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I don't know why I feel so afraid of everything. Dentists, doctors, driving, dating, strangers, new food and robbery, to start with. I don't understand how people simply function with all of this awful feelings looming daily over your head.
I hate being like this. I feel ashamed, lonely and scared at the same time. I know it's childish to ask someone to come with me to appointments, but do you ever feel like a hand to hold would make all the difference? Well, sometimes I do.
The thing is... It's a vulnerability to ask such a thing, to show your fears and insecurities to others. I did it today and heard that I haven't grown at all.
It's not a lie, but it does hurt.
I'm just rambling things I couldn't say out loud. I know I shouldn't depend on others. I don't. I just wish I could borrow their strength, for a bit. To feel that it's okay, I'm not alone. Then I could grow my confidence and walk on my own.
I wish I could tell the whole world how much it hurts to be without you. I wish I could scream at the top of my lungs until the pain leaves my chest and I feel as raw outside as I feel inside.
I wish they could understand you. Understand us. Understand the love we shared and share still. Our soul bond. I wish they could understand that love can have many forms and to love and be loved by a pet is a blessing.
But your love was for me, only. You loved me more than anyone else. So in the end of all things, I'm the only one to feel your absence like someone ripped my heart out of my chest.
This hurts so, so much. I miss you every single day. I see you in dark corners of my room, the sunlight you loved, your favorite places, the things you touched, your blanket... You're everywhere and nowhere.
I didn't know before how quiet grief truly is. I used to think that grief was loud. Screams, tears, anger, despair. But no. Grief is quiet. Is the absence. The silence. Is the pure, unconditional love turned into endless pain. Love with nowhere to go but the wind, the stars.
I don't regret you. Never, never. I would accept the pain over and over for the privilege of loving you, of being loved by you. I accept the pain. I'm grateful for your shining existence.
I say your name out loud and I thank the Lord for you. And I hope, oh, how I hope, that I'll see you again, someday.
Be well, my love. No more suffering, no more pain. Mommy loves you, always.
10 whole years have passed in a blink. A whole decade went by.
I started college, made new friends, became a aunt, a photographer, a director, a reporter. Had a part-time internship, learned, said goodbye. Lost some friends along the way too. Finished college, survived some of the darkest days of my generation, became more introverted than I had been.
Then, I was lost. Between who I was, who I am, who I should be. All the pressure, all the versions of me that I had to be because others needed me to.
But where was I? Where was the girl who used to dance alone in her room? The girl who sang so loudly, even though she can't really sing? Where was the avid reader, the one who devoured books so quickly? Where was the stargazer, the dreamer, the one who could see magic and possibilities everywhere?
Today, I'm 27.
And I'm also 17.
And 7.
Those versions of me are not gone. I can see it now. I can see them, hand in hand. Hello, me. Hello, us!
Here's a tip from someone that struggles with anxiety attacks: sometimes, we don't need solutions. Or what you think would fix things up.
Sometimes, we just need a hug. Or someone saying that it'll be alright. That you are not alone. Or, even, just a shoulder to lay your head on and a comforting silence of acceptance and understanding of your feelings.
Just ask what they need. And if they don't know, give them options. Sometimes, things are just too much for "should or shouldn't do" .
The most important thing is to feel safe and grounded again.
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Sometimes, I don't quite know who I am. Sometimes, my mind feels too heavy, loaded and empty at the same time. Sometimes, I can make out some of my thoughts, but mostly, I don't.
Sometimes, I'm terrible melancholic. I just want to be okay, but I don't know what exactly would make me so. Sometimes, I feel a spark. Something, from deep within, that makes me feel strong and hopeful that I can do anything. What that is, I'm unsure, but it feels good nonetheless.
Sometimes, I feel like I'm terrible boring and normal in the most awful way. Sometimes, I feel rare, alien, unworldly, as if I don't belong.
I guess that's just what it means to be human. A small contradiction existing among stars.
hi tumblr i usually don’t get vulnerable on here and if you see this you’re not obligated to do anything but this morning my cat samantha was attacked by 2 dogs who had escaped from my neighbors yard she is only 2 months old and since we got her inside she hasn’t been eating but my family did give her water and she drank that. We called a vet an hour or two after we got her back into the house at around 1pm and they told us it was most likely an infection and the starting price for the antibiotics for a kitten is $82 and that’s not even covering the cost to even get to the back of the vet and my family unfortunately doesn’t have that type of money at the moment to help my kitten and i really hope if you see this you can support me and help my save my kitten she’s just a baby in the wrong place wrong time.
Hi my name is ShayShay and this morning my cat samantha was vicio… Shadajah Thornton needs your support for please help my kitten who was
Okay, quick question about the last week's episode: who tf was the spy?? I missed this? So many theories and I missed??? Can someone please explain to me? 😂
Okay, hear me out: the final episode of The Mandalorian was so wholesome!
Spoilers bellow, folks.
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I absolutely loved how badass Djarin (whaaaat??) was fighting, and even more when Grogu went to his rescue and helped his dad fight the bad guys. This father and son duo is amazing! I love, love their dynamics and adored the final cottage scene.
I confess, I was unsure about this season. I missed everything that the last episode showed. I missed our man kicking ass and just more of him and his tiny green baby. I like Bo Katan just fine, she's great. But I love the father and son relationship far more than any complicated plot.
Now, the reason why I made this post is this: the scene where Grogu is formally adopted and it's now named "Din Grogu".
I mean, I was so confused! Just like most people, probably. Years calling this man "Din" and bam! His first name was "Djarin" this whole time?? What??
I was kind of planning on ignoring that and keep calling him "Din", what we totally can if we want! But I think it would only be fair to acknowledge and accept that it is in fact his last name.
He came from a different culture, a different planet. He's a mandalorian by choice, not birth and he loves his people. But! His name... His name comes from his family. His dear mother and father that died protecting him.
"Din" means that conection that not even death will sever. He never shared that before, but he did with Grogu. His precious last name, his long lost family. Grogu is a part of his Clan and so much more.
"Din Grogu" means all of that love, everything Djarin is willing to give and share with his son. It's beautiful and heartwarming.
And hey, "Djarin" is not an ugly name either. We're just not used to it, after calling him by his last name unknowingly for years. Keep saying it aloud! How it rolls on the tongue so beautifully, especially if you give it a more Spanish like accent and rolls the R(in) sound. It sounds foreign and strong, if you ask me.
I think I understood more about that after reading this article, so I'm leaving it here in case anyone else wants to read it:
Grogu got another new title during The Mandalorian's season three finale. It's not what we expected, but the reason why is quite beautiful.
That's it, folks! Let's embrace the plot twist and the beautiful story of Din Djarin and Din Grogu! I miss them already and can't wait to see more (hopefully soon) in the future!
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It's like... There's no danger, but your body just act like there is.
You feel weird, but can't quite explain. Then your heart races, your hands shake, there's a lump in your throat, goosebumps on your skin, and you just feel like you're definitely dying. Oh, and your head feels light.
It sucks when you have to deal with it yourself. When you can't tell others exactly what you're feeling (or why), that you're scared, because you're actually ashamed of being so vulnerable.
It sucks, because you get stuck inside your own head, while trying so hard to feel grounded to the outside world.
"It just sucks and I want a hug", I think, while sipping my chamomile tea.
Spoilers bellow for those unburden with the knowledge of what happens in The Last of Us part 2.
Last chance...
Alright, here it goes my ramblings:
I know that Joel is going to die. I never played the game, but it’s nearly impossible not to get some spoilers online nowadays.
It took me a long time to accept it. Part of me still rages about it and wish for the showrunners to change it, but... Let’s face it, it’s part of the plot. It just hurts to think about his death, since I absolutely adore this grumpy man that loves so much his adopted feral daughter. I love their dynamics, their bond, their family. It’s very depressing to think about his tragic ending after everything he’s been through.
Now, I know Joel has done some controversial things in order to survive and some selfish things simply because he wanted to keep that one person alive and in his life. He died with Sarah, 20 years ago, and Ellie somehow brought back to life a part of him long lost. How do you give up on that?
I’m not trying to analyze him. I don’t think I could do that, but I love them and damn, I wanted them to be happy and it pains me to know how much they still have to suffer.
It’s hard to accept... BUT...
I just thought that if I have to see him dying, I hope it’s nothing graphic, with his head being smashed in some Oberyn Martell fashion. I hope that somehow, like with Frank and Bill, we don’t fully see the moment. I don’t think I could stomach seeing Joel like that...
This man suffered so much... Lost so much... I just wish that in his last moments, where his brain is shutting down from the pain, he could have a moment of peace. Maybe instead of the blunt violence, we could see him going into shock and escaping into his head (where is safe and there is no pain), and a scene of him and Sarah together again. It doesn’t have to mean it’s supernatural or nothing like that, it could be open to interpretation.
Maybe just her voice calling him, maybe her face in his memories, smiling at him with eggs between her teeth. Maybe he’s delirious and dreaming about his family sitting down to eat breakfast at his little kitchen table. His precious Sarah laughing at his brave Ellie’s silly jokes, his little brother and Tess smiling and drinking coffee, how it was supposed to be in a different life.
Maybe Sarah goes to him, hugs him so tight he thinks that he finally feels that missing piece of himself back into place, and tells him it’s okay to rest now.
If Joel Miller has to die violently, please, let him be at peace at the very end. He may have his flaws, but he’s a damn good dad.
Thanks for reading my Ted Talk. You may scroll away now!
I had an interesting dream a few days ago. I don't remember many details, but I do remember that there was a lake known for revealing ones deepest fear.
In the dream, I watched as someone stood at the middle of the water, noticing how magical it looked with reflections of green, white and blue in the soft sunlight. The person learned their fear and left afterwards, head low. For some reason, I decided to go inside as well. Curiosity, probably.
It was shallow, reaching my waist. My hands were open, palms skimming through the clear water. I walked to the middle of it, took a deep breath and looked down.
At first, there was nothing but a normal lake and its currents. Then, slowly, blurry at first and then clearer, I could see the image of the old clock that's hanging on my living room wall, its hands spinning faster and faster.
I laughed in the dream. Time passing was my greatest fear. The fear of losing time, of losing important moments. Time itself.
I laughed not because it was funny, but because I felt such a relief! It was like... Knowing for sure my fear made me learn more about myself. It was freeing.
There was more, but I can't remember. It was a nice dream, nevertheless, and very accurate.
If someone ever reads this and know about rivers that can tell your fears, let me know. Maybe I could use this and write something dramatic in the future.
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Please, I need more Jang Uk/Naksu (or whatever you prefer to call her) fanfics for coping reasons. 😭 I just want them to be powerful and silly and happy together.
I'm sick and grumpy (yeah, it sucks. Lots of love to all my ailing pals right now), so I started to think about how nice it would be to just sleep it off, you know? Because at least in your dreams you don't have your nose running like a freaking fountain or your throat burning like the fires of hell.
So thank you for creating a safe harbor for all of us, sorry creatures that get sick and can escape from it for a couple of hours in the Dreaming, Lord Morpheus. You absolutely rock!
Also, if anyone is interested in writing a comf fic about this, please and thank you.
Wishing you all to fall in the arms of Morpheus (yeah, that's a thing! I've read this in a book about cursed dolls and werewolves!).