I really don’t get this whole attitude the older generations have where it’s like “oh back in my day we didn’t have that, I had to do everything myself!!”. it’s so common when it comes to like, help with university and things. people getting loans or people getting tuition if they’re worried they won’t make the grade, and the older generations make such a big deal about how they did it all themselves, and why do we need those handouts?

like, just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should have to. I was a poor, regularly homeless orphan who had to struggle to make the grades I needed and suffered untold amounts of mental and physical stress to get my achievements, and I am 100% proud of myself for managing it, but if I’d had the opportunity to get assistance and help like what’s available to the younger generations now I would have grabbed it with both hands and been thoroughly grateful for it. I’m happy for the fact younger generations have that choice, and I can’t understand the superiority complex some older generations have over this.

the duty of each generation is to improve society for the generations to come. expecting everyone else to struggle because you did and why should things be easier for people who aren’t you is selfish and typical of generations who grew up in a hyper-capitalistic time. I’m proud to be part of a generation that struggled and came out of it not with selfish dog-eat-dog attitudes but rather with compassion and an acknowledgement of this duty.

Abusers NEVER change! (personal)

I’ve said all of this aloud recently, but I feel like it needs to be written out so I can see it and go back to it every time I lose sight of the truth. I could put this in a journal, but something about putting it out here like this makes it hold more weight. And maybe someone will stumble across this and it’ll help them see the truth too.

I’ve been divorced before. I married young and knew from the beginning it wasn’t going to last. We made it 3 years. I wasn’t exactly heartbroken, but it took an emotional toll because he wasn’t a bad guy and there was no real reason it wasn’t working out. I just felt like I had failed.
Anyway, we didn’t have kids together or anything, so it was fairly quick. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the day we signed the papers in 2008.

I’m getting divorced again. This time after 7 years of marriage.
He’s abusive.
It literally took me 7 years to figure that out because he never hit me. Never laid a hand on me.
He tore me down verbally, mentally, and emotionally. It started early on in the relationship. It was simple stuff, like texts. Like that commercial, now that I think about it.
Anyway, he would point out all of the ways my friends and family didn’t truly love me or care about me. Seems silly now, but you know what? I believed him after a while. The way he explained it made sense. He was charismatic and charming. Sweet. Loving. Gave me everything I asked for. Even if he was a little “intense” about the texts and phone calls. That’s how I explained it to everyone. He was “intense” and they just didn’t “get” him.

After he had me alienated from everyone, he would go on and on about how everyone had deserted us and we only had each other. Us against the world.
And I bought into it like some starry-eyed moron.

We moved to a new state together to get a fresh start. That’s when things took a turn. I made a friend at my new job that thought our relationship was strange. She asked a lot of questions that I didn’t have good answers for, like why I never went out with them. And why he would call my cellphone and work phone repeatedly if I didn’t answer right away. So I went home and asked him about it.
That was the first time he called me a “stupid fucking soft-brained bitch.”
Every instinct in me said “run” but I had nowhere to go. Hundreds of miles from everyone I knew, most of whom would probably ignore my call/texts at that point anyway.
And he said he was sorry. He was always sorry.
He was sorry for 7 years. Told me it would never happen again. Every. Fucking. Time.
After three years, I stopped crying those three to five nights a week that he would blow up about something. I was immune to it. I knew I was a worthless piece of shit. That’s why everyone left me, after all. Because I had nothing of value to offer them.
And then, I got pregnant.
I nearly left him about seven months into the pregnancy because he was telling me how fucking stupid I was for wanting to learn cupcake decorating with a girl from work. Apparently all those hormones had given me a backbone.
I stayed, though. Because I was pregnant. And he was sorry. So, so sorry.
After our son was born, things evened out for a few months. I was laid off on the day I was supposed to return from maternity leave. So instead of working, I was at home and easily accessible at all hours of the day. I answered every text. Every call.
But eventually, I went back to work. And he went back to reminding me how fucking awful I was.
I recorded one of his tirades once. It lasted for about 90 minutes. I played it for him the next day, hoping to open his eyes to what he was doing to me. Instead, he smashed my phone and accused me of gathering “evidence” against him in case I ever left.
I got pregnant again and had our daughter. And oh my god, the postpartum depression was fucking horrible. Crippling. All those years of not crying finally caught up with me and I spent several months sobbing over anything he said to me. And then apologizing to him for being “too sensitive.”

Our daughter is 15 months now. Our son will be 5 in July.
So why now? Why am I just now “woke” to the fact that I’ve been abused on a nearly daily basis for seven years?
It’s because he did it in public at a Christmas party and strangers were quietly asking me if I needed help. It’s because he does it in front of our son, and I’ll be damned if my boy grows up thinking that that’s how you speak to women. It’s because my daughter isn’t quite old enough to fully comprehend everything, and I don’t want her to EVER believe that she should be spoken to like he speaks to me. It’s because he has a “friend” and I realized that I wasn’t mad that he may or may not be cheating; I was worried for her. I wanted warn her.
You see, when we met, he told me all about his then wife and how she didn’t do shit around the house. They never had sex. She barely spoke to him. Ignored his calls and texts… And I felt so bad for him. We became friends. And once he left her, we started our relationship and I vowed that I would never treat him the way she did.
Now, here it is, seven years later and I realized today: I’m his ex-wife. I’m the woman who is too beaten down and destroyed to want to do anything besides dishes and laundry. I’m the woman who shudders at the thought of having sex with him. I’m the woman who doesn’t answer his calls or texts.
And his “friend” is me. She’s the next victim.

If anyone reads this and says “hey… this is like my relationship,” run. Run far. Run fast. It’s not “all in your head” as your abuser makes you believe. You’re not worthless. You’re being lied to. You’re being controlled. You deserve SO MUCH BETTER than what they’re giving you. Even if it only happened once, it’s still abuse and if they did it once, they’ll do it again. They always do.

I’m here for anyone that needs to talk. This shit is HARD! It’s a lot like being in a cult and trying to break free from the brainwashing. It is brainwashing, actually.
You’re not alone, even if it feels that way.

So I’m getting married in two months and I’m happy I am and want to be his wife but it seems crazy to me all the stuff that goes into it. It’s like why do people get you a bunch of stuff you don’t need why spend thousands of dallors for an few hours? I have to make all these choices about dresses for other people and they want me to make them. It’s like where whatever you want but they don’t like the answer. It’s the only place I can really vent to with no family on it. I will be happy when it’s august and things will be back to normal. I wish we could just elope to. Part of it is I don’t like being the center of attention or dancing or wearing dresses…and that’s pretty much the whole thing right?

my favourite paranormal memes:

  • circling something really obvious in red
  • ignoring the really obvious thing and instead circling something completely irrelevant in red
  • #confirmed
  • [cryptid] is real he sucked my dick behind an arbys

my parents and i lived in germany for a while immediately post Cold War and this obviously had an effect on my mum and dad because years later i mentioned i had a russian friend online and they looked at me with equal parts suspicion, terror, and thousand-yard stare shock

the reason i bring this up is because that expression is exactly how i feel every single time i see someone who joined tumblr post dashcon mention how great it would be if tumblr had a huge meet up.

to all the people out there romanticizing the fuck out of mental illnesses and especially mentally ill artists: kindly fuck off. 

it’s not romantic to be depressed and an artist.

depression (or other mental illnesses) doesn’t help creativity.
quite the contrary.

i usually draw two to three pieces a week on top of multiple sketches, even with my work for school. 

my depression and some other not fun stuff have gotten way worse since december and guess what? 

i didn’t create more

i’m having trouble doing the simplest things on photoshop or on paper. some days i can’t even think of drawing without having a panic attack. i’ve been working on pieces for weeks, pieces that usually take me a day to complete.

the artistic part of my brain is literally buried under depression, anxiety, dissociation and morbid thoughts. 

so fucking stop with this.