never a wish better

usachavez  asked:

every time i hear "treat people how you wanna be treated" it is always ALWAYS said to marginalized groups and never at their oppressors. what a waste of a motherfucking platform, mark.

I want to tell a story here.

when I was very little, my mother focused all her moral teachings on being empathetic, focusing on things like, when someone would do something that hurt me, when I wanted to do something to get back at them, she’d stop me and ask me how I would feel if I had done that to them, and ask me to think about what their motives might have been (aka, did they hurt me on purpose or was it an accident) and her number one lesson was “treat others the way you want to be treated”.

which I stuck to for years, until one day I finally came home in tears and asked my mother if it was ok for me to defend myself.

what she didn’t know was that I had been being horribly bulled by all my classmates (being in special ed for my learning disabilities caused the kids to basically see me leave and then come back later and coloring when they were all doing work, not knowing I’d been given one of those ‘do the math problems, the answers are the key to color in the picture’ things) and the stress from their relentless teasing was affecting me physically.

my mother had never realized that even in the face of being bullied, I had continued to “treat them the way I wanted to be treated”, which in their eyes, had turned me into a doormat.

in the end, she apologized to me for doing that to me, and said to instead treat others the way I want to be treated until they show me they aren’t worthy of it.

or as most know it, “do no harm but take no shit”

which imo, is a much better idea to live by.

OOC: @bunisbun? I know you’ve been down, so I wanted to do something for you…I know it’s not much and I’m sorry for that, but….I really do hope you feel better soon. ;w;

10

Besides, it was obvious he fancied someone else.  

                                                                                        There was just something about him.

I really don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly happy not to have you in my life anymore. I don’t know why I tried so damn hard for you and you couldn’t give a shit about me.
—  excerpt from the book I’ll never write

I wish I had a better reason for you.

I wish I could say that all you needed to do for me was bring me flowers, come and have a talk with my father about sports once in a while, watch the sunset with me like I always asked and you always avoided.

But the truth is there is no answer for why I left you that you’d want to hear.

I wasn’t happy. I can’t tell you why. Maybe when you left me first you ripped the piece of my heart out that belonged to you and threw it in the river by my house. Maybe when I took you back all I could notice was the empty feeling in my soul when I looked at you. The flowers always given to other girls, but never me. The way you avoided my father’s glance. All the sunsets we never watched. Not a single one.

So maybe you could say all those things are the answer. But the truth of it all is that when you left me, I left you too. And I tried to bring back a love that was already dead.

—  m.m// I didn’t turn my back on love, I turned my back on you.
So i’m used to building houses but
i think it’s time to tear ours down.
i had a dream you were kissing her in front of me and
i woke up like “thank the fuck that was a dream” but you know
it is and it isn’t. because you do that, I guess, and just because i’m not looking doesn’t mean it’s not real. you’ve got her and
that’s real. we weren’t.
so i’m tearing the house down.
i’m deleting your number i’m deleting the messages i’m not blocking you because i’m not petty but I’m just never gonna miss you again.
you know?
i’m just never gonna want you again.
—  i wish this was better but that dream hurt and i do miss you– lily rain
SUBWAY SLEEPER, pt. 11

pt. 1  |  pt. 2  |  pt. 3  |  pt. 4  |  pt. 5  |  pt. 6  |  pt. 7  |  pt. 8  |  pt. 9  |  pt. 10


Stiles makes it home.  Mostly.  He has his hand on the knob but then kind of just sinks down to his knees and starfishes face-down over the threshold, half in his apartment and half in the hall.  This feels like as good a place as any to live out the rest of his life, gets a nice draft and everything.

That’s how Scott and Lydia find him when Scott gets home twenty minutes later.

Scott crouches down next to his head and squawks out an alarmed: “Stiles, Jesus, what happened?”

Stiles turns his head so his cheek is pressed flat to the floorboard and he can see Scott’s concerned puppy expression under his fringe.  “I met him.”  It sounds like a death sentence the way he’s said it, all croaky and broken.  In a way, it kind of is so fair play to Stiles.  “I—We talked.  He asked me to come back tomorrow.”  He props himself up with his hands on the floor, halfway to standing but not that invested in it yet.

Scott frowns at him.  “Why do you look like the world just ended then?”  Stiles flops back down unhappily and Scott points a finger in his face.  Literally in his face, cheek depressed under Scott’s fingertip.  He pokes a few more times, says, “Because that all sounds like really good news.”

Stiles shifts his cheek away from Scott, which puts him squashed-nose-down against their floor again.  He blinks into the darkness from his own shadow.  “I’m in love with him,” he mumbles to himself, groans.  “This is so stupid, I know, Lydia, shut up” he points at where she was standing against the doorframe before he returned to his friend the floor and stabs at her with his finger, “—preemptively shut up—but he actually is it.  He’s my person.”  Stiles rolls over like a depressed seal, sits up and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, making starbursts and orange blobs bloom behind the lids.  “I’m… finished.  I just knew it.  He was sitting there, being all—” Stiles lowers his hands, blinks plaintively up at Scott and Lydia, “you know, with the face and the surliness and I thought, I thought, yeah, this face, this surliness, that’s my new forever.”  He drops back down, floor and spine smushed together again.  “Only it isn’t and I am massively, irreparably fucked because he has a girlfriend.  And even if he wasn’t unobtainable, he’s still unobtainable.  In an ‘I have to invent new words because there aren’t ones that so much as touch him’ kind of way.”

Lydia taps the toe of her high heel into his chest and tells him thoughtfully, “You’re depressing, you know that?”  She carefully sips from the same latte cup she had earlier, purses her lips.  “Also, did you say tomorrow?  Your computer science midterm is tomorrow.”

Stiles pops upright, eyes wide. Nooooo.  That can’t—it isn’t—goddamn it!   “Oh shit.  Shit.  Fuck.  Shit.  I can’t meet him tomorrow.”  His midterm’s not until late evening but he hasn’t even started the studying process yet.  Which consists of downing a bunch of his Adderall pills, holing up in the library, jamming all related information that’ll stick into the folds of his brain where it’ll later leak out to be replaced by song lyrics and Friends quotes, sobbing - bitterly, going to the corner gas station for 5am Red Bulls, an hour or so of unscheduled and repeated cat naps while he slaps himself in the face to try to spark consciousness, drooling, desperate crying, panicked reading and, finally, acceptance that he will not pass.  Until he miraculously does (about an 87% success rate on that).

There was no room for Derek in that.  Derek eclipses everything, even the Friends quotes.  Stiles can’t see him and retain anything to do with computers on the same day.

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“I wish you knew better,” I told him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he was defensive.

“I wish you knew better than to pick her over me,” I waited for something but nothing came out of his mouth, “she did nothing but make your blood boil, suffocate you under your own breath, make your veins pop out of your forehead, and test your stress to its highest level. She made your hands twitch, and your body shake, and that was never for the right reasons. She was everything you didn’t want, or at least that’s what you told me. And you promised me, you fucking promised you would stay, I don’t think you understand how–”

He cut me off, “that’s not true, I did it all for you; all of it, and you know that.”

I laughed, “you picked her, you always picked her, I was just there on the sideline.”

—  c.f. // “American hero” #5
There are days where it hurts the most. Despite everything, I know it will still hurt in my chest. There will always be something that takes me back, there will always be this little stitch in my heart when I’ll be reminded of the past. I know the day will come where I’ll see something that takes me back again, something that reminds me of everything. Everything will be the same, the leaves will fall, the night will fade, the rain will drop and the sun will rise. But I’ll never feel the way I did and I’ll never feel this little pain.
—  Own

the worst part is the backlash. the blank, why can’t you just get over it stares. the tears that have become so meaningless you forget what they mean. the forgetting. the way it’s been five hundred thirty nine days and counting and you’re still not over it the way you wish you could be. how you should be over it completely. how it isn’t even a big deal. how this happens every day and people move on and you can’t seem to. how you have so much going for you but you keep letting this hold you back. that’s the worst part, the most disheartening part of watching your heart heal and break: the part that kicks you when you’re down, the part that tells you you’ll never get better, the wishing you were someplace else being sad about something different, something that actually matters.