Crying

I've been thinking about how, when you're little, you're surrounded by adults who adore you, who you're never going to remember.

I don't mean like your parents and stuff, but like — I work in after school care, and I'm forever meeting five and six year olds who seem like the most incredible people on earth. Kids who painstakingly explain the rules of handball, kids who ask me to help them colour in, kids who feel really deeply wounded by a classmate's behaviour, just an endless stream of them.

Or like my friends' kids who I've babysat once or twice. A kid who played with me in a creek, a kid whose mannerisms are etched in my mind. Cousins' babies who I held for a while. Even just stranger's babies in shops who stare at me the way babies do.

One of my best friends has an online friend who's recently had a baby, and he tells me - someone who doesn't know the friend's name even - about that baby having their first bath. Because that's the kind of love and excitement that little children inspire.

None of these children will remember me.

I literally don't have a greater point here, it's just blowing my mind to think about how much love is directed towards people who can't remember any of us. They can maybe, I guess, if everything goes well, remember the feeling of safety that ought to go with that love.

Banana Fish Wallpapers 😭💛

(Wallpaper Made by me)

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Come play with me

dying dusk (kavetham)

smasha

attacka you with a branch

“You have to cheat. Ask for as many extensions on papers as you possibly can. Pretend your computer is broken. Use your charm if you have any. If you’re going to cry, don’t wait until you’re out of the room–do it where the people in power can see you. Eat the same food every day if you can’t think of anything else to make. Put other things ahead of taking a shower, even if your mom said you have to take a shower every two days. Sometimes people won’t notice you’re cheating but even if they do and are annoyed you might still get by. My mom goes to workshops for people with ASD and then gives me the really long printouts that go along with them. The printouts tell me to sit down and make a list of everything I have to do. When I am anxious, as I have been this year, it’s hard to think about these things so I hold on to the printouts out of guilt but don’t actually read them. Then my mom finds them and gets upset that I haven’t read them and says that I’m not ready to live on my own. But I am ready to live on my own. Badly. Just like I can hold down a full-time job. Badly. Just like I am getting my homework done. Badly. And I forget to balance my checkbook, which none of my non-disabled friends do because you can get it online, and my mom says, “Well it’s different for you because they would be able to do it if they needed to, but you wouldn’t, so you have to do it.” Theoretically I understand this is true, but my checkbook remains unbalanced. Which is bad. And I feel bad. I do! At this rate I’ll never be able to go to college. But I do go to college. At this rate I’ll never be able to have any friends. But I do have friends. I just don’t do everything right with them all the time. For people whose lives are controlled by executive dysfunction, I firmly believe the difference between getting stuff done and not getting stuff done is not caring about doing things right. You cannot always make a list all the time and be early for everything. You just can’t. Hopefully you’re good-looking or funny or you remind someone of their niece. Exploit all opportunities. Do not do what people who are not disabled tell you to do (unless you want to, of course). All too often I find myself waiting for the day when I can do shit properly, which more or less amounts to waiting until I’m not disabled anymore. Then I can feel good enough to deserve everything I want. Well my cure is slow in arriving, so I’m just going to do everything I want now, if that’s okay with you.”

—

from I’m Somewhere Else, “Max is a Miracle”

The best advice I’ve heard on how to get through college with a developmental disability when there are zero accommodations for executive dysfunction. You can’t let anyone else try to live your life for you, and you cannot worry about “doing things right”. Also: none of the things described here as “cheating” are ACTUALLY cheating.

I. AM. STUMPED. 

Seven Seconds in Heaven

Words: 5.8k Genre: Angst, Fluff, smidgen of Smut Summary: In the moment of your death, Heaven drops the hammer of punishment; making him travel back in time to relive memories that can never be changed. Seven memories. Seven minutes in each. Seven seconds before they are ripped away.  Warning: Mentions of death and other sensitive things. Tread carefully.

Cr.

It’s another argument.

He is helpless. Frustrated. He’s caught in a blind rage that doesn’t allow him to understand why you said the things you said, why you did the things you did but then the words spew out of his lips without mercy. When the tears cloud your eyes and you rip your gaze away from him, before he can even utter ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it’, you had already said in the calmest voice-

“We are not doing this here.”

Without looking once back, you ran ahead of him, picking up the pace as much your legs could muster while leaving Jin behind you, feeling helpless and frustrated. He watches as your form disappears meters ahead, amongst the crowds as the glow of the street lamps cast shadows on the pavement; they laugh mockingly at him and follow like tails as he begins to race.

“Y/N. Y/N! Y/N, wait!”

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"Please, let me keep this memory. Just this one."