if I'm reading this: go to sleep

37, bi. She/her. Dogs, always. Photography, illustration, art, memes. I should probably be asleep. No transphobes.

[doctorpeppers]

I live a few buildings down from a Colombian nightclub (it’s loud when they’re open but it’s exclusively Colombian salsa and I don’t hear it in my bedroom so it’s kind of nice all things considered), and oh dear lol, the highs and lows of football. My guys had air horns in there. I could hear them. I could also hear the groans. Losing to penalties sucks.

I’m not following the World Cup, I’m just checking in whenever cars drive past honking like crazy to see which diaspora community is having a great night.

Also Jesus Christ could you imagine if we hadn’t kicked the US team into a bloody whimpering pulp? Lmao you needed that and you’re welcome and love you

[doctorpeppers]

Engraved in my memory like a literal record I have the sound of that video of the guy playing Amnesia: The Dark Descent where he goes “Oh shit I have a bag of milky ways!” and you hear the bag of milky ways rustling followed immediately by a series of screams presumably when he looks up from his bag of milky ways and looks back at the screen.

[doctorpeppers]

Was so hurt in a way that I couldn’t properly deal with in the moment, but it was so painful that I couldn’t do nothing. So yesterday I changed back out of my pajamas and went to the queer bar to give the owners a big bag of mini bags of haribo halloween gummy candy and then I left immediately because it was really busy and I already felt like a small see through ghost. I think I knew that giving drunk people candy would make them feel something at least a little bit close to something that I needed to feel but couldn’t. And even though I couldn’t feel better because I did that, I knew I liked that I did it.

Today I felt worse because my brain isn’t letting me realize how hurt I am all at once, but I knew it wouldn’t be busy at the bar and if I was going to get intoxicated to cope then it would be good to start there and not on my own. The owners have always let me be a sad stray cat there, and it’s been really bad recently but those few times I did manage to drag myself out of the hell I’ve been going through to go to that place where two people at least recognize me and see me and not a ghost, they made me feel like they’re glad to see that the sad stray cat popped in.

So earlier I walked in, and the owner I handed the bag to yesterday before I dipped smiled, and she said, “Hey, Sweets.”

And that doesn’t save me, but nothing will, and at least someone got the chance to call someone else Sweets for bringing them candy in this universe. As long as I can remember, life has always felt like it was already over, and that it had been a sad movie that had beautiful moments, which is why anything beautiful and good makes me cry. Because despite, despite, despite. The thread I’m clinging to is ‘Man, imagine if they didn’t include that platonically smooth fanfic-ass line.’ That and chemical sedation. And my mom.

[doctorpeppers]

I minimized the whole 'kept seeing a trauma therapist even though he got progressively more inappropriate for about a year and a half' thing to my other therapist and to my psychiatrist, but I didn't minimize it THAT much. Me minimizing it was me giving them an out so that we wouldn't have to go into it there and then. I really don't think I acted like it was nothing at all. So I'm angry, I think, because they really shouldn't be trying to debate me into starting any sort of new thing with another mental health professional ever again. Yeah not all men, not all therapists - do you think I'm going to take that fucking chance again? I know me. For over a year I spent hours in a small converted pool house in the middle of nowhere where there was no cell phone reception with a man taller than the door frame who should have his license taken away, recognizing every single red flag and then dutifully bleaching it like a good little girl who would never ever do something so horrible as to think a man is predatory rather than harmlessly socially inept. Months and months of feeling guilty for not wanting to go anymore, because if I don't want to do something that's supposed to fix me, then that means I don't want to be fixed, and if I don't want to be fixed that means that I really am the lazy cowardly stupid oversensitive brat I grew up thinking I was. I know me. I'd fucking let it happen again. I'm not trying shit with new people anymore. Are you fucking kidding me? I gave these people a polite out out of their immediate feelings of guilt and the awkwardness, not a full-on pass to be braindead about it.

[doctorpeppers]

I’m only alive because my mom still is, and the commercial space under my apartment just opened up and it’s blasting baby’s first deep house mix from noon to nine PM even though it’s essentially a sandwich shop. I genuinely am in agony because I wish I didn’t have to exist, and my existence keeps getting worse with no possibility of it ever getting better. And then what makes it worse is something fucking stupid like a sandwich shop that uses the phrase ‘sorry not sorry’ in its marketing. Their extraction fan rattles against my bedroom wall in the back and it sounds like a small washing machine on spin cycle, and the smell gets in through the closed bedroom window, which has a better seal than the windows in my living room outside of which they’re blasting the music too. From noon to nine. One continuous four on the floor generic deep house mix. I cry my eyes out every single day because I can’t die yet and it’s a sandwich shop.

[doctorpeppers]

'the chance to just heal up or die'

[doctorpeppers]

I can’t make my body feel safe enough to relax. If the trick starts to work, like if my abdomen begins to un-tense, my amygdala reacts to that sensation like it’s the danger. I guess it used to be the danger, and in some situations it still is, and that’s so sad, and I don’t know how much more of that I can expect my body to take. My acupressure mat doesn’t make me panic I think because maybe the relaxation is induced by ten to fifteen minutes of ‘pain’ first, which again, is sad, if that’s because it gives me what I’m bracing for. It’s also not super super noticeable. But it’s something. I get reluctant to use it now but that kind of avoidance isn’t counterproductive to coax myself out of. Like if I force myself to do deep breathing and I panic, I just reinforce that reaction viscerally. If I gently whine at myself until I give in and get on the mat, there’s still that pain buffer zone that doesn’t trigger panic. It’s something. It’s literally the only thing, which is crazy and sad. But something.

[doctorpeppers]

[roseworth]

thank uou for showing me your little white boy i do not like him can you put him away please

[birdhism]

*BOOP*

[teaboot]

I tap the mic. “Most people don’t want to crawl down your chimney and steal your dog.”

the crowd murmurs uncertainly.

“If someone wants to steal your dog,” I continue, “there are easier ways to do that. They don’t have to crawl into a chimney.”

Murmuring intensifies. People stand in their seats and begin to boo.

“People disguising themselves as chimney sweepers and stealing dogs is not a rational fear,” I shout. “Literally anyone could steal your dog. Why make sweeping chimneys illegal?”

“I have a list of chimney sweeps who stole dogs from parks!” Someone yells, throwing a shoe.

“You seriously think no chimney sweepers could possibly ever steal from a home?” Another cries.

“Only a dog thief would even want to crawl into a chimney to begin with!” Says a third.

A single tear rolls down my cheek. They are all so fucking stupid

This is a metaphor

[bbdeathz]

[shiny-rhydon]

girls night out

[excitementshewrote]

[ghiblicentral]

Spirited Away (2001) dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[noirlac]

[arqueete]

saw the guy who is repairing our apartment elevator cross himself while reading something on his ipad which we can only hope relates to his feelings about the pope's death and not his feelings about the state of our elevator

[doggosource]