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Tumblr sin porno

es como una puta virgen

un tatuador sin tatto

y asi

#tumblr #Noporno #Banned #Tumblrr #tumblahh

Many people tend to think that Tumblr is just a place full of suicidal, depressed people and hipster assholes but im telling you, as a person who's been on here for quite a while, its not. Though, 1. There are people here that are depressed and/or have suicidal tendencies and 2. There are the conventional hipsters, that's not all Tumblr has to offer. There are whole communities, groups and fandoms for a bunch of different things. Some things you probably would not have known about if it wasnt for Tumblr or that community existing. And for the love of god its not just about the amount followers you have, people. Tumblr is a place where you can express yourself man, dont forget that and dont get mad at someone else for doing it. Its a blog, and that's what they're for, i think. ╮(╯▽╰)╭

#tumblr life #tumblahh #a lot of my friends have given up on tumblr #tis sad #the unfollow button is right there #its was made for a reason

Wayward

I used to spend hours on Tumblr, drinking coffee, writing, and infinitely scrolling down the dash. Coming back here feels like I’m looking at a relic of a time that is no longer, yet there’s a comfort in the familiarity that is still present. Learning about the existence of this place in my early 20’s was life saving. Sometimes, you think you’re all alone in the world, unsure of your feelings, feeling abnormal, only to find there are people who understand, who don’t judge, and allow you to freely express yourself. As life happens, my time on here became less frequent as the years went by. As much as I’ve been open on other social media about my struggles with mental health, I never quite felt as open or comfortable as on here. Something told me to come back.A few log in attempts later and voila! The password was correct.

There’s definitely a lot to unpack. Before I continue:

TW: depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, disordered eating, substance abuse, trauma

I have a collection of journals from the past 16 years in a bag under my bed. If they could all be converged into one book, they’d tell you the story of a severely depressed, suicidal person who couldn’t love themself, and how devastating the effects of bullying could have on someone. Depression introduced itself to me at a young age and never left. There it was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. It found me vulnerable, weak, unable to fend for myself. It came on like a possession-intrusive, insidious, and invasive. It led me down a dark path that seemed to have no end in sight. The lights were dim, only brightened by temporary euphoria.

Daenerys Targaryen said, “If I look back, I am lost.” It can be disorienting looking back at the past, trying to pinpoint where things went awry. I’ve gotten tangled in the roots searching for answers. Looking back at everything that’s changed, that is no longer, creates this feeling of being lost. It’s easy to get wrapped up in what was instead of what is currently taking place. I long for the person I used to be, however, that person wasn’t doing much better. It only appears that way because of nostalgia’s tendency to make things seem better than they actually were. I guess it’s because when you compare how I am now to who I’ve been, she seems more alive. I’ve carried this pain with me since adolescence, unable to let go of all the hurt and damage that was afflicted onto me. It didn’t occur to me until I was older that what I’ve been experiencing is a result of trauma. That is a whole other story in and of itself, but this trauma laid the foundation for how I’ve lived my life. Trying to come to terms with it has been a mind numbing, heart wrenching experience for sure.

As a teenager, there were all these thoughts and feelings that were difficult to put into words. I was angry all the time, yet some would blame that on being a teenager. A lot of things were written off as teenage angst, attention seeking, drama queen behavior. But inside, I was seriously in need of help. I was suicidal, self-medicating by abusing drugs/alcohol, and had such a vehement hatred towards my body. I ended up struggling with disordered eating that ranged from starvation to binge eating to throwing up. I was infuriated at my body and would break down crying every night, begging to a higher power to change it. I didn’t want to be me. My disgustingly low self-esteem and feelings of worthlessness prevented me from living.

I’ve been through the gamut with mental illness. Between being hospitalized a few years ago, being diagnosed with bipolar disorder(sometimes, I wonder if that’s an accurate diagnosis), being put on all sorts of medication that were mostly ineffective with side effects that made me unbelievably sick,( *Note: This doesn’t mean that psychiatric meds are ineffective. They can work wonders for people) and talking to different therapists, feeling no significant change. It’s not to say they weren’t helpful, but no matter what I did, nothing seemed to actually work long term. I started to feel defective. Yoda said, “Do or do not, there is no try” but damn, I was doing my best to get better and to be better, but the depression was relentless. After a while, the suicidal thoughts started to get worse, reaching dangerous levels. This year, I started making plans.

I started looking around me as though it were the last time I’d see any of this place. When you lose the ability to feel joy or pleasure, it makes life a living torture. I stopped talking to my friends, interacting with people, and even stopped engaging as much with my own family. Despite posting online, being “active”, I wasn’t interactive. My loved ones know that I isolate when things get rough, yet it was never to this extent, for this long. My physical health has also declined-having my hair fall out, unable to eat without feeling sick, intense pain throughout my body, and more. My body is attacking itself. It got to the point where my family had to convince me to go see a doctor. I don’t have any answers yet, but hopefully, they’ll be able to help resolve a lifetime of unexplained sickness.

I don’t know what to do anymore. The other day, as I stood outside, I looked up at the stars, saying to myself, “I just want to get rid of this depression.” And as soon as that thought finished, a bright, flash of light passed by me. At first it looked like lightning or someone taking a picture with the flash on, but there was no one around at 2 something in the morning. No lightning either. I took that as a sign that someone’s watching over me because the thoughts that were going through my head earlier weren’t good ones. I’ve been breaking down on and off over the past few weeks, crying to my Mom. I feel at such a loss. I never imagined that my life would turn out this way or that I’d become reclusive and that my mental health would get exponentially worse. I was going to check myself into the hospital earlier this year, then covid hit and I didn’t know what to do after that. I’ve been suffering for the past 11 months, deteriorating. It’s scary when you start to forget things, when you start to experience major memory loss and dissociation. It makes you feel like nothing is real. I’ve been going over and over things in my head, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on and how to remedy it. Is there something I’m missing? Is there some realization, some epiphany I need to come to in order to be free of this?

There are many facets, multiple layers to peel back. I’ve never quite felt grounded in reality. My mind always felt like it was off somewhere else, floating around- a rogue balloon wandering about. The person who has hurt me the most will most likely never take accountability for their actions and it’s something that I have to move past. Denial is a sonuvabitch that hits hard when you see what’s underneath. My coping mechanisms have mostly failed me, yet somehow preserved me long enough to get to this point. I often wonder what life would’ve looked like had it not been dysfunctional.

Seeing yourself go from an outgoing, upbeat, talkative person to being completely isolated is a jarring experience. Once you’re deep in isolation, it’s challenging to get out of. I’ve said this elsewhere- my social skills have taken on the consistency of stale bread. I don’t even know how to keep a conversation flowing anymore without it being painfully dull. You know, the dreaded small talk. I don’t know how to engage or ask questions. All of these things that came naturally to me have dissipated over time. What the hell happened to the person who could talk for hours about anything and everything? What have they been reduced to? HELLO, WHERE ARE YOU?

The past two decades of my life have been painful; even with all the happy, precious moments in between. Random memories flash through my mind, yet they don’t feel as if they belong to me. That was someone else’s life. It feels as though someone handed me a script with a brief character synopsis, telling me that I need to be this character. I have to be convincing enough for her loved ones to believe I’m actually her or they’ll get suspicious.

I have a lot to weed through as you can see. There’s a lot that needs to be dismantled, unprogrammed, uninstalled. Perhaps the cure hasn’t been created yet or maybe it’s there and only needs to be found. Maybe it needs to be unlocked. I don’t know. What I do know is that somewhere deep down inside, under all the layers of trauma, pain, depression, anxiety, and self-hatred, is someone so capable of making a beautiful life for themselves.

Someone once told me that you have to deal with the shit you’re in control of and put everything that’s not in your control on the back burner, off to the side to deal with at another time because you’ll lose your mind. There are situations that I’m unable to fix or change because they’re not in my power to. They inadvertently affect me on a deep, cellular level, however, I have to put up boundaries to prevent myself from losing it. I like to believe that people are capable of change; that they’ll finally realize what they do has a domino effect on everyone else. That too, is a whole other story that is too personal to speak about.

I yearn for a different kind of life. One in which I’m happy in my body, feeling at home in my skin. One where I’m deeply in love and sharing this life with someone. One where I’m pursuing writing, and able to have a promising, fulfilling career. One where I’m healthy. One where I’m running around with a bunch of cats, running wildly into the night. I know it’s not too late to start over, or to change direction. There has to be another way.

My teens and 20’s were a conglomerate of self-destruction. My 30’s are where I’m rebuilding myself, working through all of the crap inside my head. Goddess, it’s exhausting but it’s necessary in order to move forward. Yesterday, as I drank coffee with my Mom on a walk, it made me feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. I’m learning to be more open and honest about my feelings and about who I am as a person. Although my past is messy, that person powered through in order for me to be here today.

Good looks.

#I really need to start writing again #tumblahh #it's been way too long #a place for my head