Baby Tears - Tumblr Posts
I think it would be adorable to have little Al getting comforted in your style 'cause is super cute
this was supossed to be just a quick sketch but then my adhd came into the room and possesed me
💥rip 'em up.📒
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"you're awfully quiet today, love," your caregiver says softly as they come into the living room. you'd finished up with your classwork for the day and had settled on the couch, flicking through tv shows with little interest.
you shrug without any other response, not particularly in the mood to chat. there's a tense bubble in your stomach and part of you knows that if you say anything, it'll be mean for no good reason. you can feel your caregiver's eyes on you, and you scowl slightly.
"i'm just watching tv," you say, despite the fact that you've yet to choose anything in the last twenty minutes, "you don't have to stare at me." your words are snappier than you meant and immediately you regret them when your caregiver hums and turns away without saying anything else.
now you're angry at yourself, too. that wasn't fair, wasn't nice. but you're never nice, you think to yourself, you're just really good at acting like it. really, you're just-
your internal spiral is paused by the return of your caregiver, hefting a cardboard box. they don't look upset, but your stomach twists anyway. before you can fumble out an apology you hope sounds genuine, they wave you over. the box is full of notebooks- you recognize some of them as notebooks from previous classes, from high school. they're all half-used, with too much unused paper to want to throw away.
you give a look to your caregiver who pulls out a notebook and hands it to you.
"...i don't wanna write. don't wanna draw or scribble either," you say with a frown, knowing that you've done those things in the past. the idea of accidentally breaking a crayon right now makes your stomach twist again.
"then you don't have to," they say simply, settling onto the floor across from you, the box between you both. "but we've both been wanting to tear out the used papers from these notebooks, right?" you watch silently as they take a notebook and star tearing out the pages, delicately. one by one. you stare down at the one in your hand and frown.
you open the cover and tear out one page. and then the next. and then another, and another, and-
soon enough, you're just ripping pages out. your caregiver simply passes you a new notebook when you've torn out all the used paper, not stopping you from the frenzied pace. some of the notebooks end up more torn up than others, spirals mangled and the covers ripped up too.
your face is hot and angry tears sting your eyes, but your caregiver doesn't tell you to calm down or take a big breath. they let you rip and tear, paper shreds scattering the floor. you've gone through several notebooks before the pace slows and you hiccup. you rub your eyes angrily, your cheeks damp. it just makes you mad again and you toss the notebook away, flopping back onto the hard living room floor.
"s'not fair!" you shout, mostly up at the ceiling. you flail your arm at the pile of torn up paper around you, kick the box at your feet. there's a quiet shuffle as your caregiver scoots back a bit, just enough to give you a bit more space. you tug your hood down and shout into it, the fabric not exactly muffling the sound. it's just an explosion of words, of every little thing and every big thing.
by the time you go limp on the floor, your head hurts, your throat hurts, and your sleeve is damp with tears and snot.
"...you want a hug or do you want some more time, love?" comes the careful, soft voice of your caregiver. they'd sat there the whole time, just letting you rip and tear, kick and flail, get it all out. when you sniffle and nod, they move over, taking your head into their lap. "that was a lot, huh? you had that in you for a while, little love."
you sniffle again and nod, hiding your face in their shirt. you don't want to look up at them, and they don't make you. they just gently rub soothing circles into your back. they don't ask you to get up, even though the floor really isn't the most comfortable place. they don't keep talking either, just letting the room settle into a silence that's far less heavy than before.
"...nhm." you just grip their shirt tighter. maybe later you can talk about it - maybe while cleaning up all that torn paper. maybe you won't, and it'll happen all over again. but there's a bit of relief loosening that bubble in your stomach- it's not gone, not by any stretch of the imagination. but it's a bit looser, a bit less heavy.
and for today, that's enough.
This is what being regressed is like. 2 me
If you're a nsfw blog you don't have my consent to interact 🖕 this is a sfw space and I'm also a minor bodily. Same goes if you have -18 on your dni, for obvious reasons. This includes likes, even though they don't do anything it is still interaction.
I will check, even not claiming to be a nsfw blog but having nsfw reblogged will result in a block
“ ugly ” regression
☆ it’s not talked enough in regression about the hard big angry feelings. It’s not always relaxing and playing
☆ I want to yell and cry
☆ Throw my toys and push you away
☆ I don’t understand how to process these big feelings
☆ I can’t verbalise what I want
☆ All I want to do is scream and tantrum
☆ Things aren’t going my way and I’m not spoiled for feeling that
☆ I wanna scribble all over my pretty drawing in a black crayon
☆ It’s okay to feel this way
☆ It’s okay to get those feelings out
“ ugly ” regression
☆ it’s not talked enough in regression about the hard big angry feelings. It’s not always relaxing and playing
☆ I want to yell and cry
☆ Throw my toys and push you away
☆ I don’t understand how to process these big feelings
☆ I can’t verbalise what I want
☆ All I want to do is scream and tantrum
☆ Things aren’t going my way and I’m not spoiled for feeling that
☆ I wanna scribble all over my pretty drawing in a black crayon
☆ It’s okay to feel this way
☆ It’s okay to get those feelings out