Noah Kahan
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DEAR READER
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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@conversation-starters
Hey yāall know how I said I wasnāt diagnosed with anything besides like ptsd depression and anxiety?
Yeah turns out that was a fucking lie and I was diagnosed with an āunspecified dissociative disorderā as a placeholder until I could see a specialist, last year.
And I just fucking forgot.
About a diagnosis
Because of the fucking disorder.
This is so fucking dumb I hate it here.
Thought I was just crazy for the past year or like faking it for attention.
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Iām allergic to bananas but I keep forgetting Iām allergic to bananas and some jackass really fucking likes bananas so every once in awhile Iāll eat a banana only for my mouth to start itching like crazy and I have to wash my mouth out while someone is laughing at me from the back of my head.
Now that I think about it I donāt think he really likes bananas I think heās just an asshole.
IM ALIVE IM ALIVE AND IM HERE AND IM ALIVE AND LIVING AND DOING THINGS I NEVER THOUGHT ID DO AND EATING GOOD FOOD AND LEARNING MORE THAN I COULDVE EVER IMAGINED AND IM ALIVE AND DOING IT AND ITS GOING TO TAKE ME A LONG TIME AND ITS GOING TO BE HARD AND IM GONNA CRY BUT GODDAMIT IM ALIVE TO DO IT
When I was a kid I had a best friend. We were practically inseparable until 8th grade and I was devastatingly in love with her.
Today I glanced around my room and my eyes caught on a pair of dolls I keep on my shelf.
Apple White and Raven Queen. I was obsessed with the show and one year I received the apple white doll from my parents for Christmas. I loved that doll to this day sheās still in amazing condition.
But she wasnāt my favorite character. So a few months later my best friend gave me the Raven doll for my birthday. And now, years later, they still sit my bookshelf.
I donāt talk to her anymore. I donāt know the person sheās become or what her hopes and dreams are anymore, I canāt even remember the color of her eyes or what her laugh sounded like.
But even if we canāt be together at least the dolls still are. Frozen in time, safe and still surrounded by the love we once had for each other.
In honor of Easter Iād like remind everyone that I love blasphemy and being an apostate
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That time of month where I debate whether itās my pmdd or the death premonitions and vaguely prophetic dreams that run in my family type of cry.
It's okay if healing is the hardest thing you've ever done.
It's okay if it's slow going.
It's okay if it hurts.
It's still healing. It's still worth it.
You're still healing. You're still worth it. š
My mother kept her rocking chair until I was in about middle school. I still remember it. It was a big leather recliner that rocked with just the slightest move. Comfortable and leather worn soft over the years. I rarely saw my mother sit in it. Same with my father.
On the off chance one of them did it was not with the ease of someone who had once used it like second nature. They were stiff and unsure.
Sometimes I wonder how often they held me in it. Must not have been very often. I wonder how often they held me at all.
I need this.
Reblogged last year, hoping it comes this year
Fingers crossed!
Thereās a special place in hell for people that are rude to service workers and an even specialer place for people that harass their waiters. I hope you choke on your fucking California roll asshole.
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One of my fondest memories with my dad was back in high school. Itās was I think freshmen year or maybe the summer before and we were driving home from my uncleās house. The drive was long and the heavy traffic didnāt help but some time during the beginning had turned to my dad and started talking. He had the radio on but he turned the music off and just listened as I explained the entire plot of my hero academia. Stupid right? I was some plucky kid rambling on about some anime but he just sat there and listened. For the entire trip. I was never able to talk to freely to him like that before and I havenāt since. Iām not sure why it stuck with me so much but in that moment teenage me felt so so loved just from the act of him listening. Like what I had to say mattered to him and Iāve been chasing after that feeling ever since.
Iāve never really been close to my dad but when I was a kid I always felt like he knew me innately. My mom knew who she wanted me to be but he met me where I was.
I donāt think Iāll ever forgive him for stopping.
Thereās something so strange about seeing all of my friends grow into adults around me.
Oneās still that boy that played the trumpet in marching band that held my hand through panic attacks.
Anotherās still the girl dragging me off the sidelines to dance and laugh with the other saxophone players.
My best friend will always be the awkward gangly teen in home made Halloween costumes.
And I know theyāre not the same. Theyāve grown and changed and matured and I love them and I love seeing the people theyāve become. But their child selves hold a very dear place in my heart.
I wonder if they think of little me too? Do they look at me and still see the new kid with a water polo ball in his duffle bag? Do they remember my shitty handwriting and bad dancing from home coming? I hope they do. I hope they love my past self as much as I love theirs. I hope theyāll remember him for me.
As an Asian femme that works at a sushi restaurant in the nice part of town I am not above letting people fetishize me for better tips. I donāt like it. I donāt enjoy it. But theyāre going to do it anyway and money is money is money is money at the end of the day and Iāve got debt to pay off.
Literally 3 hours ago this wine tasted fucking amazing why does it taste like shit now. What the fuck
My mom says my tits sag and I have big hips and thighs now because Iām not a virgin and my body knows that. I donāt know man I think it might be because Iām not 13 anymore and mid size bodies run in the family but hey what the fuck do I know I guess.
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Franz Kafka ā Letters to Felice (1912-1917)
Franz Kafka ā Letters to Felice (1912-1917)
