When Will I Find My Emotional Support White Man

reginald talking about his messy break up with carmichael: and thats why i adopted seven children

pogo: all i asked was what your plans are today :\

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

Im a bit drunk, its 3;00am. But Why does Bebe yoda give the uppy arms.. Why does mister mandalorian immediately pick him up .. why does no one involved with this production car e about my well being

Imagine being Vanya, no memory of anything at all and stuck in 1963, seduces a farmers wife, gets chased by 3 swedish dudes shooting at her, discovers she has powers and uses them on said swedish dudes, hides in the corn field all night alone, then suddenly some little feral school boy comes out of nowhere and is like ;3 hi vanya, i’m ur brother my name is literally just a number missed u xx

i knew i was going to die when i saw you for the first time in twenty-seven years. 

your voice, first—oh, that voice—and then i turned and saw you, across the room, across the great divide—and i swallowed hard because i knew. i was going to die for you because i would always die for you. remember? all those times i ran for you, jumped off the quarry for you, drove your truck fast down the highway because you liked when i got reckless—all that stupid shit i did for you, no question (a little pushback, maybe). i would die for you, simple. and i knew when i looked to you and you looked back to me that i was going to.

but i didn’t want to. i fought it every step of the way. i could see—if i just made it through the dinner, if i just made it through the pharmacy, if i just made it through the ritual, if i just made it through the sewers—there was a life with you, waiting patiently.

i wanted to make it.

we have lived a life of should-haves. all of us—and it goes back further than that summer: we should have turned left on jackson instead of right when we were just kids and maybe we never would have found ourselves in it’s path. and i should have told you, so many times. i had every chance. i should have followed you, gone wherever you wanted, driven west in that car i saved up for and forgotten all about new york, forgotten all about anything that wasn’t you. but we never really got it right.

when the claw went through my chest, it didn’t hurt. when i said your name and my mouth filled with blood, it didn’t hurt. when you laid me against the rock and pressed your hand to my stomach, it didn’t hurt. 

but it hurt when i laughed and it hurt when you smiled that split-second smile. (that’s when i knew i would not last much longer). it hurt when your smile fell. it hurt when you walked away from me. it hurt knowing i could not get up and follow you. and it hurt knowing that when you came back to me, you would have to find me dead and i could not hold you—i would never be able to make the pain go away anymore and i would be the cause of it.

i knew i was going to die for you a long time ago. i had just forgotten for a while. i didn’t know it would be like this—i thought maybe you’d hold me a little longer, maybe i’d tell you then.

i don’t know what i said while i died. i wanted to say, i wish you wouldn’t go. i wanted to tell you i was sorry i would not keep my promise to hold on. i hope you know i wanted to. i remember the blurry and fragmented image of you, walking away after slipping your pinky from mine. most of all, i wanted to tell you that tomorrow, we should get up early and go back home to our place, how about it my love?

but the last thing i remember is you, behind me on the cliff at the quarry on a summer day, reaching out to take my hand before we jumped, your voice shouting my name. and then—

would it be a nice day tomorrow? would the sun be shining on you, the way i always liked? 

i wonder. 

Accidentally swallows the coin I was buried with and gets left on the dock for eternity because I couldn't pay the ferryman

look…………….. write as much shitty fic as you want. nobody can stop you. you’re learning constantly and it’s better to write hackneyed implausible ridiculousness than it is to not write at all out of fear of fucking up. you’re good

remember the brief trend earlier this year of celebrities posting their co-stars middle school pics and captioning them "it makes me so mad I can't hang out with this kid"??? Richie and Bill, within seconds of each other and without mentioning their plan to each other first, both post pics of them like hugging as kids captioned "it makes me so mad that I HAD to hang out with this kid" lmao

omg ok but this would be so hilarious if they roasted each other while no one knew that they were childhood friends. like obvs before derry they didnt even know each other so the fans would have no reason to associate them in any way but then after derry. richie and bill dont make a post like ‘hey we’ve actually known each other for a long time’ or anything like instead richie just tweets a pic of bill as a child one day with some caption like “anyone else think he looks how cold fries taste?” which just causes Mass confusion bc hUH??? like richie didnt tweet anything abt bills writing so it doesnt seem like he just read one of bills books and was upset by it. but ppl still dont have any reason to think richie and bill know each other. so in the end ppl just think that comedian richie tozier woke up one morning and was like. you know what? Fuck that horror novel guy

!!!!!!!!!

#prosnape #fucksnaters #uwu #antimaruaders

The Boy Who Lived

HARRY: I shouldn’t have survived – it was my destiny to die – even Dumbledore thought so – and yet I lived. I beat Voldemort. All these people – my parents, Fred, the Fallen Fifty – and it’s me that gets to live? How is that? All this damage – and it’s my fault.

GINNY: They were killed by Voldemort.

HARRY: But if I’d stopped him sooner? All that blood on my hands. And now our son has been taken too–

GINNY: He’s not dead. Do you hear me Harry? He’s not dead.

HARRY: The Boy Who Lived. How many people have to die for the Boy Who Lived?

- HP&TCH, Act Four, Scene Six

We learned in Philosopher’s Stone that Harry’d deepest desire was to be reunited with his family. To have a family. And we see at the end of Deathly Hallows, that he’s achieved this desire. He’s married to Ginny and has three children. His children. For the first time in his life, he’s surrounded by loving blood relatives. And you know that makes him happy, happier than anything else.

But deep down–or maybe not so deep down–he doesn’t think he deserves that happiness. He looks at all the people who didn’t grow up to have families of their own. The people who lost family members, who lost siblings, parents, children, partners. And then he looks at what he has and, believing so tragically that the deaths rest on his own shoulders, thinks he doesn’t deserve it. One of Harry’s central motivating forces is his desire to save people, and he wasn’t able to save everyone.

So, hold that in your mind as you read the next bit.

ALBUS: The poor orphan who went on to save us all – so may I say – on behalf of wizarding world kind. How grateful we are for your heroism. Should we bow now or will a curtsey do?

HARRY: Albus, please – you know, I’ve never wanted gratitude.

ALBUS: But right now I’m overflowing with it – it must be the kind gift of this mouldy blanket that did it…

HARRY: Mouldy blanket?

ALBUS: What did you think would happen? We’d hug. I’d tell you I always loved you? What?

HARRY: (finally losing his temper) You know what? I’m done with being made responsible for your unhappiness. At least you’ve got a dad. Because I didn’t, okay?

ALBUS: And you think that was unlucky? I don’t.

HARRY: You wish me dead?

ALBUS: No! I just wish you weren’t my dad.

HARRY: (seeing red) Well, there are times I wish you weren’t my son.

(There’s a silence. Albus nods. Pause. Harry realises what he’s said.)

HARRY: No, I didn’t mean that…

- HP&TCC, Act One, Scene Seven

Harry breaks right after Albus implies that he’s never loved him. And then again when Albus says he wishes Harry wasn’t his father. Because Albus, unknowingly, has just confirmed what Harry believes deep down. He’s not worthy of his family’s love. He doesn’t deserve them. He doesn’t deserve that happiness. He didn’t even know what he was saying to Albus as he said it.

And I’m thinking–the process Harry goes through in the course of the play, his efforts to see Albus for who he really is–that has as much to do with healing himself as it does to do with mending his relationship with Albus. By learning how to be a good parent to Albus, he’s proving to himself that he’s worthy of being loved.