It doesn’t happen often, but on the rare occasion that I get angry— fist-balling, teeth-baring, scream-roaring angry— I find both a cathartic pleasure and a cold remorse in it.

The pleasure is derived from the fact that I don’t let myself get angry often. I take pride in being a happy-go-lucky, easygoing type person, but I can only suppress so much. It builds for a while, all the stress and anxiety and rage I had denied myself to express in the first place, it builds and builds and builds until my capacity for handling emotion is so strained that one single brush with a pinhead can— pop— make it all come flowing out in an absolutely earthshaking and orgasmic river of ire and fury. When I’m in the throes of wrath, I feel like I could break anyone or anything I desired. I think of things to make myself angrier, call forth memories long buried to stoke the fire, enjoy this ride while it lasts. Ah yes… the power. The power I deny myself to wield on a regular basis rushes through my veins and my arms twitch with the urge. The urge. What is so urgent I’m not quite certain, but I feel like I need to do something, change something… hurt something? I daresay that is the instinctive desire, but I can never find anything I want to hurt. Not really, anyway. Which brings me to the second part of my experience with anger: the sobering realization of What Just Happened.

Much like sitting in a bathtub after the water has drained, after going through a really heavy patch of tempestuous emotions, I tend to ponder why I let myself get in this situation. Why didn’t I get out of the tub when I first pulled the plug?  It could be something as simple as I enjoyed the feel of the warm water draining around me, the gentle force it exerts as it swirls it’s way down into oblivion, pulling me like a clingy lover’s arms around my body. However, before I know it, the bath is empty, and I’m just a naked fool left sitting in an empty tub. The chill quickly sets in as I see my loved ones’ wide eyes, realizing only then just how naked I am. Like a fish in fresh air, I’m left sputtering and choking helplessly, trying desperately to say “I’m sorry” a thousand times at once. A cold slap in the face from an arctic wave as I realize what I’ve done.

This was once a coherent thought but now it’s just word vomit so enjoy I’m not cleaning it up

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stefanyd:

ashesofhearts:

I had no idea I was a novelist. 

godheadcomplex:

i have a red string of fate but instead of being tied to a soulmate the end of my red string leads into a bottomless pit where i deserve to stay alone and bitter and unlikable

usually when I read cute yuri stuff I’m torn between extreme feelings

like between blushing like an idiot because of kawaii ass shit and wanting to lay down and die because I’ll never be a cute yuri anime

I’m actually getting myself quite worked up about this

depression has been replaced by anger

I’m gonna fucking make people notice me whether they like it or not

I’m not saying tumblr is the only culprit here. The whole invisibility-unless-you-make-art thing happens to me in real life too.

The friends I made in my last year of high school were in art class. They ignored me for a good 2 months but when they saw my sketches, suddenly I was worth a second glance. We were friends for a while, and I had made one friend I thought was a keeper. We even went to college 20 minutes away from each other. But when I messaged her and told her I got kicked out of Sheridan, she never messaged me back. I even gave her the benefit of the doubt and messaged her a couple more times in case she missed it. But nothing. Like what, that’s it? I was only worth the effort of conversation as an art student??

Though I’ll admit it is different on tumblr. The art I produce (provided it’s not original art, not that I’m bashing fanart) is always welcomed with open arms, even IF I’m not college bound. It’s only when I open my mouth that people go curiously silent.

I could shout into people’s dashboards all day long and never receive a response, a feeling not unlike screaming into the desert wind. But once I produce some fanart people can’t fucking wait to press the like button. Not that I’m ungrateful for the attention, but I guess I just find it a little hollow.

I don’t even know how to express my thoughts here… it’s kind of like…

You ever get the feeling like you’re a side character in your own movie? Like who you are doesn’t even fucking matter, so just do what you do and shut up about it.

I…

I’m just so tired of being ignored.

one time a friend mistook my curiosity towards foodplay as a desire to physically have sex with food

like to fuck a slice of pizza

what

hmmm

I am oddly uppy tonight

maybe I should relieve some stress

or

maybe

I should just have some ice cream