#not to mention I've just been exhausted for no reason recently and needing a nap in the afternoon lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

karamfilmare · 2 years

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Little rant, don't worry about it, just want to let it out, I'll probably delete later. Don't even worry about reading it, just move alone LMAO.

TW: mentions of loss of self-worth, mental health disorders, medication, grief/loss of a parent, possible ED, body image issues, death

I don't know why, but when I want to be productive, that's when my body decides to basically shut everything down and go "no, it's nap time roulette, and you will nap for two hours, so it'll be too late for you to do anything that's meaningful" and like... why?? My exhaustion has been such a big inhibitor in me getting shit done, and I'm so sick of it.

On top of that, I've also been thinking that I've probably got more shit that's wrong with me, like probably undiagnosed ADHD or something, because while the meds I take are doing alright for my anxiety, I'm also struggling with just...doing things in general. At work, I'm fine because I have a list, but even then I'm starting to feel like my brain is inhibiting shit and I'm frustrated because I just want to get what I need done and not freak out about communication, since I have pretty much no reason to be afraid.

I know I lost my dad recently, and that still lives with me. I don't think anyone can really let go of shit like that quickly, but it just feels like it's more than that.

I don't know, I feel so useless sometimes. I'll look at the pile of things I probably need to do around the house and in my personal life, and I can't bring myself to do them. I just want to hide away and not be bothered. I just feel like a failure when I'm alone.

I worry a lot that the people I'm close with will pretty much leave me at some point. That I'll never be good enough and that someone will recognize that and leave me at the end of the day. And I won't be able to stop them because I'm pretty sure they would have a reason to leave. I try to do what I can to not lose people, so I just want to shove everything down that's wrong with me and hold everyone else up.

I probably come across as someone who wants pity, but it's not that. I'm just so tired of myself, and it's showing in my physical and mental problems. I can't bring myself to eat what I have, I can't convince myself to eat what's right, even though I should and I do like what I have. I go through periods of not wanting to eat, but then eating pretty much what I can that's in sight. I hate the way I look, but I can't bring myself to change anything because I feel like I'm somewhat self-sabotaging myself unknowingly. My sleep is screwed up, even when I do have a decent bedtime routine, because something always wakes me up and scares the shit out of me. I've had dreams where my high school bsf was killed, and the past couple of nights I've had dreams about death.

Even when people suggest things to me for help, I just...can't. I know they won't work, because I know that my ability to follow through on things won't work. And then I snap at people, because I know me better, I know why they won't work.

So maybe I am the problem. And trying to fix it is so hard. I have so many things to worry about outside of my personal life, and it sucks when those who should be closest to you don't believe how you're suffering and that you do care, but all the issues stack up and I don't know where to begin to tackle them anymore. I feel so less certain about what to do, and no matter how many people tell me it's ok, I can't shake the feeling that they're disappointed in me because I'm not the person I used to be.

#~) m.rants (~#might delete later #don't reblog

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overdrivels · 7 years

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Hi, I've been feeling a little overwhelmed at school and would appreciate a request from one of my favorite Overwatch writers here. ;;;; I like to swing dance in my spare time, and I was wondering if you could write about a night the cowboy could take me out dancing.

Swing With Me (Drabble)

“Come on, snake, let’s rattle.”

You squint at him. “You want me to fight you?”

“Nah, darlin’,” Jesse chuckles, amused. “I want you t’come dance with me.”

He holds out a hand, and you eye it suspiciously. Did he know or was it just a spur of the moment thing?

“What kind of dancing?”

There’s a twinkle in his eye that he didn’t see before. “Swing, o’course. Heard you’re mighty fine at it, so I figured I ought’ give that rumor a check.”

It’s absolutely true that you danced and you enjoyed swing, but why now when you felt at your lowest? You don’t know if this is an extension of his kindness or he’s just messing with you. However, you really needed this and regardless of his reasons, you didn’t want a chance like this to pass.

“Okay, I’d…be happy to.” His grin grows twice as wide and he bows at the waist, eagar. You reach your hand out and nearly jerk it back, halfheartedly ready to bolt (in case a punch to the face was warranted from either side). The cowboy is patient, and when you place your hand (and trust) in his, he clutches it like a treasure.

“Pleasure’s all mine, pardner.”

He holds you at closed position, close but with enough space to allow you to escape if need be. You shift and take a slight step closer, if only to confirm your commitment to this. This is a dance, and it wouldn’t do to pass it up.

“‘thena,” he calls, “music, please.”

Immediately, a slow melody wafts through the air–a steady, strumming bass, then a drawn out tones of a clarinet, backed up by bouncing trumpets that mute and unmute themselves for that dramatic effect. Wah-waah-whomp.

Jesse takes the lead, but his spurs jingle off-beat, and you can hear him counting under his breath–one-and-two-and-three, four. The sound echos in the empty hall, but you politely ignore it. A little rusty from being out of practice, but his lead is steady. You giggle a bit, following his more basic steps with the confidence of your practices behind you.

After a few bumps and spins, you’re both soon back on beat. You feel it in his fingers, grip loosening and at your fingertips only, and a small shove at your hips spin you around, and then he grabs both your hands, and you reach to meet him in kind.

Step, step, tap, step, swing around.

Each step you take is a step away from your worries, each spin is a rejection of your troubles which flings out of you in sweeping arcs, and the music is liquid courage in your veins. The heat inside you burns what remains of your tension as you’re held, spun, and moved by Jesse McCree.

The music, slow as it is, carries you both until you’re weaving in and out of each other’s space, grazing against each other teasingly.

The song changes; beat of the timpani is infectious, piano kicking up a frenzy, dragging the bass and the brass along in deep, urgent, rolling syncopated beats. The saxophone plays wildly, commanding you both to keep up the stride, to listen to it, and lose yourself in its warm, almost shrill, tones, bathing you both in hues of yellow, oranges, and greens.

He spins you and you follow effortlessly. Each pass you make, each time you step into his space, the scent of whiskey and tobacco lifts you. His heel snaps against the ground, the jingling only adding to the frenzy. You match his steps just as easily, joyously, heart bouncing in elation. Electricity at your spine keeps you vicariously alive–you’re not sure if it’s the song or if it’s your dance partner, who seems to have gotten his groove.

Forward, side, step-step, back. Spin, come together, out again–swing around. Then your feet are tapping round and round.

The world fades away, falling to pieces into the abyss along with all of your worries, narrowing only to the imaginary spotlight on the two of you. His laugh is your music, his touch is your anchor, he becomes your everything.

You can’t help but laugh along, drunk on the music and the fast tempo of the dance. Proper steps fade away, and your body carries you through. Jesse seems to be the same, his recently remembered steps fade away to more erratic ones, but nonetheless enjoyable.

You don’t know how long you’ve been at it. The songs bleed into one another, and you’re lost in each other’s rhythm. By the time you both stop, you’re leaning into each other for support, slightly sweaty and a little more than slightly out of breath.

It should be considered miraculous that a man who smokes as much as he does is able to keep up with this sort of thing. It’s hardly a marathon, but swing requires more energy and breath that a smoker of McCree’s habit should have. But you suppose you’re grateful for it regardless.

The nervous energy from is replaced by a settling exhaustion, a deep seated satisfaction, and lingering elation. You want to do little else except collapse against Jesse as your heartbeat settles and take a bit of a nap, your nerves buzzing pleasantly.

“You’re a damn fine dancer, pardner,” he says finally from above you.

“You’re not bad yourself.” You politely do not mention his shakiness in the beginning. The dance was good, and fun–more fun than you’ve had in months. “When did you learn?” you ask, grinning up at him. He laughs airily, taking a small step back. You instinctively follow, clutching him at the elbow where his arm is still wrapped around your waist.

“A man’s gotta have his secrets.”

He brings your hand up to his lips, winks at you before kissing it, firm and ticklish. You’re glad he’s still holding onto you because you damn near swoon.

I’ve really wanted to use that rattle line. Except I really want someone to deck Jesse across the floor.

#anon #drabble #ask #my writing #jesse mccree x reader #first it was funk and now it's swing music #damn I'm getting nostalgic and feelin' kind of old #sorry I don't know very much about swing so I hope this was okay #I hope you feel better

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