it's 11 in the morning i can't

  • Me: having a structured life is exhausting!
  • Therapist: I understand. Let's say just get up in the morning, get some breakfast, go for a walk...and that's it for a start.
  • Me: *internally: sounds reasonable, but that means first fighting against my will to just stay in bed and act as if I'm not existing. Getting up either way and facing my face and body in the mirror. There's an 80% chance that it's one of those days and I hate myself just so fucking much I could scream. But there's also a chance I look in the mirror and find a person that does not seem to be familiar to me looking back at me. Still, now you want me to shower and wash this body I find really disgusting. I have to see every single scar I have and maybe feel the burn of fresh cuts. Then I have to put on cloth, brush my teeth and my hair and do my makeup, as I can't go outside without hiding my ugly face under layers of primers and foundations and powders and highlighters and fake lashes and a perfect contour and a big nude fake smile. I spend money I don't have to make myself look good enough for myself to endure my own appearance. I remember to take my meds. Now I'm dressed (in clothes that hopefully say 'i don't care' when really I care a lot) and can go to the kitchen to prepare food that I know I won't be able to eat in 50% of the cases. There's also a good chance that I eat it and then find myself throwing up and ruining my makeup feeling every single disgusting cell of fat on my body vibrate while trying to breathe. Well either way let's say I might redo my make-up, brush my teeth again and step outside. I maybe take my horse with me and walk through the neighbourhood. I have to see people. I feel anxious. I would love to just turn around and go back home. But I keep on walking, trying to seem selfconfident so my horse and neighbours can't see or feel my insecurity. I'll try to be friendly and act normal even though I'm sure they hate me and laugh about me. Still if the communication between my horse and me isn't perfect today I'll probably cry and if a neighbour just looks at me in a way that i interpret to be unfriendly or cold or annoyed I'll probably cry too. Let's say I'm back home. Now it's like 11 in the morning. What do I do? By now I'm an emotional wreck, tired as hell, probably planing on how to harm myself with one half of my brain while the other half bundles it's last energy to prevent exactly this from happening. How do I survive the rest?*
  • Me: I'll try.
INTJ ESFP arguments are the most pointless thing I have ever done
  • ESFP: Good Morning!
  • INTJ: *hums* good morning
  • ESFP: *imitates in grumpy voice* 'Uhhh good morning'
  • INTJ: It's early, I'm still waking up
  • ESFP: It's 11 o'clock!
  • INTJ: Actually it's 10:40.
  • ESFP: That's still silly. Wanna come with me shopping?
  • INTJ: *making breakfast* No
  • ESFP: Please?
  • INTJ: No.
  • ESFP: I'll buy you sushi.
  • INTJ: No ESFP, I just want to have a quiet morning and eat my breakfast in piece.
  • ESFP: It's not early!
  • INTJ: So you've said, now can I please just have some time to myself?
  • ESFP: *offended* you don't have to be so rude about it!
  • INTJ: It's not my fault you can't sense the tone of the room.
  • ESFP: Well it's not my fault you don't know how to talk to people!
  • INTJ: I know many people who like to talk to me.
  • ESFP: You could've said it with some dignity.
  • INTJ: Dignity?
  • ESFP: Get some self-respect?
  • INTJ: Self-res- I do respect myself, I'm awesome. Do you- do you know what dignity and self-respect mean?
  • ESFP: I can't talk to you when you're like this!
  • INTJ: Like what?
  • ESFP: Like that!
  • INTJ: Like what, this is just what I sound like when I'm tired and annoyed.
  • ESFP: *storms about the house the rest of the day*
  • INTJ: *sigh* wouldn't of happened if she just listened to me the first time.

anonymous asked:

I work in a mental hospital and the night shift employees are chronically late or procrastinate coming down the halls at night. I'm supposed to get off at 11:15 but don't end up leaving until 11:45-12.... every shift. And I can't just leave because it's job abandonment. I have to wait for my relief.

I hate that. When I worked the morning shift I would have to leave a half day early almost every week from them coming in late.

-Rodney

thehallowedangel  asked:

Victor: "You keep clutching your stomach, are you okay?" Yurio: "I'm going to be sick..." They are on the ice, practicing and Yurio cannot get anywhere conventional in time, so as much a Victor tries to stop him, he just skates precariously over to the side of the rink and holds onto the sides and throws up onto the floor on the other side of the bariers. Bonus points if he actually can't get anything up so Victor gives up stopping him and goes to help instead. (Also hi, btw, I felt brave~)

WELL HELLO! Pleasure to see such a lovely request! It’s so detailed and amazing. I couldn’t wait to write it. I wrote this at like… 11 or 12 at night and just added the ending this morning. I THINK IT’S A BIT DECENT EVEN IF ITS SHORT! I hope you like it! -Bridget




Skepticism ate away at Viktor Nikiforov’s head.

Something was off. Completely off.

Movements that used to come so easy to Yurio looked like they caused him immense pain.

As he skated, the blonde’s skin seemed to retain a worrying pallor. He looked like he was trembling despite the sweat that collected on his forehead.

Yurio skid to a stop, placing one hand over his stomach, the other pressing against his back.

“Yurio… You look unwell, are you alright?” Viktor asked, skating over to the blonde.

The young Russian nodded, swallowing thickly “Yeah, I just think I ate something that’s not agreeing with me.” He said, pulling his hands away and moving one as if brushing off the statement

Viktor did not believe this in the slightest. “You’re messing up your routines.” He points out, knowing Yurio well enough to know how much Yurio seemed to work through.

“Yeah, yeah I know… Sorry… Let me try this again.” He asked, throat tight with a constricting nausea that burned the back of his throat.

He felt terrible. Absolutely terrible. But skating was everything to him. He wasn’t going to bail unless he physically couldn’t fight back the acid trying to rise up his throat any longer.

He was exhausted beyond words. And had a dizzying headache that did his uneasy stomach no justice.

He felt ready to pass out, throw up. Or both, in all truth.

But his pride and dedication overpowered that. So, he took off, ready to resume his routine.

Running on pure willpower and adrenaline, he managed to land his jumps and spins the way they should be.

But when he finished his routine, he immediately knew he was in for complete hell.

One hand pressed firmly to his stomach, the other covered his mouth to stifle a sick hiccup.

Oh this can’t be good…

He tilted his head back, focusing on the roof of the rink. Deep breaths, that was his only hope.

And uncomfortable heat settled over Yurio like a wet blanket. It was suffocating and dizzying and just made his nausea worse.

“Yurio?” Viktor questioned, concerned “Come here.”

Damn you Viktor, Yurio thought.

But he forced himself over to Viktor, hand never leaving his stomach.

“You keep clutching your stomach, are you sure you’re okay?” Viktor questions, slimming the four foot difference between them by getting closer.

“I think I’m gonna be sick…” Yurio mumbled, covering his mouth again

Viktor gave a worried look. But Yurio wasn’t under it long.

He couldn’t get to the bathroom. But despite that, he knew he was going to throw up.

His stomach churned an his mouth started to fill excessively with coppery saliva.

He dug his blades into the ice, tearing his skate into the ice and taking off.

Viktor, assuming he was going into a new routine, reached out to stop him. But Yurio was too fast.

The blonde Russian got to the barrier, coughing out saliva as he gripped the edges of the barrier.

He put so much strain on his body in practice that it made the contents of his stomach taunt and threaten him but never reappear or give him the relief he so desperately needed.

Forceful retches were long unproductive. His back arched and he kept leaning forward, stabilizing himself only by gripping the edge of the barrier.

His throat was being ripped raw and his head was spinning, trying desperately to catch his breath or gain some sort of relief. Anything.

Someone’s hands are on his back and one is wrapped around his abdomen to keep him up.

Whoever was steadying him put pressure on his stomach. And just like that, everything unraveled.

Painfully so, his dinner made an unappealing reappearance.

The thick liquid spilled past his lips and landed to the ground with a disgusting splatter, one that made even Viktor’s stomach turn despite his, as always, excellent health (Yurio often wondered if Viktor EVER got sick)

Viktor brushed back stray stands of hair that fell to Yurio’s face as the younger continuously brought up the food in his system.

The blonde skipped breakfast, only drinking some Gatorade before heading to the rink.

Which was why Viktor was so stunned fifteen minutes later when Yurio’s spell of vomiting wasn’t letting up much.

Yurio weighed less than a hundred pounds, standing at five foot four. He always burned off what he ate through skating. And by now, Viktor felt that Yurio had thrown up half his body weight.

All truth in play, that was scientifically impossible. But with how much Yurio was throwing up… Well…

When the spell tapered into dry heaving at the half hour mark, Yurio was panting heavily, coughing and spitting into the mess on the ground.

“Viktor…” Yurio said, voice nearly completely gone from the forceful spell “Can I stop training for the day… Please…”

Viktor chuckled softly “You must be delirious if you think i would let you practice in this condition.”

Yurio offered a weak smile, but holy hell was he tired.

He must’ve swayed on his feet, because he felt a hand press against his spine.

“Stay awake little brother,” Viktor says quietly “I’ve got you.”

  • problematic squirrel lesbian: dude I keep imagining Sans and Mettaton having a drinking date and it's not one of the sad serious ones and them just being fucking SHITFACED and wreaking havoc around town
  • problematic squirrel lesbian: they just loiter around anywhere that's open late
  • vaultboy: they get arrested
  • problematic squirrel lesbian: gOD
  • problematic squirrel lesbian: PAPYRUS HAS TO BAIL THEM OUT
  • problematic squirrel lesbian: can u imagine that fuckin phone call
  • problematic squirrel lesbian: "Ugh.... Sans, it's three in the morning, what are you doing? What's that noise in the background? Where are you?"
  • "sorry papy-hic-rus. I hope you werent'..... ar-REST-in ("HAHH OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE U SAID IT")"
  • vaultboy: FUKCIGN METTATON
  • problematic squirrel lesbian: "wh- is that mettaton"
  • "oh, sorry, I forgot you prob-urp-bably don't get that joek yet. so we're in jail......... ("I CAN TWERK IN FROTN OF 7-11 AS MCUH AS I WANT THE LAWWWWWWW CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO")"
  • vaultboy: I M LAUGHIG SO HARD HOLY SHIT
  • vaultboy: IF YOU EVER TAKE FIC REQUESTS I WANT TO SEE SOMETHING LIKE THAT, IN FULL DETAIL
This is how August has been
  • Friend: Why are you so on edge lately?
  • Me: Min Yoongi
  • Friend: What?
  • Me: OMG DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?? ITS AUGUST DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS. THIS MEANS I HAVE TO WAKE UP EVERYDAY FULL OF ANXIETY AND REFRESH YOUTUBE AND TWITTER JUST WAITING FOR SUGAS MIXTAPE TO DROP OKAY. I CAN'T MISS IT THIS IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN DEATH I NEED TO BE THERE WHEN YOONGI DROPS THIS MIXTAPE YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. THE SECOND THIS MIXTAPE DROPS THE ENTIRE WORLD IS GOING TO CHANGE AND I NEED TO BE THERE. EVERY MORNING AT 11 UNTIL THE WORLD IS OVER.
  • Friend: wtf
  • 8 pm: tired
  • 9 pm: tired
  • 10 pm: tired
  • 11 pm: exhausted
  • 12 am: hurts to keep my eyes open
  • 1 am: awake
  • 2 am: awake
  • 3 am: can't sleep now
  • 4 am: fuck
  • 5 am: lol it's basically morning
  • 6 am: i have so many regrets

anonymous asked:

sam just gets so fucking fired up about politics and he's listening to political radio on his way to work and watching the DNC to relax after a long day and steve's like "babe?" and sam sleepily says, "shh, the president's about to speak" before he falls asleep against steve's shoulder. steve finds that he suddenly starts spouting political jargon and he can't find it in himself to be upset.

THIS IS SO PRECIOUS..AND SOFT…PLEASE

theyre snuggled up on the couch, and its like. 11:30? and sam’s got work in the morning but “no, steve, i gotta stay up for obama, he knows his shit and he’s gonna destroy trump in this last speech” and steve obliges bc he knows he won’t hear the end of it otherwise. but sam just falls asleep, snoring softly, openmouthed, and steve can feel his heart exploding. he listens to the president talk about hope, and about heroes and truth and the beauty of it all, and he looks down at sam (beautiful sam, sam who’s never given up on him, sam who hasn’t let him down in the years they’ve been together) and feels something settle in his chest. he feels…whole. complete.

it’s been a long time since he could say that.