No Man's Land

Gay. Chicago. Sometimes a writer.

[vollzeitherz-deactivated2026012]

my hobbies include thinking and then thinking about thinking

[miscosasalberto]

[weltenwellen]

Taking Care  Callista Buchen

[wizeled]

I don't know what happened. But I can't keep doing this to myself and expecting different results.

[wizeled]

I'm exhausted at the idea of being known. It used to be all I wanted but the exposure and vulnerability of it is getting to me the older I get.

[placeeee]

[museify]

[neverwonderneverremember]

sleep is stolen time. don't let them take it from you anymore. tonight. we are staying up. til one billion o clock.

[oatmeal-cutie-piee]

[stydixa]

FORBIDDEN FRUITS (2026) Dir. Meredith Alloway

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

Grief is really just love. It's all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go

— Jamie Anderson

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

“No matter how good you are with words, it's inevitable that meaning is lost between your mind and someone else's. Trying to communicate is like throwing a cup of water at a thirsty person's face. It's better than nothing, sure, and a teaspoon of water might hit their lips, but oh, God, there's just so much water in the grass.”

— Jacqueline Novak, How to Weep in Public: Feeble Offerings on Depression from One Who Knows

[wizeled]

I need to find some way to fix my brain. Maybe I genuinely need SSRIs. Because working out is just not doing it anymore.

I don't know how much of it is pharmacologically negotiable. It's not like an SSRI is going to change everything wrong with my life right now.

It's a bandaid when what I need is radical change.

But maybe the bandaid would give me the strength to make those changes?

Maybe.

[wizeled]

Oreo most likely has breast cancer of all things. And I'm... Devastated. I cannot imagine him dying.

Sometimes it genuinely feels like I'm losing everything.

[wizeled]

I don't know what I'm doing most of the time. My past is full of shameful moments that I think I've moved beyond. I think I've done the work. I think I've learned to communicate more authentically and empathetically with those I love. I try to pick my battles. I try to listen to the hurt and grow from it.

I try to be the very best version of myself.

I think a lot of my life is ruled by my anxiety. I'm worried about not feeling authentic. I worry about losing love. I worry that my close contact with others will destroy more than is built in its wake.

I worry about the decisions I make and if they're selfish. I worry that I'm not making hard decisions at all and if that's selfish.

I worry about loneliness. I worry that my bids for connection cause loneliness in others. I worry that isolation will kill me but that maybe I deserve it based on what relationships with me have done to others in the past.

I worry about being forgotten as much as I worry about how I'll be remembered. I wonder if a safe life is more worthwhile than one that has its risks. I wonder if choosing safety is a risk in and of itself.

I spend entirely too much time inside my head. My friend Mic told me today that she only wants to create art. I thought of what drives me. What is my passion? What is my purpose? What do I like to do more than anything else?

And my first thought was thinking. The one thing I do the most and spend the most time doing. I spent my academic life on thinking. I majored in thinking. I go on long walks to think. I go to coffee shops to think. I go to concerts to feel and then spend the day after thinking about how it felt.

Rumination is my love and rumination is my misery.

I don't think that thinking is living. But I spend my life doing it anyway.

Maybe I need a new hobby. Rumination sounds suspiciously like ruination.

[wizeled]

What kind of mental illness is it to dream?

[wizeled]

Hi Tumblr,

I'm having the slowest breakdown and I think by May this might be the worst I've ever been. It's like: I'm glad I have the maturity to not fall to absolute pieces in my life and that I'm able to maintain my job.

But internally I am losing all focus on why I'm still here. I cannot handle the internalization of these emotions but I don't feel like I have a choice anymore.

I can't help but wonder if this is all there is left of me. It doesn't feel like much anymore.