To make a long story short, I am not in a good place in general. I had to stay with family during covid, and its not an emotionally healthy place at all. I'm constantly judged and watched wherever I go, what I eat, how much i eat, how much I'm working/helping out. And jts always never enough
My mental health has nosedived to rock bottom. I haven't drawn or written in I don't even know long, and I don't wanna get out of bed to face the scrutiny anymore
I have been threatened with homelessness constantly for the past month and a half, but now it's finally happening. I have been given to the end of August to move
I have a job and I'm trying to save, but there's nobway I'm going to have enough in time to move
So please. I need your help.
This is the link to my gofundme:
I'm Aria. A 22 year old nonbinary who desperately needs help!
I'm currently living a… Aria Daize needs your support for Emergency moving f
If you can give anything at all. Please do. Even if it's just a dollar
If you can't, please reblog this post, or share the link
Boost this as much as you csn!
I have a tiktok as well:
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTdGApMw3/?k=1
If you can like and share to help spread it around, you'll be helping me so so much
I feel bad about asking in general, but I wouldn't be asking if the wasn't an extreme emergency
I’m trying to tell you something that doesn’t exist in words.
I’m trying to show you the fragments of me that glint and click around like broken glass on the ground.
I’m trying, but I can’t explain and I know you can’t understand.
I love too much, too hard; you said this, you did. You said it frightened you, that love, for me, was an all consuming fire, one you couldn’t understand.
But you don’t love me in a way I can understand either.
We say love but mean different things: you say love and mean fondness, I say love and mean absolution.
He rolls over in the large bed to face the window, a sliver of moonlight reaching through a gap in the curtains. He can just about make out the black shape of the bag Otabek brought back for him.
The room is not his own, nor the bed. It's empty, cold, one side woefully neglected. Viktor's not physically uncomfortable - Yakov's place is very nice, and normally he'd be happy to stay here - but his heart aches like it's never ached before.
This is not where he belongs. He belongs at home, in his bed with Yuuri, with the photos of the two of them and Yurio on the bedside table. With their medals and their skating boots side by side, their gym bags and Makkachin and the walk-in wardrobe that Yuuri is still fascinated by.
The tears slip out of Viktor's eyes before he can stop them. They roll down his face, over his nose, soak into the pillow.
Who can he turn to now?
He doesn't want to wake Yakov, he's already done enough. Otabek too. Viktor reaches over to pick up his phone, unplugging it and squinting at the brightness.
The time reads 00:47.
Viktor presses the button leading to his contacts, and dials the number of the only person he has left to lean on.