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I was eight years old yesterday, dont you see?

@sisyphusrequiem

Artist occasionally, writer occasionally, tboy loser, ao3 addict, poetry reader, dpdr extraordinaire, certified cannibal, me/cfs struggler, chronically numb fucked and freaky, I’ve been dead ten years — primarily a vent blog at this point, he/him 🇦🇺🏳️‍⚧️

it's such bs that the whole guilt-ridden stoic self-sacrificing martyr thing doesn't work outside of fiction. repressing all your emotions and neglecting your physical wellbeing should make you god's most tragically beautiful morally unassailable little soldier of righteousness but all it does is give you bad skin and gastrointestinal problems

with the rise of censorship and purity culture i need more freaks to write freak ass nasty fanfics that are perverted and disgusting

Is the guy in the cuck chair supposed to stay quiet or is he allowed to clap and cheer

he's supposed to take notes and make an intrigued hum when an interesting plot point occurs

one is getting cucked by the bottom and the other is getting cucjed by the top. Subject matter experts discussing the sex like a sports panel

One cuck always lies, the other always tells the truth. You have one question to determine who’s a top and who’s a bottom.

pro tip for inviting out disabled and chronically ill people who aren't sure they can make it:

instead of "your health comes first, you don't have to come"

try "is there anything we can do to make it easier?"

disabled people want to hang out with our friends. "we don't want you to come if you're sick" is usually reasonable, but when you're ALWAYS sick? it just becomes "we don't want you to come."

asking if you can do anything for them signals that you do want to see your friend, and that you're willing to accommodate their disability, while still giving them the option to tap out if they really need to. it also opens the door for them to ask for support they might have felt too guilty to request.

dissociated so hard today I swear I felt the other side, there’s something out there and I felt it inside my head, I kept clawing through the fog but I couldn’t quite make it out. it’s waiting for me

I also like to think about my childhood until I feel like passing out. The world was so alive back then. Every moment, an indecipherable experience cocooned within the womb of innocence. There’s no going back to that anymore. The world is revoltingly predictable now.

I like to read poetry until I can feel the absence of youth settle between my bones and the ever present looming presence of death beneath my skin. The world is going to end tomorrow, and then it will restart anew. This is how it will always be.