Imagine Having A Personality So Morally Bankrupt That The Pope Himself Said "i'm Telling God" And Headed

sorry i covered your neck in dark hickeys and clamped down hard on your throat like limp prey while i was giving you a handjob. you whimpered a little too soft and i blacked out and believed myself to be a feral dog in possession of an entire rotisserie chicken

heartstopper + tumblr text posts

I'd like to introduce everyone to this horrid thing I created about a year ago but haven't shown many people yet (probably for the best).

This is Baby. AKA The Monster. AKA Sight Tremendous and Abhorred, AKA Vile Insect, AKA A Thing Such As Even Dante Could Not Have Conceived, etc, etc. It's made from bits of scrap fabric I scrounged from various sources and is roughly the size of a human toddler. Its design is based on Mary Shelly's original descriptions of Frankenstein's creature.

But that's not all! Behold!

You can dissect this little abomination to reveal a full set of crocheted, knitted, and scrap fabric organs, all hand-stitched by yours truly!

It has a heart, stomach, lungs, liver, small and large intestine, kidneys, bladder, and, of course, a brain! So it can ponder the horrors of its own existence!

I used this pattern by Less Than Three for the heart. I ended up felting it because I screwed up most of the stitches (I was relatively new to crochet at the time). The result was a bit of a blobby mess, but oh well.

So yeah. This thing lives in my house now (my family hates it). I have yet to reap the full consequences of my hubris.

Nietzsche believed that you’ve gotta be able to think about suicide before you can move beyond wanting to kill yourself because only once you’ve accepted it as an option can you make the choice not to do it, and the alternative, to deny the urge and ignore it, would inevitably cause you to cave to the unaddressed desire you have for it.

And the dude was right. 

The rogue’s gallery of psych students and junior practitioners on this hellsite have hijacked my post about not being mean to yourself to explain to people how actually what I’m talking about is cognitive-behavioral therapy, and how it involves disciplining yourself to never talk negatively about yourself and how it’s important to check with a therapist that you’re doing it correctly, and like, this is why I don’t trust and can’t stand these people.

Being your own friend is a holistic process, there aren’t exercises you can do or therapy methods you can apply, which is why most people relapse almost immediately after stopping CBT or DBT, because they haven’t actually made any progress in how they look out for themselves, they were merely thrust into a disciplinary regimen where they are taught to engage in habits which their therapist then holds them accountable to, and so, without that therapist, they fall apart again.

Not being mean to yourself doesn’t mean censoring self-deprecating humor, it doesn’t mean snapping a rubber band on your wrist when you have a negative thought, it means taking time to sit down and think about yourself as if you were another person, to really take stock of who you are from as objective a perspective as you can muster, and if you really want to grow, realizing that this person you see can’t grow if the person closest to them, which is you, spends all their time berating them and making them feel like shit.

Being friends with yourself is not a series of therapeutic exercises, it’s challenging yourself to evaluate why you’re a dick to yourself in a way you aren’t to other people, or maybe you are a dick to other people, and maybe you want to be a dick to yourself, which is goofy as fuck, but if you’re still suffering, maybe ask yourself why the fuck you want to be such a dick, the answers may surprise you.

thinking about mel outside the pitt a lot

she has no interest in performing femininity. she hates the sensory experience of makeup on her skin, or tight glittery dresses, or, god forbid, curling her hair. she hates going to the salon (loud blowdryers, strangers touching her, eyes judging her when she stims and hums), so she trims her own hair herself (forgetting most times until her braid is too long and hits her waist).

she used to cut her hair very short in high school, a practical pixie cut, but becca always cried, upset by big changes, so she tries to keep it the same length now.

but she likes pretty things, collecting trinkets like a mockingbird. gold rings, clinking bracelets, a necklace with a deep green stone that kisses her breast bone. she barely wears them, but puts them on her window sill so she can see them gleam in the morning.

during the summer, she only wears loose flowy cotton dresses and linen baggy pants—anything else makes her skin hurt. she hates denim and corduroy, but loves cotton shorts and butter soft sweaters and long wool socks in a plethora of colors.

at home, she’s perpetually in shorts and a huge sweatshirt and fluffy slippers with rabbit ears

she lets becca play with her hair. frazzled space buns with colorful clips. twin bubbly braids with tiny butterfly hair pins. and she doesn’t mind nail polish—it’s soothing, the cool wet stroke of the brush, becca’s face wrinkled with concentration.

of course in the ED, she aims for comfort over fashion—boring orthopedic shoes and light t-shirts under her scrubs. she takes off the nail polish every morning with acetone wipes since it’s not allowed on shift.

(Frank sees her one day at a random restaurant with Becca and does a double-take because thats Mel King with twin buns in her hair and a huge band tee shirt and cotton shorts and dirty converse and it’s like now he knows this secret part of Mel, the Mel outside the ED.)

(She invites him to sit down and meet Becca. Every time they hang out after, on grocery store trips, in her tiny cluttered apartment, Frank looks forward to seeing what mishmash of clothes she’ll wear, discovering the books and jewelry on her shelves, the music posters on her walls.)

(And maybe, while walking with her through a park with his new dog, he touches her cottony skirt just barely with his fingertips and allows himself to want her—just for a second.)

“Sometimes, a person with ADHD can hit the do-or-die deadline and produce lots of high-quality work in a short time. A whole semester of study is crammed into a single night of hyperfocused perfection. Some people with ADHD create crises to generate the adrenaline to get them engaged and functional. The “masters of disasters” handle high-intensity crises with ease, only to fall apart when things become routine again. Lurching from crisis to crisis, however, is a tough way to live life. Occasionally, I run across people who use anger to get the adrenaline rush they need to get engaged and be productive. They resurrect resentments or slights, from years before, to motivate themselves. The price they pay for their productivity is so high that they may be seen as having personality disorders.”

— https://www.additudemag.com/adhd-in-adults-nervous-system/ (via adultadhd)

ive just been born into the world what are some good games for beginners

Forget about torturing your blorbos, putting them through the ringer. I'm putting my blorbo in perfectly ordinary, pleasant situations. Their tortured personality will cause them anguish anyway, making an absolutely mundane scene into the most dramatic, agony filled affair as though the world is ending and it's all their fault