💕haughty pants💕

But i really, really, really want to be cute and sweet. Not a mean old grump. Even if I'm sad. I hope I can be strong enough to fight the darkness. If you can help me fight it somehow, I guess that's what this blog is for at this time. Please be sweet to me and help me be sweet, too. Don't let my sadness hurt you, though. And dont let me be mean ever again...

-Tommi 🩷

also this https://scatbook.com/Tommi_Toiletpants

6/21/26 Tommi realizes her Tumblr handle is ironic... she is not evil... she is good 😇🩷

8/3/26 Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts

Today has been death-affirming. Anything bad that happened felt like the end of the world. And anything good that happened didnt fucking matter.

Life. Stuffies. Wand. Paci. Books I don't read. "Jade City," "The Torah," "The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect," "The Second Book of the Tao"

I've technically read all of two of those. But it was long ago for one, and even longer ago for another. I won't make you guess which. Considered it. The 2nd and the 4th, in the list. Read part of the 3rd online once, before it was in book form perhaps. Started reading the first to try to get myself back into reading in general, and it sounded like a cool light fantasy noir young adult adventure. Got through ten pages in a month, it's a start. Mainly read in the bathroom while attempting to shower. Need to do that actually. Wtf else did I unclog the drain again for, my comrades? I mean yes. Buf also moi.

Anyway. I recommend all four. And the hat. And the stuffies. Paci is okay. Should get cuter better ones. Need money. Wand, well, it has too many settings. Common issue, I know.

Mad. I typed so much. It was very positive. You know, for fucking once??? And tumblr ate my fucking post. I get so fucking mad and irritated when anything happens anymore. I swear. Any time I feel slightly better, something pisses me off, and I'm like, fuck this I'm going to keep going probably for a while but I really should just fucking end it, everything fucking fights me and my emotions drive me nuts about it and I just want to escape this life.

Maybe ill fucking attempt to write it all out and post my stupid picture I took, a little cute snapshot of my dumb pathetic miserable life i can barely live any more...

I tried. It really was cute and sweet and positive and actually about books and reading... and how i struggle to do that...

Instead i had to post all this crap. More of the same depressed suicidal rumination. About half my existence any more.

I could have been a happy person maybe. I feel like I have a partial life, half a person. The rest of me burned or sealed or hollow. It's like I do have a good life. All the potential. But it means so little to me? Or something? Those aren't the right words. I feel like im the one who lacks. Like im not enough to fill in the fullness of a human life. It demands too much, and I seem to have less and less to give to a life, an existence, that demands more and more energy and focus. Not just to work and manage daily life. Which I barely care enough to continue, and increasingly fail at. But just to relax and enjoy and create. Everything has become so, so difficult and I have lost hope, lost faith that it will abate or that I can beat it or that God will save me. I feel lost, abandoned, and tortured by my struggle to feel and love and understand. I so very much want peace and release. Or to be held and taken care of. To no longer have to work and be able to focus on healing, somehow. To have a chance at that. But I cant afford it. I hate to ask for help. Refuse to. Would not surrender freedom for it either.

I just want to resign from this role of being a person. It has become untenable for me in my current state. I can perceive a possibility that it could improve, were I to continue. However, that improvement must come in an unpredictable form, and my previous experience lends me to believe that the timetable for said improvement would likely include a long period of continuing this often torturous experience of trying to live. And that is what I find so difficult to accept. That even if I can believe it might end, I still have to suffer for perhaps another year, five years, ten. It's too much suffering. I cant take it much longer.

I often wish I wouldn't post such negative, sad, miserable things. But I dont have the energy to have more than one Tumblr, so it all just goes here, I guess. I have more than one reddit. The abdl account is umm not in much use, sadly... complicated. But i have a friend there. And reddit likes me in general... the other reddit account is for talking to schizoids and depressives and leftists/Marxists, among other non-abdl things.

Anyway. I have people tell me sometimes they appreciate my honesty, or my writing style, or something. I used to want to be liked for my looks... still kinda do? But whatever. Im cute enough. Even if so few people agree or care enough to like my pictures. And im kind of unconventionally attractive, ig? Like nonbinary and nerdy and so on... and im 35 now, so... eh, ig.

Credit - Sara Phinn Huntley -

Always liked machine elves.

I'm a machine operator, you know. Therefore, in a way, I am myself a bit of a machine elf. 😉

Recently I've been smoking DMT. I don't much care for it, certainly not like I was into ketamine or LSD. I suppose I'm just that desperate or curious to feel like trying DMT before I... well, I got it before I ever made that, um, decision, that I am trying to un-make... I am about to try to attend a meeting for ketamine recovery. Anyway...

I dont think i yet have the strength to fully reaffirm a choice to live

But im trying.

I am so so so sad. It makes me even sadder to think that I may end my life, in a few months. I don't think I will be able to. I vacillate between thinking I will do it, and thinking I won't do it. Both bring so much sadness and relief in a way. The thought of ending it makes me glad I won't keep having to fight. Won't experience this sadness. But it is so tragic to remove a kind and unique soul from the world. I would be murdering this sweet broken-hearted girl, who doesn't deserve it. I don't think I can do it. Not to mention all the people who care for me, who want me in their lives, or all the lives I may touch in the future. I'm just not sure if I can keep going on.

I keep hoping something good might happen, in the next four months. Something to change my mind. And I must keep working, so that I have a life to come back to if I do choose life. It seems so extra sad to just live this sad life, for those four months. The last days of my life as sad and overworked and miserable as ever. But if I keep living, it will bring the surety of more sad days like that...

I'm conflicted. I guess that's better than being certain of a decision to do it. I guess I still have hope, perhaps. Somewhere in me.

Don’t do it.

I don’t know you and I don’t know your suffering, but I know what it’s like to make plans to end yourself. I know what it’s like to list the people it would affect. I cant promise you that what works for me will work for you. For me I gave up my dreams and found happiness in what a lot of people would call a pathetic life, but those people have no idea what it’s like to actually rather die. I focused on how many sunsets I would get to see, i also started painting and cut my drug/alcohol load by about 50%. Desire in my opinion is the root of suffering, finding something super small that still brings you happiness and focusing on that worked for me, then years later i got better.

Find something to live for and don’t care about anyone else’s opinion of your life, live for yourself and because it’s unfair that such shitty mean and selfish people die of old age, while tortured and beautiful and unique people are crushed by the systems we built. Rage against that unfairness. Subtle happiness and indignant rage, that can keep a person going.

Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me. And the fact that anyone at all cared enough to say something. Thank you... I have a long time to reconsider... I'm not sure what I could find or try to keep me going. Drugs and alcohol don't really work for me like they once did, for some reason. I still hit my dab pen, but it's just an addiction? It barely does anything. I dont know why i bother with it. Ive been experimenting with dmt, but i hate it tbh, I'm just still holding onto hope that something like that might work. I cant afford to keep using psychedelics and I recognize that ketamine failed me and may have made me worse. I might get more lsd. But it seems pointless.

As far as finding a purpose or something to live for, idk. I've thought about painting, recently. I got some paint and some poster board when I first acquired acid, like a month or two ago. I never painted anything. Had some ideas. I guess i have to...