#things I wish I could tell my younger self

[lockhartandlych]

btw when you start working on your self loathing things really do become so much better. they arent lying about that. you can tell yourself "i deserve better than this" and instead of it ringing hollow it actually drives you to improve your circumstances, even if it's just something as marginal as putting a dirty mug in the sink.

your self punishment isn't improving you, it's just making you suffer.

[thanatoast250]

Life gets better. You just can't see now because you're not there yet.

[justin-hebert]

"I only run when something's chasing me."

Good luck outrunning it, then.

[bamsara]

being an adult means we can buy or make as much self-indulgent shit (as we can afford) and unironically have trinkets of our fave things cause our teen years was bullied for liking things and hiding/denying we were ever neurodivergent to the point of suicide. sucks for anyone that thinks its weird cringe but I'm going to try and allow myself to love myself in little ways now

[wigglebox]

First Day 🌙☀️

[cruel-hiraeth]

it’s wild to look back at how i was raised to believe that masturbation is evil and premarital sex is a grave sin and that people are supposed to repress their normal (and healthy) urges for the sake of religious piety. i’m glad i got out when i did; i think i would be a nightmare of a person if i couldn’t bust a nut on the regular LOL

[reno2005]

Found this ad I saved years ago for the mobile game tie in for Degeneration.

[aiura-stan]

best writing advice I ever got was to do anything and everything to divorce yourself from shame. shame is toxic to creativity. If you're constantly creating work you feel ashamed of, you won't finish it.

do whatever you have to, which includes resting, taking a break, etc. But also trying your luck every now and then to see if you're able to write again. I've found it's a delicate balance. If I try to force myself, it can become an unfun slog. But also, if I don't like, at least try every now and then, it's pretty likely that I'll miss out on a lot of really enjoyable and productive writing time. Even if I feel like crap and can barely keep my eyes open. Even if my memory is lapsing like every 3 seconds and I have more redundancies and contradictions in my writing than my 84 year old grandfather probably has in his prose. That's what editing is for, right? I can't be ashamed of myself. I just have to write anyways.

really, at the end of the day, writing is a lifeline to me, no more and no less. At a certain point, it's not bravery, or motivation, but sheer desperation that motivates me to write. And trying to moralize about it is pointless. once I learned to really let go and just write whatever the hell, it was much better.

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!

[sirpeppersto]

i really am marrying a man that watches smosh in 2024

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I always tell my littlest cousins stories before bedtime (usually about gods and myths) but occasionally I tell them an original story, and I'm listening back to a recording I made the one time I thought to record myself telling one and I'm like "Wow, I’m actually a really good frickin storyteller."

(Yes, I’m a professional writer, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded that I’m good at what I do.)

[alexas-fandom-and-random-blog]

This sentiment is so nice in full honesty, but I wouldn't wish my kid self upon anybody lol. I was carefree and lost in my own world sure but there was a reason I was a loner. At least now as an adult, communication is more self-aware and it's a lot less frustrating for other people to talk to me.

you ever know someone and you think “god i love you. i wish we could’ve known eachother when we were carefree and 11. i wish we could’ve played together as kids”

[hauntedhopeghost]

been debating on what to say for longer than i've expected, going anon for this ( although i mayyy suspect you may already know who i am just by my writing style but- welp! xd ) ; if i say anything even remotely wrong, you are free to ignore this ask /gen

you're enough. i think one big step is learning you don't have to be enough for everyone else because it's impossible to do that. you can't please everyone, you can't not please everyone aswell ; 8 billion people in the world, it's almost destiny that atleast 100 of them will be bothered by your existence, and other 100 will not.

although, it's okay to feel that way. it's okay to feel like you have to please everyone, to feel like you have to make everyone happy, to feel worthless if that's not the case. it's okay and you're allowed to feel that way. you are not to blame for feelings that you cannot control.

i won't say i understand, but as a fellow people-pleaser, i can say that i can atleast get the feeling. and i want you to know that it's okay. feel free to open up, to be vulnerable, to cry, to feel worthless, to feel like you're not good enough, to feel like your entire existence is entitled to only making people happy - you're allowed to feel all of those things and more. that's okay.

embrace those feelings instead of shoving them away, be kind to yourself by allowing yourself to just feel. it's okay.

it's so easy to just say you're worth, but you're not gonna believe me if i say you are. so i ask you to say those things to yourself instead, and the multiple times you feel like that's just luck, or you're being a fraud ; that's when you know you're doing great. that's when you know you are worth much more than what that voice in your head tells you.

your worth as someone is much more than what your acchievements tells you ; accept yourself as someone who is allowed to feel, to mess up, to regret, to cry, to be successful, to be kind to oneself, to feel and be all of those things and more.

that can be quite hard to do, but look how far you've gotten. you're still here, aren't you? easier said than done, i know. and it won't get easy, not even one bit - but, and i mean it genuinely : you got this. you genuinely got this.

not sure what to say anymore, so i'm just gonna say that i'm here if you wanna talk. my dms are open for you , and i will be there to give my support to you just as much as i can.

<- sincerely, a moot.

...

hey. thanks. /gen

I'm surprised that you even bothered to write out the message. it's odd because I had a weird thought of "they'll just ignore it"/"I want someone to notice this."

I'm still here. Yeah. That is something.

(Holy shit you made me cry with this /gen /pos)

I think I've grown relatively desensitized to people caring about me (not because of them, but because I've truly forgotten what it's like to have someone actually comfort you, especially when said person barely knows you.) but I seriously, seriously appreciate people (like you!) that bother to send me messages like this.

it does help make things better. like- seriously.

(still somewhat in shock because why would anyone care about how I'm doing and take time out of their day to write or do anything for my sake?) but I want to say this did make me feel a lot better. not okay, but a lot better. /gen /pos

be kind to yourself. now hang on a minute didn't I write something literally about this-

oh. i guess i'm just not taking my own advice.

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[morg-among-the-stars]

An In-Depth Letter to Middle School Morgan, letting her rest and heal <3

Hey Morgan,

I hope this letter reaches you well. This is you from the future. I’m nineteen years old and quite happy with my life. I’m not “old and wise” but I know more than you do, but you understand that. You’re a smart for eleven, you’re a smart kid no matter what anyone tells you.

You’re the oldest, you don’t have a big sister to give you advice and tell you things, so I’m going to be your big sister in a way, and tell you some things about your life.

First off, I know autism is a big and terrifying word to you right now. Regretfully, the teasing because of it still happens as you get older, but it becomes manageable. You become quite tough, learn how to fight back the right way. You talk non-stop and that helps with come backs. You also have a partner who likes when you talk.

I should get into that, shouldn’t I? I bet you’re curious. Surprise! You don’t end up alone! Hurray! You have a girlfriend who’s kind and tries their hardest to understand you, understand your ramblings or general thoughts. Your mind is rampant now and it will stay like that forever, it’s a gift. People do love it, even if you don’t think so now. Said girlfriend even asks you to elaborate on your thoughts and to give more thoughts. Pretty cool, right? (Oh, I should mention that today, 1/10/23, is your eight-month anniversary! Your abundance of words comes in handy, guess who learns healthy communication. You!)

I do see the irony in an autistic person being good at communication. I know you’ll find it ironic as well as funny. Your sense of humor doesn’t change much as you grow.

But there is change, I know you’re scratching your head at my repeating of the word, “girlfriend.” Another surprise, you aren’t straight. Not getting all the hoo-pla about Team Edward vs Team Jacob back in third grade hopefully makes more sense. (Win for us lesbians, Kristen Stewart is queer! Your fondness of her has always been valid.) It will take time but your family accepts you and embraces you.

If we’re on the topic of queerness, you also end up a theatre kid. If you remember, (who am I kidding? We have the memory of a super-computer) mom watched a movie called, “Pitch Perfect” when you were young and during the end credits, you saw the name Ben Platt on screen and the picture of a man who wasn’t “sharp” as you classified most men and boys. Literally, he was less intimidating to look at. He becomes quite important to you. Thank him (in your mind, I’m nineteen and I haven’t met him or seen him live) for making music that helps you be okay with being queer.

Oh, and in 2019, he stars in a show called, “The Politician” and you become the unofficial ambassador for it! You become cool amongst other people who love Ben and his shows. But everyone who likes him is cool, you find cool people and friends. It’s awesome, truly, to find people who are nerds like you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise: nerds, geeks, and oddballs are the coolest kinds of people!

Life will get hard, growing up will be hard, especially in the years that are coming for you. But trust me when I say that it gets better. Not just because of your cool nerd friends, or the girlfriend, or anything else. It gets better because you learn how to ask for help. Asking for help is hard as hell for you, but you seek out help.

It’s hard to let people in, I’m older and I still push people away or downplay myself, but you’ll work at it. You will, and you’ll be happier because of it.

You achieve a lot as you grow. You learn how to play guitar; you play in front off hundreds of people during school! You get into writing. It’ll be terrible at first, downright bad, but you’re a kid. You’ll get better and you’ll find an escape for when the world gets hectic around you. People like you. Teachers, friends, loads of people. People want to talk to you. You’re well loved as you grow.

To close out this letter, I’m going to give you a bulleted list of things to look forward to, to know, and general advice:

-Wait about two years and you’ll learn about an incredible game called, “Detroit: Become Human” and then wait another five and you’ll be able to play it.

-Don’t let people step on you; set boundaries.

-All your old special interests do come back around. It’s cool to have a Monster High collection again.

-High school is not like the movies, neither is college. Just do your work, please. Turn it in at a reasonable time.

-Don’t be afraid to push back against people who do you wrong.

-Be honest.

-Be kind.

-Give yourself slack sometimes.

-A few deep breaths helps you not to faint.

-Enjoy those Game Theories, MatPat retires eventually.

-Some people just want to stir up drama. As much as you want to fight them, please don’t. Let them be dumb.

-One bad day is just one bad day.

-Go outside.

-Don’t stay up too late on school nights.

-You are not ugly. Anyone who’s ever made you think that is wrong. They have always been wrong.

-You get to go to New York as a teenager. It’s epic.

-You get to try ziplining as a teenager, too!

-You’re beautiful.

-You are smart.

-I love you.

Sincerely,

Your friend, Morgan, from the future <3

[eowynstwin]

i’m drooling at ur older bf price (not much else to say except when/if u ever have more thots abt him please share 🙏)

previous

You curl in on yourself after sex, sometimes. It’s a pattern Price has noticed—you’ll finish, then he will, and in the humid moments after, the shutters in your eyes will close. You won’t meet his gaze.

He’s only asked once about it, and it had been so clear that the question disturbed you that he hadn’t pressed. You’d tell him, he reasoned, when you were ready—

(And he could nudge you in that direction in the meanwhile.)

The sink is put back together, cabinet door closed. Your sundress is wrapped and twisted around your midsection, naked breasts wet with his saliva and compressed against his chest as you lay panting on top of him. His shirt is in some far-off corner, thrown aside, and his jeans are around his knees.

“That was nice,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair. He makes a home for his fingertips between your shoulder blades, walking the trail of your spine, up and down, slow as a tide.

“Mm-hm,” you say, out at sea. Far away.

He can’t deny that it disappoints him. But it isn’t about him, and he shouldn’t make it so. Even if it is about him, it isn’t actually about him—it’s about something else that has attached itself to him. Things are like that more often than not—deeper, older problems with hooks, the barbed kind that sink in and cling and won’t come out of their own accord.

So he keeps kissing your hair, and he keeps stroking your back. His softened cock hasn’t slipped from you yet, and he makes no move to dislodge it. You nestle closer to him; shift your body over his, a little, just for the feeling of it. He waits for the sigh—the long, steady breath you take after the act, after you’ve found yourself again in wherever it is you go after moments like this.

“This is probably weird to talk about after sex,” you say, and Price’s ears perk up.

“Nothing weird between us, dove,” he encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

You play with his chest hair a little, twirling it around with the manicured ends of your nails. (A manicure he happily paid for.)

“You’re the first man who’s ever given a damn about me,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says honestly. He kisses you again, because he wants to, and because he wants it to comfort you.

“You don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to do stuff on my own,” you continue. “My step—my mom’s husband. He used to make fun of me for, for getting confused about changing my car’s oil. Or he’d get annoyed at me. Or I’d need him to change my tires because I can’t do it on my own, and I’d call him for help, and he wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Price comments.

A younger version of himself would have offered to beat the shit out of the asshole. That self’s anger on your behalf sits radioactive in his chest even now—corrosive, roiling, righteous fury, ready to carve your name on whatever offal is left over after Price gets through with him.

But that would be for his own ego, not for you. That has no place here.

“Do you know—” and your voice breaks a little, “do you know how bad it feels when a man who’s supposed to look out for you treats you like you’re an idiot? Like you’re not smart enough to be worth helping?”

“Some,” he says. “It’s an awful feeling. I wish you didn’t know how it felt, dove. I’m sorry.”

He feels something warm and wet drip onto his chest, and your shoulders begin to shake.

It’s not the full-body, wracking cry of catharsis. Just an episode of something longer, something tired. A problem dealt with, over and over again—a wound that reopens sometimes, if it’s pulled the wrong way.

Price gathers you closer, wraps his arms around you tighter. He cups the back of your neck with one hand and murmurs “shhh” into your hair, soothing and quiet, squeezing you against him.

“I’m okay,” you say, a little watery. “Really, I am.”

“I know you are,” he says.

He tilts your face toward his, and kisses the center of your forehead. You meet his eyes with your own, wide and glistening with your tears.

“I’m always gonna help you, dove,” he promises, catching one that falls with the edge of his thumb. “And you can always ask.”

-

No I don’t have daddy issues why do you ask