dreams

I really and truly believe that the "treat yourself" culture and people living well above their means and going into a ton of debt just to have fun and live lives of luxury with no regard for the future is a form of passive suicidal ideation. I am only now dragging myself out of a hole of suicidal ideation after being in it since my very early teens and the idea that what you do now doesn't matter because you don't have a future is like. Classic passive suicidal ideation. You aren't actively planning to hurt yourself, you don't actively want to die, but subconsciously or not, you are envisioning a future where you do not exist.

"It doesn't matter if I max out a dozen credit cards because I don't have a future anyway." Okay, why? Why don't you have a future? Where are you in this mystery future where none of your actions now can touch you? I am not trying to be mean, but I need people to really think about this and realize that they are setting up a future for themselves where they are not present and there's only one way that can happen.

i believe it was on twitter! to be honest it wasn't much of a stalker fic it was just implied GMEMGFMDG but i have this! this takes place in an au where voldemort truly dies in first war and james and lily are alive. draco gets spooked by the truth of what his parents are doing so he's been ignoring their letters for a while now:

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. “I don’t want to talk to them,” he mumbled. Harry slid closer to him, possibly to hear him better. “Why not? Did something happen?” “I—” he can’t talk about it. The Muggle. The lessons. How Draco was so excited about it. How he’s a horrible person and a coward at the same time. He couldn’t tell Harry. He would hate him. Despite their friendship for the past couple of weeks, he knew how much Harry detests the Dark Arts, just like his father. He knew from Severus how unmoving the Potters are about this. Harry leaned even closer when Draco didn't answer. His hand settling on top of Draco’s wrist, lightly tracing his skin with his finger. Draco doesn’t deserve the comfort. “Do you want the letters to stop?” Draco let out a humourless laugh. “That would be nice, but I should probably give them a reply.” “Consider it done, then.” -- Draco still hasn’t managed to write to his parents, but the letters stopped coming after that.