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#self deprecation

I am constantly wondering what it’d be like to be pretty. To be wanted. To be able to look in the mirror and not want to break it into a thousand little pieces.

I always wonder how different life would’ve been if I was pretty in society’s eyes, and to my own eyes too. But I just make do with what I have. I can’t change it so I just try and accept it for what it is.

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I swear to fucking god this world is just not worth living in. wherever you look theres violence and suffering and sickness and corruption. we are at a point where it’s hard to look past the negative and seek refuge in the positive.

politics are dominated by fascist murderers and narrow-minded old assholes, the earth is willingly and purposefully destroyed by the leading industries, humans have to suffer for their skin colour and religion like they have had to for the past decades even though we live in a self-proclaimed “progressive century”.

let me ask this. where is the progress? where is the unity? where is the peace? where is the empathy?

this world is a lost world. so many things are changing and yet, so many things stay exactly the same. humans as a race have failed the planet and their own kind. we are victims of our own self-proclaimed genius and superiority. and one day not as far away as many assume, this will become our downfall.

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me: man im tired i deserve a lil nap-

depression: do you really deserve a nap? why? you’ve done barely anything all fucking day. you should be working.

me: well yeah but, i can’t-

depression: and look, your friends are ignoring you, you must have upset them somehow.

me: oh i didn’t notice… maybe theyre just busy?

depression: you upset them AND you didnt even notice?? wow you’re being a terrible friend.

me: oh…

depression: they’re probably so fucking angry at you they hate you because you dont even care, you just whine at them when you’re sad and make them pay attention to you to make you feel better.

me: yeah… i should apologize…

depression: NO. you’ll just guilt trip them for ignoring you because you’re a fucking manipulative asshole. you need to sh instead. make up for it without upsetting them more.

me: yeah… i’ll do that instead…


depression: god why did you have to self harm again you’re just trying to get attention pretending to be like people who are Actually depressed and need help. fucking disgusting how fucking dare you.

me: :/

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Whumptober Day 24

Read it on Ao3 if you want

You’re Not Making Any Sense

Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Based off of this prompt

TW: thoughts of self harm, self deprecation, (unintentional) bullying

I know they hate me.

It had been difficult to tell at first. Izuku’s classmates were friendly. Uraraka had immediately struck up a friendship. Iida had been welcoming after the entrance exam. Group opinion had been against Kacchan.

He should’ve seen it in their doubt when Aizawa tested their quirks. He should’ve seen it in the discomfort and snickers when he muttered.

Even with a quirk, they thought he was weird. Maybe they suspected his quirklessness? No, that can’t be it. It was because he was weird, nothing else.

It really shouldn’t have surprised him when they wanted him to disappear.

Okay, disappear wasn’t the right term, exactly. Be silent. Be quiet. Shut up.

He assumed it was a joke the first time it happened. Izuku had started muttering, as he was prone to do, and Kaminari had put a hand over his mouth. Everyone had laughed, so Izuku laughed, too. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

It kept happening. Whenever Izuku mumbled, a hand went over his mouth. Soon enough it became a classwide joke. They had started doing it not just when he mumbled, but whenever he talked at all.

Izuku got the message. He wasn’t supposed to say anything.

Izuku sat on his bed, notebook open in his lap. He was going to make a plan, and it helped if he could see it.

It was pretty simple, actually. Don’t speak. Of course, a sudden change of talking to zero talking might set off alarm bells in some people. Who? He didn’t know. Adults didn’t care about him, and obviously his classmates wanted him to be silent. But still.

He would gradually talk less. With… a limit. Yes! He wrote that down.

He could answer two questions in every class, and speak once in every conversation with his classmates, unless he was directly spoken to.

Don’t show them notes. Don’t start conversations.

They were waiting for him to mess up. They were going to talk to him, try to get him to talk, so that they could put him in his place again. He knew his place. He didn’t need a reminder.

Maybe I should avoid eye contact, too? They might be less likely to approach him that way. Or it would give them an opportunity to ask “What’s wrong?” and make him explain.

So no. He wasn’t going to risk being put on display like that.

A thought struck him. What if I… damage my vocal chords?

He wouldn’t be expected to talk if he wasn’t able to or it hurt to. It was the perfect solution, minus the fact that everyone would pretend to be concerned for him.

But how would he do it? It had to seem like an accident, or else they would feel obligated to look into his mental health. Or maybe they’d kick him out of the hero course. They would do something.

He didn’t even know how to mess up his vocal chords. It would take… a throat injury? Swallowing something harmful probably wouldn’t do it. Cutting his throat could leave him dead, and might not even stop him from speaking. Being choked was a better idea, but that would heal eventually and there wasn’t really a way to accidentally do that. Fuck.

Oh, this is stupid… No matter what he did, Recovery Girl would heal it. Self-injury would be pointless except that he deserved it.

He would have to stick to his rules instead, no matter how tedious it was. Maybe if he talked little enough, everyone would forget that it was even necessary to play this little game. They would stop doing it, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about it so much.

Or they would prompt him to talk more so they could keep playing it.

Maybe they just enjoyed it. It wouldn’t be the first time his whole class turned against him and made his suffering into a game. Why should he expect any different here? If anything, there was more competition, more expectations. It would make sense if the social hierarchy was harsher, too.

Izuku set his pencil down. He wasn’t sure what else to add right now. This was… probably enough. He could always amend it later.

If all went well, they would start ignoring him completely and he would only have to remember one rule: don’t speak.

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