I Fucked Me Over With Seeing An Edit Of That Scene Of Reid Crying In Later Seasons (the Worst One Of

“so, this one’s for you, georgia. this is a play about love.”

JASON YOU CAN’T MAKE ME CRY LIKE THAT WHEN I’M FIVE PAGES FROM THE END 😭❤️

when I get cured of my dyspraxia, it's OVER for all of you (satire)

'fuck you my child is fine' Your child heavily relates to Tori Spring, no your child is not fine.

As someone who's grown up biting their nails aggressively out of anxiety and is now trying to grow them out I just want to say HOLY FUCK HAVING NAILS IS FUCKING RAD I CAN SCRATCH MY ITCHY ASS LEGS NOW

I feel like I didn't come into the world screaming. My sibling was born angry and loud, the world wasn't ready for them, but I don't hear the same story about myself, just that I came out with hair and fingernails, that I wasn't ready to come into the world yet. I'm quiet, not nimble, but quiet. I scare people when they don't hear my footsteps, I always need to raise my voice to be heard, but it doesn't make me feel safe. I can't shout when I'm scared, I can't scream when my emotions bottle up, I physically can't talk to anyone because the words hurt to say. I hate that everything is quiet. I love music. I listen to screaming sometimes. But I hate being overwhelmed with the sound of people. People are volatile. People are angry. I'm never angry, not if I'm hidden away. But then I have to leave my safe space, and it's not just the normal bad parts of the world I become afraid of. Sometimes you know you're safe, but people act like they will betray that trust you have for them. Then had for them. But they're everything. You have to have hope they won't do this again, as long as you stay in line. You can't bring this up again. You have to be quiet again. But my thoughts are never quiet. But that's just my problem, then.

Reid Reading Solitaire by Alice Oseman

Possible spoilers below

I never thought I would identify with a character as strong as I do with Tori Spring. I've never thought I could be anyone who matters to someone, and I still don't now, even with the friends I've found after growing up learning how to be on my own, especially when second-guessing everything you feels like it's all you ever do. The backpack chapter reasonated with me, every time I get overwhelmed, I make a decision completely blown out of proportion to make something feel right about me, to stop the panic and racing thoughts.

Then there's overthinking what to say, around family and friends and strangers, what to feel, what your morals are and what separates you from your intrusive thoughts. Every thought you have in conversation is about what other people see in you and how you relate to the conversation in the slightest, making you aware you're such a bloody narcissist. Contradicting yourself often, which confuses everyone else and frustrates you the most. But while those people contradict themselves, you feel both the confusion and frustration, almost for the other person.

You try to keep it all down then, because while you know have everything, you feel like you need more. You can't believe it, you're already trying to earn what you have now, what else could you possibly want?

And then there is wondering, about the "why" when you want something. Why do you want it if the cost is too risky? What would you do to get it? Why would you work so hard if it might end badly for you?

The contradiction, when you need help, you don't want to be alone, but the company you have doesn't feel like what you need, you feel like a watcher of your own uninteresting life. Second guessing, (do I actually want this?) I don't know what I'm actually going to feel if I get what I think a moment of unexplored comfort would be. Maybe it will be suffocating. Maybe it isn't possible. Maybe I'd ruin it. That's when the wondering goes further.. What about your identity is truly yours? Which pieces have you handpicked from the people in your life, and what is actually inside you that makes you who you are? Maybe you don't want to ever know.

This all being said, the one thing I feel separated myself from Tori Spring's character- was that she doesn't like to read, my little dark heart sank from my body in dismay. I still love her though, enough to breathe through the book in one afternoon.

There's so much skin torn off my lips that I don't even need to speak. But I can't help but wonder that when they look at me, do they know about what I won't tell them?

You can come in any font of text, but if you're a word I find I love, I will fall madly for you.

I love how Michael saw a depressed person like himself and immediately thought "yeah, this is it" and went for it