#and what im saying is that im sick of being depressed and lonely and i hate that im responsible for fixing it and there are no easy solutio

[professionaljester]

love my bad mental health, love being suicidal all the time

[metamatar]

i keep having these recurring fantasies of being normal and that fixes my depression and loneliness and not going to lie this shit is so corrosive to the soul

[milksnake-tea]

━━ duty calls.

Created around the same time and having trained with one another, you and Casper have always butted heads. You'd compete over seemingly anything - how many souls one could reap, the days one could go without catching soul sickness, and the list goes on. Casper has always found you to be obnoxious, but when he sees you crying by yourself, he finds himself torn.

grim x gn!reaper!reader

contains: fluff, hurt/comfort, set before the main storyline, reader is NOT the mc, brief mentions of child death, USAGE OF GRIM'S REAL NAME, reader is a little shit

word count: 4.2k

a/n: FORGIVE ME IF THE WORLDBUILDING IS OFF I WAS TRYING MY BEST and ive only done one ending oops (finals hurts okay :((( ) also ... im not sure if reapers names are classified just to mortals and not other reapers but ykw imma take my liberties

"Seriously, do you ever get tired?"

Casper groaned irritatedly, running a hand through his snow-like hair. Blood like rust coated his scythe, spoils from his most recent hunt. The corpse still lay fresh in front of him, but their skin was cold and their eyes dead.

Boisterous laughter erupted above him. Sitting on the balcony of some person’s apartment, you grinned down at him - that infuriating, shit-eating grin that never failed to tick him off.

You kicked your legs childishly as you leaned back over the railing. Nestled against the crook of your arm was a scythe similar to his own, save for the more detailed design and color palette. Unlike him, you would constantly say, you liked to live a little.

Bold words coming from a bringer of death.

“Don’t blame me for you being slow,” you called down to him. Casper rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he glared up at you.

“I am not ‘slow’,” he grumbled. “You’re too eager. And get down from there, you’ll be spotted.”

You tilted your head. “It’s like, 3 A.M. What kind of idiot’s gonna be awake at this hour?”

“You’d be surprised. Humans will do anything but take care of themselves.”

“I guess,” you sighed, jumping down. You twirled your scythe absentmindedly, Casper leaning back to avoid getting hacked to pieces.

“Be careful with that,” he scolded. You, of course, ignored him.

“So are these the last of the guys?” you wondered, kicking at a corpse with your foot.

The alleyway was practically lined with bodies, so many that management had called upon both you and Casper to deal with the remnants of the massacre. Gang fights were a pain to deal with, second only to pandemics and war.

“It would seem so.” Casper gave you a look, to which you responded by sticking out your tongue. You were very mature, after all.

You stretched thankfully, rolling out your shoulder. “Thank God, I was starting to get depressed from all the dead people.”

“If you’re getting depressed from just this, perhaps you should consider a different career choice.”

“Nah.” You smiled. “If I left, who would I bully? You’d get all sad and lonely without me.”

“Hardly,” Casper scoffed. “If anything, I’d be relieved.”

“You wound me.”

“Good.”

“So mean,” you pouted. Casper paid you no attention, as per usual. It didn’t matter, though, since you immediately perked back up. “Hey, boo?”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“I have an idea.” And just like that, your cheshire grin returned. Casper sighed, already beginning to walk off.

“How wonderful,” he said sarcastically. “Share it with someone else.”

“Uh-uh, no.” As quick as a flash, your scythe was out, the blade curving in front of Casper to prevent his escape. “This one’s good, I swear.”

“Your definition of what is and isn’t a good idea needs some desperate fixing.” Still, he made no move to escape, instead turning around to face you.

“Let’s race.”

Casper raised a brow. “Race?”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes shining like jewels. In the darkness of the alleyway, the two of you were illuminated only by the neon blue lights of the city. Yet, as that same blue was captured in your eyes, Casper was reminded of a kaleidoscope, changing and turning in a multitude of different colors.

It was… captivating.

“If I win, you have to buy me a drink.” 

Casper snapped out of his daze, a light flush blooming across his fair skin. Thankfully, though, you didn’t seem to notice, too entranced by another one of your ridiculous competitions. Seriously, there had to be a limit to how unprofessional you could be.

“You assume I have the time to buy you one,” he said with faux calmness, grateful for the night’s shadows hiding his complexion. You huffed.

“You could do it while you’re rebalancing yourself,” you said, as though it was obvious. “Besides, it doesn’t have to be anything big, just a coffee or a tea would be nice.”

“Fine, let’s say I stoop down to your level and agree to this… race,” said Casper. “What do I get if I win?”

You shrugged. “Then I'll just buy you a drink.”

Casper shook his head. “I’m not like you. I don’t drink on the job.”

“But you do cuddle an axolotl plushie when you sleep,” you pointed out. Instantly, Casper flushed red.

“Wha- What does that have to do with anything?!” he protested.

"I just thought about it randomly," you shrugged. "But seriously, that thing is huge, where did you get it?"

“Never mind how I got it," Casper crossed his arms and averted his eyes, his bottom lip turning up in a pout. “We’re getting off track.”

“Oh, so now you care about my games,” you teased. “Anyways, on how I’ll reward you…”

You spun your scythe back to your side, tapping its staff against the ground as you thought of a fitting reward.

“Oh! How about this?” You snapped your fingers, a figurative light bulb lighting up next to you. “You get to cash in one favor from me.”

“Any favor?” A smirk creeped onto Casper’s face, his interest finally piqued. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, [Name].”

“As long as it’s within reason and isn’t embarrassing,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “If you make me kiss your feet or something like that, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Of course,” Casper chuckled knowingly. “So, where to and when are we racing?”

“Hey, if you weren’t paying attention to the rules, then that's your fault. As for when the race starts, how about… now.”

“Wha- Hey!” Casper barely dodged as you shot past him in a blur of black. Hooking your scythe into the walls, you stuck out your tongue at him as you propelled yourself through the night.

“So long, Casp!”

Casper cursed under his breath. Quickly, he made haste to follow you. He flew through the air like a bird, twisting around light poles, skyscrapers, and billboards alike.

You weren’t as elegant, instead jumping from building to building like a modern superhero. You’d catapult yourself through the sky using your scythe as leverage, your laughter echoing in the slumbering city - free like the wind.

Casper didn’t have to follow you long to know where you were heading towards. Invisible to the mortal eye, yet painfully obvious to the eyes of reapers, was an entrance to the Underworld, a whirlpool of black and red that led straight down to your home.

As you launched yourself into the air once again, Casper came up next to you, his hair billowing in the cold night wind like smoke.

“Nice of you to join me,” you teased, elbowing him in the side. Casper rolled his eyes once again, speeding up. “Hey!”

Smoky tendrils of crimson and ink curled around your figures as the two of you neared the portal. The center of the whirlpool was a void seemingly leading to the abyss itself, but you’ve worked in this job long enough to know just what lay beneath.

True to his character, Casper wasted no time and shot straight into the thick of it. You, on the other hand, were a little more dramatic with your landing.

You spun in a backflip off of the last of the skyscrapers before letting gravity take you for a ride. Wind whistled past your ears as you fell, yet all you could hear was the rapid thump of your own heart. Adrenaline filled your veins. Soon, black and red lined your vision as the Underworld engulfed you.

The second you saw the tips of red-stained towers, you flipped yourself to face the ground. Closer and closer, you could practically taste it. If you delayed any longer, your life as a grim reaper could end prematurely.

Like the eyes of a devil, your pupils glowed in delight, activating your abilities. But rather than slowing your descent, you sped it up, shooting towards the ground like a missile.

Black blobs, the fuzzy images of your coworkers, scrambled to move out of your way. Turning your body, you landed hard on your heels, narrowly missing a fellow reaper.

For a moment, all you could see was dust. Before the clouds could disappear, you shook off the sting in your ankles and stretched.

“Woo!” you cheered, kicking your leg. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Quiet down.” Casper grabbed your shoulder and pulled you back. “Honestly, is there ever a quiet moment with you?”

You giggled. “Boo, you’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that. Oh, by the way, I’m craving some-”

“Hold it.” Casper bonked your head. “I only agreed to buy you something if you won.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No you didn’t,” Casper retorted. “Anyone with working eyes could see that I reached the ground before you did. Therefore, I won.”

“Uh, no.” You crossed your arms. “Are you gaslighting me? You’re gaslighting me. That's not very nice of you, Casp.”

“I am not gaslighting you.” Your white-haired coworker rolled his eyes. “As grim reapers, we cannot lie. Someone of your caliber should know this.”

You blinked innocently. “Did you just compliment me?”

Casper spluttered. “What in the world made you come to that conclusion?”

Taking a step forward, you leaned towards the reaper, a cheeky smile growing on your face. “You said ‘Someone of your caliber’. That means you think I’m capable.”

“You’d have to be a special kind of stupid to be incompetent after working as a reaper for so long,” Casper crossed his arms, fighting down the blush rising onto his cheeks. You were close, way too close. “Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised, seeing as how that was the only thing you heard from what I said.”

Heaving a sigh, he pushed you away with his finger.

“But don’t distract yourself from the fact that I won the race,” he said, a smug smirk replacing his exasperation.

“I was honestly trying to forget.”

Casper huffed, a pout forming on his lips. But the moment wouldn’t last long, as a ding sounded from both of your phones. When you checked it, you groaned when you saw a notification of unexpected emergency.

“Seriously?” you complained. “Overtime? Did a bunch of reapers die off or something? My soul’s going to get tainted at this rate.”

“Don’t complain.” Casper nudged you, but even you could see the irritation on his face. “It’s our job as reapers to reap souls on time, no matter what.”

“I guess. Still doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

“Agreed.” With a sigh, Casper summoned his scythe. “I must be off, now. See you on the other side, [Name].”

As he made his way back to the opening of the portal, his feet lifting off from the ground, a gloved hand reached out to grasp your chin. Gently, he guided you to look at him as he ascended.

“I look forward to cashing in on that favor.”

━

For as long as you could remember, things have always been this way.

Your earliest memory was of waking up to the crimson skies of the Underworld. Unaware and unknowing, you allowed yourself to be dragged around by older reapers, their voices blurring together in a droning buzz. Everything had gone by so quickly, and you struggled to keep up with it all.

If you were to say it bluntly, your first day felt like a fever dream.

But amidst the chaos, the tutorials, and the gifting of your first scythe, there was one thing that you remembered clearly.

“...Snow.”

Your mentor’s lecture halted at your voice, barely audible. They followed your gaze to a white-haired man, looking to be around the same age as you. Like a drowsy child, you lifted your finger and pointed at him, looking back to your mentor.

“He’s like snow.”

Their eyes softened by the tiniest bit, having seemingly realized that you were still disorientated. After all, in a sense, you had just been born.

“I suppose he is.” Putting a hand on your shoulder, they guided you away from the man. “Now, as I was saying…”

Their voice faded away into the background as the white-haired man noticed your gaze. He turned to look at you, his ruby-like eyes like blood speckles against the winter landscape. You stared at each other for only a few seconds before you turned to follow your mentor.

You quickly forgot the pretty stranger, but you would stay in his memories for quite a while before you’d cross paths again. In the darkness of the Underworld, you were like a lantern - radiating warmth and familiarity.

You were beautiful, like a flower in summer. That was, until he met you for the second time.

Swiftly and ruthlessly, holding true to your occupation as a reaper, you cut apart any premonitions he had had about you. When you were put against him to spar by your mentors, the drowsiness had worn off - instead replaced by insufferable audacity.

As your scythes clashed, sparks flying between the two of you and burning him in the process, your mouth just wouldn’t stop moving, stop talking. The innocently sleepy look on your face was replaced with a shit-eating grin as you blocked his attacks, trapping him in a frenzied dance.

“What’s wrong, boo?” you laughed, twirling your scythe to drive him back. “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already.”

Casper’s eyebrow twitched at the nickname; you wouldn’t stop calling him that ever since you learned his real name. He didn’t understand where it came from, but just the way you said it was enough to annoy him.

“Hardly,” he scoffed, his boots kicking up dust as they skidded against the ground. He was quick to lunge back at you, his movements precise as he swung his blade. “If anything, I’d wager that you’re the one tiring out.”

“Ha!” You ducked under his attack and sprung forward, Casper’s hair tickling at your face as you came nose to nose with him. Startled, Casper had no time to react as you slammed the end of your scythe’s staff into his chest.

Before he knew it, Casper’s back was against the ground, your boot on his chest, and your scythe at his neck.

Your breaths were heavy as you looked down on him, but your eyes glowed with triumphant victory. The fight may have been more exhausting than you’d like to admit, but the view you had was well worth the effort.

Beneath you, Casper struggled to catch his own breath, his chest heaving under the soles of your foot. His white hair splayed around him like a halo, and his face was tickled pink from the fight.

Even in defeat, he was beautiful.

You leaned forward, putting your weight on your knee. Casper grunted as you pressed harder on him. Just for the fun of it, you pressed your scythe’s blade against his chin and guided him to look up at you and your grin.

“I win,” you sang mockingly.

Casper groaned, letting his head fall against the floor. You laughed heartily, stepping off of him and instead extending your hand to him. Without a second thought, Casper took it, allowing you to pull him to his feet and dust him off.

“That’s what, victory number twenty-one?” you asked, stretching. “That means I’m in the lead now, Casp.”

“Whatever,” Casper scoffed, dusting off his chest where your foot had been. “I’m sure the score will even out in no time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you squinted at him. Casper stuck his tongue out at you.

“I don’t know, what does it mean?”

You hit his chest playfully. Casper grunted, glaring at you from the corner of his eye.

That’s how it had always been, after all. You and Casper would go back and forth in this tantalizing dance, exchanging jabs and jokes at the same time. 

To Casper, you were insufferable, but annoyingly capable. To you, Casper was way too serious and stuck up, yet had that charm about him that made you want to tease him at every possible opportunity.

But for many, many years, your relationship never went further than mere friends - if Casper even wanted to call you that.

━

The day Casper’s view of you changed was like a stormy sky - dark, yet light still managed to peek through.

You’d come back to headquarters with a solemn look upon your face. For someone who had just come back from a mission, you were oddly… clean. There wasn’t a trace of blood on your clothes, yet your eyes were dark, haunted. Even your scythe’s shine seemed dull.

For the reapers, to have someone normally so loud and full of life be reduced to this, was frightening. They’d grown used to your smile, your voice, your light. You parted crowds with your uncharacteristically serious aura; if there was anything a sensible reaper feared, it was the wrath of a joyous soul.

Immediately after turning in your report to headquarters, you disappeared from the public eye.

When Casper first heard the news, he had brushed it off. You were probably just having a bad day, he tried to assure himself. Maybe you’d finally realized the grimness that came with your profession. Maybe the soul you’d reaped was especially troublesome and gave you a run for your money.

Despite his attempts to make up explanations for your behavior, he couldn’t stop the worry from gnawing at his heart. It twisted in his chest like soul sickness, an ailment that he wasn’t used to nor did he understand. It even followed him into his work, plaguing his mind and distracting him as he reaped soul after soul.

He’d made haste to return home, knowing that this illness would only worsen if he stayed out.

The Underworld was always dark, but that day, the sky was pitch black. Eager to return to the comfort of his bed, he quickly made his way to one of the many apartment complexes in which reapers resided.

However, just before he opened the door to his room, his hand stilled at the sound of crying.

Now, sadness wasn’t an uncommon emotion in the Underworld. Ghosts, sinners, and demons alike wailed and screamed their woes into the night. Their cries were as common as the sound of rushing cars in a human city.

But not for reapers, especially in their home. Reapers, at their core, were cold, emotionless, and ruthless - they needed to be, in order to do their jobs properly. A reaper’s tears were rare, almost taboo.

The more Casper listened, he soon recognized a familiar voice among those sniffles: yours.

Could it be? He looked up to the rooftop, his hand wavering. His soul pulsed in his chest, warning him to ignore you and focus on himself. But his heart argued back.

Casper glanced once more at the doorknob to his room. Cursing himself, he heaved a sigh and walked away - moving towards the staircase leading to the rooftop.

As he emerged onto the rooftop, the first thing he noticed was how clear the sky was. Its crimson blanket was more like that of a rose’s rather than bloodstains, and if he squinted, he could perhaps delude himself into seeing a few stars.

Then came you.

Casper’s heart plummeted in his chest when he saw your form curled into itself. You sat at the edge of the rooftop, your knees pulled up to your chest and your face buried in your arms. Your back was to him, but Casper saw the way your shoulders trembled.

He tried to take a step towards you, tried to reach to you with his hand, but hesitated. What would he even say? What could he say? What could he do?

His thoughts halted when you took a deep, shuddered breath, your voice raw from cry.

“What do you want, Casper.”

Casper. Not Casp, not boo, not any of the annoying nicknames that you called him by.

“I…”

He stepped back, feeling fear for perhaps the first time in his life. For the first time, he was unsure of what to do.

You couldn’t see him, but you heard him walk away and descend the staircase. You laughed hollowly, wiping at your face with your hand.

“What was I even expecting…” you muttered bitterly, gripping at your own arms for support. “Why would he of all people…”

You shut your eyes tighter. Without the company of the sky and the city, you were left alone with your thoughts. Memories of what you had witnessed laughed in your mind, latching onto you like a parasite and refusing to let go.

You were never afraid of blood, nor of death, but today, just the thought of it made you nauseous.

Something soft nudged at your elbow. Blinking your eyes open, you warily looked to your side.

However, instead of seeing a person, you came face to face with a bright pink axolotl plushie.

You and the plushie stared at each other for a good minute, neither of you knowing what to make of the other. It wasn’t until you heard a familiar, exasperated sigh from behind the plushie that you realized what it was.

“Don’t just stare at him,” Casper mumbled, pushing the plushie against you. You blinked owlishly, before hesitantly taking the plushie into your arms.

Hugging it against your chest, you rested your chin on top of its head. The plushie was oddly warm, yet comforting. Casper sat beside you, silent and gazing up towards the sky. For a while, the two of you simply sat in this silence, with the only thing breaking it being your quiet sniffles.

“...She was just a kid,” you finally spoke, catching Casper’s attention and making him look at you. You, however, kept your gaze straight ahead to the city lines, refusing to meet his gaze. “She was just a little girl, and yet they… they…”

You hugged the plushie a little tighter.

“I just can’t understand how humans can be so cruel to each other.”

Casper’s gaze turned downcast. “That’s how they’ve always been. Life is cruel, even to the purest of souls.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Hardly anything is.”

“It shouldn’t have been her. It should’ve been that bastard that murdered her.”

“He’ll get what he deserves. Karma will catch up to him.”

“But what if it doesn’t? What if he gets let off?”

“He won’t.”

Unexpectedly, you let out a snort at Casper’s deadpanned voice - so assured and serious. Casper raised a brow, looking at you inquisitively.

“You know,” you said, raising your head. “You’re somehow really bad and really good at comforting people.”

“What?” Casper wrinkled his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. Actually, that’s one of the things I like about you.”

“That I’m apparently a bad comforter?”

“No, silly.” You leaned your head on the plushie again, only this time you were looking at your coworker. “Your seriousness. How you’re always so confident in yourself. How even if you don’t know what you’re doing, you still try.”

Red bloomed across Casper’s face like a flowering blossom, reaching from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze.

“It’s not fair when you start saying things like that,” he mumbled. You giggled a little, leaning onto his shoulder with his plushie still in your arms.

“I’m just being honest,” you hummed. “Or maybe I’m coping. I dunno.”

Casper chuckled, but made no move to push you off him. You closed your eyes. The turmoil in your heart was still there, of course, but with Casper against you, it eased up just a little.

“Seriously though, thank you,” you said. “For coming up here for me and, well, everything.”

“It was nothing,” Casper replied. “You were looking pretty pathetic, all depressed and all.”

You huffed. “Just admit you care about me, Casp. Is that so hard?”

Casper grumbled something unintelligible, before lifting his arm. You squeaked as he wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you closer against him. With your head laid against his collarbone, you could feel every breath he took as well as the rapid beat of his heart.

“[Name],” he said quietly. “Remember the favor you promised me? For winning the race?”

“Mm… yeah. What about it?”

“I’d like to cash it in right now.”

“Oh lord,” you chuckled. “Alright, what do you want?”

“Whatever happens next, don’t tell anyone,” Casper whispered.

Your lips curled into a smile. “You know, Casp, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were about to do something weird.”

You couldn’t see him, but you knew he was rolling his eyes.

“Be quiet for a moment, will you?”

You grinned. “Ah, but that’s two favors, not-”

Casper shut you up with a soft kiss to your head. It was brief, so quick that for a second you almost thought you had dreamed it.

In your stunned silence, Casper spoke again.

“Forgive me if I’m being greedy, but I’ll ask for a third favor,” he said. “No matter what happens, promise me you won’t deal with it by yourself.”

His grip around you tightened.

“Please.”

You nuzzled closer into the crook of his neck.

“...I promise.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

okay i Will get a life bc if a pretty woman on the internet tells me to get a life (and make zines), i will get a life (and make zines), but seeing as i dont have one yet, here are my top 3 "damn i wish someone read that one" fics:

wondering about the perspective of the person who confuses interbellum with no man’s land (thasmin smut but make it a 2000 word long poem. only thing ive written of which the title was exactly as good as the fic i think)

playing doctor (vault arc but make it 13/yaz/missy, has great chapter titles, and my mother liked it, even the octopussy parts) it's very pretty printed too:

sunset provision (14/yaz shared theological/ontological crisis. i call the doctor a psychologically disturbed rhesus monkey and co-piloting a religiously charged cockfight. And theres footnotes <3)

watching a video on youtube abt making zines and shes like "i have a full exciting life that i create for myself every single day that has nothing to do with zines. and i think that when you have more things going on in your life youre less likely to become hyperfocused on the reaction you get to your work" and im like damn outgecalled, no wonder we get neurotic abt it here on the hyperfocus no life website

[bullet-prooflove]

Help Wanted - Bottles x Reader

Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @darqchilddaydreamz @the-person-in-the-circle @librarian1002 @prettyinpunk85 @thanossexual @@littlestroman @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @lunamoon @s1lverhand @wakeama @adaydreamaway08

When your dad gets sick you pull away from him. Bottles isn’t sure if it’s a self defence mechanism, if you need the brain space or what. All he knows is that you aren’t around, and that you stop picking up his calls. When he goes past your house, it’s dark and locked up. It goes on for a few weeks. The two of you have only been together a few months but the idea of you in pain wounds him, your absence in his life cuts deep.

When he does catch up with you it���s at the supermarket of all places. It’s ridiculous how something as normal as buying toilet roll can turn into a twist of fate. He isn’t looking where he’s going when he comes around the corner of an aisle, and he bumps into you literally. He knows it’s you before he even registers your face, the recognition is instinctive at this point, he’s attuned to your presence. He catches the scent of your perfume, sensual and soft with a hint of mandarin.

You look tired, your hair is pulled back into messy bun and looks like it hasn’t been washed for days. Your face is gaunt and there’s dark shadows underneath your eyes. You are far from the vibrant girl he knows and loves, and it kills him.

“Talk to me.” He requests his hand coming to rest upon your arm, his thumb chasing over the hollow of your wrist. “As a friend, as a lover, I don’t care what.”

It’s at a table, in the outdoor seating area of the café next door, that the whole thing comes pouring out of you. Your dad’s been sick for a while, longer than you realised and you don’t have time anything else in your life right now.

It had started with him calling you at odd hours to ask when Family Fortunes was on, something that he had never done before. Bottles remembers these phone calls vividly, because they always seemed to occur around a similar time on a Saturday. Your phone would ring and the two of you would look at the clock and he’d say “It’s your dad” without even looking at the call display.

At first you had thought he was just lonely, your job as an events manager kept you busy especially with the Santo Padre Summer Festival on the cards. Then one day you’d popped over and discovered he’d had a mini stroke. He’d lost movement in his left hand, he could barely hold the remote, his memory was shot to shit, and he was asking where your mother was despite the fact, she had passed away five years earlier. It was soul destroying.

You are one of the strongest people he knows, so when you start to cry it breaks something deep down inside of him. He shifts seats to the one alongside of you and wraps his arms around you because this shit is far too much for one person to bear. He holds you close as you sob into his chest, cradling you close.

He knows a thing or two about being exhausted and overwrought, how it feels like a weight bearing down on you. After his father died of an opioid overdose, his mother hadn’t been able to get out of bed for weeks. His relationship with both of his parents had been fraught, but he had spent that time taking care of her. He made sure she ate, that she had company and little by little he’d helped pull her out of the depression until she had started to function again. He knows that this shit isn’t easy. That between your job and caring for your father you’re wearing yourself down, he can see in your eyes how your struggling to cope.

“Let me help.” He asks you. “Please just let me help you.”

He must catch you in a moment of complete weakness because you agree.

The first time Bottles turns up at your father’s house, the old man thinks he’s one of the in-house nurses that he’s managed to run off. There’s been a couple of them so far and none of stuck around more than a few days. After spending a couple of hours with your father he can see why.

He’s a veteran, he used to be a Captain. People like that hate anyone to seeing them vulnerable, so they lash out. Bottles thinks that’s part of the reason he didn’t tell you about the mini stroke in the first place, he didn’t want to shift this burden onto your shoulders.

Albert or rather Bertie, is not kind with his words but Bottles has lived through worse. He’s entire life has been far from a walk in the park and he’s now a Prospect in the Mayans. Your father is a cake walk compared to that. He isn’t sure how it happened but the three of you slip into a routine. You’ve taken as many days as you can away from work, so Bottles steps in to cover the time you’re away. He cooks for Bertie, he helps bathe him, cleans him up and changes the sheets if he doesn’t make it to the bathroom in time, he does as much of the heavy lifting as he can until Bertie starts to get a little better.

When you come home, he shoots out and deals with club business. At night, he curls up around you in your single bed, holding your close and whispering tender words into your ear until you fall sleep, surrounded by Blink 182 posters and Evanescence playing on the C.D player because he’d forgotten that they’d even existed. He switches it up with a couple of Green Day C.Ds after he’s flicked through your collection.

“There’s no money you know.” Bertie tells him one day when the two of them are in the living room watching Family Fortunes. It takes Bottles a minute to understand what he’s saying. “She doesn’t get much if I die. That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

“I’m not here for the money.” He informs Bertie as he raises to his feet and collects Bertie’s bowl from the tray set across his lap and places it inside his own. “I’m here for her, to make sure she takes care of herself.”

“I used to take care of her and now she takes care of me, how fucked up is that?” Bertie says in a rare moment of clarity. “I fucking hate it.”

Bottles can understand that. Parents are God in the eyes of children, and this is what happens when you realise that they’re just mere mortals like the rest of you. He knows how jarring this whole experience has been for you, and for Bertie. Confronting your own mortality changes you, he knows, he spent his entire childhood, thinking he was going to die every time he went under the knife because a child with a disability wasn’t good enough for his parents. He sets the bowls down on the floor beside his usual chair before sitting down again.

“I had forty-six surgeries by the time I was eighteen,” He confides to Bertie, pulling up his trouser leg and showing your father his scars embedded deep within the tissue of his leg. “Suffering isn’t new to me, you can’t imagine the shit I’ve gone through, and I can’t imagine the shit you are going through but I know what it’s like to feel like your life isn’t your own, to feel frustrated by your own capabilities.”

 “I don’t want this for her.” Bertie tells Bottles.  “I don’t want her putting her life on hold to take care of me and I don’t want to end up in one of those homes where they feed you gruel and leave you to die alone in a bedroom where the curtains are still drawn because nobody bothered to open them.”

“I hear you.” Bottles says. “It’s fucking depressing.”

“So, what are my options?” Bertie asks him. “I rely on my daughter and her… What even are you?”

Bottles shrugs his shoulders because truthfully the two of you have never really put a label on it.  All he knows is he’s committed to you; he has been since the moment he kissed you on your doorstep.

“The man who loves your daughter.”

“Boyfriend? Partner? The guy who hoses me down when I make a mess of myself?”

Bottles finds himself smiling before he shrugs his shoulders.

“All of the above.”

“I’m serious when I’m asking you what my options are.” Bertie informs him, his gaze straying back to the T.V. “I need to start figuring shit out before I start losing my marbles and the decision is taken away from me.”

“I could find out.” Bottles offers as he leans in close. It feels like the two of them are engaging in a conspiracy, because the both of them know that the idea of putting your father in a home is not something you agree with. “One of the guys in my club, his mom has memory issues. She started to fall down a lot. He managed to get her into this sweet place up by the community centre. She loves it there, she’s made a lot of friends, there’s all these clubs she goes too, they do some pretty cool shit. I could look into it for you?”

Bertie reaches across the space between the two of them, his strong hand grasping Bottles’.

“Could you?” Bertie requests before he tilts his head to the bedroom door where you’re sleeping. “I have a feeling we’re gonna have a fight on our hands.”

"I'll talk to her." Bottles promises the older man. "See if we can't all get on the same page."

Love Bottles? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Wanna read more? Check out Bottle's Masterlist here!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ghoulish-art-tendencies]

Hi! Do you want to rant about space dementia? I always like learning about new songs and their meanings :)

Bye <3

I DO.!!1! Okay so let’s strap in bc this might be a little long. Sorry!!!

First i’ll put the put the song for reference

Okay to understand this analysis, you have to understand what “space dementia” actually is. Space dementia is a type of (fake) sickness that some astronauts will get, that makes them feel lonely/depressed, and that they or anything else doesn’t matter anymore. Basically because they’re in a giant space of literal nothing, it makes them feel so insignificant and also feel like just another nothing floating along in it.

Now, there is 2 separate analyses for this which might make this really long so..sorry. One looks at it through the more direct lense of space dementia, while the other is how Space Dementia can parallel the feelings of a toxic relationship. You can skip one or the other if you want and i’ll label them.

Also throughout this I will be saying him when referring to the person singing due to the person singing Matt Bellamy and I can differentiate what I am talking about.

SPACE DEMENTIA THROUGH A DIRECT LENSE:

“H8 is the one for me

It gives me all I need

And helps me coexist

With the chill, ooh”

Although this part is one of the few confusing bits to me, h8 is often used as hate in chat, which could be saying “hate helps me coexist with the chill” such as being cold and hateful yourself helps you coexist with the chill of space that makes you feel worthless.

“You make me sick

Because I adore you so

I love all the dirty tricks

And twisted games you play on me, ooh”

Okay starting off “you make me sick” is fairly obvious; space dementia is making him sick. “Because I adore you so” is interesting and i love this lyric. Obviously if you didnt love space you wouldnt go and be an astronaut and go into space in the first place. Its saying it exactly as it means: i love you so much that I came to see you for myself, even if im getting sick because of you. “i love all the dirty tricks / and the twisted games you play on me” is basically again saying he doesn’t care what space will do to him, he will still love it as it is.

“Space dementia in my eyes and

Peace will arise

And tear us apart

And make us meaningless again”

“space dementia in my eyes” is literally about how its consuming him and is inside him and how much its affecting him. “peace will arise / and tear us apart / and make us meaningless again” grouping these all together as they basically say the same thing. Saying that everything will eventually stop existing (either the sun consuming earth, black holes consuming space) and make them all meaningless again because everyone, everything will be forgotten, even himself (especially if hes stuck in space).

“You make us wanna die

I'd cut your name in my heart

We'll destroy this world for you

I know you want me to feel your pain, ooh”

“you make us want to die” again, makes the guy want to die bc of how depressed and meaningless its making him feel. “Id cut your name in my heart” he would do anything for space because he loves it so much. Carving your name into my heart is often seen as a metaphorical act of love. “we’ll destory this world for you” not entirely sure on this, but could just be a reaffirmation of literally doing anything. “i know you want me to feel your pain” space is the one inflicting this sickness onto him, making him feel lonely and empty just like space is.

After that is just repeating lyrics but thats Part 1.

-

SPACE DEMENTIA REPRESENTING A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP:

now, this is my favourite/most thought out interpretation, but there are so many different interpretations that follow a similar path of toxic relationship, so that’s what I will explain. If anyone else has thoughts please share though! <3

“H8 is the one for me

It gives me all I need

And helps me coexist

With the chill, ooh”

Hate is the one for me and the rest of this could be like how it helps him coexist in this world even though its not healthy. It could be like he is used to love being hateful possibly from trauma as a kid.

“You make me sick

Because I adore you so

I love all the dirty tricks

And twisted games you play on me, ooh”

Now starting on the actual toxic relationship, I will be talking about space as a person and referring to them as so, so don’t be confused (using she/her for space as well so it doesn’t get more confusing). “you make me sick / Because I adore you so” he loves her so much, so sticking around even though its making him feel horrible about himself. “I love all the dirty tricks / and twisted games you play on me” he loves them all because he loves her so much, even though they’re dirty and twisted. He can’t see past his love for her.

“Space dementia in my eyes and

Peace will arise

And tear us apart

And make us meaningless again”

“space dementia in my dementia” could be referring to how hes blinded by love, and how eventually everything will tear/fall apart and make everything that they had meaningless.

“You make us wanna die

I'd cut your name in my heart

We'll destroy this world for you

I know you want me to feel your pain, ooh”

“you make us want to die” space is making him want to kill himself becuase of her toxic behaviour. “id cut your name into my heart / we’ll destroy this world for you” he would do anything for her basically. “I know you want me to feel your pain” shes making him suffer, possibly disguising it as how shes suffering.

TLDR: or Basically, if that made no sense, this guy is stuck in a toxic relationship and he is too blinded by his lover for him to leave, and shes constantly hurting him, but he sees it as love. He would do anything for her, as he feels like nothing matters except her.

Now for side notes on why else I love the song beside the lyrics. I LOVE Matt Bellamy’s voice in this song specifically. The high notes he manages to pull off are just beautiful. Not only that but the instrumental at the end after the lyrics come to an end just ascends my body every time. It truly feels like you’re floating in space and that everything feels BIG around you, and yet empty. The song feels and sounds so sorrowful too and I think the emotions come through so well through both the vocals and backing track. Something that stuck with me that someone told me was “it sounds like a 70s art studio in the middle of the night” and GOD yeah it really does. Everything about the song is perfect and I hope I never get tired of it from playing it on repeat too much.

thank you for coming to my ted talk on Space Dementia. Sam try not to write a whole essay for every ask about a special interest challenge (IMPOSSIBLE). Im so glad to have this out of my system though and it probably made no sense whatsoever as all my thoughts are usually incoherent written down or said aloud. ^_^ Thanks for the ask and permission to rant and have a great day <3

[racecarcat]

You know, I just finished rereading Part 1 of CSM after about a weak and ohh myyy godddd… how is this level writing achievable. I strive to write something this great and dooming every thing day. Anyway, here is some thoughts about part 1 I had after rereading.

SPOILERS ⚠️ ABOUT THE ENTIRETY OF PART 1 OF CSM (CHAP 1–97)

• I originally didn’t understand the hype about Reze when first read the manga, like I loved her design and personality, but I came to appreciate her a lot more this time around. Especially after realizing that once the fight with Denji/Reze that Reze actually does try to go to the cafe—idk why I interpreted the first time around as she just trying to escape Japan.

• Denji… really does talk like a teenager no matter how depressed he is. I feel like I don’t feel like I see I don’t see that so very often. Especially during his monologue(?) while cooking and eating Makima.

• Being famous KILLS Denji. I’m sure there’s some symbolism im not in the intelligence level to understand.

• Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE in Public Safety has always been doomed. Aki was doomed to die the worst fate, Denji was doomed to have all his happiness taken away, Makima was doomed to be a Public Safety dog, Angel was never meant to find solace in others without them dead—I CANT STAND IT.

• I hate Makima, don’t get me wrong. But seeing the scene of Pochita explaining how violently lonely and isolated Makima was because of how she was raised and how her version of love was sick and cruel because she didn’t know how else to tell people was just so… fjdjxjdjf

• Hirofumi Yoshida is a lot sillier than I remember. He has this stupid little :) I think is cute.

• Cosmo is such a fun character. Her whole “Halloween” thing is something I wish I understood more but I will take what I can get.

• I finally understood Quanxi’s whole arc when she shows up to the point she dies.

I’m sure there’s more but I read chapter 97 at 5:30 AM this morning. Anyway, if you were to ask me if I like Part 1 or 2 better, I would definitely say Part 1.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to reread part 2 so this may change but just… Part 1 has such a charm to it.

(Also Power comeback when)

[selamat-linting]

living after experiencing sa is so weird like, the same piece of writing about assault could do nothing or it could send me into a week long spiral and its just a matter of dumb luck or pure chance that determines my brains' reaction to it. i've had moments where im legitimately triggered in the middle of re-reading something i actually enjoy as porn. over the years i figured it was because i had small triggers that are abstract or wasnt easily noticeable or doesnt feel like anything until its in the spesific context of sa. like being trapped in an enclosed space with strangers, begging to be sent home, being deceived, having your preferences and interests weaponized against you, the really lonely and painful walk home afterwards where no one comes to save you but maybe its better off this way since you dont want to be seen, those are things im particularly sensitive with. for example, a few years ago i got really messed up about this anecdote of a kid who got kidnapped by a neighbor for a few hours. he offered to see his cat and then lock them up in a room while theyre playing with said kittens. nothing actually happens but that made me legit depressed for a few days. while im fine talking with my friend about an incident where she got followed by a creepy guy who groped her while she's walking home. both situations are horrifying and bad ofc, but i cant exactly communicate or find an easy way to filter out the bad. like, i can handle hearing the graphic details, the bare bones account of what happens, but if it touches on how the victim was tricked or deceived or gets taken advantage of, even when its basically the least upsetting part, i just couldnt do it.

idk, maybe its because my experience was more in the mental stuff. yeah sure, it was only some groping, an almost kiss, and some sex talk. but the context was that i asked for help, someone friendly comes along, they say theyre just helping me but turns out they actually have ulterior motives. i was stuck in a car for hours to god knows where, fully knowing i was gonna get raped when the car eventually stops, trying to plead or at least delay it with someone i thought was a friend without being too harsh because i know they could do even worse things if i drop this thin veneer of friendliness we got going on. and all the while this asshole kept touching me in spots i didnt even realize was a sensitive place for me and i had to keep a straight face the whole time because if they see a hint that i liked it, its over. did i like though? yeah. do i want it? fuck no. never in a million years. and i felt betrayed because im supposed to have that moment of discovery with a boyfriend or a girlfriend and it was supposed to be nice and comforting but its not. and i might associate gentle touches with this forever. and there's also a part of me that said, hey somebody wants me. dont you want to be wanted? i might as well enjoy it because no one's gonna offer me hot car sex like this. i should try to get myself wet! this is a new experience that i should just see the bright side of. im supposed to be a kinky slut right? i just turned 20. and after all, i promised myself, after the first time i had my sa as a kid, the next time it happens im gonna fight. and what am i doing right now? i'm just running my mouth. im laughing at my soon to be rapists' joke and i tell him we should meet up later instead of doing everything right now since i had work later in the day. this isnt fighting, its bargaining. and all the while im wondering if i look pretty while im doing this. i hope i look pretty. im just wearing sweatshirt and pajama pants. this is sick, why do i want to look good while im sexually assaulted?

i never told this to anyone except a friend. but even she didnt get the whole account. she just know it happens. its the part that actually upsets me that i didnt tell her. the whole violated trust thing. and how dumb i am for instantly accepting help from an acquaintance i dont even know that well. and what happens after the car stops. all she knows is that when it stops, i pushed him off of me and i left the car and run.

to her it just seems like im valiantly fighting off an asshole. she didnt know that after i ran, a bunch of men saw me running. they asked me if i need help. they were kind. but i thought of the hassle of reporting to the police, being grilled with questions, have my entire behavior scrutinized, and my parents vacillating between unhelpful anger or chastising me for being so trusting and eventually isolating me because i cant be trusted to exist in a public space without being harassed and god i dont want to miss work today and theyre gonna ask why if i had to miss a day and theyre gonna know too. so obviously i shut up. i couldnt say anything. the fuck who assaulted me came, and get this, i went back to his car. i didnt sit next to him, i was sitting at the backseat, and he was angry and yelled at me the entire time while driving me back to the closest bus station. i didnt say anything, and i actually paid him money before leaving. i was a coward.

in hindsight, what happens after the next few month after that was just me trying to compensate for the shame and utter incompetence i felt. i thought i was good at being confrontational and assertive, but when it actually matters, i cant speak. it was awful. i mean, it was a moment of self improvement, i did evolve from being an awkward self-important debate kid to an adult who relies on being good with persuading people for a living. im proud of that. but the feeling of helplessness still remains. im still afraid that when it happens again, i'd just clam up like usual. even though i already successfully fend off several people trying to fuck with me before anything that bad ever happens because im a hot saleswoman now. it felt weird calling myself a victim or a survivor because, it just happens. i didnt survive shit nor do i want to be a victim. i dont want to be pitied. and i dont want to be called brave or anything because im anything but.

except that everytime something reminds me of my sa incident, i kept having this urge to tell somebody, and i'd wrote a long paragraph detailing everything that happened including all of the uncomfortable details that didnt make me look good as a victim. and then i'd delete it before sending because its not good to tell your personal triggers online right? but i have no one i want to talk about this irl. and i cant imagine any well-meaning response that doesnt make me angry. i kept thinking about it. if anyone acknowledged this happens to me, i have no socially acceptable response. im not sure if anyone could understand or be sympathetic. i mean, imagine someone told you a grave secret about them and then they get angry and throw a tantrum when you say youre keeping their secret to the grave. youre in the right to be angry and confused at them. and its one thing to write a retrospective like this, and its another thing talk about it directly. i wouldnt be self aware to control myself. i'd just ruin another friendship because i got pissed off for no discernable reason.

i dont really know where im going with this. i think i just wanted to get this out of my system. its been what? three years? im sick of keeping that shit in. i think i just need to talk about it, sort of like a confessional before moving on for good. anyway, your usual shitposting will resume shortly. bye bitch!

[inloveforevr]

how do i forgive myself for ignoring my friends' texts and reaching out to check on me, when i was very depressed and dealing with multiple crisis? I stayed away and didnt ask for support and then ghost them. I also didnt connect with other people or post on social media where they could see it and get hurt by me ignoring them.

I just laid low and licked my wounds in private. My issues were not things they could help with (like my marriage having huge fights, unemployment , being sick, my mom being hospitalized)

But i dont know if i deserve to be their friend still?

I feel so overwhelmed with guilt that i dont know how to reconnect with them or how to reply.

Especially when i read posts that say "cut out people who disappear on you" or "its time to drop ppl who dont make an effort to meet u halfway " when i read stuff like this i feel stricken with panic and i afraid that my friends will buy into this narrative or be convinced that i deserve to be cut out.

I feel ashamed and lonely.

More info: the last time we were in touch i used to be there for them and listen to them a lot and host them and take them out when i could. So im not a very useless friend (i think). But im just very bad at keeping in touch when im overwhelmed n hurt by my own life.

Please will you or your followers give me some peace? If you were in my friends' shoes, would you forgive someone like me ? Would you be okay with me reappearing after 2 months?

(Btw me and these friends all reside in different cities so these are all long distance friendships based solely on texting).

I feel so guilty i could die

Hey love, sorry to hear you’re going through all of this. And i’m sorry to hear ab all the difficulties you’re facing.

I know some people like to lay low and deal w their issues first before going to others for support. (i do the same thing!) and as a result, distancing yourself from relationships can make sense.

It’s totally understandable to feel guilty and lonely as a result of all of this.

And regarding the internet’s thinking on relationships & cutting people off - it’s so false. I think it makes sense to end a relationship when it’s abusive/unhealthy - that’s real yknow. But it’s such black and white thinking. Don’t listen to the internet. And i certainly don’t think it applies in this scenario.

You clearly value your friendships and i’m sure they value you and care ab you. Honestly? Shoot them a message, explain what’s been going on. Don’t hold back. Arrange a dedicated time to talk if you can.

We all need friends. And yeah you may feel ashamed and guilty but don’t let it prevent you from reaching out. You need a good support system around you and you don’t want to lose your friends, especially in a time when you’re facing difficulty. Support and community is essential. We all need it. We all need love.

Be honest, and tell them how you feel.

If this was my loved one, i would be concerned more than anything. I love all my friends deeply. I’d want to hear from them and ensure they are okay. I wouldn’t hold it against them if they are already going through a tough time. I’d offer them compassion & empathy.

And you’re not a bad friend. Don’t believe that thought. The fact you asked this shows you care.

Please take care of yourself. Ensure you are leaning on your support system. If therapy is available to you, it may also be worth considering. Sometimes you need a safe space to process what is going on. It sounds like you’re going through a lot of stress.

I hope it all goes well ❤️

And if any if my followers have any further advice pls add thank U!

[theunsatisfiednarcissist]

I very honestly and genuinely wish morphine induced assisted suicide was a legal treatment for chronic depression and chronic mood disorder. I don't want to find some back alley substitute like Fanta or some bs to just get out. I've mulled over this idea for years

I have had 2 attempts in the beginning months of 2023. Obviously failed. And it's not that I'm like woah is me, my life is awful I am having a tough time so killmeh.

I have been batteling for years I ended up in a hella abusive relationship which caused agoraphobia and ptsd. I live in an abusive dynamic with family. My dad is really sick with a heart condition. I losf a really important family memeber in january. And my relationship with mysister is non-exiatant and toxic. I am and have isolated myself a lot, distancing myself from toxic situations. I've done the work, made goal orientated achievable plans, and smashed them. I went from a full tilt recluse to someone who came back from that, who managed my mood disorder, work full time, and managed my ptsd. Got back into my passions. As one annoying comment was made to me that I need to show up for myself reminded me one yea I said that to a friend apparently. But I show up for myself every God damn day like we all do if we're not ya know a bloody infant in a grown ass human body

And what stumps me is it was supposed to get easier. Happier. That's the sell on recovery and healing

It doesn't. It's heavy and lonely and always stressful. There's never a moment you're not managing normal life and then chronic health and mental health issues and no one has any concept of what that is because people can only operate from what then know and what they can do and I'm cool with that. I'm tired of my psychs telling me I'm good and know what I need to do in times of distress.

I'm content with that, pissed but content

I'm not content with what my life has become because of that. I'm content but exhausted that the requirements of maintaining the only thing that fixed me and keeps me going which sure is not therapy. It's God damned horses. And I can't do it anymore. Im tired of being alone and in a sect of human that is like "this" and also being told well I can't get advice/answers or assistance by anyone. Professional social or familial and being guilted when say I'm exhausted and don't want to live

I'm not being overdramatic and depressed and this is what people struggle with

I'm proud of my accomplishments and of me. I don't hold any anger towards my abuser. I love my friends and family and my life is how I wished it to be.

But I'm alone literally and metaphorically

My value is only on what others can get. I am fragile and expected to be both tough and understanding and compassionate to others but without limit which in experience is unrealistic and not ever reciprocated. That would be insane.

I just want to legally and discretely die. With dignity. Without watching my life burn due to my mental illness. Because that's the nature of a cyclical disorder. It comes back no mater how you manage it it will be back.

I just want to die proud. I want to die with dignity and with my friends and family still holding me in high regard, not seeing me through the lenses of illness. I wish to watch others strive. But I have peaked. I am tired and am overwhelmed. These things normally pass but not with my condition. It's a staple of my experience and I need it to stop

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Tw insecurity

a lot of people i know in my life are in committed relationships now and maybe a part of me feels sad. im happy for them because we are friends and everyone deserves great things, but i can't help feel like im the one who's not getting neither, nor ahead in life just backwards, with my traumas living with me that beat me down daily, i feel incredibly alone despite having people around me, ive never been in a relationship before and im turning 25.. the milestones which we all thought we would be married or settled, a good job and what not. i have neither, my anxiety got so terrible i quit my minimum wage job, im dismissed by doctors constantly about my health, i have awful periods lasting me months, yet no cause or anything found, i haven't been the same since 2019 and since then it just all came down. i don't even tell my friends these things because truthfully what can one even say lol, im sick of saying these things also esp my health issues which they are aware of, just not aware im still suffering. my depression seems to be right back to, i just feel an all time low. I feel so alone, im sick of friends when they say "the right one will come unexpectedly" sweetie its been 25 years hahaha, just that response just strikes a nerve, i don't think people realise how utterly lonely life can be living this way, beginning to question your worth and if your deserving of nice things.

Hi anon,

I can understand how seeing other people in relationships can just emphasize your own loneliness. There's a quote from A Christmas Carol, “We choose this time because it is a time of all others when want is keenly felt, and abundance rejoices.” It's saying that Christmas is a time when those who have privileges bask in them, and those without those privileges can't help but be reminded. The same is true here - seeing those in loving relationships can make being single more painful.

Out of love and concern for you and your mental health, I would recommend looking into getting a therapist if you haven't already, and if it's affordable or accessible for you. It's important to tackle your depression god forbid it worsens, as well as maintaining your mental health as a whole with the guidance of a professional. You deserve the care you need.

You are valid. You are welcome here if you need to vent or talk about something.

I hope things get better for you. Please let us know if you need anything, or if there's anything we can do to help.

-Bun

[gordontheengineswifenirmal]

3 years now and counting for me. N even when u did, wasn’t that often. Sometimes as little as once or twice in a year. I was ashamed I wasn’t as ‘productive’ then. I was conditioned by society, n I also knew little about asexual then. I was desperate for acceptance, and wanted to be loved. Instead, I was used n made a fool of. Repeatedly.

Now, I’m redefining what it’s like to be single. I’m making single a badass thing to be instead of taboo.

It’s liberating. I finally get to make up the rules. Not having to share a bed is excellent. Doing what u want without having to worry if ur good looking enough, if they really love u, if they’re cheating, if they’re using u, if they actually love or desire someone else more, if they have diseases, etc. is an incredible feeling. I used to be very lonely. I’ve learned to be me own best company, n accept meself.

Everytime id meet blokes, it started to become routine. They’d pretend to be nice. Some would try to stick around. Some would smash, pass n b on their way to the next victim. They knew what they were doing, n I had been a bit too optimistic that they were different this time. I started losing interest and attraction. I no longer had crushes on anyone. The men I was with were varying degrees on the looks s take, n yet I felt the same. It was increasingly take or leave it. I started seriously considering the latter more. After awhile, the feeling became the same for all of them :

And I got very sick of the charade. I wasn’t getting anything out of it. I’d try to pretend I was into them. I’d be somewhat attracted at best. Me whole heart wasn’t into it. I began to feel that way with sex n romance in general. It honestly began to feel like I was trying to drag meself to a job I wasn’t happy in, but I had no idea there were other options. I also started losing attraction in general, n at first that scared n confused me. It was a new feeling. It wasn’t necessarily bad, just very unfamiliar. I felt….lost and confused af.

Eventually, I became more comfortable in me own skin. I still battle cliches, stereotypes, assumptions, n false rumours, but only because those people are uncomfortable n unhappy with themselves, n they want to project that on me, to make themselves feel better.

Im happier. Being alone isn’t a curse. It doesn’t HAVE to be depressing. It’s like an empty room - if COULD be depressing - if u choose to leave it that way. But, you can dress it up, you can use it as a blank canvas, and have fun with it. See the positives in it.

People who have the chutzpah to say yeah, I’m single n not interested in anyone have a unique strength. They stand up for themselves n own it. They r super self reliant. It’s soooo much better to hear than ‘oh yeah, I bedded x number of people, and I’m experienced I’m so sexy look at me, u know u want me.’ That’s a coward. They hide behind a false ego, n it makes them weak. They have to rely on other people and their vices to get by. They’re as sad as addicts. In a way, they are addicts.

Then there’s us - not having to fight for bed space or covers. Not having to deal with a jealous partner if u want to go do some activity. Not having to wonder if they r doing something u may need to b concerned about. No concern that they might have given u an std. U can eat, watch, listen to, whatever - u want. U can go enjoy events. I love seeing other single people doing their thing, not bowing to social pressure. Hell, when you realise u can get the job done with a cracking imagination n some vibrators, n not feel shitty, guilty, or awkward afterwards……that alone is worth it!

For me, men have been replaced by trains, and I’ve definitely upgraded.

There is more to life than sex n romance, and it’s definitely worth thinking out of the box to explore.

[blonkk]

i’m so depressed i don’t want move but i have literally no choice. the job i wanted so bad never even emailed me back after my interview, even when i emailed them for a follow up. the other job that said i was still being considered hasn’t gotten back to me. so now i basically have to move to a new province in one week and start my stupid constant cycle all fucking over again. i have no money, and now a car i can’t sell. i have no access to my medication. my car insurance is so fucking expensive and now i’m moving to a different province anyways. i haven’t packed anything and i don’t even have a permanent place to live yet. i can’t bring myself to do any of the tasks i need to do. i just won’t do them. all i want to do is sleep and eat. like i haven’t been this depressed in a long time. i’ve been sad and lonely, but not depressed. i haven’t watched tv during the day in several years and it’s all i’ve been doing this past week. i just can’t bring myself to do anything i need to do because i dont. want. to. move. not again. i know how this goes. everyone’s saying i must be so excited bla bla bla im not man. i’ve moved a thousand times and had a thousand new adventures and experiences. i’ve made new friends and seen new things and learned to be completely independent and comfortable in my own company. i’m fucking over it but it seems like that’s really all life has to offer me. i try to stay positive and think maybe this will be the one that sticks! maybe this time ill find what im looking for! girl be for real. that’s what i tell myself every time and it never happens. i’m so sick and tired. no matter what i do or where i go i fail. i’m lonely. i’m on my own. i don’t belong there. and as soon as i stay to feel some sort of security i’ll be forced to do it all over again. why can’t i just get a break why is this my constant condition

[my-evil-brain]

I'm so tired of all of this it's not even funny.

It's 2024, and i was promised a bright technological safer better than the past world. Instead, i live through a world of greedy, power-hungry, mean uncaring, ignorant assholes and fuckwads. Growing up was tough enough dealing with 12 years of pokes and jabs, and no one was listening or paying attention. Then suddenly, I'm an adult, and zero shits changed. In fact, it's worse. Now im 40s, friendless , depressed and lonely. I always thought i had friends. But they all proved themselves not even worthy and worthless. I can't even trust people to confide in or be a friend anymore. They all either have ghosted me, lied, cheated, or stolen. I could never share feelings and deep thoughts because so far, so-called friends always used the info to take jabs against me as a joke or not caring in general. Not that people have ever truly listened to me anyway. That always pisses me off. Decades of repeating myself over and over, and eventually, when I'd get upset about it even a little, im being an asshole and unreasonable. My best friend from grade school, I don't even want to know anymore. I'm sick to death of his misogyny and drunkenness hitting on women I'd liked. His knack for insulting every woman I've been with ( to fat, bossy, ugly for his taste) plus how he treats the women he's been with. Blaming everything on his drinking (A.A. is lame so..no). I left for Tennessee after an awful break-up years ago. Everyone I knew ghosted me years ago. It started with them or me asking how things were going. After i responded, days, weeks, months before a response. Which was usually a "how's it going " text. Eventually, i stopped trying, and nobody even noticed. I've had one good friend visit me out here. After 2016 he gets pissy at our friend group because he can't take the trump bitching and hes got a gf he's got better things to do. So that whole dichotomy broke apart. Fuck, my own fucking parents only visited twice in 13 yrs....11 yrs ago. Then suddenly moms sick and 6 months later shed dead. I say suddenly but she just didn't go to the doctor and 2 yrs later the pain was so bad she couldn't take it and that's how we found out she had stage 4 cancer (it wasn't stage 1 when she found out). Surprise motherfucker! I'm so fucking tired of not being able to trust anyone and being the weirdo because my intrests aren't sports and hunting and other perceived manly things along with misogyny and loving a lieing rapest facist traitorous fraud who was president. So sorry I'm into philosophy and art and science and history and the paranormal and freedom to be and not facism. That excludes me from so many anythings when I'm around people. Not that I want to be around that, but its so fucking lonely a way to exist. It's depressing as fucking hell. And yes I've done something about that after 2020 broke me. I even tried therapy. That was useless. The doctor kept insisting I'm not acknowledging some trauma in my childhood at home. When I clearly stated what was bothering me. 12 yrs in public school, nobody listening to me when I speak, and everyone proving to be untrustworthy and mean dicks. It's not that I'm suicidal, I just don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to participate in any of this worlds bullshit and that's all the world is now. I'm watching the environment colapse, the poor get poorer the rich n politicians not giving a fuck and hatred and greed everywhere. And I get laughed at and dismissed by all around me all the time everywhere I've been, because I'm apparently stupid for believing it's that bad. It is that bad, its worse. The bad is totally out pacing the good in life. I just want everyone to feel as hurt as i am as pained as i am, but that's wrong. So i play nice dont jab back and be just as petty. On the off chance i do, or at least stand up for something, I'm suddenly a problem, and I'm inappropriate. Everyone else, perfectly fine when they do the same. I'm so fucking tired of all these people, this world, being ignored, not being considered, the greed n hatred. It's god damn depressing and lonely as fuck.

FML

[3amandimstillawake]

I'd like to write a sort of love letter to my friends.

It's often so easy to feel like i actually have any weight in anyone's life. but i do. i do, and it shows when one of my friends let me know im the only person she's told her mom about. it shows when she says if her life was a show, I would be one of the favorite characters of the audience. it shows when one of friends say that tiger lilies remind her of me because they look so fierce and bright, just like how I am. it shows when she takes a candid photo of my side profile and flatters the hell out of me saying how pretty and photogenic I am, even tho I've never felt that way, and when she showed me the photo, i believed her, and i saw how i was beautiful in it because it was a photo taken with so much love. it shows when one of my friends say I am made of sunshine. it shows when she says she's blown by admiration for me and says I'm smart, I'm confident, and I'm talented. it shows when she comes back from vacation with gifts for all our friends, and she gets the same white & gold earrings for everyone, but gets a brilliant, glowing navy blue & gold one for me, because she said as soon as she saw those earrings she was reminded of me, that they'd suit no one better than me because they have a color as bold as me. it shows when i spend every class with one of my friends always, always holding hands with her, to the point where some people think its in a romantic way, but I only laugh to myself because of how many people miss the simple and beautiful romance that is present in all friendships. it shows when multiple of my friends would start calling me relentlessly any day I dont go to school because why the hell am i not there? it shows when my friends make a mini vlog for me at school on the day im sick and absent so I can feel what i missed. it shows when any one of my friends randomly text me to tell me something about their lives, to discuss something they are passionate about with me, to ask me for advice or help on anything because they trust me. it shows when they make me feel good about myself, even tho i think i dont deserve to feel so unless i am constantly performing at my best 24/7. it shows when they think of me and include me into important events in their lives even tho they've not known me very long. it shows in so many little ways, and with burdening big feelings of self pity, i happen to so easily forget the accumulation of all these little moments. but they mean so much. even when i feel incredibly out of it, even when i feel lonely and want to be swallowed up by the earth, being around these people reminds me i do belong to a world bigger than the one i created in my head. that i am significant in people's lives, that people love me even though I'm not perfect, and they love me without condition. my heart is so filled with love with these people that i could cry happy tears for once. i love them all in a million little ways, just as they love me in a million more. they want me to be a part of their lives, and many times an important part as well, and as someone who has spent most of her life feeling excluded and detached from everyone, it means a bunch to me. yes, i will still likely feel overcome with a different, strange kind of sadness at almost every turn of my life, but despite that empty feeling, in fact even with the existence of these depressive moments, this goodness exists in the form of all these amazing, beautiful people I've met. and i hope all of them end up living the happiest version of their lives, because it is precisely what they deserve.

Thank you for existing in this time of my life, for giving me rich and lovely experiences that will mark my ending teenage years. you have made many months worth the exhaustion and struggles of living when i get to experience those moments of happiness with you. regardless how often i speak to each of you, regardless of whether or not our paths will keep going in the same direction after we're done with school, I will hold a terrific amount of love in my heart for you.

[cherrybomboyfriend]

as the fireflies retreated and the sky turned light blue… a pimp from Augusta told me about you

may 11th, 2024.

this is my third consecutive night of writing myself to sleep in this ranty multi-paragraph style. very light connotation on multi-paragraph though because i actually enjoy the process of just consecutively talking instead of organizing my thoughts like condiments on shelves ready for consumption. consume this dick. i’m not for sale. not yet at least… i want to be in the future. i’m the type of person that doesn’t want to admit how gluttonous they are though because of a lingering fear of cracking the inconspicuous paint i’ve smeared onto myself. i never allow myself to speak of anything that goes on inside of these walls because of set rules ive had with myself since the dawn of time. since my neurodivergence has caused me an inconvenience whenever it comes to social customs and hierarchies, i’ve somehow created my own.

1. i’m not allowed to talk about the things that inspire me.

2. i’m not allowed to tell people too much about my past.

3. i’m not allowed to talk about what makes me growl like a sick animal.

do you want to know the things that convert my gluttony from a simple sin to an overarching sick obsession?

the fact that i want to be famous. i want to be rich and i want to be famous. i lie online and say that im anti-celebrity when in reality; when in paradise, i’m a household name. i want people that have wronged me in my past to feel as if they owe me like they owe their rent. what makes me sick is the way that i treat people. i care about my own comfort more than i care about others. is that truly sick? what makes me voracious are the wee hours of the night that i spend eating my entire kitchen as my family is asleep. the way i feed on everything in eye’s view, the way i can never stop even when told to. i starved myself to reverse it but i still have stretchmarks. what are scars but memories we can’t forget? well princess, you’ve given me ample to show since they haven’t yet faded. i’ll forgive you, although you never quite seem to get it. i love you, although you don’t love me more.

my therapist today told me that my lack of sleep and erratic behavior is probably due to hypomania, which i call bullshit as a grin grows from the side of my mouth while thinking about the new medication i’ll be put on this week. i’m excited because the side affects list that my research showed consisted of less anxiety and low appetite, which is a bullseye shot for me! i hope it fixes something. the paint cracks with each and every word that spills out of me about how much better i want to be. it breaks rule number 1.

1. i’m not allowed to talk about the things that inspire me.

what inspires me is finding out the multiple ways in which i am three dimensional. i change. im not just happy and sad. i’m not just manic and depressed. i’m not just social and lonely. i’m the in-betweens. i’m that feeling you get whenever you stalk your ex from middle school on instagram for hours until the sun rises. i’m that feeling you get after smoking a cigarette for the first time and thinking about how your lungs will never be as pink again. i’m that neighborhood you heard about from a top 10 list on youtube that’s most notorious for being full of pimps and hookers. i’m that feeling you get after having an orgasm that tickles you from the inside out with a slimey ick that you’ll soon grow obsessed with. i’m the commercial. im the intermission. i’m the birds that chirp tunes outside of your window at 5 am every morning. i always have been. as the fireflies retreated and the sky turned light blue, my cells and bones turned into diamonds and gold.