Hey, Asher. This is degenerate anon once again. Sorry for swarming your inbox with my asks 😭
I noticed you haven't been doing so well (because I may or may not be stalking your tags), and I just wanted to double-check, hope you're doing well. You're a pretty cool person and I'm kinda worried about your state
Please, don't overwork yourself, whether it goes down to answering asks or other things like work or studies. We can wait as long as we have to for the first case, and you're a human too. What you do already is far more than enough
I also just wanna remind you that you're awesome, and if anybody says otherwise, I'll punt them to the moon. I would have offered my inbox too, but I said some very embarrassing shit, there is absolutely no way I'm getting off anon, so all I can say is that I'll always be here for you, presence-wise. Eat and rest well today, you deserve a break (˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)
- Whitney's left tit- whoops, I meant...
Degenerate anon :)
Lmfaooooo what. nah.
heavy vent. scroll past. thanks. →
Really, the last thing I really wanted when I made those posts was to worry anyone, not that I think I would but now I’m seeing a bunch of people suddenly reaching out to me and asking if I’m okay. I appreciate it a lot, really I do and you too, degenerate anon, for even bothering to ask when you could’ve scrolled past or played off those tags as shits n giggles since that’s what it sort of was in my head anyway. I wasn’t exactly in the best of states when I wrote those. Sometimes, rarely so, it gets so bad that I’m acting on impulse, sputtering out bullshit about wanting to end it right then and there, that it’d be better this way if I was never born at all. Its fucking hysterical how I play it off right after as if I didn’t just casually mention it a bit ago because truth is, I’m not okay yet I don’t want to reach out to anyone either in fear of being a bother and the vulnerability that comes with it. This whole persona of being obscenely horny for entertainment, unserious just for it to be a coping mechanism.
Not exactly sure why I’m laying it out all on you when you didn’t even ask for it, it’s selfish to do so but your ask just really made the words scramble and be put together in my brain as though I finally had the opportunity to answer the why to my question. Why the fuck am I like this. Why the fuck am I plagued with this utter crap of dealing with whatever the fuck this is. I don’t know what it really is, some have told me it’s depression and I’m simply in denial about it. Maybe I am. I’ve been through worse than this, especially in the lockdown though this somehow feels worser for no reason. I’m supposed to have gotten my shit together by then, moved out, new life, new place to settle in, new people, people who are actually kind and welcoming, regularly work out and whatnot.
I still feel like utter shit. I still feel like I’m not doing enough. To be honest, life is moving way too fucking fast for me, one day I’m still a young kid who’s spending his time all day at the park and the next I’m supposed to be a grown adult who’s got all his shit together by then, who has responsibilities, responsibilities that cannot be ignored nor pushed away no matter how much I try to run away from my problems. I know that it’s not that hard, at least, not compared to other people I’ve seen who have it so much harder and still manage through it all while I’m barely hanging on by a thread. It’s so pathetic, god. I need a shitty fictional character from a porn game to even cope about it but even then, there’s so much I can think about before reality hits me once more and I’m left to deal with my thoughts alone in the dark while my roommate is dozing away in the next room.
I hate it so much, I feel as though im not good enough no matter what I do, no matter what I try is simply not enough to measure to other people’s expectations or mines either, not that I think of myself much to begin with. Even when people tell me that what I do is good, wether it be art, writing, who I am as a whole, that they enjoy talking to me because I am who I am, reassured on my appearance too because no matter how many compliments I get I still feel like a monster hiding beneath a layer of flesh moulded to look like that of a human. I feel displaced. I feel as though I don’t belong. It’s not there’s nothing in the world for me, it’s simply I’m nothing for the world itself.
I’m a burden. It’s as simple as that, the amount of guilt that I feel when people express affection towards me, wether it be friends, family members, hell even romantic partners which I may or may not have rejected all from the horror of intimacy. Whenever they tell me they love me to my face, that they worry for me whenever I’m in a bad state, I can’t help the pit that fills my stomach nor the lump in my throat because I truly am undeserving of this fucking love. Give it someone else, please. Anyone but me because they need it more than I do, than whatever the fuck of a shitty person that I am.
I have it bad, so fucking bad that when someone hugged me today, I was practically burying my face in their shoulder and clinging onto dear life because by god, this is the only time I’ll ever allow myself such contact every time I push it away. Nearly burst into tears like a moron too even if I rarely do ever cry since it’s been ingrained in my head to never cry, boys don’t cry, he says, only sissies do and the last thing I wanna be is a pussy. Cried in front of him once as a kid and he told me to get my shit together and suck it up unless I wanna be beaten up in the adult world. So bad that someone actually caught me crying once and I quickly played it off as physical pain (recurring stomach ache) hurting me so bad that tears were spilling, frantically reassuring them that I’m good. Sometimes I do wonder, why i am the one to reassure others.
I know that if I actually reached out to the people that have offered, sought a therapist like a few people have recommended to, it would possibly get better or maybe not. It would probably do more good and I’d be able to sort through these feelings for sure but I won’t. I fucking won’t. I’ve gotten used to bottling up these feelings. Fuck, I’ve repressed them from years and it seems they’re finally spilling in this overly long ass post that no one will bother reading. That’s fine with me because I really need to say it out loud for once even if it’s written through text on a fucking platform called Tumblr where cock is more prevalent than someone’s fucking life.
I’m not okay. That’s the thing. I’m not fucking okay. I wish I could play it off as I usually do whenever people ask me such questions like “how are you” irl. I wish I could say it out loud, say it to their faces, say what I really am. I’m not okay. I’m not fucking okay and I don’t think I’ll be okay soon either because I’ve not fucking okay for so long that it’s getting to me. I’m not okay. I’m miserable actually, I’m so fucking miserable that I wish I could just sleep forever and never wake up again. I’m so fucking miserable that there’s not a day that goes by where there’s this fleeting thought in the back of my mind that wonders, wonders how better it’d be if I were to disappear altogether, stop being a burden to those around me. I’m so fucking miserable that I didn’t even bother answering your well-intentioned question and instead am laying myself bare to the world on a shitty tumblr post. I’m so fucking miserable that I had to pause as I type this because it’s as though I’m finally admitting the obvious truth that I’ve been unwilling to say. I’m so fucking miserable that I just wish I could curl up into a ball and freely cry into someone’s lap, I wish I could fucking yell it even.
I’m not okay. I’m not fucking okay. No matter how much I say it in these written words it doesn’t seem to equal to the amount of times I had to muffle myself, clasp a hand over my mouth in the darkness of my room as a teenager so that my noisy parents don’t overhear my cries. I’m not fucking okay because even when I tell myself as an adult now, that I’m over it, I’m not. I’ve been going through it for so very long, willingly choosing to suffer in silence because it’s the easiest for me even if it will ruin me in the end. It’s already ruining me and eating me from the inside. I’d rather dump all of this crap on here than even say it to the people who’re close to me, asking about it.
I’m burnt out, I’m tired. I wish to rest but I can’t.
Because I think I’m fucking a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve such.
I hope you’re doing better than me, degenerate anon. Sincerely so, you deserve it and thanks for even asking again despite the few interactions we’ve had through asks. You’re my favorite anon for sure.
But ahah, im doing fine lmfao.
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We don't talk enough about how well ALL of the Vees know and care about each other so much, like--
We first see them when Velvette is calling Vox about Val being upset in ep 2, but there's no way he would have asked for the help himself. Like he's not gonna be like "hey get Vox for me I need him" because that seems too vulnerable, BUT he was expecting Vox to come.
He literally says "Fuckin' finally!"
Which would either mean that Velvette told him Vox is on his way, OR Val knew Velvette would tell Vox to come. (It is possible he expected it because of the cameras, but Vox didn't seem to know Val was throwing a tantrum until Velvette called him, and Vox's plan for the day seemed to involve multiple meetings, so I don't think he watches the cameras often enough for that.)
Also Velvette knew how to calm Valentino down. She was busy with a fashion show and needed to focus on that, and she was mad that Val was wrecking her shit, but even after he was out of her hair and not a problem to her, she repeated to Vox that he needs to go take care of Val.
"Take care of the piss baby!"
I 100% believe she could have done it herself (she probably did partly?? considering he stopped the tantrum and was in his room before Vox got there-- unless her telling Val that Vox was on his way was what did it, but that would still be something she knew to do), but she had a show to run. Still, she wasn't going to leave Val alone to be moping around.
Also the fact Valentino seems to have some level of control over his smoke implies he wanted to be dramatic as fuck or wanted to hide himself and sat in a cloud of smoke on purpose.
Vox obviously knows how to talk Val out of shit, and canon makes it more clear that he understands Val well.
But overall there's obvious intimacy between all three of the Vees in that they care for each other and know exactly what's needed and/or what will happen in situations like that.
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