I don’t handle emotions well. By my nature I am good at two things, repression and implosion. (I’m also bad at grammar. I went to public school. I think that’s supposed to be a colon not a comma. I don’t care.) 

Implosion comes in a specific form, too, mainly “destroy everything that makes you happy and take no prisoners.” As a reslut the urge to destroy a year and a halfs worth of work on ao3 is strong as hell. 

I poured my soul into my bang (it posts in a week) and as of now I couldn’t give a fuck if another human being ever lays their eyes on it. It is (as far as I’m concerned) my magnum opus and if it were handwritten I would burn it. 

Go ahead, laugh at me. Call me names. Send nasty anons and make fun of me. Call me over dramatic and a baby and a bitch and whatever else you want. I’m much better at belittling myself than you will ever be. 

Sorry guys, I’m all out of repression. I’m all out of pretend smiles. It’s not so much this one tiny mostly insignificant show thing, it’s that my entire life is a shitshow and a handful of things make me happy.  

Yeah, I’m an overdramatic baby. Like I give a fuck. 

So congrats, you were right. I was wrong.