i may endure a thousand torments—yet i am

fucked that you can’t fix other people especially when you really care about them. Oh so im just supposed to be there for you while you suffer. like a useless cunt gargoyle

I don't know a good term for it, but there's a certain quality a work of fiction can have or fail to have, where, as a reader, you have some faith that the themes present in the work are there because the author knowingly put them there. That the curtains are not just blue, that you're reading something that has been written with intent. You can, of course, still do a death-of-the-author read on that kind of work, and no work only contains that which the author intends. But there are some works in which you look at even the most surface-level thematic content and wonder 'are... are you doing that on purpose? It kind of doesn't seem like you're doing that on purpose. I hope you're not', and it's very hard to express the difference between that kind of thing and an author who is clearly very intentionally exploring something a little uncomfortable.

This is a worm? Or perhaps some sort of slug?

And it's gonna getcha

the sunk cost fallacy has been my favorite fallacy for as long as I can remember. so at this point it's probably too late to pick a different one