This. This fur furever.
As a child I never liked vacations. I missed my room, my bed, my things, my bathroom, and of course the familiarity. Always surrounded by people, I felt trapped. Suffocated, but very comfortable. Every room would have someone in it, chewing too loudly or talking through movies. Now that I’m by myself I find it easy to miss these annoyances. I wish I had someone that ate the leftovers I had been thinking about all day. I don’t regret moving though. I feel sorry for people that never experienced life that truly makes them evaluate themselves. Feeling alone is a risk, but knowingly putting yourself in that situation is mad. I threw myself into a city where I knew literally no one. I found a job, which I hated. I enrolled in classes with a handful of interesting people. Mostly, I spent time with someone I was so afraid of getting to know. Most nights, the highlight was putting away groceries…. or getting drunk watching Netflix. This was a life I thought I would never survive. Its difficult still… I still doubt myself. However, I have become okay with sleeping in an empty bed, eating alone, and exploring this new city alone.
Alone… what a terribly frightening word it once was.
+Don’t be the dick that corrects the spelling on their fucking Starbucks.
+Don’t listen to music in public without headphones.
+Brush your fucking hair.
+Don’t wear too much cologne.
+Check your oil.
+Don’t tell people how to do their jobs.
+Don’t wear heels when its snowing.
+No one is impressed if you wear shorts when its cold.
+Proofread your damn emails.
+Call your mother.
+ Don’t be a “one upper”
+Don’t bright light people.
+Don’t unplug people’s phones to charge yours.
+Check your shoes after leaving the restroom.
+Scrub your back in the shower.
+Save your money.
Happy 311 Day!
Done by Chris Norton at Holdfast Tattoo in Port Orange, Florida
I’ve been struggling with self harm for years. In a step towards recovery, I got my father’s signature tattooed on the top wrist of my right hand; the hand I would cut with. My mother and I always sign our cards to each other with “xxoo”- so I got her script tattooed on the inside of my left wrist; the arm I would cut.
I think as long as they’re there, I won’t be able to cut again. It’s been ten years. I feel free.
Look look at me.
"It’s been ten years." Nice fresh injuries, bro.
fuck this person made me so angry
yeah, you know.. because obviously the best way to respond to a self harm photo with someone claiming strength is to really kick ‘em where it hurts. I may be jumping to conclusions here, but you’ve apparently never seen a scar from a cut that was never set. They tend to act just a tad differently than those that have. There is a difference in making fun of a shitty tattoo that some poorly trained artist gave and calling someone out for their illness. Its just classless.
well…since Im not understanding how the FUCK to do this problem concerning domains and ranges in a function…
I’ll have a cider, then shoot myself in the foot.