

like, i feel like the obvious takeaway is that these people are monetizing their alleged joy of reading, and then... don't? even like to read? that the consumerist aesthetic of Being A Reader is more profitable on a video platform than doing the due diligence of reviewing books properly? that the content machine marches on and if you're too slow you'll fall behind??

INSTEAD the discussion seems to center around the good old "oohh nooo people read BAD BOOKS instead of GOOD BOOKS and IT'S IMPORTANT TO CHALLENGE YOUR BRAINNN or else the MEDIA LITERACY....." and i'm sorry but i think this has been a moral panic for as long as we've had literature. media literacy has never had a golden age that i'm aware of. there's always been trashy romances that authors pump out on the monthly for easy consumption. capitalism is gonna value profit over quality for as long as it's in charge. people who read for fun are gonna read what they're gonna read, and they're gonna read it in the way they enjoy reading. i agree that reading Good Books is deeply fulfilling! but that is my personal and subjective experience that not everyone is going to share.

i think the reason i feel weird about the insistence that you Must, at least occasionally, Challenge Yourself while reading is that... i'm exhausted in my brain. too exhausted to challenge myself for fun. maybe it's a burnout thing. i really really get looking at a paragraph and finding it simply too much to absorb right now. my main method of getting through books these days is in audio format, even if i would personally prefer to read them visually (they'd stick to my brain better, i would see how names are spelled, sudden POV switches between paragraphs would be less confusing). but reading a book in text form is taking me weeks at best - unless it's a special kind of book that i can't help but devour immediately, sleep schedule be damned (which is another toll to pay). some books are just too complex and need too much focus for me to enjoy right now, so i keep having to goldilock my way to what feels Just Right. some books, i'm sure i'll get back to later. some i've made my peace with never picking up despite the fact that they feel Obligatory (my apologies to lord of the rings. i've Tried and i just can't do it). so like i GET IT. sometimes reading is too much.

what i Wish the discussion was more about, was instead finding ways to read that's enjoyable for you. there is literature and screen plays that are Only Dialogue. there's graphic novels. there's audiobooks and e-readers that let you change the font sizes. there's lots and lots and lots of fanfiction that's literally just banter and smut. there's no shame in reading what you enjoy! there's no shame in spending months on the same book! but i suppose it's not as ~Aesthetic~ as purchasing 10 editions of the same book series on amazon dot hell!!!!

[atmilliways]

Preview

@steddiemicrofic

written for ‘Pine’ | wc: 508 | rated: T Kind of a time travel fic, kind of a future fic. Established relationship, but also not. With a whiff of mutual pining.

Eddie is cold. He’s so fucking cold, clutched in Henderson’s arms. 

And then he isn’t. 

He’s hot, dripping sweat instead of blood. Standing, feet aching like he’s been on them all day. Everything is light and heat and noise, the clanging of metal and the sizzle and smell of things cooking, people bustling. He sways on his feet, and���

“You okay, chef?”

It’s too much. Eddie’s eyes roll back, gone before he even falls.

He wakes in a soft bed, softer than he’s ever felt in his entire life. It smells of pine-scented laundry detergent, weed smoke, and comfort. 

“Eds?” Steve Harrington leans over him with concern and relief in his eyes, and something warm that chases the last of the cold from Eddie’s blood. He’s clasping Eddie’s hand in both of his.

Something’s off, though. Steve looks . . . older. And damn good in glasses, but since when did Steve Harrington need glasses?

“You passed out at work, babe.”

Babe.

Babe.

“King Steve holding my hand,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m either dreaming or dead.”

“. . . Oh.” Steve’s grip tightens, reminding Eddie that, oh yeah, he can hear him. Maybe not a dream, if he doesn’t get to have his privacy when thinking out loud. “Okay, so this is happening. Uh. . . . What year do you think it is?”

Eddie frowns. It’s 1986, but. . . . When he looks down at himself there are scars and unfamiliar tattoos and, weirdly, a distinct lack of one nipple on his own chest. Why is he shirtless?

His silence seems answer enough, because Steve nods. “Okay. You told me this was going to happen, just weren’t sure when. The last thing you remember is the Upside Down, right? Bats?”

The bats. Eddie shudders with his entire body. 

“Okay,” Steve says again, smoothing his thumbs over the knuckles and palm of Eddie’s hand. “You’re going to be fine, Eds. This is just a blip.” He offers an awkward smile. “But you’re going to go back, and it’s going to really hurt for a while but you’re going to be fine. Just do your stretches, I remember how much you hated that shit but it’s important.”

Eddie can’t wrap his head around what Steve is saying. His voice is small when he asks, “Will I still be able to play?”

The smile firms up, genuine. “Yeah. Not quite as good as before, we all know how important your left nipple was for that, but. You have guitars all over the damn place, really clutters up our apartment.”

“Our?” Eddie croaks. 

Another squeeze of his hand. “Yeah. Don’t leave me hanging too long when you get back, okay?”

He wants to ask more, but sleep is tugging at him and the bed is so soft. 

He wakes up in a hospital bed, and the Steve Harrington he knows is asleep in the visitor’s chair, hand on the sheet next to Eddie’s. 

And Eddie, not wanting to leave him hanging, breathes through the pain as he reaches to hold it.

(also on Ao3)

[shellem15]

Thinking about the Dawnfather. A god of light, a god of harvest, a god of the sun itself. Good but not nice, kind but not soft. Life-giving but also scorching. Protective, warm, and kind, but also stern, harsh, and abrasive. His light can foster growth, can protect and guide, but it can also scorch and burn. The sun is warm and nurturing but don’t stare at it too long, child, it’ll blind you.

Was he always so hard? Did he always hide his face with the harsh light of the sun? Or was there a time when he smiled and laughed, let others see him as he truly was?

Thinking about the Schism. Was the Dawnfather close to the Betrayer Gods before they turned? He must have been, Asmodeus wouldn’t be so hung up on him if he wasn’t. Speaking of Asmodeus, he was once a being of light, like the Dawnfather and the Everlight are now. Were they closer than the others? When the Gods came to Exandria, did they come from the same place or were they scattered, a ragtag group of survivors fleeing from predators seeking to devour them? And if the latter is true, did these three beings of light come from the same place? Siblings, born from the same stuff, forever tied to one another?

If this was the case, then, what was their relationship before the Schism? Did they call each other “Brother” and “Sister”? Did they hold each other when they were scared, dry each other’s tears, laugh and joke and tease and fight and make up because they were siblings and they’d always be together, and they loved each other with every fiber of their being and they only had each other. When Predathos came, when it devoured two of their newfound siblings, did the Dawnfather hold them both and promise them that everything was going to be okay because he was their brother and he was going to protect them, all of them. The gods, mortals, the world itself, they would not be devoured, they would not be destroyed, because he was there and would fight until his very last breath to keep them safe.

Wondering then, was that the moment when Asmodeus truly grew to hate their creations? Seeing his brother and sister and siblings risk their lives just to protect some mewling mortal wretches when they could just leave it all behind and start somewhere new. Was that the moment when he realized that mortals had done something to them, changed them when they were not supposed to change. Why else would they risk being devoured by Predathos, why else would they suffer through war with the Primordials? Why else would they choose them over him!? Was this the moment when he decided to conspire with the Primordials and the other Betrayer Gods? To destroy this world and the mortals on it so they could finally leave. And they would leave, of course, because the Dawnfather was his brother and the Everlight was his sister and the Gods were a family, and at the end of the day, they would always be together, and once the corrupting influence of those mortals was gone, they would surely all see reason.

And when the Dawnfather discovered this betrayal, when all the Prime Deities did, he must have been furious. How could they!? His kin, his brother, who had always been by his side through everything, how could they turn around and destroy their creations, their children. And so he and the other Primes took up arms and fought against their own family to protect this world they had created, and their children who inhabited it. Those battles must have been brutal, bonds of comradery broken, kin clashing against kin, screaming curses as they tore each other apart.

During those final battles of the Schism, when the Dawnfather clashed against Asmodeus, did they scream at each other in rage? A twisted reflection of previous squabbles, different because this time it was real, this time there is no forgiveness, no making up. When the Dawnfather knocked Asmodeus down, crushed his throat under his foot and banished him to the Hells, was he yelling when he disowned him? Or was he quiet when he did it, his voice going into a low growl, deadly calm as he told him that he was not his brother anymore. And moments previously, when the Dawnfather could have easily killed him, did he look into Asmodeus’s eyes and see his brother? Scared and hurt by his hands, hands that once held him and swore to protect him. In that moment, did the Dawnfather realize he couldn’t kill him? Because that was his brother and despite everything, he still loved him, and hurting him brought him more grief and pain than he could ever imagine. So instead, he banished him, locked him and all the other Betrayers away because he and the other Primes couldn’t bring themselves to kill their family, but they also couldn’t let them free.

Was this when the Dawnfather obscured his face? Hardened his heart because otherwise he would break, and he cannot break, because the other gods need him to be strong, because Exandria needs him to be strong. And so he stayed strong, despite the grief, despite the guilt, despite the pain of heartbreak, of hurting the ones he loved to protect the ones he loved. And this hardening must have continued, running himself ragged during Calamity, beating back Tharizdun, protecting Ioun after she almost died, sheltering the Everlight after Asmodeus once again betrayed her, stabbed her in the back and left her broken and weak when all she wanted was to do was get her brother back, to save him from his own wrath. Failure after failure after failure to protect those he cared about, to protect his siblings and mortals and Exandria itself. The guilt of his failures must be overwhelming, and these are his failures: Predathos devoured his siblings under his watch, his siblings betrayed them under his watch, Calamity ravaged Exandria under his watch, and even now, the threat of Predathos has once again returned under his watch.

No wonder he is so harsh now, so controlling now: because every time he has failed in his vigilance the world has suffered for it. He can’t fail again; he can’t lose any more siblings. And so, he continues hardening his heart, continues fighting, because the sun must always rise again in the morning, no matter what.