middle fingers to the world

✨Stay afraid but do it anyway.✨

And perhaps I’m a little touchy on the subject and maybe I hold Carrie a little too dear to my heart, but the reason I do is because Carrie Fisher helped me realize I was mentally ill.

Oh I knew I was crazy, in the same vague way you worry that you’ve left the stove on at home, despite not having cooked yourself a meal in weeks because you’re too depressed to eat a proper meal. (Except you don’t call it that, you call it “laziness” and maybe try and convince yourself it’s a new diet called “whatever requires the least amount of effort to put calories into my face”.)

Something was “off” inside my head, but no one seemed to care about it too much. Even when they threw me into eating rehab for a perceived eating disorder—despite lacking several of the vital criteria on the checklist to have typical eating disordered behavior—no one gave too much of a shit. I was just a girl who was “too nervous”, “too in touch with my emotions”, “too fragile”, I was “attention seeking”. And their remedy to this was ignore me and wonder why I crashed and burned at regular intervals, blame me for being selfish, then go back to not giving a fuck until it inconvenienced their life again.

I was crazy. But maybe I wasn’t. Maybe if I just tried harder…so I learned to cope. I became the one who Coped. I was There For Everyone. I became Reliable and above all else, I learned to be Funny and make It funny.

My mother still hates that. She thinks it’s crass for women to be funny. Personally I think I’m fucking hysterical, but then what do I know, I’m fucking nuts.

Later, now with hindsight and being able to look at my life from a safe(-r) mindset surrounded by people who care and want to help, I realize that what I was going through was (and is) untreated PTSD. Whether or not the PTSD caused the other issues, like the depression, the anxiety, the compulsive behaviors or the ADHD I think I might have, I don’t know. I likely will never know, because the Thing happened and shot my still developing child brain into a million tiny fragmented pieces of unparalleled terror and poor coping mechanisms. It doesn’t really matter at this point, all that matters is dealing with all of it as best as I can, however I can. But there’s a very real chance I might never have gotten to this stage if I hadn’t found out that Princess Leia, my childhood icon who helped me feel brave and strong while my world was ending, had written a book about living with mental health issues.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from it to be honest. I knew vaguely, that Carrie Fisher had issues. The word “junkie” had been used by my father—while unironically taking a drink from his self-medicating poison of choice and my mother tutted and tisked about how some people just ought to pull themselves together

Ten, maybe twelve minutes into the book locked away in my room, I can’t even tell you anymore whether I was crying because I was laughing so hard or if I was laughing because I was crying my heart out, but I was having a fucking revelation.

This was me, holy shit this was me, this was me, this was me, an unboken mantra in my head pounding to the beat of my heart, this was me, this is me—I do exist.

That’s a weird thought to have, right? I do exist. 

It wasn’t, “I’m normal”, because normal is not this. It’s not feeling like your mind is running a million miles a second in circles while simultaneously wading uphill through treacle and juggling chainsaws while trying to keep all your Life Plates spinning and oh gods someone just handed you a kitten to look after. What it is however, is fairly common, and suffered with varying degrees of severity by a rather sizable chunk of the world’s population. I mean, who knew? I sure as shit didn’t. I thought it was all in my head.

You know what I mean.

I’m told some people get up in the mornings and go through their entire day without once having an intrusive thought or struggling to do basic shit like take a shower and manage to remember to feed themselves. I know, seems fake right? It certainly does to me.

And here was Carrie, my Princess Leia, laying out her issues past, present and probable future, in what remains one of the funniest, most brutal attempts at self-lobotomy on paper I have ever had the privilege to read. I consumed that book in mere hours, I devoured her words and breathed them in like inhaling steam in a sauna and breathing out fire in their wake and moved onto her next book, then her next, then her next, and by then there was this blessed thing called Twitter and it should be impossible to be hilarious and poignant through 140 emojis or less, but that was the kind of brilliant she was. And this was me, this was someone like me. And she was witty and brilliant and funny and yes, things were difficult for her and yes, some parts of her life were an absolute clusterfuck of mistakes, addiction and general all round fuckery leading up to that point…but she was still there, y’know? She was still there.

And it breaks my heart a little every day, knowing that I’ll never be able to tell her how important that was to me. And to thank her for it.

So instead I try to pay it forward. Every day, from one day to the next, I try to be a little kinder, a little brighter—a little more like Our Lady Carrie—and throw two loving sparkly middle fingers up at the world that tries to stamp out and demonize the notion that mentally ill people like me, like you, exist. 

And we deserve to exist, and more than that, we deserve to be treated with human fucking decency.

And if you are of a mind that the latest news surrounding Carrie’s death means that she was any lesser of a vital energy force in this world, that she mattered less, that her words were less important or that she “deserved” to die because they found drugs in her autopsy report, it is with my profound and heartfelt best wishes, that I invite you to cordially:

✨🖕✨🖕✨🖕✨ Go Fuck Yourself ✨🖕✨🖕✨🖕✨

Don’t bother to RSVP.

How the Types Respond to Cultural Apocalypse:

ENFP: Things are fine. Super fine. SO GOOD. {runs out and buys several puppies and a baby llama} 

INTJ/ISTJ: Now responsible for caring for ENFP’s puppies and baby llama. This is your life now. 

INFJ: *Hones in* on possible psychological causes of dictator’s childhood trauma, feels hurt when others point out this is completely impractical. 

INFP: Internalizes everything as a personal assault against their emotions, fantasizes about moving to the Netherlands where the people are cool

ENFJ: Tries desperately to fix morale, then falls into an underappreciated funk. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

ENTJ: Organizes 12 rallies and marches immediately, getting irritated when the media coverage isn’t balanced

ISFP/ESFP: Consumes inordinate amounts of edible glitter and potato chips, tries to hug everyone to death.

ISTP: Gives political rants on their outdoor survival channels and/or feels vaguely energized by all the turmoil.

ESTP: Attends a few marches, feels slightly guilty for enjoying the excitement

ESTJ: Picks up the slack of all the navel-gazers (so business as usual). 

ISTJ/ISFJ: Tries to carry on as best they know how. Wishes everyone would settle down already. 

ENTP: Writes and erases 13 think pieces, desperately looks for a way to help everyone beat the system. Finally, explodes in a ball of fireworks.

INTP: Gives the entire world the middle finger in between reblogging acrid political commentaries.

2

i drew @tidorito‘s cute lil horror boy 

i also made a maybe?? horror sans??? his name is spots tho and hes kind of like a circus ringleader? (i was listening to my circus playlist so)

Sirius Black was the calm before the storm, that sharp intake of breath, the intoxicating feeling of euphoria as you throw your middle finger up in the air and scream fuck the world! He was leather jackets and bruised knuckles. The telltale muted thrum as you pass a concert venue. He was all about soft moans and gentle touches behind closed doors. The pale curve of a back against worn out sheets, innocent and challenging at the same time. Grey eyes that could burn your eyes and lips that could soothe the aches of a bad night. He was dangerously proud and confident but ridiculously understanding and loyal. Sirius Black was a contradiction in every sense of the word.

Remus Lupin was the smell of earth after rain, the warmth you feel when you hold a cup of cocoa on a cold night, the thrill that runs down your spine each time you enter a library and the comfort of sweater paws. He was also a hurricane when he was writhing in the sheets, silver scars glowing something fierce against soft skin. A mouth full of lightning that looks like sin but feels like heaven, with fingertips that drew lines of fire down a lover’s throat, thin hips with edges that could cut but instead, tasted of the sweetest things and a smattering of freckles in between his shoulder blades that spelled out hope, love and something that was a little too wild to comprehend. Remus Lupin was the boy who refused to give up on a world that gave up on him.

Thing’s the ace community has stolen: The letters “F” and “A”, the colour purple, all of the cake, dragons, the moon itself, unspecified resources (probably diamonds), the ability to wear a ring on your middle finger, every flag in the world, and your cat (probably).

- Mod Sap

z4khm  asked:

in light of ur recent skating blogging: i love watching figure skating but i've never followed the sport consistently. what are some of your favorite programs?

oh gosh, salma, my darling, my precious pomegranate, you’ve done it now. deep breaths. here we go.

my favourite programs from this season are:

my favourite womens’ programs:

my favourite men’s programs:

my favourite pairs programs (this is gonna be shorter):

  • shen & zhao (my faves): “pas de deux,” “adagio in g minor,” and “who wants to live forever
  • sale & pelletier have squandered all goodwill i may’ve once held for them by being massive dicks, but “love story” is still brilliant
  • berezhnaya & sikharulidze have a story that deserves a movie, and “dark eyes” was part of the beginning of that story

my favourite dance programs:

  • davis & white (my precious children): their sexy latin short from 2012, “notre dame de paris” (very likely my favourite figure skating program of all time), and their olympic gold-winning “scheherazade
  • virtue & moir (my other equally precious children): also skated to prince this year. ice dance is so good to me, always. “the great gig in the sky”: almost too sexy to deal with. and, of course, “funny face” and “the umbrellas of cherbourg
  • they may not jump, but these days, ice dancers are the best skaters in the world. that wasn’t always the case - they used to be really good at posing and not much else. the team who did the most to see that changed that is shae-lynn bourne and victor kraatz, who were often too ahead of their time to ever get the medal recognition they deserved. they did, however, give us one of the most famous figure skating programs of all time: their iconic riverdance free dance
  • torvill & dean are probably the team that started the change, and their “bolero” is still famous
  • dubreuil & lauzon came after bourne & kraatz and continued to push the envelope, but were far enough into the change that they got rewarded: “at last,” “ne me quitte pas,” and “singing in the rain

(some) of my favourite exhibition numbers:

Summoning Candyman Epilogue ( Jumin X Reader fanfic)

Fandom: Mystic Messenger
Rating : M 
Summary: “Jumin Han, Jumin Han, Jumin Han” you repeated in front of the mirror. When you wished for Jumin to be real on Halloween night, you didn’t expect him to turn out to be a criminal lord with a strange pet fetish… 
Keywords: Super AU, self-insert, loss of control kink, pet kink, creepy dominant Jumin, criminal setting, yandere, also some Yoosung X Seven and Jaehee X Zen
Author’s Notes: Apologies to everyone who expected super filthy sex – after the last scene in chapter 8, my beta and I came to the conclusion that there was nothing left to add, so this epilogue is mainly to tie up the loose ends (though I remain open to the idea of an extra chapter of smut because who doesn’t love more of that, right? XD) That said, it transits nicely for the next project, which I let you discover at the end ~ enjoy!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

Chapter 9: Epilogue

“You know, I never understood why he chose to bury you here. It’s just so…not you” Simon stressed, then frowned at his inability to express himself better. He didn’t mean the emplacement of her grave, not really; no one could have argued that the place wasn’t as exceptionally beautiful as the girl it guarded. Delicate flowers constantly bloomed around the headstone, like each of them was a tear from the angel engraved at its top; even the leaves of the willows surrounding it seemed to weep with gentle elegance, which was everything Erika had been.  Gentle. Elegant. And weeping, though most of them were too jaded or tactful to remember that fact. 

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live in a world without suffering, Simon?..” she used to ask. Hopeful, at first, as all idealists are; no amount of problems ever seem too many for serious caritative work to overcome, especially once the cure for the lentivirus was found. Years and repetition, however, slowly moved her focus from those solved to those remaining, until simple math laid the truth bare; it’d never be enough.  For one tree of misery down, a whole forest grew in its place; and while a more philosophical person would have argued that it was even more reason to keep trying, Erika’s fire turned inwards instead.  Guilt for those she was unable to save burned her soul like a fiery sun, and whereas despair drove her mind to radical cultism in the first loop, here she just escaped her cousin’s fretful watch, picked a bunch of syringes and walked straight into an odopium den.

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