DEAR READER
d e v o n
occasionally subtle
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.
dirt enthusiast
đȘŒ
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
if i look back, i am lost
Sade Olutola
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Cosmic Funnies
cherry valley forever
â
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blake kathryn
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Peter Solarz
PR's Tumblrdome
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@underqualifieddr
Anime Doctor Problems⊠coming back home after a long terrible day and wishing you had more vices to indulge in because it was just THAT bad.
I have several times, during/after godawful shifts, craved a cigarette, and I donât even smoke.
Mood.
Iâve craved that smoke, having never been a smoker. So instead I turn to alcohol. I donât know whatâs worse.
To all the students & studyblrs who figured out learning things on their own
đđđ because our parents didnât know either because our teachers were clueless because nobody seemed to care because we had no professional support because we canât afford tutoring because they expected us just to know it because the system is not for everyone because we were desperate for knowledge, good grades, proud parents, a better future, whatever goal you had in mind.
all those hours spent in front of textbooks, PC screens, libraries, forums⊠all the frustration, tears, anger, fear⊠will pay off in the end.
you are smart, determined, focused, greatâŠand just awesome, because you did it even with all the obstacles on the way.
Never be ashamed of what you have accomplished. You are not alone. đđđ
Everyone around me has a job. Has kids. Partners, wives, husbands. And I feel like Iâm in the exact same place as Iâve always been for the last 20 years. I started school at 4 years of age and now Iâm almost 26 and Iâm alone and I have nothing. I donât have this sense of accomplishment because I still donât believe Iâm going to make it. And even if I do make it, Iâm never going to be good enough. I will fail. I will kill someone. Its inevitable. It hasnât even happened yet and I already canât stand the guilt. Because I should have worked harder. I should have studied harder. Been more dedicated. I should have known that I was going to have to give up my life for this. And now I feel like Iâve wasted the last 10 years on something Iâll never be good at and if I give it all up now then Iâll truly have nothing. You tell me what my options are. Iâm a fucking mess. No one is ever going to want me. I donât blame them. I donât want me. It crosses my mind daily that I donât have to feel this way because I donât have to feel anything. I may not know a lot, but I know plenty of ways I could kill myself.
No one wishes you good luck.
No one asks how your day was.
No one asks because no one cares.
Thatâs what being alone is.
Donât tell me itâs all in my mind.
Actions speak just as loud as the words you donât say.
Tomorrow I go back to Uni for the year. For my final year of medical school. Iâve had a month off but I feel like itâs been a week. This summer has been a rollercoaster. Depression is exhausting. Insomnia is exhausting. Medications and therapies take time, longer than I had hoped and expected. I wanted to be better before I went back because I know this year is going to be challenging and test me limits. Iâm scared Iâm not up for that challenge and that Iâm going to crumble quickly under the pressure. I should be studying, I should be food prepping and packing my bags. Instead Iâm laying in bed, in a ball, alone, fighting back tears with no motivation, want or desire to do any of it. Please God help me survive this year.Â
Two reasons why I donât attempt suicide:
My parents would be sad
My dog would be wondering why I donât come back home
This sounds completely ridiculous but the second point has literally brought me to tears. Iâve been recently diagnosed with depression, struggling with suicidality and right now my youngest fur baby is asleep at my feet. And the idea that they would come into my room looking and waiting for me and I just donât ever return. And they would never understand why.
Fathers:
when you never clear your own plate and expect your wife to do it, your son notices.
when you make sexist jokes, your son listens.
when you expect your wife to clean up after you like sheâs your slave, your son can see that dynamic.
when you anticipate the women in your life serving you and do not serve them in return, your son internalizes that mentality.
Raise men who do the goddamn dishes.
Fathers, when you treat your wife like that, your daughters also notice. Your children look up to you; they learn what is normal and acceptaple through the lens of what their family do.
You set the bar for what kind of man your son will want to be. If he has relationships with women, your actions will influence how he treats them.
You set the bar for what your daughter will think a âgood manâ is, and if she has relationships with men, your actions will colour her understanding of the kind of treatment she should accept from male partners.
And your children with multiple genders or no gender at all, or your children who realise they are trans, will have a healthier relationship with their own gender. If you, as the man from which they learn what masculinity is, show them that your gender does not affect your worth as a person or lessen your responsibilities as a human being. Donât raise any of your children to understand toxic masculinity to be 'malenessâ as a whole.
Raise children who, regardless of their gender, donât think domestic tasks or looking after each other is something only women do, and that only female family members need to be involved in these tasks. Raise children who are compassionate, cooperative and understand that good relationships are a team effort based on mutual trust, respect and support.
Fragile
Tonight I held life in my hands
It felt like twigs snapping
Watching numbers on a screen
Counting squeezes
My heart beating faster
Than yours could
Tonight I looked death in the face
And found I could not be defiant
But defiance was less important than hope
Persistence repetition epinephrine
Ventilate compress sweat
Pray breathe pray call the chaplain
And then, breathing again
But pulse still too slow
More compressions
Color returning, organized chaos
Each moment with a faster pulse
24 minutes to ROSC
A bedside baptism for a tiny miracle
PICU on the phone for report
Other patients are complaining about the wait
And there are results to be read
Notes to be written
Discharges to be signed
But tonight I saw how fragile life is
And felt it crack beneath my fingers
Because to keep a heart beating
You need to break ribs
âSuddenly I wonder, âWhere is the girl that I was last year? Two years ago? What would she think of me now?â
â Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
Most important lesson I learned in the past year is, donât let anyone turn you cruel. No matter how badly you wanna give the world a taste of its own bitter medicine. Itâs never worth losing yourself over.
To be honest Iâm really struggling with this. Iâm so mad and so upset with the world and the people in it. And if I could just turn off and be cruel then maybe I wouldnât hurt so much.
Fat Babes 2k19
If you have a starting weight of 200lbs or more, reblog this post, please! Looking for more bloggers that I can relate to a bit more than our already physically fit peers đ
I hate hate HATE that I require so much reassurance like things could be going perfectly fine but thereâs always a part of me that believes that all of it is a lie
grown ass men are out here not eating fruit or vegetables or washing their face and having a list of things women must do to be attractive to them and thus gain their respect like grow the fuck up and eat a carrot literally no woman needs you
âNo woman needs youâ said the future cat lady lol
Newsflash. No man needs a bitch telling him to eat rabbit food and nagging him constantly.
I cannot wait to see feminism burn itself out.
u gonna die of scurvy in the name of antifeminism
The scurvy got him
I donât get why âcat ladyâ is an insult to women.Â
My dude, you got this backward; welcome to the modern era, we have careers, money, we buy our own houses and cars, and we have easy access to a selection of vibrators our ancestresses could only dream of.  Companionship is great and everything, but as many of us discovered, it comes in many forms.
If a woman has a cat but you donât see a guy, thatâs usually because she did the math and overall, men scored lower than a furry animal that shits in a box and a Hitachi.
accurate.
@dxmedstudent đ
What if Harry Potter, the chosen one, had turned out to be a squib, how do you think history would have turned out differently?
It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.
She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.
Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINEâ the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.
She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.
When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldnât. He didnât accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.
Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.
When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figgâs letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.
Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. âI suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,â she said. âWe canât have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.â Â
âNo, heâll come to Hogwarts,â said Dumbledore.
âHogwarts is not a place forââ Her voice fell. ââsquibs, Albus.â
Dumbledore shook his head. âHarry must be taught.â
âBe taught what, Albus?â
But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.
Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followedâ none of this would change with a magicless Harry.
When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldnât tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight. Â
âStrange things always happen around you, donâ they?â
âUm,â said Harry, racking his brain. âWell⊠I live in a cupboard under the stairsâŠâ
Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harryâs magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.
Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledoreâs quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivanderâs Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boyâ looked at Jamesâs messy hair, Lilyâs eyes, Harryâs own wandering gazeâ and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.
In the wand shop, Ollivander said, âJames Potter, yes⊠mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.â He said, âAnd your mother, Lily⊠ strong in Charms work, ten and⊠yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.â
Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just thatâ wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still aliveâ if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.
âWell, said Ollivander. âI think thatâs as close as weâre likely to get.â
He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophetâs headlines read: The Boy Who Livedâ A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.
Harry still met Ron on the trainâ Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pityingâ but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncleâs voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didnât think existed.
Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Nevilleâs toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. âIâve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,â she said. âYouâre the Boy Who Lived, and youâre a squib.â
Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.
âSquibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,â Hermione announced. âAccording to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and thenâ the furthest anyoneâs ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.â At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.
âBut they already found out about me,â Harry said, alarmed.
âItâs alright, mate,â said Ron. âYouâre Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,â he added. âWhatâs this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your HouseâŠâ
Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potterâ his auntâs useless sisterâs useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.
When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.
They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.
As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first timeâ the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far wallsâ were they moving?
Harryâs jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stoolâs seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as heâd get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.
The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.
Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?
Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.
Please, thought Harry. Donât send me back.
Keep reading
Because I wasnât already tired and overly emotional.
Wow.
