Россия с Сидом

"My 4-9 year old child is the most annoying person in the planet and I can't wait until he's old enough for a prescription because if he stays like this I'm just going to keep hating him."

"If he's too young for vyvanse start him on caffeine but no sugar! Half a can of diet cola with breakfast should be a good place to start."

"I started giving my kid her meds before she gets out of bed so that they kick in by breakfast time and I don't have to deal with her constant fidgeting and incessant talking."

man, you are not kidding

What these parents don't understand is that their children do feel this hatred towards them. They might not be able to identify what exactly it is yet, but kids absolutely feel when you don't like them or when you just want them to shut up. And, sometimes, especially when they're younger, they double down on what these parents see as pestering them because they are feeling like they're being withdrawn from. All they feel is that insecurity in the relationship with the parent who really doesn't want to talk to them when this is supposed to be their safest place.

So then these parents leave a wound on these children when they're always made to feel that their existence is only acceptable when they're medicated or when they're only speaking the correct amount or silent altogether. These children then try and seek validation in other areas, which can lead to accidentally ending up in abusive relationships, either on a friendship level or a romantic one. They pull away from these parents who should have just loved them but instead act as though their very existence is a burden. That foundation of safety was never really given to them, and thus, they will have to learn how to repair that when they're older, instead of being given the adequate tools and support early on.

And, worst of all, this public page on Reddit will be something for these kids to stumble upon that will confirm their worst fears; that their parents really don't like them. That they're "annoying" and "an exhaustion to be around". For the child in the above, she gets to quite literally see her name (Sof) and know INSTANTLY what her mother thinks of her – that she is the reason to drink.

This is usually the stuff people try and say, “Yeah, I don’t get it, Edmund.” But if you go to a good Turkish confectioner (or just any of the bazillion stores that sell it in the Istanbul markets) you’ll see a second kind of Turkish delight, in a rolled shape:

Read some actual comics, Kyle.

Kyle sounds like Lex Luthor who believed that Superman doesn’t have a Civilian identity because such a godlike being would see it as beneath him. Also here you go @simon-newman​

The woman’s prattling gossip dissolved into the background as we walked, leaving the chrome and steel for white marble and gold filigree, and door after ornate door passed as we walked for what seemed like an eternity. Even the scenery, ornate as it was with fine china, modern art pieces, oil paintings and holographic vistas, began to all look the same. I resisted the urge to pick at the seams in the overly-embroidered shirt and skin-tight pants I’d been stuffed into before the resurrection. She finally stopped, in the middle of a diss against some other person (Lyrandra’s cousin’s friend’s fiancee was caught in some scandal, apparently), and turned to look back at me again. We were in front of a metal door, out of place in the classical decór, looking like it came from one of those ancient sci-fi films. “Tran” or something, I think. (Didn’t get much of a chance to watch movies in the program, not even the really old ones. Or to do anything else, actually, outside of listening while we worked.) “I had the servants put you in some of your own clothes this time, since you made such a big deal over how itchy the vessel’s clothes are last time. Honestly, I fail to see why you’d kick up

someone sitting at home alone, an active alcoholic, squandering your charity, drinking all day is better situation than a street homeless alcoholic. someone using drugs in your charity house is better than them doing the same w no shelter

most of you would not like most street homeless people, I definitely don’t and didn’t when I was street homeless. for every one person who uses unconditional shelter to turn themselves around, someone else will do jack shit and very slowly, if ever, work through the issues that made them homeless, will maybe never be able to live independently. still better than street homelessness, still worth doing. ultimately either you believe that shelter should be universal or you don’t

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!