Xilla Monster Fails at Life

whatshouldbetchescallme:

whatshouldbetchescallme:

Sober

Drunk

I wish that cute boys would actually talk to me and that booze had less calories and that I could still use the keyboard with my cat on my lap and that I could know everything my ex lied about and that I could go on a real date again and that WGVU you rerun good Doctor Who’s and that I had ambition again and that being nice was the same as being a good person and that someone was here to drink with me and that I didn’t have so many wishes because then these things could be true. 

https://twitter.com/Xilla_Monster

And by better I mean less like a total whiny bitch or generic re-blogger. 

I remember being in 1st grade and my babysitter gave me a penny for the wishing-well at mall. This is the day I learned you never share your wishes (or dreams or hopes or etc.). She asked me what I used the penny for. Silly 5-year-old me told the truth: I wished to be cool. I spent a good five minutes staring at one whole fucking cent, and for some reason I didn’t want a unicorn or a castle or a fairy godmother, all I wanted was to belong. And she laughed. She thought it was adorable; she even shared it with their friends and they laughed together. So I blushed and never said a thing about it again.

This is the first time that thought has surfaced in years. Somehow, a decade and a half later, that is still my stupid little wish. Now I can’t decide whether I’m clinging on to an ancient and juvenile idea or if I simply predicted what I would need to work on for my entire life. I’m in this habit of comparing and stacking and ranking, and really, I’ve settled on the fact that I’ve never liked myself. I truly and honestly hate who I am as a person, so much of the time. I ache with self-loathing. And I have spent my life chasing approval for my generic individuality. Chasing simple social karma. 

 But I’m not malicious. I won’t trick you into loving me. You would have to be a fool to do that. 

Some part of me needs to know that my memory still brings you hell.

I think that’s the last thing to set me free. 

whatshouldbetchescallme:

bemusedlybespectacled:

if you ever think mythology is boring or serious business or whatever shit

just remember that cerberus, the hell-hound and guard dog of the underworld, comes from the root indo-european word ḱerberos, which evolved into the greek word kerberos, which got changed to cerberus when it went from greek to latin

ḱerberos means “spotted”

that’s right

hades, lord of the dead, literally fucking named his pet dog spot

(via shallowthoughtsfromadeepmind)