the goldfish is on to us

constant vigilance

264 notes

as a kid you ask yourself “if my own family doesn’t want me, why would anyone else?” maybe not in those exact words or maybe it’s not a single clear-cut thought in your head. but you take on that belief. without realizing it or not. when you don’t have family, when your own parents don’t care for you, you feel like you’ve done something wrong. you grow up with that. you grow up feeling like you’re wrong and you’ve done something wrong

because

if the people that are supposed to love you don’t

the people that are supposed to care about you and for you don’t

what does that mean about you? what does that say? you can’t comprehend it all as a child, but you take on the belief that you’re a burden. you aren’t worth anyone’s time. because these people, these people that are bound to you, don’t see you as valuable. you have to work for their affection constantly, but even then, what’s the point? the approval isn’t constant. the love isn’t unconditional. you’ll get five seconds of head patting and a hug, but those don’t matter when your mother walks out the door and doesn’t come back until you’re talking full sentences. those don’t matter when you don’t know your own father and have to rely on pictures to see what he looked like. he looks nothing like you. that’s probably why he didn’t want you, you think, not as clearly and coherently, but you do. it seems silly now. but that’s what you believe, as a child. you try to rationalize, even at a young age. and it’s so much easier to take the blame. it makes sense to take the blame. why would it be anyone else’s fault? it’s yours. somehow, it is. little baby you, that couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even sit up, couldn’t feed yourself, did something wrong. you’re wrong. something about you is wrong, wrong, wrong.

other kids have parents that pick them up from school. other kids have parents that come to their assemblies for school. other kids have parents that throw them birthday parties, pick them up from sleepovers. other kids have parents. you don’t. you did something wrong. you weren’t worthy. you couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even form sentences, but you were unworthy.

and it was your fault, somehow, always. your fault. you felt guilt. you felt anger. you tried to shrink yourself, break yourself, snip away and stitch and piece together things that you felt were right, that would make you more appealing, that would make you into something that someone would see as worth more than a five second glance or a pat on the back. that would make you right. you didn’t want to be wrong. wrong wasn’t what anyone would want, you knew that from experience.

if your own parents didn’t want you, why would anyone else? it seems ridiculous to think that, now, part of you knows that. but you shouldered that on your own for years. everyone leaves. you aren’t worth them staying. better luck next time, kid. here’s a sticker for effort. use it as a bandaid to cover a scrape on your knee while watching someone’s mother rush to them to help while they fell several feet away. get up on your own. dust yourself off. wipe the blood with your own sleeve. don’t cry. you’re on your own. move on.

you’re older, now. years have gone by. you still feel that itch, you still hear that little voice in you saying that you’re wrong, no matter what you’re doing, whether you’re doing anything at all. you’re wrong for trying. wrong for not trying. you can’t win.

you challenge that, though. that voice, that mass of negativity looming over your shoulder, that thing that sunk its claws so deep into you for years and was the only constant you had through people turning their backs on you. it had been all you had. it was always right. why would anyone else want you? why would anyone care? why do you think you’re worthy of anything at all? time? space? happiness?

and one day, you just tell that voice to shut up. shut the fuck up, more accurately. and that part of you is stunned. because you never fight back, you always nod, tilt your head downwards, look ashamed as the guilt floods in. but this time, you don’t.
you fight back. you clench your fists. you turn and walk away, and that part of you doesn’t follow.

because you’re not wrong.

you, as a person, are not wrong.

you can make wrong choices, say the wrong things, do something wrong. that’s bound to happen. everyone does. mistakes are a given in life.

but your existence isn’t wrong.

you being alive isn’t wrong.

you as a person aren’t wrong.

you aren’t wrong.

and you’re tired of feeling like you are by breathing, by trying, by being you.

you aren’t wrong.

someone not wanting you doesn’t make you wrong, someone not being there to kiss you goodnight isn’t wrong. it’s nothing you could control. it’s not your fault. you were a child. you deserved better. it feels weird (wrong) to say that, but you can say it, admit it, recognize it, and that’s more than you could ever do before.

you’re not wrong.

you’re alive

you are who you are.

you have a whole life ahead of you. it’s yours. it belongs to no one else. this is for you. this is yours. take care of yourself. you deserve (another uncomfortable, strange, unfamiliar word, thought, feeling) it.

you do what’s right for you.

you’ve made mistakes.

you’ll make mistakes.

you won’t always feel confident, feel okay.

but you, a person, are not a mistake.

you being alive isn’t wrong.

you being alive was never wrong.

it took me 18 years, but here i am (and it feels right)

(Source: jaclcfrost)

593,299 notes

castielismycherrypie:

dubsexplicit:

wet—kitty:

no one will ever understand the deep fucking connection I have with this film

For real though

Ok guys I need to talk about this movie.

The Breakfast Club came out in 1985 and to this day is, in my opinion, one of the greatest damn movies ever to barely even have a script.

During the famous “dance” scene, Molly Ringwald, who played the “princess” Claire, was supposed to a small little dance by herself, but she was shy so all of them did some dancing together, creating one of the most famous film scene’s to date. It was improvised.

During the scene in the film where the characters sat down and told why they were there, there was NO SCRIPT. John Hughes told the cast to sit there and improvise why they thought their characters were there, creating that heart wrenching scene everyone could relate to.

EVERYONE can relate to this movie and thats the best damn thing. 

On March 24, 1984, five students entered a detention room thinking it was just another Saturday. Before the day was over, they broke the rules, bared their souls, and touched each other in a way they never dreamed possible.

EVERYONE IN THE WORLD NEEDS TO SEE THE BREAKFAST CLUB.

(Source: david-own-world, via teamfreesexuality)

49,127 notes

barlowstreet:

hungrylikethewolfie:

unreconstructedfangirl:

All of these places look like heaven to this duvet princess.

Okay but that first one, I’m not sure y’all understand how deeply-instilled my desire for a cupboard bed has been since the days of David the Gnome.

I really love reading nooks. Ask Memekon, I keep telling her that. And then she tells me that the demon will get me.

(Source: where-my-sidewalk-ends)

Filed under my god do i ever want a reading nook i just wanna curl up with a good book all the time forever

458,707 notes

demoncest:

i really hate this ‘ur other half is out there somewhere u just gotta meet them’ like fuck off im not incomplete im a whole person and i dont need anyone to ‘complete me’ the only thing i need is a pizza and not ur shit bye

(via ruinedchildhood)

686 notes

complexae:

AUSTIN PRODUCTS Egyptian Sphinx Head Bust. White Sculpture on Black base.

you know what saddens me is some white dude prolly chipped this off the side of a building like he was cutting flowers for his dinner table but really he was fuckin up a priceless work of ancient history

complexae:

AUSTIN PRODUCTS Egyptian Sphinx Head Bust. White Sculpture on Black base.

you know what saddens me is some white dude prolly chipped this off the side of a building like he was cutting flowers for his dinner table but really he was fuckin up a priceless work of ancient history

(via bitcoitus)

Filed under art

366,657 notes

frowlic:

becomming:

xlizardx:

Apparently this is "The clearest photo of Mercury ever taken."

why isnt everyone getting so excited about this, it is literally another planet look at how beautiful it is stop what your doing and look at how alien like this planet is what is living there oh my god mercury

so amazing

frowlic:

becomming:

xlizardx:

Apparently this is "The clearest photo of Mercury ever taken."

why isnt everyone getting so excited about this, it is literally another planet look at how beautiful it is stop what your doing and look at how alien like this planet is what is living there oh my god mercury

so amazing

(via the1001cranes)

Filed under SPACE

385,924 notes

Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.

The Winter of the Air  (via southernsasss)

(via cyberho)

(Source: gallifreyburning, via mysparepage)

Filed under words i like this a lot

12,303 notes

apfelgranate:

wehaveallgotknives:

flux—and—flow:

sidleyparkhermit:

avengersgonnaavenge:

 (via screechthemighty)

Damn right she’s building robots in there, she’s a cybernetics genius, she’s running Danger’s restoration program at age 22. If the stuff on her desk isn’t jaeger-related she’s probably making incredibly advanced little machines out of old spare parts just to like relax and unwind after a long day

I WANT THIS

# ok but mako? would go super hard at it   # can you imagine after pitfall their entire romance would blossom around raleigh presenting her with interesting spare parts   # they’d be sitting in her room together with mako tinkering at her desk and raleigh in bed reading   # and at some point mako gives a long frustrated sigh and raleigh immediately perks up   # what is it my sun-and-stars what aspect of your work is less than perfectly satisfying how can i help   # and mako just smiles a little and says oh it’s alright   # just that this could be improved so much if i had a thingy   # raleigh takes precisely 3.27 minutes to avoid suspicion before he sprints out of the room   # and runs down to where alison is now overseeing maintenance   # DO YOU HAVE A THINGY says raleigh   # no? says alison   # OK BUT CAN YOU GET ONE says raleigh   # yee-es says alison at length. but it’ll be hard. thingies don’t grow on trees you know   # WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR IT says raleigh   # alison smiles a slow feline smile   # earlier that evening newt had come down to maintenance with a bad case of mouth diarrhea and a distraught hermann in his wake   # for god’s sake hermann had begged. i will pay you anything just give him a thingy or i swear i will murder him.   # alison has seen the future   # it is bright and includes her running a thingy mafia

(Source: manueluv, via allyarra)

Filed under pacific rim

277,192 notes

zacharielaughingalonewithsalad:

cellarspider:

twinkletwinkleyoulittlefuck:

purrsianstuck:

During the Bubonic Plague, doctors wore these bird-like masks to avoid becoming sick. They would fill the beaks with spices and rose petals, so they wouldn’t have to smell the rotting bodies. 

A theory during the Bubonic Plague was that the plague was caused by evil spirits. To scare the spirits away, the masks were intentionally designed to be creepy. 

Mission fucking accomplished

Okay so I love this but it doesn’t cover the half of why the design is awesome and actually borders on making sense.

It wasn’t just that they didn’t want to smell the infected and dead, they thought it was crucial to protecting themselves. They had no way of knowing about what actually caused the plague, and so one of the other theories was that the smell of the infected all by itself was evil and could transmit the plague. So not only would they fill their masks with aromatic herbs and flowers, they would also burn fires in public areas, so that the smell of the smoke would “clear the air”. This all related to the miasma theory of contagion, which was one of the major theories out there until the 19th century. And it makes sense, in a way. Plague victims smelled awful, and there’s a general correlation between horrible septic smells and getting horribly sick if you’re around what causes them for too long.

You can see now that we’ve got two different theories as to what caused the plague that were worked into the design. That’s because the whole thing was an attempt by the doctors to cover as many bases as they could think of, and we’re still not done.

The glass eyepieces. They were either darkened or red, not something you generally want to have to contend with when examining patients. But the plague might be spread by eye contact via the evil eye, so best to ward that off too.

The illustration shows a doctor holding a stick. This was an examination tool, that helped the doctors keep some distance between themselves and the infected. They already had gloves on, but the extra level of separation was apparently deemed necessary. You could even take a pulse with it. Or keep people the fuck away from you, which was apparently a documented use.

Finally, the robe. It’s not just to look fancy, the cloth was waxed, as were all of the rest of their clothes. What’s one of the properties of wax? Water-based fluids aren’t absorbed by it. This was the closest you could get to a sterile, fully protecting garment back then. Because at least one person along the line was smart enough to think “Gee, I’d really rather not have the stuff coming out of those weeping sores anywhere on my person”.

So between all of these there’s a real sense that a lot of real thought was put into making sure the doctors were protected, even if they couldn’t exactly be sure from what. They worked with what information they had. And frankly, it’s a great design given what was available! You limit exposure to aspirated liquids, limit exposure to contaminated liquids already present, you limit contact with the infected. You also don’t give fleas any really good place to hop onto. That’s actually useful.

Beyond that, there were contracts the doctors would sign before they even got near a patient. They were to be under quarantine themselves, they wouldn’t treat patients without a custodian monitoring them and helping when something had to be physically contacted, and they would not treat non-plague patients for the duration. There was an actual system in place by the time the plague doctors really became a thing to make sure they didn’t infect anyone either.

These guys were the product of the scientific process at work, and the scientific process made a bitchin’ proto-hazmat suit. And containment protocols!

reblogging for the sweet history lesson

(via darthpaulsartre)