Rec | I MADE A CUPBOARD 2

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That's what I wrote two weeks into the cupboard after a healthy dosage of crying. Picture shows the state of the cupboard at that point. My home was fucked. While cutting wood, I once again caught myself seething at my father. He stuffed my head with a million useless bits of nonsense but never found the time for actual knowledge or skills. So I stepped into the big world armed with the wisdom that "all Germans are fascists," "you shouldn’t stand out," and "razor blades can be changed once a year, don’t fall for corporate tricks." Meanwhile, I had no idea how to properly hammer a nail. Waltzing on the edge of slicing my fingers off, I cursed him to high heaven. Every skill had to be begged from YouTube or acquired through cuts. And that’s on top of digging out a hundred idiotic clichés and racist banalities from my head. Thanks for nothing, you piece of shit. But then, somehow, I felt lighter. Fuck that asshole and his colleagues in the grand guild of assholery. I’m at the age where I definitely don’t need to become the "best version of myself" anymore—enough of that, please. I just need to be a decent version of my own responsible adult. The kind who explains, teaches, entertains, and helps. The kind who doesn’t try to destroy or sadden you. And in this concept, where you’re your own Parent 1/2/15 Pro Max, it becomes easier to look at both age and baggage. You’re standing exactly where they failed with you. Don’t fail yourself. Help, make yourself laugh, and don’t let yourself slice your fingers off.

@betelgeuse1922

Feb 3, 2025

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I thought this worry made me a better person

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@notalex

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TAKE THE TIME TO BE A LOSER

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@gabriellezuo_

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Hello?

Not that anyone will care, but to understand me you have to understand this: I was raised by Christian Protestant fundamentalists, the youngest of 4 by 10 years. Although I resent the church and the theology I desperately tried to make myself believe, I am grateful for their teachings of serving and loving others, even if they contradicted themselves when they told me to fear the evil nature of humanity. I was named after my grandma, who lived with me for 11 years of my childhood and remained ever trusting and kind as she fell victim to dementia. By the time I was 8 my parents seemed to have tired from raising 4 kids and intensively caring for a 90 year old woman, and I was free to bike miles across town to the library unsupervised, and patch myself up when I fell and bled, and lock myself in my room to read every spare hour of the day. I would read while I ate breakfast, I would read while brushing my teeth, I would read and I wouldn’t hear it if someone called my name. I discovered the internet soon after and unfortunately the curiosities it offered won out over literature. When the internet taught me I wouldn’t live forever in heaven under the tree of life with Teddy Roosevelt and my grandpa, I was on my own to process and panic and pretend to pray. My family came from Norway, across Canada, down to Northern Idaho to work in the lumber yards, and finally to Oregon when starvation wages hit the shop teachers. My mom grew up on elk tongue sandwiches and I was never allowed to leave a plate full. I always struggled with friendships, not because people didn’t like me but because I have a tendency for isolating myself. The people I love most tend to be strange and upfront and vulnerable. And I do love my family, but more than anything I want to be independent and meet many strange and upfront people who will lead me to adventure. I am almost 20 and I am an artist. I have no tattoos and I am reckoning with my potential.