I Feel So Lonely :)

it's like, Lou is talking to his younger self, telling him there's no point caring or speaking up against the fact that he's not allowed to show who he is openly. That he's not the first or the last who's going to have to hide who they really are just because of how messed up the industry is. And caring only kills love could mean caring about what the management or the other people say too much will only kill your love with the person you're in a relationship with (this could be what happened with Larry : Lou might have wanted to hide everything a little too much and Harry must've have walked away - like Lou says in his song, the day you walked away is the day I became the man that I am now; and like how Haz says in Golden, the other person is scared of being open because hearts get broken), and a kiss won't bring it back, which is pretty obvious.

There's nothing left to say since people have already said whatever there is to say and still nothing has changed - the industry is still the same, homophobia and the glass closet is still the same. So hush your crying, dry your tears, it's not going to make a change, it's not going to make an impact. Your broken heart is a copy of the broken heart of someone else and so on and on.

(I'm not talking about the glass and birds ka theory because people have already theorised that - the glass closet and the birds are the people, maybe Haz and Lou, or maybe every single person who had to hide who their truly were)

Spilt blood could be Louis actually believing everything their management told them, and the loss they had to face, all the pain they had to go through because they couldn't speak up or change anything. So there's no use in crying over all that - like he says in Too Young, he gives in to the pressure, he thought that a love like this would never last - and we can actually see parellels and connections to his other songs, his album and him, as an individual.

Like, damn, Louis Tomlinson is a goddamn genius and anyone who doesn't see this, see how much hurt he had to go through is a fool.

I have achieved the trifecta of unhealthy coping mechanisms - binge drinking, binge eating and self harm 🫠

how I practice - chewing gum when I feel like binge eating; eating when I feel like drinking; drinking when i feel like self harming; self harming when I feel like dying

alternative coping mechanisms - cutting hair, reading fanfiction, masturbation, sleeping, texting friends/my therapist, waking my mom up and crying to her, and writing in my diary~

adaptive coping mechanisms - safe space imagery, icing, 4-4-4 breaths, texting my therapist/friends, diary writing, chewing gum

difference between shipping and queerbaiting, you ask?

Drarry = Shipping

Sterek = Queerbaiting

The first time I read Ursula Le Guin’s The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas, my chest constricted with the passionate onslaught of too many thoughts, too many emotions, too many opinions. No matter how many perspectives I could logically think from, my brain circled back to the outcry of why no one spoke up, why no one resisted, revolted. How strong could be the ones who walked away? After all, walking away is the easiest thing one could do. It didn’t take much for me to unlearn that; just Louis’ outburst of leaving being the hardest thing to do, as he says so in COAGDP, was all it took. And when I tried that angle, I understood. I understood what Le Guin was trying to convey, what she wanted to make us see. It was a statement; it was saying: “this world was built for me. This suffering is meant for my happiness. This is all I’m aware of. I choose to not be happy. I would rather leave to a place I know nothing about, a place I don’t even know exists, than be happy at the cost of a child, of someone being collateral damage, for my happiness. If this torture is for me, for my sake, I would rather live a miserable life in the unknown.” It was not just brave, it was revolutionary.

Staying there, fighting for change, would lead to: “do you want us all to suffer just because of your selfish ideology?” / “do you want our lives to collapse just to save one child?” / “does this strange child mean more to you than your loved ones’ happiness?”. The age-old argument of collective good versus the wellbeing of an individual is one with an answer that’s a double-edged sword. There is no end, no solution; strength comes in many forms, many faces, and sometimes turning your back on all you’ve known your entire life is the strongest thing one can do to make a point.  

We see this in all the people who’re the black sheep of their family; the leftist, the feminist, the divorcee, the queer one, the atheist and the agnostic, the free-thinkers, the child rebels, the child who questions; we don’t see much of them, because they’re forced to hide underneath cloaks saying something different – “anti-national”, “violator of culture, of family values”, “the reject”, “the one with conduct issues”, “the heathen”.

Walking away is many a time metaphorical, and it doesn’t always mean the same thing; but when one has lived their whole life as a frog in a well, jumping out isn’t escapism, it is resistance.

-kpm

WHEN IS IT GOJHN YO GET BETTER?! WHEN THE FUCK WILL IT GET BETTER

I can't handle this oh my gosh so much pain, I can't fucking handle this it hurts so so so so much I feel like I want to I want to die eventhough I'm not suicidal

Pleasepleaseplessepleasepleaee oh gosh it hurts so much fuck fu kfu K fuck

I was fourteen when I first read 50 Shades of Grey, or as Catherine Scott puts it — that book. What I appreciate most about it is not the spank-bank material it gave me, but the world it introduced me to; the hole that took me to my own wonderland. As my kink journey - in theory, mind you - progressed, I discovered aspects of myself I don’t think even therapy would’ve helped me access; the way I needed to be loved, the way I needed to be taken care of, the way I needed to feel small to grow, the way I needed to give myself over to reclaim autonomy.

Kink took me to regression, regression to self-awareness, and self-awareness to a yearning I sometimes cannot contain inside my body because of how large and all-consuming it is, how much space it occupies, and how it swallows me whole, especially on my worse days.

The question “how could non-sexual kink possibly be therapeutic?” has many, many answers; it is the hope I get when I imagine how I would no longer have to be responsible for myself; the relief I feel, knowing that someone wants the best for me, and letting them take over my entire being would help keep me alive; the knowledge that even though I am capable of taking care of myself, it is too much of a burden, too much of a leach sucking my battery, and so I choose to give it away, pass it over.

Someone who would squeeze my thigh, and tap it twice to indicate I need to lower my voice in public spaces, instead of an explicit “reduce your volume”, inadvertently triggering my rejection sensitivity dysphoria; someone who would wrap me up in a blanket and make me tea, cuddling me, crushing my body, until I come back from an episode; someone to make sure I can do the things I want to do, that inhibition due to my executive dysfunction wouldn’t make me a completely useless person; someone whose idea of what is best for me is my idea of what’s best for me; someone who would take care of me, when it hurts too much to take care of myself; someone I trust enough to kneel in front of because I feel shame choking me when I imagine myself submitting to anyone else; someone who chooses to stay; someone I can be a child with without fear of annoyance or judgement; someone I can be awkward with, weird with, loud with; someone whose rationality never hinders or limits their emotionality; someone to give me a healthy alternative to the unsafe pain my coping mechanism provides; someone to provide the sensation of hurt without causing me harm; someone whom I feel safe with even while constrained, blindfolded, all senses switched off; someone to gently squeeze my neck when my thoughts are too loud; someone to take over conversations when I face a sudden bout of energy loss; someone whose energy is dominating, all-encompassing; someone who would be my advocate, my shield, and sword; someone gentle, someone soft, someone who would never let me give up on myself.

Regression ≠ kink, for myself.

-kpm ©

you know what I've gradually come to realize? you don't have to be good at things to do them. you don't have to be good at studying to want to learn; you don't have to be good at remembering to want to read; you don't have to be good at dancing to dance (and have solo dance parties in the middle of the night); you don't have to be good at singing to sing (and serenade your best friends while drunk); you don't have to be good at following the rules of a language to write; you don't have to be good at art to create art (or paint in children's coloring books); you don't have to be good at relationships to love; you don't have to good at staying updated on the appropriate terms to use to care about humans and social justice; and you don't have to be good at being a person to live.

zlibrary gone... FUCK TIKTOK FUCK BOOKTOK I hope that app burns in hell

why is my feed like this 😭💀

I feel so bored and lonely and empty and I want to meet someone new and form a connection and go through the getting to know them process again, but I until and unless I feel an instant "click" with someone, I feel bored if I'm talking to them online - do you see my frigging dilemma