I’m A Cis-gender Man Which Basically Means That, When I Was Born, The Doctor Went “It’s A Boy!”

How I treat my Depression

For the last few days I’ve been debating what to write for my first post, and I’ve settled on this. For much of my life I have struggled with suicidal thoughts and brief bouts of depression, and have developed a way of looking at it. For me, depression is like I’m in a sea. Sometimes, I’m doing well and contentedly swimming along, but most of the time I’m simply treading water. However, sometimes something will pull me down, or I’ll simply get tired, and I fall under the water. This drowning may only be brief, or it could be drawn out, and at these points life is just something I want over. To get out, I have to swim up, and sometimes that’s harder than other times, and has been getting harder recently. Hence why I’ve set up this blog- sometimes just having people around you who know what’s happening helps. So thank you internet for existing.

I was in stitches when I first saw this. The tragic part is it makes too much sense. Why must you put us through this Michael? I get that you’re a demon trying to help his friends, but really? At least we get the Judge’s gestures to represent this debacle.

But like, Jason BEEN knew. 

An English Boy thinking of the Nation from which he got his Name

A poem I wrote recently after starting to study Irish history:

I sit in class,

And learn of a past

That in many ways once was mine.

Though generations divorced, is it not natural to pine?

For a heritage too vast to grasp.

At home are pictures of a land unfamiliar:

Of faces, green spaces and castles.

And though their meaning escapes me,

And the memories long left me,

I know they mean much more.

In my mind's ear I hear fiddles,

But all I comprehend are riddles.

To follow is a rite of passage

From which I could only scavenge:

A path left but unearnt.

The waves of the coast call to me,

They beckon me back to the quay.

Again I hesitate to follow,

My connection only being hollow,

But now I have a chance to see.

To see revolutions rise and quickly fall,

The mistreatment and the brawls,

And the poets dreaming of a free home.

They tell stories of white horses- across the fields they roam;

A return to a culture stolen.

To discover the rural lands once more,

To grasp the many wars,

To comprehend the intricacies and allegiances.

The negotiations that devolved into grievances,

And the retaliations spun into tales of yore.

One image stands out in the mist:

A memorial of cold stone.

This one belongs to my grandfather, but I know of many more:

O'Connell; Parnell; Struck down by hearts broken, by causes lost.

The Banshees’ howls echoing around them.

I may not grasp the history, the language or the myths.

My blood may not be Irish like those before me,

But I have the chance to learn, to reconnect.

I know what I am:

An English boy thinking of the nation from which he got his name.

by marcozagara

Project 77 - by Martin Deschambault

“I was inspired by rock balancing sculptures! I think it could be epic and scary at the same time to have these giant rocks above your head.”

More selected art for Project 77 on my tumblr [here]

it’s 2020

Aka Captain Jack Harkness, or Deadpool (although both like girls too).

lets make a new trope: gay characters who are actually seemingly impossible to kill to the point that all of their enemies are comically frustrated. functionally immortal gay characters. being gay making you immortal. unkillable gay trope.

I realise S8 is out now but some of their scenes together queerbated that much that I don’t think it matters.

After S7 (read from right to left)