memory-frustration

Not even cigarettes and alcohol could make me addicted the way you addict me now.
—  Please get out of my head

I don’t think a lot of people understand how frustrating memory and concentration problems are. It’s not cute or “ditzy” or whatever to forget what you were doing or thinking about moment after you were doing it. Being able to complete a task or thought because you can’t remember or focus long enough to finish it is a terrible feeling.

My interpretation of the Grootslang is that it is a hateful but tragic entity, constantly dragged by the two extremes of itself. It cries when it eats meat, but grows ill when it eats plants. It is deathly lonely on its own but overwhelmed when in company. It shifts between a cold anxiety and defense to emotional rage and vengeance. It is overwhelmed by it’s mind and memories, and it is frustrated by it’s own lethargy. It is a mix of drives that cannot compromise and being torn apart is an inevitable blessing

anonymous asked:

You and Bucky are captured by Hydra and to protect you he doesn't fight them on the chair. They don't manage to have complete control of him but they have wiped you from his memories. When they get frustrated and throw him back in your cell, you're devastated. Days later you're singing to yourself and the sound of your singing snaps his memories back into place.

im not crying 

Fluffy Friday™

huffingtonpost.com
Why I Refuse to Say I 'Fight' My Disablity
Recently, I saw a picture on Facebook that said, "I fight cerebral palsy. What's your superpower?" So much about this illustration focusing on cerebral palsy awareness struck me as wrong and uncomfortable, and it left me with a nauseous feeling in my stomach.

Recently, I saw a picture on Facebook that said, “I fight cerebral palsy. What’s your superpower?” So much about this illustration focusing on cerebral palsy awareness struck me as wrong and uncomfortable, and it left me with a nauseous feeling in my stomach. Immediately images of me at constant battle with myself popped into my head. Fight cerebral palsy? I thought. How would that even be possible? How could I constantly be at war with something that is so intrinsically a part of me, and why would I even want to fight a battle that could never really be won?

It brought back memories of childhood when I honestly believed that if I could “just be like everyone else,” everything would be fine. It brought back memories of frustration with a body that never seemed to do what I wanted it to do, and feeling so desperately like I wanted to fit in but thinking I was the problem. Feeling like being able to walk was the magical cure that would solve all my problems, and that if I just had a “normal” body like my sister, everything would be perfect.

Thankfully, times have changed, and I am not that little girl anymore. It took a long time, but I have learned to love my spazzy body, and I no longer see walking as the magical cure that will solve all my problems. Instead, I have learned to embrace my wheelchair as the amazing tool it is. The tool that allows me to see the world and live my life on my own terms. Slowly, I have learned I am not the problem and never have been. I have learned that cerebral palsy is not something to be battled with, overcome or conquered. It is a part of me – a complicated part for sure, but a beautiful one, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. It has shaped my life and the way I view the world around me, and it’s given me so many great relationships and experiences for which I will be forever grateful.

I will never say I fight my disability because doing that would be fighting a war against myself, and a very important part of me. I will never say I fight cerebral palsy because disability, and cerebral palsy, are not problems to be battled.

I will say I fight ableism and prejudice.

I will say I fight lack of access, stigma and ignorance.

I will say I fight discrimination.

I will say I fight these things, because I do. These are battles to fight, and win. It is ableism, prejudice, lack of access, stigma, ignorance and discrimination that prevent me from having the same opportunities in life as my able-bodied brother and sister, not my cerebral palsy, my wheelchair or my inability to walk.

I will fight to make this world a better place for future generations of kids just like me.

I will fight to make sure they are never told or led to believe their bodies are a problem or something they must do battle against on a daily basis just to fit in.

I will fight to make sure those kids have the same opportunities as everybody else, and never believe everything would be better if they could just change who they are.

I will fight for a world where the mere presence of disability does not make you extraordinary. Where disabled children are taught to aspire to more than just existing, and where being disabled doesn’t mean you have to be 10 times better than everyone else just to be good enough.

I will fight for a world where we talk about living with and owning our disabled bodies rather than overcoming them.

I will fight for a better world, and a better future, because those things are worth fighting for, but I will not fight a war against myself.

//trying to draw but hating my every creation and just scribbling all over it

someone save me

Imagine all the little encouragements Ford gives to his brother.

Stan reeling in a huge catch, explaining to Ford the best way to fish. Ford already knows, he has many hunting skills now, but he nods and listens as Stan explains instead of cutting him off or correcting him. Because this is one of the few things Stan is proud of himself for, and Ford wants him to feel validated.

Stan struggling with recovering memory, and getting frustrated to the point of snapping, hitting himself on the head, calling himself ‘dumb’ and 'stupid’. Ford gently talking him down, patiently sitting with him. “You’re not stupid, Stan. You’re doing so well. It will take some time, but we’ll get through this together, I promise. Now let’s look at this picture again… ”

Stan taking down a supernatural sea creature and saving them both. Ford doesn’t even hold back his praise, “Stan that was absolutely incredible! Do you know how hard it is to defeat a sharkataur? Even the best sailors have met their match against one! You are truly one of a kind to be able to kick that things scaly butt back where it belongs! My brother, the sharkataur slayer! Hah!” Stan just beams, and can’t help but feel happy that his brother, the nerd genius, who he has spent his whole life trying to catch up to, is proud of him.

adhd isn’t cute hyperactiveness and boundless energy like it’s so often portrayed

adhd is ugly, it’s the eyes with dark circles under them looking at the glowing 3:00 AM on the clock beside you as you cannot sleep. it’s the masses of apologies that drip from your lips as you hand in assignments - late again you literally had to force yourself to write it, each word you write giving you the sensation of having teeth pulled out. it’s the embarrassed feeling of having to go back to someone for the third time to ask them to explain the instructions again as you forgot about them due to your terrible memory. it’s the frustrated tears you cry in private as you think of the words people have used for you; lazy, bad listener, chronically late - and the amount of times you can recall being told that you’re making excuses for not being able to finish something only adds to that frustration.

adhd isn’t cute it’s not manic adorable hyperactiveness, it’s difficult, it’s self hatred, it’s frustration and it’s ugly

Fibromyalgia Fog

What is most frustrating to any person with fibromyalgia is knowing your capabilities are held hostage by an endless state of blurred confusion, as if in a constant game of scrabble against a tornado. Everything is there, just harder to catch and put into anything that make sense.

It’s difficult to follow a conversation, especially ones we most wish to focus on. Focus in itself is about as useful as a rabbit, it’s flighty and hops from one thing to the next and not all of it is linear. Keeping up with a truckload of metaphors is almost impossible, watering it down into being boringly literal is an act of kindness.

The feelings of isolation that come with fibro fog are most prominent when all you want is to speak freely, succinctly, creatively, thoughtfully.

It took me 20+ minutes to write this post and it still lacks in the true depths of how it affects me and how I presume others think of me. Heart wrenching.

I love when I re-take ADHD assessments wondering if it’ll ever be like, “yeah you might have a little congrats U grew out of it,” but it’s always like “GODDAMN HO SHIT U GOT FULL BLOWN ADULT ADHD WOOWEE”

The thing is, people don’t realize it comes with other symptoms like being hypersensitive to sensory input. Or feeling incredibly overwhelmed with mundane tasks that seem easy to others.

On the flip side, I was told by a therapist in high school that people with ADD/ADHD make awesome race car drivers because the world is finally moving as fast as their brain.

No offense but why is the psych so fucking rude to me like I understand that my memory issues can get frustrating when remembering to take my meds makes me like….not kill myself, but maybe don’t be an asshole

3

#ReadForMentalHealthWeek recommendation: Elizabeth is Missing by Emma Healey.

Reading from Maud’s perspective (she suffers from dementia) was both fascinating and terrifying. Reading about Maud, her memory lapses, her frustration at not being able to remember things, not being taken seriously, and how her family deals with her disease was quite sad. You should read Elizabeth is Missing if you want to read a book where the protagonist has dementia, a mystery is involved, and the setting fluctuates between historical era and present day.

Anyway, here’s the review I wrote for this book couple of months ago.

Okay so, the whole ‘sans getting timelines mixed up’ thing really got me thinking how jolting it would be for Sans to be looped back in time without warning.

Most of the “Groundhog Day” scenarios in fiction are a 24-hour loop. It starts and ends like clockwork. Sans, however, doesn’t get this luxury; he could suffer a reset only three hours since the last one, in the middle of a task, or even while he’s asleep.

And suddenly, some of his behaviors make a lot more sense.

Sans can cook (Papyrus references a quiche he made) but doesn’t, choosing instead to eat out constantly. Why? While he obviously enjoys the food, there’s another reason, too.

He can never depend on having groceries. Think about it. Why would you go out and waste time planning meals and buying groceries that would vanish from your fridge before you ever used them? It would end up being a frustrating memory game, trying to remember if you bought those eggs before or after the last reset.

All the odd jobs that Sans has (with the seeming exception of Sentry) are ones he created himself. He runs a hot-dog stand out of the sentry stations, considers selling fried snow, offers a charge-by-use service with his telescope. It would arguably be much easier for him to just get a part-time job somewhere. But then you’d have to deal with heading in for work one day just to learn you never got a job there.

With self-employment, Sans doesn’t have to worry about an endless cycle of applying to jobs.  In fact, he can work as little as necessary for day-to-day costs for him and his brother. There’s no reason to plan ahead and save money that won’t be there in a few days.

Considering it in this light, a lot of San’s behaviors are less quirky and more survival techniques to brave the crappy hand he’s been dealt.