you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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The horror of supernatural is how sam starts the show as a young man angry at how he’s been abused, believing he deserves better, and by the end of the show he’s an old man, centuries old, even though it’s been fifteen years, and he doesn’t get angry anymore, just tired, because he believes he deserves all of the abuse he’s been put through, because he was born “wrong”.
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playing it cool is soooo incredibly stupid
tell people you love them. tell them you miss them or think about them all the time. respond right away. text them first.
people are so cold but being warm feels so good. close interpersonal relationships that hold meaning are one of the best things that this world has to offer. don’t deny yourself from that experience out of pride or fear of rejection.
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nsfw. MDNI. x f!reader.
•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙♡*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛
wriothesley binding your wrists with his tie is all well and good...
but what about when he ties it around your ankles before lifting them in the air? his leaking cock bounces when he catches sight of your swollen pussy lips sticking out between the fat of your trembling thighs. he's got a firm grip on the makeshift restraint, keeping your legs up when they want to give out. with his free hand he guides his cock to your slit, spreading your wet lips open around his fat tip as he slowly pushes inside you. you cry out at the fullness of the stretch, your legs shaking on his shoulder as he wraps his hands over your hips to steady you.
"fuck, so warm and tight, baby..." wrio groans, working his cock in deeper with slow thrusts until his heavy balls are pressing against your taint. "gonna fuck my shape into you..."
he fucks you long and hard, making you twist and white-knuckle the fabric beneath you, your eyes rolling back as his strong thighs slap into you. holding his shirt up with his teeth and your ankles together with his tie, the duke watches while your wet, puffy lips suck and give on his creamy, thick length.
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