I found this and I believe it could be useful. 

I found it on Google, whoever made it is great. 

Here you go :) 

“Give me a hug!“

SLAP

aph rarepair week day five: soulmates

The dance used in the vast number of 2d anime-esque caramelldansen vids has nothing to do with Caramell; it came from a gif on 4chan referred to as “Popotan dance” that started as fanart of an adult visual novel because of course it did. Speedycake was making his remixes at the same time as people were making popotan dance gifs of everything, and the memes converged into a compound supermeme that swept the internet.

The video above is yet another fan-made video, using 12 characters from the iDOLM@STER series. (Hint: the band that created the song is Swedish, so anything obviously Japanese did not come from them).

The first official video released by Caramell was this version, six years after the song was first released and two years after it started to spread as a meme:

𝕾𝖙𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖚𝖓𝖐 𝕯𝖊𝖓𝕹𝖔𝖗

Matthias, gay germanic knight

Norway, to the rest of the world: Fuck you.

Depression is weird. I feel like a lot of people think depression means being sad and crying all the time but it’s the exact opposite. Depression, for me at least, was the complete and utter lack of emotion. I was so apathetic to everything that I couldn’t care if I wanted to. Sometimes I would work myself up to tears by thinking about how fucking miserable and pathetic I was, but almost as quickly as they came I was back to “what’s the point?”

Same with happiness. I could watch the cutest cat video on the whole internet and I would smile and laugh and the alarm in my brain would start screaming KITTEN ALERT EVERYBODY FREAK OUT

but as soon as it was over the power would go out and the little workers inside my head would take a vacation to the brain of someone who could sustain an emotion for longer than the average youtube video.

So there I am, laying in bed, my entire body recoiling in horror at the pitiful excuse of the mind that it’s been permanently tethered to. I start to wonder if things will ever change or if I’ll just be like this forever. I become vaguely suicidal. I don’t really want to end my life, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of me suddenly ceasing to exist. So I hide in bed all day, every day, for as long as I can manage.

I wait for something. Anything. A satellite to fall through my roof and crush me in my sleep. An earthquake to part my street from the avenue that crosses it and swallow my house to the middle of Earth’s giant rumbly belly. A friend to kick down my door and drag me to the hospital or mental institution or maybe a secret underground lab where the government keeps people who don’t have feelings anymore. 

Fortunately, none of that happens. 

My friends eventually catch on to my shenanigans and despite their best efforts, are useless. They would try to get me out of the house almost daily but I would make up some bullshit excuse to get out of it.

Eventually, they stop trying to help me, and even though they weren’t successful before, their lack of empathy becomes my new favorite excuse.

It wasn’t their fault, of course. It was mine. They had done everything they could and I was not ready or able or willing to cooperate. Did I understand that at the time? No fucking way. Why I would take responsibility for my problems when I could just blame them on someone else?

In the early stages of my depression I would sometimes compare my affliction to The World’s Worst Roller Coaster!™

I knew that eventually I would get to the top, the ride being so emotionally exhausting that I would simply be ‘okay’ enough to not throw myself over the railing and ruin some random passerby’s day. I would instead begin the long and weary trek down the 312 steps towards sanity. 

But I never reached the top.

In fact, my ascent to the peak of the coaster was so slow that renovations had already begun and construction on the rest of the track had started while I was still onboard. Nobody cared to notify me or maybe slam the big red button that says “HEY THERE’S SOME ASSHOLE STILL ON THE RIDE!”

As my depression continued, The World’s Worst Roller Coaster!™ slowly began to morph into an episode of The World’s Deadliest Train Crashes!®.

My train car began to pick up speed along the newly appointed rails. I passed through tunnels and forests and cold mountain ranges but no cities or towns or warm inviting parties filled with people I wanted to see or be around. My train was on a journey to God knows where, but it was going too fast for me to hop off or for anyone to hop on and help me. 

I tried to make the best of my train ride by keeping myself busy (in my own solitary one-person train car, of course) but it only made me more lonely and depressed. No matter how many video games, books, movies, or internet memes I devoured I still couldn’t feel like I was doing anything right.

Eventually I realized my train wasn’t taking me anywhere good. 

I knew I still had plenty of time before I needed to start worrying, but it was hard for me to accept the fact that the light at the end of my tunnel was actually a fallen-apart rickety wooden bridge over a 200 foot drop into freezing polar bear infested waters. I figured I would just hold on as tight as I could and pray I would survive the fiery plunge off the bridge and that maybe, just maybe, someone would pull my shivering body out of the ice-water. 

You see, I had no desire to change anything. I was ready to ride my stupid train right to my death. I just didn’t care enough to save myself.

While riding my train, I spoke to a friend. She told me that I was running out of track and that she was afraid. She began to cry and told me that she wanted nothing more than for me to get off the train. She wanted me to fix my stupid brain and convince the little workers to ditch their vacation plans and come back home. She wanted me to watch cat videos that would make me laugh so hard my eyes would roll back into my head and my spine would constrict into the letter R. She wanted me to get back to blogging the way I had in the past and use it to build a name, and possibly a career, for myself. She wanted me to find love in someone who loved me back, rather than the useless people I had spent the last year chasing to no avail. She wanted the best for me. She wanted me to be good. She offered to do anything she could to make me that way.

This person had so much love for me that she was willing to do anything to help me.

I snapped.

I realized I wasn’t ready to let go. 

I began to cry. I began to cry in a way that I hadn’t cried in months. I felt genuine emotion and I wanted to keep feeling it. I used to hate crying, but after weeks and months of indifference and pure concentrated lethargy, the tears felt like the best thing ever. Each salty glob was a sigh of relief. All the emotions I had repressed were leaking down my face and I didn’t know if I should smile or laugh or sob loudly. So I did all three.

I stood up in my train car and leaned over the side. I could see the bridge out at the end and I knew it was now or never. I closed my eyes and jumped feet first.

I did it! I got off the train! I didn’t explode into tiny little pieces and get devoured by polar bears! I ran back to my friend and I thanked her for saving me. 

“I didn’t do anything, Rhyse. You made the decision. You got off the train.”

I was aware that I wasn’t right the whole time, but I was perfectly content to just ride it out, even though I knew it wasn’t going to end well. I had spent so long not feeling anything that I believed the first active choice I had made was all due to someone else. But it was me all along. I had made the first step to getting better.

Now I have a long walk back to civilization. My path won’t be easy. It will be a slow and arduous journey peppered with therapists, medication, and return-to-work forms, but I am ready to try, and that’s already an enormous development from the way I’ve been.

I know it’s probably weird to be reading this on my blog, especially considering this is about as much an actual ‘blog’ as cheese slices are actual cheese, but I felt it was extremely important to share my story with people who might be going through the same thing. 

The Nøkken

There are dozens of trails along the lake, and for all intents and purposes, you could have easily chosen a popular one. Instead, you just had to select the oldest trail in the entire park with only a thin strip of dirt signifying the path. You found it by accident, looking over a decades-old map in the park’s museum, quickly deciding to give it a try. After all, you know the other trails well enough to walk them blindfolded, might as well give something new a go. The sun is high in the sky as you find the entrance, tucked in between cypress trees, utterly invisible to anyone who wouldn’t know to look for it. The humidity is a little extra thick today, though since it’s still early spring, it doesn’t come with the smothering heat that chokes your throat with every breath.

You are slathered in a shiny layer of bug spray and armed with a walking stick to test out any suspicious looking ground. This may be a large tourist location with plenty of good walking trails, but it still is a wetland and needs not to be underestimated. The sounds of cicadas roar dully in your ears as you begin to walk down the sliver of dirt, the vegetation steadily growing thicker the deeper you wander. Though the dirt path is several paces away from the water, you keep a sharp eye out for any gators who might want to make you their midmorning snack. The unmistakable smell of the swamp fills your lungs, a scent of mud and green and sickly sweet rot.

It must have only been twenty minutes into the walk when you hear it. It’s a melody that halts your body like a spell, a voice so inhumanely flawless it brings tears to your eyes, coming from the water. Fear and adrenaline fail to develop, and so you feel nothing but calm as you turn to face the source of the song. The words are ancient, their power resonating into your very bones, tangled with desperation and promise. A man, half inside the water, back and head covered in the green moss that clings against the rocks and trees holds out his hand to you, mouth quirked into a lusty half smile. His eyes shimmer different colors like opals, shifting from green to blue to violet by the slightest twist of your neck.