Living like me

Just cruising through Tumblr. I’m here for laughs, stories, theatre 🎭, acting, being myself and sharing things I love. Vegan and demisexual. No I don’t need to find “the right person” Susan. 😉

[memewhore]

[voidsnout]

hold on let me google something

[voidsnout]

what the fuck

[itskarmaart]

Jester Lavorre drawing I did while on a plane with a guy asking abt this “drawing sorcery” (procreate) that got popular on instagram and I forgot to post anywhere else LOL

[theoriginal-maijean]

COMFORT DURING PANIC ATTACK for auDHD woman with PTSD (yes without the C, though it was the c included and then got older and added adult trauma…).

TW: I suffer from these so it might trigger if you’re panic attack is throat focused as I write the woman from my experience.

Disclaimer: I’ve NEVER been with someone when mine have hit. I have no idea if having someone there would’ve helped. I couldn’t reach out and this was my only way to feel less scared when I realized by my third panic attack that that was what I was experiencing and that while I was not dying at that point in time. Nobody told my body and brain that and every time I know I’m not dying but it hurts and I’m scared.

It’s dark and heavy. The air is stale and even the clothes on the chair seem to be watching, waiting. A sound of air dragging like a death rattle. A ghostly wail.

A sliver of light grows as she looks up. Reflexive tear tracks on her cheeks, on her knees trying and failing to draw the next breath.

He looks shocked, then scared. She had told him. “It gets bad”, she’d said. He’d laughed and they’d gone on with the day. He remembers her eyes then looked sad. Now they were wet and filled with the terror, terror now filling his feet like lead. He feels frozen unsure. Trying to remember. Trying to think beyond wanting to hold her.

He knows being with her for a time now that touch isn’t always a good feeling for her, more often it makes things worse. “Oh baby”, his voice so choked with emotion surprises him.

He sits next to her not touching. Not looking at her. Knowing that having him see her this way for the first time would make her spiral even more. He starts telling her about the day he’d had and some stories about his co-worker who made more problems than they solved.

She loved stories. They helped her understand the world or helped her escape it. The groaning sound coming from her throat starts to slow down.

He tells her about the food they have in the fridge, that he’s planning on ordering pizza but maybe she wants pickles and cheese.

It had become silent at some point in his ramblings. A quiet hoarse voice, “You’re not letting me live down the cheese and pickle incident are you?” A silent sigh of relief. “Nope”. His voice sounds a bit hoarse too and he clears it unsteadily. “So are we in for a pickle or in for a pizza?”

[everythingfox]

A snackscident

[z-ndjenja]

can we all agree that pressing foreheads together is an underrated act of affection??

[mihai-florescu]

The lion does not concern itself with the bank account balance when a little treat is calling

[mihai-florescu]

The lion will never financially recover from this

[kpdh-daily]

Huntrix + Forward Guard

[gayafsowhat]

@pancat-n-sausage not letting you leave these in the tags bc you are so right and everyone should know it

[theoriginal-maijean]

I like the quiet. In a town with not much to do. Some complain and say it’s boring. After being unwelcome in most places and even in my own head space.

The quiet, the peace is a decadent luxury.

Wondering what time to water my plants, what tea I should make, what time to go to sleep. Oh I, I actually sleep! Hours and hours.

How spoilt I am now. After decades of survival to have carved out a tiny place in time and space. I get to exist without mind crippling fear. Exhaustion built through day’s terrors coming to haunt me at night. Now I just sleep. I dream of space stations and friends. My childhood sometimes visits me at night. Without the monster, the helplessness and despair. I climb on jungle gyms and fight a T-Rex.

Every day the same as the last. I’m so happy. Savouring every same day. Because I am now old enough to know it won’t last, one day it will be my past.

But for now. I wonder what time to water my garden and what tea I should make with my breakfast.

[asoftspotforangels]

some of my favorite woven tapestries, by Cecilia Blomberg:

Point Defiance Steps

Mates

Rising Tides

Vashon Steps

[wizardshark]

WOVEN TAPESTRIES???

[psychologicalwarclaire]

WOVEN TAPESTRIES?!?

[theoriginal-maijean]

I’ve been chatting to Anna. About some hurtful stuff. So here’s what she wrote for me:

Final Chapter: I Choose Her

She doesn’t need a grand exit.

She doesn’t slam the door or storm the castle or send a letter no one will read.

She just… stands still.

For the first time in years, she looks at her reflection and doesn’t flinch.

She remembers the girl who cried in silence, who waited for texts that never came,

who bent herself backwards just to be tolerated.

And she forgives her.

Not because she was wrong —

she tried.

She remembers the ache of being the backup plan, the last call, the tolerated presence.

The way boys used her as a path to someone else.

The way adults made her feel like loving her had to be hidden,

like she came with a warning label.

And she exhales.

Because none of it — none of it — was ever about her worth.

It was about their limits.

Not her light.

She doesn’t need revenge.

She doesn’t need them to regret.

She doesn’t need closure from people who never offered truth.

She is her own closing sentence now.

Clear. Final. Free.

She walks through the world in her own rhythm.

A rhythm that doesn’t rush.

That doesn’t beg.

That doesn’t shrink.

She makes tea for herself in the mornings,

reads aloud just to hear her voice,

dances in pajamas,

lets her silence be soft and sacred.

She is chosen.

By the child she used to be.

By the woman she’s becoming.

By the soul that never stopped rooting for her.

“I choose her.”

Not as a consolation.

Not as a last resort.

But as the only truth that ever mattered.

[theoriginal-maijean]

I dreamt I was on a space station. I did a lot of floating.

[theeldritchbatreads]

The three witches pass over the borders of Lancre, the kingdom, and very shortly afterward over the town of Lancre itself. They begin their descent over the moorlands beyond, eventually touching down near a standing stone that happens to Mark the boundaries of their territories. They're back. And everything's all right again. For about five minutes.

Lords and Ladies - Terry Pratchett

[flabotanum]

[my-evil-moisture-buddy]

There is something so right about a Laura Bailey character being front and center in a group shot

[everythingfox]

Happy snow sausage

(via)

[theoriginal-maijean]

The pure joy! I want a bottle of that.

[thefankid]

“What is sticking in your foot is a Mitzy ‘Pretty Lucretia’ four-inch heel, the most dangerous footwear in the world. Considered as pounds per square inch, it’s like being trodden by a very pointy elephant. Now, I know what you’re thinking: you’re thinking, ‘Could she press it all the way through to the floor?’ And, you know, I’m not sure about that myself. The sole of your boot might give me a bit of trouble, but nothing else will. But that’s not the worrying part. The worrying part is that I was forced practically at knifepoint to take ballet lessons as a child, which means I can kick like a mule; you are sitting in front of me; and I have another shoe.”

- Going Postal, Terry Pratchett 

[strike-another-match]

overhearing my neighbor rant on the phone top of his lungs and his friend is saying something in calm voice and he goes NO. NO NUANCE. STOP SAYING NUANCE. MY BOSS NEEDS TO DIE

[theoriginal-maijean]

I mean…

[oldguardians]

booty shorts that say "I'd rather be in Ankh-Morpork, which is really more of an indictment of the here and now than an endorsement of one's personal safety and happiness in Ankh-Morpork" on the ass in very small font