#messy brain

[just-a-change]

Thank you so much to all of you who have bared with me for the last few days. I know I haven't been the best conversation, my headspace isn't right, I've been whiney and clingy: a complete mess. So to those of you who have been patient and friendly, I can't thank you enough, you have helped me fight against my own brain and kept me distracted.

I might take a pause from tumblr this weekend but I'll try to continue answering to messages. You are the best ❤️

[cutie-bootie-chronicles]

All night hearing voices telling me

That I should get some sleep

Because tomorrow might be good for something

Hold on

Feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown

And I don't know why

But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell

I know right now you can't tell

"Unwell"- Matchbox 20

"Unwell" Matchbox 20

[mashupofmylife]

I ate so off meal plan today, and I’m trying to tell myself that its okay and that eating corn chips and chocolate some days is totally normal, but the more that I think about it the more disappointed in myself I am. 

Eating isn’t the hard part. Its dealing with my head afterwards that’s hard.

[createjam]

31.5.17

[milagrosoymagico]

hey i’m gonna be real for a second. something traumatic happened to me like two years ago and because of it, i stopped writing. i stopped doing what i really, honestly, truly liked to do. and i basically shoved writing into a box, locked the box, swallowed the key, threw the box away, lit the garbage can on fire, and then spit on all the ashes. which sounds redundant, but i mean, it happened exactly like that. and i guess? at the time, i thought, well, maybe i’m doing myself and the world a favor. maybe i’m not meant to create, maybe i’m not meant to be remembered. maybe the world is better off without my writing. but you know what i’ve grown to realize? the world could care less whether i write or not. i wasn’t doing it a favor, i can’t do any favors for the world - it’s too big. and i wasn’t doing myself any favors, because without writing, i was basically this shell who couldn’t articulate any idea or do anything. i felt like i was going to die and that would be it. i don’t know what i was but it felt like a half-baked, half-assed version of whoever i was when i did write. the world doesn’t care! and when i gave up writing, it only hurt me. because i tossed away the one thing i liked the most. 

if you gave up something you enjoyed doing because for some odd reason you thought you didn’t deserve it, you thought it wouldn’t make any difference, you thought others were better off, i can tell you it isn’t true. doing things you’re passionate about is important. writing, for the sake of just writing, was something i could do easily and that i liked to do. and now i’ve tricked myself into thinking that it’s hard. i fooled myself that i wasn’t good enough. i dug a grave and i died in it. 

the world doesn’t care about what i do, so why should i stop writing? i can’t make a fool of myself in front of something that isn’t paying attention. i am tired of constantly living in the fear of failure. there is no way to fail myself, if i’ve created something, i should be proud of it. whatever it is. i can’t fail the entire world, i can’t, i’m one person. and so are you. and your writing can change the world, but if you chose not to write, then you aren’t changing anything at all, except yourself - and for the worse, too. 

this doesn’t make sense, my thoughts are racing a lot, but i’ve honestly come through a breakthrough. i am going to write, because, honestly, what am i really gaining from not doing so? i am not doing anyone favors. no one is better off because of this. i should just do it, because what the hell. i feel like i have nothing to lose anymore. i don’t know why i stopped writing. because something bad happened to me, i tell myself, because when the vultures came they nipped at my throat and all the words i had stuck poured out and i was left with nothing. i think now, well, what an idiot. no one came for me, and i still have all the words in the world - if not more. why should i give up something i love? what is it doing, what is it really doing? absolutely nothing. no one cares. 

if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? no. it doesn’t. nothing ever happens if there’s no one else there to hear it - to see it. when i stopped writing, it didn’t matter to anyone else. the world kept moving. no one heard me fall, so no one cared. so i’ve realized now that no one cares about the fall. they only care about how you come back from a fall. 

so here's my big advice: if they didn’t hear you fall, make sure they hear you get back up. 

i am getting back up. i am writing again. and i will make sure the vultures know. 

[thunderhammersworld]

[mishqua]

Messy wasn't a word you would call Tom

After meeting Harry, that was all you could call him.

[fandomohana]

What would fix me, I think...: An Eddie fic, plus size, where Eddie is semi feral with neediness, hungry, worshiping me cause he's just that devoted, and in desperate need. Not a dominant situation, just a touch starved, needy Eddie who wants to fall at my feet, do that wrapping his arms around my waist, and laying his head on my stomach, kinda thing, and all the good hungry smutty goodness, cause I'm not made of stone.

Ah well, I shall continue to be my needy mess who is unable to write this fic for myself, because I'm mortified by myself, so I can't really allow myself even the fantasy of Eddie. 🙃