“i Saw This Shit Coming And I Still Did Nothing About It” - The Story Of My Life

God I really wish carrying stuffed animals around with you was socially acceptable

I’m going to say something that might upset some folks. And I know that this is going to be tough to hear. It’s tough for me to say, because this is something I’ve been guilty of in the past and it’s a hard thing to go through and deal with. But it needs to be said.

If you are hurting, you need to tell people. Not should—you need to tell people. The people around you are not psychic and they aren’t going to know what’s going on unless you tell them.

It’s super easy to play the wounded card and say, “why didn’t anyone notice? Why didn’t they see that I was hurting, it was so obvious? I reblogged a bunch of my chemical romance lyrics. I vagueblogged about feeling like garbage. I pinned an existential meme on my blog.” But guess what fam?? Literally everyone I know is doing that and not every one of them is in crisis mode!!!

I feel for you, I really do, but you can’t ask me why no one cared until you explicitly stated that you wanted to actually die, for real, not joking. Because we didn’t know you wanted to actually die, for real, not joking until you said it. You never told anyone. You never reached out over DMs, you hid behind memes and jokes because you didn’t want to burden everyone with your problems, you said you were fine when people asked if you were doing okay.

Tell someone when you’re hurting. Tell them. Personally. Explicitly. Don’t be vague, don’t say “haha” or “lmao” or “/j” if you’re not actually joking because how am I supposed to help you if you’re communicating to me that it’s not that serious. There’s no micro expressions on the internet, I can’t tell the difference between “okay” and “okay.” because it’s different for everyone.

Tell. Someone.

angsty prompts

empty bedroom once was full and lively

messy bedroom, op never came back, it was left as it is, as if op will be back soon. but op will never come back

cut out calendar, where op knows its his/her time already, so he/she cut the calendar to leave it only until the last date

unfinished paintings

op wanting/wishing to meet a deceased loved ones (unknowingly op wished to die, they want it so bad)

the place that op use to seat is empty (in class, cafeteria, etc)

empty and undecorated bedroom bcs op is not here to stay

:)

After this chapter I feel like I made a terrible mistake by changing my main favorite ship from Touken to Mutsurie. It’s like I abandoned a ship safely heading to its destination so that I can sink with Titanic.

nothing but osamu being proud

my dad–also a writer–came to visit, and i mentioned that the best thing to come out of the layoff is that i’m writing again. he asked what i was writing about, and i said what i always do: “oh, just fanfic,” which is code for “let’s not look at this too deeply because i’m basically just making action figures kiss in text form” and “this awkward follow-up question is exactly why i don’t call myself a writer in public.”

he said, “you have to stop doing that.”

“i know, i know,” because it’s even more embarrassing to be embarrassed about writing fanfic, considering how many posts i’ve reblogged in its defense.

but i misunderstood his original question: “fanfic is just the genre. i asked what you’re writing about.” 

i did the conversational equivalent of a spinning wheel cursor for at least a minute. i started peeling back the setting and the characters, the fic challenge and the specific episode the story jumps off from, and it was one of those slow-dawning light bulb moments. “i’m writing about loneliness, and who we are in the absence of purpose.”

as, i imagine, are a lot of people right now, who probably also don’t realize they’re writing an existential diary in the guise of getting television characters to fuck. 

“that’s what you’re writing. the rest is just how you get there, and how you get it out into the world. was richard iii really about richard the third? would shakespeare have gotten as many people to see it if it wasn’t a story they knew?”

so, my friends: what are you writing about?

if you relate to having an idea for a story for 4 to 8 years with almost zero progress towards actually writing it down, clap your hands

Khun: Got caught giving a fuck. Embarrassing

Mmmmmmmm

who made this, im wheezing😂

Fuck yeah this is the shit