#Fucking failures focused on pointing fingers and acting like I should be grateful

[radio-charlie]

Idk about switching one sus global power for another sus one but it's ok. Each day I try for an actual moral stance while people get their non binary cocks sucked into dessication for doing copywriting and pretending to have problems

#But u know la how I don't work hard. Not like mulling everything relevant over doing outreach research counterpropaganda etc was a round a c #Including the one where I was working two physical labor jobs 6 days a week #While dealing w redacted #Fucking failures focused on pointing fingers and acting like I should be grateful #For what barely amounts to compensation at all

[causticameracrap]

i hate that my life has come to this.

i was so happy* early this year............ apart from the body self-loathing in january.  * (did this mean that life was perfect? absolutely not. i was still very much in my grief, very much feeling slighted and abandoned. but i wasn’t angry at myself. i didn’t hate myself. i was rightfully angry at circumstances outside of my control.)

i deserved better.

i was so excited to progress. i was excited for my future. i was excited to finally become someone who Might Be Someone, or Might Make Something, or Might Mean Something. but now... i don’t have anything to look forward to. what i thought would be certain is no longer, and may never return. i’m doubting myself and my abilities, after Finally, Just Fucking Finally beginning to trust in myself and value myself. and my mental health feels like it’s taken multiple steps backward. i’ve progressed in and with my grief, yes, but everything else has slid so fucking far down that’ll take Another series of years to get back to what was once baseline. and that baseline i need to claw back to is already so lacking and demoralizing already. 

the BPD prevents me from seeing myself objectively. and for a while, i was managing it. i was seeing what others saw in me. i wasn’t listening to the Other Self that hates themself. i could fight back. but now... i don’t see my own successes that other people exasperatingly point out. they don’t matter because they are so small so they don’t exist. it’s been too long since i felt meaning so it doesn’t exist and it won’t exist. you aren’t successful so you are a failure. you are not loved so you are unloved. you are not any of these things so you are nothing. there are no other choices. there are no other ways to view yourself. there is no nuance in the void.

i want to be someone like Daniel. i want to achieve in Everything i set my mind to. i want to be good at Everything i can possibly do. i want to be one of the best at Something. i want to Matter to a lot of people. others point out that this is unreasonable to expect so much of yourself, that it’s greedy to reach for all of the figs from the tree, but there Are people who can! there are people who Do! there is Daniel and so many more like him. and they are rightfully celebrated for being multi-faceted and Incredible.

but i’m not, and rightfully so, because i fall so laughably short. my achievements are so small compared to others, who are way closer to Daniels than i am to even them. instead of being good, really Good without a doubt, at something... i am above average at a few, average at many, and below average to failing at many others. and now that i’ve put a name as to why my brain fails at what other people can conceive so easily, i feel even more of a failure.

i know deep in the back of my mind that i shouldn’t compare - especially now being self-aware at discalculia, and how it encompasses so many things in daily & academic & professional life. but i Have to compare. i Want to be better than average. i Want to matter. (is it so wrong to want????) i feel so poorly about myself because deep down i know i Can and Should be better. i Should and Can be the person people think i am.

and it hurts because i know i Could be that person... if things were different.

.... i hate that i wasn’t given a fair shot at life. it seems i was cursed from the womb. i wasn’t aware of all of the things wrong with me, but they were always there and i know them now. i was depressed for most of my life. and part of that is just being in an environment with an abusive mother who belittles and threatens you all of the time. and part of that is having the beginnings of various personality disorders, again exacerbated and likely caused by the abuse. and then the learning disorder that i didn’t even know i had, because thru sheer force of will i passed the usual landmarks that are usually the indicators / red flags, but... if i had gotten help with that sooner. if i could have gotten more help understanding spatial awareness. if i had been told that it wasn’t my fault that my mother was acting this way sooner. if i had been comforted or loved unconditionally. if i had been treated more kindly. if i had been given a safe outlet for my emotions, whether in therapy or literally with anyone i could trust. perhaps... my life would have been different. perhaps my life would have been better. and not perhaps. I Know My Life Would Have Been Different. i would have been Stronger. i would have been Smarter. i would have been more Successful. i would and could have been anything. but that wasn’t meant to be. and it’s not fair that it wasn’t.

some people are grateful of their neurological differences. i’m not. art... the creative life... i would honestly trade it away to be “normal.” yes, i said it! the most important aspects i’ve valued in my life & life’s journey are truly not that important at all! the only reason i wanted to go the road less traveled was because i knew my brain and myself wouldn’t be able to succeed there. i am afraid of failure. that is always my primary motivation: i am afraid of failure. if i was “normal,” i could succeed in the normal things. i could have went the STEM route like everyone else i fucking know before art school ruined my second shot at life. i could have had a more stable life. my creativity is meaningless in the face of a better self. 

without every single fucking psychological issue (and there are So Many them and i am so Frustrated that there are so many of them because i’m So Fucked Up, despite all the progress i’ve made), i would be in a stable relationship. it would be easier to love myself. it would be easier to trust others. it would be easier to put myself out there in the position to create love with someone else. as much as i am lonely, i am so afraid of being rejected. and any chance i have taken has been met with failure. how could i not equate that with me being unworthy of love? how could i not just fall into despair and distance myself? i Hate that it Would have been different. living with someone in reality instead of fantasies in my head.

writing and creating art is a way to deal with my pain, but if i didn’t have the pain... if i wasn’t depressed & abused & a fucking idiot... i Wouldn’t have a Need for art. if things had been different, there would be no subject, no reason to entertain that path. my real artist statement is pain - self-inflicted and self-endured. rarely, it has included other’s pain, but it is always negative. no wonder my art means nothing to so many. who wants to wade thru someone else’s fucked up mind with no real end goal? who wants to wade thru body of work after body of work describing the same old shit, and not even executed well? i certainly don’t blame them. look at the photo over there instead.

truthfully, my first love was space. during elementary lunch or library times i would sit against the walls that looked so big then with space books as thick as my arm. i would read about saturn and hug it to my chest. i would excitedly tell facts about jupiter and all of its moons to my friends. i would watch star wars on laser disc every other week, looking up in wonder at the ships sailing thru space and time, wanting to wander so easily just as they did. but my brain would never be able to handle it. as soon as i learned what was required, i knew it would never be. that was the first time my heart was broken. everything else in my life has been settling. that’s right, art is just something i settled on.

if i was looking at the stars, discovering things... i think i would Actually be happy. analyzing the photographs of distant nebulas and planets, instead of the bullshit i’ve snapped on my own. writing about our place in this galaxy, and how it relates to countless others, instead of focusing on my own life - which obviously means absolutely fucking Nothing in the scope of everything. (and i would be okay with that!) working on a telescope, instead of all the broken aspects of myself.

i wouldn’t even need to reach the summit. i wouldn’t need to be floating in a space station. i would be happy on the ground. i wouldn’t need to be a director. i would be happy behind screens and buttons. i would be happy as a body of many. because i would matter to myself first.

there with space... i wouldn’t be caught up in whether my art is better / is worth more or the same than another’s. i wouldn’t be overwhelmed with insecurities and artistic imposter’s syndrome. i would be working in the Objective. this thing exists. this is a specific phenomena. it is now being given a name. it is now being studied. you are now studying it. it is now being reviewed. if there is critique, you will address accordingly. you don’t have to worry about whether or not someone has an emotional or financial connection to it - a person either believes or doesn’t. the study is either sound or un-sound. the work is either published or unpublished. the mission is either a success or a failure. procedures are either followed or not. you are either looking or you aren’t. these are the blacks and whites you can handle. this is how your brain operates.

it’s easier for me to write off a dumbass who refuses to see beyond the shadows of a cave, than someone who doesn’t like my shadow and prefers the puppets of someone else. i can’t handle the subjective. why are my shapes worth less to you than his? aren’t we using the same fingers? aren’t we projecting on the same cave? why do you believe in those truths more than mine? i can’t handle the critique of my work because it Must be tied to myself and my pain. if you can’t understand the work, you can’t understand me. if you don’t like the work, you don’t like me. there is no separation between the created and creator. perhaps this too is a lack of spatial awareness. perhaps it is not the BPD holding me back but discalculia yet again. maybe it was the culprit all along. i wish i had realized it sooner. 

the truth is, i shouldn’t be here in these circles. maybe i was never meant to be here. truthfully, i wish i wasn’t here. if there was a way to slide into that alternate timeline, Over Somewhere Else to live the Other Mica’s life, i would. i would and i would never look back. 

there’s nothing i’ve gained from being different. and i’ve made nothing of it. if i could do it all again with another build, i would. even if my upbringing remained the same, if those points could be put into the traditional AP route: the calculus & the physics & the SATs & 4 years & the degrees, i would. then every resulting choice would be different. every resulting outcome would be sound. i would be someone else. and i would be Someone.

#prose diary

[baesketballers]

GABBY! I hope I get in this time!! OMG. But could I get a scenario with Kasamatsu where fem/reader is crushing over him, but he's so shy and 'ignores' her because he has a crush too? Semi angst with a fluff ending where they confess to each other would be beautiful please C;

Hi Tia! Hope this is satisfactory, although I’m not sure I interpreted the request right (´•ω•`๑)

Fem!Reader ahead

A wonder and a shame, how people sometimes just cannot see themselves as how others see them. The discrepancy between thoughts and reality, caused by insecurities and self-doubt, rises like steam fogging up a bathroom mirror. It is metaphorically like that simply because the perception one has of oneself is distorted. Blurred. Obscured. As if the whole notion isn’t sad enough, the fact that most good people are unable to see how good they actually are is what makes it sadder.

This story focuses on two people in particular who are unfortunate enough to only be able to see their clouded reflections in their bathroom mirrors. 

Your shower was too hot, you conclude as you absent-mindedly take note of interior of the modest bathroom that looks as if it has been covered in a white transparent blanket. That, or you took too long in the shower, which is most likely the case. Things haven’t exactly been going good for you, and your usually clear thoughts are easily polluted at times like these, surfacing most often when you’re in the shower.

You look at your reflection as you pass by a mirror, ruffling your hair with a soft towel. You immediately walk out of the bathroom. From experience, it’s better when you don’t dwell on what you see for too long. 

Three miles away from your home, Kasamatsu holds back a curse as he strums a chord that grates his ears. Who knows how many times he’s tried to get that part of the song right? (Dozens of times in the course of three hours, he keeps track in the back of his mind, but obviously that wasn’t enough.) Frustration occupies too much of his mind to let him focus on the instrument, and that mistake is what makes him snap, though it doesn’t visibly show. The only visual clue of his annoyance is the darkness in his expression, obviously forcing himself to calm down and set the guitar on its stand before falling face first on his bed.

He’s going to sleep in that position tonight—if sleep wins the battle against his thoughts, that is.

It’s hard to describe the distance between the two of you. Are you close? Are you not close? You find a hard time calling him a friend, since you’ve only been paired up in three projects throughout your school years in Kaijou, and you only talk occasionally outside of class. It doesn’t feel right to call him an acquaintance either, because you feel as though you know him more than a regular acquaintance would know each other.

You would have been more active in making an effort to interact with him if not for the fact that he seems to avoid you whenever you do. You account that to his shyness towards the opposite gender, which is half-adorable yet half-frustrating considering your… crush towards him. Yes, you’ve come to terms with your own feelings you have especially for Kasamatsu, and his timidity is doing a really good job blocking advances you plan on making.

But lately you feel that it’s actually not that. You consider yourself as a normal classmate to him, and you assume he thinks so, too. After all, you’ve shared a class for two years consecutively now. You figure that the shyness would at least dissipate by a little, but instead it has lately increased in its intensity. 

The only conclusion you can reach is that he somehow, in addition to his shyness around females, doesn’t really like you.

“What’s up?” 

Kobori’s question is undoubtedly referencing to the play Kasamatsu failed to execute just a few minutes ago during team practice. The captain’s face visibly hardened, probably an unconscious shift, and his voice somehow sounds off when he dismisses it as “nothing”. The difference in his behavior is acknowledged by the other team members, though they don’t want to confront him about it quite soon, and Kasamatsu knows this. His facade of being okay is slipping. In truth, his self-confidence is rapidly decomposing, replaced only by the black bile that is self-consciousness. 

His facade needs to be kept up.

“One more time,” he calls out to the team, and he would have convinced everyone in the gym with the firmness of his words if not for the way a certain darkness clouds his eyes right after.

Two hours later, he stands on the free throw line, alone in the gym as he sends basketballs flying consecutively. His basket rate has decreased by quite a lot, but he defends himself with the fact that nobody is watching and thus giving him no reason to pretend to be fine. There is rage deep in his gut and a loud voice in his ears telling him that he’s a failure of a person, that he’s not talented enough—the same voice calls him useless for working so hard without yielding any results whatsoever.

Kasamatsu slumps to the shiny gym floor, silence buzzing in his ears mixed with the light sound of crickets from outdoors. Why is it that during these dark times, he always thought of you? His infatuation for you, running far and long from the first year of high school, has taken a bad turn, pushing him further down the ground that is his self-esteem.

She will never accept someone so weird and talentless.

There are many variations to that sentence, he finds thorough occasions like this. Defeated, he runs his fingers through his hair before gripping on the strands so hard as if he was about to pull the roots out of his scalp. 

“Fuck,” he rasps.

It’s been two long weeks. He’s avoided you like the plague, like you’re filthier than pig fodder, and you hate yourself because of it. You’re working on a group project together with three other people, and it so happens that he would be perfectly fine around them but not with you. No reply to the “hello”s you say to him in the hallway. A curt reply whenever you ask a question. Pretending as if not to notice you as you offer him a seat during lunch time.

Your before bed routine for the past five days has been as follows: shower, look at your body in the mirror pulling at parts you despise, lie down on bed, and overthink before you cry yourself to sleep. He must hate you so much, and it hurts how you still have feelings for him despite how you resolve to hate him back for the way he’s been treating you.

But you can’t, no matter how hard you try. Curse him for being so captivating, so him that you can’t even push him away after he pushes you away. And then there’s the fact that you have a group project together… your other group mates must already notice what’s going on. You realize that you need to confront him about this, for your own sanity if not for that assignment you could care less about.

So after steeling your nerves for another five solid days, during which he still steers clear of interacting with you unless completely necessary, you corner him in front of his locker before class and grips his wrist as a countermeasure of him running away.

“Kasamatsu-kun, can you please meet me after school? I need to talk to you about something important.”

It was a clear-cut sentence, and there’s no way someone could misinterpret it or misheard it, and especially not a smart basketball team captain, at that. His wrist burns from your touch. His heart would flutter from the physical contact if not for your words that seemingly sent small needles into his chest. What could be the important thing you’re trying to tell him?

The rest of the school day seems like a blur, not only to him but also to you. Orange light bathes the classroom, signifying the hour most anticipated by students looking forward to ending the day and most dreaded by both you and him. Should the circumstances be different, you would be disheveled and blushing, because it’s only the two of you in the classroom, standing in front of each other.

“W-What is it, __________-san?”

You look down as if the floor is the most interesting object in the world. To think that you actually felt you were ready to do this.

“Listen, Kasamatsu-kun,” you begin, a hand fiddling with the edge of the table you are leading against. “I… notice that you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

His mouth suddenly dries and it’s hard to swallow. He himself is unable to look anywhere your way, not bearing to see what sort of expression paints your face. You sound like you’re hurt. By him.

“I just,” you continue against how your voice shakes, “w-want to know what I did wrong? Was it something I said that offended you or the way I treated you at one point in our friendship—I mean, I know we’re not really close, but I felt—”

You let that sentence die down into a sigh. Upset, you wanted to say, but immediately felt that you have no right to. You just told him the two of you weren’t really close, after all. So what if he upsets you?

“I’m sorry,” Kasamatsu whispers, a hand cupped in front of his mouth as he looks at his own feet. 

The words act as oil to the fire in your stomach. Yes, of course he’s sorry. Why did you see that coming? 

“Can you please answer the question, Kasamatsu-kun?” You say, voice breaking despite the stern tone you mustered up, and then you realize the wetness in your eyes.  

Kasamatsu must have noticed too, because he’s now looking at your face and the pained expression painted on it. Your eyes are reddening, a prelude to the tears that endeavor to escape the ducts at the corner of your eyes. The way your lips are slightly parched and how they tremble. The thought of him being the one causing you this sends a jab to his heart, the left side of his chest aching as if he’s been physically hurt.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, losing control of his thoughts and his tongue, “it’s a h-hard thing for me to explain and I—”

“Tell me anyway.”

That sends him on a flurry of words.

“—I’ve liked you for a while now, __________-san, and I’ve grown to realize that you’re too good for a person like me, and I’ve been feeling small and useless so I thought it would be best for me to just forget about how I feel for you by avoiding you altogether, but after a while it still won’t work—”

It’s as if you’re looking into a very clear mirror. His eyes redden, not unlike yours, darting around to avoid you altogether. His voice turning into a rough rasp, and how the words seem to spill out of his mouth. The feeling of panic and something akin to a bandage covering an old, painful wound being unraveled.

But neither of them matter when you hear his first words.

I’ve liked you for a while now, __________-san.

And the tears pooling in your eyes flow forth, running down in big droplets down the skin of your cheek and you stifle a sob. The words he said were exactly how you felt towards him, how you thought you weren’t enough for someone as prolific as him, as popular as him, as perfect as him. He stops talking immediately when he sees you cry, seemingly put under a spell with a look of your tears.

Kasamatsu reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the droplets away and you melt. Despite the overflow of your tears, your sigh turns into a laugh accompanied by a sad look on your face. You only spare him seconds in confusion at the juxtaposition of emotions you’re showing to him.

“It’s funny,” you interject the silence, “painfully so, I would say.”

“What is?”

“I like you, too, Kasamatsu-kun. I also have now, for a while.” 

Steel blue eyes widen at the confession, something he thought he would only hear in his wildest dreams. 

“The funny thing is,” you say, eyes blurry, “what you said… they’re also exactly how I feel. I thought I was never,” you choke, “good enough for an amazing person like you, and with the way you were avoiding me, I thought you’ve finally realized that, so I decided to talk to you for one last time before getting out of your life—”

It’s as if the rest of your sentence fell apart when he pulls you into a tight embrace, your head buried in his chest and his face in your hair. 

“I am so sorry,” he says, “I didn’t… I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to. Oh God, how can I ever make it up to you,” he whispers into your hair, hand stroking up and down your back to calm down your sobs. If you weren’t resting your head on his chest, you would have seen him trying his best to blink back his own tears.  

The two of you stay that way, silent in each others presence and sharing warmth until you speak.

“…what now?”

At that, the old Kasamatsu makes his return, his cheeks so red he looks like he’s about to explode from the amount of embarrassment that he has to cover the bottom half of his face as if it helps. In his mind, there is only one way this can continue, and the thought of it sends more blood to his face. 

“W-Well, about that!”

You look at him, tears dry, with a face that says ‘slight amused’ at the display of his shyness, but deep in the pool of your eyes is encouragement for him to say the words—unless you say it first.

“Will you… be my girlfriend?”

You chuckle, suddenly feeling shy yourself. He beat you to it, as expected of the man you adore so. You gingerly place your hands on his chest, and when presented without any form of objection to the physical contact, you lean in—

—and kiss him on the cheek.

“I thought you would never say that,” he hears your voice amidst the rush of blood in his ears, and he knows that it’s a yes to his question. Kasamatsu pouts at how badly he’s handling this and how hard it is for him because of your utter cuteness, but somehow he finds the courage to trap your wrists in each hand.

“Come, I’ll walk you home,” he says.   

#admin #ourneverendingpossibilities #kasamatsu #kasamatsu yukio #reader insert #female!reader #fem!reader #sfw #angst #fluff #i think #knb #kuroko no basket #scenarios #imagine #kuroko no basket imagines #kuroko no basket scenarios