It's so hard to maintain our mental wellness in this day and age, I thought I'd post these 10 fun, mindful tips on how to keep your useless human emotions in check this holiday season.
Namaste, Jow Forums
Holiday Self-Care
Nathaniel Wood
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Lincoln Jackson
im feeling better but I cant get over certain intrustivte thoughts? People cant merge with objects can they?
I might need mdma desu.
Benjamin Gonzalez
>I might need mdma desu.
Brain damage isn't going to help. I'd recommend a therapist. MDMA use is linked to profound mood disturbances and depression. Avoid it.
Christian Parker
[slides open window in the fourth wall]
>en.wikipedia.org
Yes, people can merge with objects. We do it every day. We've done it ever since we identified so strongly with one of our stuffed animals or other inanimate objects that we attach to our identities like so much literal material worship.
It's when we let others determine what we should attach to us that we experience conflict.
Eventually, we learn that it's the other people we are made better by through our kindness toward them, and not the objects about which we have argued with them in regards to relative importance and universal significance.
Like, the fact that we need Molly to remind ourselves that it's other human beings who define what humanity is says a lot about society, n'est c'est pas?
Nathaniel King
>MDMA use is linked to profound mood disturbances and depression
Look; there's only one way to determine whether the water is too hot or cold, and that's to test it with something.
If user is at a point where they are legitimately seeking psychotropic alteration in order to improve their outlook, then they should be allowed to make an informed decision. MDMA is not particularly different than many readily available pharmaceutical medications, except it tends to much more heavily increase the dopamine delivery than its related (and regulated) cousin, Xanax.
The problem is that we've taken our medicine men and created a false distinction we think of as "drug dealers," whose only existence is a product of the inability to properly tax and regulate all the providers of a particular substance.
All my drug dealers have been concerned about my reaction to their product. They don't want me to die or have a bad trip.
My psychiatrists, on the other hand... they just seemed to care about the data.
So maybe I'm biased.
Gabriel Walker
And since I'm on a rant here...
[sticks head through fourth-wall window]
WHAT "SELF" ARE WE TRYING TO "CARE" FOR ANYWAY?
Is it the one who performs our social duties before turning in each night and saying our prayers to whatever imaginary forces we envision controlling our lives?
Do we even believe in free will anymore, or have we all just given up on the idea of deciding what kind of impact you want to make in the world, and then making it by choosing to express yourself however you are able?
And how are we able anymore, in a world for whom anything short of a nuclear blast is a sideline to the symphony of background static that has become the entirety of human civilization?
Do you think your waking life is nothing more than a reflection of the dreams in which you are the center of the universe?
Because it is... except that's also true for everyone else.
So your "self-care" quickly becomes "sheltering yourself in the cocoon that prevents you from remembering that other people exist who aren't at all like you" pretty quick after some pinot grigio and chocolate.
I know. I love pinot and chocolate, even if it's whiskey and pot in my case.
But it's only ever made me more aware that my dreams are no better than anyone else's.
If it doesn't, then you're not practicing self-care. You're just feeding whatever level of egotism would elect you as the sole arbiter of the universe.
And until we can all be sole arbiters of our universe... it's sort of unfair to call it anything but "privileged escape from the physical lives of most of the rest of the world," isn't it
Not that I'd trade mine in for anything - I maintain gratitude toward whatever allowed me to be such an imperious cunt on the Internet, and I expect no less from others.
Gabriel Brooks
how do I know I got ptsd or intrustive thought disorder?
Hunter Sanders
check ur symptons
Charles Phillips
>the voices die
If only, op.
Also fuck you for the faggot black on dark blue text, there's literally no contrast.
My advice is to take a razor and cut very very gently, just so a bit of blood comes out. The pain will remind you you are human. Repeat after the wound has healed halfway, around 2-7 days depending on how hard you cut yourself. Don't go too deep or you'll have scars.
Cameron Morris
you got ptsd because you have human epigenetics. sorry, kid. you are the product of the kinds of horrible things that Srdjan Spasojevic would cringe at.
It's just where we're at.
It's sort of horrible, and you will probably want to die because of it.
Don't.
Our only hope is that we somehow pull through, even though basically the entire universe is against us.
It's a shitty position.
Nobody wants it.
That's why humans are always killing themselves.
Lucas Davis
>fuck you for the faggot black on dark blue text
Finally, some actual criticism.
It was like that in the original.
I was just adapting some healthy normal rake-your-face-with-psych-meds kind of wellness meme.
You can't say you didn't laugh, at least, right?
Evan Nelson
>My advice is to take a razor and cut very very gently, just so a bit of blood comes out. The pain will remind you you are human
Bitch, I need a reminder that I'm human like I need another shell of a body to hug a cold, lifeless pillow in the middle of the night.
I've already explored the possibilities of cutting open my veins.
I have a knife. It's probably not sharp enough.
I literally cannot sustain the equilibrium of a water bottle on my desk at the moment, though, and I seem to have developed a case of the hiccups.
The hiccups make me want to gather whatever resources I have and just explode into a nuclear rage.
I hope you can only become me in this moment.
I hope you actually understand where I am at right now. I hope you are capable of literally experiencing my bodily reality at this very moment, and that you can withstand the sheer disgust at the body that I am forced to maintain life in. I hope you are racked with the same kind of ridiculous spasm of uncontrollable retarded akl;rhyiop qw3phyiopaseryio;whawriophyiop that hiccups are.
I hope you want to die like I do, but are unable.
Then you might understand.
You would be me, of course. And that is a hell I would not wish upon anybody.
Even you.
At this moment, I have counted at least 25 uncontrollable glottal spasms that are the result of an unknown fucking retarded thing that makes me do this.
Jason Ward
My last resort has failed me.
When I was younger, my father told me that to cure the hiccups, I should pour granulated sugar down my throat.
This has resulted in an uncomfortable and resentful experience.
I presently hate my father.
I presently hate my body.
I presently only desire escape from the hell that that my physical prison through whatever birth-lottery I have lost has granted me.
I seek the sweet refuge of death, which has not only abandoned me, but has made me have double-hiccups.
This is an unjust universe.
This is not fair.
I've tried to do the right thing.
I do not deserve this hell.
Help me.
Dominic White
I am too confused to be filled with rage. Every moment I might have that affords me the clarity of smashing my body against the world around me is suddenly disrupted by the retarded little "eep" of a fucking hiccup.
I hate it like nothing I have ever imagined hating before.
I want to destroy the universe in which this exists.
I would sacrifice everything to be rid of a body that is bound by this stupid tic.
I would rather eat babies' faces than endure this indiginity of retardation.
I only have the ability to control this body, and when that is taken from me, I have literally nothing.
I am nothing, user.
How does that sound? You want in? You want to taste this fucking rainbow?
Have at it. Spend like half a fucking moment in my body and see if you don't immediately find the nearest high-powered firearm to blow your brains out.
Keep poking at that hornet's nest, user. You'll get here someday. That's at least the only hope I have, after you have run out of things to live for. You'll still be here, though. Like a fly caught on a spider's web, you'll be here, unable to end your miserable existence, just hoping for death to take you in your sleep.
God bless, user. I have just shuddered at least thirty times in the composition of this message, often in rapid duplicate, and I have no control over it.
I want to rip my fucking head off.
William Wood
I've learned how to cure my own hiccups when they occur, but that's through experience that I cannot seem to put into words.
People say "drink water," and that's partially right. You want to do a sort of action that will get your diaphragm to stop spazzing out. So it's drinking water with a particular sort of swallowing. Almost like you're trying to counter the spasms with deliberate muscle activation.
Grayson Wilson
>I only have the ability to control this body, and when that is taken from me, I have literally nothing
Oh, there's more.
Do you want more?
How about the fact that after about your mid-thirties, you are either determined to be part of a society who raises families and participates in the "wholesome" and "good" parts of life or else you're basically a pariah who is little better than already dead to most of the world.
Because you think that your friends will care about you after they're married and have spawned a little brood of humans that they can control far better than they could ever control you.
They won't. They don't They are in this shit for themselves, and they will let you die in obscurity before abandoning their god-given right to make facebook posts about their little clone-offspring who do the most marvelous little things.
You are dead if you don't procreate in this society.
Sorry.
You failed if you don't, and we should all be allowed to just walk into a Futurama suicide booth and get a do-over, because the imagination of human beings in 2018 is about as fucking rich as it was in the 1950s. It's really no different, I suspect. We're basically a retarded form of soapbox drama that housewives follow in order to keep up with what's important, and that's all we'll ever be, apparently.
I have now hiccuped at least fifty times during this, and with each one, I feel the will to destroy myself overshadow me like the whisper of sweet relief that death might bring.
Where are you now, user? Do you have any funny things to say?
Jack Stewart
Yes, I 100% understand the physics. This is like telling someone who has fallen out of a plane that they just need to acquire the sufficient surface tension to gather wind resistance and reduce their approach toward terminal velocity.
It does about as much good as thoughts and prayers in lieu of a parachute.
They are appreciated, though. I guess I deserve this hell, for whatever reason. I can't imagine why or for what reason I have so upset whatever gods are in charge of these bodies, but mine is clearly a fucking piece of shit.
James Ward
It's like learning to wiggle your ears. You kinda gotta just figure it out.
Now's the time to practice, since you can't really learn how to stop hiccups while you don't have them.
Owen Sullivan
Yeah, I could never wiggle my ears.
The hiccups stopped, at least.
All I'm trying to practice is my ability to predict a likely future in which I am not going to die alone and in obscurity.. and it's not a very optimistic fortune cookie that I have to open.
The lottery numbers would help if I played it, but I don't.
Too bad how you have treated other people your whole life doesn't count for shit in this world.
Of course that's probably something else I'm wrong about and deserve to suffer for.
It's really the fact that people just don't literally kill me that makes me wonder what they're waiting for.
Cooper Lee
I didn't, I had to increase the brightness on my phone just to be greeted with some r/me_irl tier "joke".
>I hope you want to die like I do, but are unable.
Oh please. If I didn't make a promise not to kill myself this February (I made a deal with myself to try and endure until I'm 25, don't judge me) I'd be hanging off a rope in the middle of the woods for my 9th month now. I was two seconds away from jumping head first out of my 15th story window, and I've been very close to that state several times since.
Nobody loves me, nobody treats me with compassion, and very few people give me any respect at all. When I put that razor to my skin it reminds me only a human could do that -- Hold a delicate piece of metal in one hand, slice across the other hand, and have blood come out. That's the only little drop of proof I've had lately that I am indeed human.
I don't belong in this society, I don't understand it, it doesn't understand me, and it has always failed to accept me, no matter how hard I tried.
Gabriel Ortiz
You're relatable. I'm even more confused that you didn't laugh now.