#and my mental illness and having to fight it every single day and believe me when I say that it's a fight

[skinnypaleangryperson]

The combination of being used as an adult and being told that this is the rest of my life, and not being able to afford my dreams of a family and never being creatively successful even in a mediocre local way has spewed my brain out into mental disorders that I didn't even know existed and has unfortunately affected the way that I can healthily navigate social media. One of these days I'm going to get smart enough again and I'm not going to come on here and spew out every possible issue or insecurity and I'm going to obtain basic sense and a sense of individuality and confident core sentiment again, unfortunately, not anytime soon

[growing-home]

i spent nearly two decades of my life severely depressed and suicidal and for so long i believed wholeheartedly that it was my fault. i believed that the reason no medication or therapy had ever worked for my depression was because i wasn’t ACTUALLY depressed— i believed i was just lazy, bad, manipulative, and just using depression as an excuse for the inherent badness i thought was inside me. this was a story that was told to me and reinforced over and over again by treatment providers.

this past summer, i tried my 30th+ psychiatric medication, not expecting to see any results. the day i realized it was working was the day i realized that i was…planning my future???suddenly i no longer wanted to stay in bed all day and never go outside. i no longer wanted to isolate. i wanted to see people, talk to people! i started spending more time with friends and facetiming people and talking on the phone, things that i rarely did in the past. when i had been depressed, the only movies/tv shows i could focus on were super intense, fast paced, and scary or disturbing because that was the only way to hold my attention. after starting this medication, i started enjoying SITCOMS! i no longer felt like i was fighting to just get through every single day of my life.

there was such a clear and measurable difference in the quality of my life that i started to question why i believed that my depression had been my fault. it became very clear to me that a large part of my depression had been biological. i had not been lazy or bad. i had been sick. my brain was sick the same way other organs get sick sometimes. this brought up a lot of grief for me— grief for all the lost time that i’d spent trying to find something that worked, grief for how much pain i had been in for so long. but it also brought up sheer FURY at all of the therapists and psychiatrists who had treated me like i just wasn’t trying hard enough to get better.

i had been labeled treatment resistant, of course, and the only recommendations i had received after being given that label were TMS, Ketamine, and ECT. once i had tried all three with no success, i believed i was just a lost cause. i thought i was out of options. i was made to feel that way by so many treatment professionals. i was told that nothing was working because of my complex trauma and that once i healed from that then i would stop being depressed (as if it’s that easy to just fully recover from CPTSD!) i was told that i just needed to do more DBT, i just needed to live and breathe DBT skills and then i would get better, even though i’d done intensive DBT programs for years with no improvement to my depression. (yes, it helped me to change my behavior and quit self harm, but behavior change isn’t necessarily indicative of a change in mood. i could do all the right things all the time and still be in excruciating mental pain.)

i was told that i just wasn’t trying hard enough, or that i must have a personality disorder, or that i just needed to exercise more, or eat less, or eat MORE, or eat differently, or get a job, or get a dog, or do yoga, or acupuncture, or biofeedback, or find purpose in my life— psychiatrist after psychiatrist looked for something to blame everywhere but in the mirror. instead of admitting that they weren’t equipped to help me, they made me believe that it was MY fault i wasn’t getting better. and i believed them. for SO long, i believed them.

and now after finding a medication that works for me, i see everything so much more clearly. psychiatrists need to put their enormous egos aside and actually treat patients with treatment resistant depression instead of blaming us for suffering from a (partially at least) biological illness. if you’re a doctor and you know that a patients illness is outside of the scope of your abilities, either do more research and get more training to help them or refer them to someone who specializes in what they need. don’t keep them around letting them pay you thousands of dollars while you make them try the same thing over and over and over again and expect to get a different result. people act like things like ECT are a last resort option, and in doing so make people believe that if it doesn’t help then you’re out of options. but nobody ever tried me on tricyclics. nobody tried me on MAOIs. nobody told me about how some dopamine agonists like Pramipexole have had some success in treating treatment resident depression. instead i was made to feel like asking to not be suicidal daily was asking for too much. if you’re a clinician who thinks that’s asking for too much, you’re in the wrong profession. we can do better than that. we NEED to do better than that.

in my experience, out of every profession, doctors have some of the biggest egos i’ve ever seen. i say this as someone who is both mentally ill as well as physically disabled. many doctors HATE it when you do your own research. they HATE it when you have suggestions, or when you ask for what you need. it’s almost as if they feel threatened by it, like they need to believe that they are superior to their patients because of how much time and money and energy they put into going to med school— they need to believe they hate their hard work was worth it so they have a tendency to dismiss any ideas their patients might have. i don’t care how many years you’ve been in school. you do not get to tell your sick patients that it’s their fault they’re sick to justify your laziness and refusal to learn new things. put away your god complex and actually listen to your patients.

and the strangest part to me is that the longer you have been suicidal for, the less seriously they take it. the same way that the more chronically ill you are the less people believe you. it’s bizarre— when people see pain that is beyond what they can fathom, instead of feeling empathy, they tell you you must be faking it or that you must be looking for attention. i’ll never understand this. it’s as if they think that suicidality doesn’t need to be taken seriously unless the patient has successfully completed suicide. and i think it’s very clear how that logic is flawed. i was treated like i just wanted attention whenever i asked for help with my chronic suicidality and it made me terrified to ask for help with ANYTHING. i still constantly am afraid that if i’m too honest with clinicians then they’ll think i just want attention. attention isn’t a bad thing to want, all human beings need some degree of attention, but regardless that doesn’t negate the severity of a person’s suicidality. i wasn’t attention seeking by asking for help. i was STRONG. i was really fucking strong, far stronger than i should’ve had to be. i fought for my life every single day and i am lucky to still be here but it’s not luck that got me here. it’s ME that got me here.

i don’t want to make it sound like i speak for everyone who has suffered from TRD, because i don’t think that would be fair. i can’t tell you if there’s a med out there that’ll work for you. all i can tell you is that most psychiatrists prematurely tell chronically suicidal patients that there is nothing they can do to help them or that they’re out of medication options. if you’re a psychiatrist or doctor and you feel yourself getting defensive while reading this, i invite you to get curious about where that activation is coming from.

and if you are someone with treatment resident depression or chronic suicidality reading this, i am telling you now: your illness is not your fault. i don’t know if it’s going to get better or not, but i can promise you— it is not your fault and it never has been.

[petit-etoile]

Astarion/Tav prompt (or Reformed Durge): "I would have you smile again. You will live to see these days renewed. No more despair." I know it's a Lord of the Rings quote but gosh if it doesn't remind me of them ;-;

this  is  the  end  of  the  world ( a  time  for  something  biblical  )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 5,219 content warnings: canonical mentions of death, spoilers for the dark urge storyline & astarion's act iii romance, graphic mentions of injuries, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, mental health issues & physical ramifications from the tadpole + rejecting bhaal, i highly recommend listening to the exogenesis symphony by muse other tags: canon compliant,  canon-typical violence,  character study,  introspection,  hurt/comfort,  whump,  canon temporary character death,  the dark urge as player character,  codependency,  religious imagery & symbolism,  p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added to the taglist here

summary:  ‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Your life is mine,’ he says, cruel eyes gazing at you. ‘Accept your inheritance, or I will reclaim it.’

‘I would rather die,’ you say.

His hateful eyes narrow dangerously. It was never a good idea to betray a god, nonetheless one who had created you so lovingly. His voice is a low growl when he dismisses you  —  and suddenly, white-hot pain shoots through your veins and threatens to swallow you whole. Bhaal raises his hand and your blood obeys.

‘You were made to conquer,’ he snarls. ‘To devour!’

‘I don’t need any of this,’ you spit out. ‘I don’t need you. The only family  —  I know are those who fight by my side! I will not be what you made me!’

The sickness in your belly surges until you think it will overcome you. You stagger forward until your knees hit the stone floor. Bhaal is forcing you to submit, to become what he had made Orin. This thing won’t have you, Astarion whispers against the curve of your ear. It won’t win. You’ve got this, darling. And I’ve got you. You want to believe him, but your blood-kin has done damage beyond repair. What were children beyond the sins of their father?

‘You reject my blood?’ Bhaal asks.

‘Yes,’ you whisper.

‘Then I shall reclaim it,’ he says, his promise a growl in his throat.

You were your father’s seed cultivated to perfection by determination and bravery. Now, you were nothing more than a disappointment to be snuffed out root and stem. You choke on the warmth in your throat. Your veins seem to have exploded beneath your skin. You sneeze, red oozing from every orifice.

‘I will make another who is worthy,’ says Bhaal, lifting his hand.

As he raises his hand, you are forced to kneel. Every single one of your muscles contracts in agony. The others might be shouting but you can hardly hear them over the roaring in your ears. Your blood is rejecting you. Festering inside your flesh like a disease. Like the skeleton carved into the wall, you weep blood down your neck. No matter how hard you try to close your eyes to prevent it, your rich ichor abandons you.

No, you want to tell him. The rot of his blood will end with you as it had with Orin. The abomination of murder will never set forth and harm another. You reach for the dagger at your hip and raise it, but the Avatar of Bhaal dissipates before you can strike. The weight of your body collapses  forward.

Like a wounded beast, you keen loudly, shaking your head as if that will free your ears from the blood inside of them. You were born from this blood. You were created by this blood to be who you are today. Rejecting it should be like a sin  —  but if sin is a seed, you have eaten it willingly from the hand of mortality. If Bhaal is to reject you, then you will reject his godhood.

You close your eyes as blood overtakes your sight. You press your forehead into the stone to fight your fever. You shiver and gasp. You gargle on the proof of vitriol and lean into the chilled floor, resigned to your fate. At least you wouldn’t become a mindflayer…

“No!” Astarion wails. Your heart shatters. ‘No, please  —  Not you!’

I’m sorry, you say. You close your eyes and remember the color of the sun in his hair. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This isn’t what I wanted. Your fingers curl against the stone, and then  —  There’s nothing. Astarion touches the sleepless bruises beneath your eyes with such tenderness you forget his strength. You lean your cheek into his palm and sigh sleepily, but even as exhaustion overtakes your body, you shudder. You’re afraid to sleep, to dream. You don’t want to hurt anyone else ever again.

‘You have to rest, my love,’ he murmurs. He allows you to lay on his hand as though it were a pillow. ‘When was the last time you slept through the night?’

‘I’m not sure,’ you confess.

‘I might be a sleepless creature of the night,’ Astarion says, ‘but you… You needn’t fear your dreams when I am here. I’ll protect you no matter the cost.’

‘And who will protect you if I sleep?’ you ask.

You must be frowning, because Astarion uses his other hand to soothe the crease between your eyebrows. He sounds so outrageously heartbroken that you want to cry. You don’t want him to think he isn’t a comfort… You haven’t slept beside someone in so long, and the warmth of his body has always lulled you to your dreams peacefully until recently.

Astarion swallows thickly. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of this. I’m with you forever and always.’

But what if there isn’t an always?

‘There is always a future for you and I,’ Astarion vows. ‘Now sleep. He can’t control you as long as I’m around.’ When you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. His eyes are a soft cerise, and his cheeks are high and sleek, his lips plump and his hair soft and curled. An angel. You’re unable to control the way you reach your hand to touch his cheek, smearing a crystalline tear across his wan skin.

‘Who are you?’ you whisper, voice caught painfully in your throat.

‘Hush now, my love,’ he whispers. He presses a sweet kiss to your mouth, and when he pulls away, his lips are ruddy and wet. ‘Thank the gods… I thought I had lost you.’

Oh, you think. You remember now. This is the man from your dream… You try to recall the details of how you know him, but it’s hard to follow a train of thought. You turn from side to side. It’s so hard to move, to focus. Your limbs feel as though they are made of lead and marble. Everything aches. The tips of your fingers and your nails down to the little bones in your toes. Your head, though, is the only part of you free from intense pain. It’s as though a weight has been lifted from the veil of your memories. You rest your arm across your waist, too tired to keep it lifted.

‘Who…’ Your brows furrow in confusion. ‘Who am I?’

‘I know you were once a child full of life and love,’ the angel says to you, gently cradling your face in his hands. ‘I know one day you were afraid and unsure and half-mad. I know you stained the streets red with cruelty and devised a plan larger than all of Faerûn. But I know you are strong and that your heart is good. You saved the tieflings, and you saved the refugees, and now you will save the world that threatens to be plunged into darkness.’

You smile. ‘That doesn’t sound like me at all,’ you confess.

The angel shakes his hand, fingers pressing hard into your skin. His voice breaks. ‘But I know it to be true, so you must believe my every word. You are brave. You are kind. You are good. You are my love, and I know that I am loved by you in return. You are a protector,’ he tells you. ‘You have protected everyone, and now it is time to protect yourself. You have survived two gods and now you must survive a third.’

The knot in your throat grows larger with every word. You think you remember now. Yes, you can remember it all very clearly. You know the weight of his hands like baptism. You turn your cheek and kiss his palm, smudging his skin pink.

‘Astarion,’ you whisper.

Your love smiles down at you, your blood dribbling down his chin.

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s not worry about that,’ he shushes you, massaging the bruises beneath your eyes. ‘Come, let us get you cleaned up.’

‘I don’t think I can walk yet,’ you say. Admitting it makes you feel weak.

‘Don’t worry,’ Astarion says softly. ‘I can carry you.’

‘I will bloody your clothes,’ you say.

‘Bloody them,’ Astarion says. ‘I don’t care.’

Astarion does carry you. He carries you all the way back to the inn, to a private room just the two of you share. He orders a tub to bathe you in and then takes an hour to scrub your skin clean, carefully cleaning your gore from your hair and scalp.

You watch as Astarion passes a bar of soap against the skin of the top of your arm over and over again until it is red then pink then flesh. Then, he gently twists your wrist. He cleans the underside of your arm next, and your palm. He washes your fingers until they do nothing but shake in the cold air. You curl your fingers around his.

‘Was it hard?’ you ask him.

‘I will never forget the smell of your scent,’ Astarion replies.

He moves to wash the hollow between your collarbones, encouraging you to recline in the water. He washes your chest and your stomach until his grief washes over him in waves. His chin shakes until a sob escapes. He presses his face into your hair and wails softly into your crown. When he’s done weeping, Astarion returns to his cleansing. He speaks not of it again. There is so little of you left.

You often wonder how much of your brain is left between the parasite and the hole your father has left you. Sometimes Jaheira still looks at you as though the rot of your father isn’t entirely gone. You don’t blame her. You’re waiting for your control to snap. You were good once. You could be good again. You want to be good again.

Shadowheart smiles at you now. Lae’zel no longer frowns. Even Wyll has taken up eating beside you again when it’s nighttime and the adventure can go no more. Gale pours you an extra serving of wine. He says you need it. Karlach lets you hold Clive at night when Astarion goes hunting, and he goes hunting often now. It makes you wonder if your blood is vile.

Part of you wants to ask him if you’ve done something wrong. You’ve committed no crime, but you feel like you have. Your memories of before are slipping away. Your memories of now seem to do the same.

You wait in your tent that night for Astarion to return, your blanket pulled around your head and shoulders. You rehearse what you’re going to say. You want to reassure him you’re not angry. You just…feel loss. Empty. The loneliness nips at your bones like crows at carrion.

When Astarion slips inside, he looks guilty. It almost makes you want to change your mind, but you have to know. You feel as though you’re going mad. A flightless bird trapped in a cage. Like Dame Aylin trapped in Shadowfell. He refuses to meet your gaze.

‘Have I done something  —  ’

‘You,’ Astarion says through gritted teeth, ‘are perfect. Every time.’

You want to cry. ‘Then why do you avoid me?’

‘Avoid you?’ Astarion repeats incredulously. He looks at you now despairingly. ‘No, that isn’t what this is at all. I would never avoid you.’

‘You’re hunting more often,’ you say in a low tone, a whisper. Accusatory.

‘Can you blame me?’ he asks plainly.

It’s your turn to look away in shame. ‘If it’s too much, you should sleep somewhere else.’

‘I don’t want to be apart from you,’ Astarion says.

‘Then how do we fix this?’

‘You cannot fix what is not broken.’

‘Astarion,’ you plead. ‘Hold me or  —  I don’t know who I am anymore.’

Astarion wraps his arms around you before you can say another word. His lips are like a halo against your head. Each kiss he presses against your scalp is a prayer from a sinner. You turn your cheek, and he kisses you so passionately it makes your empty head spin.

You relearn who are you in his arms that night. And as he regales you with tales of your history, you think you can imagine them in your mind’s eye. He kisses your wrist. He tells you a happy memory when he kisses the curve of your belly, and when he kisses your ankle, he promises you that everything will be worth it.

It wasn’t you that was the problem. There wasn’t a problem, not really. Only an impiety he wanted to atone for. He struggles with telling you, but when he whispers it against your thigh, you understand.

‘Your blood,’ he says, voice strained. ‘I cannot escape the smell.’

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, but he shakes his head and his hair tickles your sensitive skin.

‘No, I  —  It is my shame,’ he confesses. ‘I’ll admit I’m a lech.’

Astarion struggles to put his words in a coherent structure. When you died, he was horrified and distraught. Only the gods know how hard he wept seeing you lifeless. Yet it was his vampiric nature that had betrayed him almost as much as your life’s blood had betrayed you. He felt hunger.

How could he be sad when he was so ravenous? Was he not an evil man, or is this what made him evil? That, in all of his beautiful tears and lamentation, the urge to devour you, bones and all, nearly consumed him? Your death was horrible, ugly, wretched. Your death was beautiful and coveted.

Astarion devours you again that night, mouthing and licking and sucking at your swollen core. He makes you a martyr in his grief. His tongue teases you over and over again. When you’ve climaxed once, Astarion seeks out to make you do it again until your legs are shaking violently and your voice has gone hoarse. He doesn’t take you that night, not in the traditional way, but he swallows you up regardless.

It isn’t until afterwards when he’s laying with his head on your chest that you understand his tragedy. It’s a misfortunate impossibility trying to grieve when you can’t stop salivating. Astarion thinks you’re horrified by the admission, but after knowing your past, it was hard to feel scandalized by anything.

You pet his curls away from his face, watching as he listens to the hum of your heartbeat. He might have it memorized by now, but each time it beats, Astarion’s eyelashes flutter with admiration. It is a hymn, a doxology, a liturgy that only he knows the words to. After all, he wrote them on your skin and immortalized them forevermore. He is so beautiful, you think, when there is no trouble to be seen.

You were once both trapped by your dark god’s design. You had set yourself free. You had sprouted the wings of a swan guided by the empathy you had planted in a garden as a child. It would be Astarion’s soon, and you would carry him in compassion until the thorn crown was placed upon his brow.

Astarion’s eyes are closed. In your perpetually confused state, you mistake him for having fallen asleep and resort to doing the same. The city becomes chilly at night and your skin is decorated with gooseflesh. He rises almost immediately and you try to chase after him, fingers piercing through a ghost.

‘I wasn’t going anywhere,’ Astarion says immediately. He drags his cape from the corner of the tent and lays it across your shins. ‘You were shivering.’

‘I’m not used to this  —  ’ Will my mind ever be the same? ‘  —  chill.’

‘I will be here,’ he promises. ‘Here, let me hold you for the night.’

You clumsily trade places with him, and he tucks your blanket and his cape around your body as tightly as he can. He kisses you passionately and you taste your familiarity in his mouth. It’s so sweet that you sigh. ‘I know what you did,’ Orin says hatefully, spitefully, cruelly. Her voice is like honey.

‘What have I done?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t know?’ she asks. ‘Filthy rotten blood-kin undeserving of our father’s gift!’

You repeat yourself. ‘What have I done?’

‘You,’ Orin spits, ‘think your grey matter deserves to be loved! I should carve it out! I should make it disgusting and sticky again! Split it’s skull open! You foul traitor!’

Slowly, you pull Orin into your chest. You hug her and smooth her hair down her back. Her arms wrap around you begrudgingly until the lovingkindness causes her to rupture. She sobs into your neck hideously, clinging to you. She wails and she wails until you are both children again staring up at your grandsire for approval.

‘It isn’t fair,’ Orin tells you, hiccuping. She wipes her nose with her fingers. ‘It isn’t fair.’

‘I love you, blood-kin,’ you say. You kiss the top of her head.

‘Slaughter kin,’ she says sadly. She holds your hand with her snotty palm.

‘Sister,’ you say. In the coming weeks, your mind hardly gets better. Memories are still missing. You catch yourself gazing at the mirror longer than you expect to. You used to be so beautiful. It’s hard to recognize the face staring back at you. You touch one cheek and then the other. You turn your head and watch your jawline.

No, it still isn’t you.

You take the knife in your belt to your hair and begin cutting away pieces you don’t remember. You lean forward and smudge your eyes before sitting up straight and trying again. You recognize a part of yourself. You chase that feeling. You press your hand against your heart. You smile faintly. Astarion sobs so hard you think you might lose yourself. You’re at a loss of what to do. He’s alive but he keens like a dying deer. It’s supposed to be healing, you think. Cazador is dead. His reign of terror should end. Astarion is saved and he saved himself. You couldn’t be prouder of him.

Slowly, you step forward one foot after another. You collapse to your knees at his side. It’s easy to pull Rhapsody from his fingers. You drop it by his side. Slowly, as if in a dream, you hold him like you held Orin. Astarion sobs harshly into your collarbone and clings to you so tightly you might break.

‘I thought  —  I thought  —  ’ he cries brokenly.

I thought it would make me feel better, he says without saying. You shush him and pet his hair. Cazador’s blood smears against your cheek when Astarion burrows his face into your neck. You let him linger. You aren’t sure how long you sit on the hard marbled floors, but when you stand up, your knees creak so loud you’re almost insecure about it.

This time, it’s your turn to carry Astarion. He won’t let you pick him up, but you hold him by his waist. You carry him past your allies, past the onlookers who once saw you in opposition. You order the maids to bring you a bath, and as Astarion hiccups in the water, you bathe him.

You wash the taint of Cazador from his body. The soap cleans the dirt and the blood and the memory. You wash his chest and his belly and Astarion thanks you hoarsely. He looks at you, and his eyes are so wide and beautiful that you cry too.

Dying isn’t easy. It isn’t beautiful or romantic or a sweeping gesture. Dying is painful and hideous and ugly, and you have saved Astarion from a lifetime of torment. Rather, he did it by himself with your help. You swipe the soap against his cheeks and use a rag to clear it away. Astarion’s hair is somehow curlier when it’s wet, and you part the curls so they’ll dry without tangling.

Astarion watches you miserably as you towel his hair. You wipe droplets of water off his skin and slowly slide him into his smallclothes. He accepts your blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, staring at the wooden floor, at his feet.

‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I would never let you be alone,’ you say.

It isn’t what you bought the room for. Really, you only wanted to wipe the blood from his face but now, you climb into the sheets next to Astarion and hold him tightly. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about the future. He doesn’t want to talk about his siblings either or the thousands of spawn waiting to hang on his every word.

And you can’t even blame him. The gods know how long it took for your tongue to become free from the weight that held it still after you betrayed your father. Karlach said you talked a lot before, but now it’s hard to say anything without wondering if your words are in the right order. Astarion cries softly as if to not awaken you from your slumber, but you can’t fall asleep. You can’t toss or turn either, but dreams evade you.

Dawn peeks through the window. Dawn-bringer, Jergal had called you. You slide out of bed carefully then and cross the room. You draw the curtains shut. Astarion watches you curiously from where he burrows in the sheets. His brow furrows adorably when you climb back into bed and plaster yourself to his spine.

‘Ah,’ you say monotonously. ‘The sun is gone. I suppose we'll stay in until it returns.’

After a day of lounging, Astarion still isn’t ready to talk about what’s on his mind but he watches you do your favorite mundane mortal things with explicit interest. He has you read the book you’re reading aloud, and if it takes you a few hours to struggle through one chapter, he says nothing about it.

Every once in a while, another one of your companions comes to sit in.

Lae’zel tries to commend Astarion for his warrior’s heart without sounding stilted, but eventually she gives up on complimenting him to sympathetically let him know she understands. They had all seen Vlaakith. Karlach brings Clive by and carefully arranges him in the bed next to Astarion. She tells him that he’s fucking awesome and asks permission to hug him.

The touch nearly sends him spiraling.

Gale approaches in his usual manner. He brings Astarion a bottle of wine spiked with blood and lets him know he’s available to chat whenever Astarion feels up to it. Wyll spends thirty minutes apologizing for the bad blood between them, which is funny considering their bickering was hardly vitriolic. Shadowheart visits and gifts him a perfume that makes his lip wobble dangerously.

Jaheira, Minsc, Boo and Halsin come together solemnly. They might be the least offensive of the bunch. Boo gives Astarion a thousand kisses on his cheeks, and Jaheira finally tells them a story of her youth. Halsin has Astarion drink a potion, not because he’s injured physically, but because it should help with his pain. Minsc tries teaching you a Rashemen dance, but Astarion laughs for the first time that day and you do too.

‘It is good,’ Jaheira says, ‘to see you both smile again.’

You touch your mouth shyly. Your cheeks are sore. Astarion’s smile fades slightly but returns in full, timid confidence lighting his features once more. Halsin crosses the room and opens the curtains you’ve closed. The light douses the room in holiness, and you turn your face to watch the sunset, unafraid of what the future will bring.

‘That which troubles you will soon be over,’ she promises. She pats Astarion’s hand, and although she doesn’t say it, you know he’s her son. ‘You will live to see these days renewed. There will be no more despair.’

You’re both left alone again together. Astarion beckons you to the bed instead of your chair and you join him, carefully sitting atop the covers, a respectable distance between your thighs. You inhale carefully.

‘You did the right thing,’ you say. ‘Not completing the Black Mass.’

‘Perhaps I had inspiration,’ Astarion replies. ‘You had a chance to become the Slayer, a being more powerful than you could have known. But you didn’t.’

‘I betrayed my father,’ you whisper, staring at your hands. ‘And he killed me for it.’

‘And if I had completed Cazador’s ritual,’ Astarion says, ‘I would have become Mephistopheles’s whore. I refuse to bow to the whims of others. Being an Ascendent…was blinding me to the truth.’

You look at him curiously then. He confesses to you his sins. He has thought of ascending, and thought of it often but it was never to protect himself. After a certain point, he wanted to protect you too. Your Urges had been mistaken for something else then. A possession, an invasion. Astarion sought to exorcise you of your demons.

But when you had died and the diseased lifeblood fled from your veins, Astarion realized the truth. The ascension would not have helped him protect you. It would have tainted him. It would have contorted him. Rising above all other vampires, Astarion would have become cruel like those before him. He does not want to be cruel to you. He wants to learn kindness as you have. He reaches for it like he chases the sun.

Astarion takes you by the hand, smoothing your skin with his thumb over and over. His skin is cold beneath yours. You curl your fingers into his. He did not want to make you a slave, not again. Not to him.

‘You are the dawn-bringer,’ Astarion says. ‘Even if I never see the sun again, I am free.’

‘I love you,’ you say, voice shaking. ‘I’ll be with you. In the darkness.’

‘You fool,’ Astarion laughs affectionately. He leans across the distance and kisses your temple. ‘There is no darkness. You are daylight incarnate.’

You look at him sharply.

‘I’ve been thinking about something,’ he says. ‘It’s…been on my mind all day, but I think it’s time. Say you’ll come away with me.’

You and Astarion dress slowly. You would follow him almost anywhere, but this is different. There’s something to be done. You don’t dress in armor, and for that you’re almost grateful. You’re tired of fighting. You’re tired of seeing blood.

But it isn’t blood or anything blood related that Astarion takes you to see. One minute, you are wandering Baldur’s Gate at night, and the next, you’ve come to the hollow of a tree where a gravestone is coated in vines.

‘This…is where my old life began,’ Astarion tells you softly. ‘Beneath there, I was turned into a monster. But Cazador is dead now and I get to decide my own fate.’

Astarion tells you in painful detail about his transformation. How his wounds fused themselves shut but the pain never went away. He tells you about breaking through the wood of his demise and the fear that flooded his veins and how, just when he thought he had found his savior, Cazador had laughed wickedly with his cruel glowing eyes.

‘I was his,’ Astarion murmurs, ‘but not anymore.’

He kneels before you on the dirt before his tombstone and bows his head. The prodigal son returned home. The sight of it causes your heart to squeeze. You want to step away but you can’t. You’re afraid.

‘There is nothing left of the person I was before,’ he tells you. ‘I am free to become who I want to be, free to start a new journey. I have all the time in the world to figure out who I am and what I want, but I think I know.’

‘I love you,’ you say again. ‘You’re what I want.’

‘You were by my side through all of this,’ Astarion says, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. ‘And now I want you to christen me. Inaugurate me here on the site of my rebirth.’

This is another dream. You hold your hands over Astarion’s head and sprinkle imaginary water over his head. His eyes close instinctively. Love washes over him, something golden. You kneel down and pluck a flower from the earth and it does not bleed. Relief floods your veins. For once, you touch something and it does not rot. Carefully, like a ghost, you slide the flower into Astarion’s hair and watch as his crimson eyes spill open with tears and devotion.

Astarion kisses you, and for the first time in a long time, he presses his body against yours. He takes you that night in the dirt. His leg is tucked under yours, his cock against your core, his lips never leaving yours. Astarion recites verses in your ears until you burst with ecstasy, tightening around him so much that he can hardly move. He cradles the back of your head to comfort you as he drinks your blood. He cradles your head tonight because he loves you.

‘I am yours,’ he whispers against your skin, ‘and you are mine.’ You aren’t sure when or how Astarion has the time, but he presents you with a gift the night before the world ends. He wears a matching flower from his grave pinned to his armor at all times now. And on his hand, a ring with a silver band. He slides one over your finger as well and kisses your palm as you slowly realize what it means.

The family you’ve chosen throws you a celebration. The next day, Dammon arrives and shows you your repaired armor now dyed white.

You cry for hours out of happiness. ‘This could be the last chance we have for this,’ you whisper to Astarion.

Everyone keeps telling you that a light has returned to your eye, but you don’t see it. It isn’t until you’re laying naked with Astarion again, his skin pressed against yours, that you think you can see it too.

Astarion fucks you tenderly until you’re sore, and you cry and plead sweet things against his shoulder while he holds you safe in his arms. When the pleasure becomes too much and your spine arches from the mattress, he pulls you into his lap and holds you safe against his chest. You kiss him until your lips are sore.

 ‘Your life is mine,’ Astarion murmurs. ‘You belong with me, my love.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you moan weakly.

He has taken you again and again this evening. He doesn’t say it, but Astarion is afraid of what tomorrow might bring. You have outsmarted gods and men. You have found goodness where there was nothing but darkness. You refuse to be afraid now.

‘We were made to conquer,’ Astarion says. His mouth is like a fire across your cheekbone. You shudder around his cock.

‘Take my love,’ Astarion commands you, so you do.

You kiss a ruby bruise into his neck, and Astarion fills you with a grunt. He doesn’t part from you. He guides you back down into the sheets and burrows against your body as if determined to climb between your ribs. You smile. Astarion has already made a home in your bones and flesh. He has eaten the rot from your core and recreated you anew. You were not his sin but his salvation. Perhaps he was yours too.

[miffy-junot]

I really wanted to be kind, I really try to stay away from discourse, but my friend sent me a post containing opinions so rancid that I had to say something. I'm turning off reblogs and I will not name the user who made the post because I do not want any discourse, please be respectful of this.

Time to respond to the words of "Tumblr user X":

Firstly - I know not everybody here is Christian but to make a post being rude to dead people on All Soul's Day is immensely disrespectful, to say the least. Don't you have any graves to put flowers on, any people to remember?

1:

The majority of people interested in the Napoleonic Wars think Junot is a blundering buffoon. You really have to dig deep to find nuanced sources on him beyond the usual "mad general" stuff. There is a niche community of Gen Z Tumblr bloggers who like Junot, by no means the majority of the Napoleonic community - and since Tumblr is very easy to curate, it's on you if you are stuck in this niche bubble.

Let me tell you, Junot does not have a good reputation at all. You can let the topic go, you are fighting against an enemy that you believe numbers in the hundreds when in fact it is a small group of mentally ill teenagers (many of whom are lgbtq+, which is something interesting in itself).

2.

You are an adult, but how did you graduate high school with no skills of reading comprehension? Nobody has ever said that Junot's actions with Laure were "normal and okay". Once again, you are fighting an imaginary enemy.

Napoblr is essentially a war criminal fandom. That does not make it any more or less valid than other history communities, but it means that we have to take a slightly different approach to moralising historical figures. Almost every single person involved in the Napoleonic Wars would be a bad person if you took their actions out of the historical context. Most people relevant to the Napoleonic Wars were sexist, racist, imperialist pieces of shit who turned a blind eye to war crimes.

Because that makes up such a large percentage of these people, being overly judicious about their morality will leave you with the following group of "unproblematic people": a large gathering of peasants and children, none of whom we know the names of.

"Evil" is a very strong word to use, one which denies nuance, but let me speak in your language: all Napoleonic figures were somewhat "evil", if you are unwilling to deal with "evil" people then study art history, or any other subject that doesn't deal so much with moral complexity.

3.

In my opinion war crimes committed as part of your job are still war crimes????????? "Indirectly" or not, there is little difference between ordering an execution and murdering someone with your own bare hands, in both situation you take away a life from the world and there is blood on your hands. Some might even argue that having a callous approach to life and death is even worse!

And like I have said above: endless moralising is counter-productive. There are better ways to use your time, such as researching things that actually fulfil you.

4.

(just a tiny nitpick but please do not use that certain misogynistic term)

"Could have" and "should have" are words that cannot be used in the study of history. Speculation over endless possibilities of alternative realities is meaningless.

I thought we as a society had moved beyond calling addicts "evil", but apparently not! (and again, "evil" is a very charged term that leaves no room for nuance)

For the record, I support abstinence of all the things you mention. Irl I have a bit of a reputation for being a puritan. But even I will not blame somebody's entire morality on that, and call a man "evil" for being an addict?! Where is your sympathy?!

Self-destructive behaviour is a major symptom of both head injuries and personality disorders, but I doubt "Tumblr user X" has the thinking skills required to understand that properly.

And either way, even if it was all "his responsibility", so what? That's his personal life, why do you care? If you don't like it, go away.

5.

Again, I genuinely thought people knew how to be sympathetic towards addicts but apparently not.

The emphasis on "self-restraint" is insane, if you had any restraint you wouldn't be bitching on Tumblr. You are sounding more like a 17th century Puritan than me, the person who gets accused irl of acting like one.

People on Tumblr find Junot relatable. That is why he is cute, because he is relatable. Additionally, it is big part of Gen Z humour to call bad men "babygirl" and to combine cutesy aesthetics with dark stuff, hence the whole coquette/girlblogger aesthetic.

Like I said at the beginning of this post - most people do not like Junot. The people who do are mostly mentally ill young people who naturally gravitate towards this "crazy but make it cute" aesthetic tendency, and the "I can make him worse" sort of mentality.

"Violent tendencies" is a lot to extrapolate from a single incident, but that seems to be something you're fond of doing.

6.

You deliberately phrase this to imply sexual harassment. Here is what happened: he flirted with her and invited her to dinner, she had heard the rumours of his mad behaviour and ghosted him, he got very upset. Nothing physical ever happened.

Additionally, none of his mistresses ever mentioned any violent behaviour by him. In fact, in one anecdote related by Laure herself, Junot's Abyssinian mistress Xraxarane encouraged him to shoot an orange off the top of her head because she was so confident in his abilities with a pistol, and even though he knew he could do it, Junot didn't even try because he was too afraid of hurting her.

7.

Do your research before making snarky comments, I am begging you.

While it is true that men wrote more passionately to each other in those days, "I who love you with the affection of a savage for the sun, I who am entirely yours" is not something you would say in passing. I'm not going to argue that Junot and Napoleon did anything romantic together, but it's undeniable that Junot's feelings towards Napoleon surpass those of a completely platonic friendship.

There are many sources that attest to Junot's fanatical devotion being unusual, not just Laure. And it was not a single remark in Laure's memoirs, but many anecdotes. Junot had many close male friendships, but they all took on a very different character to his friendship with Napoleon - his letters to other friends have a casual, jovial tone; the intense and poetic language used in his letters to Napoleon instead mirror his letters to women.

Is it really so unfeasible to you that, out of the thousands of men in the Napoleonic army, one of them might have developed feelings for Napoleon beyond those of conventional masculine friendships? Statistically, it is impossible that every Napoleonic man was straight.

8.

Okay, I am going to be directly bitchy here.

Tumblr user X, YOU DIDN"T EVEN BOTHER TO READ THE JOURNAL INTIME BEFORE PUBLISHING A POST ABOUT THE INCIDENT.

When, in a discord server, I shared a small piece of the journal intime I had translated that was referring to Junot's affair with Caroline, YOU DOUBTED IT"S CREDIBILITY.

You claim to trust what women have to say, BUT YOU DON"T BELEIVE HORTENSE DE BEAUHARNAIS' CLAIMS THAT HER HUSBAND ABUSED HER. BE CONSISTENT.

And finally: THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO MENTION OF JUNOT TRYING TO RAPE LAURE AS YOU CLAIMED. NOWHERE IN HER ACCOUNT OF EVENTS DOES SHE ALLEGE RAPE. STOP MAKING THINGS UP, IT IS DISRESPECTFUL TO REAL RAPE VICTIMS.

You pretend to be diligent with your sources, but you are not, you only read things that support your pre-conceived opinion, you make posts based on false evidence. Shut the fuck up about topics you know nothing about.

9.

Gurl we are not bureaucrats, we do not care about military efficiency.

"glorified cavalry skirmish" - is a group of 500 men defeating a force of 3000 men not glorious to you? Those are odds of five to one.

If you don't care about military history, don't talk about military history and get out of the military history fandom.

10.

(fyi it's spelt crucify)

You are fighting imaginary enemies. Bessieres is adored, he is babygirled. Junot is loathed.

Nobody ever said Junot trying to kill Laure was cute. (I would also provide evidence that Junot never intended to kill her, but then I'll get accused of defending domestic violence)

Junot being babygirlified is not a recent thing. What about:

Rapp, who didn't think Junot was a great soldier but still defended him

Foy, who hated Junot but still wrote positive comments about him in his memoirs

Arthur Wellesley, who respected Junot as an enemy

James Forbes (and many others), who hated Napoleon but praised Junot for being kind to Englishmen in Paris

Antoine-Romain Hamelin, who didn't like most people he met but adored Junot for defending and rescuing him

André Delagrave, who wrote very sympathetically about Junot after serving him in the peninsular wars

Laure's letters

Junot's letters to Laure

Junot's letters to his daughters

+many, many more sources but those were the only ones I remembered off the top of my head.

And please don't disrespect Laure's own wishes and opinions. What about the highly affectionate language used to refer to Junot in her letters about her grief over his death? What about her letter to Berthier complaining about Junot being defamed?

Please be respectful here, I don't want any discourse. I shouldn't have to say this but please do not share this with "Tumblr user X", I don't want to have anything to do with that person ever again.

a little side tangent on the infamous incident between Junot and Laure:

When Junot went to break off his affair with Caroline Murat, he took two duelling pistols and khanjar (a Middle Eastern style of dagger) with him in case he was confronted by Murat and things got messy. This is very important - Junot had lethal weapons easily accessible to him and was willing to use them to kill his rival. So if he genuinely had every intention of murdering Laure, why didn't he shoot her? Why didn't he stab her with the fatal khanjar rather than a pair of scissors? Speculation on this point is useless, but it's vital to know that he could have easily killed her, but he didn't. I'm not defending his actions in any way, Junot certainly did something awful, but he did not intentionally plot to murder her.

[dishushu]

“you’re alive in my head..”

pavitr prabhakar x reader.

genre: pure angst (a little fluff if you squint) | warnings: blood, death, sad pav☹️, super sad

summary: the canon event altered his life forever. | inspo: marjorie by taylor swift.

words: 1k.

a/n: @smokeywhalee came up with this trope and we both cried mentally adding up ideas to eachother (i love her and her ideas yall FOLLOW HER or elmo will end up next to you at 3am)

and marjorie by ts changed my life forever it’s so good i’m not okay 😊💔

p.s: please have tissues next to you 🤧 (and "they" is ur variant btw!)

so sorry in advance pookies

pavitr had been your bestfriend for so long— you were by his side ever since he became spiderman, his partner in crime, and he always liked you. —

everything about you just made him fall head over heels for you, but he never had the heart to confess owing to the fact that he doesn’t want to lose you yet.

he wished he did sooner..

ever since pavitr’s dimension was falling apart, he couldn’t help but feel devastated, afraid it would happen the same to you, and he was right.

the very moment that was happening, you so happened to be running away from the commotion— your bestfriend pavitr and the other spider people fighting for their life and his dimension, you were about to escape, but unfortunately, a big chunk of debris hits you— slamming you to the ground as you groaned in pain.

you heard the screams of pavitr from afar, as he slung over to you— his friends shouting for him to come back but he couldn't care less about them now that you were hurt badly.

he lifted the debris off of you and carried you bridal style, his words muffled as you couldn't see anything— your vision blurred.

"jaanu please hang on okay? i promise ill get you the hospital as soon as i can please don't close your eyes on me." he panicked as he removed his mask to reveal his teary-eyed face as he held you close, webbing away from the commotion as he wanted to bring you to the nearest hospital.

"pav, i..." you took all your strength to get his attention as he stopped webbing and went through the empty street, your heartbeat slowly slowing down as it became harder to breathe.

he noticed immediately and laid you on the ground, his hand cupping your cheek as he kept whispering a "no no no please no." trying to stop the blood from your chest.

"pav, i.. love you." you mumbled your last words to him as you closed your eyes— your last breath, last tear and last smile to him all leaving your body as you lay lifeless on the ground, his screams were all that was audible, becoming increasingly faint until they were completely gone.

pavitr's tears were now hitting the ground as he clutched your lifeless body, holding on it for dear life as he sobbed— his heart breaking now that he lost you, his canon event.

his tears never came to an end as he couldn't believe he was processing everything, he lost his thithli.

gwen, hobie, and miles run over to him as they saw pavitr and you, your dead body but they couldn't do anything but feel heartbroken with paviitr as it was his canon event even though you were dead now, you're alive in his head.

he wished he could spend one last prominence with you, but now that you were gone, he wished you were still around.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

pavitr never moved on, never recovered from your death; if he didn't know better, he'd wish you were still alive; he wanted he could say i love you— and that remorse has filled him with guilt every single day.

hobie would always try to cheer him up and it would never work, he would still feel devastated and blame himself for your death— that he couldn't save you in time. it was never his fault.

all of this happening with his dimension falling apart and losing you hit him like a truck, he lost his spark and he'd do anything to get you back, anything — and he wished he could find one way to say i love you to you one last time.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

he’d never been to hq ever since your death, he was merely drained to continue as spiderman anymore— the fear and guilt overcoming him; scared the same would happen to other people like it happened to you.

hobie got to cheer him up somewhat and convinced him to finally go to hq but when he walked in, he bumped into a familiar face he knew oh too well.

“im so sorry i—“ pavitr turned around to apologize to who he bumped when his blood ran cold, his whole body frozen as he couldn’t believe who it was, you; but not entirely.

“it’s okay! i’m fine— and are you okay?” they said, scanning pavitr’s body for any injuries and so.

“yeah— i’m, im fine— can i talk to you for a second?” pavitr said, breaking out of his trance as he grabbed their hand and walked to an empty corner.

“woah okay—“ they followed pavitr, standing in a small corner waiting for him to talk.

“are you… [name]?” he asked, your name coming out of his mouth breaking his heart. their eyes went wide— the shock of their name coming out of his mouth indirectly.

“y-yeah i’m from earth 5100..” those words broke pavitr’s heart, a lump going down his throat as he smiled— knowing that they weren’t his.

they could see the obvious heartbreak in pavitr's eyes and its like they could feel his pain too; "i suppose you lost a variant of me in your world..?" they muttered as pavitr nodded— his tears planting his brown skin as their heart broke.

"can i..?" pavitr whispered, gesturing for a hug as they agreed with open arms— he rushed to their arms, breaking down in more tears as he felt your touch again— but not entirely yours.

"i'm so sorry.. im sure they're so proud of you for getting through this, i know you want them back but im not them."

"i know.. i just wished i could say i love you to them one last time." he muttered, his face buried in their neck as he cried harder— clutching their shirt.

he has no choice but to owe the fact that he lost you, and the person in front of him is oh so heartwarming to him, its not you and he has to accept that, but you're alive in his head.

© hearts4hobie-conitagray, all rights reserved. do not steal, translate, and rewrite without permission. love y’all mwah♥️ 💋

[bartychaser]

Hey, ehm so, what I’m about to share is really personal and might trigger people who have to fight bullying and mental and/or physical illnesses bc mention of suicidal tendencies.

Idk what exactly it was but (on Pinterest I believe) someone was like “Yeah but why are there people hating on James? He’s so funny and cool with his pranks and Snivellus, just get your shit together” no he is not and I won’t get my “shit” together.

For me personally he triggers self destructive feelings and behaviours that kept building up since SECOND grade (until 10th I believe it was… could also be beginning of 11th) because there where so many ✨funny and cool✨ people who picked their “Snivellus” and spoiler alert it was always me. They pulled so many funny comments and pranks one me that almost cost me my life in the end and they were not done until 10th grade ended. They bullied me with the knowledge that I was ill in some way bc I told them I was seriously and most probably dangerously ill but at that time we didn’t exactly know what it was.

They bullied me for my illness and that illness wasn’t just “being weird randomly” that illness was a fucking brain tumor (luckily not cancer, I’m fine since I had surgery) that caused an epilepsy which is one of a kind.

The most common form of epilepsy is cramps, lying on the floor, looking funny with the drool dribbling down the chin and almost biting off their tongues (yes that can happen… my cousin is badly disabled bc a seizure damaged his brain at 3 months old).

I had a form of epilepsy which my doctors said they’ve never seen before though they were working in that business for over 40 years and they did their research when they heard about me. I was kind of the only person ever known in german medical studies in the last at least 40 years with those form of seizures. And because they were so unique they fucking sent me to a psychiatry because the doctor I’ve been to MULTIPLE TIMES before always said “Nah you’re just mental”. That also was funny enough to pick on me, rubbing in my face that I was a freak and ill and couldn’t do anything about it and I cannot count how many times I’ve prayed to not wake up. Because of people that acted just like James.

I have the right to hate him because in reality I fear him. I fear people like him because getting to have them in my life almost cost me my life and I’m so damn sure they would’ve laughed it off if I one day stopped showing up and my teacher would have stand in front of them crying because he lost the student that reminds him “so much of his sister” (that’s a quote btw) and had to tell them. I’m so afraid of James-like people and therefore I hate him. Not because he is James, James as a character has nothing to do with my past but he was the reason for another’s miserable past if you know what I mean. And every time he is mentioned making fun of Snape or pulling pranks that harm others (mentally or physically) and not only to annoy them bc that actually is funny, I feel those feelings crawling up again and I know it’s not healthy in any way bc he is just a fictional character and that is enough to get me flashbacks but it is what it is so don’t fucking ever try to tell James-dislikers who’ve openly been through similar things that ✨it’s just fun✨. For people in their past it, too, was just fun, for you it might just be fun, but for people who suffered under that fun it’s not. And not a single soul deserves that. There is not one human being who deserves to be picked on/bullied because others want to have some fun.

And no, I don’t mean to hate on James-likers bc yes, in some storys he really is cool and nice and funny and I can understand what you like about him but looking at what is shown to us in books and films he was a fucking prick who loved bullying Severus and making his time at school a part of his life he probably wishes never happened and that triggers my hate-fear if you know what I mean. I’m not trying to say your just like him, making others wanna end them or something, I’m just saying that there often is a sirius reason to dislike a character other than wanting to be different and cool or whatsoever. Sometimes you try to make someone like James with saying things that actually are triggering like “Hahaha it’s fun” Doesn’t mean you can’t try but be careful and always be respectful with trauma which really can be triggered by just one sentence or character.

I know it’s difficult and I do know there are almost no people who communicate/share their trauma just like I did but sometimes people dare doing this bc on social media they can be anonymous just like me. If my former class mates would read this they had no clue it was me. If my brother read this he had no clue it was me, you get my point? But others don’t have that anonymity bc they already published their name/face whatsoever and if anyone they know would see this they would really be fucked. At some point you probably will trigger someone but that inevitably and that’s okay because you can’t see what they’ve been through and you didn’t do it in purpose. But if someone tells you to just leave that topic no matter which topic, there. Is. A. Reason. (Probably) Respect their “no”

P.S. okay that sounds a little aggressive and guilt tripping, I’m sorry but I don’t know how to say that otherwise that was not my intention😭

[tellywoodtrash]

Hello TT! Hope you are doing well, I lurked in after a really long time so thought would say hello and let you know how much your blog has impacted my life. I started following your blog religiously when I discovered Ishqbaaz, it was almost an obsession how zealously I followed your blog and the show. I was on the cusp of Adulthood, just two years short. All pieces of fiction were merely me trying to escape my horrible home life. I have always indulged in fiction, it has mostly been books tbh but there were times after I had access to a phone when tellywood lured me in. After IB, I just followed you for your wit and boldness. I imagined this is how my elder sister would be if I had one (since I am the elder sibling in the house). You actually hooked me to AryLie as well, and for that I am most grateful since I somehow found a supportive community through AryLie fandom (long story). I know you don't follow tellywood anymore, I too switched to Kdramas and Cdramas over the years. Oh, I also gave Suno Chanda a try; thanks to you and Mais. Absolutely delightful. The thing is I felt my appreciation towards your constant support (even if you weren't aware) should be at least known. You speak for so many girls in this blog of yours, always giving everyone a warm hug to those who need it and a virtual asskicking to who are being jerks. People you follow truly shape you, it's the way I have felt validated by when you spoke what I believed it; it's the way you introduced me to life changing fiction just when I needed it; it's the way you have been present for the last nine years in my life. I have always struggled with suicide ideation but if it has taught me anything; it's to always express the gratitude you are feeling. Life is so unpredictable anyway. I want to be appreciated and appreciate others as well. That's humanity to me. This connection where we truly value each other. Anyway, so sorry for the long ramble. I hope wherever you are, you always stay well, physically healthy and mentally sane. Adieu, my internet sister. I will keep checking in 💌

Oh my heart, I am actually here like........

Just the other day, I'd been thinking wistfully of all the community I felt through this blog, wondering if any of y'all are still even around. This message honestly feels like the universe's answer to that. 🥰🥰🥰

This blog started out as just me shouting into the void about nonsense ITV, but it grew into so much more thanks to you all. I am an only child (and wouldn't have it any other way!) and know nothing of being a sibling, but somehow I felt so fiercely protective of every single person I've talked to through this blog, that idk how, I just became an honorary big sister. It's a badge I wear with utmost honour, even though we don't even know each others' names!

Just know, even if I am not watching Tellywood anymore/super active on this blog, I'm still here on tumblr everyday (it's my safe corner on the internet) and you guys can reach out whenever! Life goes on, interests change, and we grow as people. But this blog and I don't plan on going anywhere, and it'll always be a home for y'all to drop in when you need it. 🏠🏠🏠💖💖💖

PS - I'm proud of you for finding a community of your own, and kicking mental illness's ass on the regular. I'm right there with you (on the suicide ideation) and we're not going down without fighting tooth and nail, sis. There are people out there who we care about, and who care about us, and that's literally alllllll that life is all about, baby!!!!!!!! Go on and live your best life to the fullest, and always remember that this internet big sister of yours is always proud of you. *forehead smoochies*

[lime1991]

My dsmp Tubbo and Tommy canons (I can do whatever I want and these are canon facts to me)

Tubbo:

-smoked cigarettes a lot during the Schlatt administration to get away from all of the… everything. Fundy was the one who started this for him.

-hates alcohol because of Schlatt and Wilbur. Before being part of Schlatt’s cabinet he had to deal with Wilbur being drunk and mentally ill too.

-is Wilbur’s adopted brother, calls Phil by his name instead of “dad” even though he was literally raised by him. Also doesn’t call Wilbur his brother unless it’s brought up in some way.

-Tommy is his best friend. He is Tommy’s favorite person. Their conversations are very monotone.

-has breathing problems due to smoking. Has tried to quit, but can’t. Instead smokes weed every so often because it’s better than nicotine.

-has bipolar disorder, when he’s manic he wakes up at 5 am and does yard work. When he’s depressed, he can’t get out of bed for days. He knows he’s bipolar, many people do, but it still was a reason his marriage fell apart (not his fault)

-he did not get custody of Michael when he and Ranboo divorced, because he didn’t fight for it because doesn’t think he can really raise a child with all his personal issues (in a “I would never have kids because I’m too mentally ill and traumatized” way)

-bonded with Quackity during the Schlatt administration, is maybe the only one who knows to what extent Quackity was fucked up by Schlatt. They have a weird relationship that’s similar to a mother and son. Don’t question it.

-I���m a fan of dadschlatt so in my brain Tubbo is Schlatt’s biological son, and they only find this out when they’re working together and Schlatt grills him on his family history and it strangely matches up with that one time Schlatt decided to leave the girl he accidentally impregnated and fully skip town. So when Schlatt and Quackity get married Quackity is basically Tubbo’s stepmom.

-he and Wilbur are like 12 years apart, when Fundy is born, Wilbur is 20. When Fundy and Tubbo meet for the first time, Fundy is 8 and Tubbo is 16. And, yes, Tubbo went to live with Wilbur when he turned 16 for reasons and was like “Wil who the fuck is this child” and Wilbur is like “oh that’s my daughter” ???

Tommy:

-trans girl.

-met Wilbur before she met Tubbo. They lived in the same place. When Tubbo went to live with Wilbur he was immediately bombarded by a strange hyperactive fifteen year old.

-Tommy’s parents left her. She didn’t believe that they did at first, but they did. (By the way I’ve decided L’Manburg was a commune) Because her parents have left her alone on the commune, she’s sort of raised by all of the adults and herself. This is how she knows Wilbur.

-has bpd and severe abandonment issues. Originally attached herself to Wilbur before meeting Tubbo and becoming close with him. During the Pogtopia era, Tommy goes insane and completely attaches herself to Wilbur again.

-When Wilbur dies during war, Tommy’s whole personality switches and instead of being majorly depressed she pretends that it didn’t happen and stays completely delusional for like a month.

-during Exile, she had time to think about herself and her identity and it’s when she comes out to herself as trans. Dream is also the first person she actually comes out to. And I can’t decide if Ghostbur is a hallucination or not, but Tommy doesn’t know either it’s ok.

-very delusional. Like, schizophrenic. Genuinely believed during Exile that Dream was her best friend and wasn’t like beating her and destroying her stuff every single day. Dream doesn’t understand if she’s being serious when she’s like “hi bestie” so he keeps doing worse and worse wondering how much it’ll take to break her.

-gets therapy and takes antipsychotics now. Always brings up the stories of the wildest delusional episodes she’s ever experienced. During exile she was certain she had like 5 girlfriends at once.

-when she ends up trapped in jail with Dream she almost kills herself before Dream does it for her. The pain of being trapped with him again was worse than emotional. Worse than ptsd.

-has complicated feelings towards Quackity, will never forget the time she watched him and Schlatt argue. She’d never heard a “loving couple” sound that angry before. Though she doesn’t know every little detail about the relationship.

[kiwidotcom]

Why so glum. Chum?

short answer mental illness ☹️

long answer, mental illness, brain damage, addiction, and being let down by a lot of people in my life. oh and of course. capitalism.

I appreciate you reaching out 💘 and if any of this sounds rude or mean I genuinely don't mean it!!! I'm just too poor for therapy and am ✨not ok✨ right now.

I just .. am not meant to be alive lol. I'm so depressed. I have no energy. I'm failing so hard at life (and yes I know, there's no rules in life, everyones on their own path but I'm failing at my path!!!!!) believe it or not, at nearly 28, I did not want to be getting dumped by everyone I like, working a job I have 0 passion for, sleeping during all my spare time because work is killing me, doing nothing for MY benefit. barely doing art, barely going on adventures.

I have so fucking much anxiety. I can't be social without alcohol. I feel like I can't enjoy anything without alcohol. I've been told the same things for years, that it's a muscle I can strengthen, that I just need to be social while sober and I'll realize nothing bad happens. and to those people, quite frankly, be quiet. I'm SO HAPPY no one understands my anxiety because no one should feel this way, but "nothing bad happens" is not true. being social (without alcohol) is terrifying. I feel like my mind and body are on fire the entire time, I don't feel like myself, I feel like my thoughts aren't working. I leave feeling emotionally exhausted and I didn't even get positives out of it because I was in flight or fight the entire time.

I'm killing myself with alcohol, I'm not improving, I'm wasting my life.

and now I'm on vacation. I should be happy right? but I'm just anxious and mad at myself. and I'm already so anxious about going to work Monday, I feel like I can't relax at all. the first day was fun because I was drunk the whole time.

I hate myself so much and every single day I'm disappointed I woke up

[zeldabecameaqueen]

CONTENT WARNING :

🌼 QSMP current events (3rd-4th March)

🌸 it's all my opinion and pov

🏵️ talking about violence, genocide, politics, triggers for depression and bad mental health

🍀 optimistic (even if it doesn't look like it)

🫧 non-native english speaker speaking heavy stuff in english while being sleep-deprived → incorrect, awkward, clumsy way of speaking

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

QSMP has been a light throughout the last year, when so much shit stuff is happening. I did realize before that I needed the qsmp and that it made me feel good, but I didn't realize why, and that's only now that i'm scared of losing the server that I understand. Every single day of qsmp was a day of joy for me, I loved seeing content of different nationalities, I loved so much seeing people interact and create stuff together in the most chaotic way, I loved slowly getting into the different ccs communities and I loved to recognize ids, recognize tumblers and artists. And even when in the lore it was getting dark, it was still fictional and we knew it would get better. And even in real life when some ccs were not being safe, and that communities could get violent and full of hatred, I also knew the server would survive it since there is a vast majority of priceless people who would fight for this safe, international space. And what I just realized, is that when everything is going down in the world in real life, when every day you're flooded with infos about how much humans are bullshit and destroying selfish beings with absolutely no empathy or respect for others, even with every day evidence that there is no hope of it getting better, qsmp was there to give me hope.

I believe that QSMP is a place of creation, international unity and hope. It is a safe place for people who are socially different, for people who have in.visible illnesses, for people who are discriminated against. It is a safe place for people who are incredibly creative, for people who care about life.ves, for people who spread kindness and respect. I don't care if you don't agree, this is how I feel considering who I am.

QSMP is a place of creation and bonding and building. It is a place of light and hope and art and beauty. It is a place for the best of humankind.

My english has gone very bad because I just spent the night with nightmares about the qsmp and anxiety about work and reminders of what is happening in the world and how what I make to help is never enough and how hopeless we all are. Because people who have power, right now, just don't care! I'm not sorry, when you have that much power, and are witnessing such atrocities /a fucking genocide for instance/ given that we have no excuses of resources and wealthiness (i'm speaking from an european pov), when you let this kind of shit happening, as a high-rank politic or head of business company, it's because you don't care, I don't see any kind of reason for letting this kind of things happening

I didn't plan on getting into politics so I'll stop here but the point is, QSMP cannot close down because they exploited their employees/volunteers who put that much work and because of bad administration. The issues have been addressed, and I believe will be resolved. People who don't feel safe anymore on the qsmp will leave for their wellbeing, others will stay to maintain it as the best place it can be. But in the end, I believe in the project, I support it, and I'll fight for it to keep on going under the condition of these matters to be resolved.

It is my opinion and I know a lot of people want to boycott qsmp and unfollow it, especially french people, but i personally disagree with that doing. I feel like we have the power to do something, to make it better and I'm sorry for what the qsmp team has been put through but also grateful towards Léa for her bravery and the other admins who spoke out. Because now we can do something about it, for it to be a safe place for the communities and the admins and actors.

I'm feeling less hopeless now, but please I hope some of us will stay on following and believing in the qsmp, and that we'll find a way to get through, because I don't see how it wouldn't be possible. I mean, just pay your creators/workers, communities will be glad to participate in any way possible, it is an amazing project that won't end on such a crap note.

As I was saying previously, QSMP is a place of creation, of hope for humankind and unity, and respect, and caring. Prove that we are able to overcome this by fighting together

Take care of your health, step away if needed, drink water, sleep, eat and don't blame yourself. No hatred 🌸

[lizsurvived]

I have to admit, no one knows about my secret lil tumbler about what happened to me. The people in my life know it happened but no one else; but they have no clue I'm doing this. Ig its because I know it's intense. But honestly, idk if anything will come of this tumbler. But either way, I think it's important that I keep writing.

My current partner (not my monster of an ex) is the kindest, gentlest and most caring and affectionate man. I love him so much. I hope it lasts forever lol, we are so alike and we have so much fun together. We respect each other and are very communicative. He's aware of everything that happened with my ex.

I still can't really believe it happened.

What's worse is that I had gone back to see him yet again, a week after it happened. I know. What the fucking fuck was wrong with me, you're asking yourself. I'm asking myself the same thing. I must have had insane Stockholm syndrome... He was very manipulative. I was manic and completely alone in the world with no friends or family who I could see in person to talk to. Don't worry, I made it out without a scratch that time, and will never go back.

My current partner and I met about 7 months ago about 2 months after I moved closer to my sister. We were off and on for a while because he and I both have mental illness and couldn't seem to communicate well enough. He broke up with me kind of, he claims I was forcing him into doing it. Who knows who was right about that, we we're both so out of it mentally, both of us were all over the place. Now, we are both medicated and it's night and day.

I don't think I've ever known true love until I met my current partner. He is everything a man ought to be. I love him for all of him. The good and the bad (although with him, the good outweighs the bad every single fucking time). I also feel that he and I love each other equally. One doesn't love one more than the other. We love each other completely. He's a nerd which I resonate with lol. And he's extremely talented! I fell in love with him almost instantly. Our bond was strong and our chemistry was everything.

Then he broke up with me one night out of the blue after a month of dating. My sister wrote me off for about 5 months for a while... You have to understand, she and I were best friends my entire life... I had no one to talk to. No one to go to. I was so depressed and so sad... I admit that's when I drove to see my ex. Unfortunately for me, I didn't know that my current partner would later contact me again to reconnect... I definitely wouldn't have done what I did. I was so love sick... Its hard to explain and it's just... A lot. I know.

My current partner spoke of how he feels guilty.. my sister and I recently reconnected and I felt that I had to tell her what happened while we werent talking. I had to tell her that my first thought when I was about to pass out from being strangled was that I was never going to see my sister again or my family again.

The relief I feel now that my sister and I are talking again... Is so immense. It feels as if I was in an ice bath whereas now my body feels more at ease and my mind feels less burdened.

It's hard not to feel responsible for what he did to me. I knew he was dangerous. I guess I just truly didn't expect anything like that to happen to me. Didn't think he could go that far. People should know about what he did. I'm just too afraid to tell anyone who he is for fear of his reaction if or when he finds out. I'm terrified of him and so should anyone be.

He has put multiple men in hospitals. When he fights he wins. He is scary. He has violent priors. Very manipulative. I'm extremely concerned for his next girlfriend. I'm worried he could definitely kill someone... I have basically no legal leg to stand on except for a t shirt with blood and DNA all over it from that night.

Please. If you know anyone who does pro bono law or knows someone who does, if they think I have a leg to stand on, please drop me a line.

[autoimmunechronicles]

Recently, I find myself having to 'prove' my disease, symptoms, and pain to others as though to make them and myself believe that it's INDEED real. (to my fellow warriors, your disease and pain is enough-- you're enough)

I feel in my bones the doubts and judgements (even myself) that sows the seeds of negative emotions affecting my mental health.

Why does my disability have to be recognized and supported in the first place?

Here are my thoughts:

I DO NOT have to prove my pain and disease to anyone -

My "invisible" but very real, unimaginary illness exists. I feel pain 24/7. Some people do not (even try to) understand and have a distorted and disproportionate expectations.

2) We just want the support of the people dear to us.

People surviving with chronic illness face challenges that are inconceivable to normal and/or healthy people.

Often times, family and friends tend to make insensitive or thoughtless remarks or even requests that exhaustively impact our well-being.

3) We are dis-ABLE-d

Inspite of the awful unpredictable nature of autoimmune diseases, there are moments, hours, or even days of "low pain". Sometimes it lasts for a short period of time, sometimes not.

Personally, whenever I do not feel crackling pains, (chronic & extreme) fatigue, weakness and have all the limited energy (SPOONS) to move around and carry out chores, I DO THEM. I AM ABLE TO DO THEM.

To put it briefly, even through pain, I can carry out chores that I DEEM AM ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH. Otherwise, I will NOT carry through or postpone the tasks / activities.

In my experience, I do feel that I am a burden when it comes to contributing to house works and chores nowadays. I am not WHO and WHAT I used to be -- as much as I want to move I feel extremely guilty for not being able to do so. But I do remind myself that autoimmune in general cannot be prevented and there's only so much that I can do.

THAT IS WHY when I CAN, I DO.

4) Stop putting labels and words in our mouths:

When we are trying to help out and contribute, please do not be so insensitive as to say what we CAN and CANNOT do.

Believe us when we say we wen and DO NOT ASSUME THAT WE CANNOT.

Example: You see us washing the dishes then suddenly you would remark "You are not able to do that." YES WE CAN, WHEN WE CAN.

Yes we are disabled and each and every one of us have different diagnoses, symptoms, limitations -- but we continue to fight and make things work everyday. Chronically ill people are creative, smart, innovative, and are masters of life!

We are only disabled because of our illness and its complications which might prevent us to perform, live, and interact with the rest of the world in what's perceived to be in a normal way.

But please, we will appreciate it if we you can also give us the space to fully appreciate being ABLED.

Caveat: Please do not gaslight or get AGGRESSIVE and make degratory remarks or make your loved one feel guilty for not being able to perform normal tasks that may seem easy, fast, or normal to you.

In my case, I am able to cook, clean, and do chores but in a very, very slow and painful phase requiring rest every 5 minutes as I tend to be fantastically exhausted.

(Yes, 10 steps is exhausting enough for me. Legs crack up, lungs requiring deep breathes. But I STILL DO, I endure when I can.)

5) We appreciate all the emotional, physical, and financial support extended to us

Every single effort to help, support, and understand our condition is wholeheartedly appreciated!

Most importantly, especially to the family members, it would mean a lot if we can make an effort to really learn and work on knowing the specific autoimmune disease your loved ones have.

We are also trying to learn more about our disease everyday. Autoimmune is still a big mystery even to the medical community.

6) We DO NOT NEED unsolicited advise or opinions you heard online from herbal doctors or those who are "HEALED" or "CURED" of the disease

We do understand that a healthy and balanced diet is important but you also have to remember that:

+ Autoimmune diseases are incurable. It can only be managed.

+ Each patient / fighter are experiencing different symptoms. No TWO LUPUS patients' experiences and symptoms and treatments are the same.

+ There is no "GETTING BETTER." We do not enjoy the pain, but realistically, this only upsets us.

+ If there was one single herb and diet restrictions that works, all of us would have been cured, healed.

Nonetheless, we know your intentions mean well! :)

[sa4phire]

You wanna know how I got out of the psych ward fr?

Talking to myself.

I knew they had to diagnose me with something or they weren’t going to let me go. And it had to be something big or incurable because of what that er doctor had said to me. I’m not stupid, I’ve worked in a hospital for years. I knew they were going to send me away when he cussed directly at me in front of multiple people. At least 4. You don’t act so freely unless you know they’re going away for a while.

I told the ambulance driver. [ kinda deja vu moment because I told my guidance counselor the last day before spring break 2020 that there was going to be a massive pandemic unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. right before COVID touched down in the USA and went live.] anyway my bad I told the ambulance driver to let me go because they were going to try to keep me there, I told her everything. She was like I would let you go but I will lose my job and I can’t. So I went 🙂

The bathrooms were micd up so I’d just talk to myself. If they wanted me to be praying [had me reading an antisemitic book.] I’d be praying in the mirror. But I’d look directly in my own eyes so I wouldn’t go insane. I would not believe any of the bullshit they were shoving down my throat.

Forcing us to deadname Sam, being horrible to the Asian mother who was there because her husband wouldn’t help with the baby and she had fallen asleep holding her child. Having to look a man who’d shot himself in the eye years ago during my meals. Having Travis piss in his shoes outside my room and try to get me to come out and sing. They did nothing. Even when he stole all of my clothes.

I spoke to myself as I always have. I looked myself dead in the mirror and I would mouth words to myself to stay strong. I sang every fucking day. I sang in the phone with my mom when I could reach her.

I cannot even begin to tell you how horrifying it was being in there with the man who sexually assaulted me and tried to blame it on my mental illness. The way they were all watching me when my friend, the Asian mother, told me the same man made her uncomfortable. Having to tell her to be quiet about it. Forcing myself to deadname Sam so that they would let me out.

Having to pretend like I forget every single persons’ name except for one person. Because we shared a name. Having everyone turn on me because they threw out three of the patients because of me. Having Miss Berny look me up and down in the hallway and ask me if I wanted a jacket. If you took your blanket out of your room, it meant something. They kept us in longer if we wore it out but they kept it so cold it was unbearable. She gave me a sweatshirt. No hood but it was so warm. I wore it home. We traded clothes that day. She knew I had nothing and everyone hated me but she helped me.

Cutting an old woman’s hair and suing HER when her family refused to pick her up. She had no glasses. She was mean to everyone. But I helped her read the fucking summons and I had to keep my cool in front of 8 other people. Having to read aloud the name of the hospital v her name in front of a fucking crowd.

I had to go against myself. I had to lose all sense of being when it came to the outside world so that they were convinced enough I didn’t remember what they’d done to me and the others. How they sedated me against my will after I got down on my hands and knees in the middle of that hallway while I was hallucinating because of the medications they gave me. I thought my arms were broken. I thought my ankles were broken. Instead of helping me back to bed, a man yanked me up by my arms and three others grabbed me from all sides and they threw me face first onto my cot and they pulled down my pants to sedate me. They took away my roommate so no one was there to witness. I didn’t fight. I went limp in their arms when they carried me, I swear on my life. The woman who held my right side, when I let my head fall on her because I went completely limp and didn’t hold myself up at all, she screamed that I tried to bite her.

There was no way I was ever getting out unless I faked amnesia because of how high the doses were. When I got out, I went to multiple doctors and asked them about it. They told me that’s the amount they prescribe to patients on the medication for more than half a year.

They tapped the phones in the social workers office so that if I tried to call my mom it rang inside the office. They made it to where all the patient phones had blocked my family’s numbers. I had to act like I didn’t think anything about it. Even though no one was coming for me.

Turns out. My mother in law got wind of what had happened to me. That I was in there by myself 2 hours away from anyone I even knew. Two states away from my mom no less. She chewed my mom’s ass out. She said she was a bad fucking mother. To get me out. This woman, who I never quite knew or felt like she liked me, was the one who fought for me.

So yea. I talked to myself. Every day. No matter what, I kept a log of everything I could remember running through my head at all times so that I could keep my mind strong because of those fucking drugs.

Pro tip: understand that maybe talking to yourself isn’t that bad.

[nathank77]

7/14/24

7:11 p.m Edited/Added to Significantly at 7:40 p.m

I wish Katie never left me. We weren't soulmates but soulmates dont exist. I wasn't 100% happy but I could have been happy with her if we kept having sex even if we never had children, why? Cause I was never going to get the life I wanted. So what if we lived comfortably and I was to never be a dad. I can settle on that. I could be happy with it.

Once we lived together, the whole texting issue wouldn't be an issue cause she would have came home every single day to me so it wouldn't have mattered that she wasn't a good texter.

She may not have been the one, but we had fun together. She was cute af, those dimples, we had similar interests, similar not the same but the closest of anyone i dated. We enjoyed eachothers company. We were comfortable together. We had fun. We laughed. We respected eachother and I mean it when I say I never expect to have any particle of the life I wanted so yea as much as I'd want to adopt or be apart of a pregnancy and be on a birth certificate I know I'm not getting what I want. So I adjusted what I wanted.

What do I want? A person who loves me and won't leave me. Someone who will appreciate me. That's about it. Someone who makes me laugh.

What did I want? My soulmate. A girl who didn't find it annoying that I gamed. A girl who believed in me and wanted children and wanted to pretend Santa's rain deers left tracks in the snow for the kids.

I'm not going to get what I want cause I bring no money to the table and I'm mentally ill. I'm prob not even going to get the adjusted version of what I want cause I bring nothing to the table and people don't value people for just existing unfortunately until they are dead.

People are defined by their career. Someone like me has to find one in a million to be okay with my mental health and lack of employment to see the value in me being a stay at home dad or just a companion if they don't want kids.

The sex was AMAZING when it happened. No one will ever have the perfectly dull teeth to bite my knee caps just right. And my wrists. I mean she knew how to touch me. It wasn't awkward or weird even at the beginning. She was the only one who I allowed to bite me bc she knew the right pressure and didn't have sharp teeth.

She had an understanding of mental illness cause she had her own... I mean sure we would never sing in the car together or dance together or have kids.

But like I said I have to adjust to the fact that I may be single forever or I may have to settle on another human being so I don't die alone.

That's fact. I may have to find my partner hideous on the outside and just be with her for someone to talk to so I don't die alone and she will be beautiful on the inside for taking an unemployed mentally ill guy.

I wish Katie never left me if we never stopped having sex, it was decent. Not great but it was good. It was good enough. I'm not going to have everything I wanted to have 30-50% of it was enough.

30-50% is:

- A connection, it doesn't have to be deep or anything I know profound connections don't exists that's why Elise isn't here and that's why no one else I ever felt a profound connection with is here. Me and Katie shared a decent connection. It wasn't entirely bonded but I mean we def were connected.

- respect for eachother. Little to no fights and mostly just no low blows. We respected eachother until the end. The worst thing she said to me was she thought my passion gaming was annoying when I talked about it. Whatever everyone else had been much crueler. I get it if you don't like gaming I mean it's having a hyper Interest in something the other person doesn't get. At all.

- sense of humor. She made me laugh. I made her laugh it worked.

- doesn't matter if she wants kids or not. I don't expect my life to go the way I want. I can be happy not wiping butt's for 3 years and getting peeded on and vomited on. I could be happy just going on vacations alone with my partner and enjoying cozy nights alone. Katie thought I was settling but I mean tbh is it settling? You plan a life and nothing goes the way it is supposed to and then you live your life and try to obtain what you want. I actually could be happy without kids. I'd rather have them but if I don't have kids I want a fun no children life..... I want to do stuff people with kids can't.... if i don't have kids I feel bad cause I would be a good dad but I mean I'd rather not have kids and have a partner than be alone and never have companionship and never be able to raise kids cause of my circumstances...

- all I wanted was someone to share memories with. Katie was a good one. Not the one but the one doesn't exist.

she was beautiful on the inside. The outside. She was funny. And kids really wasn't a deal breaker for me. It could have been forever. But maybe the reality of what I was long term wasn't worth it for her

- I truly wish she never left me. Me her and sage could have lived a happy little life together. It wouldn't have been perfect or 100% what I wanted but despite her thinking the kids thing was a deal breaker it wasn't. Going on vacations and not paying for college or braces or this expense or that expense for said child would have been nice. To have a little cozy life two people enjoyed together. It didn't have to have children. I'm willing to go where life takes me.

I'm 33. Kids might never happen that's fine. I could work with kids one day. I could still be around children. It would have been more than good enough.

She saw the value in me even when I didn't work and had nothing going for me. She still thought I was worth it

I don't think anyone will ever think Nathan is worth it again and take me as I am. A shattered image. A mosaic. She took it and I was enough. I was worth it to her in this state and I was never worth it to anyone else in this current state.

Cecile had a guy in grad school for neuroscience. A very mentally ill guy but a grad student nonetheless.

Jon had a not yet mentally ill guy who was about to graduate with his bachelor's with a 3.8 GPA who was applying for doctorate programs.

Stacey had a top student working on his bachelor's with big dreams.

What did Katie have?

- a mentally ill, unemployed nice guy on disability. Who loved her immensely and that's all I could give her and it was enough. My family broke it. If I had an apartment I believe we would still be together. I told her nonstop the kids thing wasn't a deal breaker. Cause it truly wasn't.

-i didn't settle on Katie. She may have settled on me but I was enough and she took the most broken version of me and still saw someone worth knowing. And I'm afraid I'll never find someone who looks at me like this and still sees someone worth dating. At one point Katie saw us getting married and I was still this:

- and unemployed, disabled guy with nothing but love..

I'm never going to find that again. No one is ever going to take me as I am right now and believe I'm worth it. And for me if you can't see me as I am now as worth it. I don't believe in love.

You either take me in pieces and share the good times with me in this mess or you wait until I hit my best and then you don't deserve me.

I want someone to love me in my mess and think I'm worth it and actually stay. I'm afraid if no one does then I'm going to kill myself.

I want to believe true love exists. And if it does then someone else can look at me and see art.

[spookyanxietygirl]

Incoherent ramblings I’ve just written in the midst of a panic attack/breakdown.

My entire existence, my identity, my life is being destroyed and consumed by my mind… my fears… my thoughts. It never stops. I never feel peace. Each day, I get further and further away from sanity and I start to forget what joy feels like. Happiness is so far beyond my reach and I sincerely cannot comprehend how or why continuing this existence is even remotely worth it. We offer kindness and compassion and mercy to our suffering animal friends. Certain countries and US states allow for assisted suicide for those ailed with terminal illness. Why can’t this be extended to those of us who are in immeasurable mental and emotional agony? I find so much temporary comfort in the idea of simply having a needle gently placed into my arm, allowing me to peacefully and painlessly end this misery. Every moment is a nightmare in my head, whether I’m sleeping or awake. The endless fears and obsessions are eating me alive and I feel utterly powerless to stop it. Or hell, even having the ability and capacity to manage it. But I believe this is permanently ingrained into my being. I don’t believe there is a shred of hope for me. Day by day, everything worsens. I’m trapped in this body with a mind that is desperately seeking a way out and I just can’t pull the trigger — both literally and metaphorically. That level of both desperation and cowardice is torturous. I’m so tired of hearing people say that suicide is the “easy way out.” Suicide goes against our very nature as human beings. We are wired to survive, to protect ourselves, to live, to keep ourselves alive. Following through with suicide takes an immense amount of strength and determination and massive desperation.

The destruction of my mind and my life and my soul is not worth the pain and torment it costs to endure every single day. Literally what is the point? We don’t expect our pets in pain to continue suffering. We offer palliative care to the terminally ill as a means of making them as happy and comfortable as possible until nature takes its course. When it comes to mental illness, however, we as a society allow the suffering to continue. Why? What is the difference or the purpose? What good is a healthy body without a healthy mind? I may not have a physical condition that will cause my heart to suddenly stop, but fuck, I still wish it would. And simply living in this mindset all the time is once again not worth it. There is no actual living going on here; merely surviving and enduring when I truly do not want to any longer. No matter what I do or what I try, the pain and darkness chases me. I understand my anxiety is a liar. I understand my obsessive thoughts and crippling fears are irrational. That awareness is completely useless to me and any sort of “healing” I could ever hope to accomplish. It truly doesn’t matter. I am broken. I am beyond repair. Please, please, someone… understand me and this despair. I am a grown woman who feels like her 5-year-old inner child, constantly terrified and in need of reassurance and love. I am nobody’s daughter. Nobody is going to protect me or comfort me. I can’t even provide it for myself. But who could, anyway? How can someone save me from myself when even *I* can’t do it? it breaks my heart to think of my lost potential. Some parts of my twisted brain have interesting or even useful capabilities… but it has always been completely overpowered by this monster who refuses to let me go. The grip said monster has on me is far too strong and mighty, and I am far too weak to keep fighting it. My heart hurts. My soul aches. And my life is not worth this battle anymore. This life, this hell, is not where I belong. I never did.

[sincelastsession]

Made the mistake of speaking to my mom today. She hung up on me while I was trying to deescalate the convo via talking quieter so she'd stop yelling and saying insane shit in a weird voice...I was on a loop already angry about my Dad and Sister. My shitty toxic as hell behavior doesn't always happen but it did today and I wrote a ton of mean as fuck texts. I feel ashamed about it. Once I start it's hard to stop. I tear into my family. No one benefits from this. When I'm writing it all out I do not feel bad though. I am just raging pissed. I am angry for so many reasons.

I miss my ex a bit today. I miss my best friend too and I cried a bunch about it. I cried about my grandmothers and I cried about my cat.

I am so mad at my Dad and Sister and Mom. I don't understand why they let so much shit happen to me and hurt me and continue to do so. I cannot help them with their unresolved behavioral issues and I am tired of trying. I am TIRED. I am so tired I wish I could have an induced coma to let my mind and body rest. I wish I could give them what they wanted so they could see even with that they will be unhappy. They are unhappy insecure people who need serious help I cannot provide. They will end up killing me one day if I continue to deal with their shit. If my Dad had pulled my neck a bit harder when he grabbed my hair he could have paralyzed me. "I should have called the cops" is the chorus that sings in my head every single time I think about it. There was nothing that happened that day or that week or that year or any year or time or universe etc...that justified that shit. It's wild because I always kinds knew it would happen. I knew my sister would eventually lose her shit at me. I did not think it would be over me throwing a candle. Sometimes I wish I was closer to her in age. I think an ass beating would humble her. I'm fucking sick of my parents coddling her bad behavior. She has stolen a lot from me. She is a compulsive liar and highly manipulative. She's also a naïve idiot poser undoubtedly super fucking insecure and she's so fucking good at tricking people with this false persona she puts on. It makes me sad that her friends believe it till they sniff out her bullshit and get the fuck away from her. She treats me like i'm exhausting and annoying and has flat out told me i can't show up at venues to the same shows she goes to. She talks about me behind my back to her friends like i'm retarded. She knows I see her crap. She will probably bring up how I do not respect her boundaries. She doesn't really understand what a boundary is or how to make it. I am not without fault because I have a hard time remembering the thousands of on the fly boundaries. She will start fights and escalate them on purpose to bait me.

My father is a strange man and no one has ever really figured him out. He is like a dry drunk. I cannot do anything right for him. He has never been pleased with me unless I've done something he wanted perfectly. He has not really ever told me he is proud of me and if he has I really do not remember. He calls me an imposition. He is resentful and angry that I exist. He is sick in the head in a way that should be studied. I am scared that he will kill himself one day but my mom says he never will. Both my parents have threatened to kill themselves and kill or hurt each other or told each other to die in front of me. I have been told to die. I have been called everything I have been told I am worthless and I mean the list goes on get creative in your head. He is the reason my nose is crooked. Maybe it is not him. Maybe it is a mental illness that has swallowed him whole. I do not know. I am tired of his abuse. It was there all my life and i guess i romanticized having a father that wasn't ever cruel to me. He did have good moments. I really do think he is in early onset dementia. He pays for my living but he uses it against me. People do not understand how he has controlled me this long. I feel like I must have a type of Stockholm syndrome almost sometimes. I wish I hadn't been sick ever like my sister. I would have left home and probably been a lot happier and successful instead of whatever the fuck she is doing.

My whole family lies. They lie to me. Everyone lies...but they lie a lot. I was read the boy who cried wolf so much because people thought I was a liar when I was a small child and tried to tell them things or that I hurt. They created a fucked up game where they would tell me I had a white stripe on my tongue if they thought I was lying. I would sob because they would insist I was lying when I wasn't. I do not know why they thought this was a good idea to do to a child. I remember my mom laughing and my dad too.

I'm glad I can't have kids of my own.

I wish my parents had never adopted my sister. I was 15. I needed them. They wanted a baby. I wasn't a baby anymore. I had so much autonomy that they hated. I told the social worker lies so they could adopt the baby. The baby is 22 and I fucking hate her even though i'd absolutely protect her if I could. I've tried. I've tried to warn her. She doesn't listen. I did so much for her. She doesn't care about me though.

My mom has this THING this alcoholic (descriptor, i don't like to shame addicts despite how much i hate this man) sick idiot cobbler..yes a fucking cobbler...living with her. He is awful. She has chosen his abuse and bullshit and lies and more bullshit over me an my sister's sanity. I fucking hate him. I resent her for it. She gets mad when I get mad about it. I do not go see her because he is awful to be around. She lies to me about him and has since she met him since before my dad and mom got divorced. I understand why my dad hates her but i do not want to be part of it. Esteban the ASSHOLE the THING that lives there is fucking terrible. So much so that when I found out he put a cigarette out on my sister's arm years later and that he had beat my mother after I had warned her he had a record for woman beating etc...I put him in a sour jar and he went insane and tried to kill himself with the same shaped objects I put in the jar. Sometimes I wish EMS had hit 5mins of traffic. He has a scar on his neck now that he tells ppl he got in war he was never in. He hates me and thinks I am a witch. No one knew I did the sour jar. His mother was a practitioner so I guess he can tell. That's good though. He stays away from me now and doesn't speak to me. I do not have a name for what I do. I do not care if people think that's crazy. We live in Louisiana and we do what we know. I would piss on his grave. I have no care for people that would abuse women or children.

Idk what's up with Justin. He was weird last time I saw him and very quiet. I was stoned when he came over after work. He just seemed depressed and mad but kept telling me he was just tired when I asked him if he was upset or if I did anything wrong. I fucking hate that I fawned over a man. He has completely ignored me all of today. I know he is ignoring me because he usually replies or calls in-between driving for lyft or uber. Maybe I do not know...maybe that's a cognitive distortion or some shit.

It doesn't really matter how late I go to bed. I like the silence of night and while I am still hypervigilant I feel like I can breathe better most of the time. I feel more productive. If I could swim or go walking at night I would. I hate men for making that scary.

Matt is supposed to call me tomorrow around noon because I asked him. I do not know what to talk about. He only seems to call otw to work. I want to let him lead but I always talk and I feel like I have wasted the short time we chat. Sometimes i'm sad after calls because I wish we could talk until we ran out of topics. He doesn't really have much time. Maybe that is not true. I am happy to hear from him either way.

That's all I guess for now. It's a lot. I guess I will update again tomorrow.