Today, the heart

Three months ago I tried killing myself. I wish there were a more ambiguous way to phrase this to myself or anybody else, but there isn’t.  No euphemism can be umbrella enough to shield me from the onslaught of my own mental monsoon.I tried to end my life because I was tired. That is what I kept repeating like a glossolalia even when I was saved - I am tired, let me go. I am tired. That is what I believed in that feral trance - I was moving elsewhere, to another beginning. It wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction or sudden, backfired tangent of psychosis - it was just a curtain pull on a long and spiritually exhausting 20 some years of being dealt the most inexplicably arcane cards by whichever hand that served as ventriloquist to my fate. Fate was always an absurd spiel in my eyes. I am a social scientist, my cognition is designed to rescind the colloquial joo joo of destiny et al, but here I was thoroughly defeated in the throes of the wheel of fortune that was treating me like a prisoner decreed to some form of medieval torture. So, I decided to lavish enough violence on myself and silence the metronome wheezing inside my ribcage.

No, it wasn’t sudden, it wasn’t without a considerable battle with myself, angling for every resource available to prevent this self-destruction; my own le diable a quatre. In due course I realised that there are a lot of reservoirs available to balm this famine, this complete starvation of the soul and each person, each helpline did its best to harbour my broken ship but it was almost that everything someone said about the positivity of life, I felt more and more determined to end my own. It didn’t help to remind me that my mother would be devastated at seeing my dead body or that I had so much potential to be a tour de force. It came to a point where the more I was informed of my great innate ability for survival, the more I wanted to avoid the person who said it. No one understood that I wasn’t capable of assessing my worth in the infinite realm of a future me when the present, current me could not stop staring at every fan solely with the intention of calculating if it could heft my body weight. Everyone said, you will get better tomorrow. No one said,you are enough today.

Social consciousness has secured the bidding of suicide as morally criminal but unfortunately those who proselytize don’t know that at the moment of contemplating a blade to the wrist or wetting yout throat for a vial of multi-colored pilled, no one is capable of principled decision-making. Much as I loathe to reference DFW in a post about suicide, the starkest reasoning for it is in fact by him -

“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”

Depression has been my most faithful bedmate for as long as I can remember. We are the commonest of trigger warnings, says a friend and group therapy companion. The first time I read this paragraph, I felt like someone has slowly entered a knife through my jugular - all that was unspoken inside of me was bleeding from a thick, blackish red mouth of the wound. I have felt like a walking wound since I was a child. Most of my childhood was a heavy-accented slur. I have a thinly veiled recollection of abuse; sometimes there are auditory hallucinations, sometimes my spine is a scroll of cold shivers imagining the dogged, cutthroat hand emerging from the dark like an optical illusion. Somehow  I have survived my childhood and this in turn makes me distrust the ideal of survival because I am covered in the scars of survival. It depends on what you see when you look at a scar - a place where the harm ended itself or a place where the healing began. But either ways, you are still standing in the shadow of hurt, and sometimes I don’t want to be healed, I want to be undone of the hurt. You would understand the difference if you lived with the same guilt as I do towards my own body.

When I was a child, I desperately wanted to get cancer. As revolting as it sounds, I had watched a girl in my class get leukemia and she was moved to an oncology specialising hospital. Her father would always be by her side when we visited her and I somehow deduced that if I too suffered from something life-threatening, maybe my father would come and take me away from the homemade hell that was running through me. I didn’t get cancer, the classmate eventually died & my father never really came for me. But I somehow latched onto the eager hands of a deathwish that seemed more accepting of me than any adult around me.

When I self harm/ed, I graduated very quickly from razors to my own fists. Cutting wasn’t painful enough so I proceeded to choking. I would hit myself till I was unconscious and it was surprising how so little of it registered with anyone around me. Or maybe they knew but decided not to understand it. If the ostrich buries its head in the sand and you know the drill. I don’t think anyone can damage us quite the way we can do it to ourselves. God may or may not have been created in our image but violence is - it sits down for breakfast with us, it comes to the movies with us, it rocks our chair to sleep, and finally it handed me my nylon rope.

Every time I made a more institutionalized attempt to fix this scale of alienation, I felt more abandoned. The most debilitating part comes after you survive because everything in suicide help is poised for prevention but hardly for post-survival. So you weathered the earthquake, but what do you do with a decade worth of after-shocks? No one can spell that out with a trustworthy clarity.

I don’t speak for a tribe, nor do I particularly enjoy transforming myself into the foghorn of any mouthpiece so I want to stray from the compulsive nomenclature, the cloaking, the closeting of an illness that is always in sharp disagreement with my life impulses. I can label it mental difference, I can typecast it as neurodivergence but none of it can effectively help my desire to drown myself in a dingy bathtub while everyone outside the room is celebrating my new book or my new degree. I don’t know what words should I spool so they cal thread themselves into each other to form a net wide enough to catch the blind trapeze artist my mind transforms into during these hours.

One of the hardest things is to travel back in time and suddenly encounter a moment of realisation where some grave violation of my sense of self occurred and I was so convinced of my worthlessness, I became complicit in that act of assault towards me. At 20 a boyfriend tried to rape me and I had no memory of this till a recent therapy session. Maybe because I am conditioned to think of rape as a very evident scream, a sort of “obvious” violence whereas the incident was far more slyly controlled, insidious as its composed mastermind. I also admitted to myself that I almost convinced myself that I was deserving of this aggression because for so long my depression had emptied me into an effigy to the extent that I stopped viewing myself as a human being anymore. 

That is how raw it gets. It digs its teeth into your eyes and you can’t see who you are anymore. There is nothing uplifting I can end this with except to say that - Is there a way to find what comes after survival? How do you survive survival? Is there a way to tell us not about what it will be but what it is now? People want to help and it is a sharp paradox, a road to hell is paved with good intentions. I know they meant well when they said - “hey I too feel sad sometimes” and all I wanted to say was - I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel anything. Don’t you see that is the reason I want to end?

But all I can say now is - persevere, self. There is a beautiful somewhere. You are just about reaching.

anonymous asked:

How would GoM react when their s.o. gives them a list of all the things they love about them when they're down in the dumps?

Kise Ryouta stared at the paper with all of the reasons why you admired him. He couldn’t do anything but blink, then an ambiguous thank you left his mouth. 
‘I hope it’s not too corny.’ you blushed. 
‘What, no of course not!’ he replied immediately, then he lowered his voice. ‘I love it, especially this one.’ he pointed at number 7, which said “Chaos is simply the absence of fun.”
‘I appreciate that you payed attention to work on every little detail.’ Kise placed a kiss on your forehead. ‘I love you.’

Kuroko Tetsuya took over your list not saying a single word, just bowed a little.
‘Thank you, ____-san!’ a polite gratitude sentence left his throat. ‘As soon as I get home, I read it.’
You nodded, but honestly, you wanted him to read it here and now. ‘I hope, you’re going to like it.’ 
‘Everything what I get from you I like.’ he smiled and said goodbye. He didn’t know that this list will give him the strength to fight through tough times.
“You are not heartless.” said the list.

‘I know, it’s a terrible day for the cancers.’ you said, then lent a piece of paper in Midorima Shintaro’s hands. 
‘What’s that?’ 
‘Just a list, not a big deal.’ you slipped your shoulders. ‘Cheer up!’ you waved at him with a big smile. 
He looked at the paper and the first fact that catched his attention was “You are sensitive, but know that this is not weakness.”
This fact echoed in his ears for hours, until he finally accepted that. Yes, it’s not weakness, it’s an emotion. 
‘Thank you.’ he smiled.

Murasakibara Atsushi hated clichés and you knew that pretty well, in consequence you didn’t write any special or seemingly corny facts about him, just the truth.
‘I can see the loneliness in your face.’ you started without saying hello. ‘Here, take this and read it sometimes.’ You knew, when Murasakibara is down, you have to be the stronger one, who stands on their feet. Atsushi looked at the list with an expressionless face. Murasakibara started smiling and blushing involuntarily as he read the first facts.
“You are charming and funny. You automatically make my day thousand times better.”

Aomine Daiki was often lazy and sad, so somewhat you were used to his emotions, but when he started ignoring your phones and text messages, you didn’t tolerate it any longer. At first you thought you list the facts why you admire and love him, but then rejected the idea and instead of that you just wrote a quote on a piece of paper.
“Listen, perfection is boring. Without imperfections there would be no room to grow and learn.”
When he received the paper, he didn’t say anything, and nor you did. He read the quote tons of times and held your hand showing that he understood the meaning of the quote and he’s grateful for your kindness. 

Akashi Seijuro didn’t ever show weakness, not even towards you. He trusted you of course, but never let his guard down, thus you didn’t really know when was he sad or felt lonely. 
On a warm, sunny Saturday, you woke up before him and decided to try to break the ice. You wanted to help him whatever you could, otherwise for what do partners stand for? 
“Find out who you are, through any means necessary, and then live like fire among the pretenders and fakes.” This little quotation was waiting for him on the kitchen table.
The emperor closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Thank you.’ he whispered almost inaudibly. He truly loved the way you took care of him. 

Nouvel instant fangirl ! Pour l‘instant je tiens bien le rythme malgré a chaleur @-@ XDDDD

Alors une nouvelle fois j’ai beaucoup aimé l’épisode c’est vraiment dommage que cela soit compressé en 13 épisodes y aurai vraiment eu matière à developper mais c’est bien aussi car ça avance vite ! Une mini serie sympa pour l’été !! :) C’est cool !

Alors tout d’abord le principal de l’épisode UoU

On sait enfin ce qu’il y a sous les jupettes des golds !!O/

J’aime toujours autant Aldé classe et humain  jusqu’au bout et prêt a donner sa vie pourvu que sa mission soit accomplie 

J’ai aimé la vision du personnage de Camus, on le voit souvent dans le camp des méchants mais il tient toujours autant a ses amis ,cela en fait un personnage ambigu et imprévisible qu’on a du mal a rentrer dans une case

Ouais vraiment ça m’a bien plu et il y avait des dessins très beaux !

Ah la la ! Le fangirlisme XDDDDDD

Shaka a trouvé un adversaire à la hauteur !? Il etait temps qu’il se dégourdisse un petit peu !

D’après l’accroche du nouvel épisode DM se battrait pour son amour ?

Encore hâte de voir la suite ! 

Profitez bien du beau temps ! <3

Send a character and a word, and I’ll write a minific

Based on this post. I thought they would make for fun prompts.  

Sonder: The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Opia: The ambiguous intensity of Looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.

Énouement: The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

Vellichor: The strange wistfulness of used bookshops.

Rubatosis: The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

Kenopsia: The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.

Mauerbauertraurigkeit: The inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like.

Jouska: A hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.

Chrysalism: The amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

Vemödalen: The frustration of photographic something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist.

Anecdoche: A conversation in which everyone is talking, but nobody is listening

Ellipsism: A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.

Kuebiko: A state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence.

Lachesism: The desire to be struck by disaster – to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire.

Exulansis: The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.

Adronitis: Frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone.

Rückkehrunruhe: The feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness.

Nodus Tollens: The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore.

Onism: The frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

Altschmerz: Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had – the same boring flaws and anxieties that you’ve been gnawing on for years.

Occhiolism: The awareness of the smallness of your perspective.

anonymous asked:

Kind of disappointed that the sixth series seems to be about Alderpaw...But who knows, he might be cool? And there might also be Sparkpaw POV chapters...

i genuinely blew a circuit at my main blog i was so pissed when i found out

kate says she likes the idea of Alderpaw being ambiguously gay, but im not giving this arc a shot until he flat out says “I like toms, not she-cats”

either that or i sue harper collins


sunshineofthegroup asked:

Ooh!! Sorry. That was lovely. :) I am absolute shit at grand profound statements and prompting and stuff, and all my favorite phanfic tropes/headcanons are mutually exclusive like powerbottom!dan and (biromantic)ace!phil >.< I'm so sorry but I would love anything you wrote I'm sure :)

I wrote something. xx

lots of ambiguous sexuality in this one

I’d be one thing if I said Misty Copeland is completely untalented, didn’t break barriers for black women, and doesn’t deserve the recognition she gets. Then perhaps the response of her talent, skills, and work ethic plus influence on the black community, especially young black girls, would have been warranted. But I didn’t. I simply said the reason why she gets the recognition and praise is because she is light-skinned, biracial, and racially ambiguous. I don’t make these posts to have a discussion on a privileged person’s talent or worth ethic. I make these posts to solely discuss why their talent and work ethic get more praise than those more marginalized than them.

So, I wrote a thing.

Zombies Run, post S2,M43 (spoilers, obvs)
Aftermath, 5, Sam/5. 2nd person for ambiguity’s sake.
Unbetaed as I don’t have one for this fandom so all mistakes (including Aussie-isms) are my own. Will also probably stealth-edit as I find all the mistakes after pressing post

You want to scream. You are blurring at the edges. This is what hell feels like, burning and ice and darkness and the smell of death and immortality in your throat.

Sleep With a Dying Sun

Keep reading

You’re Still the One

read it on the AO3 at

by laudatenium

Your sex god of a fiancé hasn’t had sex with you in five days. What do you do?

If you chose “cry a little while on a mission that if it goes wrong will kill literally everyone because you think he’s going to leave you”, you have chosen the Tony Stark option. Poor choice.

Words: 3256, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

read it on the AO3 at

just-your-average-nerdy-burrito asked:

Hi! I was assigned female at birth and have IDed as cisgender all my life until now- I'm in ninth grade- I have realized that I always am going in between masculine and feminine usually leaning more towards masculine but yet whenever I try and figure out what my gender is I feel mixed emotions and I feel very ambiguous about it. I believe this gender is called androgyne but I'm confused because I don't share the same amount of masculine and feminine traits. Am I still androgyne?

Hi there,

It’s definitely okay to continue to go through the process of questioning gender. You don’t have to share a certain amount of masculine or feminine traits naturally to be androgynous (or any gender). Sometimes people describe the feeling of going back and forth between genders as gender fluid, or as androgynous if they have an ‘in-between’ man/woman feeling, but if you feel ambiguous about it, it may be good to keep exploring! Please feel free to peruse our resources to help with your journey.


I’d have to have more information on the occasion like.. those photos are pretty ambiguous I don’t know how long the crow rode on the back of the eagle for

Batman #666 by Andy Kubert

Written by Grant Morrison

Art by Andy Kubert & Jesse Delperdang

Cover by Andy Kubert

Meet Damian Wayne, the Batman of Tomorrow in this special issue set 15 years from now in a nightmarish future Gotham! In a world torn apart by terrorism, plagues, rogue weather and bizarre super-crime, only 24 hours are left before the climactic battle of Armageddon - and only one man who might be able to stop it.

But will he?

The Son of the Bat meets the Prince of Darkness and the stage is set for the ultimate battle between evil and moral ambiguity. Can Damian make peace with his heritage to save the world? Find out in BATMAN #666, “Numbers of the Beast.”

On sale May 30 o 32 pg, FC, $2.99 US

anonymous asked:

To the anon asking about how to express themselves, im a minor too and i usually just go with like "no?????" or "rude sit down" or something like that, just like be ambiguous about it (or you know fawn over how cute they are)

^^^ exactly. i normally call vernon disrespectful and what not lol

-admin danny

my feelings on this remain ambiguous at best but you’ve got to find a bit of humour in the situation at the very least. who’d have known that it’d be so perfect to deliver a line from alan clarke’s scum in the moment during a game of football.

the opposition gives me a little bit of mouth during some push and shove, standard stuff. i’m up for the banter so i square up to him, my head on his nose and i say ‘right then are you gonna have me or what’.

he banters back ‘mate you are having a laugh aren’t ya’ and turns his back to me.

i saunter up to him and i breathe down his neck ‘right lad, you best know i’m the daddy here’ and two fingers up him. well thats the line delivered to a cinematic peach and he falls in a heap. nobodies seen it so i get away with murder and the game goes on. we still shake hands at the end but now you know, this game brings out the best in me. roy keane would have been proud.

Opia: The ambiguous intensity of Looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable