Things Will Get Better - Tumblr Posts

"When You Start Your 1st Job"

I'm gonna be real shitty the first week, aren't I?

Idk just poop post trying live I guess since the tags there follow me on lemon8

{\__/} ⟡ ⋆ 　 。　 ☆

( •ω•) ♡ 𓂃 ⋆ 　 ~ ⟡ 。

/つ🍓 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗐𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗒. 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋

I've been feeling kinda down... And now I painted my toenails bright red and it made me happy. Go paint your toenails red.

Kisses from your fav Angel💓 (aka me)

I can't watch more of my trans siblings die. please. you have to live. you fucking have to. don't let them win.

The brightness I present on the outside doesn’t reflect the darkness I hold inside.

Tea Time with Alfred

Context: Alfred has always been a close family friend of your Grandma. After her death both of you haven't been dealing with the grief very well, so you decide to start hanging out more to ease the pain. (Y/G/N: your grandma’s name)

Knocking on the door to Wayne Manor, I fumble with the basket of muffins in my left hand. A very confused Jason opens the door.

"Look Y/N..." He begins awkwardly shifting his balance. Guilt spreads across his sculpted features.

"With love, I'm not here for you." I interrupt putting my hand up to silence him, "Whatever you have to say, save it for another time."

Brushing past him, I wander down the hallway past a dozen or so portraits of the Wayne family. With the high ceilings and shelves filled with books older than my great Grandma, I narrowly get lost in the grandeur. One of the glass shelves catches my attention. A much younger looking Alfred beams up at me while a soaked brunette angrily swats at his shoulder with a shoe. My heart contracts when I recognize the woman. Years before she got sick, Y/G/N was radiant. Although the photo is in black and white, I know for certain she is wearing her faithful orange sweater that was in rags by the time I came around. The photo reads: Alfred's revenge London 1965. My eyes well up with tears at the thought of her being so healthy. The image of how frail she looked in that hospice bed will forever be burned in my heart.

The next photo over shows Alfred, Grandma, and I at my first visit to Gotham. Freshly nine, Gotham was such an adventure. Driving into the city was... nothing short of magical. There may have been crime in every corner, but her stories brought much needed light into the city. My 9 year old self hadn't yet grown into herself. With cracked glasses I had broken moments prior and aggressively neon braces, my fashion had a long way to go. I was probably too big to go on Alfred's shoulders at that point, but he picked me up anyway for the walk around the city. The crowded boardwalk behind us sold the best deep fried oreos in Gotham city. A teenager at the time, Dick had convinced me that the secret ingredient was cocaine... As an adult looking at Gotham city, that joke may not be too far off.

The infamous smell of Alfred's baking grounds me to the present. Dickie isn't stealing my gameboy anymore. He's happily living in Bludhaven revamping their police force. Shit, I really need to call him back. How do you tell someone that if you talk about it there is no guarantee that the crying will ever stop?

It doesn't matter what he’s been saying. It's better to not burden him with this. I take a deep breath to avoid a breakdown. Cookies. Tea time. Glancing at my watch, I realize I'm five minutes late. Classic y/n.

Alfred's back is to me when I finally stumble into the kitchen. A mischievous grin emerges on my face as I creep closer making a conscious effort to silence my footsteps. Jason used to say that watching the two of us sneak up on each other was like watching a cheetah stalking its prey. Of course, Alfred always made it look so easy though. Halfway there....

Stirring a bowl of brownie batter by hand, he calls out to me.

"You've got to do a lot better than that if you want to sneak up on me."

I stifle a laugh throwing my hands up in surrender.

"Sorry Alfie.... Old habits die hard. You would not believe what happened to me today..."

Conversing with the older man fills a void, I have been missing. Telling him about life made everything less scary. If I can spin these horrifying events into a joke during tea time.. well I guess I can survive it.

Alfred isn't one to diverge intense grief, yet I will never forget how heartbroken he was when he explained how painful it was to talk to me. Although our features may be completely different, it was the mannerisms that hurt the most to see: the way I held my hands when I was nervous, the anxious laughter in stressful situations, the silly regency romance novels that sat on my bedside table, the intense hatred of the barren winter... My entire being has been shrouded by her love. For better or worse.

The first couple months, I could almost pretend she wasn't gone. Working two jobs while attending school doesn't give me much time to reflect. However, the holidays left an unspoken hollow void. The empty seat at dinner. The contact I would instinctively dial. The horrible sinking in my chest when I remembered the phone would ring forever.

At the beginning, I think we both pretended we were talking to her. Now as I cackle over his photo collection of Tim falling asleep in public places, I realize how much I love the man who was so important to her. This pain may always stay with me, but what is grief if not love persevering?

I MADE IT TO THE SAD PARTTTT and holy fuck im so sad. And i know the suffering won’t end any time soon. yayyyy

I MADE IT TO PRESENT TIMEEEE and holy fuck im so glad i made it. i DESERVE my gay ancient chinese husband content after going through all that suffering are you kidding me

38 -

The urge to drink or use is so strong. I can feel my resolve weakening. I’m feeling really out of balance right now (moved halfway across the country, my dog isn’t adjusting well, not sleeping or eating well, it’s cold, just to name a few reasons) and what I would give for a glass of wine, at the very least.

That’s the thing though, it’s never just one glass. Not for me anyway. *what I would give for a bottle or 3.

What’s beautiful about sobriety is that I can recognize this out of balance feeling. I can check myself. I can feel that I want to escape my body, my life - anything to get away from the thrumming anxiety in my chest. The swirling thoughts in my brain. The fatigue, the zoning out, the apathy. I can recognize it and I can talk about it. So I did.

I know that drinking and using won’t solve my problems. I know that they will actually make everything worse, especially the anxiety. I know that this feeling - this too shall pass. I know that feelings, especially the deep scary ones, they don’t just “go away”. You can’t run from them. They’re like your shadow, always creeping behind your back unless you step completely into the light.

So yeah, I’m just kind of stuck here. Holding on by a thread. Sitting with it.

Our movers haven’t brought our stuff yet (going on 10+ days) so that’s really frustrating because I feel like I can’t get fully settled in. Feeling so much guilt that my dog isn’t adjusting well - she’s been barking her head off at every little noise and she scared the maintenance men. I know everyone says this, but she IS really sweet. Like annoyingly sweet. She loooves people and thinks she’s a 65lb lapdog. She’s just a little high strung at first. So I feel like I could have, should have done more for her as I raised her. Regret maybe. Our stuff isn’t here, so we’re living off of frozen meals and it’s throwing me off, especially because I’m picky.

Also it’s very cold. I didn’t think it would be as cold as it is, but I think it’s the extra moisture in the air - the kind of cold that seeps into your bones. Regardless, it’s breathtaking here. My skin is drinking it alllll up.

I don’t really know when drinking and using stopped being about the thrill of taking my mind elsewhere, the novelty of doing something new - something bad. Having a secret. At some point, it became what I needed. I couldn’t handle a single fucking feeling on my own. Happiness or sadness, it was all too much. When did I stop being able to handle anything sober? When did I stop recognizing myself?

There’s this moody, speakeasy type bar down the street and I keep thinking how easy it would be to slip away and get my fix, no one has to know.

But then I’d be lying to everyone. More importantly, I’d be lying to myself.

So, I’m trying to hang in there even though it’s so damn hard. I think I’ll go to a meeting. I think I’ll meditate on my greater She - surrender again to Her plan. Remember I am not in control, relieve myself of the burden.

Faith is funny. It’s not like one day you just wake up and *poof* have it - as I’m learning. It’s a conscious choice every day, to surrender. How easy it is to forget that…

I’m hitting 90 days on Monday & I won’t throw it all away just because of stress. I’m the woman in the arena, always. I can do hard things.

Each day a little better and brighter.

Instagram @ blcksmth

79 -

I can feel myself shifting internally while the world is simultaneously trying to stop it.

—

I can feel myself:

• growing less attached to the opinions of others

• growing in confidence (maybe some borderline arrogance but it’s new and I’m gleeful)

• more & more able to talk myself out of ruminating

• “testing” my intrusive thoughts for evidence - turns out they’re wrong a lot!

• feeling optimistic about the future - setting goals, making plans

• less *needing* to escape; instead, making a conscious choice to if so

• follow up ^ wanting to escape less often

• more comfortable letting things/people/situations go (not needing to control)

• embracing the freedom in realizing that I don’t matter to anyone else as much as I do to myself

• acknowledging the other side of the coin - the painful loneliness of realizing I don’t matter to anyone else as much as I do to myself

• defining my reality on my own terms

• feeling happy & confident, yet feeling like I’m doing something wrong

• tested by old thought patterns and behaviors

• trying to make a home for the scared little girl/old me while shifting into a newer mature new me

• heightened awareness of others’ need to be accepted, probably because I find myself growing less so - like a living juxtaposition

• acknowledging my weaknesses while, starting to accept my whole self in her entirety

• questioning myself often, worrying if I am turning into a selfish asshole

• feeling a loss of identity - Who am I? What do I like? What do I want? ….How do I decide?

• feeling like there isn’t enough time anymore

• being a human

••• holding all of these feelings separately, together •••

not. quitting.

maybe, stumbling

but then. getting. up. again.

—

Oh, I was tested today on my no drinking and I prevailed. YAY me. It’s the little wins. Few and far between but they add up over time - experience > confidence > resilience

Addiction is all simple math really.

Drinks, dollars, grams, ounces, pills, dosage, days, hours - constantly counting; constantly surviving, dependent on a roulette of endless numbers.

And recovery? Getting sober is saying “fuck your math, I’m bored, let’s do some science”

To those who may need it in the dark times that are 2024, i give you my elegant son, who will absorb all your fears, worries, and anxieties into his empty dome