#havent been able to go to therapy for like over a month now and i am not enjoying it.

[vanillabat99]

I have decided to try again for getting homecare. There are many basic things I am not able to do on my own as often as I need, such as bathing, eating, and laundry. Currently my family isn't able to do much to help with any of that as they all have work or school, and I am left on my own most days. Really hoping I can get on AISH since it turns out I've only applied for the Disability Tax Credit, which isn't helping as much as I need even if it goes through. Lots of stuff to do ._.

[cali]

im a different anon but im just curious what advice you would give to someone whos been pillbugging it for um. over a year now

mmm i cant really answer how to stop having depression which im guessing is what u mean + i dont know how ur head works but ive been living mostly NEET-ly for more than 2 yrs now and everyday im getting a better curve at dealing with it so i can tell u what works for me.

half the time when im pillbugging hard im paralyzed by a nontangible fear and the only thing that could stop it is adressing wherever the fear is coming from but the confrontation of the topic, trying to figure out where its even coming from, is terrifying too so i dont do it and stay swimming in tar. theres a sentence people keep saying when they explain why they watch 2 hour video essays "it makes my head go quiet". thats the enemy, the thought, not the person saying it. long term i mean. when its short term anguish that can be bridged by pillbugging its fine i think but if ur "making ur head quiet" for more than a month i urge u to make it go really loud again but thats hard. the only times i can try and confront those thoughts is when i feel otherwise nice, if i got externally forced to have a fun day, hike with my papa, date day with my girlfriend, sometimes just got myself to make a nice meal and it helped, when u feel better its a little less scary and u can maybe try and think out of it a little better. also i think on those days youre generally more positively charged so u got more hope outlook. COOL. i think this is why some people do meditation. im not good at it so i dont really know but i think its a brave pasttime of tackling unpleasant ideas. i used to try and dope my way out of it with lsd cuz everytime i used it it kind of forced me to confront whatever trouble i had but ive forbad myself that cuz i didnt want to rely on it as crutch + it was just unpleasant to get hit over the head everytime. now i only do it when i feel good already (havent done it in half a year lol). sorry, drug tangent. also weed is synonymous with pillbugging 4 me.

otherwise, rituals.... mmmmm..... when therapists and whoevers say stuff like take daily walks daily exercise take daily shower i think all of those are like half about the direct benefits they give and half just about doing anything regularly. cuz it helps. during pillbug hours the point for me is kind of to have time pass as fast as possible so the timeframe to hurt is reduced which is counterproductive cuz if it flows u by rlly hard u cant really grasp onto anything to get off the ride easily. and its never going to come really easy theres no probable single action or event that is going to singlehandedly pull u out of the mire, no rapture, no healing vitamin, its always going to be slow and tedious and boring and stupid but a routine is a nice framework to start that. brushing ur teeth is nice. and when u do something daily the days start becoming more tangible again and u will be able to tell how many days ago tuesday was. maybe u can think abotu what factors motivate u and twist them to do your biddinggg. shame and dissapointment works really well for me if i tell someone i will have this done by then and i dont it usually overpowers the malaise or whatever other reason has been making me not do it prior. but this requires social bonds and i cant guarantee u have those. in summer i started doing therapy cuz in germany i need it for transgenderism and shes also a good beacon for that, if she says do something until next time we meet i dont want to dissapoint her. other than that, um idk, everyting else is just kind of part of that. take walks even if u dont want to think about things even if its scary. be brave like childrens book illustration of knight slaying dragon. and then maybe u get a princess kiss

[ghostsandfools]

this is a vent post, y’all dont gotta respond or anything, im just writing it out here cause i already vented to my partner once today and writing in a diary is too time consuming for me right now

I dont like eating anymore. Things always go the exact same way. I only like a couple of foods, and then we run out of those foods and my parents wont buy me more so i judt dont eat until i get them again, and then when i do get them again i get so scared that someone else will eat them before me, and i end up trying to eat as much as possible. And im kinda tiny, so technically i dont even eat that much but it feels like so much. One meal can take me an hour cause i keep taking breaks. And then after, i feel tired and full and yucky and awful, and i get scared cause i have emetophobia and i keep worrying about getting sick. And i know i shouldnt eat that much but i do anyways. I havent gotten sick from it yet but the thought of it happening makes me wanna cry. I know it’s not healthy, and i hate that i have to struggle with this because i usually know how to deal with this stuff. Life has thrown a lot at me, and ive learned how to manage my mental issues so i dont end up hurting myself. Im usually the one that other people vent to, ive even been helping my partner with their eating issues, so i hate that i cant stop myself from this. I dont like it at all. Im hoping that its gonna go away over time just like everything else has. I used to self harm and i really struggled with that for a while too, but over time and with a little help from a friend i was able to stop that. Maybe this will be the same way… theres not really anything i can do about it. My doctor noticed i was underweight and suggested maybe i should get eating therapy so i can stop being so picky, but that was months ago. I dont know if its gonna happen. And i cant talk to my parents about it cause theyll say some dumb shit about how praying is going to help or how i just need to get better at eating and its not that hard. Cause thats exactly what theyve done every other time. And im stsrting to realize im gonna have to learn how to be there for myself the same way im there for others.

if you did read all this, dont worry bout me. I know that was a pretty depressing little paragraph, but writing it out has made me feel a little better. It’s easy to give people advice, but i have trouble following my own advice sometimes, and thats something im practicing. Im glad that i realize the issue, because at lesst i can work on it. Thats the first step. I think ill be alright.

[credulouscanidae]

i feel like this year has been a huge bust mentally

i didnt wanna be like this still by christmas, let alone the new year

i dont want it to become march and im still like this, a whole year since moving by then.

but i can feel myself improving, funny enough.

ive spent a lot of this time in despair and grief, and i was giving myself a time limit on those feelings. which made me unable to meet my own expectations, which made me recede and become unable to challenge myself, because i wsa constantly setting myself up for failure to begin with. it feels impossible to do a challenge youre already failing before you begin.

and i have been self aware this whole time too, having that logical part of me talk me through it all. i can look back at myself almost in a third person, as ive always done, and see all the connections as to why im feeling and therefore behaving this way.

so instead of sitting around punishing myself, ive been /trying/ to tell myself theres no time limit on adjustment, and that i am strong enough to pull through. even if i come out of this being disliked. ive put so much energy into being anxious about what people think of me, that ive caused my own cycle of not being able to face it.

i have been acutely aware this whole time that others can only do so much for me, and in the end the only person who can change my situation is me. for me to find that inner strength to do that.

i feel like a lot of the noise has quietened down now. because i had to suddenly grapple with not only accepting my old life was changing, but that i had to suddenly build up a brand new life from scratch with very little support. but the life building in england is finally feeling...like i can do it. things feel less confusing and daunting, the roads feel less scary to navigate, i know where to go for what i need now, and ive been falling into daily routines again. which i didnt have when i first arrived. it's like my roots are finally burying in. and thats making incorporating my aussie roots back into my life feel a bit more doable.

i WANT to have voice chats with friends, or have a casual hello. i dont want to be like this. having a twisted tummy and palpitating heart every time i see a new notification on my phone. i havent even cleared my notif bar on my phone for months, out of fear of seeing a message i havent checked from so long ago. there is so much literal and mental clutter. and i want to be free of all of these notifs and emails etc. its not anyones fault but mine. i WANT to be more engaged, i feel homesick and miss everyone. and i HATE that those feelings dominate my behaviour, and how EASY it is to fall into a self fulfilling prophecy. i hate how it makes me a neglectful friend and family member.

but, with therapy, and settling into my life here. i think i can slowly work my way up to getting over all of this. i really. really. REALLY. fucking want to. i want to draw again, i want to learn how to sculpt, i want to be involved in peoples lives again. because right now, im finding it hard to even humour the idea of making friends here in the uk, because of how guilty that would make me feel, and how not ready i am to make new connections, especially cuz i would rather reinforce connection with existing people in my life.

again. self fulfilling. all that does is make me continue to be lonely.

but as i said, it's slowly getting better. i feel bad about how negative ive been all this time. i just want people to know that, in regards to my relationship, i AM happy. and i know that 10 years from now im going to look back on all of this with evren and go "fuck man that was a lot huh"

you cant hate yourself into loving yourself, and thats something that has kept my spark going, even when it's been one bad thought away from fizzling out.

im trying to be easier on myself. i know that all of this can exist at the same time as me having negative effects on others (which i guess is just an assumption to begin with) and i am not immune to causing that damage. but honestly? right now in this moment, im trying to give myself some compassion and lenience. because ive spent years and years feeling anxious and being hyper vigilant about my behaviour and how i affect others, that i have barely taken the time to consider myself and be healthy and strong in my core self. as they say, assume the best unless told otherwise. thats going to be a goal of mine. i always assume good intentions from people, even to a detriment, so i hope to take that view and shape it into a healthier outlook. maybe not everyone has their best intentions or insight, but i think overall people are just trying. god, in this goddamn fucked up world, all we can do is try.

and thats why i need to be more lenient.

sorry for all the tangents and sloppy execution. im probably in the acceptance stage of grief atm lmao, and im tired of being like this.

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

hiiiiiiii we havent sent you any asks for some time. mostly because kanra didnt front much

[idk if you can recognize us after all the url changes]

ereyesterday our their of pissed suggested getting into an outpatient psychward and told us to think about it. and silver[headmate] made a post on the tumbler saying that this could be a bad idea because somewhat recently i made a hole in a wall and less than a week ago Lyra messed up a cupboard. as if we're the only ones who on occasion damage stuff when angered. this is literally so mean for no reason.

also. a few months ago shinra had an accident with a knife. and we got a fun new 1 inch long scar and possibly a little bit of nerve damage or something. and we were supposed to get some reminder tetanus shot around a month after that since i had no idea when was my previous tetanus shot. and i uhhhhhhh didn't get it since i'm scared of doctors, and it would probably seem quite weird if i went to a doctor about this now

also im sorta balding but. scared of doctors so cant do anything about that

last sunday i was in some social studies class or some other shit. and the teacher said something about how lgbt people were never oppressed in this country. which is a very bold thing to say as someone living in a country in which like a quarter of the area declared itself a "lgbt free zone" and only calmed down a little when the european onion told them that that's probably illegal. and i decided to argue with the teacher a bit. one of the things she said was that sometimes there's dudes in pup masks on pride parades, which invokes disgust and thus should be banned, and. idk why but i kinda expected teachers to have a bit more common sense than 14 year old twitter users. also i came to school wearing a spiked dog collar on a regular basis. [for reasons unrelated to kink.]

well. good thing i'm failing every single one of my classes lmao. at least i won't be invoking disgust in fragile old ladies

also. i just met a doggy and he was very niceys. very soft and friendly. and polite also.

- toby

HOW COULD I NOT RECOGNIZE U MY BESTIE IN CHRIST <3 u changed ur url a binch of times but ur icon remained the same sdlfndnfkjsnsdf so i was able to keep track!

i however do not understand a single word of that first paragraph. if u want my advice, DO NOT. FUCKING GO. TO A PSYCH WARD!!!!! idfc Who it helped, it hurts a lot more than it helps, theres NO WAY to tell which psych wards are good and which are shit. no really let me go thru them all rn:

REFERRALS: most professionals that work in different offices do not know each other on a personal level and may never hear of their bad stories. a doctor that was the chillest coolest doctor id ever met referred me to a psychiatrist that sucked fucking ass shit. there is no way to know for sure

GOOGLE REVIEWS: im gonna b real i dont trust some of those mfs. you seen the guys that go into psych wards? a lot of mentally ill people r internalizers and just accept whatever happens to them, and even if they arent, society looks down on the mentally ill SO MUCH that they could b told "you deserve this bc ur crazy" and due to all this societal gaslighting, theyd agree

REVIEWS ON OTHER WEBSITES: same thing lol

why is this so important? because you cannot Fucking leave a psych ward. an outpatient ward yeah you can leave, but ive been to both in and outpatient and they excert the same level of bullshit control over their patients. in outpatient, one of the therapist told me "you are not mentally ill" and made me cry lol. she MEANT to mean it in a "you're not mentally ill, you're ~suffering from a mental illness~ uwu dont let ur disorder define you" kinda way, but that concept was introduced in therapy..... two days after she told me this. like hello? and then she tried to spin it as like, it was a problem with Me i.e. My PTSD Was Triggered and not She Is Dog Shit At Timing The Explaining Of Concepts.

this place also invited my abuser into group therapy even after me incessantly telling them "this is my abuser, she will use all this against me" and yeah guess what she did immidiatley after lol

dont go to wards.

WRT THE KNIFE: damn :0 thats insane dude, hopefully the nerve damage will heal but from experience its gonna take like, a few years at minimum lmao. i had a Knife Incident involving my pinky and the nerve damage was so bad that i couldnt hold scissors w my pinky in the scissor loop thing but evenchually it got better but it took like 4 years. if the knife was clean and not rusty ur risk of tetanus is pretty low i THINK, do not quote me on this. if ur scared of doctors, look into if ur pharmacy offers tetanus shots! some pharmacies have vaccinations other than flu and covid (which i need 2 get lol rip) so u might be able to get one THERE and not see A Doctor about it!

u dont need a doctor for the balding. minoxidil my dear boy, its at walmart, its the stuff thats in rogaine. you want "minoxidil 5%" thats whats in rogaine, theres "minoxidil 3%" thats For Girls but idk ive never heard of anyone having a problem w it. IT IS TOXIC TO CATS THOUGH IT IS VERY VERY TOXIC TO CATS IF YOU HAVE A CAT DO NOT LET THEM FUCKING TOUCH YOU OR RUB ON YOU UNTIL IT DRIES ok? :) id google more if i were u but boom. problem solved. i am the doctor now

"dog masks invoke disgust and should be banned" babygirl disgust is subjective and like, someone could use that logic to ban whatever YOU like, or Are. maybe someone is really disgusted by lil old ladies bc the wrinkles look gross as fuck to them. should we quarrantine the grandmas?

also lol at the dig against 14 year old internet puritans and then surprise surprise guess what happened on This Very Blog while this ask was sitting n collecting dust!! i gotta b on my best behavior bc theres a nonzero chance that The Feds will be looking at this blog (did u know u dont report cybercrime to local police and instead theres a form on the fbi's website? Well Now You Know!) and that goes 4 all of u too. bart please be good..... for the love of GOD please be good....... please tell me yall know that simpsons scene

also also yay doggy!! was it a regular dog or a dude in a pup mask? either way very fun n cool!!!

[climaxbattles]

vent dont read (unless the curiousity consumes you i guess. if you know me personally it might suck)

i havent been able to leave the house since may and it seems like every day i get worse and worse

i just cant deal with anything i dont know why

i dont go outside, i cant be alone, i cant even eat too fast/slow or i just like completely freak out

i started therapy and this is the first time ive ever been hopeful about interacting with a therapist but i still kind of dread it every week. im not even sure its helping like maybe shorter sessions would be better but i use so much energy just getting through the day i cant communicate until its too late

i dont even understand what made this happen my only guess is that one of the medications i tried really messed me up (or i have a brain tumor or thyroid problem or something) because a few of them had really really terrible side effects and i almost had to go back to the hospital for the 3rd time in a year, but i dont get why im not getting better when i dont do anything and im not on those meds anymore.

and if it is physical i cant leave the house without panicking like. i dont know how else i would go anywhere to get it checked out unless it got so bad i had to call an ambulance again so they could lie me down and give me oxygen and turn all the lights off and hold my hand again but that also was like very traumatic so im afraid i would just completely break

my friend is over visiting and i havent seen her in forever bc she moved 4 hours away and i cant even bring myself to hang out with her because she brought her boyfriend and i already have problems talking to anyone but her even though i fucking live with her family and leech off them. so im just hiding in my room

i dont really talk to anyone much anymore and i dont even know if its Because i want to be left alone or if its something making me lonely/im upset about. it also kind of seems like people r moving on from me but that could be like entirely self inflicted bc one on one conversation terrified me even before and now i like have panic attacks if a breathe wrong let alone attempt something thats always scared me

i think like some of them maybe also have a seperate discord server i wasnt invited to. this happened literally months ago where i accidentally found out and its not really my business i guess. and i dont even rly know if its true or even used anymore

it just feels bad because i lost a friend of like 7 years and a friend i really related to but didnt know long because i took their side in multiple arguments and i dont regret the 2nd one but the first one kind of still sucks. the people i lost had a lot of their own problems that made them unpleasant but idk. the first person was kind of always open to talking to me even though we r both fucked up and wouldnt ignore me even when i sometimes would bc of my own problems

and then if there Is a second server thats kind of why the second person lost their shit. so its like Maybe they were right in a small way (they were completely fucked though they would like suicidebait randomly and ive never had any other friend do that so its still for the best i think)

it seems like i keep losing or pushing away good friends kind of. or maybe im bad at all friends idk. ive never enjoyed socializing so it seems like my fault probably

i honestly just wish i could get on food stamps and/or disability on top of medicaid but i think people are still insisting i can go back to the way i was before. idk if thats possible. i just want to be able to stop taking As much Directly from other people and maybe like. buy legos or a 3d printer or something. i dont have much to do in the house 24/7 and my computer is getting old. and i think the internet is making this all worse but thats like my only activity

im so tired

[ohhcalamxty]

hello. its been a while? 5 years actually. what a place this is! what a trip down memory lane of many emotions.

a quick tldr: im 25 now, im engaged and live with my amazing partner and 2 cats. i am ed free (for the most part - i still struggle to love my body sometimes), clean, and i am in therapy! a place i never would have thought id be.

i didnt think id come back here like. ever. but ive been having nightmares of sam recently. its odd isnt it, how the brain works? i havent seen sam in 7 years? since the 2nd june 2018 to be exact, and yet he haunts me. why?

this is an odd correlation but recently i got into taylor swift. her music has been wonderfully cathartic and whilst i never assumed id be one of those girls who screams breakup songs and curses them at my exes....here we are.

TTPD (and most of taylors sad songs) unhealed me, so to speak, or at least awoke something in me. i wouldn't ever proclaim i have had bad relationships. i am always grateful for the time myself and owen spent together, and i am extremely happy with josh (I'd say 2/4 of my relationships being good is pretty huge) but here I am screaming and crying over break up songs at the eras tour and tearing up in the shower because they resonate with a point in my life and put my feelings into words in a way I've never been able to do.

elliot was interesting but i try not to curse his name so much as we were 14 and maybe he didn't mean what he did because he didn't understand consent, or maybe i am naive and too nice - i guess we'll never know because he quite literally dropped off the face of the earth! (Also, minor shoutout for him delaying dumping me because my grandma died! i do appreciate that at least!)

sam however....oh where do I begin with sam!

"Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?"

I think I spent a lot of my teen years reflecting on sam, because well, he fucked me up so much. i mean how emotionally spent must I be to have nightmares of someone who I spent less than 12 months with at the age of 16, and then collided with again for a single night at the age of 19. Clearly we're fucked here.

I cannot find the words to describe you, and I'm unsure what i did to deserve a love like this. You had a girlfriend that you loved and were with for years, and then I (your close friend at the time) got dumped, and you make your move. We hang out a lot, cool, fine, nothing new as we were friends anyway. My mind is hazy on how it started or when we went from friends to whatever we were but it haunts me so much lmao.

The constant talks of i was the one, and that yes I will leave her for you. I fear nobody ever talks about being the other woman because its so odd - it isnt a flex, it isnt cool or sexy. it fucking sucks and it fucked me up but i liked sam so much i believed it. I mean picture this: you're 16, just lost your grandma, heavily depressed, self harming, riddled with an ed and have been dumped but low and behold your best friend tells you he loves you and plays with your hair and holds you. we go on dates and have sleepovers with friends (he still had a gf btw) hes fucked up too but he worries and cares about you more than anyone else, but at the cost of if you try to pull away he hurts himself, and threatens suicide (and believe me he'd do it) - stuck between a rock and a hard place aye.

"And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts - Memories feel like weapons"

Less than a year of back and forth, misery and stringing along. I can't remember how or why it ended but I know it took a lot of attempts of pulling away (and him pulling me back) to get away. A lot of bits are hazy but I can assume it must have been around the time when I met owen? There are old screenshots on here of sam talking to me and they make me feel unwell (not an exaggeration) - his words (even after it all ended) and how he tried to act like he cared makes me feel like a pit inside (even now). I do however find it funny that my posts from 2015 and 2016 about him claiming hes ruined my life don't seem that dramatic now that im 25 and having nightmares about him.

"Oh, God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind - I regret you all the time"

I think I would have been ok if this was it. I don't think I would be grieving my past self, my girlhood, my naivety if this was all - i very much had support through my other relationships to help the sam trauma which i do appreciate. But it doesnt end here does it? Nah thats too easy.

"Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden"

2nd June 2018: Me and Josh had briefly split up. It was Karlies birthday and we went out in HTC (dire) and I guess because Hinckley is a tiny place and everyone goes to the same places we ran into a lot of people (some good some bad) - including Sam.

Ima be honest idk where he came from or who he was out with but there he was, buying me drinks, talking to me, I dont remember much but I can assume I was happy. I do however remember him leading me away, telling me we're heading to the next bar because that's where everyone else was going but we actually were heading in the complete opposite direction haha. god knows where we were going but on the walk we sat on a bench, i cried, i told him off, told him he ruined my life, he told me he'd missed me so much, he held me, i cried more, i hated him and then we just rinsed and repeated as he pootled me up castle street to wherever he was taking me. My friend rang me, I told them I was with sam, people came running (guess they all know hes bad news) and they (including josh, who was my ex at the time and ig technically hated me) beefed him until he left and that was that. I haven't seen him since - i still dont know where he was taking me or what his plan was. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didnt answer the phone, sometimes I wish I hadn't and that maybe I deserved whatever would happen. Maybe I'm blowing it out of proportion, being dramatic, but the trauma of the emotions that 16 year old me feels is still there. It haunts me.

"Don't call me "kid", Don't call me "baby" Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me"

So here we are. I guess I'm bringing this up at therapy in a few weeks because these feelings won't disappear (and Honestly I'm not sure why they reappeared other than being repressed emotions). I wonder though, has this affected you as much as it as me? Do you feel bad about what you did? Are you suffering? Do you think about me? Do you feel bad that you had such control over me or did you enjoy it? Claiming you've lost sleep over me and that you want to protect and help me? Was any of it true I wonder.

"And did the twin flame bruise paint you blue? Just between us, did the love affair maim you too?"

I suppose I'll never know, but I can only hope that memories of me haunt you as much as they haunt me. I hope you get everything you deserve, and I hope I can heal. My skin is no longer the skin you touched, I no longer physically feel you, and I hope one day my memories of you will be hazy and faded, and I don't need to jump at ghosts anymore.

And my therapist wonders why I really dislike men huh.

[axesilly]

i cant afford therapy so im going to talk about my troubles on here because i dont know what else to do 👍 i dont know if this will reach anyone but it might make me feel better. sorry if its a bit lengthy, ive had these feelings for a while

for the sake of anonymity and my own safety i will not be mentioning any names of people, towns, or schools :]

so im in college, im an art major. im from a small town with nothing to do except go to a mall the next town over and im going to college in another small town 5 hours away from home. this small town also has jack shit to do unless you drive 45 minute to an hour away. im currently in my spring semester of my freshman year and i have gotten so absolutely mentally and physically drained since i got a fast food job. i got a job making pizzas at yknow one of those big chain corporations pizza places, and the store i work at has only been open a few months. its absolutely chaotic and no one knows how to do anything except a few select people. my boss, the general manager, also doesnt know how to do anything because its his first time doing something like this. one of the other managers also only works there because hes friends with the general manager and he is not the greatest person, as he tends to sexually harrass the staff including a friend i made there. now ive already put in my two weeks last saturday, but that doesnt take away from how drained this job has made me.

Since the spring semester started ive been constantly piled with work (one week i was scheduled 6 days in a row when i had a big project to work on, i had a breakdown at work to my general manager), writing assignments, and project after project. (not even kidding my drawing professor gives us a new project the same day we turn one in) in my senior year of high school i loved fine arts and i believed that i wanted to follow in my art teachers footsteps and pursue my love of art and make art for my career. and while i do still love fine arts and making art, i just cannot do this constantly. since just before my spring break i started not going to my classes as consistently and i swore to myself i would start going again after the break. well that break just made it worse it seems because everything has just gone more and more downhill. i have still been missing classes because some days its difficult to get out of bed and i do not have the motivation to go to class just to sit there and not be able to pay attention for an hour/hour and a half. im behind on a project for one of my classes because i havent gone since ive been back from spring break (two weeks). i have an exam for one of my classes soon and im not even close to prepared. i had a 3 page essay due last night i started but havent finished (luckily i can turn it in a little late). it may sound lazy but these are my real struggles with my mental health. i feel trapped here. i do have a license and a car, i do have transportation so i can go places, but its such an old car it has so many problems (one which has arisen recently being if i stop somewhere and turn my car off, it wont crank back up immediately and i have to wait 10-15 minutes, and once it is on i have to revv it to make sure it stays on). so because of car problems and currently living in a small town im frustrated because it feels like i cant go anywhere to do anything fun. i feel trapped in my dorm and in my mind.

now comes the college problem. the college i go to currently is a nice school, i get 8 meals a week on my meal plan included in my tuition. theres several places to choose from the eat at, theres a gym, free health exams i think. but its driving me insane seeing the same old brick buildings every damn day. i currently dont have a roommate so im in a dorm by myself which probably contributes to this feeling of lonliness. i dont really have many friends, i had more last semester but they did not keep in touch. i do have one friend that i appreciate very much and she always worries and wants to help when she sees im upset. shes a real one. but seeing the same things, learning about the same repetitive lessons every single day, has driven me insane. my art history class has been the same topics since the start of the semester, its all been about works of art pertaining to jesus, and mary, and god and the angel telling mary shes pregnant and marys purity and this symbolizing that and i understand why its important to learn about these works of art and how they have shaped art today, but i cannot stand hearing the same things over and over. im not a christian, and i dont believe theres anything wrong with christianity as long as youre not hurting anyone with your beliefs, but these topics are so repetitive ever class i have. the semesters almost over and we havent even gotten to modern art yet, and in my opinion thats what truly matters to learn about because thats what we as artists would need to look at to have a reference for how we should make our art right? art is about expressing yourself and we need to see how others making art in the modern era are expressing themselves as well. and on the topic of expressing ourselves, my drawing class, every single project, my professor has us stick to such strict criteria. one of my projects my professor actually really liked, i liked, but she took points off because i had my girlfriends name written very small where you could barely even see, because we were not supposed to have any text. i feel like i cannot even be creative and truly express myself with these projects. i dont feel like i have any real freedom with them. i love fine arts and i love making art, but not when its like this. i want to be able to make my own art that actually expresses my feelings, not someone elses criteria. because of all of this my grades have been rapidly dropping.

now i have already made the decision weeks ago that i will not be returning to this school in the next fall semester. i discussed this with my mom already as she does the majority of my paperwork and things for this stuff. she wants me to transfer to a college closer to home so i can atleast get a general studies degree. but thats not what i want to do either. she told me not to flunk my classes this semester because that will make it difficult to transfer me to another school, but how do you expect me to get good grades when i constantly feel like im in hell in my mind. i mentioned wanting to maybe take a gap year, she doesnt want me to do that. school is horrible for my mental health like this, i dont understand why society thinks we should just have everything we want to do with the rest of our life figured out immediately out of high school. well i dont. and i dont want to stay in college immediately out of high school. i want to go live my life! me and my girlfriend are long distance (we have met in person several times and shes actually coming to visit me this month, but just seeing each other for a week at a time is not enough) and i really want to go live with her! i want to enjoy living and living with the person i love more than life itself! i currently dont feel like i can do that here or back home. i want to move somewhere else with my girlfriend so we can both be happy and love life. i want to move out of state to a slightly bigger city, nothing crazy like new york or atlanta, but just somewhere bigger than a small town with nothing to do whatsoever. i do have a place in mind but im not going to say where. and when i move, after a year i can qualify for in state tuition and pursue something that makes me happier. ive always loved animals and marine animals so i was thinking i could major in zoology and marine biology and work at an aquarium or something while im working on my degree. and i dont fully know how the paperwork and things work for transferring and such, especially after a break, so i could be in the wrong, but is it really wrong for wanting the best for myself?

and to be honest with myself i know exactly why im in college and its not to get a degree. i was raised constantly being compared to my siblings. my brother is trans (which my parents are very obviously not too fond of) dropped out of college and joined the military. my sister dropped out of college after a semester, got married to a horrible man who she just recently divorced after having two children with him. and being compared to them all my life, especially to my brother, made me want to be better than them. i wanted to be the one, as the youngest, to be the first one to get through college immediately, all four years, no problem. but its just too much for me. and dropping out, moving away, im terrified. im terrified that my parents will be disappointed in me. im terrified of that face my mother makes, that tone of voice, when shes disappointed in me for something. im terrified of getting lectured and told why everything i want is wrong. its irrational. and im terified if i move away i wont have her support anymore. i wont have her to lean on when i need help with something. i was never taught where to go or how to do stuff for applying to colleges and transferring. i barely know how to do my taxes.

now i really dont know what this article-like rant of a tumblr post is gonna do. i know i dont really have a following and i dont really post on here. but i just thought itd make me feel better to collect my thoughts and put them all together like this. so far the only people concerned about me have been my girlfriend and a couple of my friends ive told about these problems. not even my professors are concerned about me, i havent even gotten a single email or question about how im doing. they say theyre all for mental health but when a student stops coming to class as often suddenly and starts failing or not turning in assignments its none of their business and i must just be getting lazy and im a horrible student yknow? anyways i think thats about it for this. again i dont really know what this will do but i hope someone has advice or support or something. im going insane here.

love to anyone else suffering similar struggles <3

[flezhleaf]

I doubt that anyone is going to read this.

Hello, Jasper Here, I want to address my Behavior especially back in August-Now

I am ashamed of My Past behaviors.

I acknowledged that the things i was doing wasnt right.. but Semi-Abusive..

ive been working on myself on Twitter and had made some amazing Friends!!

Its nice that im able to return here!

Which the First part was cutting off the People who cared about me. Including Cj.

The Main reason why ive cut people off is either they were Zionists, Groomers, Racists, Abusers, Or Ive Cut you off for no reason at all(Which is due to having multiple Depressive episodes)

Now, Do I regret cutting My Former Friends(Including an Ex-Irl Friend) Off?

Kinda.

Ive gained something… to the point i barely trust anyone outside my friends circle. Ive been through Relationships involving Me Hurting the person in the Relationship, In fact I was called out by one of my exes because ive blatantly told them that I didnt care anymore, Which is partially True. We are now on Semi-Neutral terms.

The next section included me Defending a Transphobe. Ive cut that Terf off for being an Open Zionist. They also Supported the CCP While the CCP Is Committing Genocide against the Uyghur People.

The Third Section is the Documents ive made. The majority of them were during depressive Episodes. Again like the first section, I thought calling myself out was Justifiable at the time.

The Fourth Section Took place At Halloween Last Year. Ive Posted A Now-Deleted Callout Post on Adam Katz for Having an Israeli Flag in his Bio. I didnt know that Adam was Jewish, Which I was Told that Adam was infact Jewish. That was a couple minutes after the Callout post. Adam Had addressed this, and Changed His Bio. People Have been Blaming Me for Adam Getting Harassed, Which My Mutuals were mixed on it. Some of them thought that pointing it out was justifiable at the time, While the other people told me that Ive shouldve posted it in the First Place. Afterwards Adam had received so much harassment to the point he deleted Twitter and Privated his personal Instagram. People were Justifiably Accusing me of My Moot of Sending Our Fanbases to Attack Adam.

Thats not the Case. Because Last Month, The Entire II team was attacked and Harassed for Releasing III 18 During Strike Week. Some of the Team was Aware of the Strike at the Time. The OSC Had the Audacity to Attack The II Team over the Release of the episode. Which Lead me to make a Huge ass Rant about the OSC. The Points in my Rants Still Stand By.

I Sincerely apologize to the II Crew, Especially Adam, For getting Harassed because of a Genuine Concern i had back in October 2023.

The Final Section Is The Future with My Platforms, And the Progress I was making.

I havent got Therapy Yet, But thats being processed. I’ve Apologized to Mostly Everyone that ive hurt Within 2022-23. And Ive Applied for Multiple Jobs thanks to a Job Coach. Hell i had my first interview last month!! And Im still in process for disability. Ive Been Sober from Self Harm for Almost a Week, and Im slowly but steadily Realizing Who I really am.

Hello, Im Jasper, Im Transmasc-Genderfluid Bisexual-Demiromantic Objectum. And I go by They/Them Pronouns!

Thanks for Letting me reflect on my past behaviors and Im showing Signs of improvement.

Stay Safe Everyone, Goodnight

[witchyfemking]

Hi

My name is Salem(20, they/them)

My girlfriend Nova (20, she/her) and I have been really struggling for the past few months.

I recently developed a chronic skin condition called Hidradenitis Suppurativa which has slowly become debilitating for me( over the course of several months). This skin condition causes things like boils/abscesses, skin tunneling, inflammation and open wounds. Oh and a lot of pain.

We lost both lost our jobs recently and Nova just now got a job yesterday.

But we both need help getting on disability because we both have a series of other issues.

I have a hard time working because my HS causes me a lot of pain, discomfort and generally a lot of stress.

One day I could be completely fine and mobile. However the next i could be painful to move or get out of bed and need the assistance of a mobility aid.

And you know how hard it is to have employers give you the accommodations you need without being officially on disability

I’ve tried running an Etsy business for divination services to help us out, however Etsy isn’t always kind to it’s workers.

Most other selling platforms require a scheduled subscription fee and we do not have the money for that.

Nova shouldn’t really be working either because she has EDS which causes her so much pain and her symptoms eerily match Vascular EDS. ( Her heart rate will spike and then drop). But she’s been working very hard despite struggling to keep herself and me afloat.

Nova is also trans (mtf) and we need financial assistance keeping up and obtaining the gender affirming care that she needs.

I myself need gender affirming care. I am agender/genderqueer and get dysphoric about my body. Specifically my breasts. I also get HS flare ups on my chest very often

which really makes dysphoria worse. And the size of my breasts makes dealing with and treating the HS (and binding my chest) so much more difficult.

My plan is to get a breast reduction to make HS care easier and to alleviate my gender dysphoria.

My immediate family are also going through some hard times as well right now so they havent been able to help us out very much either.

So raising enough money for needs while we get back on out feet would be really helpful.

We need money for like

Medical bills ( Dermatology, GAC, therapy, psychologists, medical testing for the issues we need to be assessed for)

Supplies for home remedies for my HS

Other non food essentials

Gas for transportation

Nova’s bills like car insurance, and etc

and assistance for just giving us comfortability of life.

We will be so grateful for any help we can get. We’ve been trying so hard to get by and we’re exhausted.

We simply need help getting on our feet.

And please if you donate and you are comfortable, please leave your name and some form of contact(preferably an email) so we show our appreciation in some way.

Have a blessed day / Blessed Be / Namaste etc.

[thisissirius]

because 4x01 happened and i had feelings about it. the therapy stuff is taken directly from my own counselling sessions. i might not have gone through a tsunami and a truck bombing, but i’ve seen some shit lol. ANYWAY. i hope y’all like this. 

for @capseycartwright who always deserves the best buck content and quality sassy eddie <3

need help (but can you help me? [ao3 link] buck, buck/eddie, hurt/comfort, therapy

Eddie leaned against the doorjamb to his bathroom, arms folded across his chest. “I hear you’re cheating on me with a Covid crush?”

Buck snorted. “You’ve been talking to Chim.”

“More like had to listen to him,” Eddie corrected. He met Buck’s eyes through the mirror.

“You know I would never—”

“I know, Buck,” Eddie said quickly. He straightened up, came to stand next to Buck at the basin. Buck looked to the left, lips quirking up. Before he could say anything, Eddie leaned in, resting his head on Buck’s shoulder, their eyes meeting in the mirror again. “I trust you.”

Fingers curling around the edge of the basin, Buck sighed. “I should just tell them.”

Eddie kissed Buck’s neck. “You don’t owe anybody anything.”

Silence lapsed between them.

“When you’re ready to tell people, you will,” Eddie said, sliding a hand up Buck’s back, scratching through his hair and then pulled back. “Breakfast in half an hour. Chris is already up.”

“Fuck you,” Buck said with a laugh.

Eddie blew him a kiss and tapped the doorframe on his way out.

_________

Buck wasn’t keeping it a secret deliberately.

Quarantine was difficult. It wasn’t as bad for him as it was for a lot of people given that he was still able to work, but he hadn’t been alone since the quarantine had started. It had started to get too much for him to handle around the second month.

“I used to think I was lonely,” he said, leaning on his desk.

Lisa nodded, sitting back in her chair. “And now?”

“I havent been for a while,” he said. “But not because of quarantine. That’s just made me realize I love my workmates but living with them has been difficult.”

“You’re ready for them to go home.”

Buck huffed a short laugh. “Yeah, I am. Well. I’m sad Eddie’s gone, but I know why he had to.”

Lisa’s face remained impassive. It was one of the reasons Buck liked her. “Do you miss him?”

Missed was an understatement. Though Hen and Eddie had gone home and Buck had been glad to have his apartment mostly to himself, that didn’t stop him missing Eddie like a phantom limb. It had been difficult without Chris around, moreso for Eddie, but Buck had missed him too. That would change now, as long as they were careful and took precautions, and Buck wanted to go back to having Eddie and Chris to himself—without Chm around. “I just wish Chim would leave.”

“Hmm,” Lisa said.

“Not because I’m sick of him,” Buck said. “It’s just hard when he’s here. I feel like I can’t be myself.”

Lisa stared at him. “You can with Eddie?”

“Yeah,” Buck said. “I can.”

“Then start with that,” Lisa said. “Keeping it a secret is taxing on you, and I can imagine on Eddie, but if the two of you have decided it works for you, then only you get to decide when you tell your friends and family.”

“I know.” Buck blew out a slow breath. “Thanks, Lisa.”

“It’s what I’m here for, Buck,” she said with a smile. “However, that’s the end of the session and I have to go. If you need anything, text me, alright?”

Buck nodded, thumb hovering over the mousepad. “I will. Thanks again.”

The sign off was always awkward over Zoom, but Buck hadn’t dealt well with face to face sessions. When he closed his laptop, he sat back in his chair, hearing Maddie’s laugh through the speakers of Chim’s laptop. Great. Rolling his eyes, Buck cast a quick eye at the clock. Not long and they had to be at work.

_________

“Well,” Eddie said. “At least it’s not a tsunami.”

Buck gave him a look. “Are you kidding me?”

Eddie was smiling, the dick, and Buck elbowed him. “Ow,” he said through a laugh. Sobering quickly, he reached out, squeezed Buck’s arm as best he was able in their gear. “It’ll be alright.”

“I can’t do it again, Eddie.”

Eddie turned. “Buck, look at me.”

Buck winced but did as asked. They didn’t have long before they’d be on the roof.

“I’ve got you, hear me? No matter what, you’re not on your own this time.”

I wasn’t before, Buck didn’t say. “Okay.”

“You hearing me?”

“Yes, Eddie, I got you.”

Eddie smirked. “Don’t sass me, Buckley.”

“I’ll do whatever Ilike,” Buck said mulishly, but he couldn’t stop the smile from forming. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“Anytime,” Eddie said, dropping his voice. “Now let’s get this done, alright?”

_____________________

Buck massaged his temples. “It was a disaster. Literally.”

“It was,” Lisa agreed.

“With everything that went on, it reminded me of the tsunami.”

Lisa nodded sympathetically. “That must have been difficult.”

It took Buck a minute to find his voice. “I had a job to do this time as well and I didn’t have Chris to look out for.” When he realised Lisa looked ready to speak, Buck powered on. “Not that I resented looking out for Chris. I know—you know how I feel about that and that I’ll probably always regret it, but I had Eddie this time. I had—a job and someone to help me.”

“Okay,” Lisa said. It wasn’t a dismissal, and Buck nodded. “I know how much trust you have in Eddie, Buck. I just wonder how much you have in yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve talked about the truck bombing, the tsunami. We’ve talked about the blood clots and the lawsuit,” and Buck winces at the reminder, “and throughout all of that you mention everything you’ve done wrong.”

Buck frowned. “Yeah?”

“What about the things you did right?”

There was a long silence.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I want you to do something for me, okay?”

Buck waited for her to finish, not knowing how to answer.

“Before you next call me, I want you to write down five things you’ve done right in the time you’ve been working. I would prefer it to be related to those incidents we discussed, but I will take other things as well.”

“I—” Buck started.

“If you can’t, it’s okay. I just want you to try.”

“Okay,” Buck said eventually. “I’ll try.”

_____________________

Maddie narrowed her eyes. “So when do I get hear about it?”

“Never,” Buck said, not having to ask what she meant. “It’s private, Mads.”

“Even from me?” Maddie sounded hurt. Buck hated himself just a little but he was taking to heart the things Lisa told him; he and Eddie were the only ones with the right to tell people that they were in a relationship, nobody else could decide for them.

Reaching out, he touched the screen, wishing he could hold her hand. “It’s not what you think, I promise you that. When I’m ready to tell you, I will.”

There was a long pause, but Maddie shut off the call and she didn’t look annoyed. “Okay. I am here if you need me.”

“I know,” Buck said. He missed his sister terribly, but was determined to make Chim leave before he met her himself. . “I wish I could convince Chim to come home.”

Maddie’s face shifted. She looked sad and Buck wished he could change that too. “I’m just as scared as he is. I shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

“Want me to kick his ass?”

Shaking her head, Maddie at least let out a little laugh, so Buck counted it as a win. “No.”

“Maybe this,” Buck said, waving a hand behind him to encompass everything that had happened. “Will shake him up. He hasn’t come home yet.”

“He hasn’t?” Maddie frowned. “Didn’t he finish work with you?”

“I think Hen took him out,” Buck said. “Maybe she’s doing the yelling for you.”

There was the trace of a smile on her face. “I just want him want this as much as I do.”

“Hey,”Buck said, leaning forward. “If there’s one thing I do know about Chim right now, it’s that he’s desperate to be a dad with you, Mads. He’s been going through all my parenting books while we’ve been in lockdown.”

Maddie paused. “Why do you have parenting books?”

“For Chris,” Buck said, rolling his eyes. “Stop it. They were so i could help Eddie.”

“Oh,” Maddie said, and there was the sister he knew and loved so much. “If it’s for Eddie.”

“I’m going now,” Buck said, waving a hand. “Go do whatever it is you and Albert do.”

Maddie laughed and cut off the call.

___________________

“It’s my therapist,” Buck said.

Eddie looked up from cooking dinner. “What?”

“The person I’m calling.”

Eddie didn’t say anything for a long time. Buck worried it was because he was mad, but realised he was just turning off the burner. “Come here.”

Buck went, standing awkwardly next to Eddie, until Eddie reached up, wrapping his arms around Buck’s shoulders. Like a string had been cut, Buck fell against him, sorry when Eddie had to adjust his stance or send them toppling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Eddie assured him, ghosting a kiss across his head. “I’m proud of you.”

“For seeing a therapist?” Buck scoffed.

Eddie pulled back, touching a hand to Buck’s face. “For telling me. I know it’s not an easy thing to do.”

Buck’s breathing was shaky, he could hear it, and he wanted to look anywhere but at Eddie’s face, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “I wanted to make everything less messed up.”

“You’re not messed up,” Eddie snapped, then sighed. “I’m sorry. You might feel that way, but I don’t see messed up.”

“What do you see?”

“I see the man I love hurting and struggling.”

The words came out so easily that Buck was almost physically struck by them. “Eddie.”

“I love you,” Eddie said quietly. Buck knew what a gift it was to be loved by someone like Eddie. “I’m behind you no matter what.”

“I know,” Buck said, just as quiet. “I love you too. I just needed—quarantine got to me and I know it did to you—”

“You’re allowed to feel things too. It’s not a competition.”

Buck shrugged. “I know you had Chris.”

“And you had Maddie and me.”

“You were there.”

Eddie nodded, but made a face. “Not in the way we both wanted. It killed me not to be able to touch you or hold you in the way I’m used to.”

“Same.” Buck leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to Eddie’s mouth. “We’re together now.”

“Yeah, we are,” Eddie said, the smile on his face as brilliant as Buck felt. “Come on. Dinner’ll be ready soon and then you can challenge Chris to a lego battle.”

Buck snorted. “I’ll lose. I always do.”

“The joy of being a father,” Eddie said.

Again, Buck was struck by the words, and thought of Maddie. “I am, huh?”

Turning back to the stove, Eddie looked over his shoulder. “You will be.”

It sounded like a hell of a promise.

The next time Buck spoke to Lisa, he was sure he would have those five things she wanted. But if he didn’t, he could talk about Eddie. About Chris, his family, the future. He had something to look forward to and that made everything look brighter.

[mycelier]

My name is Simone and I would like to tell you a tale!

I will not have access to my laptop for some days more and because writing on my phone is kind of painful (physically, because I am working on hand mobility now), this may end up in drafts and taking a while to post. I am going to share what has been happening the last 2 months because I feel like everything went from 0 to 100 in the span of a few weeks and its been really, really wild.

So!!! LETTUCE begin!

For roughly 5 years I've been struggling to get a diagnosis on an extremely painful area of my arm. There was literally nothing visible; no lump, discoloration or any other physical abnormality to indicate anything was wrong. I spent thousands on pretty much every kind of imaging you can do, and was told time and time again that there was nothing wrong and, perhaps, it was psychosomatic and I needed therapy or, more often than not, I was given a shrug and a vague "i dunno" response.

This year, something changed. I deal with chronic pain (my spine is congenitally fused in my neck and lower spine and I have baby bone spurs all over), and in the process of trying to work on that I brought up my arm again to a dr I no longer see. He'd told me my arm was SEVERAL things over the years I had been seeing him but this time said it was a fibromyalgia knot, something I had been told by a team of doctors some time before that. I said okay cool and was sent to a physical therapy rehab center where the dr worked with myofascial release and stretches to help with injuries. This amazing man fixed my plantar fasciitis and helped get my chronic headaches under control but NOTHING we did helped my arm pain. Within a month he was worried bc we had started to notice that there was a hardness to the spot that never changed with any exercise or massage.

Worried that there was a nerve being trapped or crushed (another diagnosis I'd gotten over the years), this amazing man sent me to a neurosurgeon who immediately frowned and said he didn't think my neck pain and my arm pain were connected. He ordered an MRI of my arm and despite it not being visible on an MRI 2 years before, he found something PHYSICALLY THERE where I said I had pain. He considered doing the surgery to remove it (despite being a neurosurgeon he was fascinated with this weird horribly painful spot) but eventually sent me a surgeon for an oncology center, assuring me it was because this new surgeon was one of the best in Texas for removing soft tissue tumors, not because there was any thought of cancer.

I met with the surgeon who gave me one more diagnosis of an AVM (arteriovenous malformation), snd said they were benign and not necessary to remove as well as the possibility that if removed it would likely return. Truly, at this point after 5 years of constant nauseating horric pain when someone brushed against me or if I gently brushed against ANYRHING, a pain so bad that it had basically made me stop using my right arm as much as possible (of course I'm right handed lol), I said GET THAT FUCKER OUT OF THERE MAN and my first surgery was scheduled.

Surgery one occurred Nov 5th and was an out patient event. I went home and passed out. At some point my mom said that while I'd been in recovery the dr said the thing in my arm hadn't looked like what he expected so he had sent it to pathology. I went back to work and was hanging out until the Tuesday before Thanksgiving when I went in for a super immediate meeting with a different doctor who told me that what had been in my arm was a synovial sarcoma, aka, cancer! He, this incredibly kind man I did not know, gently discussed chemo and told me I needed to have a CT scan immediately. Based on the CT, i was either in stage one or stage four if it has spread to lungs. The day before Thanksgiving I received the news that it was stage one, it had not spread, and i was so fucking happy.

Then it was time talk about next steps. My surgeon marked out a circle on my arm to indicate how much he was gonna remove in order to guarantee clear margins..but it was not enough of a meeting for me to grasp the surgery I was about to receive.

The day of my second surgery, dec 8th, came quickly and i met with the plastic surgeon, the kindest, most patient man. He moved my arm around and explained how he was going to hijack a vein from my forearm in order to keep the blood flow health to the flap he was gonna take from the donor site: My inner thigh.

It has been 11 days and I am living in an inpatient rehab facility, working on dealing with the nerve damage/pain, the EXTREME pain of my donor site, and the lost mobility that I am working on getting back, both in my leg and my hand. The majorities of my arm is numb...except where the nerve pain burns my wrist and forearm and makes it painful to wear my arm sling (I can't fully extend my arm, nor can I lift, push, pull or use my arm in any way that would stress out my new arm flap). Also may have a brand new urinary tract infection but as I write this I'm chugging water for a urine sample to hopefully get that treated. Below are some pictures I have taken/had taken of my arm! Im not ready to look at my leg outside of the bandages (which, since having the wound vac removed today, hell yeah, will need daily dressing changes).

EDIT: I tried posting pictures of my arm last night and my post disappeared immediately so I will try to make a new post with these photos in case the whole post was erased because of them. I will tag them as post surgery photos. I do not consider them gory or excessive but hey that's just me.

I intend to post more things as I keep healing and as I gain more mobility. I was given "independence" in my room yesterday which means I can officially get up without any assistance needed (using my badass new cane to help me lift my foot in and out of bed)!!!! Which also means I can get up whenever I want without the bed alarm going off. I have a badass cane that has been the best tool in helping me get around (and has inspired my mom and others to suggest and look into getting me a cane sword which makes me laugh REAL hard). See below me using the cane to move my foot in and out of bed!

Part of why I'm posting this is because I really needed to talk about it and while later posts may not be this long or expository but I wanted to have a base post to explain other ones related to this one!!!

I will update with some newer pics tomorrow night when my mom comes by to help me take newer pics. The arm flap looks super healthy (according to the drs), and when they changed my leg dressing they said its looking really good and healthy!

I......also really wanted to post my Amazon wishlist. Due to this stupid wild bad lottery ticket, I've been struggling to pay my bills and rent but!!! I have good insurance, thankfully (since I live in the US and my hospital stay and this rehab stay would have more than bankrupted me), and im hoping my disability checks will get here in time for rent!!! I'm putting up my wishlist bc I can't afford some of the "essentials" on there and, also, because I havent been able to have any kind of comfort during any of this. I never ask for anything for holidays because usually i...dont want to burden people with spending money on me since I know how hard money is, especially right now. And if I don't have enough for rent later I might have to create a go fund me...but right now everything looks good for rent and bills just...not for anything fun.

Thank you so much for your time!!! And happy holidays you wild bastards!!!

https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/36PG6BAYD18U7?ref_=wl_share

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

[goddess-ofthe-underworld]

This post has nothing to do with what I normally post, however is why I haven't been posting. You dont have to read it. This is just my place to vent and the closest I can get to screaming into oblivion I suppose..

My husband and I moved all the way from mid Wisconsin to the bottom of Texas and are staying with my in laws, husbands mother and step father. Since we have been here, my FIL has shown that he is very much the 'if you odnt do things my way, its wrong', 'well I have ms and can do this so you can to or you aren't trying', 'holier than thou' type.

Now for background incase anyone is actually reading this, I have been diagnosed with depression, major anxiety, ADHD, borderline personality disorder, and am going to be tested to see if I am on the autism spectrum. I have suffered horribly over the years with all of these disorders, been in therapy for 8 years, and on the correct/best so far med combination for about 8months which now has been messed wit again because I cant afford my adhd prescription. So my daily life is fucking hard. I have worked very hard to deal with my anger, to be able to pull logic up faster than I have in the past, to be able to push my emotions to the side and to think about things logically and not just with my emotions or in black and white. I have spent years working on taming the rage in me.

My father in law destroyed all of that progress in 30 minutes.

Our car became unsafe so we had to get a new one. My MIL helped us with that and we thanked her very much for that! She set us up with the dealership, she got us a deal on it and we have thanked her multiple times for that. Now, just after simply talking to the man, not even signing papers, my father in law stayed behind and made the man doubt that we could afford it to the point where the man had asked us no less than ten times if we really could afford it or not because of my FIL. When he got back from making the salesman doubt us, he began to raise his voice at us saying how we needed to be straight forward with him about our finances, how we need to do this and that and I started to shut down. I knew what was coming. He turned to me and started going on about how i could work for my new aunt, when i had told him no five times already,my MIL told him she will not let me do that because my new aunt is a mess and she doesn't want me in that position. Now mind you before we moved here, we made it known to them that I havent worked or drove in four years due to all of my mental illness and a bad car accident I got into. They knew that the only way we'd come is if they were ok with that and could be understanding and not judging of it. So I said to him no I will not work for her. I've told you no already no means no. She he smiles and glares at me and said oh yeah? Why not? Yet again I start explaining my mental health, and he cuts me off and ✨yells✨ at me that if it's so bad I need to get on disability for it or get a fucking job already. I was shaking with anger, I wanted to scream, I wanted to throw things at him, I wanted to choke him. I was in a rage. I was able to control myself enough to where all I did was yell at him that I had an appointment in a few days to talk to my doctor about just that, but that it's none of his business and I walked away. My MIL yelled at him, it was a mess.

Since then, our car salesman had told us to take them to dinner and hed count it as a downpayment payment so we did. I had one drink and my FIL told me I shouldn't drink with all of the medications I take. I take two at the moment because I cant afford the rest and I took them 7+ hours previous to this one drink I was having that i have done multiple times and i know it is safe for me to do so.

Again I stayed quiet, I pulled myself together and said, well that us why if I'm going to drink I make sure that I take my medication plenty early so that it wont interact. He rolled his eyes and said well as long as you dont get sloppy and start issues. Didnt know you drank.

Now I have had one single drink at dinner in front of him and my MIL multiple times now, so why he said that I have no idea.

The way this man has been acting has been explained to me that he words things wrong, he tries to joke and it comes out wrong. Excuses are constantly made for his behavior towards me. Now I happened to know that he was upset at an aunt of mine for getting wasted and talking poorly about him and he was taking his anger out on me. And again, that was the excuse made, oh it wasnt directed at you.

The other night, my husband and I sat down and had long conversation and decided we would go back to Wisconsin. We sat down with his mother and mid conversation my FIL came out and said he hoped it was going good and when we wanted hed say his piece, and my MIL said well no it's going good apparently. And he looked at me and said well we aren't forcing you to stay here.

That's when I first felt things coming undone inside of me. This had been brewing for about a month now. I was twisting and pulling on my fingers to try to keep myself grounded as I raised my voice and said, no I know, that's why we are leaving because of you. He smiled an evil smile and frowned at the time and told me not to blame him for my short comings in life, and began to go off. He said the person who does the least should say the least.

My husband put his arm in front of me and I felt more things inside me come undone and I snapped. I told him to shut up before I beat his ass. My MIL told me not to and told him to go away and let us talk. He continued to look at me with that twisted look on his face and continued to talk shit. I honest to Gods can't tell you what he said after that because I saw red. The room was spinning and I lunged for him and my husband had to hold me back. I screamed at him that he was a piece of shit and to shut up, that I was going to kick his ass. Everything I knew on how to control myself and my rage went out the window in less than 30 minutes. My MIL was yelling at him to leave as he backed away from me while my husband held me back. I continued screaming until he left the room and then i sobbed angry tears. I could not believe that my wonderful mother in law was married to a man like that.

I apologized to her and I told her that I meant what I said to him, but I am sorry to her for how I acted. She said she understood and wasnt mad at me. My husband and I left the house until my FIL left and now I am heading back to wisconsin by myself because my husband has things here in texas to take care of before he can come with me.

Aside from that, my father in law has said that we dont pay bills here when we pay 500 a month for rent, 80 to help with food which we had spent over this month already, and we help buy toiletries. But he says we dont pay bills, we dont help with food.

He has also lied to my mother in law and said he didnt know I have an issue with multiple noises because I will hyper focus to the point of getting a headache when I have told him once myself, my husband has told him once verbally, and most recently about a week ago maybe through text. But my father in law told my mother in law that he had no idea and my mother in law even read the texts my husband sent and believes my father in law is telling the truth.

We have no money to do this, we have a car payment coming up, I have no idea how we are going to make it, I feel like my marriage is going to suffer, I'm worried about what will be said while I am gone. My MIL thinks things can be fixed, and I dont know maybe in time but right now I dont see it, and I know my limits with my mental illness and I know what will happen if I stay.

I dont know how to find peace anymore. I dont know how to find happiness. My husband believes that that isnt how he meant for things to be, but I've had a new aunt of mine tell me she has had feelings very similar to this with my FIL and that that is why she stays away.

I dont know what to do.

If you've made it this far, please send blessings of positivity my way, please pray, whatever your thing is.

I am tired.

[stainedglasscas]

4, 8, 12 & 10 for the discourse asks 💓

4) Meg!Sam or Lucifer!Sam?

Lucifer!Sam. Very compelling and heartbreaking in the sense that sam has always feared that there is something inherently evil within him and then he finds out that he is destined to be the body for the literal devil and yet he STILL fights it until he cant anymore. and also lucifer sam in the white suit was hot sorry not sorry. 

8) How should the afterlife have been “resolved”? Did the fixing of Heaven work?

okay this is a BIG question that i dont feel that i can fully address well but no i dont think the fixing of heaven really worked. i havent seen the finale so take my opinions about this with a grain of salt bc i am going off what ive read about it on here but like. sam and dean being stuck for eternity with their abusive father, their mother who they had a very complicated relationship with, without any of their other friends or loved ones (besides bobby) and never getting a chance to really live or break from their codependence just..does not seem like paradise to me. plus jack is god now and hes literally 3 which does not seem like a good thing for a variety of reasons. it could have been interesting if the way heaven was set up was framed as a bad thing within the show but its framed as a wonderful happy ending which it is not imo. 

For me the idea of heaven as it is in spn is weird cuz its basically just, a better version of your regular life (and not even THAT much better). Which sort of takes away the preciousness of being alive on Earth. I feel like heaven should, at the very least, be somewhere where you can reunite with ALL your dead loved ones, and it should be somehow different from real life in a way that makes real life significant. I dont know how exactly id set this up though, id need to think it over a lot more. 

12) Favorite season of Sam?

oh this is hard its between 2 and 4...the way sam is struggling this whole season to figure out why he is the way he is and never loses faith in good even when he loses faith in himself is just...i feel like houses of the holy is THEE thesis episode of how i feel about sam in this season. i dont know how else to put it into words. and season 4 sam is compelling becase A. bloodfreak hot demon gf time B. its about giving in to the monstrosity within yourself and hoping that some good can come out of it even if you are destroying yourself, even if you believe theres no hope for you anymore. 

10) What are your thoughts on Dean and Cas’s dynamic/its resolution?

i mean its pretty clear from my blog that i am a destiel person lmao. an angel strayig from heavens path as he falls in love with a very broken and flawed human man...that man learning to have faith agian, not in god but in that angel...literally whats not to love. that being said, it does bother me sometimes how dean treats cas. he really takes him for granted a lot of the time and i think if they were ever to get together dean should have to work on this. im sure cas also has flaws in how he treats dean but im a cas girl so i simply cant see them. (i mean lets be real, all of tfw would need months of therapy before ever being able to have a truly healthy relationship with anyone). 

 so obviously i fucking hated how they resolved their relationship. the confession was beautiful but the way they just completely ignored it, cut out a lot of deans reaction, tried to pretend it didn't happen, and also just completely cut cas out of the story after he died was not only bad writing in universe but also WILDLY homophobic oh my fucking god. it literally just does ot make sense for dean to be completely unaffected by the death of is best friend of 10+ years the way he was in the show, even if, for the sake of argument, he didnt love him back romantically. they really had 12 years of queerbating leading to the fastest bury yours gays i have ever seen. also some people think this is ridiculous but i think deans death was bury your gays. the writers knew that the only significant connection dean had besides sam was with cas and they knew if they had cas confess love they would have to address deans sexuality and feelings for cas in a whole new way and so they just killed him rather than even entertaining the possibility of him being queer. and thats fucked up

[figuringouthowtobehere]

please dont reblog this

i dont have many ppl to talk to. so here i am, screaming into the void that is my tumblr again.

im mostly posting this because im alone. im really really fucking alone. and im hoping i might, idfk, make a solid, trustable connection from tumblr??? idfk. im alone in the world.

please dont reblog this

cw family issues, su*cidality, abandonment, abuse, childhood abuse, trauma, being alone in the world

i have no one to go to. my entire life since i was a baby all ive ever been able to do is survive at the skin of my teeth. and here i am, 20, breathing, trying so fucking hard to live and, idk if im succeeding. im doing my film shit which is cool but. im alone. im on my own. im alone in the world. i never had parents. like, obviously i had parents, but they were never parents, dyou know what i mean? like the people who genetically made me were around but they were abusing me or just being awful or refusing to listen to me about what i needed from them, from their parenthood. 

i had a conversation with my mom yesterday (after two days of not being able to get a hold of her and really really needing to) and i was basically just like ‘why cant you be my mom’ and she was like ‘i am your mom’ and i was like ‘well, yeah, but youre not--you cant--you dont mother me. and you dont mother me in the ways i need you to.’ and she was like ‘what does that look like to you?’ and i said ‘someone who i can turn to, always, someone who has my back no matter what, someone who respects me and what i need and who listens to me and trusts my experience and, yeah, someone who i can turn to always’ and she said ‘i mean i can talk with you on the phone, i can tell you what i think you should do, i can try to give you advice from my experience, but as far as someone having your back 24/7 always, i cant do that’ and we ended up talking about how im an adult now - and she was talking about it in the sense of ‘youre a grown man now, you dont need your mom like that anymore’ - and im like ‘ya, i am basically a grown man but i still need my mom. i still need parents.’ and i think im gonna end up cutting contact with her again because its too hard to simultaneously grieve her not being the mom i need and also talk to her. if im not talking to her then i can deal with the idea that i dont have a mother, that i dont have parents and i probably never will.

ive never really had people. i never really had friends when i was a child and i dont really have friends now. maybe its cause im trans, maybe its cause im autistic, maybe its cause im mixed, i dont know, but generally people in the world dont like me or it takes them a long time to not hate me. it doesnt matter why right now the point is i never had people (like, a support system) and i dont now. 

so yeah im pretty seriously thinking about killing myself (or, trying to anyway). i dont wanna die but ive spent my whole life trying to just. be a person. and find contentment. and everything in my life ends up going awful or causing me a lot of trouble at some point or another. ive come to expect it. whenever anything happens in my life im just like ‘when will this go wrong. how long will it take this time.’ and im alone. im just fucking on my own. and i know theres lots of people who are and have been more alone than i am/have been and i admire these people so fucking much like GO YOU!! YOUFUCKING DID IT!!! HELL YEAH! im so proud of u. for real, i have so much respect for all yall reading this who have made it through shit and made it through being alone in the world. you fucking got this. youre doing it. good fucking job!!!!! ✨ but then. idk ig it doesnt take away from this being incredibly fucking difficult for me. pretty much everything in my life was fucked from birth to age 18 and now over half of everything in my life is fucked. which is better, for sure, but its still. ive never had a chance. idk it just seems to me like it doesnt matter. i can try and try and do all the therapies and take all the psych meds a psychiatrist might give me and i can meditate all the time. it just seems like im Doomed. (WOW i sound dumb and childish) like ik logically this is probably incorrect, that im not actually just.. doomed but thats how it feels. whenever a good thing happens im just waiting for it to collapse on me. and usually it does in way or another. generally not because of anything ive done or havent done, it just ends up being shit.

and then. ive never had anyone. i dont have anyone. im alone in the world. like its not that im ignoring people i do have or choosing to omit them from my mind right now. i have a singular friend in the place where i live; my other two friends both live in the states. i live with someone who was a support for me until like last ... july or so, i think, who now makes me feel like shit (they arent being malicious its just a bunch of issues in our relationship. theres more on that in stuff ive posted before, if you feel like digging through my posts for a while go ahead and youll find more on that) and i have like 5% (out of 100%) trust for them. i have a therapist who i see once a week and ik shes invested in me, but thats her job. and i cant just call her whenever i want. i have several people for film stuff but theyre either just casual pals and then colleagues or just colleagues. i know a lot of people, who dont really show any investment in me as a person or their relationship with me and who i dont really click well with. and thats it. 

and im so. im so in love with Film. all of it. (not The Film Industry obviously.) im so fucking in love with it. the only real concrete reason that i wont end up killing myself in the next like month or two is because Film. and i just. need. people. i need parents. or something. fuck.

i think part of this is probably the long-term ramifications of ongoing childhood sexual, physical, and psychological abuse and never really having good, consistent support cause id be surprised if that didnt fuck with my brain (and, yk, untreated severe childhood brain damage from tbis beginning at less than a year old). but it doesnt really matter does it. ive been through the shit time and again and its not like anyone has appeared and been like ‘hello, i see you never had parents, this is who i am, would you like to get to know each other for a while and maybe i could be your mom?’ cause thats literally what i need. i need parents. like i know theres a thing of ‘if you didnt have parents then you cant undo that damage’ but like idk. if someone has a bunch of unhealed broken bones that got broken years ago that are now causing them a lot of pain you wouldnt just be like ‘sorry, i see youre in trouble from this shit, but because it happened years ago theres nothing we can do’ cause there is??? i forget how i was gonna say this before but like. i didnt have parents. with the ‘parents’ i had its a scientific anomaly i lived past age three. i refuse to believe that having Good Parents and a Good Support System now would do nothing for me. cause it would. 

im also facing impending homelessness due to a) welfare/disability programs not giving you enough to live off and b) not having a roommate/not having support systems/not having people. so that doesnt help.

i dont know how to do this. im on my own. im doing all i can. ive reached out to everyone i feel like i could reach out to and. im on my own.

help. i guess. idk what that means but im, once again, at an incredibly fucking AWFUL point in my life and i need help. i doubt anyone will be able to but. if youre able to then. idk. do something. ik that i sound desperate and pitiful and i literally dont care at all because i literally am desperate for support and i literally am at - ANOTHER - extremely low point in my life and its pitiful. im cringing at myself actually posting this because its like ‘you think youre actually find what you need via a tumblr post? where are you? cause thats not real life dude’ but i dont fucking have people to talk to (as you have already understood 🙃) and im tired and tired and tired and tired.

if you took the time to read this i thank you and i hope ur day is going vvv well

please dont reblog this!!