adulthood is just a constant struggle of, “man, i want cookies for breakfast, but I also recognize this is a bad nutritional decision. On the other hand, the only one who can stop me is me. i know that fucker’s weaknesses. i could totally take me in a fight.”
frog and toad are my two remaining brain cells struggling to keep my horrible body alive
My brother was diagnosed with depression years before I was, and because of that he started therapy years before I did.
I still remember when I was a young teen and he was playing a Nirvana song and he stopped it at this one line: “I miss the comfort of being sad”
He told me that when you start to get better, there’s a part of you that misses being sad and that if you start feeling that way you have to be extra extra aware and careful because if you indulge the feeling you’ll go down a self-destructive spiral
And even though that was years and years ago, I think about it all the time. Especially when I’m reading discourse on the idea of getting so attached to mental illness as an identity that you don’t want to improve things because you feel safe in it and don’t know who you are without it
I always think of that line “I miss the comfort of being sad” and my brother’s warning
do the lgbt youth of today know about Annie on My Mind? that was a deeply formative book for me when I was in middle school and hadn’t realized yet that I liked girls.
quick summary is that it’s a YA book published and set in the early 80s about two teenage girls who meet and fall in love with each other, and how their relationship grows, and also how the book’s narrator comes to terms with her sexuality.
Homophobia does provide the story’s major conflict—again, it’s the late 70s/early 80s—but I promise you guys that it’s a wonderful book, and more importantly, it has a happy ending! Which we know is so rare for books about bi women and lesbians in this era.
Like I said, it was an important book for me as far as my own coming-out went, so I can’t recommend it enough.
me, the first palaeontologist to dig up a triceratops skull, whispering softly: what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuckkkk
fun fact: modern paleontologists and archaeologists have pointed to some greek vase art of mythological monsters as being evidence that the greeks dug up dinosaur skulls and were like “what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuckkkk”
and then they did the Greek Thing and painted naked men fighting the monster
or, well, a deeply flawed representation of what they imagined the fossil had looked like while alive, an early form of paleoart.
but sometimes they also just. drew the skull and slapped a black blob monster onto it? anyway i love the greeks.
