ghostface millah

val-siorc:

detectivebuttcop:

hi, baby.
i wanna say i reached a point in my depression where i literally just didn’t even care what i looked like anymore. apathy is my biggest problem, tbh. but that doesn’t really help you, so here’s a positive list of things people actually, literally do to raise their self-esteem. and i’ve noticed that i actually do these things automatically when i’m feeling less shitty in general, so there’s that.
stop insulting yourself. i know it’s hard, man. it gets habitual, and you can’t really help the way you feel. but it really does start with your brain. every time, and i mean every damn time, you hear your brain going, “gross,” and “you’re fat,” and “don’t wear those, you’ll look disgusting,” pointedly yell inside your brain about how hot you are. i’m being serious. do it. your brain goes, “ugh, your face,” and you finish, “is goddamn magnificent.”
fuck the haters. i literally say this to myself all the time. i hit this point eventually where i was so angry at everyone around me that one day i was putting on clothes for school and i looked in the mirror and i was like, “this outfit is ridiculous. no one will think you look good, you look so stupid, all the time.” and then i was like, “who gives a shit?” and i wore leggings and mismatched socks and a cat sweater to school and no one said shit because i was a head fucking cat sweater bitch in charge. who cares if those pants are “unflattering?” who cares if those shoes make your feet look clunky? who actually gives a shit if your belly fat is making you look pregnant? anyone that does care about those things is a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve your glorious visage around them anyway. fuck people who make you feel like shit. piss on their socks.
i probably think you’re a babe. i’m actually serious, because there’s like a 99.9% chance you’re a babe. post selfies, tag me, i might reblog them and praise you. being praised helps. selfie therapy, man. and if anyone talks shit, repeat the mantra from #2.
pick out a rad outfit every fucking day. pick one out. one you like. do you like those blue leggings but don’t have anything to wear them with? wear them with whatever you want, fuck the haters. do you want to be wearing red pumps, but you also want to be wearing sweats? do it, fuck the haters. it’s your athletic red carpet look, fuck ‘em. do you come to school in pajamas and a swimsuit top, and all your friends are like, “uhhhhhh???” just look them in the eye and be like, “i’m awesome.” and if they disagree, vomit into their open eye sockets because fuck the haters. i really can’t oversell how often i think the phrase “fuck the haters,” man.
when people tell you you look good, don’t defy them. it just reinforces the idea with you and with people around you that hating the way you look is normal and accepted. you shouldn’t be hating the way you look, dude! i mean, i’m not judging if you do, but i know firsthand it’s not a good place to be. you’ve got enough shit to worry about and the world has enough haters; you don’t need to also be bullying yourself. if someone’s like, “hey, cute hair,” be like, “thanks, i like your sweater.” if someone’s like, “where’d you get those pants, goodwill?” be like, “yeah, it’s called being economic, where’d you get your personality, my asshole?” and then roundhouse kick them out of your fuckin’ face because you’re a goddamn stallion.
mirror compliments are a must. you’ve probably heard this before. i’m not talking about looking in the mirror and being like, “you are okay. you look good. you are a nice person,” i am talking about looking in the mirror and announcing, “literally everything about me is attractive. there isn’t actually a single flaw on me.” address your cat and yell, “point out one thing on me that isn’t fucking perfect.” if your cat raises its eyebrows and points at your arm fat, it’s time to get a new fucking cat, dude, because your arm fat is fucking gorgeous. you know why it’s gorgeous? because it’s attached to you and you’re motherfucking godly. “this is a problem,” you say as toothpaste drips down your chin. “i am fucking hilarious, and my eyes are like desert gems. my personality sparkles.” literally every time you see your reflection. every fucking time. try hitting on yourself. good job. now try hitting on yourself without laughing. try again.
dress for comfort and for style. if something looks good but makes you feel like a spiral-cut ham in a thong, this thing is not a good thing for you. if something feels good, but makes you look like a spiral-cut ham in a thong, fuck the haters, ham is delicious and thongs hide panty lines. personally??? i like the maternity section. my very favoritest shorts in the world are maternity shorts, they have this three-inch elastic waist, they’re glorious. it’s not too much more expensive than everything else, and it’s about comfort, because apparently women are allowed to be comfortable if they’re procreating. and if you feel good, you’ll probably… you know, feel good. i know, weird.
if you’re ever thinking a bad thing that’s making you unhappy, and no amount of praising yourself will help, think about something else. you are allowed to say, “nope. this train of thought is upsetting me,” and change the mental subject. you can do that whenever you want. i promise. you deserve that.
try masturbation. don’t even think of it as a means to an end, like this arduous path to orgasm. it’s about enjoying your body. look at it. touch it. am i creeping you out? are you creeping yourself out? good. now keep doing it. explore yourself. do it slowly. if something feels good, do it again. if something feels bad, don’t do that anymore. masturbation is a No Self Judge Zone. you can look like and do whatever you want and ain’t nobody gonna say shit. you talkin’ shit, shampoo bottle? you’re just mad because you don’t have these bitchin’ thighs. take your time. do it until you’re bored. then do something else. touch yourself while you watch a movie. touch yourself while you’re trying to sleep. don’t touch yourself in public. you’ll get arrested. because looking that good is illegal.
my biggest rule is everyone’s a babe, no matter what. and i know what you’re thinking, dashiel robert parr: “if everyone’s a babe, no one is.” but guess what: that’s not even true. because when everyone’s a babe, everyone’s a babe. it’s never okay to make fun of someone for the way they look. i mean, alone with your friends where they could never hear you, sure, fine, but once everyone starts being a babe, that stops being fun, anyway. if you’re busy affirming everyone around you, you probably won’t have room in your awesome head for shit like “i’m fat,” because you’ve got more important shit to think about. like, for example, “i’m fat, and everyone around me is jealous of all my awesome.”
here are some rules for everyone being a babe:
being fat is not the same thing as being ugly. if a store doesn’t carry your size, that store is for douchebags and not normal people. the average woman’s dress size is in the double-digits, fuck the haters. being fat is not bad. equating it with not being attractive is.
if you don’t like a thing on someone, like if you don’t dig their top or if you wish their hair was different, don’t say, “oh my god that guy’s hair,” say, “that guy’s hair is not my bag.” maybe they really dig it! maybe they got that haircut, looked in the mirror, and they were like, “you’re like if a supermodel became the president and then travelled exclusively by jetpack.” maybe that hair’s super important to them, makes them feel good! you don’t want people to pop your happy balloon, so don’t pop anyone else’s.
don’t let people talk shit. about you or anyone else, and that includes themselves. if they go, “man, i love this kind of top, but i can’t wear it,” be like, “you’d probably rock it.” if they go, “well, it doesn’t match my body type,” be like, “everything matches your body type.” if they go, “well, it doesn’t come in my size,” be like, “fuck this place. where are we? where am i? hollister? why are we here? let’s go to target.”
if you weren’t you. like, if you were a friend instead of you. what would you think if you heard the thoughts you have? how would you feel if you heard your best friend saying those things about themself? i know my best friend has problems with a shitty self image, and that makes me sad because she’s a breathtaking irish flower from beyond the stars. she’s like those flowers from that sailor moon movie. you know the one. (if you don’t, just accept that they were deadly and awesome.) the answer is, affirm your friends even if they look like shit with the flu. even if they look like a dead fish in lipstick, be like, “you look bangin’.” because that’s what friends are for! they think their friends look like hotties all the time because they love each other! treat everyone like your friend until proven douchebag.
and even on your days when you’re feeling like shit—because everyone has days where despite their best efforts they are feeling like shit—at least you’re an awesome person.
because you are! you’re awesome! you wouldn’t have been born if you weren’t awesome. there’s a higher power, man, and that higher power is so judgmental, and you were born anyway. that higher power’s name is phil, and phil was like, “this bitch is flawless,” and cast you out into the world to grace us with your babin’ perfection. which—thank you, by the way.
you’re allowed to look like barf warmed over in your own damn house because you work hard all the time, walking and breathing and looking at things and shit, and you deserve time off whenever you want it. because—yep. you guessed it.
fuck the haters.
i know that was mostly unintelligible. i hope it helped. just a little.
because you’re flawless and everyone is flawless and everyone deserves to feel flawless whenever they want.
so you don’t think you’re “conventionally beautiful.” who gives a shit? convention was invented by awful people with shitty, narrowminded taste.
you’ll notice convention is built and upheld by the people who fit its standards. you think that’s coincidence? it’s not. it’s built up to preserve the ideal beauty, which is a tall, skinny, young, white, cishet man with a tall, skinny, young, white, cishet girlfriend whose only job is to be proud of her boyfriend, while also producing money from nowhere.
fuck that shit. fuck all of that shit. i’m not about that.
i’m about you being a head motherfucking bitch in charge. you’re gorgeous, you’re fucking rad, and everyone is lucky you’re around. fuck the haters.

EVERYONE READ THIS

feester:

lambhoof:

My favorite band is this little group of newts I found under a log in the woods who play tiny trumpets made from hollow reeds and twigs

Oh yea I bet you can’t name 5 of their songs

1. Doot Toot
2. tiny fern
3. do NOT eat mushrooms you just find in the woods
4. broken heart broken trumpet
5. George Costanza is my hero

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interior at nakagin capsule hotel in ginza/tokyo

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craplos:

ladies. be careful when u wear spaghetti straps. it might distract the boys. they’ll start thinking of spaghetti. they will get hungry. they will stop at nothing to get their spaghetti.

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i’m too sleepy to do homework and nicky is on the couch reading comics :( :(

lifes ruff 4 this college kid.

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Walk On By - Dionne Warwick

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rapewhistled:

if u dont want 2 go 2 college u dont have 2.if ur feeling too overwealmed and its ruining u then please leave

theres more than memorizing books

find what u enjoy doing and some1 out there in the world will want ur services and u can live that way

please stop working for money and hating life

thats not why u were born

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