i’m going to tell you a story, so bear with me, all right?
this time seven years ago, i was two and a half weeks out from an accident that warped my mind and took away one of the most significant things in my life. this time seven years ago, i was miserable, nearly friendless, with what i thought i was only one good thing in my life that i was going to lose shortly after.
this time six years ago, i was a freshman in high school. this time six years ago, i was two and a half weeks out from the one-year anniversary of categorically the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. this time six years ago, i was scared and defensive and losing my mind.
this time five years ago, i was both better and worse. this time five years ago, i thought i’d found real friends. this time five years ago, i was having panic attacks more and more regularly as i retreated into my own head and built walls to keep everybody out even as i was desperate to let someone in.
this time four years ago, i was sitting in a psychologist’s office because my fear of what was happening to me outweighed my fear of people knowing about it. this time four years ago, i was having panic attacks every night, staying awake until three or four in the morning and medicating my way through my junior year of high school with a combination of ibuprofen and a lot of caffeine. this time four years ago, i was at the lowest point of my life.
this time three years ago, i had just been accepted into college. this time three years ago, the panic attacks were fewer, but they were still happening with as much force as ever. this time three years ago, my history teacher would joke with me about how i never said anything remotely close to “good” whenever he asked me how i was doing because i existed in a state of utter cynicism.
this time two years ago, i got my heart broken. this time two years ago, i walked away from a boy who finally made me feel like i meant something because he wouldn’t make choices and i wasn’t going to wait for him anymore. this time two years ago, i sat on the floor of a shower in cincinnati after my cousin’s wedding reception and i cried because i missed him and it hurt but i had to make myself leave.
this time a year ago, i was introduced to someone by the barista that i’d befriended while avoiding the aforementioned boy. this time a year ago, she said “you’re both sarcastic assholes, you’ll love each other,” and then she walked away. this time a year ago, i would shut myself in my room in my apartment because i was having another panic attack and i needed to be alone, even though my roommate was fantastic.
this time a year ago, i’d finally begun to accept that i was probably never going to really be okay.
right now, that sarcastic asshole has become one of my best friends who can make me laugh no matter how upset i am, even though there’s an eight-and-a-half year age gap between us. right now, that barista is one of my favorite human beings on this earth. right now, that roommate has become all but my sister. right now, i have a group of people whom i love and trust and know care about me.
right now, i’m nearly done with a major in a field that i love even if it’s not the one i’m going into. right now, i’m on a high because i was just offered an internship at my first-choice firm for my second major and the partner called me personally to let me know. right now, i’m facing a summer of real employment which could lead to a job offer for after i graduate. right now, i can’t remember the last time that i had a serious panic attack about the events of my past.
right now, i laugh more than i cry. right now, my brain is functioning at an even higher capacity than it was before the accident that damaged it. right now, i have more good memories than i do bad. right now, i’m no longer angry about what happened to me. right now, that boy i cried over and i are cool, even if we’re not friends. right now, i am happy and i am comfortable and i am content.
i used to think that i wasn’t going to have a future, and the only reason why i never gave up was because other people in my life wouldn’t let me. i used to think that i was never going to be better, that my accident would haunt me every day for the rest of my life, that i would never be what my history teacher told me i should strive for, that i would never be content.
i was wrong.
what happened to me left me with four letters. p, t, s, d. i didn’t know what that meant. i didn’t know how to live with it. i didn’t know how to live without it. i didn’t know how to accept it without letting it define me.
i lived through it anyway.
i lived through the pain and the terror and the anger and the disappointment, and it hurt and it was difficult and sometimes i really just wanted to give up, and i don’t mean end my life. i didn’t want to do that. i wanted to just stop existing, to curl up in a ball and be done and have everyone forget me because i didn’t want to cause my family pain but i also didn’t want to be present anymore.
i’m glad i didn’t stop existing. i’m glad that i got to meet all of these people, work for all of these things, drink a lot of tea and read a lot of books and listen to the hamilton soundtrack more than is probably healthy. i’m glad that i’ve gotten to go to bruce springsteen concerts and become a fan of all these television shows and memorized the entirety of the princess bride. i’m glad that i’ve had so many tomorrows, that i can come home from class and curl up with my cat and know that every day is a chance for something good to happen.
my grandfather always used to tell my mom that “it’ll all be better in the morning.”
he wasn’t wrong. it might not be tomorrow, it might not be next week, or next month, or next year, but one morning you are going to wake up and you may not be okay but you will be better and you will be content and that will be everything.
like……….. i did my thesis on how tumblr is an effective entrypoint into ethnic studies and critical thinking in general but like, part of that was the recognition that tumblr #discourse is so different from academic or irl activist discourse like. my professor specifically talks about the danger of constructing ourselves, or anything (and we’re talking about decolonizing movements right now, so she very much means Anything) as “Politically Pure,” and certainly i use “complex personhood” a lot, which is the Actual Academic Term for “Hello Yes Its OK To Like And Feel Things that are quote-unquote ‘P r o b l e m a t i c’ because otherwise how do you Live and Survive.” for marginalized peoples, enjoying life is an act of resistance. accusing someone of being “problematic” (i understand the use of that word but i critiqued it in my thesis and it.,.,.., bothers me so much now lmao) necessarily reflects on how YOU perceive this person (and by extension yourself) as being otherwise Politically Pure. which nobody is!!! chill!!! there are so many small things that people need in their life to make them happy and as whole as one can be in a culture which otherwise deliberately intends to strip you of happiness and wholeness like
Summary: Series - You’re an old colleague of Natasha’s who finds herself face to face with the Winter Soldier on the wrong end of an Avengers’ op. Chapter – Natasha gives you a reality check and the team argues about your place among them.
Word Count: 1465
Author’s Note: Soooo I tried for like 3 days to not leave you like this on this part, but alas, I must leave you here, and pick it up in part 11 because I’m a devious b. I’m super excited about 11 and 12 though, so I will be itching to post 11… but I also don’t have much free time this weekend… so we’ll see.
Note about tags: I didn’t have time to respond to all the more recent notes yet (I will I promise! I adore and appreciate you all so so much!!), but I really wanted to get this out before my busy weekend hiatus. I THINK I got everyone, but if I missed you, please shoot me an ask and I’ll definitely catch it for 11.
You woke to the sound of slightly raised voices down the hall, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Rolling over with a groan, all you could think about was the hangover raging through your skull. You pinched your eyes closed trying to shut out the memories from the previous night. Bucky.
The volume of the argument increased slightly as Natasha opened the door to enter your room. She handed you some Aspirin and a sports drink and you gratefully gulped them down while she eased onto the bed beside you.
“I didn’t know spiders liked to cuddle,” you teased. She smiled at you, but it was half-hearted, which was alarming.
“Have fun last night?” She quizzed.
“Mhmm” you hummed, taking another sip.
“It looked like you and Barnes were having fun, but he seems moodier than ever this morning, so what did you do?”
Time to draw my favorite otp again and also something for Nikan / @nihilxm. Meanwhile draws the three and six over them to hide Grimmjow’s hands a little B’) cuz reasons. Also might drew Harribel wrong, idk, haven’t looked at refs.
a.) We’re still in the same boat we’ve been in from the start. Tim Hedrick confirmed that we’ve been told the ages. This adds… literally nothing to the discourse but things we already knew, and have been working with. “Your imagination is your own” - within the parameters established (SDCC). So late teens, for HLK and “slightly older” for shiro, if this interview is anything to go by.
b.) I’m fucking done with discourse. There’s evidence for every single point to be argued and we don’t know jack shit and the only evidence that could potentially prove that HLK are minors is both incongruent with stuff said by directors and also iffy, so basically - everyone is allowed their own interpretation until canon proof is actually there.
c.) Seeing as I literally don’t think HLK are minors and would rather NOT believe them to be (not only for shipping, but I’m STRONGLY against the depiction of child soldiers), I’m still cool with Sheith and will still be rb it. If Tim was confirming anyone’s ages he wouldn’t do it through a fan’s… tweet? He’s talking about either SDCC or VolPod, things I’ve talked about here. I’ll be blogging less often since I spend a lot of time screaming on Twitter.
d.) I will however, be making a separate blog for NSFW in general just because of the difficulty of the subject right now and I want minors to be more comfortable on my blog. I’ve been thinking about this for a while but I figured this was a good moment to do that. If you message me privately you can have access to my NSFW blog if you’re over 18, I’m assuming no one will lie about their ages and I won’t be held responsible if you do.
e.) I’m not arguing with people, hate will be deleted and the sender will be blocked. If you want a proper discussion where you are willing to listen, I will do that, but otherwise, bye.
f.) I’m tired. Unfollow if you think I’m a piece of shit
October 27, 1916 - First of Two VC’s Awarded to Noel Chavasse
Pictured - Captain Chavasse, VC & Bar. The Scots doctor was the only man to win two Victoria Crosses during the war, the first during the Battle of the Somme, and the second, posthumously, in 1917. He first awarded was cited in October 1916.
Newspapers reported the award of Britain’s highest honor, the Victoria Cross, to Captain Noel Chavasse on October 27, 1916. The Scottish doctor had displayed amazing courage and compassion during the Battle of Guillemont in August, braving enemy fire all day to rescue wounded men. His citation read:
Captain Noel Godfrey Chavasse, M.C., M.B., Royal Army Medical Corps.
For most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty.
During an attack he tended the wounded in the open all day, under
heavy fire, frequently in view of the enemy. During the ensuing night he
searched for wounded on the ground in front of the enemy’s lines for
Next day he took one stretcher-bearer to the advanced trenches, and
under heavy shell fire carried an urgent case for 500 yards into safety,
being wounded in the side by a shell splinter during the journey. The
same night he took up a party of twenty volunteers, rescued three
wounded men from a shell hole twenty-five yards from the enemy’s trench,
buried the bodies of two officers, and collected many identity discs,
although fired on by bombs and machine guns.
Altogether he saved the lives of some twenty badly wounded men,
besides the ordinary cases which passed through his hands. His courage
and self-sacrifice, were beyond praise.
Chavasse is especially significant in that he was the only man to win two Victoria Crosses during the war. He won his bar in 1917, during the Battle of Passchendaele for similar actions, but the second time he would not survive.