#depression mentioned

[corvussnakee]

Finally got to making this, YAHOO!!

Hello, Hello! I go by the name Corvus or Crow. Crewwii (Crew-ee) is also another name you could refer to me by. A lil cute, a lil silly, though the other two work just fine! I'm your friendly Non-binary failed concept of death fallen angel. I use the pronouns They/He. I present myself in a more feminine light, but I've grown up as a girl for most of my life so it's more so a comfort thing.

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I have ADHD and Autism, thus auDHD hit my ass like a truck. I can slip up and forget stuff a lot. Get super hyper-focused on something and then lose all motivation for it in what feels like a single snap. I also have terrible Executive Dysfunction which often limits what I can do. Though I push on through!- Depression, Social Anxiety, Maladaptive Daydreaming start sliding in with Sliding_Concrete.mp3 playing. ( ;+_+)

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I may or may not attempt to start streaming on Twitch... It's an iffy thing- I got the ball rolling though so, we'll just see how this all works out.

Besides all that, currently I've fallen down a good few rabbit holes. Specific ones would be:

- UNDERTALE (Multiverse specific) - WARRIOR CATS (Not as prominent, but there)

Other things have my interest but they're small. Little things that pop up every now and then and I go "Ooo, Cool!!" Focus on them for a bit, and then drop em. *Sadg (u_u )

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Some of yall may be from my big beginning days were I was posting little ask blog type stuff for my son, Rottenberry. I'll put a LINK to it here.

ALSO! IMPORTANT THING HERE!!

I AM A MINOR!!

I don't mind if people older interact with my posts, can't really stop that, it's gonna happen. Oh well *Shrug (*-* )

All I ask is people above the age of 20 do not DM me in any attempts to become friends, or moots, I dunno the fuckin words the kids these days use- (back in my day *Old man noises*) At least, new people who are above that age. I do have some already made friends who are 20+ but I met them like... years before so- Eh.

THOUGH! The DMing thing is only for attempted friendships. If you're DMing me to tell me about a problem going on, a dangerous person I should avoid, or even pointing out mistakes I made that are like... not good. Then go ahead. I don't mind. As long as conversation doesn't spiral past the line of acquaintances.

I think that's all... uhhh- Ya, Silly introduction!!

Edits may or may not be made - Last edited 07/09/2024

[spoopy-sloth]

.

So what the hell are you supposed to do when you are already in therapy and trying to get help??? I just feel so hopeless and ready to give up.

[heatedwetblanket]

Pre-OMORI (omori fanfiction) ( click here for the ao3 link :3 )

Summary: basically how headspace became headspace. OR a sunny character study. WARNING sad

words: 2535

For Sunny, it was natural to withdraw entirely from the outside world.   It wasn’t something he willed himself to do.  He was always content with his own company, busying himself in a way that didn’t interfere with others.  He enjoyed the serenity of silence, the slowness of boredom.  He swam in the everlasting present—never in the depths of the past or the heights of the future.

It began as genuine concern.  His mother was nagging, yet gentle.  There was no lock on the bedroom door, and more often than not his mother respected that.  She was always good at those kinds of things, he remembered.  He was silent, and she was patient.  She gave him time, and then gave him some more.  She gave so much that she began to forget who she was giving time to.  How tall has he gotten since the last time she’s seen him?  

Eventually, she began to crack.  Desperation warped her voice as she talked at him.  Her questions were met with silence.  If she put her ear up to the door, she could hear her son gasp for air, knowing she caused his drowning.  She knew he was hurting, but he was no outlier.

One time she approached his door.  She garbled words about her rotting daughter and her invisible son and Sunny couldn’t breathe the thick emulsion around him and then she left.  Silence returned once more.

This was the height of her short-lived habit of talking to his door.  It was terrifying every time, each minute lasting an hour.  She knocked.   She said she was going to open the door repeatedly, even going so far as to turn the knob.  She would always retreat, almost never fulfilling her threat.  She only followed through once.

That one time, all he could do was stare at her and breathe.  Stare when she stared.  Stared until she closed the door.  He trembled in place as his room was breached and raided by her eyes. The room isn’t the same anymore, he thought.  Something escaped when his mother opened the door.  He couldn’t get it back if he tried.  That day became a little less okay than it was before.  He stared at his mother and saw grief drip down her face.

This is what he hated about withdrawing from the outside world.  The outside will ask for him.  It will knock on his door and cry in his absence and ask when he’s coming back to school and tumble on forward when he wants it to stop.  He didn’t want it to ask about him and tug him around by the hand.  He wanted his hand severed so that the outside would never grab it again.

His mother would leave meals at the door.  She used to knock, but the action felt too loud.  The door would crumble under the tap of her knuckle, so she stopped.  Sunny could hear her footsteps, anyways.  He could feel her presence and her breath and her heavy thoughts as she left mac-n-cheese in front of the door of her son that she hasn’t seen in weeks.

She would get excited to see the dirty bowl that spawned in front of his door. She would relax when she heard Sunny’s footsteps above her.  They were proof that her son was still there.

- - - - - -

Sunny spent his days and his nights in his room.  His mornings, his evenings, his high ‘noons, and tea times.  His room was average by all means, including Scholastic Book-Fair merchandise, a GameBoy, and a radio.  They provided momentary relief, but Sunny’s mind wouldn’t be entertained for long.  He could never fully remove himself.  Books, which provided a pocket universe, didn’t give Sunny an escape.  Sunny’s mind never felt fully understood by the authors taking up space on his shelves.  He could see parts of himself, but never a whole.  A few came close, yet Sunny always found a loose thread to unravel fantasy worlds and charming characters.  Tetris on his GameBoy never hypnotized him, unlike Kel.  His radio was too loud even with the volume knob just above mute.  That bothered him. 

He mainly stared at nothing.  His room was silent, his eyes were empty.  The ominous “future” made air emulsify, so his mind lazily wandered to mull over things he liked.  He reminded himself of the past so he could feed from the second-hand, leftover joy that he forgot to consume the first time around.  It wasn’t long before he began to think about his friends—before he started reminiscing.

Sunny loved his friends.  He never stopped loving them.  Not once.  It's just that distance never hurt.  They were outside and he was inside, and he didn’t mind it at all.  He still thought of everyone as his friends.  They never stopped hanging out with him, even though they haven’t visited Sunny and Sunny hasn’t left his room.

Whenever he tilted his head in a certain manner, or thought of some awful pun, he’d imagine his friends would comment on it.  He’d spot an old book on his desk and Kel would complain about reading that book for school.  He’d see a spider scurrying across his floor and he could feel Hero shaking in fear.  He’d watch an airborne speck of dust fly about, and he’d see Aubrey waving her hand in front of his face, ready to ask what exactly he was looking at.

It was simple, normal interactions.  It was the conversations for the sake of sharing each other’s company.  Sunny only nodded or replied briefly, but his friends were still happy to talk to him.  He kept his own silence, but he wanted his friends to be with him, too.

Sometimes he would silently ask a question to the wall, and Kel and Aubrey would respond with the same answer.  They would shout “jinx” at each other, and then “jinx again.”

“You owe me a soda!” Aubrey yelled.

“Well YOU owe ME two sodas!” Kel countered. “Hey! You can’t do that!”

“Yes I can! Plus you didn’t get me a soda last time I said jinx…”

“That doesn’t mean I gotta get two! And I’m the one who yelled jinx first.” Aubrey would cross her arms and pout.

“Well I don’t care.”

“You cared when I’d get a free soda for you—”

“That you STILL haven’t gotten me, by the way”

“Stop interrupting me!

“Well maybe say something I like for once!”

“HEY!”

Sunny thought to himself for a little bit.  In this situation, he would leave them both in the treehouse and head into his kitchen.  He would find a bottle of coke in the fridge, and fetch two cups from the cupboard.  Clumsily holding glass and plastic close to his chest, he would return to the treehouse and pour his friends a drink.  They would all drink soda in the treehouse.  They would be happy.  He wanted them to be happy.

They were often happy when they were hanging out in the treehouse.  Trinkets were strewn about the place and the calendar watched them.  Their voices would fill the space and Sunny would close his eyes and listen to the cadence of it. He loved everything about his friends, from their unique footsteps to humming and whistling and giggling.  Sometimes all he could do was listen, since he’d be overwhelmed by the joy they shared with him.  He’d have to close his eyes or look down, so he wouldn’t completely exhaust himself.

Sometimes, after sleepovers, Sunny’s face would be sore the next day.  Or, Sunny’s voice would be a little raspy from use.  His friends brought out everything in him.  They made everything better and warmer.  Even during those times at Basil’s house—Sunny’s mom would insist on picking up Sunny herself. Basil’s house is a two minute walk away, but Sunny’s mom showed up regardless.  She was “picking up her son,” but she coincidentally got along with Basil’s mom very well.  They’d talk and talk, each “goodbye” sparking another hour-long discussion.  That regular period of waiting, normally seen as boring, was made valuable because Basil was there.

He’d throw a tired look at Basil, and Basil would look back knowingly, their moms oblivious to the setting sun.  They’d sometimes talk, but mostly just sit in silence and wait.  They’d lay on the floor with their heads next to each other, sitting up when they think their moms are finally done.  When Sunny’s mom leans on the kitchen counter once more, Basil and Sunny share a sigh. Followed by a giggle or two.  They didn’t need to speak to know that their play-date would be a little longer than planned.

Basil had a book all about botany.  It was his pride and joy—he got it for his 11’th birthday.  He brought it to the treehouse once.  He and Sunny were hunched around the book face open on the floor.  Basil grinned to himself as he pointed at a picture of a cactus.

“This one’s definitely Kel.”

Sunny liked that memory.  He had pancakes for breakfast and wore his favorite socks that day.

Kel popped his head through the open door.  He was still on the ladder, so it looked like he was just a talking head.  “Did’ya call me?”

Basil’s head snapped to Sunny.  Sunny stared back.  Kel’s brow furrowed.  Basil started giggling.  Sunny smiled.

Kel looked confused.  Or he would’ve.  Yes, he would’ve looked confused if Kel was there. If Sunny and Basil and Kel all hung out that day.  Basil always kept that book in his room, he remembered.  He’d never take it anywhere because he didn’t want to scratch the shiny cover.  Or mess up the gold pages.  He told me that one day at his house.  But, Sunny just made a memory better.  He felt something close to okay.  So, he formed a new habit.  He would remember and recount events that never happened.  Over and over and over again.  He altered his interactions, switching out who was there like dolls in a dollhouse.  He would change the setting.  He’d make the treehouse his favorite color.  He’d get an allowance every day instead of every week.  It didn’t need to be real—it needed to make Sunny feel warm.

Feeling warm was good, and Sunny liked to feel good.  His own false memories were intoxicating.  It was addicting to replay happy days and feel something so familiar.  His mind worked against sunrises and sunsets, against the waning moon and flipping calendar pages.  Sunny could spend a week seeing the same day, if he wished.  Time didn’t matter, and that was the most comforting thought he’s had in a while.  Time didn’t need to matter when days passed at his will (at least when he closed his eyes).  Sunny never kept up with his calendar, or even turned the page to the right month.  Before, he hesitated, grieving over a time that passed.  Now, he didn’t have to.  There was nothing to fear.  The calendar could even go backwards, if he wanted it to.

Now, with this colorful world and his friends one door away, he could almost say he felt good.  But just one moment out of his head would sober him to reality.  That didn’t feel good.  Sunny didn’t like being reminded of why he’d never leave his room.  The world was too scary, so he created one that welcomed him with open arms.

Even his own name would remind himself of what was real and what wasn’t. So, Sunny wasn’t Sunny anymore.  He didn’t have to be.  He didn’t have to be sixteen years old.  At sixteen, he had lost so much.  At twelve, he had everything he could’ve asked for.

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Sunny could always hear people knocking on the front door from his room. The walls of his house were thin and ready to relay information. This caused him to never knock on other’s doors—reaching for the doorbell instead.  Knocking was a little too intimidating.  No matter who knocked, it sounded a little scary.  The doorbell on Sunny’s house always broke, and eventually no one bothered to fix it.  Knocking became a must, to Sunny’s dismay.

After some time in his room and in his head, a loud and insistent knock made Sunny jump.  He heard his mom’s footsteps, and he heard more excited knocking.  Sunny was knocked out of his headspace, disrupted before he could see his friends.  He was a little irritated, but he was way more scared.  Instead of listening in, he hid in his bed.  He pulled blankets over him and hugged a nearby pillow.  He waited.  Waited for it to pass.

He loved his friends.  He loved seeing them.  He knew that one of them was knocking and asking about him and waiting to see him.  He knew that.  But he was so scared.  He wanted them to forget about him.  He wanted no one to remember him, so that maybe he could peacefully fade away.

After a while, he felt the house shiver as his mom closed the front door.  He emerged from his pillow fortress and blanket moat, careful not to make a sound.  He had a bad feeling about this knocking.  If anything, he knew his friends (Kel especially) were consistent.

When he woke up he felt dread.  Dread that today someone else would ask for him.  They’d ask for Sunny.  Sometimes they’d even stay and chat.  His mom never invited them inside, but they would pass around some small talk in the doorway.  Sunny hated it.  He hated it and he hated the updates that his mom would give him. Over time, his mom found success in leaving sticky notes everywhere.  Underneath the door, on his door, by his food, and on the mirror. She would write small things to him. Things like “have a good day” or “Aubrey said hi today,” sometimes next to a small doodle.  She cared so much.  She tried so hard to make Sunny feel comfortable while still giving him her love.

Every reminder that his mother was his mom would crack Sunny.  That tied him down again.  The chain and ball cuffed to his ankle grew as he stumbled forward.  It pulled him down from his vibrant dream.  Seeing her pass along messages from his friends hurt.  Seeing “Love, mom” hurt.  Everything was painful.  His makeshift solitary confinement gave him escape.  Sunny hasn’t felt the sunlight hit his face in years, yet Sunny didn’t need the sun to see a world so bright.  He has never experienced something so fantastical that caters to his every dream.  So, dream he did.  He’d close his eyes and relish the imaginary life that he pretended to have.  He relished not being awake.

He wasn’t awake as his mother made a decision.

There were fingerprints on her reading glasses.  She misplaced her eyeglass cloth yesterday, so she dealt with the inconvenience.  It was probably in her purse.  The tea in the microwave had gone cold again.  She was almost alone in the house.  She pulled out a phonebook, addressbook, and notepad—all while scanning a spread out map on the kitchen counter.  Looking for a place outside of their zip code.  Anything without stairs.

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thank you for reading!! if you feel inclined, feedback and criticism is appreciated :3 thank you for giving my work your time ♥

[gunpowdertimsleftgun]

okay so turns out the reason i’ve been feeling shit lately is

seasonal depression coming to an end

food. haven’t gotten enough for a while

[emotionaleating]

pls don’t flirt with me i want to be nonchalant so bad but i unfortunately crave connection so intensely that i will give you my entire soul and forgive you over and over until i’ve lost myself completely and feel like i’m drowning

[adhdfuelednightmare]

ok but as someone who has depression I really loved how it's depicted through Stolas this ep?

like just the beginning where we see him reach for his pills on instinct, then starting to ask Blitzø if he could grab more, before stopping himself in fear of being more of a burden than what he must be feeling like right now

to seeing him reach for those pills (that he still hasn't asked Blitzø for) and reaping the results of being off his meds (cue intense insecurity projecting onto other ppl's situations) and just how he is overall not ok

I just love how his breakdown is so ugly, it's nowhere near the composed yet eccentric Stolas we've known so far, it's the culmination of everything that's happened - losing his powers, his wealth, his status, his daughter alongside being off his meds, that would be a recipe for disaster for anyone and I love how Viv didn't shy away from that

[prokopetz]

Historically, the American animation industry has recognised only two types of cartoons aimed at adult audiences:

The animated sitcom

Martial arts action with tits and gore

I'm watching the Fionna and Cake miniseries right now, and I genuinely think we're witnessing the emergence of a third broadly accepted option: whimsical fantasy adventure in the mode of popular children's programming, except everyone is clinically depressed.

[milyanoo]

Th1nsp0

[lostmf]

I��m not sure I deserve it ..

[the-stars-are-crying-again]

how to k1ll yourself without disappointing anyone no borax no glue

[betterluckthenexttime]

[valtsv]

[spoopy-sloth]

The thing is that with this major depression spell is that the people who've hurt me are gone, so I'm like very much worried that my recent (and healthier friends) are seeing me at one of my worsts and realize that damn, depression is actually difficult to work though.

But I also have to choose to trust that they do actually want me around even if I become like this?? Feels like pulling teeth but it's good, right?

:X

[hardcoregayanalsegx]

"Why would you do that to yourself" I'm trying my best to soothe the pain, trying to cradle it so that maybe just maybe it will stop crying out

[trappednyourheart]

The wrong DNA test

( what if, Sheila wasn't really Jason's mother? The system is already corrupted, then what about the test?).

A huge brawl containing every rogue had started at the time of Halloween, causing the people from downtown to fled there home's as joker had clownized the whole neighborhood with his goon's.

Every bats had taken to groups to take out the three parts of Gotham's as the rogue's had started to make alliances, some had lasted quite long while had conflicts, and causing a big damage to Arkham asylum,

It didn't take long before they captured all of them, none of the bats questions as they observed Jason glowing green eyes starting to flick, they thought it was the pit again, growing wary of the cooperation, but Crime alley was involved and that mean business to Red hood's turf.

Catherine todd love her son as her own even if not biological, Jason knew that. But her thing with drugs couldn't make her stop.

Sometimes after that, they could hear Jason humming a tune,a nice melody from Damian's statement saying that Jason muttered to him “ lullaby” as Jason continued to read his book, maybe it could be from Catherine,

they knew how Jason's past with Catherine todd, his mom even if not related, Catherine loves her son like her own kid but her doing drugs and... overdosing couldn't be stop.

Maybe Jason just remembered his mother maybe reminiscing atleast something familiar...even if it was a bad time.

Jason had constantly have been hearing a woman's? Man's? Voice, singing him a lullaby...it soothing, like as if he known and loved this melody...and that's where the dreams kept coming, there was a person, giving him kisses, Talkin to him stories, singing him lullabies and soothing him, he could dream that he was actually a baby, a baby from a normal couple, well don't count the luxurious baby room.

Jason had took out a conspiracies why he was getting this dreams, ( he swears he's not becoming Tim) and voices, maybe like a misshapen memories from the pits of victims? No it's to peaceful for that, maybe magic? He already contacted Constantine but surely hang up after knowing who it was-

Just how is he getting this dreams? Unless it wasn't.... So he proved again his point, he started a DNA test, again but none had records...of Sheila being his biological mother...that was weird, last time he had a test was from the time as robin..and before his-

So he went to that hospital who had said where Sheila had given birth to him, and most of shock is that no one knows a mother giving birth named Sheila haywood but had a document of a baby, of one Jason jay nightingale, the most believing part was that it's the same day he was born in.

His mother, Daniel F. Nightingale was said to be trans as the doctor who help his mother safely delivered him, And saying that his mother loved him,

one Sheila Haywood had the constant trick to get him and taken him as his own, because his mother's family was a wealthy one they practically sold him to her.

Jason had thought that maybe his mother's family never wanted him to have a son with a man from Gotham's crime alley.

Meanwhile Danny had just been YEETED to the DC universe before the start of Batman's justice thing and had been adopted by a very wealthy fruit loops couple as there kid, so he stayed as the couples daughter even pretending, because he owed ghost writer a favor for the last time, and as DC universe exist so it's story, and one thing for sure the child he had to give birth in this universe has a very complicated fate,

he did the one night stand from his supposed friend Willis Todd? He had to befriend him as Dalia F. nightingale the supposed Wealthy daughter who fell in love with a peasant trope, and gotten pregnant making it a scandal, and reaching to his ‘parents’ circle and getting that drama.

But he never thought he would care for his child, his little jay, his ghost side would purr in delight when they held Jason, he was a very hard sucker especially from his pacifier or his breast, it's so weird being in a women body,

but the way his ‘parents’ sold his son to the women who was supposed to get his son killed and being revived by cheap parody ass of ectoplasm.

He went feral, he had an argument to his ‘parents’ but all fell deaf ears, he couldn't find his son in one of the hotels nearby where that BXtch was.

And that time was where his part of the script was fulfilled, ghost writer already took him, both sides of his, were angry.

He. will. get. his. baby. back.

[emotionaleating]