#this is fucking torture for my neurodivergent brain

[klettari]

some tasks are awful and horrible all throughout (guess who’s going through doing such a task right now), so i would guess brain makes a connection task = suffering even tho it’s not applicable to every task

if completing tasks feels so good and reminds me completing tasks is easy then why is starting them the emotional equivalent of sending my first born to war

[pocket-jack]

Hey, guys! I decided to torture myself before sleep beacause... Why not? So, here's KidKiller's rough sheets with some headcanons I have for the guys (probably with a lot off mistakes cus my browser refuses to fix them for me)

Kid time, baby

I draw him differently now. I know his face looks more... diamond shaped in anime, but I can't get rid of his square coded energy, so... Heart-shaped it is!

When he recieved his eye scar he didn't lose the ability to see, but now it get's dry really fast and if he won't do something about it it'll gonna ache.

He had multiple piercings on his ear, but his powers just kept pulling them and one day almost ripped his ear of, so he (with a manly tears) decided to take them off.

I headcanon him wearing a corset, because he's a little chubby and he can't get rid of this extra fat (not with his appetites). Also everytime when he takes it off, not only he's forced to look at his hanging stomach, but he's also has to fight off Killer. Killer's only dream was for Kid to be well fed and happy.

Nor his, nor Killer's sexuality is defined by them, but actually based out of other's observations. Kid is pansexual because he's kinda gender blind. For him it's confusing that you're weak just because you have tits and extra hole between your legs. He's also demiromantic. Both of those preference he acquired during Kutsukku (where you couldn't trust anyone, even your lover. And where the gender norms were the least of your concerns)

He also have undiagnosed ADHD which mostly give him extra impulsivity and also now the metal can speak (thank ye, neurodivergency!). Sometimes it's stresses him the hell off, especially during Kutsukku. He could not sleep because of all of this buzzing he kept hearing from EVERYWHERE. Now he can control it, but sometimes it returnd and he has to suffer.

Metal also responds to his hidden emotions. It may float when he thinks, reflects or remembering something. It may rumble when he's angry, concerned, scared. Or it may form something if he's happy, in love or something like that.

He's hard rock kinda guy, we all know this, but I headcanon him as a music lover in general (so whatever makes his brain go bzzt, mostly rock). I find Thrown a couple of month ago and it's sounds like something Kid would like (probably even kin, esp Backfire). MSI is a basic thing for him to have (every punk need at least one song in their playlist). I guess not every person will understand it, but Пшлнхй is such a Kid coded song (Every Russian proverb, but one part is just sending you to fuck yourself is something that Kid would do irl. The chorus is just... mmm)

Killer, my beloved!!!!

I love headcanoning him as androgenous. He has a feminine features: oval shaped face, eyes with big eyelashes, even his lips is a little softer than the average male lips. That is the main reason why he hid his face, because everyone would bully him fot it when he was young. Killer was confused with a girl a lot during his time on Kutsukku.

During timeskip he strained a lot of muscles just to get stronger. He was neglecting himself most of the time, because he had a mission: to become stronger so he'll never fail to protect Kid ever again. They also been really distant during their training. Only when Killer hurted his arm they bounded again. Kid was surprisingly a good mentor for his healing. Probably because their trauma was almost the same

When he's wearing a mask he usually get's his hair out of the way so it wouldn't mess with his vision

Pre timeskip he wanted to work on his style, feeling obliged to do so, cus his crew was dressing up in colorful styles. He choose to fit into more West Bluish kinda style (cowboy boots and pants). But then anxiety hitted him and suddenly he felt too vissible and everyone was looking at him and... Let's just say it wasn't a pleasant expirience for him. He just wanted to show that he was a part of the crew too, but now he feels himself too overreacting and dramatic and stuff. It took a lot of time for everyone to convince him that it wasn't about the look, but more about the comfort. With their support Killer started wearing something he likes more, and it felt fantastic. He actually started to like himself in the mirror a bit more after timeskip and then Wano happened

Killer is asexual beacuse of the amount of trauma he suffered during his childhood. I hc him having a low libido too. He's still feels romantic attraction (only for Kid), and if he asks, Killer will have sex with him without hesitation. But it's only for Kid, OR for his sake

It is so logical for him to have OCD. Just him casualy living and then the dread that if he won't do something usefull his crew will see how fucking usless and worthless he actually is and live him behind the same his parents did just suddenly hits him. Oh hey! Anxiety! Abandonment issues! This man will explode, please, give him a hug.

It got worse after Wano. He's doing bad things with his face and no one knows. Even Kid. (I love making them suffer for the sake of Hurt\Comfort)

I am 100% sure Killer is a Queen guy. It just gives me Killer vibes... The same with Elton John. And also... To fit in his pre timeskip cowboy vibes into the oven,,, He's actually like country rock alongside with glam rock. Barns Courtney is his favorate

So... How do you like my silly little headcanons? Maybe I post something about Heat and Wire too. Welp, I'm fainting out of exaustion, bye!

[familyagrestefanblog]

Sorry, I just need to get this off my chest.

You know what's shit?

That I always come back to work on my explanation posts on why Alya, Plagg, and Emonette being treated unfairly and being disregarded by Maribug's writing is by now pissing me off to similar degrees as her bad treatment of Chat Noir

But that always ends in a domino effect of me putting together more of the overall narrative that ticks me off so much cause my ADD brain can't NOT look for the continuous string of the writing pattern I follow once I'm at it.

You probably can imagine that this isn't very good for my mental health and the only reason why I'm still doing it is because I have a strong suspicion on what the new story arc will do with Cerise after this agonizing hiatus, and only once the actual new story arc proves me wrong can my ADD brain let this emotional investment of 7+ years in my "comfort show" since I was a 16 rest in peace.

Being neurodivergent is exhausting of FUCK...

So I always stop writing any of the posts about the other topics and come back to my Adrichat corner because that's the "safe space" my brain is the most familiar and comfortable with by now since season 4 to make a post AT ALL that isn't running the risk of leading me down 7 new rabbit holes I can't unsee anymore afterwards...

I MISS looking into several narrative threads in this show and voicing my opinions on them. In hindsight, I regret not having done it more when it was still possible, but I feel like it should have been alright in any other normally written show to have a fan blog dedicated to a specific part of the story. I feel like I shouldn't be the one in the WRONG for having done that.

Anyway, I honestly MISS the time where I knew that Maribug's benefit and comfort weren't the only things accepted as "valid" readings of the story. From both sides. Supporters and critics/salters.

Where saying anything that isn't immediately connected to Marinette's benefit and comfort didn't need a full-blown 20 page essay post going into any detail possible to fight for the right to even be taken seriously as a realistic reading of the story at all.

I know I'm not the only one upset at this, but I wonder how many people really realized by now how batshit insane this is right now. That only the most vanilla and vague-ass posts that do their best to not in anyway say something that would be "mean" and "non-validating" to Marinette can be posted now without it automatically being categorized as at least "critical" or running the risk of getting perceived as salt or wishful-thinking.

You can't point ANYTHING out anymore without at least one person running in and either saying "You just HATE Marinette and want to see her punished! You people never care about HERRRRRRRRRR (regarding a topic that isn't about her or is her fucking JOB as a narrative tool to DO)" or "Yeah, nah, the show would never let that happen because of the Marinette bias lol"

You can't even say anything anymore about Adrien's abuse without it being either undermined to all hell because of Marinette having been bullied and needing to be a girlboss who does to others what she's declared "tortured" for, or Félix "hypocrite and victim-blamer" Fathom. Gabriel being abusive was once the most basic ass thing to talk about, what the fuck happened?? (don't answer that, I know the answer...)

The whole analysis' side of this fandom that isn't catering to Marinette was either killed or basically exiled into the "critical" or outright "salt" tag because you can't even be interested in world-building anymore without having to fight for the post's right to be taken seriously under the crushing weight of Marinette's narrative benefits and comfort.

Because mademoiselle ain't fucking interested in ANYTHING lore wise beyond what's convenient for her (not to mention the retcons), so talking about the Guardian and Kwami lore for example counts as SALT now because it automatically implies for people that Marinette isn't all that matters and her flaws of not being interest in ANYTHING might actually COUNT as flaws she should work on. I know, the fucking HORROR! 😱

I MISS writing theories, analysis posts, and speculating about this shows future plots in even the most basic "set up and pay off" manner but I know I can't because my default approach is always complementary to the main character - meaning what challenges them and the narrative the most to grow, expand, and develop. This isn't a Marinette specific thing, I ALWAYS do this.

And contrary to popular belief in this fandom, I get by perfectly fine doing that for the majority of other pieces of media I consume. It is MIRACULOUS and this damn Fandom that now genuinely did it's best to convince themselves that this level of main character centric morality and revenge porn level writing is NORMAL when it's seriously NOT.

There is a REASON why this show hardly ever gets recommended on social media the way one would think despite its success. Or why the Fan backlash is so enormous despite a solid part of the Fandom already having left long ago and the young target demographic not uniformly having a voice in the social media discourse.

Or why people actively advise others AGAINST watching the show, AGAINST forming an emotional investment, and AGAINST going anywhere near the Fandom.

Cause no fucking shit, this isn't normal.

[mariaofdoranelle]

URDAD - part 2

Concentration gradient: going down on you

Fic masterlist

Long story short, I lost track of my writing schedule because I’m on a break with none of the routine my neurodivergent brain needs to function. I’m figuring it out. I’ll post LAUN as soon as I can. Here’s some ✨apology smut✨ hehe have fun

Warnings: language, NSFW

Words: 2k

Dr. Whitethorn looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

His eyes lingered on her body for a second before they snapped back to her face. “Is everything alright?”

Aelin strolled his way without fixing her half-open robe, and moved a book so she could sit on his desk. Dr. Whitethorn didn’t restrain his gaze when she crossed her legs.

“I think I have a fever.” Aelin tilted her head, looking him in the eye. “I’m burning up, Doctor, and there’s also this ache. It’s torture.”

“Oh.” He tore his eyes off her and slightly shook his head, as if shaking something off his mind. “I’m sure I have a thermometer somewhere.”

While Dr. Whitethorn looked for his thermometer with his back to her, Aelin took her robe off.

“Got it!” He turned around with the device in his hand, but his expression changed. Dr. Whitethorn’s eyes were blown wide, lips slowly parting as he took her new state in. “Where’s your robe?”

Aelin tilted her head, exposing her neck while feigning confusion. “I thought you were going to examine me.”

“I-“ Rowan’s mouth opened and closed before something clicked and his eyes got full of determination. “We don’t need a thermometer, do we?” He closed the few steps between them, setting the thermometer down. Instead, he put one hand on the desk, next to where Aelin was sitting, and the other against her forehead. “Very feverish indeed.” The back of his hand ignited her as it softly slid against her cheek and neck. “Look, you’re shivering.”

Aelin nodded, lips parted. “I might even need continuous care.”

"I'd advise you to stay out of trouble and rest.” The hand he kept on the desk slipped to her thigh, tracing idle circles as it went up. “But I don’t think you’d follow my orders.”

“You’re wrong about that.” Aelin leaned away a little to look him in the eye, thrusting her chest out in the way and feigning innocence with her eyes. “I’ll follow every order you give me, Doctor.”

A shattered breath left his lungs, and he closed his eyes before continuing, “If you want me to take care of you…” Dr. Whitethorn sneaked his way towards her throat, applying enough pressure to send a jolt of electricity down Aelin’s spine. “You have to say my name.”

“Dr. Whi—“

He squeezed her throat harder, making a trail of goosebumps erupt on her skin. “Say my name, Aelin.”

“Rowan,” she rasped, slightly rocking her hips against his desk, desperate for any sort of friction.

His lips were almost brushing against the shell of her ear when he whispered, “Good girl.”

Aelin turned her face to him, but he still gripped her chin to meet her lips halfway. Rowan’s kiss was ravenous, he took over her mouth and turned Aelin’s blood into wildfire with every possessive swirl of his tongue.

She slid to the end of the desk, trying to meet his hips, and the movement gave him leverage to work on her neck. His rough kisses on her pulse point made her breath hitch, but Aelin wasn’t expecting it when Rowan yanked the thin strap of her nightgown, exposing one breast just to cover it with his hand.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” His voice was hoarse as he slid his fingers under her lacy panties. “But you know that already, don’t you?” He toyed with her entrance for a moment before plunging one finger in, curling it right at the spot that made her see stars. “You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t know how gorgeous you are.”

Aelin whimpered, grinding against his now two fingers before she replied, “I like hearing it better when it comes from your mouth.”

He let his free hand tease her nipple and wander around her breast, collarbone, neck, before holding her chin and tilting towards him.

“Turn around,” he commanded while removing his fingers from inside her.

Aelin frowned at the change, but complied.

“Bend.”

She leaned over his desk, not missing how her short nightgown rode up as she did, and now her ass was sticking out, unprotected from the AC’s cold air and—

Rowan smacked her ass, and it lingered in a way that made her ache and press her thighs together with need.

He leaned over her, yanked her hair so it wasn’t covering her ear, and whispered, “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Rubbing the redness off, he pecked her shoulder from behind, and gave her a moment to recover. However, that lingering burn only intensified when Rowan spanked her again.

One.

Two.

Three times.

"And this is for toying with me to get revenge."

Aelin‘s mind was too fuzzy to process his words now. She was trembling, whimpering on his desk when Rowan mentioned for her to turn around. He kneeled when she did, and the sight of him guiding her leg so it could rest on his broad shoulder made her insides flush.

Rowan didn’t spare a second before greeting her pussy with his tongue, looking her in the eye as he tasted her folds and massaged her clit. She was a whimpering mess, holding herself upright with one hand, her nerves on fire. The sight of Dr. Whitethorn worshiping her on his knees was enough to make her brain short-circuit.

He leaned away for a moment, lips parted and chin glistening with her wetness as he slowly pushed two fingers in. Trying to watch her gasp and his fingers filling her in at the same time, Rowan didn’t know where to look. He was taking her dismantled state in when Aelin grabbed his hair and led his mouth back to her.

It was too much. With his tongue on her clit while he fucked her with his fingers, Aelin felt like she was shattering from the inside out, ready to burst. Rowan toyed with her as she fell to pieces on his mouth, but she couldn’t last much longer.

Aelin cried out, knees buckling as shockwaves rippled through her body. He drew it out, not stopping until she went limp and muttering that she was being such a good girl and taking his fingers so well.

Rowan got up and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. She couldn’t understand what the look in his eyes meant, so Aelin pulled him in for another kiss.

This one was long and sweet, with Rowan rolling his tongue over hers like he had nowhere to go. He held her face with both hands and such care as if she was something precious, gently caressing her with his thumb. Aelin tugged on his waist, closing whatever little distance still was between them.

Instead of heating things up like she silently ordered, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, and they just stayed there, silent. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but Aelin wasn’t able to think a lot herself.

She ran her hands over his chest, through his cotton shirt. How can a fully-clothed person give her a mind-blowing orgasm like this?

˜˜

Dr. Whitethorn was avoiding her.

Aelin had her suspicions when he didn’t do anything after giving her head, then didn’t show up for breakfast this morning before going to work. However, it was only confirmed when Dr. Towers commented how weird it was that he asked her intern to pick up the patient’s results at the lab.

Which meant he forgot how to send the images and his report in the new software, and printed them out instead of asking Aelin for help.

She was striding down the hospital halls, her heartbeat strong as she calculated what to say.

Rowan’s spine went rigid when she stormed in unannounced, but he still gave her a close-lipped smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I guess I should grow a sixth sense to know when you need help with Anne Jausten, since you’re avoiding me now.”

His face fell. “I’m not avoiding you, I’m…” he trailed, feeling the weight of her suspicious gaze. ”buying some time before we talk.”

Aelin sat on the chair beside his and crossed her arms. “Talk about what? How you fingered me into oblivion and ghosted?”

He had the gall to flush on the cheeks. “I didn’t mean to ghost you, I was just trying to sort things out by myself first because I need to be straightforward with you.” He sighed, his eyes looked pained when he said, “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”

What. Aelin blinked, thoughts frozen as her chest tightened.

He continued, ”You were hurt. Still is, probably. Angry, too. I should’ve been the one to stop, so we can just blame this on me and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Aelin’s mouth hung open for a second, not quite understanding his train of thought. Rowan had an unannounced woman throwing herself at him in a flimsy nightgown and gave her earth-shattering oral without having a single orgasm in return. How in hell did he turn himself into the bad guy? She replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’m an adult too, Rowan, and I wouldn’t show up at your office half-naked if I wanted you to stop.”

He swallowed, his gaze a little too intense before he averted it. He pulled in a breath and slowly released it, his shoulders looking heavier each second. Rowan replied in a quieter voice, “Look, Aelin, I can’t be a pawn you use to get back at my daughter. I’m not saying Imogen’s right, you have every right to be mad at her, I’m just saying I have my own feelings to protect before engaging in whatever you two have going on.”

Oh. His words tied off whatever thread was tightening her chest, and now she felt it expand again, full of warmth. So that’s why he was acting weird. Rowan thought the only reason she sought him was to get back at Imogen.

Well, that was kind of true. Not completely, though.

“That’s one way to see it.” She tilted her head and ignored the way her pulse got faster. Laying all her feelings and intentions like this wasn’t what Aelin was used to doing with the guys her age, but it was better this way. “The way I see it, is that there’s this thing I’ve always wanted to do, but never did out of loyalty. But now the only tie holding me back is broken, so…” she trailed when something seemed to click inside his head, making his eyes widen.

“Are you telling me you were interested in me before it was convenient for you?”

Aelin nodded in response, trying to look earnest and not laugh at his confused face. The poor thing, so clueless of the effect he had on her.

“Huh.” Rowan frowned at Mora, the microscope, as he analyzed this new piece of information. “I hadn’t considered that.”

Unable to restrain herself, Aelin squeezed his fingers. “Well, you should.”

He slowly nodded, still quiet. It was cute to watch him like that, all flustered and not quite processing that a girl actually liked him.

Now that he knew it, she decided to give him space to mull this over. “There’s this broken monitor in the ER. I should go before Chief Salvaterre throws a hissy fit.”

“Sure.” Rowan aimed her a small smile. “See you at dinner?”

Aelin grinned, walking backwards to the door. “Or when you need help with Anne Jausten.”

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[finnglas]

gonna use tumblr like livejournal for a minute, just personal musings under the cut.

I'm so scattered today. I can feel my brain reaching frantically for anything it thinks will give us a little hit of dopamine to combat this horrible feeling of entering the pet-with-cancer gauntlet again. The last time I did this was in 2010 with my heart-cat, and it was fucking awful. I had nightmares for almost a year afterward where I would wake up screaming and crying from dreaming that she hadn't died after all and she'd just been slowly starving to death while I neglected her, or some other equally terrible narrative my subconscious made up out of the guilt of not being able to save her.

I'm hoping that in almost 15 years maybe my subconscious has learned some better coping methods than just torturing all of us.

It also means that I'm questioning any plans that take me away from home, or any decisions to change jobs or... Well, you probably get it. Her first appointment with the oncologist is Thursday, so we'll know more then. Feeling guilty that I have to request time off from work again right after I finally got my requested schedule, but they don't do evaluation appointments on any days I'm already off.

(Just talking out the guilt at this point.)

Anyway. I was going to talk about the projects I want to work on and how I can feel my brain fluttering around them like "maybe this would distract us." Let's see if it does.

I want to finish the final Maya & Grace story and collect them all into a little omnibus that I can do a print run of. Problems: I have to decide where I want them to go. It will also have to be a slightly longer story than the other two-and-a-half to make the collection long enough to print. I also want to revisit/rewrite "Shiver," since I felt like it wasn't ready to publish when I put it out, but I had promised a friend that we would both write Halloween stories that year and then they passed away over the summer, so I felt like I needed to keep that promise somehow. But it needs some finessing.

Night Is For Hunting needs some rewriting too. Basically what got published was my first draft. And that's how I learned that I cannot write to someone else's deadline, even with an extension. I'll have the rights for all three books back in April of next year (April? June?) and would like to celebrate by releasing the Director's Cut of NIFH so that I can get on with the business of writing Wilderness of Horrors.

I wanted to write a thoughtful blog-article type piece on the effect of economic class on my choice of narratives. I realized that I write a lot of stories about people's complicated relationships with their hometowns - wanting to leave, but also not feeling confident in where they're going. I read an advice book once that was like, "What does your character want?" and the answer to almost all of them was "To get out," and it really comes back to the fact that I write small town, working class characters as a default. And when you're from a small town in an economically depressed area, you understand from the start that there's not a bright future for you there. You can graduate high school and get a job at the 7/11 or the Piggly Wiggly and get married to one of your old classmates and have kids that you don't have the time, attention, or money to care for -- or you can leave. You can go to a bigger town with more opportunity and people you don't already know. And you might end up worse, but hey, the dice are there for you to roll. Add to that if you're queer or neurodivergent, especially in a time before the internet, and whew buddy! You've heard that all authors just write the same stories over and over? That's the one I keep writing. I guess because it's mine, in a lot of ways.

Blackthorn is languishing thanks to all the stress and stuff but it was going so well and I really want to finish writing it before I focus on the rewrite projects (there are three). But the rewrite projects are so seductive because lmao they're already written. I just have to fix them. And I'm so much better at fixing them.

All right. clawed myself out of the worst of the abyss for now.

[blorbologist]

do you think canon Percy is neurodivergent / on the spectrum? I personally hc him as such but what is your opinion on this subject? what are things that stand out to you?

Hi anon!

I do as well! Full disclaimer: I am autistic, my brother is autistic and has ADHD, and our father is probably on the spectrum as well but in vehement denial. However, I got Very Good at masking, to the point I rarely unmask and spend all my energy dealing with Social Bullshit, while my brother is... idk, super charismatic in social settings, somehow, but a nightmare with Tasks and Sensory Hell. So I usually project autism onto characters given my lived experience, but can 100% see how he has ADHD vibes as well! I think neurodivergent rep is very important, and it's great that we can see ourselves in these characters <3

I will repeat this a lot, but Percy has also undergone a fuckton of trauma. A lot of his traits that remind me of myself could be due to PTSD. His panic attacks, for instance, are things I'd slot more with PTSD, personally. You can read his character different ways (I read him as having both), and that's good on you. However, I am autistic and I like projecting My Me onto the blorbo so that's what you get.

A couple of things stand out to me:

The whole Feywild thing reminds me of a special interest. Less so in the campaign, but given how they play it up in TLOVM I really suspect it's the case. Clockmaking also seems like the sort of very specific, detailed work that'd make my brain go brrr if it was my thing, so? Is that anything?

A lot of how he is described (by himself or by Tal) pre-Briarwoods could align with a little introvert noble with no social skills and a whole fuckton of arrogance, but it also aligns nicely with an autistic kid.

Just. how many times Cass has to imply 'percy I can't handle Whitestone alone' before he gets the memo. is insane. it's either 'his autistic ass isn't getting what she's trying to say' or 'percy stop being a dick and help your sister out you KNOW what she's asking'. either way works for me! But I'd like to hope he's not intentionally shoving responsibility on his little sister and use that as an excuse.

We don't know if he had issues being touched prior to being tortured ("We didn't touch in my family"), and the trauma of what Ripley did to him could 110% account for that! But I like to slot it away into my 'on the spectrum' vibes box.

Layers. Layers. Layers! Again, another potential covariate with the fact he's a poncy noble, and has a vested interest in hiding his scars, but I am Particular about what touches my skin at a given time. I like long sleeves and pants and gloves because then it's always the same sensory things on me and not changing.

Just how slow he is to court Vex. Because maybe he's reading the social cues wrong, and he has to be Obvious about his interest too, and becomes a fancy bird giving gifts because that's the best way he can think of supporting her and expressing interest while figuring out whatever the fuck this Attraction thing is.

Perhaps just a Tal thing (I see it with Ashton too, or I did when going over the Laudna n Ashton convo with a fine toothed comb the other day), but how much he fidgets when talking. Constantly moving.

His entire friendship with Keyleth is very autism vibes. Could purely be coming form her, or shared, who knows! (I am a huge supporter of autistic Keyleth, here n there I'll sneak in a line about her stimming <3)

Might just be a Me thing, but how he turns to Vex when he's feeling big emotions and doesn't trust himself to handle them. What the fuck are these, I think this impulse to lash out at Scanlan is probably bad, dear please keep me from doing anything stupid.

Also it's very funny for me to do the 'me and the bad bitch I pulled being autistic' meme with him and Vex ngkntrjnhrt

[fallowtail]

screaming and clawing at the walls because all i wanna do is draw or write or even just read and talk to people normally or fucking watch tv or Anything but i can’t because my brain is an empty incomprehensible sludge pile that i’m supposed to be grateful to experience and love “being me!” because being neurodivergent is sooooo fun and cool and awesome and is apparently supposed to make me intelligent and good at things and not at all a completely hellish existence that makes life absolutely not worth living, something that i shouldn’t want to be cured from if i had the chance (extreme intense sarcasm)!!!! god i was reading old vent posts to torture myself and its like. man. 13 years of venting about the same thing on this same website and nothing has changed because nothing ever will change because there is no way to fix this because it is an innate thing broken in my brain that there’s no cure for. awesome. 😎👍

[theparadoxmachine]

I need to explain why this man means so much to me.

I grew up in the 90s, actually a little too young to have watched him the first go around. But growing up, I feel like every show I watched had a storyline where the main character has to learn the lesson Be Yourself. And that's a fine message. But those characters were specifically designed to appeal to a mass audience of kids. They were everyman style characters. And frankly, it's easier to Just Be Yourself when you're an everyman and the weirdest thing about you is that you still play with Barbies in middle school (everyone did this I think) I liked those characters fine too. There's nothing wrong with Lizzie MacGuire or Ginger Foutley. But they weren't me. The characters that most resembled me were usually in episodes where the lesson was Don't Judge a Book By Its Cover. See it's a lot harder to swallow the lesson of "Just be yourself! Give people a chance to know the real you!" When you're weird. And I was WEIRD.

I now realize that I am in fact a traumatized, mentally ill neurodivergent queer woman, but back then I was a Weird Girl. So yeah good for you Lizzie, you're not getting bullied for ribbon dancing but what were my peers supposed to do with someone like me? I was reading Poe at the age of 8. I was quiet and liked fire and wanted to be a war goddess while being afraid of everything. The family joke was that I was actually from another planet. I was processing trauma I didn't know I had while listening to John Williams and Fleetwood Mac while everyone else was listening to Hansen and the Spice Girls. I loved reading about curses and cryptids and medieval torture devices. No amount of just be yourself messages from cartoon preteens was going to cut it.

But then there was Pee-wee. Pee-wee was WEIRD. His entire thesis statement was weirdness. He was the Patron Saint of Weirdos. He looked me dead in my eyes and, as Paul said on Portlandia, told me BEING WEIRD IS NOT A CRIME. When someone with a pet pterodactyl and a talking armchair tells you it's ok to be yourself, you fucking believe them. He walked the weird walk and took as many weirdos along with him as were willing to join him. And there were many it turns out.

Would Pee-wee think my love of horror and death was weird? Probably. Would he think it was weird that I make friends with moths and wasps and spiders and snakes? Yeah. But you better believe he'd take one look at my gothy apartment and put me right at the top of his list of people to call when it was time to decorate for Halloween. I'd have been on the guest list for his Halloween parties every year. Because being weird wasn't something that needed to be forgiven or tolerated. Being weird is a GOOD thing.

I have had such a strange emotional journey lately but where I've landed now is this. I'm not sure I can live for myself right now. But I'm going to do my best to stick around. For him. For Pee-wee and for Paul. Because I know he'd want me to. He'd want me to live and be weird and rejoice in my weirdness.

And he was always there. During bouts of depression and hardship, through all my health problems. His natural soft speaking voice always resonated at the perfect frequency to calm me down during my anxiety attacks. When I was stuck at home with spinal fluid draining into my brain, I played Pee-wee's Big Adventure, because it made me happy and because the dvd always restarted without prompting so I never had to get up if I lost the remote amongst my messed up sheets.

I met him in 2017. I pushed back all my social anxiety and went alone to my first convention because he was going to be there. Doing the terrible math, this would have been around the time he probably got diagnosed. I will be forever glad I went. I was speechless but I shook his hand and held it and tried to thank him, to convey without words how and why he's one of my favorite people in the whole world. The line for the meet and greet was over 2 hours long. He had to leave in the middle to get something to eat. He went to every single person in line and apologized and promised he would be back. I regret I'll never get to bring him muffins. But he was by all accounts one of the sweetest men in the world and I'm going to spend a lot of time missing him. And rejoicing in my weirdness. Because being weird is not a crime. Because he'd want me to. Because weirdos have to stick together.

And given the people I met at that convention, I think it's safe for me to paraphrase the words of Blanche Devereaux here and say, if love can help you wherever you are, you've got it. More than you could ever know.

I love you and I miss you.

[yaminerua]

negative vent

the state of my life rn feels like a runaway train

man idk how people can just cook and clean up and not just completely feel like they’re turning to dust afterwards from exhaustion

idk how my family made breakfast lunch and dinner and navigated me not liking the main dinner as a kid and having to have something else bc just making one meal for three of us is enough to put me in the ground so the thought of having to do an additional meal alongside the first one makes my brain feel like it’s ripping itself apart with stress

I end up completely mentally and physically drained bc of all the different steps plus the anxiety of making sure I tidy up afterwards bc if I don’t do it immediately it won’t get done and it’ll build up

there’s got to be some neurodivergence making this extra hard but whether that’s just the good old fashioned depression or something else that makes it feel like torture trying to maintain just regular daily upkeep idk

my dad is trying desperately to make money in a self employed job that hasn’t fucking paid anything in years bc it relies on business deals he facilitates actually going ahead and reaching the payment stage which has literally never happened in the years he’s been trying to do it bc he lives in a fantasy land where he thinks he can make big money on big deals with people who do not give a fuck that we are struggling to hold onto our fucking house and who could fix our problems with one payment that wouldn’t even dent their mountains of money

so he is on the phone constantly and unable to find time to feed himself or my brother who sleeps until 6pm, won’t eat anything after midnight and is losing weight while already considered underweight despite me now spending nearly all day in the kitchen trying to get meals and snacks and shit for him to keep him from getting any more underweight

and I’m just buckling man

I have no time for myself to just sit and chill properly. Even when I try to get a drawing or something doodled out it’s done while I’m sitting in the kitchen waiting for my legs to stop throbbing so I can get back to cooking or washing up. I keep talking about wanting to get back to digital art and commissions once I have my hands on a laptop but the reality is even when I get that I might still just not have the actual time to do what I used to love doing

I haven’t been out of the house much since before the pandemic. I haven’t seen any friends since then either. My life has become a slog of wake up, spend the day in the kitchen in a constant frenzied anxiety cooking state, go to bed and be plagued by the Horrors making me just want to die and not have to wake up to more of the same and there’s no end to it

I’m still waiting for the dwp to give me the extra money I am eligible for and I’m dreading the winter after the struggle the last one was.

I’d have takeout more often if we could justifiably afford it. But my brother is particular about those too and only eats certain things so even if I had the money and energy I don’t have much I can work with. How do you fit a full day’s worth of meals into less than 5 hours when your options are further limited by what he’ll accept

I’m worried about him and his low energy. I’m worried about dad and his high stress. I’m worried about the house being taken if our money runs out. I feel guilty that I’m failing my brother and dad despite turning myself inside out to cook for them and tidy up after myself and make sure they get food even tho it’s clearly not enough.

and on top of that I’ve had a shitty wheezy chest for months presumably bc of the air quality in here bc of the dust and clutter that just has sat for ages bc who has the time to go through it and there’s fucking clothes moths hanging around spiders everywhere and I can move the clutter to clean around it enough

I’m absolutely clawing my way through each day and the only reason I don’t just give in to the exhaustion and spend the whole week in bed is the fact they both need me to do this

pre-covid my uncle used to spend more time here bc my granny was here so things were so much more balanced and maintained but after his mental health struggles in lockdown knocked him for six the state of the house stresses him out so much he can’t come near and it depresses him and as a result I haven’t seen him since last year at my granny’s birthday at the care home and before that it was sometime in 2020 the last I’d seen him

I’m on the brink of collapse and I’ve had a whole bunch of dizzy spells in the kitchen lately and yet I push on bc I can’t stop

I’ve become some kind of spindly pillar trying desperately to hold up a crumbling household and I’m splintering in the process under the pressure but what can I do? If I don’t do this it’ll only be much worse

fucking hell im so tired

[education-over-demonization]

Yes, I tried to learn something from Google searches, documentaries or essays. It is difficult, because there's a lot of misinformation, that's why I felt the need to ask here.

"DID is tricky because even if a final fusion occurred that person is at risk for splitting again, as it’s what the brain is used to and brains love patterns". I think that this that you say is key. I have to bear in mind that, and it happens with the majority of disorders, so, comparing, I kind of get the idea.

About the non-human alters! I understand so much more know, because of what you said, with the example of being a witness of the situation and as a mechanism. What I was asking came to me when I saw that some systems sign their names on their posts depending on who is fronting, as well as pronouns, etc. I don't understand what happens there when the alter fronting is non-human.

I hope this time my description helps. I know I'm being messy.

I completly understand the family issue. It happens to any neurodivergent person but I can't imagine what kind of torture it most be in a DID case.

What you say about getting a diagnose is the most honest, clair and human testimony I have heard. I can't agree more. The vulnerability that lies when you are no longer being able to deny it, and living a reality that isn't for you or hasn't been for your mind, is something huge. And if I talk about the bravery it takes to accept it and try to be okay, better, and doing it for yourself, even in a world that not only doesn't help, well… I won't end.

"I do consider them to be family while someone who fronts less may not". I was supposing that. It makes total sense. Thank you.

Haha, I'm glad I didn't fuck up this time. And that's it, to destigmatize the DID to other people. I wish I could do that, having enough information and right, but I will try to stigmatize every time less through learning. That's something I CAN do and I SHOULD do.

This is an opinion of mine, so maybe it's just bullshit (probably). But it seems to me that the DID develops in especially sensitive and intelligent people.

The brain could simply shut down from the trauma, but in these cases it develops a system so complex that it is still difficult even for the people who carry it to understand. But it may be one more possibility among the reactions to a trauma. It is something so unacceptable that it forces a child to shield himself and turn his mind because he is defenseless against a reality from which he can neither shield nor modify.

Once again, thank you enormously. Rest assured that I will not stop my interest here, I know that I have a lot to learn. You have helped me more than you can imagine.

As far as nonhuman alters, what fronting looks like will vary because no two are the same. For me it's fairly easy as my role involves me talking, socializing, driving, reading, writing, all the things a person would do. Although it does feel a little funky within the first few minutes as it feels like adjusting to a new body, but this isn't exclusive to nonhuman alters, plenty of human alters have to adjust to the fact that the body may not be anything like what they are like. Our body is fairly short, so if someone taller fronts this can make things very annoying for them'. As far as inanimate objects, it could simply look like sitting. For example a statue alter may be very still and work to blend in with scenery. For us we have an ANP near the front so if human behavior is needed we can simply step in to help out there.

And as far as sensitivity, people who are a little odd or "sensitive" far more likely to be subject to abuse. So someone with preexisting mental conditions or "anomalies" is more likely to be subject to the abuse that would cause a system to form. A child who is aware that they aren't like their peers is far easier to manipulate, and less likely to have people to protect them. "Normal" kids are easy. ND kids are not. It's awful but it's very easy for people to ignore and call us dramatic.

We also are seen as sensitive because sometimes it's necessary. We need to be attune to every little thing, be aware of anything that might hint that someone is displeased so we can change. And someone who is sensitive and desperate to please is an abusers dream, so while this can be a quality that is present pre-trauma most kids are sensitive, and this trait is something that is cultivated. Abused kids are groomed and conditioned to be hyper-aware of how to please, thus this translates to sensitivity.

And DID is a way of shutting down sometimes, especially with inanimate objects. Rather than fight, you become the object you're treated as, making it easier to cope with. Brains are also really funky, what will completely tear apart one person might not another. The thing with DID is that the trauma is continuous and repetitive from an early age, rather than say one bad event.

[boatliker]

as a person with delayed sleep phase disorder what really gets up my ass about this is how "normal" sleep schedule havers treat it like a fucking moral failing and not just an inherent way our brain functions, and shocking to absolutely nobody that this has a lot of overlap with neurodivergency. being awake at hours my brain is not accustomed to is physically painful to me, every organ in my body hurts, i feel dizzy, like i am dying. forcing me to keep a diurnal schedule would almost certainly mean i'd be dead at 40 from the sheer stress it puts on my body. i'm sure a neurotypical diurnal person would feel the same way if they had their sleep schedule contorted to having to work graveyard shift all the time too.

it's actually pretty fucking debilitating living in a society that prioritizes and rewards diurnal schedules only. family members may treat you badly for it, you're ruled out for like 99% of jobs that pay well because they all start in the morning if you don't wanna work minimum wage retail/foodservice (which are poor fits for neurodivergent people anyway lbr). people with delayed phase sleep are seen as lazy because we naturally sleep in the morning, even though if you put me on swing shift hey guess what i'm not a fucking zombie and can function better and with more energy and clarity because i slept at a natural time for me instead of contorting myself, but you're never going to find job listings offered for swing shift for an office or whathaveyou. sleep disorders are a PERFECT example of the social model of disability where our lives wouldn't be so impacted if we weren't treated as degenerate slobs for things we literally cannot control and may have even spent unfathomable amounts of time and money attempting to "cure" it (hey this sure has some parallels to trying to "cure" autism doesn't it lol).

and yeah, lmao, sleep medicine is a fucking joke. i tried to get a sleep study done and got a referral, the clinic kept calling me in the morning, would NEVER answer their phone any time i called back and left multiple voicemails instructing them to call me in the afternoon, and they never fucking did so i eventually just gave up lmao. you'd think if you worked in a sleep clinic and a patient tells you not to call them in the morning that would be a pretty fucking clear sign this person SLEEPS IN THE MORNING (or they might just plain not be available! they could be at work or something!) and they're calling up a SLEEP MEDICINE place...

as i get older i notice that i do start to get tired and go to bed earlier, so my sleep schedule has shifted back a couple hours, but i still do not foresee ever being able to get up at a "normal time" at the crack of dawn like neurotypical people do, and i still get migraines from bright lights that get worse as i age. attempts made in the past to "correct" my sleep always resulted in pain and abysmal function, and many medicines and prescriptions and supplements tried with no lasting results. the only thing that does work at reliably getting me to sleep is weed, but that's not going to send me to bed before midnight either because of how my brain is wired. it just is what it is... but i also wish it felt like society had more room in it for people like us instead of damning us to unlivable poverty wage jobs as punishment for not having a good protestant work ethic sleep schedule if we don't want to or can't torture ourselves. lol. lmao

sorry to have gone off on a big ol' rant but this shit 100% absolutely is a disability in a capitalist society driven by protestant bullshit and the fake idea that the time you get out of bed is a determinant for your perceived work ethic and your value as a person instead of just... being different, and being accepted and understood.

one of the most enlightening realizations ive had was finding out that non-24 hour circadian rhythm people were a pretty large group and most of us have oddly similar cycles of usually around 28hr internal "days" and this masquerades as "insomnia" but if allowed to sleep and wake naturally we will just advance forward through time an extra 2-4 hours a day at a relatively stable pace. we can't go to school or jobs or even run errands on normal schedules without massive pharmacological and behavioral intervention. most of the people who have been diagnosed or figured it out themselves will report horrific, life-ruining disruption in their professional lives and terrible health from accrued lack of sleep. this disorder is most common in vision-impaired people which seems to suggest it's related to light cues. anyway just thinking about this as extremely loud yard work woke me up at 8am for the second day in a row

[dino-strange]

Saw a post about not respecting people who eat at Chick Fil a and how there's some nuance but if your reason it just "it tastes too good" then fuck you but then the notes are all like ZERO NUANCE FUCKING KILL YOURSELF IF YOU EAT AT CHICK FUCK LE EVER YOU CUNTS and even OP was in the notes saying they take back the nuance comment and that anyone who eats it deserves zero respect and like

I get it trust me

But also. As a neurodivergent individual. If I have a day where any other food would make me gag or the idea of making food/finding other food sends me into a fucking shutdown then like. I'm getting the god damn chick Fil a. Because at that point, unfortunately, it is "eat from the place I would rather be boycotting or go hungry until your body goes to sleep and then feel like hot dog shit for the entire rest of the next day or two"

And the answer to if that's something I'm willing to do should be obvious. Sometimes I cannot convince my brain otherwise and I have TRIED when that happens, have taken hours trying not to. But at this point I accept the way my brain works and just like, do it instead of torturing myself mentally and physically.

[rum-inspector]

I am having so much FUN writing absolutely self indulgent fan fic right now, a silly daydream I had blown out of proportion turning into a long story arc. The protagonist is unapologetically ME but less mental illness and anxiety so they can actually go out and do stuff - me but marysuefied. The og characters have the traits I like expanded almost to unrecognizeable degree. Everyone is queer or neurodivergent or both.

The setting is someplace I only know from media and I'm likely getting it all wrong. The romance arc is pRoBlEmAtIc in multiple different ways but also the most wholesome thing I have ever written. The comedy goes beyond good taste. I am making "heroes" say stuff and have views that are not perfect and make them grow (or resist it) instead of pretending people are just innately good or bad and any depiction of morality as individual value set instead of universal is cancelous. The drama and plots are full of cliche and whatever "plot" there is serves as excuses to put characters in fetishy situations. I will figure out a way to wiggle in theresonlyonebed I assure you. And I will make sure it's in the point of the story when it is the most awkward because I can not stop torturing my fictional subjects even if they are self inserts. Suffer! Suffer, fictional me, I have a tease&denial kink and I am going to make it uh oh my own problem.

It is unlikely I will ever publish it even in Ao3 as what I write will be too queer for the fans of the og media but the og media is not particularly favored by lgbt - but those few who do enjoy slash fics of it may very well despise self inserts and my headcanons coming to meddle with theirs.

I have been writing for days and No I don't have a single chapter ready, not even a fully written scene. That is not How I write. I write like a sculptor. My stories are completely unreadable bits and pieces that only make sense to me almost until the whole thing is ready (the way my brain works isn't linear nor narrated - I keep making connections as I go, jumping from foreshadowing to payout to sowing new seeds for another thread and feeling excitement when everything finally stars falling in place or I find connection that was missing or I realize a bit in the OG media supports what I wrote better than I even thought)

THIS IS GLORIOUS FEELING AND I HEARTILY RECOMMEND. Writing so fully for yourself. The freedom to be silly and give no fucks (or too many, according search the word fuck appears 16 times in it already, half of them in one single scene).

[dredshirtroberts]

an update on acceptance, if you're following that lol

I think that the reality of things has been weighing on me a while. i'm not... i'm not saying the acceptance level has changed overnight, that's silly.

It hasn't, I just... it's different this morning. Not better, not worse (thank fuck) but... different.

I'm working on letting things go. Which is hard, my brain likes to get it's spindly fingers deep into an idea and tuck it inside of our ribs into a place I cannot reach. Sometimes it'll spin it around and around and it's all I can focus on.

I may or may not have some OCD tendencies, that's not the important thing here.

Who's really getting anything out of me torturing myself over things that... none of the other parties involved even realize is an issue? (or if they do realize it's an issue they don't care... can never decide which feels worse)

I was medically, emotionally and academically neglected and/or abused by my parents as a child. I cannot change these things. They happened.

I am physically disabled and have neurodivergence and mental illness out the wazoo. These are my things to handle and deal with. I did not ask to have these things happen to me, but this is what I must now deal with.

This may sound like acceptance. It is not. Not fully. Probably not ever fully. I remain bitter about these facts, no matter how plainly I state them.

I think it's probably okay if I'm not farther along about this yet. I've got time. We'll figure it out.

If you're reading this, and you're struggling with these things too, I see you. I hear you. I love you. Thanks for reading. <3 i hope you have luck in your journey to acceptance too. <3

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

So, given I both have a background in research anthropology and ethnography of selfhood and am a practicing mental health clinician, allow me to propose some contextualizations that might make this stuff a little more accessible to folks with less exposure to the Special Kind of Little Freak that often makes up the current primary demographics of mental health research:

1) has anyone seen that post about how when we study psychology and mental health that's actually a brain trying to study itself because if we are our brains and our brains are us, and our brains are how we learn and understand things? Mental health research and practice as a discipline is - somehow - **wildly** self selecting for the kind of person who not only thinks that post is funny, not only thinks that post is actually a viable and accessible framework of understanding for the discipline as a whole that has been well synthesized for memetic communication, but ALSO thinks that's the coolest shit on earth and hey just out of curiosity, what do we think about the possibility of our brains just straight up LYING to us during that process and how we might be able to complexify the relationship between analysis and selfhood within analysis enough to know whether or not that's happening

2) it turns out that YES IN FACT THAT PROBABLY IS HAPPENING

3) it turns out that proving or disproving that is a bit akin to proving or disproving the nature and existence of your god(s)

4) it turns out that theological students and anthropologists and psychologists are all insanely excited to talk to each other all the time because once you become that Special Kind of Little Freak it is REALLY hard to have a normal conversation with anyone ever again, and that means people have started calling you "intense" a lot, or maybe "intimidating to talk to" and like. It turns out that once you dip your toes into the water of ontological debate of the meaning and measure of reality, pandora's box has been opened and there's basically nowhere to go but onwards towards madness

5) psychologists and theology students usually still HAVE to be able to interact with like. Normal people??? Though??? Because that's their job??? But like. You a freak now, and they can **smell** it on you

6) so this is where the magic happens you see? You have a person who'se only way to authentically interact with society is as a series of increasingly abstracted theory models with visible and meaningful implications, but literally everyone (including you often) fucking HAAAAAAAAATE that you ALWAYS do that because seriously can something just not be that deep for ONCE????

7) this means that when you isolate a flock of these people amongst themselves, they will gradually trend further and further towards Special Kind of Little Freak behavior within the group because using it as a significant outlet for that behavior allows us to uhhhhhhhh

Not. You know. Torture the people we love with our bullshit. Have actual relationships! Be A Person Who Definitely Doesn't Have Specific Post-Death Instructions About Their Corpse Designed To Antagonize People's Relationship to Death-The-Conceptual-Reality Immediately Upon Being Observed And Definitely Doesn't Know Anyone Who Would Do That Either

And like. Before anyone makes this a neurodivergence thing, yes! For sure that plays a part!

But I promise you that my relationship to my neurodivergence is nearly identical to my mother's (as is the way of the woman who spawned a clone for a child lol) and she DOES NOT have the same relationship to this stuff that I do. Her brain works the same way, values the same things, and finds interest and engagement in the same kind of stimuli. But when I shared with her my new plan for when I die (to commission a cast-model of my own skull and then have my cremains turned into gemstones to set in the model's little eye cavities and put it into a case in a place of honor at a lesbian cafe opened in my name and in honor of my beloved Butch And Nellie's back home) she was so relieved because the last she'd known I still wanted to be sunk into a bog with my most beloved possessions and a diary I wrote specifically to fuck with future anthropologists/archeologists, and while she was WILLING to do that it made her so very very anxious to think about and she liked the new idea better.

And like.

That's the difference.

The current crop of researchers and practitioners in these fields are feral little birds of prey divebombing every conversation they have with juicy bits of theoretical exploration, but also sometimes the hawk that hunts the rabbit colony near my creek misses the rabbits and faceplants directly into the dirt at diving speeds and I can literally hear his head collide with the ground from inside the house so we look at each other thru the basement window and he knows that I know that one of the most powerful predators of the sky is a fucking doofus just like all the chickens he watches me mock by the hen-shed.

And like. People will treat that like it's mutual exclusive. You're so smart and your work sounds so interesting! That must mean you're also really buttoned down and respectable all the time yeah? Hey uh. Why does the convention hall have a beer pong table except people are filling the solo cups from the chemical supply closet? That seems....bad????? Oh. You're trying to guess which chemical it is after you've mixed them all up like you're practicing identifying rocks with hardness scales in the geology lab? Some of you are, in fact, licking the samples to do this?? Cool, cool, I think that actually the people over in the corner vigorously debating the (theological) canonical implications of a Sikh werewolf, thank you, at least I can pretend they're not *genuinely* invested in the conclusion.

dropped the walrus vs fairy question on a group of psychologists today and not only did the majority agree the walrus would be more surprising, the one with the strongest background in research responded to the ‘but fairies aren’t real’ argument with “are your beliefs so inflexible that you’ve never considered you might be wrong about what’s real and what’s not?” and honestly i haven’t recovered

[kobeniliker]

im mad at my parents and i dont want to do my summer schoolwork. or, insignificant ramblings from a child who doesn't know anything.

Guilt of rest is all consuming. Cant take harsh words from you. This is your fault, not the system we live in. you say, as i run on a hamster wheel, in a cycle of meaningless work and meaningful tears. Endless. I cant take breaks. The world is quite literally on fire. How is this any reprieve? I turn a blind eye and become ignorant for a time, though as it turns out i am always ignorant because at least im not the one being bombed or tortured or killed. Be grateful. 

the breaks i take are too long, when i do rest. The world keeps fucking turning. Wake up in a body that aches and a brain that is too loud. Wake in a room that feels like being cooked in an oven even through air conditioning, but its still better than outside. Wake up in a world where this is just another day. Its so hard just to keep on living. You want me to do more? Its a miracle im still alive. 

Why cant we be content with that. Why do you expect great things from me now. I will be great in my own time. I have done great things. I have laughed, i have cried, i have immersed myself in the dark and cold,  i have made music from wood and steel, i have listened, i have spoken, and i will do so much more. It is not enough, though. It is not profitable. 

Your happiness is not profitable. Why buy when you have all you need? Your misery is profitable. The drive to have enough, to consume, to feel secure. I am neither. I am angry. I want to make them suffer and drag them down and make them feel all the confusion and pain and fear and anger of a queer neurodivergent hispanic honors student living in the world that they fucking built. And then. And then i want to tear it down.

The world will keep turning either way.