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tommykinard6 · 5 hours

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I love your headcanons!

Why do you think Tommy has a difficult relationship with sex and how does that show?

Also do you have any more ideas about the emergency contact one? Like the first time they get a call from the hospital...

Yessss thank you so much for asking about those headcanons! I’ve been wanting to talk about these.

I actually just got another ask about the emergency contact and I’m going to go super in depth for that, so stay tuned!

But why do I think Tommy has a difficult relationship with sex? I’m so, so glad you asked. This is one of my biggest headcanons.

However! Please read with caution. TW: for a form of self h*rm involving sex, self hatred, and internalized homophobia.

Tommy was extremely closeted for most of his life. When he was at the 118, he couldn’t even accept himself. But at some point, he stopped being able to ignore it. For me, this might be when he realized he liked Sal (see my other post).

Now for some people, exploring your sexuality includes a *ahem* wild phase. To me, Tommy had two parts of this phase. The first one was…not great.

Tommy was a self loathing closeted man. He hated himself for being gay. He wanted to be “normal”. So when he stopped being able to ignore it, he thought he could “get it out of his system”. So he went to bars outside of LA (he wasn’t risking bumping into anyone he knew) and hooked up with any man who showed interest. He wasn’t picky. He was just more focused on getting out of this “phase”.

So he hooked up with a lot of men. And he didn’t care about himself at all. In fact, he out right hated himself every time. So it devolved. If something didn’t feel good, Tommy leaned into it because he saw it as punishment. He used sex to punish himself and to hurt himself.

I’m not quite sure about how he pulled himself out of it, but we’ll go with this. My idea is that he had a sexual partner who caught onto what was going on, that Tommy secretly hated something happening but refused to stop on his own. The partner shut down the event and when he called out, gently, Tommy on what was happening, Tommy broke down. The partner held him and listened to his garbled story and talked him through it. Instead of the hookup, they spent that night just talking, with the partner trying to get Tommy to see what was happening and get him out of the slump.

And it didn’t fix it. Tommy continued this pattern for a couple more hookups, but he started to get discontented and uncomfortable. Around this time maybe, the 118 got Bobby Nash and the dynamic started changing. Sal was gone and working with Hen, an openly queer firefighter, started to shift how he looked at himself.

So Tommy stopped the hookups and started working on himself. He couldn’t quite face himself still, but he worked on liking himself outside of his sexuality. He started laying down boundaries when he hooked up. And then he left the 118 and started therapy. He was ready to start over. He was tired of the pain and the self hate and the cycle he’d been stuck in for so long. He wanted what he’d seen others have. He saw Hen with her wife and he wanted a bond like that and he knew it could never be with a woman.

Skip forward all this time and he’s learned to be gentle with himself. He finally loves himself. He has embraced his sexuality. Maybe he’s still friendly with that past partner or maybe they never spoke again, idk. He’s had some relationships but nothing’s really stuck. Then he meets Evan Buckley.

He meets Evan Buckley and he feels the sun for the first time. And Evan is still figuring himself out and Tommy not only really likes him, but also wants to make sure Evan doesn’t make the same mistakes he did.

Does that answer the question? Let me sum it up.

Tommy used sex to punish himself and those were his first real experiences with guys. So even now, in healthier relationships and with better mindsets, he doesn’t do the hookup game anymore and is very shy of having sex too soon. He doesn’t have sex without knowing and trusting the person.

Y’all I have no idea if this made sense, but this is literally the premise of a story in my brain.

#911 abc #9-1-1 #911 show #tommy kinard #911 season 7 #lou ferrigno jr #bucktommy #evan buckley #911 spoilers #tk6 answers #tk6 muses #911 meta #tw: mental health #tw: self loathing #tw: self destruction #read the tws

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disabledunitypunk · 1 day

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So, I know this blog has been a lot less active as of late, at least from my part (mod Stars).

I'm gonna be honest; I've been incredibly sick. A combination of some kind of issue with gluten/wheat (may be celiac, or nonceliac gluten intolerance, or wheat allergy) with IBD, MCAS, lactose intolerance and sensory issues, had caught me in such a cycle of degranulation, anaphylaxis, intestinal issues, brain fog, chronic fatigue, and POTS and chronic pain flareups, that I was nonfunctional.

On top of that, anxiety over my partners SSI application (recently medically approved by the administrative law judge, that's a win! still waiting on nonmedical approval but it should hopefully just be a rubber stamp process at this point - knock on wood) has really screwed with my levels of executive dysfunction.

And trauma around medical neglect and abuse, plus being so sick, plus executive dysfunction, had led me to temporarily avoid seeking treatment at all. When I say that the very idea of trying to trick yet another doctor's ego into believing they came up with the idea to test me for the conditions I'm already reasonably certain I have, all while making sure I don't seem too smart, too unintelligent, too articulate, too reliant on google, too self-aware, use too many medical terms, and so on... I've not had the ability to advocate for myself anymore.

Luckily, a friend of mine that's all hellfire agreed to help advocate for me at some of my appointments going forward, so I'm going to be finding a new primary care doc and going forward (possibly seeing my old one a few more times if necessary, just to get re-referrals and maybe get a referral to a non-Medicaid allergist that actually knows what MCAS is) with pursuing diagnoses and treatment again.

Until then, however, I'm pretty much limited to about three foods - plain white or wild rice, "zoup" (a zucchini broth with chunks of carrots, daikon, celery, and wild rice), and raisins. I can drink water and cranberry juice. Between my sensory issues and that tiny list, I've been consistently significantly hungry for a week. I'm struggling to sleep and can't get more than four hours of restless sleep in a night the past few nights. I'm menstruating for the first time in five years for G-d knows why. I feel better and less reactive, especially after an ER visit for some IM decadron, but I am constantly exhausted.

Why do I bring all this up?

This is my daily life. I have near zero quality of life because of the ableism of doctors and failures of the medical system. I'm barely keeping myself alive every day, really only with the help of a lot of caretaking from my partner. I haven't been able to get to my doctor to get approved for that friend willing to advocate for me to be paid for basic caretaking duties by Medicaid. I went out on Saturday for the first time in over a month, and I'll be recovering from that for the next week and a half.

There is not a single minute of my life that isn't profoundly affected by my disabilities. Stress causes a cascading reaction through my MCAS, POTS, ME/CFS. Understimulation causes intense stress and even pain. Listening to music while doing nothing, watching videos, and similar "low energy" activities drain so much energy that they trigger my chronic fatigue, and sometimes cause a lesser reverse cascading reaction.

I can't take an ADHD med to help with the symptoms more disabling than the ones threatening literal anaphylaxis and organ failure because I can't get them compounded without an official MCAS diagnosis, and I'd also need a beta blocker compounded as well (which are are often mast cell triggers) for my POTS because the only ADHD meds that work on me are amphetamines.

I can't take vitamin D or B12 despite being incredibly critically low for the same reasons. I've barely found some OTC benadryl and aleve that I halfway tolerate. I might have a UTI and if I do I'm gonna have to convince doctors 20 years behind the medical literature that IM antibiotics are considered safe and effective and are a safer alternative to oral meds for me, if still risking a minor reaction.

On good days, I can make it between the bed and couch a couple times a day, and between the couch and the toilet. On bad days, I have a chamber pot setup in the bedroom because I can't afford diapers. I'm sure my vitamin D deficiency is not helped by never leaving an apartment that barely gets some sunlight two hours a day because it's in the shadow of the other side of the building.

I used to, on bad days, spend most of the day doing mindless tasks or on slightly less bad days, puzzle games, on my phone. Now, I'm lucky if I can do even that much most days. I AM too sick to play video games. 🥲 I can nap, I can sit with my eyes open, I can listen to music until it's too exhausting anymore.

I'm tired, and every day surviving is just a monumental effort. Again, the ableism of doctors and... actually, they're not failures if they're intentional; the abusive medical system, have not left a single minute of my life untouched.

Multiple times, when talking about online discourse, I've been accused of "wanting to be more disabled than I am", "being physically abled", being "crazy", "delusional", "on something", etc, etc, etc. All for daring to say that ideas like body-mind duality, exclusionism within disabled communities, and similar, are deeply harmful and affect far more than insular online discourse.

Doctors love to shove off chronically ill people into "psych cases". Have anxiety, autism, PTSD, schizophrenia, DID, depression, etc, etc on your chart? Yeah, you're never getting that physical diagnosis. This is what perpetuating and encouraging ideas like "all disabilities are physical OR mental", "people with abc type of disability have privilege over people with xyz type of disability", and so on, DOES.

Sanism is used to perpetuate ableism. Ableism is used to perpetuate sanism. Quite frankly, I'm not sure that neurotypical physically disabled people, non-mad neurodivergent physically disabled people, and physically abled neurodivergent/mad (all as self-identified categories) get just how deeply compounded ableism is when you exist at the intersection of physically disabled and neurodivergent (especially if mentally ill or mad). Or perhaps, the disconnect exists along a line of "profoundly disabled" vs "can access abled hegemony to a significant extent". Perhaps it's both. There is likely elements of how visible a disability is, how much its able to be masked, the type/level/spread of support needs, and so on. There's definitely elements of other marginalization; race, ethnicity, fatness, queerness, and so on.

And then there's the subcategories. Cognitively disabled. Traumatized. Chronically ill. Visually impaired/blind. Deaf/hard of hearing. Intellectual disability. Mobility disabilities. Fluctuating vs static disabilities, support needs, masking, and so on.

Sometimes I wonder, would the people who think I'm just an abled faker who doesn't belong for not being able to seperate my neurodivergence from my physical disabilities, my neurological organs from my body, my inabilities from my inabilities, would they find I'm the same as them when they spend a day in my life? Would they find it worse? Would they find it unbearable in a completely different way from their own struggles? Would they maybe even find that while it's not quite as hard as their own struggles in some cases, that it's still wildly hard and the two are far closer to each other on the scale than they think? Would they understand that we are both in the midst of an active, eugenicist genocide, and that we're 50-49 bullet holes staring down the barrel of a loaded gun that is held by our oppressors?

Even now, I'm thinking about how this post might be inaccessible. Is it readable for screen readers? Will the length be too much for way too many people? Is it understandable for people with intelligence and cognitive disabilities? How do I fix those things if it's not. What am I missing? What am I missing? What am I missing?

I'm exhausted, I'm scared, and I'm barely holding on. I'm safe, mental health wise, to be clear, I'm just convinced that the only reason that I'm not in significant danger from my physical chronic illnesses right now is because I've always had a body that was stubborn as all hell and twice as resilient. I'm not dying, not because the illnesses aren't trying, but because my body will endure far beyond normal limits.

I've experienced slow acting anaphylactic reactions without anaphylactic shock about once a month for 1-2 years now, usually only going in after several days and nights of severe symptoms. Like I've mentioned, several of my vitamin levels are so low as to make organ failure a constant threat. None of my illnesses are "terminal" per se, but that doesn't mean they can't be deadly. And more to the point, it doesn't mean they can't destroy me, that they haven't utterly destroyed my quality of life, without killing me.

I mean, I started this blog as an attempt at fostering solidarity. We CANNOT be quibbling over who really "belongs" in various disability spaces, who gets to reclaim what words or whatever, when so many of us are dealing with this shit.

For the area with the lowest cost of living in the country, SSI should be 5 times what it is now. For the highest, up to 20 times. People on disability benefits lose some or all of their payments, insurance, and so on, if they get married, even to another person on benefits. I've never met a disabled person without more doctor horror stories than diagnoses, and we all know diagnoses like to come in clusters. We are being abused, neglected, and killed.

I cannot stress how much, not that this intracommunity discourse "doesn't matter", but that it does at a deeply harmful level. It's just perpetuation of the abuse we face at a lateral level. We're mimicking the government and doctors and general abled society and getting into petty but deeply dangerous inane arguments that are just us carrying out the only way we've been taught to treat disabled people.

Being a disabled activist and advocate means questioning everything you know about ableism. It means prioritizing first and foremost disabled people. And honestly, speaking as someone whose platform here is dedicated to that, that's really fucking hard. It means believing people about their experiences with disability and oppression in a world that teaches us that the vast majority of disabled people are lying privileged fakers.

It means not believing that people know more about what people with a disability they DON'T have face because of their own disabilities. A little confusing, but essentially someone with disability A without disability B who faces oppression X, can't say that someone with disability B DOESN'T face oppression X, just because they face it. It means not calling the very real harm someone has experienced "misdirected", or making their suffering about you or your subcommunity, just because you've experienced the same or similar harm.

It means unlearning reactivity as a group of extremely traumatized people. It means learning to meet people where they're at, and assume "can't" rather than "won't". It means accepting that sometimes not only will someone's disabilities cause conflicting access needs with your own, but that sometimes people's disabilities can actively cause them to do harm, and that they still deserve rights, community, and support if they do. It also means recognizing that the harm that a disability may cause someone to do is going to look VASTLY different than abled expectations of "harmful" disabilities. It means, even and especially when this happens, recentering the perspective not around how the disability affects other people, but around how it affects the person with the disability.

It's all of this and so much more. It's a lot of effort from people with not a lot to give. It's fighting an upstairs battle with no ramp, so to speak.

And I guess I just... I'm at a loss on how to keep that up. Is just focusing on getting myself well enough to participate again, putting my own mask on first, enough? When there is not a single moment of my life untouched by the extremely deep and extremely systemic harm of ableism, is it enough to try and access the care continually gatekept from me at an individual level? Can I even do so, against such intensive pressure?

How do I live this life, and also go on untangles the narratives of "disabling neurodivergence isn't really a real disability and neurodivergent people face almost no real ableism" and "physical conditions are obvious and so get all the care and face no real ableism". How do I fight the concurrent violences of hypervisibility and erasure within the community that only serve to strengthen abled people bludgeoning us with them?

How do I focus on things like organizing, community building, activism, advocacy, dismantling the system, dismantling our reliance on it, and so much more, when I can't even get out of bed?

All I can do is write about it, right now. Sometimes I feel like that's all I've ever been able to do. Everyone I've ever known has acted like some day my "pen" will be a tool of liberation, but I'm at a loss for how. I'm just some horribly sick mad cripple on a dying microblogging platform on the internet. I don't know - not if I'm enough, but if anything ever can be.

And I don't mean to sound hopeless. I know that change can happen. I know that it is, in tiny and sometimes larger ways, every day.

This is kind of a self-centered post, in the most neutral way. This is just my perspective. This is about me, and how I'm so very disabled, and how people assume I'm not (and how wild that is, considering), and how ableism affects me so deeply, and how I don't know how to face it or fight it...

I can only hope that maybe my word resonating with people means something. That maybe, as much as we never want each other to experience what we have to, that it's also a comfort to know we don't experience it alone. That maybe this will serve as a reminder that it's okay to be scared, to feel lost, even hopeless, to struggle; to not know how to fight or where to turn. That maybe this will reach someone who CAN do something, and maybe it'll reach the people who need to NOT do anything other than take care of themselves, and that maybe it will help both of them.

Maybe that's too grandiose, I don't know. I hardly know what my point is here, other than: this is me, crippled and crazy as all hell. This is the violence I face. This is why I started this blog, because we need to stop hearing "you're a lying abled privileged faker trying to take advantage of and take resources from real disabled people who really need it" from abled people, and saying it word for word to each other. Because what abled people mean by "real disabled people" is just a theoretical disabled person. A perfect victim. They don't mean any real disabled person, especially not those who can advocate for themselves. They mean they think every single one of us doesn't need or deserve accommodations, treatment, respect, humanity, or even life.

That's the point, really. We're all we've got. We've gotta fight for each other, not fight each other. And G-d, I know how hypocritical that sounds coming from my ragey, rabid ass. I just... that's all I know to focus on right now. Not necessarily all coming together and holding hands and singing a song about unity, but just... not being ableist to each other. Tolerating each other even if we can't stand each other. Presenting a united, unbroken front to ableist society, and pushing until they don't have any power over us anymore. Doing the work of activism, which is often neither easy nor feel-good.

That's what I'm trying to do here, at least. I try to get a little better at it every day. I try to listen a little more. I try to keep up hope when my body and mind are crashing down around me.

I don't have a mic-drop conclusion to add to this, so just: I'm opening the floor. Anyone who has anything to add, feel free to do so. What you have to say is valuable.

#ableism #sanism #unitypunk #cripplepunk #madpunk #neuropunk

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krispyykrab · 2 months

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there is really something cruel and strange and fucked up about switching between thinking youre the center of the universe and thinking youre completely invisible 50 fuckin times a day. like do you have a god complex or an inferiority complex make up your mind

#the mental illness strikes again #yeah its that and like this crippling lonliness that has had me in a chokehold #pov you open the same 3 apps over and over again on repeat all day trying to see if anyone has messaged you or interacted with you at all #then you realize oh wait yeah. they all have lives and you dont. yeah that explains it #then you self loathe and pity for a bit and repeat the cycle #mad pathetic #and on top of that youre too fuckin sensitive so you take it all personal #even stupid jokes. yeah that stupid joke it hurt my feelings and for no reason at all #im not even really sad right now its just. so painfully frustrating that this has to be the normal for me #no matter how many times i seek help for it i get blown off #not to mention im *still* fucked up over not being able to go to the one person i relied on to help me when i was mentally unwell #though ive tried #but bringing up being mentally unwell gets me a sad face emoticon at best #and bringing up being physically unwell and that ive had to go to multiple doctors over the past few months is just. completely ignored #oh well #i am completely over that person but that doesnt mean getting ignored doesnt fucking hurt #anyways

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vesper-specter · 2 months

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My daily life goes from “im relapsing so hard and going to never recover” one night, sleeping, and waking up with “new minecraft wolves go brrr” the next

#how do I tell my therapist that I really fucked myself back up again but it’s fine cuz I’m over it by now :)#not physical injuries it’s fine #I hate venting but I’ve eaten my tongue so much I have to do something #writing isn’t helping much and everyday I go back into this same cycle #vent tag #tw self destructive behavior #self destructive behavior #and I’m always so nauseous it just makes me feel worse #and and my bones ache all the time esp with my new bus seat #even worse when I try and bring up how much pain I’m in it’s always met by ‘ur fault for being lazy for 3 yrs. go outside more. do something #as if I’m not up at 4 every morning and going all fucking day #I need a women to snap my neck. that’d fix me I think #this got worse as I’ve kept typing. sorry

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eggmeralda · 5 months

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can never describe enough how excited I am for the inevitable 2010s revival of the future

(also this turned into a massive ramble accidentally?)

#like i know there are already kids being like ''i wish i was a teenager in 2014 😭'' but i mean like #you know how like the past 5 years have been so 80s inspired #and also 90s #and how the 90s were really into the 60s #and i cannot wait for all the awful aesthetics that were everywhere when i was 12 to come back #bc i'm curious how it'll look. bc obviously it won't be like. the 2010s are back #it'll be this romanticised idea of the 2010s and i wonder which parts will be rejected and which parts you'll see Everywhere #god i feel like there needs to be a new Thing that causes the need for nostalgia #e.g. in the 70s when punk and indie started as a response to the way music was getting so. idk. complicated or whatever #or like kind of inaccessible to do yourself. like dgmw prog rock slaps disco slaps etc. but not everyone could just. do that #and then punk happened and it was so simplified like no long guitar solos or whatever it was so stripped down. and same with indie #not to ramble about what was in my dissertation but early indie was SO 60s influenced it was unreal. and. it was the nostalgia.....#and then i guess with punk there was new wave and post punk and then new romantics and synthpop and things got synthier and then idk #the 80s were so electronic which. again it slaps. but then it got to a point that it was Too Much again that there needed to be a Return #to the past and stuff. so then grunge and britpop and other stuff happened #and idek it always seems to be there's a new music genre or new subculture that evolves over a few years into different things #before getting too much and the next generation wants to go back so they make a new genre. which then evolves and the cycle goes on #but (at least from what I've seen. which probably isn't a lot bc i live under a rock) there doesn't seem to be anything New lately?#everything's all revivals of older genres now. like i haven't seen any new equivalent to emo or britpop or punk or beat or rock n roll etc #like a thing that Changes the timeline. and i was reading this essay about the new beatles song saying how we don't need a new beatles song #even though the new song's still cool it was kind of saying like everything nowadays is recycled and nothing is shocking anymore #like nostalgia is so big now. with all the film remakes and stuff like that. there is nooTHING NEWLY NEW. IDEK. I am rambling so much #just thinking about many things. this was sparked bc i listened to twilight by cover drive and it literally transported me back to year 7 #and that led to early 10s nostalgia and by the time that comes back into fashion will the nostalgia problem be worse or will something have #happened within that time. like a new punk or something. tbf i guess a lot of what I'm talking about is to do with rock and i mean #there's rap and stuff which i don't listen to a lot of so idk maybe there's stuff going on there which i don't know about. but then #i want there to be something i Do know about. like something you can't escape. kids are all dressing like this and listening to this and #we WILL hear about it. new proper subculture that isn't just a week long tiktok trend. ykw i blame tiktok for all of this lol #but yeah. holy shit tag limit #ramble

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voidfeather · 9 months

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i should probably read homestuck huh

#vtxt #it's had such a major influence on so many things including breadavota and i don't think i can fully appreciate all of those said things #until i do so #but i really can't be assed #once tried to do so a couple years ago but kept going to the same 5 pages over and over again cause i'm stupid #basically would read until page 5 stop reading and leave it for later and by later i mean several weeks later and repeat the cycle #cause i kept forgetting where i stopped lmao #when i realized what was going on i basically just went nope not dealing with this anymore #i'm not interested enough to keep doing this dance for fuck knows how long #i didn't realize how much of a phenomena it would become 💀#ah well too late for that now #honestly if someone else told me to read it i probably would #i'm far too obedient (dependent) for my own good

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stylesin · 1 year

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#I’m sad for harry and that this is the public reaction #as if it’s not real people involved #and people who claim to care about him celebrating something that’s very likely painful for him #and how this has been a cycle for 12 years and will inevitably happen all over again in the same way #how harry has said he just wants to do music and wouldn’t have gotten into it if he knew it would hurt people close to him #he really deserves better than his own fans and I don’t think he’ll ever get it

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mobbothetrue · 1 year

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i’m struggling to get to sleep a little, so i’m going back over childhood memories and stumbled across one that was almost a one hit KO.

I read a lot as a kid. My parents encouraged this, and got me a lot of books. Enough that, at one point, early in the morning and the only one awake, I was able to cover nearly every square inch of our living room in books. This probably led my parents to the realization that I, perhaps, had too many books, and we should get rid of some.

I was fine with that. I didn’t like to read books twice, you see, because I already knew where they were going and they didn’t entertain me anymore. That’s a philosophy that has changed, somewhat, with age, but that’s besides the point— there were a few books I wanted to keep. Strawberry Shortcake and something to do with mermaids. The few issues of the Beano I had. The Tin Soldier.

My parents boxed up a ton of books, and handed them in to my first grade classroom. Multiple large boxes of books. A comical amount of books. My teacher, Mrs. B, was very appreciative, But.

I don’t remember how this was uncovered. I don’t remember how I realized it, but… the tin soldier had been given away too. I didn’t mention it a paragraph ago, but it was my favourite book. I loved that book. It was about a tin soldier, missing a leg, in love with a princess or a ballerina. He got lost, or dropped, or maybe went on an adventure, I don’t recall, but in the end found his way back to the princess and was happy.

We did look through those boxes. Didn’t find it.

In sixth grade, I moved.

Well— technically, it was the summer between fifth and sixth grade that I moved. Still. In the years between, we never found that book. I had honestly forgotten about it. Sure, I had cried, but I did eventually find other books.

I guess word got around that I was moving. It was… something like the last day of school— not quite the end, but close. I remember snow on the ground, grey and slushy and mostly gone. I was just getting on the school bus to go home when Mrs. B came bustling out of the school.

She caught my backpack handle to get my attention, and I stopped on the steps of the school bus, looking down at her for what may well have been the last time I ever saw her. She had a book in her frail hands. The Tin Soldier.

She had never forgotten. She kept looking for that book. There was an apple sticky note on the front, addressed to me. It said some incredibly kind things, though most of the words are lost to memory. Encourage your creativity, I think, was the gist of it.

I just. Four years. She kept looking for that book for me for four years. I still have it, now, over a decade later. She must have had other, more important things to do. Four years! Where on earth had it been? I still don’t know, can’t imagine what could have possibly happened to it in the interim short of it slipping into a dimensional pocket. I loved that teacher.

#mobbtalks #not really a story with a point I suppose #my parents dd find another copy of the tin soldier for me after accidentally giving mine away #but the art was different and the story was slightly changed #other memories in this cycle include: spending recess stored away in a corner making an entire city out of little wooden blocks #attempting to do so again another recess only to have the teacher assign me as the buddy to the special needs kid. by which I mean she put #him in the same corner as me and told me to look after him #I remember being annoyed at having to share my city but he actually brought some really neat ideas to it #never really interacted again afterwards though.#I hated the teacher who was supposed to look after him though. she was an ass #like one day I came into school smiling and happy and kicked the snow off my boots Onto the Kick Snow Off Your Boots Mat #after like 30-40 other children had already done so- I was in the back of the line #and she came up to me and honest to god went ‘Why are you smiling.’#so I said ‘today’s my birthday!’ because it was. I was probably turning seven #but that’s just a guess #and she said ‘I don’t care. do you think just because it’s your birthday you can get snow all over? I don’t want you to come to class until #you pick this all up’ and she like gestured at All the Snow tracked in by (again) 30-40 children (a lot of snow)#I remember scooping a couple handfuls outside and then shoving the rest under the mat because I’d be in trouble if I was late to class #went from smiling to tear streaked #… well that’s a sour spot to leave off a post about good memories on #uhhh what else can I recall #I used to get up super early but I’d get up even earlier for Christmas #one year I got up so early. I don’t know how early but I do know it was like WAY earlier than I had ever gotten up before #stared at the tree and the gifts underneath. considered if I could open one (just one!) secretly. decided against because my parents would #be so sad to miss any. stare at tree. stare at tree. vents make weird noise. oh shit the house is haunted and the ghost is gonna get me #ended up on the other side of the house wedges under a lawn chair (???? lawn chair = safety apparently) on top of a vent #(!?? the thing scaring me?!?)#and all three of our cats came out of the woodwork to square up around me. snooks who was honestly just the best no notes 10/10 cat #simba who’d wake me up on other days to beg for pets and then follow me around the house until other people got up #and Missy who Hated me and Hated Children and probably Hated Simba too (but not snooks because snooks was an Angel)

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