#they are part of me

[lunior-art]

[the-ellia-west]

Honestly, I love and despise the internet for the fact that emotion is really hard to convey in text

Because who can tell I'm Really really pissed off RN and sitting in the basement until it burns me down enough for me to just be depressed

But that doesn't matter, because that's an emotion I can get rid of with jokes and shows I used to like more than I do now

[rioblitzle]

working retail

[azvhaalk]

glorious evolution

[so-many-ocs]

[on the verge of having a complete breakdown] i need to make some kind of list or perhaps sort things into categories

[sadclowncentral]

sometimes it's not even enemies to lovers. sometimes you get handed the leash of a snarling, barking dog against your will and realize with dawning horror that you are now responsible for teaching it not to bite

[temothylol]

I mean fuck, I like gills, I like slugs, I like gettin' chummy, I like flippers, I like the muck, I like squid inking and tsunamis and sea creatures, I like doin' sea creature shit, swordfish , probably would

[starridge]

puppet hour was brutal

[everchased]

THAT one's goin on the list too now!

[a-a-lost-munchkin]

I Can’t Help But Wonder

Odysseus, who just violently and mercilessly murdered 108 or so men, who claims in the next song that he’s no longer a kind or gentle man, actively listens to Telemachus and kindly and gently responds to everything his son’s expressed.

Telemachus asks, “Am I like you? Am I strong like you? Will you embrace me? Will you love and accept me as yours?” He says, “I’ve felt so alone.”

And Odysseus claims him in a heartbeat, answering, “My son. My boy. My sweetest joy I’ve ever known. I embraced you twenty years ago. I’d do the impossible for you. I’d die for you.” He says, “Seeing the men here today, I can only wonder what you’ve been through for twenty years. My son, you’re already strong. You’re my own. You’re not alone. I’m home.”

And then they fucking embrace.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[doccywhomst]

[konoko]

[xiaq]

Your first pride story was touching and all but you still married a man.

Yeah, bisexuals do that sometimes.