#I hate how in this exact mental space where i'm so happy with my life but at the same time if i feel i wronged my friends

[seancodydotcom]

UGH

[interstellarsystem]

Plurality and Suffering

This was going to be a reblog to someone else's post, but this deserves its own. My wording might be slightly weird because I'm having some disorganised thinking, ask to clarify if you need.

People online have such an issue with plurals presenting themselves as happy, or enjoying the fact that they're a system in the slightest. If you're not all doom and gloom, people just... Assume you're faking it for fun? As if plurals have to share their suffering online? As if they have to suffer?

"You're clearly treating plurality like its all fun and games! Look at all these silly, lighthearted posts! Not a hint of distress or trauma! How can you be diagnosed with DID when you're clearly not disordered?"

Do you ever stop to think for more than 5 seconds about personal safety? There's people who hate systems left and right, cringe subreddit posters, and generally people who would take that information and use it against you in some way. You don't share your personal name and address online, so why should we share the ins and outs of our daily struggles? Our trauma in any amount of detail? Anything that could be used to hurt or manipulate us further?

Not only is no one else entitled to that information, but it's not safe to share in a place where strangers can see it. We don't share a list of our triggers for the same reasons--we don't want to hand out the keys to our trauma to anyone who happens to see us online.

Not every plural has to suffer either, mind you. So many types of systems tend to not struggle due to their plurality or even anything remotely related to it, and that's okay! You don't need to suffer to be real, suffering isn't a prerequisite to being plural. I'm not even just talking about nondisordered systems here either.

Systems with CDDs can heal. DID, OSDD, DDNOS, anything. They can get to a point where life is worth living if it didn't feel like it already. It could be through final fusion, but it could also be through learning to live together happily as a collective. They can get to a point where the major suffering of the past is far behind. Having a dissociative disorder is NOT a death sentence, I promise you. Things can get better, either through therapy, or medication or just time and learning itself--all while still remaining happily plural.

Acting like disabled people (or even a subgroup of them) will never ever be able to live a life with any happiness or one even worth living at all is an ableist argument used to support so many horrible things thrown toward disabled people of all kinds. It's a few steps away from saying we need to be put out of our misery because we can never live a meaningful, happy life. We've seen this exact argument used against all kinds of mentally or physically disabled people, saying it's cruel to keep them living. And that's absolutely ridiculous.

It's so sad that these sentiments are common in CDD spaces. Yes, there are struggles that come with the disorder, but you can heal. The idea that you will never be okay is a lie. You might not be at a neurotypical level of functioning, but you can be happy, and you can be happy being plural. You are worth it, your disorder doesn't change that, and neither does the general community vibe of "everyone has to suffer and hate their system". You can be happy, you can love your system, you can grow together and make life what you want it to be.

Being a system of any kind is never, EVER a sign that your life will never be good. It's never a sign that you can never feel happy again. It's never a sign that you should just give up. And being required to show off how much you struggle in order to have the basic amount of respect--people just simply believing that you experience what you say you do--is absolutely ridiculous. You don't need to suffer at all, and if you are suffering, you don't need to do it forever--much less share that with people who could use it against you.

Do better, for yourselves and for others in your community. It's okay to be in pain, it's okay to wish things were different, it's okay to share experiences and gather support, but it's not okay to act like no one who is plural could ever have happiness in their life, or claim that those who don't suffer as much as you are fake. Stop spreading the sentiment that suffering is the only way.

[zenkindoflove]

Just some personal reflections and getting in my writing feels

I was listening to a podcast and the person, who is a performer, said something that struck me. They said every time they're about to perform, there isn't a day that they're like "I don't want to do this."

And it really hit me in the face that since I started writing fiction again a year ago, that's pretty close to how I feel.

Now there are, of course, days I am tired and I don't write. Or I'm in a headspace where I only write 100-200 words and I just get distracted by whatever. But in general, every time I am writing I am having a good time and I feel full and proud of myself. And I'm always looking forward to the next time I can write.

And it's been a long, long time since I've felt that.

I used to write all the time when I was younger. Up until I started graduate school when I was 22-23. But being in graduate school for neuroscience was tough. Graduate school in general is tough, especially mentally and emotionally. I didn't have room in my head anymore for my hobbies. My hobbies became things that I could passively enjoy because the rest of my life was so tiring.

I really committed my life to this vision of myself where I would get my PhD, do a postdoc, and then become a professor. And I went all the way to the finish line where I went on the job market and got a few offers for tenure-track positions. But I turned them down because everything about those schools and the offers made me see how much I was going to hate my life working those jobs. There were a few I interviewed for I was excited for, and I could see myself being happy. But ultimately, I gave up trying. I didn't want to keep adjuncting for almost no pay, and year after year going back up on the market to hope that the exact right job that would fit my career needs would line up.

And I was devastated for a while making that decision. I felt like what the hell did I spend all of this time doing this for? How did I become another statistic where my needs as a working scientist mom made it so that I couldn't be as flexible as some of my peers so I flew out of the pipeline?

So I pivoted. And I started working a job I don't have a passion for. But, I am good at it. It pays the bills, and most importantly, my work life balance is so much easier. I suddenly had so much more room to fill my head again with the creativity that my scientific career snuffed out of me.

I turned away from writing in my early twenties because I was trying make space for a career that ended up failing me in the end. And now I've returned and I have to say, I'm so much happier than I have ever been in the last decade. I got a lot out of being a scientist, but this felt like coming home. Now this will likely never pay my bills and will always probably be a hobby but that's okay. I used to think I couldn't call myself a writer unless I did it professionally, but now I see that what we do with our professional lives doesn't have to define our identities. This gives me purpose and joy. This makes me feel like myself. And I think that is what I've come to see now when they say you have to write for yourself. It's about writing what you like to read, yes, but it's also about finding that piece of you that is fulfilled by the act itself, not just the validation you get from others (though that validation *is* nice).

Anyways, I wanted to share this because maybe someone else will get something out of this too.

[gatalentan]

oh my god the way you view the WW dynamics literally gives me chills! i’m going to steal anon question and change a little bit: who gets more jealous

sorry this took me so long to reply to! life got in the way. i'm glad my insane rambles occasionally land kfjsnjkgrn i have a lot of thoughts and i'm never sure if they make as much sense as they do in my head.

my tl;dr answer to this is barbara. but as usual i have too many thoughts to just keep it to a one word response.

the thing about barbara is, her image, how she appears to others, is so fundamental to her that it's what propels her. she's always conscious of it, all the time, and the cameras have only exacerbated it. it's like that adage about swans, right? she appears so graceful and put-together and effortlessly perfect on the surface, but underneath her legs are kicking like crazy. she thinks everything through, she isn't spontaneous, she isn't off-the-cuff, she doesn't go with the flow, she commands the flow, the flow follows her, thank you very much. in conversations you can see her go through her mental flowchart of responses to things to figure out which will paint her in the best light. during talking heads it's almost like she's reading from a script, compared to everyone else - she's thought it all through, and has an Exact way she wants to present herself. so much of her brain space is dedicated to keeping up this image of herself as the perfect, dutiful, responsible, dependable Everything.

but melissa is a chisel, an ice pick, a jackhammer, could be her undoing so easily, ruin a lifetime of building a reputation. she's not supposed to want her. she has it all, right? a devoted husband, two beautiful daughters, a career where she's looked up to and respected.

to want more is greed.

thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife.

but she does. and that's terrifying. and thrilling.

but she wants melissa to be happy. melissa doesn't belong to her, as much as she might want that. melissa deserves to be loved, the way gerald loves barbara. she watched as a bystander as melissa's relationship with joe crumbled, and the way it devastated her, and the way melissa undervalues herself, gives up on herself sometimes, the way she thinks herself totally unworthy of love or tenderness, makes barbara want to ride in on a white horse and show her how she could be loved, should be loved. but she can't. especially now, more than ever, when there are eyes on her all the time, waiting for her to slip. she can't slip.

it's not even just that she's a woman, it's that it's melissa. sweet melissa, from the wrong side of the tracks, with a rap sheet just this side of being able to keep her career, with a sordid history of shady doings that would have her congregation scandalised. even if she was a man, even if gerald was out of the picture, melissa wouldn't fit the image. even just being melissa's friend is a constant challenge because she's always testing the boundaries of what is acceptable or appropriate behaviour. some of the things she says are terrifying and illegal. and deep down, it makes barbara feel alive, that she's some sort of accomplice. she's jealous of her freedom, she's jealous of how she lives her life out-loud, how she takes life by the balls in a way barbara never could. if people only knew. if people only knew that she'd turn her whole life upside down for someone like her -

(as much as the her of melissa schemmenti is also an image. a carapace. a threat display. keeping people out, so they don't see the soft belly that barbara knows probably better than anyone, and cherishes the trust of being given it)

- but she wants her, and she can't stop it. and if she keeps the thoughts inside her head, then she's not hurting anyone, right? and nobody can judge her, only God, who hates the sin, not the sinner. and it's not a sin, if she does not act on it. it's a fantasy, make-believe, like the stories she reads to the children.

she can read into their relationship anything she wants, the looks, the touches, the what-could-bes, those drunken... near-misses. and picture the life they could have, in a different life, to her heart's content - without any damage to her image because it's hidden under all the layers of carefully applied paint.

she has to swallow everything down and push it out, into pushing melissa into the arms of somebody else.

what greater expression of love is there, than steering them towards it elsewhere, at the expense of your own happiness?

plus, if she can't have melissa, then somebody needs to, because otherwise the temptation to bite the apple is too much.

barbara howard loves a boundary, loves to follow the rules.

melissa in another person's arms is a boundary that should keep her out.

but she can't help but think she could do it better.

she can dream about how she'd do it better.

a person can like two people at once.

she does, whether she likes it or not.

------------------------

but scottie, what about in that other life, where they get together?

i still think it'd be barbara.

melissa, i think, or how i picture her, is that she's had decades of coming to terms with the fact that barbara is out of bounds and that she cannot have her. and so she's just had to learn to be satisfied with what she does have. i think she does get jealous, and i think it was probably worse when they were much younger, but now she's just sorta. coasting. leveled-out. done enough crying. figured out how to cope with it. knows what she can and can't do after years of feeling out where the boundaries are. so when she actually gets the girl in the end? i don't think she'd be jealous of other people giving barb attention, i think she'd be peacocking around, because nah, that's my girl, can you see her? isn't she gorgeous, stunning, amazing, wonderful? yeah i'd hit on her too, i get it, i hit on her for years. but it's me she's coming home to! aren't i lucky? do you wanna see our wedding photos? she looked so beautiful. no? ok, bye.

but barb. oh ho ho. i think barb would get the green-eyed monster something fierce. i don't think it would go away even after they got together. i think she'd become very territorial, because if she had to risk it all to get the girl in the end, she's not going to let that slip through her fingers. she didn't repress herself for all those years not to absolutely devour melissa once she finally could, for the rest of her days. she'd finally get to say all those proud, loving thoughts about melissa out loud that she couldn't let slip. the way she talks about gerald in the show? that would be her with melissa. talking about her like the cat who got the canary. melissa this, melissa that, she'd be so annoying about it. there would be no doubt to anyone in earshot who melissa belongs to, are you listening? that's my wonderful wife. mine. so anyone else flirting with her? they'd learn, pretty damn fast, in that understatedly terrifying way barbara has when she gets Serious. and ok, maybe sometimes melissa gets a little deliberately handsy or looksy with other women. pokes the bear a little. just so barbara feels compelled to remind her who she belongs to when they get home... hehe. but it's ultimately about finally being free to love each other and not wanting anything to ever come between them ever again, more than anything else. they did enough waiting.

[what-if-nct]

cw // ranting

man i might go on a rant since i literally have nobody else to talk to, but i’m lowkey tired of seeing his wedding videos showing up on twitter. it’s getting so damn annoying that i have to keep muting words to avoid it because seeing couples just makes me feel like shit and i’m missing out on life.

whenever i vent to someone, it’s always someone downplaying my emotions or making me feel like shit for even feeling this way in the first place, like making me feel evil for hating on something i cannot even remove in the one place that i felt safe in. i hate their stupid gotcha moment where i’m literally venting over a wedding video in a bl discord server, like it’s not about me being in a bl server, i’m just not in the right mental space to be taking in fictional romantic stories at the moment. depression does kick me in the butt at times, and does love to make me feel worthless by seeing other people happy.

i know i shouldn’t be ranting in a place that should be a safe space for all, but you’re too nice of a person to not consider some sort of mental support when i feel like i’m all alone.

There is nothing wrong with feeling that I thought it was a pretty common way to feel, i see it all the time. It's normal to not want to see couples when it's something you've never experienced and it makes you feel bad. There's nothing wrong with trying to remove something that you're not in the right space of mind to consume. I feel that way about weight loss videos, it "should" be something I see as a good thing. But like I just can't hear it. Anytime I get a weight loss video I press not interested and block. The moment I hear "I lost 100lbs" I don't want to hear it. I know it might seem like I'm a hater but I do not have the mental capacity to hear about weight loss at all. Even though I technically lost 50lbs and I hate when anyone comments on it I hate being congratulated on weightloss cause it 9 times out of 10 did not happen healthily or on purpose. Like I'm at a place I'm comfortable with my weight I have never wanted to be thin or not plus sized and when I hear constant talk of weightloss it makes me feel like I shouldn't be comfortable with my body. Like there's something wrong with me and I shouldn't be comfortable. So I hate seeing people talk about weight loss or how much weight they lost. And I understand to people that might seem really negative but it will make me sad and that's all that matters if something is making you feel bad don't feel ashamed to remove it.

There was actually a stich to a video. The original video my eyes lit up cause the woman had the same exact body as me and it made me happy but the woman who stitched it was talking about how the previous woman made her feel bad about her body cause she was a more acceptable shape which is an understandable feeling but it did make me feel bad about feeling represented by the previous woman who made a video about it and said she felt invalidated and that explained how i felt. Like things just have different effects on different people's emotions and that's fine. And even if to others it seems like you're being negative it's just something that will make you feel better and that's okay, there's nothing wrong with not wanting to watch and blocking a wedding video cause it will make you feel sad, nothing at all.

[the-feral-fa1ry]

I hate the position I'm in rn.....I am ridiculously grateful for the help with resources and safe space to lay my head indoors but sharing space with my mom for more than a week at a time is really triggering. It's always out of the frying pan and into the fire with this shit.....I just want to exist and take up space in my authenticity without her acting like I'm stepping on their toes or that I'm a literal child cause of my autism.

It's seriously been nothing but judgement and lamentation that I'm not doing good enough in life and that the way I know how to exist for free is somehow degrading or injurious to my mental health and soul when it's actually the exact opposite. I'm so ready to get the fuck outta here I can't wait to get my license and registration done and build out my van so I can skedaddle back to where folks understand me and instead of judging me they get curious and want to come with me and see how I live. Not to mention how hard she's pushing me to love Santa Fe and is literally shaming me for wanting to be in Cali. I'm so over people belittling, dismissing, and distracting me from what I know is for me and from reaching my goals. It fucking sucks too cause those that are closest to me are the ones who don't believe in me or have their own agenda with my talents. I know myself and I know that I'm capable of making it in the scene that's embraced me like family. I know my values are rooted in unconditional freedom, love, kindness, and respect. So when I show up in those ways it confuses and hurts me that it's rarely reciprocated except by those that truly share and live by those values. Idk I guess I'm just heartbroken that they haven't actually done any of the work needed to be satisfied and happy here and now and able to see that what they want for me isn't always what's best.

[ithebookhoarder]

Your sleepy head canons for the SW trio were adorable! Can I pretty please ask what the original star wars babies would be like with a sick reader? I just need some cuteness in my life right now and I'm rewatching the movies so yeah...

A/N: Um, yes you can! One fluffy dose of OG star wars coming up. 

Star Wars (Head-canons): Dealing with a sick reader

Masterlist:

Han:

This man is a marshmallow on the inside, even if years alone in the smuggling game has ensured that it’s deeply hidden away beneath that stoicism and devil-may-care attitude. 

You are one of the only people in the entire galaxy he lets see his softer side, whether it’s his casual affection during the day on the Falcon, or his little thoughtful gestures like fetching you caff when you’re flying or working your ass off on repairs. 

It’s why he’s actually rather sweet to you when you’re sick, ordering Chewie to take over whatever you were meant to be doing so you can get some rest.

“Han. I’m fine. It’s just a sniffle. I’ll live.”

“I know that, princess, but I don’t need you breaking my ship because you’re too busy coughing and sneezing to see what wires you’re tinkering with.”

You laugh, knowing his sass is his way of hiding the worry that’s brewing inside of him at the sight of you coughing and spluttering around the place. So, you surrender your tools to him and allow him to help you back to your quarters. It’s that or letting him drag you there over his shoulder, like some kind of deranged caveman. 

Once you get to your room, you half expect him to leave you there to fend for yourself, but you’re surprised to see him hovering around you, already working out a list of supplies. 

“You should lie down. I’ll grab ya some of that fancy tea you like so damn much.”

“Thanks, hon.”

“Do you need anything else? What about some more blankets? Some pillows? I can grab Chewie’s. He doesn’t need it-“

Who knew Han Solo could be such a secret mother hen?

Turns out, with all his travels, he knows a thing or two about fending off a cold. It’s actually rather cute. 

You’re too busy trying not to laugh to say no as he hurries about the place and effectively builds you a nest in your shared quarters. He’s also glued to your side, leaving his Wookie first mate in charge while he sees to your every need, even if it’s just holding you while you sleep off whatever it is that’s taken you down.  

“I told you you needed a better coat on that planet but nooo your stubborn ass said you didn’t need one.”

“Han. Stop. I didn’t catch this cold there.”

“Where else would you have caught it?”

“Things just happen. It’s ok.”

Han definitely doesn’t think it’s ok, but he doesn’t want to tire you out for arguing over something dumb. You’re just as stubborn as he is and arguments between you two have been known to go on for days sometimes. 

Instead, he agrees to disagree for now. As long as you rest and get better then everything else doesn’t matter. 

However, the next time you plan to leave the ship he just so happens to be waiting by the ramp, a thick, chunky coat in his hand. And a hat. And gloves. 

He grins and presses a kiss to your frowning face as you waddle out, almost suffocating but willing to endure for his sake and as a thank you for all his care the past week.

You also make a mental note to repay the favour next time he gets a little under the weather. You’re sure Chewie would enjoy the sight of his captain haggling with clients, while swaddled in knitwear. 

Luke:

Coming from a desert planet, Luke doesn’t know too much about handling things like colds. He’s more used to handling dehydration, sunburn, malnutrition or even the odd blaster wound or two from Jawas.

However, once joining the Rebellion, he learns pretty quickly after being struck down with surprising regularity. He’s an old friend to  colds and other conditions common on other planets and in space. 

That’s actually how he meets you, always being ordered to stop by the Med Bay by Leia the minute he starts sneezing. 

“I don’t need you spreading the plague, Luke,” she sighs, ushering him over to you and ordering him to let you take care of him. “You may be some mighty Jedi but even Jedis get sick.” 

You actually enjoy getting to spend time with Luke when he’s sick, and sharing your knowledge about cures and ways to avoid catching diseases in the first place. Luke also enjoys listening to you, admiring how clever you are and how kind, and careful, you are when handling patients. 

Thus, when you eventually get sick, he’s only too eager to return the favour. It’s time for him to take care of you, even if he knows you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself. 

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should, Y/N. Let me help you. Please?”

You smile, agreeing as he takes up residence at your bedside for the next few days. Turns out, he actually has a tender bedside manner, and is incredibly good at keeping you distracted when you get fed up of being on bedrest. 

He’s also incredibly aware of changes in mood or your condition, sensing them through the force before you even do. Hence why he’s by your side the moment you take a bad turn, despite him being half way across the base for training.

If he’s out of breath then that’s just a coincidence cause nooooo, he didn’t run here. No. He was right outside and just so happened to be coming in when you needed him most. 

“Luke? What the-?”

“Here. I brought soup and some more pain killers from the med bay.” 

You take his offerings, grinning in delight as the smell of food hits your nose. “Hmm, my saviour.”

His smile is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen as is his blushing cheeks. “I’m just taking care of you. Who else is going to nurse me back to health next time I’m the one who’s sick?”

“Anything for my favourite farm-boy.” 

“Your farm-boy.”

His kiss as he settles in bed beside you is almost enough to make you feel better all on its own. 

Leia:

Like mother, like daughter, this woman is a public servant. She may also be a workaholic, but she has her priorities in order and you come before whatever meetings or plans she has for the day.

In fact, the first time you got sick and didn’t tell her, she was hurt. It was C3-PO that had outed you, saying something about you being in your rooms and unable to join in the meeting scheduled that morning when asked where you were. (You knew you shouldn’t have trusted that golden tin can) 

Leia had been on you in seconds, bursting in your room and yelling at you for a whole hour about how stupid it was to suffer in silence. 

“We have medical staff, Y/N, for this exact reason! You’d rather lie here in pain, suffering, when you could have called someone? Or even me? Don’t tell me you’ve been around Han too much, Maker knows I don’t need two stubborn idiots on this base.”

“I love you too, Your Majesty.”

“Shut up or I’ll tell threepio to come and watch you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” 

She would dare, but you were more than happy to put up with the lecture, however, given that she was busy wiping at your brow and tucking you in whilst yelling. That, and you had enough of a headache without threepio making worse. 

It felt rather surreal to think you had royalty waiting on you hand and foot - even if Leia would have yelled again if you said that to her face. She loved you more than anything and made sure to tell you at least once a day. She wasn’t just a princess, she was your partner and that was all that mattered. 

Needless to say, you’d learnt your lesson; whenever you got sick again, you made sure to let Leia know you weren’t feeling great. 

That way she could make sure to keep an eye on you, or assign someone to do so when she was dragged from your side for some super urgent meeting she couldn’t avoid any longer. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Leia. Go. You’re needed. I can survive an hour or so without you, but we all know this base won’t if you don’t get your ass over to mission control.” 

“You have a good point.” 

You chuckle as she steals a kiss before hurrying off to her duties. By the time you wake up from your nap, she’s back again and curled up next to you, watching you out of the corner of her eye whilst she works on the pad in her lap. 

She also sings you little lullabies when you’re sick and can’t sleep. They’re all songs her parents sang to her whenever she got sick as a kid. That alone makes you feel better, sharing something so private with her. 

Long story short, you may hate being sick, but you don’t hate being sick with Leia around to love and care for you. 

[hangmansradio]

Do you ever question ~why~ you write, and find yourself wanting to throw your laptop out of the window because of it?

I write for the MCR fandom and ill be honest, i fell out of love with the fandom a long long time ago (mainly because of the online toxicity). Now, i no longer care about receiving comments or kudos from people in the fandom because it honestly just raises anxiety in me, so I've found myself writing but not posting it anywhere. (Before, kudos and comments especially from regular readers were what motivated me)

There's no other fandom I'm interested in writing in, and I'm past the age now where a new fandom can grab my attention easily- it would really take a lot for that to happen. So I'm at this point where I'm just like... why am I writing and who am I writing for? I'm using Gerard and Frank as characters but I'm so far removed from the fandom that I don't feel connected to it in anyway anymore.

I hate Canon (in terms of tv show fandoms etc) so a bandom is perfect for creative liberties when writing, but I just... feel so unmotivated. And yet, writing is my life, I dont know what I'll do with my free time if I stop.

I know you've spoken before about second guessing your place in the fandom and whether or not it's a space you still want to write in. How do you still continue to write when you feel that way? I know you're currently taking a break, but before that?

If you can't relate to anything I've said in this ask then just disregard it, but I have the feeling you are or have been in a similar position as me and maybe you can offer some words of wisdom 🥺

Oh nonny, I really, really feel for you right now 💜 I am in basically the exact same position as you, more or less. I've been writing in the MCR fandom for fifteen years now (yikes) and it was always such a warm, safe space. But the past couple of years I've slowly noticed that changing, and now, even me as a seasoned writer who KNOWS the fandom so well, am totally disgusted by the thought of posting anything new because the toxicity is at a new level. It's like people will read someone's work now just to find something to complain about, when ✨back in my day ✨ the number one rule was always "don't like something, then hit the back button". I feel like it's become an okay thing now to literally harass authors, which is just awful because we're all writing for free, in our spare time.

Once upon a time you could write about literally anything and know you were safe to post, even back before AO3 and their fantastic tagging system. Back then, you knew there was a chance you could be reading something you disliked every time you clicked on a fic, and that was fine, because you just turned back if that was the case. And that fostered a really great community, where anyone sending hate or being at all negative to an author were very quickly shot down by everyone else reminding them that only THEY, and not the author, are responsible for keeping themselves happy on the internet.

All that being said, I'm not sure I'll ever return to writing MCR fic. Taking this break has been so healing, because I don't miss it at all. I miss writing terribly, and I miss those wonderful readers who would always send love my way, but in general... My mental health is a million times better for getting out. And it would get even better again if I had the heart to completely sever the ties with my AO3 account - just this morning I received another negative comment on a fic and seeing the email notification come through with comments makes me so anxious now. I hate that it's become that way, and the temptation to completely delete my profile is so tempting. But I couldn't do it to those people who still say they get so much joy out of my fic.

So... I'm in a very similar position to you. Writing MCR fic was me. It's what I did every spare moment I had for literally half of my life. So where do we go from here? Personally I'm still figuring it out.

I'm lucky in that I have some fantastic writer friends who still want to read my stuff in private who I can post to. It's not as motivating as that rush of posting online and seeing who likes it, but it's enough. I haven't written anything at all, not a single sentence, since I uploaded Chains made of Gold; but last week one of my real life friends asked if they could help get me out of my writing rut, and requested a Kingsman fic, not to post online but just for them to read. And it's the first time I've felt any sort of motivation to write. Something small, safe and private to share with a friend, that I can handle.

I'm similar to you, in that I find canon difficult to work around because I'm so used to writing whatever I want. But there are no fanfic rules that say you have to stick to canon - the joy of fanfiction is that we don't have to do that! It can be hard getting into a new fandom, but maybe it's worth just a little try?

And for me, as it is for many fic writers, the dream was always to one day write original stories to publish. Recently I've felt like that dream is further away than ever, and maybe I'm just not a writer anymore. But I can't imagine my life without it, writing stories is my passion, and I can't let a toxic fandom destroy that.

So to you nonny, I say this - don't give up. It's easier said than done, I know. Find "real" people who love writing and befriend them, if you don't already know people who might want to read your stuff in private. I'm more than happy for you to send anything my way, be it fanfic or otherwise, and I'll gladly cheerleader for you if it helps keep the writing bug alive. Joining a creative writing group is also a fantastic way to keep motivated and challenge yourself with new ideas - I LOVED the one I was in, but sadly I have no local group now. But if you do, please try it, getting away from the internet communities that are so toxic and into a group of real people, all passionate about writing, is such a healing thing.

We all started writing just for us. Because we loved it. Hold onto that, and take as long a break as you need, and I promise the urge to write will come again 💜

TL;DR The 'point' of writing has always just been to tell those stories inside of us. Don't give up on something you're passionate about, find good people who can be excited about your writing with you and share things with them 💜

[eugenesmorphine]

The Highest Honor // A Ronald Speirs Imagine

@alienoresimagines @alienoresimagines

AN: I am very aware this isn’t historically accurate! I got this idea from a friend of mine and added my own things into it! I apologize if it doesn’t make sense or something, I am trying something new. So please do not hate on it :). And some pieces are in German, in which there are translations with them. If there are any errors, I'm sorry in advance. Also, let me know if you guys want a part two to this, I'm contemplating making a second part.

I slid on that drasted German Officer’s uniform. I was supposed to be a Paratrooper. You know, on the ground with a rifle, taking down groups of Germans. Not becoming a spy to help the French regain Paris back. I pulled my hair back into a neat bun, placing my cap on top of my head. I looked in the mirror, within my body a tinge of shame, It felt wrong wearing the enemy's uniform. Especially as a Jew myself, knowing what the Germans have been doing to my people. I applied a red lipstick. And taking one last glance at myself within the mirror, flattening down the pencil skirt and adjusting the blazer. It sent a large shiver down my spine. To look at myself and see me wearing this uniform, it was sickening. 

I took a deep breath, swallowing hard as I grabbed the door handle. Twisting it and pulling the door open. It seemed as if all of Easy Company was standing outside of my door. My cheeks heated up in the slightest. I kept my chin high. I know they didn’t like seeing me in the uniform, especially Ronald. I glanced at him, trying to make it so no one would notice me catching his eyes.

///

Captain Ronald Speirs and I had been having somewhat of a secret relationship these past few months. I’m aware it sounded dumb. Though, the officer and I were in love. But the rules in the Army were the rules. It didn’t stop us though. To my knowledge only Richard Winters knew about the two of us, and both Ron and I knew he would never say a word. The two of us would barley and even speak during the day. Only in briefings with the rest of the higher rankings. When it came to night time though, when everyone was asleep. Ron and I would sneak out just like teenagers. The two of them would go sit somewhere more private and talk for hours. Or do other things. Like kisses and so on. Oh god was he a good kisser. Behind that rough and scary front he put on, with me, he wasn’t like that. He was actually quite sweet. 

You must be wondering how Ron and I actually came to be what we are now. I showed up to Easy Company, the first female Paratrooper yet. I was a translator, originally supposed to be the secretary and just translating documents. I was trained for combat but I was supposed to stay back with the higher ups. That was until Major Horton actually saw more potential in me. I was put on the line, I stayed with officers mostly on the line and when going into places like Carentan and Bastogne.

I had met Mr. Speirs when we had first Parachuted into Normandy and he was the first man I had linked up with. I remember hearing stories about him, and it was with him where I killed my first set of Germans. We spoke a few words that night, though it was safe to say that after that night, after I saved his ass from a Kraut, I guess that where “we” began. We began getting secretly closer and closer ever since that day. Leading to all our small accomplishments, us sneaking our first kiss inside the empty dining hall late at night, just to have Winters walk in on us. So much has gone on the fast time. I had completely fallen for Ron. And from what he said, he felt that exact same.

///

Now here I was. What seems to be decades later. When I had glanced at Ron for a few seconds, I could see the nervousness etched into his face. One of the French Resistance leaders approached me quickly though, pulling me and the rest of Easy Company along for a quick briefing before this mission.  On the surface, my face was calm and straight forward. My voice is calm and steady. But mentally, I was terrified. God knows what the German’s would do to me if they found out I was a spy. Let alone a Jew. 

“Listen Corporal L/N, we are going to send you in. You are to only speak in German, you are Adeline Lieslotte, you are there as a secretary. You are going in to get as much information about anything and everything you can memorize, take, whatever. Understand?” The man’s French accent was thick. Though, I understood what was needed of me. I nodded in response to him. Gulping as I watched everyone except Ron walk out. I was nervous for what I needed to do in just an hour.  

I watched as Ronald quickly walked over to the open door, looking outside to see if anyone was around. He quickly shut the door. Walked back to me. He immediately cupped my face, pressing his lips against mine. His kiss was so firm, but you could feel the fear from deep within him. I grasped at his messy hair. My fingers raked through his hair. I pulled away from him, looking into his eyes. His face was soft, like a lost puppy almost.

“Please Y/N, please be safe. I can’t lose you too. Come back to me,” he pleaded. His voice was broken up. He was actually worried. Like really worried. I cupped his face, bringing him down to be eye level with me. Looking directly into his eyes.

“I promise you Ronald Speirs, that I will make it back to you,” I promised. Giving him one more peck on the lips before my name was called. I pulled away from him. Flattening my skirt and applying new lipstick. I gave Ronald one last glance before walking out the door. The only sound was my heels clicking against the hardwood floor.  

Now was the time. I was in a Jeep getting to a German building filled to the brim with high end Nazis. I clutched a suitcase in my hand as I hopped out of the jeep and began walking into the building. My heart was pounding and I had thousands of thoughts coursing through my brain. I tried to seem calm on the outside, and it seemed to be working. I began walking through all the different floors, office spaces. Sneaking pieces of documents, reading over small documents, trying to listen in and write down things from conversations. I kept doing this for three hours. It was all going well, until I was approached by which seemed like a high ranking Nazi Officer. I gulped as he approached me.

“Hallo, wie scheint dein Name zu sein? Ich glaube nicht, dass ich dich schon einmal hier gesehen habe?” he asked, (hello, what seems to be your name? I don't think I've seen you here before?). I gulped. Was he on to me?  Play it cool Y/N, you are fine. You got this. Nothing is going to happen. Right? 

“Mein Name ist Adeline Lieselotte, ich wurde als andere Sekretärin hierher gebracht,” I replied (My name is Adeline Lieselotte, I was brought here as another secretary).My german coming out smooth and the accent perfect. 

“Sekretär? Ich wurde nicht über eine neue Sekretärin informiert. Wenn überhaupt, wurde mir mitgeteilt, dass wir mehr als genug davon hatten,” His voice was sceptical (Secretary? I was not informed of a new secretary. If anything I was informed that we had more than enough of them). I felt my anxiety levels start rising. Was I caught? 

“Es tut mir leid, dass niemand Sie informiert hat, Sir. Ich dachte, Sie wurden informiert,” I answered, my words coming out rushed and seemingly nervous (I'm sorry no one had informed you sir, I thought you had been informed). I just screwed myself over. Think of Ronald, go to your happy place. You’re going to make it out of this Y/N and you are going to make it out with the love of your life. I watched as the Nazi officer’s face changed. Into one of the shit eating smirks as if he knew something was up. I was screwed. I mentally began praying.

“Nun, Miss Lieselotte, möchten Sie mit mir einen Spaziergang in die Vorderseite des Gebäudes machen? Ich würde gerne mehr darüber erfahren, wofür Sie sie beauftragt haben,” he said, his voice strangely cherry (Well, Miss Lieselotte, would you like to take a walk with me out into the front of the building? I would like to know more of what you were assigned you to do). I swallowed hard and put on a smile. Clutching my suitcase in my hand tightly. I knew exactly what he was doing. The Nazis already knew that us Americans were around this perimeter, but just didn’t know where. I knew that Easy Company was hidden around the thick forests in front of the building, waiting for me to return safely. They must know that too. Shit. 

I followed the officer outside. The cold air hit my face and it sent a shiver throughout my entire body. And as soon as I went to walk down those stairs, I felt a hard shove from two hands placed into the center of my back. I went flying forward, my small frame hitting each step. I felt my knee get a hard and large scrape across it, the warm blood trickling down my knee. I’m finished. My body hit the snowy ground, it already ached from the hard fall down the many marble and rock stairs. Though, I put my hands beneath my body and pressed myself upwards. I was about to stand up before I felt a hard leather boot right in my ribcage. A loud yelp left my lips as I rolled over on my side , clutching it. For sure at least one rib was broken.

“You think I wouldn’t find out you stupid American? You think the others didn’t see you grabbing our documents and listening in our conversations? You Americans are even dumber than we thought,” he spoke in English. It was broken up and his German accent was strong with it. I looked up at him, Panting as I tried to stand once more. This time I felt his leather gloves first collide with my cheek. The force knocked me right back down. I thought I was seeing birds flying around my head. I looked back up at him, he had an evil smirk plastered onto his face. I then looked to the tree line. Knowing my Easy Company was there watching me. I tried looking hard into the thick brush of the trees and bushes. I could see them. I could see my men. Their eyes filled with horror as they began watching me getting beaten. 

I felt my Garrison cap be ripped off and the hair on top of my head being gripped into the officer’s fist. He yanked it back, arching my head up. He got close into my ear and whispered, “I know your little friends are out there, why don’t you just tell me where your camp is? All of this will be over if you just work with us,” as he turned my head towards the woods. He squeezed my cheeks with his free hands, making the blood that had filled my mouth drip on to my chin and into the snow. I would never give my men’s position away. No matter what. I just stayed quiet, and when the Nazi demanded an answer once more. I used my eyes to look at him.

“Fick dich,” I responded, biting down hard onto his hand (Fuck You). He yelled out in pain, slamming my head down into the snow. I watched as he grabbed onto his now bleeding hand. I spit blood onto his boot and stood myself up. My legs wobbled beneath me, but I held my ground. “I can take it,” I yelled. Loud enough for the rest of Easy to hear me. I wasn’t really scared anymore. It must’ve been the adrenaline. 

I watched as the Officer looked up at me, his evil smirk changed into a look of pure anger. He walked up to me and socked me right in the eye. That would surely bruise. I stumbled backwards, bringing my hand up to the eye that was just hit. “Just tell me where they are, and I’ll maybe spare you,” he said, his thick accent spilling out of his mouth. I just stared at him, not a word leaving my bleeding lips. My silence did not please him. The large officer then grabbed my neck and slammed me against one of the German trucks. His hand tightened around my throat, leaving me slightly gasping for air. I brought my hands up to try to hit his hand off my throat. His free hand reached up and slugged me in the nose. My head snapped to the right from the force. I could feel warm blood begin flowing down my face. I coughed on the blood, making it spray on the abusers face. I kept gasping for air, my head began to seemingly spin. I watched weakly as his hand went up and he hit me again. And then again. And then again. Each hit felt harder than the last.

I weakly looked back at the Officer. Both from lack of oxygen and the amount of times I had just been slugged. My eyebrow had been split open along with my lip, my mouth was pouring blood along with my nose. I watched weakly as he raised his hand again, not even flinching as he cocked his arm back, ready to strike. Though, I just closed my eyes, waiting for the blow. But it all cut short from a huge explosion coming from inside their base. What the hell was going on. My eyes opened heavily, the officer’s fist was still in the air as he looked in the direction of the explosion. I followed with the same actions. I was just as confused. He dropped me onto the ground and ran into what looked like the burning remains of the building I was just sneaking around in. Screams and cries of pain, and Germans running out into the snow engulfed in flames. Then gunshots rang off. I was deliriously on the ground, trying to push my now broken feeling body up. But my arms were so tired and they hurt so bad, I couldn’t get myself up. I began trying to crawl. What a pathetic sight that must’ve been. I watched as boots ran past me, like they were going into the fire.

I looked up. It was Easy Company! Or was the multiple blows to my brain bucket catching up to me. I heard someone calling my name. It sounded so foggy and static it seemed. I looked up, once more trying to get myself up, but once again failing. My eyes met with his. It was my Ronald. Oh god was I happy he was here. His face was softened, and so worried. How bad did I look? 

“Oh my god, Doll. You are going to be okay baby, Doc’s going to get you all patched up. I promise,” he tried to reassure me. I nodded, coughing up more blood. “I knew I shouldn’t of let you go on this stupid mission,” he muttered angrily, carrying me in bridal style. I felt so tired, I could barely even hold my arms up to gently wrap them around Ron’s neck.  My eyes got so heavy, I could barely keep them open. I felt a light hand tap my face as I could feel Ronald’s pace quicken. I opened my eyes to see his gaze, his worried filled gaze. “Come on Y/N, stay awake, you got this,” he begged. I nodded, swallowed. It was like the blood kept filling my mouth and blood kept dripping down my face. It made me feel so gross. 

Ronald got me to Doc Roe just minutes later. They laid me down on a table and that's when it all went dark. I was just so tired, I couldn;t keep my eyes open for the life of me. I hope Ronald wasn’t upset with me. Now I was left in silence, in my own thoughts. Why was there an explosion? That wasn’t the plan I was told at all. What would've happened if I was still inside? Oh I have a few words to pick with the person that ordered our Flyboys and bombers. I was going to let them have it. But for now, maybe a little sleep won’t hurt. 

///

My eyes blinked open. I don’t think I’ve ever had more of a painful migraine in my life. I propped myself up, feeling a sharp pain from within my ribcage. Causing me to wince and place a free hand on the area. Looking down to see my torso, tightly wrapped white bandages around my ribs. I sighed as I looked around the little aid station. The bitter cold within the room told me that I never left. I spotted a familiar officer laying uncomfortably in a chair in the corner of the little room I was in. He was out cold. Visibly being able to see the exhaustion exteched onto his features. My face softened at the sight. Though, my attention was grasped on someone else when the person walked in, clearing their throat. I looked up and no other than Doc Roe. He gave me a slight nod in which I returned before he walked over next to me. 

“You seem like you are recovering well. You had two broken ribs, severe concussion, the inner linings of your throat were swollen and bruised, a break in your wrist, and a small break in your femur, split lip, lucky your nose wasn’t broken, eyebrow was split open, bruises on you cheek and temple, cheek has a cut. Though, along with other minor problems, everything was taken care of. I heard from Winters that you might be getting a medal from riskin’ your life getting all those documents. Especially keeping quiet when that Nazi officer was beating you like no tomorrow. All the information you received in that suit case of yours was obtained and boy was it useful. Hell, some of it might help end the war!” this was the most I’ve ever heard Roe speak in a conversation. There was so much he said, and so fast. I had so many injuries, but a medal? Why in the hell was I going to get a medal? What kind of medal? So many thoughts had begun spinning through my mind, I had only just woken up about five minutes ago. What the hell was going on. Most importantly, I wanted to know why in the hell did that place blow up! Was nobody else wondering this? Like at all? I shook it off, I didn’t really care anymore at this moment. I was more worried about the fact I was getting a medal.

Soon after, Ronald woke up. Getting up so fast he nearly fell over. I swung my legs over to one side of my cot. Watching as the Captain ran over to me, cupping my face and kissing me. “I thought I lost you,” he stated quietly, placing his forehead on top of mine. Roe piped in once more.

“He has been sitting in that chair the entire time. Not leaving the room once,” he said, walking out of the room. I looked at Ron, his cheeks reddening. I smiled, laughing softly and kissed him once more.

“I’m guessing everyone knows about us now?” I asked, scratching the back of my neck. He chuckled, pulling away from me. He sat next to me and nodded. It wasn’t too big of a problem with me, it was kind of nice actually. “It’s alright Ron, I’m just happy you’re okay,” I said, holding his hand softly.

“Me?!” he exclaimed. “I’m happy you’re okay! I thought I lost you. I had to watch you get beaten like that, I couldn't even yell out to you. And when the miscommunication with our Flyboys and the bombers, I thought I really had lost you. What if you had been inside that building? What would I do without you,” he sighed. I could tell he was stressed about all this, putting so much pressure onto himself.I felt terrible. He was really tearing himself apart, I could just tell by how he looked. I gave his hand a squeeze. He looked up at me. “They are putting you in for the Medal of Honor,” he stated. My eyes grew wide and my mouth hung open. The Medal of Honor? For what? I don’t in any way deserve that high of an honor. Or any honor.

“Why me?” I asked in disbelief. I was being put in for the Military's highest honor. In every branch, there aren’t many that receive this honor. I was terrified for some reason. I didn’t know how to act and or what to do. I came into this war as a translating secretary for Easy Company, and now somehow, I was receiving the Medal of Honor. I took a deep breath, staring forward at the wall. Just trying to take in all of the information. 

“The reason why you are receiving it is because you went into the Nazi filled building, being a Jewish American who speaks German for starters, as a spy. You showed up to be a translator and secretary. You weren’t even supposed to be on the line and or closer to changer than a minimal amount. Then here you were, volunteering to go into an environment that you know you could easily die and or get captured in. You were able to get so much intel with stealing copies of documents, listening to conversations and writing notes, taking pictures, we now have a huge upper hand that the Nazis don’t know about. You got caught, and even being beaten so bad, you didn’t give out our position. You nearly died while Doc was stitching you up. You had so much head trauma, blood loss, and your throat almost swollen shut. Though, I knew you knew that you could’ve died in the hands of that man or on that table, but you knew what you were sacrificing. You knew that no sacrifice was too great. That is why you are getting the Medal of Honor. Horton is showing up here along with one of the Generals, I just know that you’ll be getting the Medal the day we leave to get on the ships when the war is over. In front of everyone,” I gulped, looking at my lap. This was all happening so fast. Was the war being close to ending? I sighed, clutching my lover’s hand. I looked over at him.

“As long as I am with you, Captain Ronald Speirs, I don’t care where I go, what I do, and or what I get, as long as I have you in my life I’m content with life,” I answered. He leaned in and kissed me, tracking his hand up into my hair. I felt his amazing smile against my lips as I brought my hands to his face. I was speaking the truth, as long as I am with him, I was happy no matter what. I could care less if I got that Medal now or in twenty years, I have Ronald. That is way more important to me.

[theseagull16]

A while ago I started reading this online comic called shadowbound I will not spoil what it's about but it involves half human half dragon hybrid living in a house the comic belong to anisopterror the artwork is fantastic and you should check out her site unfortunately I'm not 100% sure how to make a link so you have to look it up recently I had an idea you see I have this habit of constantly thinking of stories due to my creativity and imagination the stories are involving characters I read online characters characters are reading books characters are made up movie characters and even superheroes I combine them all together to make an interesting funny mind stories they keep me entertained when I'm bored and don't have anything else to do or constantly in fact whilst I'm writing this l probably thinking of a story right now.😂 the problem is it's very hard for me to write the stories down because my mind works faster than my hands and I have a terrible memory and also I have a apolling ability to write and l right so slowly to that the time I write down the first chapter it would have took me all day I find this to be annoying but I find the stories I think of very entertaining but today I decided to finally put one of these stories into reality with a character I actually sort of years ago and thought of many stories with her with characters that rains to Godzilla to robin from batman you can imagine I thought of stories involving this comic and my character and name she is lotus thorns I originally thought of her doing a task in secondary school a couple of years ago we had the think of superheroes I didn't put her down but eventually l thought of evolved into a character that uses kindness over muscle and has ability to talk to animals I will tell you now her back story and how this involves this character and his name is whylon who's a character from this comic

lotus thorns

Born to a Chinese mother and an American photo who was a businessman until he sold his business to a find peace in his life lotus thorns what's the second child after her sister lotus flower who by the way is the exact opposite of her and she is order by one year she had a quite a normal life living in the countryside in China until tragedy struck at the age of 5 and her sister was 6 a house fire killed both their parents leaving lotus thorns and her sister orphaned and forced to live with their grandfather their mother's father although there grandfather was old but he was extremely kind and love both his granddaughter's unconditionally coincidentally he was also a master of kung fu and other ancient to fighting methods and fought that to protect his granddaughter's they should learn how to defend themselves they were excellent students and picked up fighting very quickly lotus flower was an expert fighter and become very aggressive lotus thorns on the other hand order respected and did her grandfather's lessons very well see sorted was easier and nicer to try to find an alternative way to fight in a personality extremely kind and hates violence he gets extremely upset when anything or anyone gets hurt in the same time he started playing with animals a grandfather did not find this bad seeing rabbit and butterflies that live in the garden were kind but lotus thorns started to see creatures as equal beans and did not hurt them she starts to become very upset every time she went to the market and was dead animal meat thinking of the poor creatures that they know their fate and she thought it wasn't right or fair and if she could she would stop them for being meet eventually she really did stop animals from being hurt weather is feeding hungry animals to stop them hunting or releasing chickens from a market place to stop them being chicken meat she got in trouble but she believed it was for the greater good and she didn't find it as a bad thing seeing that no living thing got hurt or injured she earned the nickname the living angel in her hometown from the fact that she care for all living things and not from guilt or from her own benefit it was for truly caring about other living creatures where there is human or beast being so close to animals she eventually developed this unique ability to talk to animals and some say it was because she sees herself as not separate creature to mother nature but lives with mother nature and sees every other creature as an equal Friday's at 10 she completely stopped eating meat from the fact see cannot bear to think that the creature she's eating might have been a animal she new and talk to she dedicated her life to helping others where the human or beast she has the unique ability to bring the good side of people out and sees the good in everyone where do it's criminal to just people who are upset she always brings a happy true feelings to people and doesn't judge people by either there looks all the past the same goes with animals she can make a man eating lion into a loving caring pussy cat in less than 10 minutes to other people it's impossible only she can make it possible with her kind voice and loving personality animals care for her that day run to her if even if they don't know her and she can understand them and listen to the difficulties and help them properly as she can unfortunately her grandfather at the age of 17 died she was extremely upset and didn't talk to anyone other than her animals they say the whole forest surrounding her house every living creature was sad and looked sad because they care about her so much and felt her pain she moved to America because she needed more space to look after her animals and a house was simply not big enough and no other place was big enough she open a sanctuary for all creatures big and small helping them whether it's for a home a physical health mental health and therapy or just needing friendship

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

I Am Not Living, I Am Surviving Hug Me Michael x Reader

Warnings: this theme deals with depression and thoughts of suicide which could be triggering for some.

A/N: as someone that deals with depression I felt compelled to post this. Michael helps Y/N during her depressive episode, the reader (much like me tends to shut people out especially when things get difficult so I feel this on a personal level). Hope you guys take the time to read this as it is kinda personal for me, thanks guys and please let me know what you think. Note the lyrics used are from Britta Phillips version of the song Drive

//who's gonna tell you when

it's too late

who's gonna tell you things

aren't so great

you can't go on

thinking nothing's wrong

who's gonna drive you home tonight//

I was not alone, that there was someone somewhere who was able to articulate the seething, jumbled, brutal, pre-linguistic, thrashing, writhing, hazing, dulling pounding in my head. It wasn't just me. That single thought was the most important thing in the world to me, sometimes the one thing that kept me alive – a single false note of optimism would have shattered it all for me, left me thinking yes, it really is just me – the words people offer me really are just that, words, the hope they contain utterly irrelevant because they relate to an experience that is not mine.

‘I put on a brave front' it had been so easy to hide how I truly felt, laugh, joke act like I was completely fine. But truth was I knew deep down inside I wasn't masking it would only work for so long. I was rapidly sliding deeper and deeper into a very dark space. My symptoms got worse and soon I found it too difficult to even get up and out of bed in the morning.

‘You feel nothing. You shut down completely. There is no happiness, no sadness, nothing. You feel zero.’ Depression is not something that can be brushed away with a smile, or shooed away with a pat on the back. It’s something more deeper and profound. There’s no gadget to test which person is suffering from what type of depression, and there’s no instrument to measure the extent of depression.

Statistics say that as many as 1 in 4 of us will experience a mental health problem at some point in our lives. That means you know someone—probably several someones—with depression, anxiety, an eating disorder or something else. Isolation can have a crushing effect on a lot of people. Some people thrive on it, but humans on the whole are a social bunch and need to interact with others. When that isn’t possible, it’s easy to feel that the walls are closing in. But honestly all I was good at doing is pushing people away, I am afraid if they get to close if they see really see what I am going through that they might abandon me because it may end up being way too much for them.

I kept a diary somehow it felt safer to write down my thoughts, the one person I should be honest with is Michael but I honestly couldn't bring myself to do it. Would he be hurt? Would he hate me? So many thoughts in the back of my mind I pushed them away. I scribbled furiously in the journal and tossing it aside. Normally I hid it under a loose floorboard in our bedroom but on this night not giving it so much as a second thought I feel asleep journal wide open. Y/N didn't hear Michael when he walked in, he looked at you you were fast asleep. He noticed the leather bound book that laid open by your sleeping form. He didn't want to invade your privacy but something alerted him that something was on deed wrong. He looked at the small paragraph scrawled on the page, his face froze in fear at the words before him.

Dear Michael.

I've been thinking about ending my life. I don't know why I can't talk to you in person, so I bought this Diary in the case that I do end up killing myself you will know why I did what I did and that you cannot blame yourself. Michael you are the reason I am still here. for now. But the voices in my head are so strong and the pain that it is inflicting on me everyday, one more thing and I feel like I won't be able to hold on, but I will for you Michael  I will try my best for you.

Yours Truly,

Y/F/N Y/L/N

Depression is a hole and I'm slowly falling in trying to claw out and everyone I love is just standing there watching. Honestly I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep 'acting’ like I was ok when deep down inside I wanted to end it, quiet the voices leave the pain behind that quite frankly I felt like I was drowning in.

I opened my eyes I don't know how long I had been asleep or even what time it was. I looked to see Michael's concerned expression his piercing blue eyes felt like they had penetrated my soul. There my journal sat in his lap, Michael let out a breath attempting to steady himself. “Why won't you talk to me Y/N, tell me that something was wrong?” I couldn't even open up my mouth to speak it was like I lost all nerve to even respond. My first instinct was to bolt, I sat up quickly turning my body away from him. I wasn't able to even make it to the edge of the bed, Michael grabbed my arm “Y/N please talk to me don't shut me out!”

Michael's breathing started to get heavier as his eyes started to well up. Y/N  looked at Michael, saying nothing. He wondered what she was thinking. Finally, after a few moments, she started sobbing, and she leaned into him. Michael immediately pulled her into his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder, and struggling not to cry himself. ‘I was tired of feeling helpless. I had to do something, anything.’ ‘I remember that exact moment as the one where I started to feel good about myself again, I just wish it could've lasted longer…

There was another moment of silence, this one longer than the last, "I tried to tell myself that you'd get better, that you would get back to normal  but the truth is I didn't know that. I didn't know if you'd get better, you can't keep doing this to yourself Y/N, what if I never see you again! And the thought of everyone else just going on with their lives made me sick! So yeah,I am angry, and I am scared…  I didn't know what the fuck I am supposed to do!" Michael's voice finally broke as tears streamed down his face. Y/N, with tears in her own eyes, finally stood up. She pressed her forehead against Michael's and placed her hands on the sides of his head. ‘But most of all, I knew, come what may, I had at least one safe harbor.’ I looked up at Michael the look was unmistakable.

‘I'll never forget what I saw at that moment, looking into Michael's eyes.’

‘He loved me. This sweet, perfect man… loved me.’

After staring at him for another moment that seemed to last forever, she finally leaned in and kissed him. He quickly began kissing her back. The two of them continued this until it started to grow more heated, with the two of them running their hands over each other, and Michael kissing along the side of her neck.

He pulled back after a minute and looked at her.

"Are you… are you sure this is okay?" he asked, breathing heavily.

Y/N gave Michael a smile.

"I'm sure," I  said.

‘That wasn't entirely true. I wasn't sure, or rather I wasn't sure if I was sure.but I didn't know if that made a difference. I knew I wanted it to be okay this time.’

The two of them resumed, even more passionately this time. They began removing clothes and letting their hands roam over more of more of each other…

‘More than anything, I wanted it to be okay this time. I remember thinking, please, please, let it be okay this time.’

Michael continued kissing Y/N, who leaned her head back as the feelings came over her…

‘But it wasn't okay’

I inhaled sharply…

‘It was perfect.’

2 weeks later…

"How is Y/N?" Gallant ask, suddenly looking at Michael with concern on his  face.

Michael hesitated. He  came here to help Gallant with an issue with his salon , not unload his  own worries onto him. Still, lying to him didn't feel right either.

"I don't know, really," Michael  finally said. "She just doesn't seem to want to open up. I know she's been having a really hard time." Michael gave Gallant  a slight smile. “I think it's just going to take time.” Gallant responded softly.

‘The day were getting... bearable.’

‘So were the days after that, and the next after that.’

‘Michael found me a new doctor. A bit further away, but worth the trip. I was able to open up to her a little.’

‘Still, I couldn't shake this feeling that there was something I was supposed to do, but at first, I couldn't figure out what it was.’

‘But gradually I started to notice something…’

‘...something I couldn't shake once I noticed them.,

‘The signs.’

‘The ones most people didn't see. The ones no one saw in me until it was almost too late.’

Michael  wiped one last tear rolling down his face and closed his eyes.

“Please live for me Y/N," he said, softly. “Stay with me, I love you."

Y/N sighed in relief.

‘All I could do after that was live.’

Michael pulled me close to him tightly I could hear his heartbeat, a steady reminder to live

//Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.//

Mahatma Gandhi

[thistherapylife]

I know your mother had untreated BPD & that for awhile you had trouble interacting with people with BPD as a result & it was something you were afraid you wouldn't be able to work with. I'm curious how you got past that. I'm very open about the fact that I have BPD but have found that a lot of people will assume things about me because of it and I've had a couple friendships fall apart because of friends whose parents had untreated BPD. It's frustrating and hurtful because I'm in treatment (z 1)

& dealing with my issues. I highly value self-improvement. I actually find that it seems like I’m working harder on myself than many of the people who are judging me for my disorder. I really believe that speaking openly about mental health is how we remove stigma in the long-run. But in the short-term, I’m finding that people aren’t giving me the benefit of the doubt & are assuming things about me that just aren’t true. I’m wondering how you got past that, so I could get some insight? Thanks!

Oh boy. First, I think it’s very admirable that you are seeking help. It’s hard! And a that’s a lot. 

Chances are you are not going to like my answer. Because you are asking about the personal, I’m asking in the personal. Not in the professional world. Clinically, I was afraid I’d have too much counter transference and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to  separate my personal experience from my professional self. My answer might be hard to read. It contains explicit descriptions of child abuse and suicidal ideation. Again this is the time to get off the ride if you you are in a place where negative experiences with someone with untreated BPD or child abuse. Chances are I’m going to get a lot of hate mail (note: I’ll just delete it) but I hope that this random response is helpful. It makes me nervous to share all of this. It’s not easy for me but I’m trying.

It wasn’t a while. It was decades. Literally, I’ve made this shift in last 3-4 years. It’s new. If someone in my social circle disclosed they had BPD before we come friends, I don’t know if I would stick around which is the exact issue you are dealing with. I would have to overcome a lot of my own responses and it’s a fuck ton of work for me. 

Would my mom have been abusive if she hadn’t had BPD? I can’t answer that. I don’t know. But I know the two are entwined for her. The abusive elements of my childhood that have stuck with me the longest are all around the more typical symptoms of  BPD (fear of abandonment, feelings of emptiness, extreme emotional swings, explosive anger, paranoia, suicidality). I can’t express how bad it was. I can’t express how hard it is was. I couldn’t have emotions or desires. I can’t get comfort or have needs. {Proofreading this made me realize I slipped tenses. I’m leaving it in. It’s hard to talk about it} I wished for death early and often because my life was so painful and frightening. I felt like my mom was going to die and that it was my fault. Why wouldn’t I believe my mom right?  Her attitude and her interactions with me meant that other abuse wasn’t uncovered for years because who could I tell? It was chaotic and terrifying. I’d take her when she was hit me any day over years of psychological abuse. She’s threaten suicide. She left me places as punishment. She drove away when I “didn’t listen.” She told me my chronic pain didn’t exist.

Literally, I remember having a panic attack when I was in elementary school because I couldn’t stop myself from crying on the way home from school because there was no way for me to know what would happen. Would my mom blame me? Try and kill herself? Comfort me only to use the information later against? I got blamed for freezing her out and told that I could “Make your own damn food. I should make you walk home. You don’t know how lucky you have it. You know what? DON’T EVER COME TO ME FOR ANYTHING EVER AGAIN. I can’t believe I have such an ungrateful daughter. What did I ever do to deserve this awful child? You’d be happy if I killed myself. I don’t want to hear your response - I know how you feel. Leave me alone. Go live with your father”  By the morning, she greeted me like nothing had happened. I was no more than 10.

This is the smallest snippet of the first 14 years of my life. When I am in a social setting and start experiencing any of these things, my instinct is to run for the hills because I got out. I’m not getting back in. It takes a lot to swallow those protective instincts and make a different choice in my personal life especially when I’ve worked so hard for those boundaries and have to do a lot of this stuff professionally. I’ve had a ton of therapy. I feel like I’m a pretty good person who had long lasting, nurturing and loving relationships in a lot of different areas. But getting here was so much fucking work thanks to my history. I spent the first year of my relationship terrified to tell my partner when I was really upset with them. It’s still hard. 

Off the top of my head, I have three friends with BPD, one I’ve known since I was 12, one I met two years ago and an online friend part of larger friend circle. I’m pretty close to the first (invites to the house, lunches, etc.) and the second is in between acquaintance and friend. Friend 1 is in recovery, Friend 2 is working on it (ish) and Friend 3 is at the earliest treatment stages. I still have very strong boundaries. I have to limit myself with anyone in my social circle who needs constant emotional or physical needs (obviously I’m not talking about recovering from a loss or a surgery or even a bad year for friends who have I been friends with for a long) because I can’t just give and give - Its work to maintain the close and loving friendships, the mentoring with young people I do, the other kids in my life, my partner AND still take care of myself. And I love my job you know? I have to have space for that and I don’t when I’m getting 3 am phone calls and texts. I don’t hate or judge the folks in those positions. I just can’t handle it in my personal life often. That is 100% on me NOT on them. None of the people mentioned above are abusive towards me. But sometimes I find myself very triggered and have to give myself space. I get that impulse that says that “this is dangerous and someone is trying to use you.” 

This is NOT to say that you, or anyone else, with BPD in treatment, don’t deserve lasting friendships. You do. You absolutely deserve supportive friends. And I bet your work your ever-loving bum off to make changes to your life. I bet you will find them. It just might not be with particular subset of people who have an untreated BPD parent. I can’t speak to anyone else’s experience of an untreated BPD mom - just me. But I can hypothesize that fear and history are a huge part of it. These prospective friends might not be in a place to hear that you are in a different place than their experience. They may be assuming that their historical experience is what will happen now and be afraid. It takes me a while to figure out and I’ve done a fuck ton of work. Everyone gets to make the choices that keep themselves safe. 

Please be gentle with yourself. Keep working, keep trying - you might want to explore some of the issues around the friendships and how to navigate that with your current therapist.