you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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obsessed with the izzy vs everyone height difference, but esp steddyhands coded
like. izzy, who‘s still so deeply caught in fighting all these battles against parts of him the world deems unworthy. for whom his stature and bearing were hardwon battles fought over years, who can’t shake the echo of bigger, stronger men always zeroing in on him as the easy target - for any number of things, height, weight, voice, a thousand others - and who’s always fought these battles violently and relentlessly
and the only person he’s ever had anything approximating positive feelings about being bigger than him was ed, who used to say it was cute the way he could wrap himself around all of izzy and then some, and rest his chin atop his head to annoy him out of doing work, and who stopped touching him at all somewhere along the line (they’re working on that, these days)
who has all of this rushing in to bite him squarely in the ass when he finds himself one day dragged away and hefted up into stede bonnet’s toned???? arms away from a barfight, mind suddenly empty and frozen mid-calling someone a cunt, just.
well, ed used to do stuff like this, sometimes, before he fucked his knee. stuff that never failed to get izzy’s blood pumping and them both nearly stabbed with distraction, and stede fucking bonnet, gentleman pirate is quite frankly the last person izzy thought he’d be having this second revelation with this late in life, is all
but. oh. he’s staring up at the ponce, going on about something or other how smashing bottles over people’s heads isn’t a civilized way of solving disputes, and if izzy was thinking clearly he might say that it’s a sight more civilized than gutting them which he might’ve done instead, but is he ever not
because he’s been summarily deposited on the small brick wall outside, and bonnet is looming over him with both hands braced either side of izzy’s hips, and his brain is receiving exactly none of the words stede is sending, cause-
well. apparently he really fucking likes this
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I liked about half of Tunic. very pretty and had great level design, but the fighting mechanics were not consistent enough for the level of precision it demanded of the player. exploration was incredibly well done but the combat TO ME was something I just suffered through to enjoy the rest of the game. and then when I got to the boss rush I just uninstalled it. the combat felt so bad to play that when it felt like the developer was saying "here, you love this right? great news, you get way more of My Awesome Combat System" it felt insulting.
i think a lot of it is banking on Zelda nostalgia, but I've never played a Zelda game and I was coming at it through the lens of "this is an isometric soulslike" instead of "this is a challenging zelda-like" which made me have a bad time. i also did not think the gameplay meshed with the plot very much, for a game that was touted as "just like outer wilds."
also to be fair, I didn't engage with any of the meta-puzzles, because to me there weren't enough lore tidbits or hints of things lurking beneath the surface to make it seem worthwhile. it was just for the completionists or language nerds (laudatory).
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