#good crying

[superbattrash]

HRT, here I come 😭😭😭❤️

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

I don't know if you remember this, but I would send you asks for advice about how to deal with a less then kind partner. You were the one that help give me the courage to walk away. I will always be grateful for that.

-Cry

I don't remember that (but I literally forget what I eat in the morning, so that's not an insult), but I'm so so glad I could help you get out of that position. I'm glad to see that I can help other people with not-so-great partners escape that horrible situation like me and you.

[minas-linkverse]

P…pretty… so beautiful… how, how are even your INFO posts THIS incredible?!

WEWEWEWEWEWEWE

[radicalreliablerandomness]

guys i have a fucking 80% in math rn and i am crying so hard /pos. its rlly amazing what happens when ur teacher cares and isnt a fucking asshole and actually knows what math is

[topshelf2112-blog]

This job really is a blessing.

Today a student came in and said, "You're really beautiful. I've never seen you without a mask." When she left, I burst into tears.

Another student came in and said, "We're done after the exam? That's sad. I liked this."

When she left, I cried again.

[awheckery]

It’s been a strange month for me.

Three weeks ago, I was feeling sad and anxious and alone, so I submitted a few photos of a quilting project to a fibercrafting blog, hoping for a little bit of validation. I didn’t expect much, but I’d hoped?

I could not have predicted, nor even begun to have imagined the response I received, more than a thousand times greater than my most optimistic fantasy. Nothing like this has ever happened to me, not ever.

You have to understand: I am the underachiever in my family. Nothing I have ever done has ever been enough. I tried for so many years to find something that could be mine, some way to make up for being awkward-looking and ungraceful and tragically out of step with my peers. I felt like the misfit protagonists of the books I devoured, the ones that never fit in until they found the secret doorway to the magical world where they suddenly mattered, but it never happened for me.

You have to understand: anything I could do, anything I tried, someone else in my family could do better, faster, and with less effort.

I tried being smart but my brother was better at it: I worked my ass off and joined the academic team in school. My brother joined a year later and he carried the team to nationals. A few years ago he appeared on Jeopardy. My parents have a framed photo of him with Alex Trebek.

I tried being theatrical and funny and my sister was better at that: she skipped nearly half a year of school because she just didn’t feel like going, and still went to nationals for competitive theatre and was invited into an improv comedy troupe that performed all over the metro area.

My mother has been a syndicated newpaper columnist and award-winning reporter, she once wrote a play in a weekend then produced and directed it, she’s written multiple novels and she’s a MacDowell Colony fellow.

My father may be the only person to ever have successfully achieved the American Dream from bootstrapping alone. He can build anything, given six hours and a power drill, and he can fix anything with a motor or electrical system, whether that thing has wheels or wings or rotors. He’s the best, most organized cook I’ve ever met, and? Ten-ish years ago, on a whim, he took a three-hour class on stained glass making and immediately started producing beautiful stained glass from his own original designs.

I took the things nobody else wanted, things around the margins so nobody else around me might take up and master and make me the goddamned ‘also ran’ again. I almost got there with baking. I was about to apply for a small business loan to open a bakery and a peanut butter cookie put me in the emergency room. Surpriiiiiise, it’s celiac disease; surpriiiiiise, the thing you love is painfully killing you, sorry.

You have to understand: things don’t work out for me. I got used to it. I still get out of bed and try. I’ve been to therapy, I don’t think I’m worthless. I’m just... worth less.

I assumed, up until three weeks ago, that quilting was just another thing that anybody could do, because I can do it. What I do can’t be that valuable, because I’m the one doing it.

Apparently Tumblr disagrees, and I want to say thank you.

Over the past three weeks I’ve watched the notes on that post. I’ve read the tags and the reblog comments. I have been called extraordinary, I have been called terrifying, I have been called magical; I have been called an artist, a muse, a god.

Nearly sixty thousand people have seen my work and liked it, it’s been shared nearly forty thousand times, there are thousands of comments and every single one of them is something kind. I’ve been on Tumblr with one account or another for six years and I’ve never seen that happen before. I didn’t know it could.

It’s like discovering, twenty years later, that I never needed a magical doorway to a different world because this is the right one after all, I could be remarkable here, something about me is special here, I matter here.

I can’t begin to communicate how much it means to me, how grateful I am for this community. Every note, every like, every reblog, every word, I’m thankful for all of it. You have all given me a gift I will always be able to carry with me; no matter what else happens I will always remember this feeling and nothing can take it away.

I know it’s still the middle of the apocalypse, the pretense of civility and social order in the United States has collapsed again, and the fascist lunatic nominally in charge of this country keeps doing everything in his power to just... fuck, I don’t even know. It feels a little self-serving to throw this on the dash during all of that, but in a time when I’ve never felt more isolated and insignificant a legion of strangers said otherwise. I see you. This matters. You matter.

Thank you. All of you. So very much.

[j3lle]

I’m so glad you approve of my crying hours songs 😌

they were in fact sad :( i’ll allow you to have crying hour song superiority