my feels i cannot feel them anymore

if it helps:

the moment after i cut myself loose from you
my seat was a puddle of tears in piercing crimson
for at least an hour, i must have been crying

if it helps:

i wrote the most wonderful things under your influence
part of you remains in my journals, like the corsage
pressed in their pages and the “i am not me without you”
burnt in the edges

if it helps:

for months on end my eyes were glitter
and my stomach sewn into knots of nostalgia
of how we met, of who we were to become
for months on end i swore — to my friends and
my own grave — i would never leave

if it helps
(and i hope it does)
while i cannot reciprocate the stabs
in your chest that you feel now
i felt them too (for months on end)
and i believe (honestly, truly)
you will feel them for someone else
in the form of glittery eyes
and journal entries talking of
atomic attachment

if it helps:
i do not love you anymore

—  the closest i’ll come to an apology
I just can’t seem to stop writing about you, all my intoxicated thoughts written down and stored away for safe keeping; for hopes of you coming back one day. The feelings I have aren’t mixed or confused as I put them out to be, but they are just words I keep putting into my mouth to make it seem like I just don’t know what I want. But lately my mind has been crashing and my legs can no longer walk on further; for I am not crossing the finish line anytime soon. My heart has been hurting for months on end, I feel so frustrated with everything that is happening. I’m so angry with myself; I didn’t treat myself right, I was so abusive towards you and myself; which words cannot explain how sorry I am anymore, To where I just feel so unclean of my acts and no amount of soap is going to fix my problems or tuck them away, but simply get worse.
—  I’m sad

anonymous asked:

Hi, how are you? Hope you're fine! Hm... Well, I recently noticed that I've projecting the hate I feel for an abusive friendship onto my mom. I don't have contact with the person anymore, but I still feel really pained about what happened and it seems that my scapegoat's been my mother since I've been friends with that person. If it helps, I'm an INTP and both of them are ENFJs and share some similar traits... How can I stop this projection? I know what I do is awful. Thank you!

It sounds more like displacement, avoiding feelings of hurt or anger by redirecting them onto another object. When you cannot acknowledge and accept your feelings and emotions, they get repressed and drive you to do irrational things. You have to work through pain and allow yourself to accept and feel it, to figure out what you are actually feeling so that you can be more aware of how it is driving your behavior. Are you hurt? Angry? Sad? Disgusted? Guilty? Ashamed? You need to process feelings and emotions in order to get closure on a negative event, which often requires expressing them or talking them through with someone in order to see them clearly and feel them thoroughly (maybe go for counseling). Leaving negative feelings to swirl around inside is not going to get you anywhere except maybe further confusion. When you have been wronged by someone, there is a tendency to want some form of “justice”. However, this keeps you perpetually tied to that person, never able to let go of what happened, and it is often an unconscious method to avoid confronting the emotions behind what happened. The person who hurts you is not the person who can heal you. Only you have the power to heal yourself by dealing with the hurt directly instead of trying to deflect it away onto someone/something else.

People who harm/abuse others are often unwittingly repeating destructive cycles/patterns of behavior and you just happened to be the wrong “friend” at the wrong time, i.e., it’s nothing personal against you, though it may seem personal. Take yourself as an example: you were abused by someone and then you feel the urge to abuse your mom, an innocent party. If you were in your mom’s shoes, what would you think? Does your mom know what happened to you? Most moms would be understanding if they knew what happened, but if she doesn’t know, she’ll just think you’re a jerk. As counterintuitive as it seems, the best way to get over hurt is actually to empathize with the person who hurt you (to understand why they really did it), then you will see that their behavior only reflects on them, and then forgiveness becomes possible. Bad things happen to people who don’t deserve it, so how will you deal with this fact of life? Are you going to hold a grudge, blame yourself, blame someone, slink away and hide for the rest of your life, confront what happened…? There are many ways to handle a problem. If you can analyze the possibilities properly, you can make a rational decision to do what is necessary to solve the problem permanently so that you can move on. But if you are blinded by your pain into thinking that you have no choices, that you will be forever saddled with this, then your pain remains unresolved and channeled into destructiveness.

cocotapioka  asked:

9 or 12 for westallen (I can't pick!)??


We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine + We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way

(a continuation of sorts to the last westallen prompt I was given, see here)

Iris is beginning to suspect Felicity of trying to set them up. 

To be fair, yes, the lead for her story did land them at this fancy party that just happened to also be held at one of the many functions of Queen Consolidated. And yes, Barry was also trying to solve a case as the Flash that entwined hers. 

But the dress that arrived at her door was…suspiciously well-timed.

It’s gold, sparkly and backless and Barry nearly walked into a wall when he saw her wearing it for the first time, which was very gratifying, but they’re here to do a job, not moon about in this beautifully decorated ballroom enjoying the very romantic lighting.

But Iris can multitask. So can Barry. 

Iris tells herself it’s easier just let everyone assume he’s her boyfriend, let herself be tucked into his side and smile up at him, as they accept tiny finger foods and glasses of champagne that Barry discreetly pours out into random potted plants and Iris just passes hers along to him to dispose of. It’s easy to take his arm and the two of them stroll around the room, Barry noting where there are security guards and when the cameras offer them a blind spot.

“I feel like I’m in Ocean’s Eleven,” he whispers to her at one point, grinning far too much and Iris allows herself one fond eyeroll.

“Who are you, George Clooney?” she asks and he considers this.

“Nah,” he says. “I think I’d rather be Matt Damon.”

“The pickpocket?” Iris asks as they navigate around an older couple.

“I always felt a certain kind of affinity for him,” Barry admits.

“I guess that makes me Danny Ocean,” Iris says dryly and Barry, his arm around her waist, gives her a quick squeeze.

“You are a criminal mastermind in the making,” he says mock-solemnly. “Just don’t go too far down the dark side or we’ll have an epic confrontation and we can’t have that.”

“Oh definitely,” Iris says just as seriously and despite everything, the fact they’re supposed to be working, supposed to be focused, they start giggling at each other like teenagers, heads ducked down low.

One of the older ladies glances at them and says in a tone usually reserved for small children and smaller dogs, “Oh, the two of you are adorable. How long have you been together?”

Swallowing the last of her giggles, Iris smiles up at Barry, all sweetness and adoration. “Oh, it feels like it’s been forever, doesn’t it babe?”

Barry, bless his transparent heart, nods and smiles back at her, nothing in his face telegraphing anything but return affection. “For almost our entire lives, feels like.”

Something–twinges in Iris’s heart, Barry doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body, and she knows this,but she also knows with a kind of bone deep, in her marrow certainty that in this? Barry is not playing a part. He means it.  And the scary part is, so does she and she has been meaning it for a while now. But Barry’s always been a little braver than her when it comes to his heart. She’s still learning the steps.

The older woman moves on, after bestowing on them one more benevolent smile and Barry’s arm doesn’t waver from its place around her waist. Iris tries remember a time when this didn’t feel utterly natural and comfortable. “Barry,” Iris whispers, trying to keep her voice soft and even, while her heart tries to climb up her throat and leap into Barry’s arms, “Barry–”

“Think we oversold it?” he whispers back. “Die by the con, you know.”

Iris is seized by a very strong urge to drag him into some dark corner, case and lead be damned, pin him to the wall and oversell this “con” until neither one of them can breathe.  “I think we did fine,” she breathes back and he relaxes.

Die by the con, her ass.

Well, Barry foresaw a lot of endings to the evening, but being trapped in a closet with Iris wasn’t one of them.

There are worse endings he could’ve thought of, but circumstances are kind of extenuating, so…

He and Iris did manage to sneak into one of the private offices of the guy Iris is investigating, and while Barry is gifted with super-speed, super hacking is not one of his metahuman abilities. Iris, however, was given a crash course in the basics by Felicity, and she tore through firewalls and passwords with truly admirable speed.  They got the information they needed and were about to hightail it out of there when the security guards chose that moment to do a random sweep. And Iris barely had time to revert the screens before Barry had to yank them into the nearest closet.

It’s dark and warm in here and he can feel how hard his heart is pounding and all he can smell is Iris’s perfume, something that floral and heady and it makes his head spin and tugs him downwards, he wants to see if the scent is everywhere…

Iris pressed up right against him, he’s going to have some words with Felicity about how thin and flimsy this dress is, because he can pretty much feel everything, and it’s dark enough that he can’t make out the details of her face (her lovely, perfect, delicate face he knows as well as his own), but he can hear and feel everything, how her breath catches in her throat and how warmth is pouring off her like light from the sun. Her hands are resting on his chest, the right one over his head, half-curled over it as if in claiming, in ownership, as if Iris West hasn’t had the whole of his heart in the palm of her hand since childhood. He doesn’t even know if she’s aware she’s doing it.  

He can hear the security guards moving around outside their hiding place and his eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to make out the curve of Iris’s cheek, the slope of her nose. For all the difference in their height, every soft part of hers is pressed perfectly against the planes of his. He’s at least reasonably certain he can speed them both out of here when the guard has his back turned long enough, but he doesn’t want to move.

“Barry,” she whispers into the darkness, “Barry.”

“What?” he whispers back.  Why is this closet so small?

“Barry,” she says softly, breath slightly scented with champagne close to his face, “Barry, I want it to be real.”

His brain stutters and screeches to a halt, everything coalescing down to this one very important thing. “Which part?”

Her nose is brushing against his, he can feel her rising on her toes against him. As quietly, as carefully as he can, he slides his arms around her waist and lifts her off the ground far enough so that their faces are relatively level. Any closer and their mouths will be brushing.

“All of it,” she tells him, soft as a cobweb brushing against his face. “I want all of it to be true.”

Another wormhole/singularity could’ve opened up in front of him right now and he would be able to race it closed in seconds. “It’s always been true,” he tells her, hyperaware of everything, the warmth of her, the closeness of this closet, the security guard standing right outside the door. Iris is pressed herself against completely and they’re not even breathing now. They’re not. Breathing is for other people right now, people who aren’t Barry Allen who feels right now like he might outrace lightning and he’s done it before.

The security guard moves on. The door shuts behind them. They keep still just for a few seconds longer.

“Did you get what you needed?” Barry whispers to Iris.

“It’s all on the hard drive in my purse,” she whispers back.

“Okay, so we don’t need to stay here then,” Barry confirms. “We could go back to the hotel room right now, if we wanted. Right?”

“Quit talking and run,” Iris suggests.

Barry’s never taken an order so quickly in his life, before or after getting super speed.