i’ve decided that i won’t be studying anything further bc at this point in my life i have no idea what i want to do and i can’t find anything that really interest me so i think that its good for me if i look for a job and start working properly (hopefully at a cool graphic design studio or agency ashjfjhg) for the next year and maybe then i’ll know what i want to do next.
Admitting that you need help is incredibly difficult. Seeking help and/or therapy for the areas of life in which you need that help is arguably even harder. Working on finding healthier and more effective coping strategies for those struggles and fostering an understanding of the underlying causes of those struggles is harder still. If/when you add mental illness to this equation of sorts, everything becomes seemingly impossible. If someone you know has the courage to say, “okay, so, things are really not okay right now and I need help finding a way or a reason to get out of my bed in the morning so I’m going to take this humongous step and give this fight for happiness/contentment all I’ve got,” please respect them and cheer them on. Support them! If you are one of those people who’s said that and is seeking a solution: I am so proud of you, I believe in you so much, and I know that you can do this, you can fight this. We will get through it all and we will be okay. We are strong. We are important. We are good enough. We really, really are. Promise. <3
terfs be tryna equate womanhood to vaginas and just conveniently forget that intersex ppl exist and the reason trans ppl are discriminated against is because of their g e n d e r, u kno the thing feminism is entirely about. i feel like its useless to argue w most of them though, theyre bullheaded dumbasses that are incapable of listening to anything other than the farting sounds that come out of their mouths.
i feed off discourse tho i have a problem but anyway all their responses are so fucking funny and invalid it hurts
i bet u a terf would look up “intersex” and be all
A mere two months had passed since she abandoned the laboratory for a universe that wasn’t her own when she returned and, without so much as a passing glance towards the core, leapt through a new portal. Bounded into it without enough time for so much as a single breath of Aperture’s stale air, fast enough that her body heat maintained without letting the cold seep in. If one were not paying good enough attention, they may not have recognized her for who she was, what with new clothes and clean, brushed brown hair. Those boots and that bandage were the only things that remained the same at passing glance.
This became the way it was. Every month or so she would dive into Wheatley’s decaying humble pit of a home, and before her feet had time to become familiar with the floor she was off again and gone again. Away, somewhere, curious and rambunctious and unstoppable.
Sometimes she would drop something as she darted by, some little gift. Never handed to him, never explicitly stated as a present, but left behind. A third clack on the ground to accompany both springs as she bounced through the next portal. Mere reminders that she had been somewhere far away, perhaps thank-yous or maybe she was teasing him. Useless things that hit the ground like they fell out of her pocket, but she was too careful to let their loss be an accident.
Amongst the “gifts” she had dropped: a diamond-and-pearl encrusted comb; a pro-Yankees cap; an English-to-French pocket dictionary; an empty pistol with a fist-sized crunch-dent on the side that rendered it impossible to reload; a ballpoint pen half-out of ink; a rainbow keychain reading “pride”; an old cell phone from the 90s that had run out of batteries long ago; some coin that was probably supposed to be currency; a small hand-made doll missing an eye and an arm; and a red recorder with a chewed tip.
As she began to run out of portals to jump through, and the portals she hadn’t yet explored moved positions in either universe they connected, she spent more time between them. Still not long, little pauses here and there to look left and right before hopping away again. Like an anxious bunny. Never acknowledging Wheatley, never doing anything for him but dropping the occasional material endowment adding to a growing collection of useless trinkets.
Then out again, away again, into some new place where he couldn’t go.
I have been learning Ancient Greek very very sporadically for about 4 months (i.e. spending like an evening every few weeks doing some textbook exercises and making really dumb mistakes) and today I just had that first moment of looking at an actual text and understanding an ENTIRE LINE. OK, the line is a whopping 5 words in length. And one of the words means ‘or’. BUT STILL.
(Also I did that thing afterwards where I looked at how I would translate the line and compared it to an actual translation, and whoa, I am not cut out for translation. The beautiful and poetic translation in my book that actually makes sense is ‘a judge, you mean, or just an avenger?’ and I have written it as ‘someone
to judge or someone to avenge, which of the two do you mean?’. So much of translation is in knowing how to make a translation really flow and make the transition from original to translated language smooth, keeping the feel of the original sentence in the new language. I cannot do that. YET.)