Semi-ranty post (it's kinda long so I put a divider lol)
Y'all ever get so unbelievably angry that you feel like ripping out your own teeth using your bare hands? Or is that just me?
...
I have healthy ways of dealing with stress and anger; why do you ask?
Really is times like these when I realize that I have issues displaying and conveying my emotions.
Like I want to pull out my own hair (which I used to do and apparently that's not a good thing lol) and scream.
...
As bad as it is to say,
I wish I was normal.
Seriously hate how my brain functions.
(not trying to shit on the rest of the neurodivergent folks; please don't take it as that.)
(Also, just in case someone asks: I can't afford therapy so venting via socials is the best I've got... Since I don't talk to my parents about how I feel either.)
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the other day i was looking through the drawings on my old laptop and found this self-portrait art challenge thing i did at some point several years ago, so i thought it would be interesting to update it with my current self for old times' sake :-) i don't know why i felt the need to be so mean to myself in all the descriptions but i have tried to be at least slightly nicer this time around. sorry past me [id under cut]
[id: a series of four full-body digital drawings of a pale-skinned person at different ages. the first three depict me in 2007, 2013, and 2017 under the heading 'George'; the fourth, in a different art style, depicts me in 2023 under the heading 'Ned (I changed my name)'.
the first drawing shows a young child with long hair wearing a fluffy pink jumper, a pink skirt, and pink shoes. bullet points above read:
annoying
copies other people constantly
draws cute animals
arrogant
cries when told off
maybe 1 friend
the second drawing shows a young teenager wearing a hoodie and trainers and looking uncomfortable. bullet points above read:
anxious
listens to Simon and Garfunkel exclusively
bad under pressure
anime
writes bad fanfiction
draws bad fanart
the third drawing shows a smiling teenager wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and brown boots. bullet points above read:
what the HELL is a Self Esteem
really into 60s music
cries a lot
0 fashion sense
usually dissociating
thinkin about trees
the fourth drawing shows a young man with messy brown hair, a striped brown shirt, a beige woollen tank top, and burgundy plaid trousers; he is leaning on a wood-textured folding cane and holding the strap of a brown leather satchel with his other hand. bullet points above read:
still no self-esteem but medicated now
significantly worse handwriting (wrist knackered)
I haven't changed much to be honest
RBF so severe I get followed around by the security guards at the supermarket
autism
end id.]
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im literally incapable of setting small goals so i get sad when i dont accomplish them. theyre insane shit like "fully craft 12 songs as a self-taught musician playing every single instrument and recording entirely by yourself AND do it all within the span of three weeks." like BRO??? did I know I can just make one or two. its ok. hold my hands....
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Just one time. I want my irl friends to treat me like a human being. Just one time. I don't want to be treated like I'm a doll that can't handle anything and that'll blow up anytime if they say the wrong thing. I don't want them to be scared of me. I don't want them to tiptoe around me. Just once. I don't even know how this all happened. All I ever do is smile and nod. I don't know why they're so careful around me. I don't know. I don't know.
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Home is something Beatrice has grappled with. A word that sits on her tongue unyielding, it sours the inside of her mouth. The taste lingers and there is no reprieve for breathing. She does not care for a place in the world but something inside her needs it. The thought shames her, to need something so desperately. (To want on the brink of desperation and longing, to search for an answer only to be scorned tramples her heart). The need sweeps through her and she is helpless to do anything but let it pass. (And yet she cannot stop looking, she is not human but she hopes wildly like one).
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Ah man just, the mental dissonance from touching grass a couple days and then coming back here
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