#i hate that this condition causes everything disorder good fucking god

[maddisandy]

Its time to play the game of: is it chiari or is it strep! Step right up and spin the wheel!

[bucketspammer4life]

teensy weensy rant bc what am i if not angry

god i HATE HATE HATEEE how much depersonalization/dissociation gets romanticized and glamorized. this is not something “aesthetic” or desirable!!!!! im tired of going through the dpdr/derealization tag only to be greeted with dreamcore/weirdcore posts it pisses me off SO SO much

ofc dissociating isnt exclusive to ppl with dissociative disorders since there are an assload of mental conditions that can also make you dissociate/depersonalize and whatnot but PLEASE tag ur weirdcore/whatever else-core with anything else PLEASEEE

if you find comfort within these posts and/or dissociate a lot yourself,good for you,keep doing what makes you happy

“o-omg 🥺🥺🥺 h-how do i dissociate you guys??1?1?1?1” fuck off

you dont want to “dissociate”. you just want to find a way to pass time. this isnt just something i can turn on and off. im literally stuck like this 99% of the time

i literally CANNOT keep track of days properly. i can barely keep up with deadlines. i have forgotten where im at on multiple occasions and its not enjoyable in the slightest. weeks either feel like months to me or mere seconds. i barely remember what i did at school

i cant remember a good chunk of my life thanks to whatever happened that caused me to dissociate so much

literally EVERYTHING can trigger me to dissociate or depersonalize. LITERALLY ANYTHING.

I struggle to hold basic conversations with people because “hey i literally cannot speak to you right now i literally have to remind myself where im at every few minutes pls leave me alone” is not a good excuse

ppl piss me off so much sometimes ugh

this isnt a tumblr exclusive thing too,i go on tiktok for a scroll through a tag related to dissociation/depersonalization and dreamcore shit keeps popping up

literally every platform ive been on has this problem, its 98% unrelated posts and 2% actual content related stuff

ofc u can find comfort in those kinds of aesthetics whether you experience these but please dont hog the tag!!!!

[ziracona]

Hello! I have always believed that Michael needed better doctors and good treatment. He was simply billed as "Evil". Sometimes I think that at that time they were unaware or ignorant of mental illness, and that is why Michael did not recover. I wish it had been treated better. I would like to know your opinion about it ;v;

Oh, absolutely. Michael is a very tragic character, and what happened to him was almost entirely Loomis’ fault, secondarily the system and his parents’, and like onyl 0.8% his own. It’s true that mental health aid has historically been really bad in most places, and even today treatment and acceptance—even in specifically medical settings—tend to be abysmal. Of course people knew less than they do now about how psychological stuff works, but bias, cruelty, and superstition as well as a system that enables and even to degrees outright encourages that is to blame for the awful treatment people woth mental illnesses and personality disorders faced and continue to face, not just a lack of knowledge, and the history is really heavy and awful to look over. : ( It’s horrific some of the things doctors have done and do to people just trying to get help.

Like, in Michael’s case, we’ve had a name and understanding of psychosis since the 1800s. Canonically, by the time the poor kid was six years old, he was hearing voices telling him to do bad things to people. He told his parents, seeking help, and they did nothing to help him—just told him it was his imagination—despite knowing hos grandfather had suffered the same symptoms. If they had only taken him seriously and given him therapy and possibly medication too, Judith never would have died. (I am not goong to say it every time, but all this information is official canon) Michael’s reason for killing his family members is wanting the vocies talking to him to be quiet, because it’s agonizing. If you’ve ever had intrusive thoughts (stuff like “pull into oncoming traffic” or “break that and see what happens” and such that don’t actually compell or force you to do it at all, and are always things you as a person deeply do not want to do, but nevertheless are really annoying or distressing to hear in your head), imagine that cranked up to 1000, endless and constant, but from voices that seem to come from around you instead of in your head. Especially as a young child, with no understanding what is happening to you, this would be incredibly scary and distressing—doubly so when dismissed by your parents, whose sole job is supposed to be to love and protect you.

The voices say they’ll be quiet if Michael kills Judith, so Halloween night, he does. Important to note here Michael is recently six years old at the time, which developmental psych literally is not old enough to have a complete understanding what death itself is, let alone complex morality. You /cannot/ be evil at six, you simply don’t have a complex enough understanding of right and wrong or of consequence to /be/ evil. Also at this age, usually kids see death as a vague concept, but one that applies to people they don’t know only, not to them and their loved ones. In Halloween 1978, immediately after stabbing Judith, Michael looks away while he keeps doing it, and his breathing speeds up in a scared way. He barely looks at the body, and immediately goes down stairs to wait for his parents—probably for them to fix it—and does nothing to flee or hide what he’s done. He looks traumatized when they take his mask off. (Lots of little notes here like that Judith when she sees him seems annoyed but not very, and when he attacks her, tries to shield herself and call to him to stop, rather than fleeing or fighting back, which [appealing instead of fight or flight] is pretty exclusively something you only would use if attcked by someone you are on good terms with—I mean, Michael is six—if Judith had /tried/ to fight back, no way she would have died—so there’s less than nothing to indicate they had anything but a loving familial sibling relationship. But if I list all these I’m gonna launch into my six page Michael Myers meta so I will speed through the rest.)

Anyway! Sorry, I have many feelings. About...everything. Including Michael for sure. So, immediately after killing Judith, Michael stops talking. He also shows other psychosis and trauma readily recognized side effects, like catatonia, slowed movement. In Halloween 1978c Dr. Loomis claims he tried to treat Michael for eight years, then spent another seven trying to keep him locked up because he realized he was evil. This is a /blatant/ lie, as in film canon Loomis, by Michael’s review hearing I believe four months in? Six or less for sure, I believe it is four. Loomis has /already/ become convinced Michael is a demon in human form, faking his symptoms, and itching to kill again. The other doctors think Loomis is crazy, as does the other doctor who examines Michael, but they’re awful people so they let him stay Michael’s doctor anyway, even though they refuse to move him to Litchfield maximum security. By this time only a few months in, Loomis is canonically also threatening the six year old in his care and constantly telling him he is an evil being who wants to get out and terrorize again. (Also, I will die enraged the sentance Michael gets for killing Judith is to remain locked in solitary in a sanitorium for /15/ years, until he turns 21, at which point he will be tried as an adult for murder??? The fuck?? You CANNOT charge a 6 year old’s crime in adult court! ‘Tried as an adult’ is meant for like, when a 17 year old dismembers their family and eats them! It’s for particularly heinous crimes, committed by someone /very/ close to being legally an adult, and that /only/. The idea of waiting fifteen years to try someone as an adult for something done at age six is laughable and sick).

Okay this is already long, I get carried away rip. Uhhh, anyway, yeah. In Smith’s Grove, Michael is visited by mom and Laurie once, then never sees any of his family again, because his dad hates him and forbids the others—finds out because Laurie is four and talks that they went /one/ time, and physically beats four year old Laurie for mentioning his name until she trauma blocks out ever having had a brother. From then on, Michael spends /fifteen/ years and all the dest of his developmental stages of childhood in a sanitorium with Dr. Loomis—a man who on wild religious superstition grounds assumes by his own admission /on sight/ that Michael is evil, and no other human contact. According to canon, Michael spends at least four hours of /every/ day with Loomis, his /only/ human contact, who threatens him, promises to stop him, and endlessly barrages him with “You’re evil, you’re not human, you want to kill again, I /will/ stop you,” and nothing else. He also canonically keeps Michael overdosed on a type of antipsychotic that, while a fine drug if used normally, if overdosed can deeply worsen symptoms, and can cause permanent brain damage.

Honestly, if a six year old is exposed yo major trauma, none of their issues are explained, legitimized, or believed, and almost all of their developmental stage is spent with endless voices they don’t know the cause of suggesting murder and violence, one human being and authority figure telling them over and over and over for fifteen years with no other constant in their life or human contact period that they are a demon in human form who wants to kill and is /going/ to do so again...? How else was that story ever going to end? I’ve said it before, but that’s beyond conditioning; it’s lab growing a human child to one day walk out and murder Laurie Strode with a large kitchen knife.

I stand by Halloween is a greek tragedy more than a slasher, and Michael and Laurie are both victims. He’s the Asterios, she’s the Ariadne. Loomis the Minos, the real villain. (Or the Poseidon choose your poison).

Anyway, I 100% agree! If he had just gotten help from his parents, Judith would have never died. If he’d had good doctors, none of the events of 1978 would have come to pass, or anything after it. Loomis single-handedly causes the deaths in 1978 himself through years of cruelty, and bigoted bias towards a small child in his care who needed his help, not his abuse, but he chose to break as much as he possibly could despite his responsibilities as a doctor, an adult, and a human.

If you’re interested, I did a canon-deep-dive character study short story on Michael on AO3! Halloween is such a sad story but it’s fascinating. God, poor Michael and Laurie deserved so much better than they got. It’s a testament to Michael’s character that even after 15 years of Dr. Loomis, he really only kills his intented target(s) in search of quiet from the voices, and anyone who sees him/would be a threat, and not other people. Makes no attempt to kill any of the kids in Halloween 2018, and only kills Bob when he literally opens the door to his hiding spot and Michael is found and Bob becomes a threat to him. In H20, after Michael has had 20 years on his own, you get arguably the least brutal Michael, who intentionally passes on killing the mother and child, and the security guard he walks right past, because they don’t see him and thus he doesn’t /have/ to. Halloween II is less intentionally avoiding, but even then he still does the same multiple times too, like with the old lady making a sandwich, or the scene in the incubator room. Anyway he desevered better fuck Loomis all my homies hate Loomis.

[cuntess-carmilla]

Update: I stopped taking psychiatric medication because they turned out to have only ever been of “help” because I have POTS/dysautonomia and one made my blood pressure rise (Wellbutrin) while the other kept it from going up too high (Lamotrigine).

Now that I’m taking meds that are for what I ACTUALLY do have (POTS/dysautonomia) not only do I not need the psychiatric meds, but they were throwing off everything else. I hate psychiatry so much. Can’t believe I turned out to be one of those people who had their physical illness mistreated as You’re Crazy for years haha. :) With that out of the way...

Some Many of my Opinions™ on psychiatry, as a psychiatrized person myself who does take medication, but hates the institutions of psychiatry and psychology, and thinks a large chunk of it is white pseudo-science:

A good amount of the issues that the psychiatric institution addresses ARE absolutely real and, as a society, people who’re afflicted by them should by all means receive help and support so they can live happier lives. I experience many of them and take medication to help myself, I obviously don’t think the difficult experiences people seek help for are made up.

At the same time, psychiatry and psychology as disciplines ARE made up (like every other discipline), making them not infallible or objective, AND they were built on eugenics, patriarchy, white supremacy and capitalist exploitation.

Those very real issues addressed by psychology/psychiatry aren’t actual literal pathologies. They don’t need to be literal tangible sicknesses in order to matter or be deserving of help and compassion. Your literal brain as a bodily organ is not physically “ill��, at least in most cases. It doesn’t need to be for your problems associated with an “ill mind” to be real and to matter. Remember, these disciplines were created at a time in history in which (white, male) doctors and theorists were obsessed with turning everything into a material, scientifically tangible subject that could be objectively measured with numbers and shit, hopefully medicalized or otherwise turned into “hard science”. That’s where ethnography came from. It’s called positivism, which is extremely dehumanizing, white supremacist and capitalist.

Psychology should be largely considered as much more of a metaphysical or philosophical discipline than as objective science, which is how most people perceive it to be. It’s mostly pure theory about emotions, thoughts, cognition, relationships and subjective experiences + perceptions -- which isn’t necessarily a bad thing on itself. It not being hard science doesn’t immediately delegitimize it. Get rid of the white capitalist idea that only (western, white) science and “objectivity” are real or of value. Actually, holding psychology to the standards of hard science turns it into pseudo-science, so... Yeah. I genuinely think we’d get so much further As A Society™ regarding psychology's potential to aid people who’re suffering if we treated it as more of a metaphysical or philosophical discipline than as some objective scientific truth.

Psychiatrists often are super ignorant of the actual way the medications they prescribe work or affect patients lmao. I had that almost ruin a whole semester at college because a shrink prescribed me meds that in combination she should’ve known would fuck me up. Not that much is known about how the human brain truly works compared to other human organs, you can’t expect psychiatric meds to be well tried and true. The research on psychiatric pharmacy is very lacking + biased in favor of pathologizing and controlling psychiatrized people, besides attempting to make the most profit under capitalism like any other capitalist industry, so of course they’re gonna prescribe you shit. Plus, like doctors of every other field, many psychiatrists arrogantly disregard the experiences, requests, questions and ideas of their patients, who’re the ones taking those meds.

Psychologists/therapists, just like psychiatrists, also disregard the experiences, requests, questions and ideas of their patients.

There’s such a strong element of power imbalance in how psychiatry and psychology function. The more a patient knows formal information about anything related to psychology/psychiatry, the more the shrink can get upset, distrustful and dismissive of them, saying they’re faking it, or telling them “not to do their jobs” when they so often do said jobs like shit anyway lmao no matter how thorough the research and understanding of the patient is.

Psychological and psychiatric diagnoses are just as made up as any other human construct (such as language, race, gender, etc). They’re not tangible realities as if shrinks had ran into a previously unknown objective fact of nature. In the realm of psychology, someone takes a bunch of traits and behaviors that by their observation they consider to be interconnected with one another, put them in the same bag, stick a label to said bag, and ask other psychologists if they agree with the bag being a thing. These considerations are heavily influenced by sociocultural bias. You can’t tell me it isn’t true that they’re made up and very subjective when “diagnoses” such as drapetomania, hysteria, homosexuality, gender identity disorder, etc, have been seriously considered at least by part of the psychiatric establishment of their times as legitimate mental disorders. Hell, some still consider being gay or trans to be mental disorders. Don’t get me started on "Oppositional Defiant Disorder”, that shit’s just evil.

A lot of the ideas spread by the psychiatric-psychological institution are legit pseudo-science that researches try time and time again to prove and end up coming with nothing, or they end up tweaking their own research or conclusions to maintain the established consensus that just so turns out to be very convenient to the people who make and sell psychiatric meds.

Many of the traits, emotions, thoughts, perceptions and behaviors that are pathologized by psychiatry and psychology aren’t inherently harmful. If they don’t make the patient or others suffer by their very nature (as opposed to like, homophobic parents “suffering” because their child is gay or a gay person suffering because of homophobia) then there’s no need to alter them. “Correcting” them is a measure of social control that crushes individuality and only attempts to mold people into obedient ~productive~ servants of capitalism. Much of psychiatric medical treatment (not just the diagnoses and therapies themselves) focuses on turning the patient into less of a social “burden”, than on their actual happiness. That’s why you have ADHD and autistic kids being given meds that turn them into zombies and that's been considered a good thing for DECADES. Like, why does the stimming of an autistic person or an “unusual” attachment to stuffed animals as an autistic adult have to be corrected? WHOMST does that harm? Nobody! But it makes allistics uncomfortable because allistics are fucking stupid and can’t mind their God damned business to save their lives like normal people do.

Even non-pharmaceutical treatments for psychiatrized conditions are or can be turned into measures of social control. 

Maybe CBT wasn’t meant to be a tool to control people and shit, but it can be misused as such SO easily! It can go from being therapy to help individuals process inner pain and redirect harmful behaviors in positive ways, to being turned into training someone to react, feel and process abuse and oppression in ways that are convenient to the status quo. 

Don’t get me fucking started on ABA as an inherently oppressive, abusive “treatment” for a psychiatrized condition that does nothing to actually better the lives of autistic people, instead punishing autistic traits, teaching autistic people to painfully repress said traits and ignore their needs, and seeking to appease allistics by prioritizing their convenience and subjective comfort.

Behaviors, emotions, perceptions or traits that on a man or white person would be considered a non-issue or given much more compassionate/less stigmatized diagnoses, are pathologized or given much more stigmatized diagnoses when it comes to female or racialized patients, which reaffirms psychiatry and psychology as subjective tools of social control.

While many of the traits, emotions, perceptions and behaviors of what are considered personality disorders are painful, harmful and real (and thus should be helped, with consent, not hammered down), literal personalities aren’t “ill”. They’re personalities. Pathologizing or medicalizing a fucking personality on itself is ridiculous. It is possible to address those problematic traits/behaviors/etc without saying that a fucking personality is “ill”. So much for “you’re not your disorder”.

What shrinks will deem as hallucinations or delusions can be subjective, and it definitely can be deemed as such out of white-centric cultural bias. Plenty of non-white cultures have considered different perceptions of reality as valid and worthy of respect for centuries, at times related to their sense of spirituality. Not to mention how psychiatry has deemed the real anxieties of oppressed people that they’re being followed, spied on, plotted against and all that, as hallucinations or delusions in order to discredit them.

Many patients are given medication to try to alleviate traits/behaviors/emotions that come from circumstance (poverty, ongoing abuse, trauma, oppression...) instead of addressing the root problems. While I 100% understand using medication as a palliative measure because, bitch, you can’t always fix those problems and you still have a life to live (the same way I take clotiazepam when the insensitivity of the allistics around me causes me sensory overload), this puts the burden of the person’s situation on their own body, as if their body was the essential source of a suffering that comes from outside forces they’re not responsible or in control of. This should ideally be addressed through material change in realities that can be individual (removing the person from an abusive situation, giving economic aid, giving proper treatment to an untreated chronic illness) or social (abolishing white supremacy, the patriarchy, capitalism, etc).

So many times when palliative medical treatments for suffering that comes from circumstances don’t work (BECAUSE THE PATIENT IS STILL TRAPPED IN SAID CIRCUMSTANCES, HELLO?) it’s blamed on a supposed defect of the patient’s body/brain rather than, like... You can give me as many anti-depressants as you want but I’m still gonna be miserable if I’m being abused or suffering from unending physical chronic pain lol. And then, instead of at least having the decency of recognizing the real source of the problem if your shrink can’t realistically fix it, they keep trying more and more different meds on you like you’re a fucking lab rat, keeping on blaming a made up defect you were “born” with. Imagine what that does to a person’s self-image! At least when I loathe my body for the chronic pain, chronic fatigue and more that my chronic illnesses give me, it IS actually true that it’s my body that has a defect that can’t be cured. Why convince a person in suffering due to anything, but especially when it’s due to outside conditions out of their control and your job is fucking supposed to be to help them be happier, that their pain refuses to respond to treatment because their BRAIN is so terribly defective? I don’t wish the hatred I hold for my objectively shitty body on anyone, and causing that to someone when it’s not even true...? Incredible.

Lots of genuine difficulties associated with psychiatric diagnoses are much better helped through accessibility and material considerations, or at least through teaching the patient pragmatic methods to better deal with those, than through pills. But guess what solution shrinks usually give you. Hint: it’s easier for them and they can charge you for it monthly.

Society™ medicalized emotions, bro... WE MEDICALIZED FEELINGS!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!

[pocmuzings]

i feel so much like that last 'bleh' anon. i have autism diagnosed around 20 so grew up with people bullying and adults 'helping' by saying 'could you please act normal?' or 'if you don't let it bother you it'll stop' which lead to 13 years worth of bullying and a feeling of worthlessness blame that never goes away and lead to agoraphobia. my sis has epilepsy and constantly says if anyone needs help when she's out it's her not me cause 'there's nothing wrong with you'

pt 2. (SUICIDE CW) but on my bad days when i feel like giving up because i'll never matter i try to think of one good thing i've done. one moment where i helped someone. like the time an old man was trying to cross the road there were no lights and he was clearly scared since no cars where stopping and he was a slow walker. im always nervous around people so i waited a couple of minutes to see if someone else would help, they never did so i asked if he needed help and he thanked me so much.

pt 3 (sorry for the rambling) or the time a mother was trying to buy food for her baby and fell a little short so i offered the rest of the money because everyone else who were a lot older weren't bothering. idk if i'll ever be in a good mental place to keep a job. and i hate whenever someone brings it up and i have to say im looking for a job because we've been conditioned to think being on disability is wrong but worth is so much more than a job. disabilities make life hard you're doing great

first of all , pls never apologise for rambling !  the whole way that some disorders and disabilities are treated are astoundingly terrible and un-reparably harmful. 

i think what you did for that older man wasn’t just a good thing, but a really really fucking incredible thing and thoughtful. you did something nobody else did. nobody else helped him. you get told that you need to ‘act normal ‘ , but if you had acted ‘normal’ in that situation - then who would have helped that man ? or that lady ? people think being normal is ignoring other people who need help . you did the right thing by being you . by ‘ not being normal ‘. i hope you sleep better every night knowing you did what others COULD HAVE DONE so much easier then you, and they chose not to . because  that’s fucking AWESOME that you  helped in the first place, but even MORE incredible that you overcame your fear and your nervousness in order to do so . other people can be more ‘ able ‘ and don’t do jack-shit .

i couldn’t have said it better myself :  yes, yes, yes. you need to proud of every single achievement . 

I’LL BE PROUD OF ALL OF U . IF UR TOO MODEST , DON’T WORRY. TOOT TOOT ALL ABOARD THE G - IS - GONNA- BRAG- ABOUT YOU - BOAST - ABOUT - YOU- AND- TELL-EVERYONE-HOW-PROUD-SHE-IS-OF-YOU-TRAIN !!! I’M PROUD FOR YOU.  being kind is the most important thing in this god damn world ! and you did it ! the MOST IMPORTANT THING ! THATS AMAZING ! also i love you mentioning your own examples . your own stories. what YOU’RE proud of by yourself. it literally makes my heart just . twinge a little because i feel like . just so happy that you’re happy and proud of yourself, despite everything else. you fucking deserve that feeling so so much. 

this was such an amazing set of messages to receive . thank you for sharing your story . thank u for putting urself out there . it’s so hard to do , and u did it so succinctly and kindly and in order to ( again ) help someone else . bless ur selfless , beautiful heart. 

[donnerpartyofone]

sometime last september i had a bad cold with an ear infection. a bunch of fluid built up in my ear and never went away. i saw a doctor who suggested it would just disappear on its own, but that it could take three or four months. i took some antibiotics then, which didn’t help. he didn’t seem to consider it a problem. after a couple of months i came back, same deal. he gave me some anti-inflammatory nasal spray and some ear drops, which didn’t help. then i found a new gp and described the problem to her. she stuck her ear thing in my ear, wagged it around, and then just turned around and never discussed it with me in any way.

incidentally, i was seeing that second doctor because i was convinced i was dying from lung cancer. my mother was suddenly diagnosed with stage four lung cancer when she was my age and given a couple of months to live. (she surprised everybody by living for three or four years, which in my estimation was a lot worse than if she had just died right away) i found a gp who specialized in lung disease and explained that i have consistently restricted breathing in one lung that does not fluctuate in any way, and has been going on for a long time. well, my chest x-rays came back clear and i don’t have any other symptoms, so she just put me on some asthma inhalers. i had bad asthma as a kid, and this unceasing one-sided shortness of breath doesn’t resemble that in any way, but my doctor didn’t seem to give a shit about figuring out what was wrong with me as long as the inhalers seemed to be managing the symptoms. i felt like a theme was emerging when i told her about my ear, and she seemed to just look for whatever specific thing she would consider a problem, and when she didn’t see it, she just changed the subject.

so, naturally, i found a new gp. i went because my scripts for my inhalers were running out, and i didn’t want go back to the other doctor to get them renewed. mercifully (i guess although i’m really not dying to keep seeing more and more doctors), my new doctor is sending me for fresh x-rays and referring me to a pulmonologist. i also told her about my ear, and she checked me out and saw all this fluid behind my eardrum. she said this is very common, and might be there “forever”. it could be because of my naturally humongous tonsils, which is a pretty disgusting thing to hear about myself for some reason, or it could be allergy inflammation that’s contributing to the blockage. so the main thing i have to do is stop trying to pop my ear, which i want to do every second of every minute that i’m conscious, because it’s clearly, painfully wearing down my jaw. also, now i get to add an allergy pill to the 23 (24 depending on what’s going on) pills i need to take every day to manage other stuff. 

the “other stuff” is mostly one condition, which is that my system processes copper so poorly that the buildup of this psychoactive metal in my system makes me chronically depressed, anxious, fearful and angry. nutrient therapy is a lot better than being hooked on opiodes...i think? but the number of things i have to take to avoid that is exhausting, and means that i spend an hour or two a day feeling like i’m going to throw up while i digest everything, which isn’t exactly a mood booster.

anyway, my new gp has also referred me to an ENT, which appointment can’t happen soon enough because sometime around 3am yesterday, i developed a loud ringing in the affected ear that will not go away, and by all accounts, might never go away. this is not the first time this week that i was told one of my senses will be permanently impaired for no particularly good reason. a few years ago, i had to have surgery and localized chemotherapy to remove some pathological scar tissue growing across my corneas. it hasn’t come back (although it might), probably thanks in part to the chemo, but now i have a buildup of surgical scar tissue on one eye that is causing glare and spots, and according to my cornea specialist, that’s just the new normal. the few treatments options are considered high risk for little reward, i guess.

depression has a way of casting you as a problematic person in the public eye: someone who is oversensitive, looking for attention, being negative, and refusing to deal with their problems in a mature way (because according to people who don’t really have problems, all problems go away if you just adjust your bad attitude). now, i hate going to the doctor because my experience of autism makes me cry and panic like i’ve been raped if anyone touches me without my specific emotional invitation. also, it’s very hard for me to think of any experience i’ve ever had with a doctor where something was explained to me satisfyingly, or where i got treatment that really worked--as opposed to me just coming out the other end, terrorized and humiliated, sitting there in a puddle of my own various fear fluids thinking, “wait a minute, WHY THE FUCK did i let them do all that random shit to me??” to wit: a couple of years where i submitted myself to a doctor to have core samples regularly, painfully, frighteningly drilled out of my cervix because of some abnormal test results. whatever’s going on COULD be precancerous, i was told. well, what else “could” it be, i asked? they just shrugged, and one day they told me they weren’t seeing the abnormality anymore and they didn’t have to keep mutilating me. so...i could have just been sitting on the couch this whole time? why did i do this, when i don’t even have any particular faith in treatment anyway? but, i keep doing to the doctor(s), because i’ve had it drilled into my head that it’s the “responsible” thing to do, and it will prove to the world that i’m a “positive” person who tries to find “mature” solutions to my problems. that makes it extra frustrating when nothing comes of it, other than the damning confirmation that nothing about me is really working that well, and it’s not going to.

of course, on top of the fact that my problems are not really manageable in any substantial way, there’s the added psychological pressure that comes from people not seeing your problems as problems. exactly one half of my face is affected by rosacea, making it extra obvious that something is wrong with me. having tried everything else that is supposed to manage my symptoms--including two different treatments that are “magic bullets” for 99% of sufferers, both of which made me react so badly that i looked like i’d been attacked by wasps--i decided to take the plunge on my last option, an extremely expensive battery of painful and kind of scary laser treatments. i had the last one this month. i’m not seeing any difference at all, and in fact i’m not sure it didn’t make things worse. no insurance really covers treatment for rosacea because it’s considered a cosmetic problem, even though it results in broken blood vessels and progressive thickening of the skin that anybody would consider a medical problem if they saw it in action. i can already see what’s going on in the mirror, and trying not to notice is not an option.

i realize, as i’m sure many people will be quick to tell me, that i’m actually very lucky. i do not have any “real problems”. i’m performing the basic life problems of a human being just fine. but i have to say, just to stick up for myself, that there is something really special about just having a collection of unrelated problems that just amount to, like, a bunch of bullshit. i have friends who have had, or currently have, really major life challenges--horrifying circumstances or conditions with which they have had to wage a heroic battle. of course i don’t envy them, but at the risk of sounding really incredibly petty, at least they made some kind of sense. the dragon arrives at your door, and it’s cancer, or hiv, or a neurological disorder, or a flesh-and-bone-eating disease; you don your armor and fight the good fight, or prepare to die with dignity, or in the worst case scenario, you just regular-die, but everybody totally understands it as a tragedy. there’s some kind of logic to it all, even if it’s completely unfair and arbitrary in the outing. it’s different when you just have a bunch of bullshit, none of which anybody thinks is a problem individually, and there’s no reason for it. your eye is just kind of shitty and your skin is just kind of shitty and your lung is just kind of shitty and your ear is just kind of shitty and your ovaries are just kind of shitty and your mental health is just kind of shitty (for chronic physiological reasons). so therefore, looking at things is just kind of shitty and having people look at you is just kind of shitty and hearing things is just kind of shitty and really, just being awake and alive is just kind of shitty. and there’s no narrative here, it’s not you versus your virus or you versus your mutating cells or something. it’s just you versus the fact that you’re just, like, kind of a fucking lemon. if your body were a car, you’d get rid of it, and just take the bus from now on. or stop going anywhere altogether.

when i’m not fighting off a violent reaction to my mounting collection of bullshit problems, i’m usually trying to find some meaning to my life. it’s hard to do. i’m not brilliantly intelligent or talented in any way that would make my career into the point of my life. i’m also not going to start a family (which would be a huge challenge for me anyway because of problems with my reproductive system), so that’s out. because of my anhedonia, i can’t really live for pleasure either--a fact which is surely compacted by the way that all of my individual parts seem committed to making any and all sensory input at least sort-of annoying, if not infuriating and claustrophobia-inducing. when it’s just me and my depression, i often think, “god, i really wish i could just achieve something in this life, then all this agonizing would be worth it.” i usually wind up reaffirming that i’m just an ordinary person, i’m not even very good at my hobbies or very knowledgable about my passions, there’s no chance that doing something special with my time on earth is going to save me. but then, of course, there’s my shitty, shitty, shitty physical condition. the only thing i really ever accomplish is preventing myself from screaming.

i realize that many people might want to frame stopping yourself from screaming as an accomplishment in and of itself. when you’re really challenged in life, you have to remember your context. like, one guy might be climbing the corporate ladder, and he has to face the challenge of competition and seizing opportunities and stuff; but when you’re, say, me, not-screaming can be a legitimately equivalent effort that you should be proud of winning at. both my best shrink and my worst shrink have tried to warn me off of comparing myself to others--to noticing, constantly, that compared to pretty much everyone i know i’m really defective, and in fact i’m way behind my peers developmentally because i have to struggle so hard just to get through my fucking day without ruining anything or taking a break for pure suffering. part of the reason to avoid comparing yourself to others is what i was just getting at, that you want to have an authentic sense of your own suffering without using an irrelevant-to-you method of measurement. the other part of it is that you don’t want to delude yourself into thinking that you are the only person who suffers, or that your suffering is the most extreme. my first/worst shrink approached this in a pretty hilarious way: she suggested that maybe ALL of my friends have ALL the same problems as me, they just haven’t mentioned it. first of all, this just shows a real ignorance of how many great complainers i know. but secondly, it suggests a world in which my closest friends have stood by while scars grow over my eyeballs and half my face burns and swells and my ovaries constantly invite painful degrading examinations and threaten cancer and my lung never opens all the way and my ear rings deafeningly et at ad nauseam, and they just...don’t say anything to me. for some reason my dearest companions just don’t feel like offering me support or solidarity or advice from their supposed rich experience, or even venting their own frustrations to an ear they know for a fact is sympathetic, even if it doesn’t hear too well. it’s an extra bizarre idea that still makes me laugh, when i’m not screaming.

now i have to get ready for today’s doctor’s appointment, the fifth of what i think will turn out to be eight this month, not including psychiatric appointments. it’s not for my ear, but i’ll definitely be bringing that up again, because i think i need to add an anti-anxiety prescription to my armory of pills, because i don’t think i’m going to make it through this experience without altering my chemistry until i just don’t give a fuck about anything that happens to me. plus i need to find out if tinnitus is its own thing, or if it is definitely always a symptom of hearing loss (that is, a deteriorating ability to perceive sound, as opposed to an incredibly loud internal sound that you just naturally notice more than other external sounds that you are still technically capable of perceiving). a minute ago, my husband got up and started stalking around our tiny apartment suspiciously. i thought he must have seen a bug, but he’s looking for the source of a weird noise that must be coming from our large mac tower, a couple of feet away. i absolutely cannot hear it at all.

[unpopularfact]

“.... and anxiety which escalated into PTSD”

Hold up, let me stop you right there.

Escalated... did you say escalated?

Let me stop you right there and start laying down the fucking facts here, okay?

PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

What is PTSD? Exactly as stated above.

It’s your body unable to stop the “fight or flight” response to a scary- or more appropriate traumatic (beautiful key word here) experience.

Define traumatic?

Let’s see... deeply disturbing or distressing.

Synonyms, to help really define it for you:

agonizing, extremely painful, severe, acute, intense, extreme, savage, violent, racking, searing, piercing, stabbing, raging, harrowing, tormenting, grievous;

dreadful, awful, terrible, unbearable, unendurable, more than one can bear, more than flesh and blood can bear;

Is it sinking in yet? What this disorder actually is? The best way to describe this disorder is a massive system error, when your body comes to response to your environment and/or situation you are currently in.

Example:

LOUD NOISE

Normal person: -jumps in fright or

Maybe not at all and looks up to determine the source-

PTSD sufferer: -jumps, paniks, thinks they might die. Is very very angry at noise source, thinks of reasons to attempt to justify that the noise was because of some reason that leads to them being hated or attacked-

Now that we know what PTSD is (well the short version anyway) let’s revisit the beyond stupid comment made above, shall we?

The base line is: anxiety does not escalate into PTSD.

Nothing complicated. Nothing magical- there’s no chemical reaction that causes once mental health problem to develop into another. It’s not an infection.

Anxiety is ONE of MANY symptoms that MIGHT be a SINGLE factor of PTSD.

One small mental health issue is a symptom of a bigger problem.

The problem is already there.

It does NOT escalate into the other problem.

I would also like to add that the particular person this is quoted from is yet to actually give me the part of their upsetting experience that is actually classed as traumatic.

Because, sweetheart, someone being an asshole to you is not traumatic. It isn’t good at all- by NO means is being in an abusive relationship a good thing. It’s horrible, heart breaking and is extremely bad for you.

But it is traumatic.

I have been in an abusive relationship which led to sexual abuse. This man wanted to beat me up over curtains. I was abused and taken advantage of, there’s a gap in my memory and I’ve an issue with certain types of contact which I’ve slowly overcome. It took me 10 years to be able to reach comfort with people again.

Do I have PTSD?

No, I don’t.

This incident left me anxious for 10 years. I forgot the details but I feel sick if I try and remember everything. I was terrified to be touched and I hate certain types of bodily contact. It got to a point where talking about it made me shake and cry. I’d go pale.

But I don’t have PTSD.

What gives you PTSD?

Someone actually (I mean actual, not being slapped or punched) someone actively trying to kill you, maybe they slash your throat, maybe they axe off your arm.

A veteran of war from combat stress. Watching people be killed and even killing people by your own hand

Witnessing death/murder/suicide in general.

Dying (Ofc being revived)

Yes these are extreme examples because oh my fucking god these are the extreme things that cause PTSD.

So sorry bitch. You don’t have PTSD. Fuck you- you should be happy you don’t have it. Now stop wearing it as a god damn accessory you anal dwelling butt monkey.

Don’t get me started on anxiety. 🙄.

Also, PS, if you’re thinking of all the little things I pointed out to be symptoms and trying to compile them together to try and pull PTSD out of your personality- I’ve wonderful news. You don’t have PTSD.

If you’re mad I’ve congratulated you for NOT having a horrible debilitating condition, then maybe you should compile the symptoms and shove them up your goddamn ass. Here’s some lube and no you can’t hold my hand.

If you are genuinely concerned that you might have it... see a professional for fucks sake.

[coloringtheworldwithwords]

My truth, my pain, and everything you took from me.

Last night, I got caught up in looking back at old photos, but my focus wasn’t on the good times. I found tons and tons of screenshots saved, screenshots of fights and screenshots of the apologies that came after. I am disgusted with my recent past that was filled with manipulation and hate, toxicity and control. I am disgusted by the fact that i lacked the ability to see that a person who claimed to love me really didn’t at all, and was just concerned with filling a void in her life - the need for having someone to call hers. I looked through a full year of screenshots. Almost every fight documented and every apology to follow. The mind games, the awful things that were said, and the complete lack of the ability to understand my side were all evident in those conversations. And it makes me sick to my stomach to know I was so naive and so controlled that I couldn’t even recognize it happening to me, even despite all my friends and family telling me it was happening. I made my mistakes. In the beginning I got into a relationship without really being ready for the commitment. But over time, my feelings grew, and I became certain. But by that point it was far too late. By that point, arrangements were already made to use my lack of certainty in the beginning as unfaithfulness and use my lack of anything to use and abuse me, and mold me into the person I needed to be for her. She forgets that she made mistakes too. The nights she lied about where she was going…only to make me believe I was crazy for questioning when things didn’t add up. The nights my friends found her on a dating site and she had no good explanation except to turn it into how I probably had some, and got mad at me for it. The nights she claimed her and this girl were just friends….for months….only to sleep with her 3 weeks after we broke up. The nights she claimed a girl from her past was a great friend…only to have her grind behind her in the club despite my discomfort and then get mad at me for it. The list goes ON and ON and ON… And every time something was HER fault, IIIIII was the crazy one. I was the controlling one. I was the one who was too sensitive. I was the one who made her life hard. I was the one who was too clingy. I was the one that was too jealous and controlling. And all those things were ABOUT HER. I was not the problem. Anytime we’ve ever talked after the break up, we’ve brought up my wrong doings but never hers. Because she erased them, from her mind as well as my own, because she had the power to make her wrong doings into nothing. Had the power to make them into my fault, somehow. I tried like hell to talk things out like an adult and would get back hurtful words, would get shut downy rude remarks to my character. The times I tried to leave, she’d beg for me back, claim that she would change, admit that she was the problem.. And then weeks later, she was back to her same old ways. There was no changing her narcissistic behavior. There is no changing a narcissist. And I look at her now and see that she claims to be thriving in this new relationship. But you know what? We did too! The beginning was a hell of a ride. But god forbid if her new girl ever fucks up, or does anything less then perfect. God forbid if her new girl ever gets tired of constantly supporting her and wants her to pull her own weight sometimes. She needs a caregiver… Someone who will drop everything and anything to make her happy, even if its at the price of their own happiness. And I think eventually they will run into problems too. Because she is an expert manipulator, someone who can’t live without chaos because the chaos validates her in some way. The chaos makes her believe that she is worthy of someone fighting for her, or worthy of better, and she demands better, even if she’s getting the best. I wasn’t perfect. I was pretty perfectly flawed....but like ANYONE. I was in a committed relationship with someone who needed me to settle and I still wanted to travel. I held a lot of resentment towards her, for holding me down, for trying to change me, for needing me to take care of her. I wanted to be a team, I wanted us to take care of each other but I got stuck on a one way street. I couldn’t change her for the better, and I knew she wanted to change me. I could feel she wanted to change me...she always tried. With all her flaws and her fucked up past, she thought SHE knew best when it came to a good relationship. And she didn’t. She doesn’t. She has no idea what the first thing is to being a good partner. And though she’s the one in a relationship right now, that has no reflect on me as a person. That doesn’t make me the one unlovable, that makes me the one more level headed. More mature to know that I need to fix myself and love myself first, rather than dumping all my energy into someone else in hopes they will love me harder to fill the void that I don’t love myself. That’s what she’s doing. That’s who she is. And it’s sad. I feel sad for her. I don’t miss her, I don’t love her. The entire relationship was her controlling me and then blaming me for being dependent. Or her manipulating me, and blaming me for getting things twisted around when her manipulation collided with itself. I was so emotionally abused it isn’t even funny, and after the fact, after exposing her for what she truly is, SHE STILL TRIES to avenge her name and claim she was none of those things. But I have the proof. I have a years worth of screenshots…of fights…of apologies. Fights that clearly show she would attack and belittle me and hurt me on purpose. Fights the show she would control and manipulate and turn things around onto me. Anytime I tried to civilly talk about a problem we could collectively fix together, as a team, she would get defensive and quickly turn it onto me. Then the apologies came. The empty promises. The begging for me to stay. The acts of love. The quick claims to loving me forever. She was charming, but she was a monster. She was selfish and vindictive and a narcissist. And she will never be anything but that. I know my truth. I know what I know. I have what I see. And I see what I’ve experienced. No amount of her charm or claims to my own wrong doings will ever take back what she did to me….how she ruined me, how she buried me and left me for dead. I will never forgive her for her lack of remorse, because she has no idea what she’s done. She truly doesn’t see it. And she truly wouldn’t see it even still, if I through all these screenshots back in her face. Narcisstic personality disorder is an awful condition where that person literally doesn’t see their own faults. And it’s so sad. It’s so awful, because they go around wrecking people and then blaming those said people for their own destruction. They have no clue they are the ones who caused it. So I’m tried. I’m tired of watching her go about her life like she’s high and mighty…like she’s more worthy of love because she got someone to fall for her bullshit. I fell for it too, so I’m not surprised. It’s part of the lure…and eventually, it’ll all come crumbling down, just like we did. She doesn’t know how to love properly…and looking back at old texts I could see all the words she threw in my face to hurt me and belittle me, are all words about her… They are all the things that describe her. It was like a story she told to describe herself, but she doesn’t have it in her to own anything else but other people. I no longer want to hear from her. I no longer want to have her claim that she misses me or cares about my well being as a person. The only thing she cares about is control.. is seeking attention and knowing she has people in her life that want her in ways that she doesn’t even want herself. She’s lived a chaos of a life. A mess of a life. Has made more mistakes then she knows where to hold them. And I am not to blame for our ending. It all falls on her. And I’m not immature for claiming non-fault. I’m not being petty or attention seeking for saying it. I just know the truth. And I know what she did. Sadly, she’ll never recognize what she’s done. But I hope and pray that her soul heals and that one day she gets to love herself as much as I loved her despite the destruction she caused in me. I have anger inside, for letting her abuse me the way she did. I have hurt inside that has never been healed because she broke me and never even owned enough wrong doings to apologize for it. My past is my past, and I will move forward. But people need to speak out to their abuser and talk about their abuser because it’s not okay that this happens so often in relationships. It’s not okay that I loved someone who tore me down and blamed me for falling. It’s not my fault that now I’m here….and I had to rebuild myself from scratch, and she’s standing in the corner pointing her finger and laughing at me because she started a new life that somehow seems more “successful” because she started a new family and moved her life and made claims that I was the problem. And I’m sure it paints a pretty picture for her. I’m sure it allows outsiders to see that she’s thriving and moving on and that I must have been the crazy one because I’m the one who took off alone and travelled. And I’m still alone. But being alone isn’t equivalent to being unworthy. People who are alone aren’t less of people because they don’t have someone to love. it is OKAY and BEAUTIFUL to love yourself entirely. It’s OKAY and BEAUTIFUL to pack a couple bags and travel the world with no one but yourself. And I’m living a beautiful life. Lonely at times, but only because I’m still working through shit, and still working on myself. Happiness isn’t a destination, it’s a mindset. It’s a process and it’s a journey. And I’m living my life to the fullest, making memories, and experiencing new things I’ve only ever dreamed of. I’m not wrong. I’m not crazy. I’m a lover. And maybe someday she’ll look back and see her destruction, or maybe she never will. But I won’t wait around for an apology because I don’t believe she has the capacity to believe she as a monster at all. But she was a monster. This is my truth. This is my proof. I no longer can hold onto the illusion that what we had was good. Because it was SO FUCKING BAD. And that’s okay. I’m okay, because I love myself enough to know what she made me out to be isn’t true and is solely a reflection of her. Not me. Not me. She is the monster.

[anything-advice-blog]

Submission - relationship problems that are driving me insane and could hurt someone i care about

For the record, I’ll just have you know I’m a girl in high school who’s DEFINITELY somewhere on the spectrum of asexuality (I’m not aromantic and I’ve masturbated multiple times in the past and I’m pretty sure I’m bi but with a romantic preference for guys…but if I were to ever do something physical I’d probably prefer it with a girl tbh?? idk if that’s weird or if that information was neccessary but in case it helps)

So I’m kind of in a relationship with this guy, and trust me, he’s amazing. He’s extremely caring and compassionate and loves me very much. Of course, he wants to get physically intimate (nothing huge, just maybe hand holding or hugging or cuddling or whatever). We’re both fifteen and very socially awkward nerds, and openly aware of it. Neither of us have kissed anyone yet, like not at all, and he’s asked multiple times if he can kiss me, and every single time I’ve turned him down. We have many deep philosophical conversations, also some about science and politics (though he knows a lot more than I do), and he’s just truly profound and brilliant and emotional but rational. He’s very empathic, open minded and understanding, guided by a strong moral compass…not to mention he’s a huuuuge meat lover and I’m actually succeeding in turning him vegan (logic and ethics always get to him). Thing is, I’m not easily fooled by men and their lies. I’m fully conscious when someone is acting/lying or gold-digging, and when I’m being manipulated, and I’ve known this guy VERY WELL for like two years now. We were best friends before we decided to tell each other how we feel, and he is very honest and sincere. He doesn’t try to act like something he’s not and while he’s polite, he truly doesn’t care what others think of him. We’ve both had psychological problems in the past and have counselled each other and helped each other through it (although I think I’ve helped him a lot more than he’s helped me. He’s been in a constant depressive state for like three years and honestly probably would’ve still been really depressed and unhappy if I hadn’t come along…obviously a three-year depression can’t go away completely just like that but for the first time in forever he’s really, truly happy). I make him incredibly happy and I know how much he loves me. In fact, he knows I’m uncomfortable with physical affection and is literally willing to wait as long as it takes for me. I mean, dude. The guy is fucking amazing. He’s super clingy and mushy and lovey-dovey and he knows I hate that shit so he’s trying to cut down on it as much as possible and give me space to let me breathe, and he’s in it for the long term. Dude. He actually wants to spend the rest of his life with me and no other girl.

 But.

Here’s the big fat fucking problem. There’s two obstacles in the way of our happiness together. There’s me. There’s my fucked up mind. I’ve done this before with another guy, who actually happens to be one of his friends. See, this guy was (is) smart, and although he’s not as deep and philosophical as my current “boyfriend”, he was super chill and understanding. Truly amazing. He liked me for exactly who I was and constantly told me I was beautiful and smart, that I was worth it and enough and deserved the best. Kind of like my current boyfriend, he reassured me and reminded me to love myself and help me get over some fears of mine. 10/10 Tumblr’s dream boyfriend. And I eventually got bored of him somehow. My attraction began to fade until I had no romantic feelings for him whatsoever and I dumped him. The worst part is that I didn’t even dump him. I just ignored him until he got the hint. He picked up on it pretty quickly, too. After a few days of texting “I love you, I don’t want to lose you, I feel like you don’t like me anymore, what’s wrong, are you okay?” he finally just gave up. I avoided him like the plague until time made us strangers again, and now the two of us don’t acknowledge the past at all. It’s like it never happened. We just pretend it never existed and have never mentioned the giant elephant in the room, and now we just hang out regularly with our group of friends and joke like we used to.

First obstacle, like I said, is my fucked up mind. Here’s the thing about me. I’m what people call a heartbreaker, which honestly sounds cool and sexy and glamorous, the way strong empowered women who eat men for breakfast are glorified in edgy pop songs, but it’s honestly a psychological problem. And I’m not popular or slutty or anything, I’m just one of those girls, a tease who doesn’t know what the fuck she wants. And I don’t want to be one of those fantasy tough badass bitches that every heartbroken girl aspires to be, those who chew hearts up, spit them out and leave them in the dust. I don’t want to hurt good people. My current boyfriend doesn’t deserve me, but he also doesn’t deserve getting his heart broken. And I’m terrified because I can practically feel how crushed he’d be. He’d never get over it. If I dumped him, it would haunt him forever and I’d lose my best friend because we won’t be able to talk openly anymore. I’ll heal eventually (pretty soon actually), but he’d never be the same.

Another thing. I have really severe anxiety, multiple forms of it diagnosed by a professional, and avoidant personality disorder. I don’t confront my problems. Anything even slightly out of my comfort zone, I just can’t face directly. I can’t even present in front of a class. Today I cut class cause of a presentation I was totally ready for…I literally had like eleven lines of dialogue…but I skipped because the class was full of judgemental ass Enhanced students who already knew I was like four levels dumber than them. I just couldn’t deal with it. I avoid everything and then it just piles up until I just break down and have a serious twenty-minute panic attack. 

Not to mention I’m super weird with affection and don’t want to hug or cuddle or hold hands or god forbid kiss, let alone do anything even remotely sexual. I just don’t like other people touching me. Romantic physical gestures just make me tense up and I get super awkward. Now, I’m not sure if my asexual ass is just wired this way or if I’m just really young and inexperienced and will get used to it in time. Maybe it’s cause I’m fifteen and overthink everything and am always super uncomfortable, or maybe this condition is permanent. Either way, I also fear longterm commitment

Okay. Second obstacle.

Of course, there’s another guy.

This guy I’ve liked for almost five years. Literally, since the first day of middle school when I first laid eyes on him, I was completely infatuated. All my dreams and fantasies were of him. Like, in my mind, we have already been married for decades and had three children (okay not literally, my biggest fear is actually having kids…my worst nightmares are of pregnancy and labor and giving birth and raising human beings and paying rent/taxes/bills and public transit and adulting but you get what I’m saying).

And guess what? My current boyfriend and I officially started going out the day after Valentine’s Day, this year. Because on Valentine’s Day, I found out the love of my life had a girlfriend.

(Actually, he has multiple flings and one girl I think is serious, but she’s long distance and both of them are perfectly okay with each other hooking up with other people while they’re not in the same country. Every year he goes overseas for the summer and during the summer they’re an official couple, but every other day of the year they literally tell each other everything. Like about the different people in their life and who they’ve hooked up with, and they’re both perfectly fine with it for some reason?? I don’t get it. It’s not even a polyamorous relationship. The guy just has a bunch of side hoes who he feels no emotional attatchment to…and, he reassured me, it’s completely mutual…and he just sometimes gets physical with when he’s lonely. But all of them know they’re not the only girls in his life and are okay with it because he’s also not the only guy in their life and they don’t like each other, they just make out or whatever?? Honestly, I don’t understand how it works at all but whatever.)

 So my dilemma is that you can’t get over a crush…just like that. And the funny thing is, my current boyfriend is the only reason that middle school crush of mine even knows I exist now.

Okay, I think I should start using code names now;

X = current boyfriend, Y = middle school crush with a lot of side chicks

It’s hilarious because Y is the hot popular stereotypical fuckboy (or at least I thought he was…he’s not as shallow or superficial, and he’s aware of his ego and tries his best not to act as entitled/obnoxious as those douchebag friends of his that he doesn’t even like, and he’s actually really emotional but doesn’t show it and never lets himself be vulnerable) and he never once batted an eye in my direction, and NOW we are actually really good fucking friends.

All because of X.

See, X knew I liked Y, and although he liked me (a lot!), he pushed those feelings aside to help set me up with Y, because he considered my happiness more important than his own (and still does, which is why it’s so difficult to ever break his heart and I feel ridiculously guilty for even thinking like this). He got us talking, and now although Y is one of those hypersocial extroverts that adapts to their environment really easily and can fit in literally anywhere (the guy doesn’t have a specific clique, he can literally just hang out with anyone), he actually chooses to spend his lunches with my group of friends. And I’m not trying to make it sound like he’s gracing us with his superior presence and aura of popularity and coolness. He genuinely enjoys our company. I’ve noticed that although he’s ultracool and popular and everyone wants to hang out with him, he’s always just wandering alone with his earbuds in. Guy’s a loner by choice because he’s sick of his usual crowds…they’re either street thugs, drug lords and juvenile delinquents who are a really bad influence on him (I’m talking like the actual hood here, filled with criminals, gangfights and crystal meth), or the seriously dumb brain-fried stoners who do nothing but play video games and talk shit (these people are seriously stupid…they can barely form coherent sentences and have all dropped out of or failed school) OR the plastic popular crowd (who are all super fake, self centred and obsessed with their image).

He’s been making an effort to distance himself from these people. And it’s not that he’s one of us now. He’s not a meme-obsessed nerd who always cracks sick jokes about drugs and sex but has literally zero experience with any of it, because although we all have a dark, dry, fucked up sense of humor, we work hard, care about school and homework/chores and family duties, and get good grades, alwhile having our own geeky hobbies and quirks and pleasures, like computer programming or gaming or music or visual art and Photoshop. (X and my ex are both into computer programming, although X is a lot better and is basically kind of a genius when it comes to computer tech and programming. Y is a pitch perfect musical prodigy who composes amazing songs, can pick up on the chords to a new one in five minutes after listening to it for the first time, and can play the guitar and harmonica at the same time expertly. They’re both super talented and passionate about these things. If that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about their personalities, I don’t know what will.)

Sorry. I’m getting too into detail

Thing is, I don’t think I love either of them. Or I might love both of them in different ways. But the thing is, I don’t know what love is. I don’t know if I can love. And I want to be loyal and devoted to X and love him as much as he loves me but it’s so damn hard with Y around. I don’t think I love Y as much as I love the idea of Y. I just love the way Y makes me feel. He’s kind of unstable and unpredictable (exactly the kind of wild mad love affair you want in high school but won’t last a day after grad) and a life with him would be fun. I’d never be bored, and I’d constantly feel the same rush of adrenaline I’ve always felt around him. You know, the typical stomach butterflies and pounding/racing heart and blood rushing to your brain, making you act crazy and be bold and do daring things. I’m somewhat of a thrill seeker.

But here’s the thing.

A relationship with Y, any plain fool could see, will not last. Let’s say, hypothetically, he does feel something for me. (He probably doesn’t, although X and my best female friend have said they’ve noticed something different about his behavior around me.) What then? We flirt, he gets me to smoke a joint or two, then eventually he pushes for deeper physical intimacy and I’m super nervous around him and want to take it ridiculously slow (because, let’s face it…if I’m uncomfortable doing anything with X, I’ll be awkward and self conscious as hell with Y). After a while, he gets tired of my unwillingness to reciprocate his sexual needs and calls up one of the many girls waiitng in line.

 Now, I’m not saying he’d do this. He himself has told me today that he doesn’t want a romantic relationship at the moment, just light flings that everyone’s chill with, but if he were to meet a girl he was serious about spending the rest of his life with, he would immediately tell all of his Saturday night hookups that he has a girlfriend and he would be committed in the long term. But I have trust issues bordering on paranoia. I’m suspicious of everyone. Especially him.

 A relationship with X, however.

X isn’t as physically attractive as Y is. Y is tall and blond and toned and takes great care of his appearance. He works out at the gym and has a haircut that costs more than ten bucks and actually wears clothes that he knows make him look hot. X actually has a very handsome facial structure and in ten, twenty, thirty years, X is going to fill out his scrawny skin-and-bones build and look a lot better than Y will.

And I know he loves me and cares for me and will never leave me, no matter what, or try to push me out of my comfort zone or make me do anything I don’t want to do. He wants what’s best for me and just wants me to be happy and healthy, even if it means sacrificing his own best interests in the process. That I can be sure of. The guy has no ulterior motives. He’s genuine and open and tells me things even if it’s embarrassing (and honestly sometimes I wish he would know where to draw a line when sharing shit, if you know what I mean). And unlike hedonistic Y, who drinks and smokes, X cares way too much about his neurons and physical/mental health in general to do anything like that.

Now, you probably see no dilemma. You’re thinking, “What the fuck is wrong with this kid? Where the fuck was X when I was in high school? Is X even real? He’s literally every girl’s dream. Y is a self destructive brain damaged stereotypical misogynistic fuckboy and that will never change.”

Well, it’s the current way they make me feel.

X was the best best friend I could ask for, back when we were nothing but best friends. He was someone I shared a deep bond with, a very close personal connection that was definitely more than platonic. There was always this chemistry. We just clicked.

But right now, he’s starting to bum me out. And no. It’s definitely not him. It’s just me. I know everyone’s heard this a million times but it’s true. He’s not doing anything wrong or different. His presence is simply smothering. I feel like I can’t breathe. (Not in a romantic way. In a miserably suffocating way.)

I have no idea what’s wrong with me or why I feel this way. It’s entirely possible that I only feel like this because I’m not quite over Y yet, and if I just give it time and hang on for a few more months, I’ll forget about Y and learn to truly appreciate X.

But what if I don’t? What if we just grow so distant that in the end I push him away completely because I can’t having Y so close yet so far away?

(Okay, this is starting to sound really dramatic and edgy. But seriously.)

My dilemma is that if I dump X, he’ll be heartbroken and I won’t be able to live with myself (okay not literally but the guilt would drive me insane) and he’d be really depressed (which he doesn’t deserve and goddammit I love him, I don’t want him to be unhappy). But stay with X and not tell him anything, I’LL be unhappy. I’ll suffer because Y, the guy I’ve been hopelessly in love with since the beginning of time, the guy I’ve always dreamt was my soulmate and would be my forever, is standing right there just out of reach…not to mention it would be horribly unfair to X to hide and pretend and act like everything’s okay. I’d be living a lie.

(And the worst part, if I cheat on X with Y. Like, what the fuck am I thinking?? Who am I anymore??? Don’t worry, I’m definitely not actually planning on doing it. Ever. I’d hate myself forever.)

Either way this goes, I’m guilty. I’m either a cheater, a liar, or a heartbreaker. Whichever way this goes, I’m a horrible person.

Unless we go for the scariest but most morally right scenario. I tell X exactly what’s going on. We talk about it, then I decide if I should tell Y. The problem is, this road is so unpredictable, full of twists and turns. It’s ethical, but it’s terrifying and could result in tension all around.

My question is; seriously, is there ANY way to deal with this where EVERYONE is happy??

(I’ll take “moderately content” by this point.)

 It was extremely difficult to admit my feelings to myself. I know it’s wrong. That’s why I’m writing you. I’m so sorry about this long-ass novel. It probably sounds like the most dramatic clichè ever but human emotions are a lot more complicated than that and I want to know how to be happy without hurting anyone, because so far, every scenario I’ve played out in my head, no one really wins. I really need advice on this from someone older and more experienced. Insight from multiple sources with different opinions would be very much appreciated. Thank you so much for this blog, and for taking the time to actually read through all of this. Sorry it’s so long.

(P.S. I think I forgot to mention that X and I are kind of the unofficial school therapists. Everyone trusts X 100%, and he knows literally everyone’s deepest darkest secrets and has never uttered a word about them to anyone. Also, a lot of people seem to think I’m trustworthy and confide in me, although I see myself as somewhat of a mild gossip, and they seek help from me. Y is currently my only “patient”. He has a serious weed problem and has even considered mushrooms once but I talked him out of it, thankfully. He lives for new psychedelic/spiritual experiences and I’m helping him quit smoking and develop a more sensible, stable mindset. My “nurturing methods”, as he called them, are quite effective, according to him, and although I don’t see much progress, he claims I’ve helped him a lot since we met.

P.P.S. You know how I cut class today? I skipped with him and we had a very long and enlightening conversation and he told me a bunch of personal stuff and then I kind of told him about my problem with X and relationships in general. I said I wasn’t affectionate or romantic and didn’t like clingy partners and always pushed people away, but I didn’t tell him he was a big part of the reason my attraction to X was fading. Seriously. I’d rather die. And now Y and my mother are the only humans on earth who know X and I are drifting apart.

P.P.P.S. Y told me to keep X. He told me that he could see how much X loved me and how happy I made him, and that he didn’t deserve to be dumped like that, all of which I already knew and made me feel worse because he was right. Then he told me if I were to drop him…like, if the relationship was seriously making me unhappy…I had to do it in the gentlest way possible and be super careful not to hurt him. He also told me that I should tell X everything I told Y, because clear communication and mutual trust are the foundation upon which successful relationships are built upon. Funny enough, X said the same thing. I. Am. Freaking. Out. Please help me.)

I don’t want to do something I’ll regret. Any guidance you can offer would be very much appreciated.

hey, just another note on a past submission

You know how the asexual bicurious “heartbreaker” high school girl who sent you that submission about her current boyfriend X and the guy she’s liked forever Y? Yeah, just another note on it.

I JUST WANTED TO ADD THAT IT’S NOT URGENT, BUT IT IS VERY TIME SENSITIVE BECAUSE I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND CAN’T PREDICT MY OWN ACTIONS AT THIS POINT. 

Please tag your response with “stellaster” (don’t ask, it’s a unique personal thing that doesn’t have a tumblr tag)

                       =====================================

 Hey love, 

So first off, no. There is not a way that you can end things and everything can be happy, immediately. That’s the key word. We all find our ways to happiness sooner or later. We are all heartbroken and sad after a break and that’s completely normal so expecting for X to be happy even after breaking up is unrealistic. He’ll be unhappy and you can only hope that he’ll find his way and he’ll become happy again. But staying with him while you don’t love him or care for him in the way that he thinks you do, that would also make him unhappy as well. It’ll lead him to think that he’s making you unhappy and no one wants to do that to the ones they love. You also said that if you leave him and break his heart he’ll never be the same again. While this may be true, you don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing. No one bounces back after having their heart broken loving so fervently. However, he can become stronger. Will he be more cautious? Maybe, but we can hope that he’ll love again. You don’t know that someone else won’t come along and prove him that he deserves the best of everything.

I think the best thing you can do right now is to be honest with X about your relationship. Let him know that you don’t feel a strong emotion for him anymore. Let him know that while you realise it’s safe to be with him in the long run, you just don’t feel the rush of emotions that you want and you may not love him the same way he loves you. It’s important that you’re honest in all of your relationships because everyone deserves that. Everyone deserves an honest partner. I don’t know what else you want to do in regards to Y since he said he didn’t want to pursue a romantic relationship and you don’t seem to feel that it’ll be more than a hot moment of adrenaline either. But it may be better for all three for you to take some time and discover yourselves. You’re still in high school. You’re all young and there’s still sooooo many years ahead of you. So explore. If you realise that you still love X or Y later, maybe you can reconnect. While you’re discovering yourself, you can remain friends.

As for love, no one really defines love in the same way as others. So I would advise that you start thinking about what it means for you personally. When you think about love, when you think about soulmates, what do you expect from it? Don’t base it on what others think. What do you think it should mean? For me, a soulmate means a home. It means someone who accepts you for all that you are. Someone who is willing to die for you but also is willing to live as passionately for you. Someone who makes you feel safe, not just physically but emotionally as well. But a soulmate is also someone who challenges you to become better. To be a better person, to make you want to take on tasks that fear you and overcome them. That’s what it means to me. So while my soulmate may not be a romantic partner, it can be a platonic partner as well. So figure out what it means to you. And you know what? You may not figure it out for a while. You may not know for a while, and that’s fine too.

I don’t think you’re strange for having an aversion to physical touch. Touch aversion is not uncommon for asexuals. I would adivse that you look up more on asexuality and touch aversion. It’s not an uncommon phenomenon. It’ll help you find soe peace with what you’re feeling rather than feeling out of sorts and weird. Explore your seuxailty and your romantic preferences. A lot of people have different preferences and the world is no longer black and white anymore. There’s a million shades of grey in between and we just have to learn to navigate ourselves based on our feelings. So you may find out later that you’re not as romantic as you had thought. You may be aromantic or demiromantic. You may only want a QPP instead of a lover in your life. Whatever it is, exploration of self is the best adventure to go on.

I hope this helps a little. I tried to tackle everything as best as I could. I hope everything works out.

Always by your side,

Kelly

[dark-blueheart13]

Insanity

Disclaimer: I Own Anastasia!

Tagging: @helluvawriter @sjwrites22 @moxleyunstable

Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick –

“Shut uuuup!” Anastasia whined as she glared at the dreaded clock. Time was moving slowly for her as is; the clock just loved to mock her. Life liked to mock her in general, but this…this was painful.

You see, Anastasia or Ana, a WWE Diva, is currently on the shelf due to a birth defect becoming aggravated in the ring. “Get the surgery they said…you’ll be okay they said.” Ana cursed the gods above. Of course she had to be the one out of hundreds to get the accursed defect.

Sighing, she attempted to prop up. She’s been bed ridden for weeks since the surgery and tomorrow is the day she hopes to get good news from the doctor.

They better put me in a boot tomorrow or so help me…I will amputate my own foot…. Ana thought bitterly. She was never one to sit still. It really bothered her that she’s been stuck in her house. Somedays are worse than others, and it only took a week for her to go stir crazy and laugh and cry from the sight of a door.

           She’s had no friends visit her, seeing as all of her friends are touring, and she has no family to call her own.

Meow

           Oops. Scratch that. She did have a family and damn it all he knew what she was thinking. “Sorry cat…” Ana lovingly spoke to her current visitor. Said visitor jumped onto her bed purring and eyeing her with an attitude only she could ever read. The large, lengthy, black cat carefully moved around lying next to her injured ankle and foot.  

           She smiled. Salem the cat was her best friend and damn did she miss him while she was on tour. Yet, in that same thought, there is currently one person who she truly misses with all her heart. Lucky her she’s here bed ridden and he’s…well…on tour with the rest of the wrestlers. Tears pricked at her eyes. No, she thought, I would like to go one day without having some fucking breakdown.

Growling angrily she rubbed at her eyes and carefully got out of bed. Salem looked on with some cat pity she’s guessing. She hobbled out of her room out onto the patio. She didn’t have much time to be out there, but she didn’t care. She needed to get out of the house even if it meant going against the doctor’s wishes.

Opening the sliding door, she smiled slightly at the smell of rain and the sound of thunder. “I’m not going back in….not for a long damn time” she stated trying to convince herself that she would be fine. As much as she wanted to be outside in a storm, she really didn’t like the thought of having to go to the doctor and be told she needs to stay in her cast.

Sighing, she sat down on the swinging bench. This was the first time she’s been outside for days. She couldn’t help but wonder if Seth had gone as stir crazy as she had…

No! Stop crying! Don’t!

A whimper escaped her as she started to laugh that slowly decayed into a sob. She missed wrestling, she missed traveling, she missed her friends…more importantly she missed Seth. The phone calls with him temporarily calmed her. Then, not even five minutes later, her heart would start to ache. She missed human interaction in general, but she really missed her Seth. He had no idea what was happening to her on the other side of the phone, nor was she going to tell him.

When she was on tour, she had others to distract her from missing Seth while he was out on the shelf; however, it didn’t stop the lowly ache she felt returning back to an empty hotel room.

While lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice her front door open or hear the loud thud of baggage hitting the wooden floor of her prison.

He’s probably replaced you by now ya know….

You’ve been away for a while; you think he wouldn’t need….attention…?

He’s cheated before on someone better than you…what makes you think he’ll stay faithful to you?

He’s the future of the WWE Company, even if he doesn’t leave you now; someone better will come along just. To. Replace. YOU!

“STOP!!!!” The poor girl screamed sobbing more. Trapped in her own thoughts, her demons found the perfect time to strike. They always did.

Immediately, she screamed as the patio door slammed opened. Good thing they didn’t have neighbors that lived next door in the Summer time.

There he stood, the man the demons tortured her with; her lover, her everything, her Seth. Seth didn’t even have to look at Ana long to know she was upset. Everything she was currently threw him off, and not in a good way.

Her hair was a mess, hands gripping her head tightly, her body curled into itself on the swing as best she could. He squinted slightly; she dug her nails into her skull enough to draw blood. Seth knew he would have to act quickly and carefully.

Despite his own nerves, he smiled gently at Ana. “I’m back” he stated. As he took a step forward, Ana whimpered. That made Seth’s blood run cold. Was she scared of him? Seth knew when he started to date Ana she had what she’d like to call “baggage.” She suffered from depression and personality disorder, but that didn’t stop him from loving her.

He’s seen her depressed, he’s seen her anxious, and he’s seen the immediate change in her personality that lasted maybe ten minutes top before she turned back into the sweet, caring, goofball he fell in love with. She was such a strong woman who went through hell and back with so many battles, including with herself.

This…this was something he’s never seen before from her and that terrified him.

He wasn’t worried about himself, he was worried about Ana. She had this crazed look in her eyes that could definitely put Ambrose’s to shame. She looked like a cornered animal. Eyes filled with fear and anger.

“Ana….” He started gently before she cut him off. “What are you doing here…?” she eyed him warily. He almost scoffed, but held himself from doing so. Did she forget? He promised her she would be there with her when the cast was taken off her leg. Luckily, he had a very flexible schedule despite being high in demand in the ring. He would be able to stay with her for the next few weeks, minus the Mondays for Raw.

He wouldn’t leave her alone through her injury. She visited often as she could when he was out and sent him so many gifts she knew he’d love. She would Skype for hours with him even if she had a four in the morning flight. She didn’t care; she would go through the ringer for him. She even fought Vince to give her leave. No one did that.

No one.

That’s another thing he loved about her, she wore her heart on her sleeve and would go through hell just to make sure everyone she cares about is happy; even when she’s depressed or having panic attacks. She makes him feel ways that his ex-fiancé and girlfriend never made him feel. He would be damned before her hurt her or let anything hurt her.

“Ana…I came home to help you—“   “I don’t need your help!” She spat at him. He could see fresh tears prick her eyes and it broke his heart. “ I promised you I would take off…so here I am…to help you..”

As he carefully moved to the swinging bench, he saw she looked at him with contempt. He cursed himself. What had happened? Had she been like this since surgery? Why didn’t he notice anything? Why didn’t she tell him? They had talked every day, what changed?

As he sat down next to her, she glared tearfully at him. “Ana…I came home to be with you, just like you did with me…” he said gently. Ana looked at him. His eyes held sincerity. Sincerity, concern, and…love?

No, that couldn’t be right.

She started to laugh.

This confused Seth. Why was she laughing? This laughter…it gave him chills. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t her anxiety laughter, it wasn’t her normal laughter, it was…disturbing. He was startled as her laughter was mixed with crying.

Seth was at a loss.

But it didn’t mean he would give up on her.

On them.

“Ana….you know I love you right.” No response, but the laughter…crying. Whatever you wanted to call that demented noise…stopped.  “Do you..?” She asked bitterness coating her voice. If it were anyone else questioning his love, he would be pissed. With Ana in this…condition…whatever it was…he couldn’t afford to take offense.

“What do you mean….? Talk to me babe….” He gently pulled her towards him. To his surprise, she allowed him. So far so good. “I’ve been away for a few weeks…gave you enough time to find someone…better…” she muttered sniffling. Seth could feel his heart drop. For Seth, that was his baggage. He was the infamous cheater, whose nudes were sent everywhere on the internet. As much as it stung, he knew he couldn’t blame her, especially in her condition to question him. Normally, she never questioned his love for her, even in her depressive episodes. Now? Who knows how she feels about him. But it wasn’t about him right now, it was about calming her down. If it meant locking himself up and never go outside again just to calm her down and gain her broken trust, he would do it.

“Anastasia…I would never, ever cheat on you…I love you too much..” Ana glared at Seth, which made her look like a sad puppy. He would’ve laughed at any other moment. “You loved…” “Yeah I did! But you know what? I love you more than either of them. You are so special to me Ana. I have no words to describe how much I love you. I will tell you what I tell you every time you question your self-worth. You are beautiful, you are strong, and you are viscous when you want to be both in and out of the ring…hell you threatened Vincent Kennedy McMahon to give you time to come be with me! No one would do that! No one, not even me!...well I would when it comes to you…but still!”

Seth prayed he was getting through to her. He swore he could have seen a ghost of a smile on her lips. He wasn’t going to jinx his luck. “Ana, I should have come home sooner….” This caused her to look up in shock. “No Seth I...” “No, I should’ve known you needed me, I should have known something was wrong the first time we talked after you came home for surgery. I love you so much Ana…sometimes it drives me insane…I hate being on tour without you…I hate knowing you’re in pain and I can’t reach you to show you how much I love you…”

He looked her in the eyes as he spoke, hoping his words would get through to her. He gently wiped her tears away. “It hurts me when you hurt whether it be physically or emotionally. I love you…and no matter how many times you question me or my love, I will always remind you how special you are to me….”  Seth felt the distrust melt away from Ana. “Seth….I’m sorry…” she whispered laying her head on his chest. Ana finally felt like the weight of the world left her shoulders. However, she knew it was temporary. Despite that knowledge, she also knew that Seth would always be hers and she his. Just like he would help and love her through everything, she would do the same for him.

Seth said nothing and hugged her closer. After a few minutes he looked at the clock. It read twelve in the morning. He smiled knowing soon she’ll feel better when she gets out of her cast. Only six more weeks until she comes back on tour with him. Until she’s where she belongs.

“Seth?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you get time off…?”

Seth paled at the memory. Where he threatened Vince and told him that he owes him this. Seth Rollins would quit unless he could go home to help the love of his life. Luckily for him, Hunter understood that, as well as Stephanie. They were the ones to really give him the okay as long as he makes it for Raw.

“Well…..”

 The End

[frostywindmademoan]

A Worthy Adversary

Pt. 8 in a multi chapter OC fic featuring Michael Gray

Michael rushed to the hospital as quickly as possible. He got there when a paid off doctor had finished stitching up Clara’s head and chin and began stitching up the first cut on her chest. “It’s lucky you didn’t bleed out, between the head wound and the chest and being strung up.” The doctor marveled as he pierced her skin in and out with a hooked needle. Michael’s jaw tensed at hearing how close of a call the situation was.

What if he hadn’t gotten to her in time? If he had found her sooner and properly protected her she wouldn’t look so pale between the purple blotches all over her skin. Michael took a bit of comfort in remembering how Clara thought bruises were beautiful. He wondered if she’d think they were as pretty now. “I’ll bet you 10 quid that my left zygomatic bone is fractured.” Clara tried to smile at the doctor, but her face was clearly in pain. “Based on that bruising and all those busted capillaries, I’d say that’s a pretty decent assumption.” The doctor chuckled as he agreed. Michael was completely lost and had no idea what they were talking about, but it didn’t sound good. “Have you met my boyfriend Michael? He doesn’t like when things are out of his control. He hates seeing me like this, which is why I haven’t looked him in the eyes yet. Before I do, could you explain that a few busted capillaries here and there isn’t a big deal.” She addressed the doctor. Michael was about to speak up, asking what the hell she meant, but the doctor beat him to it. “A blood vessel can burst from a certain amount of pressure applied to the area. Sometimes even a sneeze can cause it. It’s a simple inconvenience that easily heals. It just happens to look a bit bad if you don’t know what it is you’re looking at. That’s why Clara is having me explain.” The doctor informed him. “What the hell is he talking about?” Michael turned to Clara. Her eyes flitted up to him and he realized. “Holy fuck.” He gasped as he rushed towards her. Her left eye was completely red. All the white had gone. Michael had never seen anything like it before. Blood had completely taken over her sight. It was horrifying for him to see.  “It’ll heal within a few days Michael. You know the little red dots in a bruise? Like these ones here? Those are broken capillaries too. It’s no big deal.” Clara tried to calm him. “Bullshit it’s no big deal!” He exclaimed. “Please sir, there is no good in yelling. Could you step back as I finish up with this last cut?” The doctor requested. Michael nodded and stepped back. He wasn’t mad with Clara by any means. He was just mad in general and he didn’t want to see her make light of the situation. “Alright Clara, I’ve cleaned you up as best as modern medicine can. I’ll get you an antibiotic to try and fight off infection. I’ll get you some morphine too for the pain. I’m keeping you here for a few days to make sure you get bed rest. I know you won’t if I let you run out of here and head home.” The doctor smiled at her. “You know me too well David.” Clara once again tried to smile. “David?” Michael raised an eyebrow at her as soon as the doctor had left. “I’ve worked with him for 3 years, calm down. Besides, this is hardly the time to get jealous.” She scoffed at him. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m exploding at the smallest things.” He admitted. Clara reached her hand out to him and pulled him to the bed where he sat next to her. “You can’t feel guilty about this. There was no way to prevent something like this happening.” She rubbed small circles on the back of his hand. “Bullshit, I should’ve been there. I should’ve been with you.” Michael fervently shook his head. “You can’t be with me every second of every day. It’s infuriating, but not everything can be controlled. We live in a reality ruled by entropy.” She sighed. “You know that you have to dumb half of the shit you say down.” Michael had no idea what she was talking about. “Entropy is the idea that everything in the universe eventually moves from order to disorder. Entropy is the measurement of that change into disorder. It gets it’s roots from a principle of thermodynamics dealing with energy.” She explained. “I don’t know how you have the space in that tiny head for all the things you know.” Michael chuckled. “Have I ever told you how much I love these hands.” She mindlessly played with his fingers. “You have actually. I found it strange then and I find it strange now.” He found quite a few things she said strange, and he absolutely adored it. “Hands are beautiful. They’re what separates us from the other animals. They are capable of such terrible acts, and the most graceful of movements. They can caress a face, hold a partner as you dance, stroke someone’s hair. I find them beautiful, especially yours.” Clara’s lips turned up into the best of a smile she could muster. “Would it hurt if I kissed you?” Michael quietly asked. “It’ll hurt in the best of ways.” She leaned towards him and let him gently press his lips to hers. She tasted like iron from all the blood, prompting Michael to pull away. He couldn’t stand the thought of causing her any more pain. “You know, it’s funny how we met because you gave me stitches, and now here you are looking like Frankensteins bride.” He lightly teased. “We’ve come full circle.” She chuckled. “Could I ask a favor of you?” Michael’s heart began to beat rapidly. “Of course.” Clara reached up and stroked his face. “Remember how I left you this morning to run an errand? Well I was kind of preparing to ask for this favor. Anyway…” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black box. “Would you do me a favor and marry me?” Michael opened the box to reveal the ring. “Michael…” She gasped. “Please Clara. You’re my partner in crime. You’re why I can do everything I can. I can’t lose you.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous. “Partners in crime till death do us part? That doesn’t sound so bad.” Clara smirked. “Really? So that’s a yes?” Michael waited for a sure confirmation before allowing his heart to soar. “That’s a yes.” Clara laughed. “Holy shit!” He instinctively wrapped his arms around her. “I should mention I have a broken rib too.” She groaned. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just… Well honestly I’m a bit surprised. Commitment isn’t really either of our favorite things. I even went to Ada for advice on how to ask you cause I knew the conditions had to be just right. I had to make it all right so you’d say yes. I’ve somehow let myself become completely immersed in you. In everything about you. It’s stupid, but it’d really fuck me up if I lost you.” Michael felt ridiculous, like he was submitting himself to weakness, which he was. He was completely weak for her. “You’re the first person who could keep up with me, and probably the only person. That makes you absolutely irreplaceable. I’m not letting you get away from me.” Clara raised her hands up to hold the sides of his face, ensuring he was looking directly at her and focusing on her words. She needed him to truly understand how important he was to her.  “Thank God you and I found each other.” He smiled widely. “And by the way, I see what you mean about bruises being beautiful.” Michael whispered as he admired her face. “You know I hate genuine compliments.” she chuckled. “Get used to them Clara Gray. You’re going to get them until one of us dies.” Michael smirked.

THE END (This really isn’t the best I’m so sorry everyone at least it’s over now)

Chapter List Here

[journalofacreep-blog]

“I’m what you call a creep but don’t start to run away already”

I’ve been looking at his snapchat story and here I am being jealous like an idiot. I know there’s no reason for that and nothing can justify my childish behaviour, but I can’t keep it in. I choke my inner voice not to let others see the gasps that resonate in me. I love him and it’s not like it’s requited. We only met once, and the conditions were quite bad to be completely honest. Since then, I’ve been trying to go over it but people like me don’t have it all that easy. People like me. Creeps. Or what other people call creep. Those who are not your basic commoner and whose difference triggers hatred, because let’s face it, none of that is about fear. Rejection is about laziness and tightness of mind. I’ve never been a snapchat user and when I met him on that dating app, I just thought “Why not? Try it. Mimic people your age, nothing that bad can actually happen”. Sometimes, I should let my inner voice talk more and listen carefully to what it says. To be entirely fair, I knew what was gonna happen, but I just dodged reality like you dodge a lost ball. Badly. You pretend it didn’t touch you, but you can feel that your skin already started bruising the second you took the hit.

I love him and people like me mean it when they say it. When they realise it. It starts growing slowly in you and never really stops. Unless you get interested in someone else, as terrible as it sounds. Everything is so quick yet so strong, so intense. Nothing becomes everything and before you open your eyes to stare at the atrocious reality, you’re already lost in it. Feet stuck in the ground, marshes pulling you further in the absurdity of your feelings.

Maybe he didn’t help. Maybe he pushed me in that situation as well as he wanted to get something in return. But the only one that is now obsessed is me and only me. People like me, those creeping out about their own destructive feelings, you medically call them borderline, coming from borderline personality disorder. That’s not the only characteristic about it that makes social interaction a real pain in the neck, but it’s surely the one that is the most complex to control and causes so much pain on the way. Falling madly in love because of details, because of a gaze, because of a word. It’s so easy yet so difficult to not fall in the trap that your own mind creates. You’re the prisoner of something too big to carry on your back, so you just let yourself get swallowed and try not to smother in your uncertainty and fear.

And whatever you do, every time you know you will fall back into the same pattern, because the only way to get out of it is to jump in another one holding your breath, hoping for the best.

So yeah, I was talking about that guy I met online maybe 3 months ago. I normally don’t feel attracted to guys. To tall guys, pale and with such square jaws. But I suppose type changes with time, or it’s just maybe not a thing after all. If you want the honest truth, I just feel like I grew to like his appearance. Snapchat is that kind of social media: you send pictures, you receive pictures, you show pretty much all of the uninteresting things about yourself and wait for someone to comment on it. I always thought it was so narcissistic to be using it, and look at what I became, posting stuff as well to try and reach him when his ignorance turns too strong and painful.

I can’t remember when he started ignoring me. Maybe after the day we met, or should I say the night we met. Went to his house because mine is a fucking joke. The heater exploded, kind of, and water flooded everywhere. Except the day after, I had to go to work after uni and raging so badly, completely powerless, I posted something on my story. Of course, the knight on his magnificent white horse came to me with a solution and here was the plan: at 8 in the morning, I was supposed to join him for breakfast, take a shower and take him to uni as he more or less dropped out. I was supposedly his ‘’motivation’’ to go. At that time, we were still sending messages day and night. Before he got bored of me. Or I assume he did.

Upset as I was, I couldn’t sleep. A little detail could keep me awake for hours sometimes and this night, the anger about the whole leek thing and the excitement of meeting that boy prevented me from finding sleep. What if I didn’t wake up in the morning, and missed him? To be honest, the whole thing was more about meeting him than the actual shower I had to take. And at 4am, we were still talking. Still. Always talking late as he can’t sleep. He’s got his own issues and has nightmares often. From what he told me. I remember the few texts we exchanged at that point. He must have forgotten, his short-term memory is quite bad, or maybe that’s just what he likes me to think.

“Not sure I’m gonna be able to wake up at 8 tomorrow. You should just come now”

“You’re really tempting me”

“Come over”

And I just went. I didn’t fight. Didn’t think about what it meant. What it could mean for him. What it would mean for me.

I can remember meeting him really clearly. He just hugged me with the door of his flat still open. Cute. I thought he was extremely cute. I like cuddly people. He likes to be cuddled as well, he likes when you touch his hair, that’s what he told me a few times, comparing himself to a cat. I must admit, his hair was soft, nice to touch, nice to play with. Just a little bit longer than the average guy. He had to cut it later on because of his mom, apparently she likes it better short. I remember every ‘’Sorry’’ he said when he touched me, slightly brushed my skin or when he kept me close to him. His thin arms were so strong, I felt protected. For the first time in my life, I felt protected by someone else even though he was an absolute stranger. I just felt good, warm and incredibly relaxed. I was surely nervous, surely stiff but all I could think about was my heart pounding in my chest, ready to explode, and his hands shaking on me.

Soon, he tried kissing my neck. And oh god, it was good. He knew that it was my most sensitive area, the one way too sensible for someone I don’t know to be touching that quickly. I let him do a few more times, until my breath went wilder, and my voice twisted, getting lost in the room. I forgot about his flatmates. I forgot about everything and he will never know what kind of effect he had on me at that time because I can’t let myself tell him. The room is dark in my memory, but his window lets some light come in, which allows me to see briefly his face. He’s aroused. He’s turned on. I turn him on. The idea of it makes my heart flutter and my confidence rises a little bit. Now that I think about it, it could’ve been another girl and it would’ve been the same. I just feel like he wanted sex. Doesn’t matter with who, or how. He just wanted it as a physical need. And maybe I needed it as well. But I didn’t surrender. “Your moans are so cute”

I’m a virgin. I did some stuff with my ex-girlfriend but that’s not what you call “having sex”. I didn’t want to jump that big of a step on the first night meeting him. I just didn’t want to give away that kind of gift to someone who didn’t know, didn’t consider this as much as me, and surely didn’t want the same thing as me. I was right. But I need to confess that I wanted it. I regret. I regret not giving it to him and I hate myself not to have tried it. I wanted him. I wanted him to go further, to find me attractive and cute. To find some beauty in me, a “me” that I hate so much for so many reasons. I got scared, I acted reasonable as every other time in my life, I backed off. And maybe it was the right thing to do, maybe I would’ve regretted it even more if I had let myself get taken away that night. But maybe I wouldn’t have. Maybe things would not have turned that way and we would be closer, seeing each other more often, spending time together. Now that I re-read my whole big essay on “How to be an idiot and a creep and such a coward”, I’m ashamed to find that I’m still so fond of him after so many weeks. One month after meeting him, I got rejected without even saying anything.

“You’re a very good friend to me. It was clear to me that I didn’t want anything romantic with you from the day we met. That’s why I didn’t try to see you again. I’m too unstable.”

It hit me so hard. I thought there was hope. I thought he was busy and didn’t have time to meet up. I didn’t want to be a bother. I didn’t want to annoy anyone. Being my unlovable casual self, I fucked everything up. I talked about it with my two best friends, and they told me he was the one in the wrong. He should’ve said it sooner. But according to them, he was just continually testing the water to see If I could drown in it. Maybe I could come back to his bed, give what he wanted.

As retarded as it appears, I apologized that night.

“Sorry not to be able to give you the kind of fun you want”

 I felt like I was the one not compatible, the one doing the bad thing again. He said that I didn’t have to say sorry, but still today, I feel like the broken piece in the machinery. What if? What if I went back to him that night. But I didn’t. And since then, I can’t get him out of my head. Even more than before. I dated another guy for a week and about after that, tried to get over him, but horrifyingly, I was constantly thinking about him while seeing the other one. It was just awkward, and that uneasiness was way too much. We didn’t get that between him and me and the familiar feeling was lacking. I wanted him back. If I knew, I would’ve spent this night differently. I would’ve cuddled more, certainly kissed and talked less. Words are so insignificant when it comes to reality. Talk is so overrated.

I’m not cute. I’m not fit. I’m not particularly intelligent and I talk loudly and appear rude to most people. My anxiety around others leads me to do those things I don’t want to do. It’s just panic, then act and then regret. I feel that void in me and would like someone to fill it with whatever they want, except pain. I’ve got enough of pain. Someone told me to fill it myself but it’s never the same feeling. I felt complete that morning, when he buried his head against my tummy, his head on my lap with his hair tickling my skin, breathing in the perfume exuding from my jersey. I brushed his bangs and I can remember those two eyes. He flipped over and took me back with him on the mattress. This time, it was my head buried against his neck and I didn’t recognize my voice when I talked. Damn, I felt like an idiot. I was scared. I was full of hope. I just wanted him not to regret meeting me after seeing my nasty self in full daylight.

 “You’re not disappointed?”

“Of what?”

“Me. Disappointed in me. “

“No, why would I?”

“Most of the people are after they meet me”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure the whole city is..”

 His wit made me fall. His way of making me feel relieved, making me feel good about myself, better. It was just something about him that saved me at that time when I was starting to fall back into the darkness. Though it lost me again when everything happened after that. I will never forget it. That night during when I did the craziest thing of my whole existence. And I’m scared to write those last words as I reach the flat bottom of my thoughts about you. I’m scared because I will have to stop looking for you in the library when I go through the group study, even though it stresses me out so much to look at people in the eyes, because I will have to stop answering your messages at one point, stop sending you messages, stop posting stories hoping you will see them, hoping you will think about me even for one second. I’m scared to be alone again, and I’m scared to lose those laughs you create when I read your silly messages or open your stupid snaps about your daily life that doesn’t include me. Yeah, I longed to be part of your life and you being part of mine. I wanted, and always tried, to make you feel better when you felt shit. And I’m happy you’re going back to uni correctly. More or less, I don’t even know. I’m happy you don’t drink as much as before and you seem to be more serious about everything. I’m happy you’re happy but I’m broken again and I blame my disorder for getting attached so quickly, to be so intoxicated with you but I just dodge the problem once and again. I tried to escape so many times I’m bruised all over and it hurts like hell. I gulped my feeling and swallowed the pain during all that time, and I’m scared to press the ‘’block’’ button because it will only affect me I’m sure. Because you told me to do what’s best for me and what’s gonna make me happy, because you certainly don’t care about me being there or not, as I’m not even really there. But I’m scared and I’m sad, and I feel like crying in front of my computer, typing those words that you will never read. Cause if you did, you would certainly call me ‘’creep’’.

[11eustonwehaveaproblem]

Post-Cat Stress Disorder

It is now day 10 of a 20-pound bag of cat food being used as a door stop to the front door of the apartment building, and I am sick and tired of it.

You see, first of all, this is a safety hazard for many reasons. Imagine that a fucking murderer is chilling in Brookline, one of the safest neighborhoods in Boston but still, imagine that there is a murderer. This murderer is walking around, maybe trying to find the Kennedy family’s house somewhere deep in Brookline so that he can rob and kill them, and he sees that there is a building on Euston Street that is fully open to the public because there is a bag of cat food holding the door open. He walks into this building and picks the lock of apartment 1, and then kills me, my boyfriend and all of my roommates.

Number two, imagine that someone is coming home drunk from a night of fiesta-ing and walks in through the door. They are so drunk that they do not remember that a 20-pound bag of cat food is blocking the door, and they trip and fall and then hit their head on the banister of the stairwell that leads up to the other apartments, and their head cracks open and they die, and I discover them when I walk out of my home at 12 p.m. the next afternoon just trying to get some brunch with M, and then I have to call 911 or whatever and I become a central character in a mysterious murder when it was the fucking cat food all along.

Three, it reminds me of how that cat food even got there in the first place: it was my horrid former roommate A’s bag of cat food, because, despite my horrific cat allergy, she had a cat. See, I TOLD YOU she was the worst!!!

In the beginning of the year, before I even moved in, I stated that I had a cat allergy and that I only had one living condition: I cannot live in a house with cats. Sounds reasonable, yes? Apparently, it was not.

This whole gross cat business started when she got drunk and went to this cat show with my other roommate T, the one who I actually liked. They texted in the groupchat that they got a cat, and I thought that they were joking. Turns out they weren’t, obviously, but they didn’t come home with the cat. The cat had gone home with A’s boyfriend, J, and A said that it would stay with him and just be brought over for her to play with sometimes, and that she would always keep it in her room with the door locked.

I was placated by this, and really didn’t care. But then one day, I got home and the cat was sitting on the living room couch with A and J, who were drinking 40s of beer at, like, 11 a.m. on a Wednesday. I blanched.

“Oh, hey, Case!” A called out, using a nickname that I absolutely hate.

“Heeeeeeeeey,” I said, approaching slowly.

“This is Lucy! Wanna meet her?” J said, clearly unaware that I am extremely allergic to cats.

“I’m good,” I said. “Is she living with you?” I asked him, trying to remain low-key.

“Yeah, but I brought her over so A could chill with her,” J replied, and I was calmed again.

“Cool. Well, I’m allergic to cats, so just make sure she doesn’t get into my room,” I said.

“Oh, shit. Okay, will do. Sorry!” J said. He was extremely nice and wonderful.

“No worries!” I said, because I am a pushover and a peacemaker and I will do literally anything -- a n y t h i n g -- to avoid confrontation, especially with A, who was and still is one of the scariest people I’ve ever met.

Needless to say, Lucy the cat, that fucking ugly, fat-ass cat, never left the apartment after that day. A started to clandestinely keep her in the apartment and only let her out of her room when I wasn’t home, but this only worked for a short amount of time because I started sneezing. And sneezing some more, and sneezing some more.

I confronted A about it one day over text message, when I knew she wouldn’t be home for a while, because like I said, that bitch scared the ever-living shit out of me. I asked if Lucy could be moved back to J’s, and A said that she complied. However, Lucy, again, never went back to J’s. She just continued to live in my apartment, and conditions got worse. A was no longer careful with making sure that Lucy stayed in her room. Lucy roamed the apartment like nobody’s business, and everything fucking stank of cat piss all the time. My allergies got worse and I had to take Claritin every day just to live in my house. I would stay out of the apartment for hours at a time and dread going home to sleep at night because I knew I’d wake up congested, with itchy eyes and a headache. I reminded A to move Lucy back to J’s, and she said that she was going to, again, but again, never did it. One time, I came home from getting literal surgery in New York City for the weekend and I opened my door, wanting nothing more than to collapse into my bed and go to sleep, and Lucy came bolting out of my room. That bitch knew she wasn’t supposed to be in there -- she knew.

I think that Lucy coming out of my room that afternoon was the final straw. I talked to V, who I thought was A’s best friend so I thought, wrongly, that A would listen to her. Turns out, everyone else in the apartment hated V as much as I did, so that was incorrect. But anyway, V talked to A and I expected that the cat would be moved back to J’s easy-peasy.

One day I was in the kitchen and A walked in, all breezy-like. “Hey! I called a cleaning service to clean up the house so we can see if that works to make your allergies better.”

“Oh, cool. Thank you. When is Lucy going back to J’s?” I asked.

“Well we’re gonna see if the cleaning service works first,” A replied. I wish I could have seen the look on my face just then.

“I DON’T USUALLY FUCKING SCREAM LIKE THIS BUT LIKE I HAVE BEEN DEALING WITH THIS STUPID CAT FOR SO LONG AND I AM SO ALLERGIC AND IT IS IMPEDING MY WHOLE LIFE AND YOU’RE LUCKY I DON’T SCREAM AND KICK YOU IN THE FACE FOR MAKING ME MISERABLE FOR LONGER LIKE I SNEEZE WHEN I’M AROUND A CAT FOR THREE SECONDS SO HIRING A CLEANING SERVICE TO GET THE STINK OF CAT PISS OUT OF EVERYTHING IS JUST TRULY NOT GOING TO WORK BECAUSE IT’S STILL GOING TO SMELL LIKE CAT PISS AND LUCY IS STILL GOING TO HANG OUT IN MY ROOM BECAUSE YOU DON’T RESPECT ME ENOUGH TO NOT LET HER IN MY ROOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” is what I screamed in my head.

“Okay, sounds good,” is what I said in real life.

To my complete and utter non-surprise, the cleaning service did not work. I was at peace for three days, but on day four I woke up with red, itchy eyes and cold symptoms. I told A that her mom absolutely had to come pick up Lucy by next weekend, latest. And it was still another month before that bitch got her fucking bitch-ass cat out of my space.

Her mom, to her credit, profusely apologized to me.

Anyway, boy, do I ramble or what?

So this bag of cat food brought back a lot of memories that I was trying to work on repressing. And I had had enough of it. I enlisted my roommates to all lift a corner of the bag of cat food and move it to the other side of the lobby so that it wasn’t convenient to be used as a doorstop.

I went to sleep feeling like I’d done something good for not only the safety of the building, but my mental health. Two mornings later, however, the bag of cat food had returned to its original doorstop usage. Using M’s help (read, telling M to go do it pleeeease), I just threw the goddamn thing out.

“Who keeps moving the cat food in front of the door?” I asked my roommates, knowing that it wasn’t any of them but just trying to communicate my frustration.

“It’s the boys upstairs,” G said. “One of them doesn’t have a front door key. I was like, then why don’t you ask David (editor’s note: David is our landlord) to get you a key? And he was like, cause he’s lazy.”

“Well I don’t want to get murdered!” I exclaimed, vocalizing my neuroses, of which I have many.

“I know!” G agreed, because she has some of the same neuroses as me, though thankfully not as many.

Anyway, we were soothed in knowing that we would not get murdered because we had thrown away the cat food. But then the following weekend, there was something else in place of the cat food: a fucking air conditioning machine.

K and I threw the air conditioning machine out in front of the apartment, and a few days later it had disappeared. It was a working AC machine, and someone had probably taken it. The apartment was safe once again.

A few days later, I discovered that a wooden board was now being used as the doorstop. This item was light enough for me to carry through my apartment and throw out in the dumpster in the back. I told myself that if one more item was going to be used as a makeshift doorstop, I would say something to the boys upstairs.

It was quiet for two weeks. But this morning, I walked out in the front to discover that a cereal box, all crumpled up but seemingly still with some cereal in it, was blocking the door.

“Oh my fucking God,” I groaned upon discovering this. I did not want to pick up the cereal box because it’s a food item, and that felt kind of gross. Maybe this had been their point in using a food item as the doorstop. Maybe this was our little game, and I had been unwittingly playing, like those Saw movies or whatever. Maybe we were flirting?

Instantly, I knew what I had to do. I took a few copies of the front door key that my mom had made for me in the beginning of the semester because she loves me and put them in an envelope, and then taped the envelope to their mailbox and wrote out “Apartment 3” on the outside. Inside, I wrote a little note on a Post-It.

Hi,

Here are a couple copies of the front door key. You can give them to whoever needs them. Please stop using items as a doorstop to the front door because if a murderer comes in, we’re the first ones to die. 😊

Love,

Apartment 1

[rants-and-self-help]

PSA on Anxiety and Mental Health

Fair warning this might get a little heated so Im going to put a keep reading link so you can read at your own risk. If talking about this stuff makes you uncomfortable or triggers you in anyway just keep scrolling. My intention here is not to make you feel uncomfortable just the opposite actually but like I said read at your own risk.....

OK, so I’m undiagnosed, but I’m pretty sure I have an anxiety disorder, and I know I have mental health issues. I have for pretty much most of my life. Considering I’m only 19, I know that sounds ridiculous, but when you constantly feel off, not like yourself, hate yourself, and get random ass mood swings for no reason you come to this conclusion. However, my anxiety has stemmed from my childhood because I have always been one that was good in school and my parents always bragged, which has caused me to put so much pressure on myself that now I can’t go a day without excessively worrying about just about everything. This is where my problem and therefore rant comes. Since I have this anxiety, I don’t test very well especially when the person is right there judging my every decision. This is how I am 19, have no license, and have failed my drivers test not once, not twice, but three times. Don’t get me wrong, I know how to drive and drive quite well, but once that instructor is in that seat next to me barking orders at me and literally judging me and my skill I panic and fuck up. What doesn’t help matters is that if I fail it 5 times the state takes my permit away for a year. So, knowing that I only have two tries left before I’m screwed for a year freaks me the fuck out. Because of failing three times, and needing a license to be able to get back and forth from college, my parents are insessently harassing me to get on it and get the damn thing. Which, yes, upsets me, but that I can get over. What I cant get over, is my dad telling me to just stop worrying and just drive. Like excuse me? Don’t you think if I could stop worrying and shut it out that I wouldn’t have done that already? That’s not how anxiety works. You can’t just shut it off when its being inconvenient. Trust me, if I could I would be a hell of a lot nicer of a person, a lot calmer, and not so freaking tense all the damn time. This pissed me off so much, like I literally basically shouted at him for it. I mean, I get he doesn’t understand because he doesn’t have it, but I just got so angry in the moment. This post is for the people who don’t understand. We can’t just shut it off, trust me, we have all tried and wished we could. This is not something we enjoy. We wish every day for it to be gone and end up with more anxiety over the anxiety we already have. Think of it this way: If I had cancer would you come up to me and say ‘hey stop being sick’? No, you wouldn’t because a cancer patient can’t will themselves back to health. They need treatment and medication. The same goes for anxiety and other mental health diseases because that’s what they all are diseases, just in the mind. We are in no more control over our anxiety, depression, bipolar, or mood swings than a cancer patient is over their condition. Sorry, I just had to say something because, I get a lot of people don’t understand, but they need to because its really not fair to those with these diseases. When someone says to stop worrying or be happy or stop being so mad it just makes us feel worse because we want to, my god, do we want to but without the proper help we simply can’t. Its the wiring in our brains that prevents us from stopping from worrying so much or being happy. So, the next time you see this, and are about to say something like this don’t. Just don’t say anything unless you want to help. I know its different for everyone, but I know for me, if someone simply asks how they can help or lets me vent or even just gives me their support and love, it helps me to get out of at least wallowing or spiraling. So, please, just be mindful of people and just try to consider what is actually going on in their heads because, trust me, that depressed person sitting alone in the corner wants nothing more to be happy and joining in on the fun. And that person insesently worrying about everything past, present, and future wants nothing more than for the worries to stop and just think about right now. And that person lashing out in anger for no apparent reason wants nothing more than to stop and just tell people ow they really feel. We all want this to stop. We just need you to know how to help and not make things worse even if its unintentional. Sorry for all of this really just needed to get this off of my chest and thought it was perfect for here.

[bloomingandblissfull]

The August unposted draft

I just found this on my file :

Time flies so fast. I cant event realized it has been August. It means almost a half of this year already passed. I wanna review my journey in this year, kinda contemplation and maybe such an evaluation about how far I have been trying become the better version of me by following my own decision as a young adult. Since graduated from college I found myself being in a confusion. My years of college was amazing but after this I feel like a pet placed in a wild life. I dont know how to start and where. I started my first job at my home town, after a year more I thought for the new job and asked my parent to go another city. That was Jakarta. Then on 14th October 2016 I officially moved to Jakarta. A month after that on 9th November I choose Siloam as my stepping stone Job in here. I did almost the same task as I did in my latest work place, but it's okay cause the important one was I must earned money for my life here. This hospital is so huge with a skycrapper building. I never saw it before, so I am so excited to work in here. I imagine new friends, new experinces, new salary and new lesson. My life continued here in this place and I would spent my first year worked in other city. I thought all the good thought I would have in this year with my new job. But, the fact was I never imagine I would faced such really severe battle mind here and met a beast women I ever known in my life. I dont mean to exaggerated the situation. This is real and now I just Thank God that let me get in to that trouble, let me get a great lesson from that condition and He also that get me out and rescue me through all the hard time. I need really much time to ensure myself that I am working with a person with mental disorder called Sociopath. Sociopath is kind of toxic personality. They just like us. But, as we know them, they develop traits that really destructive to whom close and interact with them. I almost spend my life at work place and before I knew this fact I really face a shit life. It so influence me so much and shake my psycology. Can you imagine for almost every day ? She hurt you, humiliate you, break you and she said she did it on good purpose. She said she wanna teach you about her experince, she told you her story life and family, she told you about God kindness in her life. She send you Bible verse everyday. The other day she control you about what to do in almost everything and blame you for almost non sense thing but refuse to admit if she made mistake. The rule is she made decision and you are prohibited to make opinion and request. Your voice and argument is nothing. You now not more than a slave. She never thank, apreciate and hard to impress. She takes advantage of your kindness and never care about your need. The other day she paid for your lunch, she invited you attended a Christmass celebration in her Church with her mother. The foolest is I still thought she was inspired and good. She play with my innocent mind. I hate her oftently but crave for her acceptance. I hope this would got better as the time passed. People who already knew her warned me, but I didnt trust them. I still thought that the people dont know her like you do when you remmembet abour her kindness. It was not easy, right ? Time passed and nothing got better as I wished. It just even got worse. I thought I have lost myself. I depressed and got down so deep. I lost my pride and my cheerness. I feel like there was a chain that band me so tight. I feel so gloomy and weepy. I cried aloud deep in my heart. I shout out to God for helping. My heart started rebel. Not for once I cried on my way back home and asked God to "get the fuck her off my life". I said to God I cant handle this for any longer, please help me. I wait for how God work and how it would be ended. I made this situation as my faith test. When I hurt so much, I asked God to heal it. I remmember all His kindness and I trust He would never leave me after this far. I pray her and her daughter. Instead hope the situation would changed, I choose to hold on until I ready for new job. But, wait until that time it mean more long last struggling. It impact me mentally. I just wanna alone, I hate people much. I didnt call my parents for such a month and I kinda ignore one of my friend because I wasnt in a good mood. I feel tired a alot and unconfident with my life. I feel low. In front of people I was looked tough, the fact they didnt know was I already broken into pieces. Strenght unknow I have whenever I wanna give up I believe it from God. I recover myself everyday, I wasnt rebel, frontally. I just asked Him to add my patientness. Naturally, I wasnt designed to confront people. And this was I got finnally after long survive with this sh*t. God show me His way. About January, there was some replacement and exchanged function in my division and we have a new doctor to do our daily task. The doctor would has a big role for me. On 2nd June 2016, dr. Debbi3 was my new superior. Then, I always told her about how my job. She helped me so much to forward my complain to the management and listen me alot. I trust that God send her to help me. We being friend cause she also felt similar what I felt. Then we were friend with the same enemy. On 21st June that toxic person made a chaos at Mr, I told about it to dr. debbi3, that chaos made her considerated to get first warning letter.

On 5th August, I sent dr. Debbi3 a short message about insane thing she has done to me at that day. Exactly at that time me and her were ordered to meet our head department. At that time, she got second warning letter for her bad attitude. On 9th August I decide to report her an accident report for shouted me in public. The newest I got sneak peak that She will get fired the end of this month. Oh my God, am I dreaming ? It should be a good news for me. But, I never wanna be ended up like this. If it really happened maybe it should be happend. She reaps what she sow. And of course the answer of my prayer. Once again, I can feel You wherever I go through any situation. I cant wait what I called "Your plan".

[inkdrinkershadowsinger]

Capricorn and Sagittarius

She is not a dream, and she never says the right things. Some call her quirky, but in reality, I’m not sure she even cares. She checks the watch resting on the wrong wrist, and all of a sudden I feel like I need to assure her that we still have time. There was someone before her, someone real, someone who perfectly fit the place I had assigned her in my mind. There was no room for mistake, no room for disorder, and yet, here I am, pulling this girl that laughs too loudly, and once called my boss an arrogant pig into the hall so that I can have my lips pressed to the juncture of her shoulder and neck. She folds to me automatically, her leg flying up over my hip, and I rut into her because Fuck… am I gone for her. My brain resembles a carefully controlled office building, filing cabinets and only yellow highlighters, but she is the girl that dares to bring colored copy paper and a mini fichus plant that I’m pretty sure is plastic to keep her company as it sits on her desk. Sometimes I’m pretty sure I catch her talking to it.

            She has made her life in words, success and a bank account almost rivaling mine, and she fits. The angel sent to torture the devil in me, I wonder who has corrupted who as she glides her hands over the shape of my arse, squeezing me firmly before she slides them up my back, and into my hair.

            “You need a haircut,” she tells me, probably the moment it comes into her mind. She believes in being honest. And refuses to let me creep by without offering up the same. There is a lot of therapy tools stolen from shows off the Disney channel and some teenage girl’s blog on Tumblr, but I submit to them anyway because she uses her secret weapon against me, and I really have no choice, that smile will be the death of me. After thoroughly checking to make sure that it really is just her and I, I submit to the ohhs and ahhs and mantras of “I feel” only to be echoed by her saying “I accept.”

            I am not intimidated by perfection because that is what I do. I am a collector of hard work and sleepless nights spent perfecting and overworking, one more pull through my hair wondering how many more until I start to go bald. A million success are not good enough, a million granted wishes discounted in an instant because there is still more that needs to be done, and I am the only one capable of not fucking it all up. I need to make sure that I don’t wind up where I started, that I never again feel the weight of others pressed so hard down upon my weak shoulders that one wrong move will send us toppling over. I need to make sure that I am better than before, that I am invincible, that I reach the top, and everyone knows my name. Respect or fear, I’m pretty sure I would rather the latter. I have shed all the dead weight, the tag a longs, and the knickknacks, choosing to etch them into my skin and shoot them up my arm instead. But that was before. That is something that I don’t think about often because that was someone else. It couldn’t have been me, right? Too skinny, too looked at, watched carefully for signs of life, waiting for me to mess up, but isn’t that what I wanted. I wanted the world to watch me, good or bad, they were talking. At least, they weren’t indifferent. I would rather be hated then ignored.

            They were silent, conditioned to be so ever since we met, and even I ignored telling myself goodbye. It was her from before that I needed then, someone to tell me to get over it, that I needed to be stronger, that her form of perfection was the one that was right for me, and the right one for me to emulate. But with the fade of the lights came the fade of her calls. And I was okay. I have always been okay. There was no peak for me there, just more ground to cover. Who needs air? I was going to win regardless.

            She was nothing more than a nuisance, and a loud one at that, one who shared too much information, and who knew a little too much about me, causing me to briefly wonder if she could actually read my mind like she claimed.

            “I’ve known guys like you before,” she told me as way of explanation. Of course, I had scoffed, and really, I should have known better. One too many jabs about her accent, or her stories that everyone seemed oddly invested in, I didn’t understand how someone like her managed to wind up in the same group as me. Were there no standards anymore, I wondered? She was like a dove, and while I fashioned myself a crow perhaps I was a vulture instead. Who wanted to be an omen when you could be the devourer of death itself?

            She refused to pretend like she didn’t know what you were talking about. She had an opinion about everything, and never failed to give it when prompted in the slightest little bit. Her cheeks flushed when the attention was on her, and sometimes her words caught in her throat but it was like a compulsion, never being able to let the ignorant words of others lie. People who have never felt like a minority shouldn’t get an opinion, right? That’s what she had said, and while I refused to be another sheep willing to sign up for whatever she was selling, I wondered if maybe she had a point.

            The less influence in my bloodstream the less it seemed that I was able to control. Buried emotions bent on reviving with the intent of making me retreat tore down the people around me with ease. It was easy to make people look stupid when you had a sharp tongue and a bored mind.

            I feel her grind herself against my front, and I remember what she tells me about patience. She knows never to complain that she doesn’t have any or else God will give her lessons to gain some. “I’m better without having to go through those particular lessons, patience seems like it would be a lot more difficult than putting an end to my nasty procrastination habit.” She believed in things like that, God, angels, and soulmates, and I wondered not for the first time if she considered me hers.

            She was not a dream, and yet everyone could see her preeminence. And my selfish instincts as a first born were clouded as she became the new favorite. I even think my mother prefers her to me, even though I still call her more.

            We have one of those corny timed answering machine messages recorded, and yet everyone always calls her name out first when they leave a message. And it’s my house. She had said that I wasn’t a very nice man, and I asked her where she got that insult at, an elementary school yard. She had just smiled and said that it wasn’t an insult just an observation, and that was that. Or so she had thought. But I liked to argue, I liked to prove that my mouth was quicker, and that I worked faster than anyone else. There was no room for two at the top, everyone was a threat. Even her.

            On a bad day, I am made up of chapped lips and scratchy cheeks but she doesn’t seem to mind when I wake her up with my head between her thighs only giving me a, you should probably get a haircut, when I rest my head on her stomach after she is finished. She thinks it’s too long, and maybe I just keep it because I know she doesn’t like it.

            In the beginning I took note of those little marks on her tummy, and the fact that she prefers pizza over a salad, and always beats me in rock, paper, scissors for the last slice. I’m still trying to figure out how she cheats. She cries when it’s her time to pick a movie, and I have sat through too many showings of Harry Potter. By the fourth movie, I’m already rooting for the death eaters, but I still wipe away her tears and try not to let her see me giggle at her excited cheering as I wait impatiently for the last movie to end. She insists on putting her cold feet on my warm legs, and never fails to tell me if I’m doing something wrong when I’m fucking her. And they say I’m the bossy one.

            She never names her faults, or the things that she wishes she could change about her body because she too doesn’t see the point in giving those thoughts any more power than they already have. She likes to think she can keep up with me, and that forcing me to dance with her in the middle of the living room to calm me down when I come home with red cheeks and what she calls my “Capricorn glare” because some idiot cut me off on the way home is the equivalent of curing cancer. She makes fun of me as we dart around the room avoiding the “hot lava” that lines the floor, as I once again triple check that no one is watching and that the door is locked so no one but her can bear witness to this folly.

            She likes making me look like an imbecile. I think she gets off on it.

  She takes stock on what names mean, and combats every astrological site that says our signs are not compatible because “there are always exceptions”. She thinks July is cursed, and truly believes that she could be a ninja if only she had the proper training. Even if she has the coordination of a three legged baby deer. She tells me that’s mean that I should give the deer four legs, just make him need glasses or something, but with improved other senses so that he doesn’t struggle and the other deer don’t make fun of him for it. “Maybe he and Rudolph can get married, what do you think?”

            And since she is currently straddling my lap and letting me strip her of her top I agree with her, Rudolph’s alright. She tells me that we match, that our names go together, though I’m not quite sure how that works. She tells me about how she was always afraid to jump off the swings on the playground as a kid, and I try not to read too much into it when she asks me if I ever was. I tell her no, I wasn’t, and she pinches my nipple because “that’s where all her swing set jumping ability was all her life”.

            She likes parties like this. She enjoys people, nearly everyone, while I spend the better part of these things trying to keep my eyes from permanently rolling back into my head, though I’m sure the view would be much improved, if I still got to see her somehow, of course. I’m not quite sure I could go without her now.

            So, I let her tell me what she needs, and I go along with her tangents about women’s rights and poverty, and the environment, and I do as she asks. I read the words that she writes, and I assure her that she is as genius as always, never daring to say a bad word about it. We both know that she doesn’t want criticism. She knows she’s brilliant, and I am ever inclined to agree. She doesn’t crave my approval, she just wants my involvement. She believes that’s how people stay together, they share things with one another, and learn to love each other’s faults until they aren’t considered faults anymore, until they become something that you would miss if they suddenly disappeared.

            She tries to pull away from me, but I know that’s not what she wants. The hallway is abandoned, the party raging in another part of the house, and I know her enough by now to know that she wants this just as much as I do. Because there were rules for that too. There were rules and lists for nearly everything, because while she would rather make a necklace out of paper clips or play a game of MASH with whoever she could con into it, she still liked to stay organized. I asked her once if I was ever an item on her list, and she told me that yes, I was. Then I asked her if I had been crossed off, but she told me that she couldn’t give me an answer to that yet. And maybe if she smiled when she said it, it really isn’t my fault if I don’t entirely believe her, and she doesn’t have to know if I searched those little notebooks of hers for any sign of such a list. And was disappointed when I only found a list of possible locations for unicorns.

              She tells me that she wants to go home, that as much as she would like me to fuck her in this fancy pants place, preferably in that ostentatious ballroom in front of all those people that it’s probably in their best interest if they’re alone. “Wouldn’t want to wake anyone this time of night,” she explains. “It would be horribly inconsiderate.”

            And if I tell my boss he can go fuck himself when he asks why we’re leaving then I don’t really care because her hands are still on me, and I may or may not know that she likes it when I do stuff like that. Of course, she’ll scold me for cursing all the way home, but I don’t think I’ll mind with her hand so close to my crotch.

            I do as she asks, conforming to her as she has become that voice in my mind, the one that told me to keep going, to do better, that good wasn’t good enough, that I need more, that I always need more. She has torn out all of those filing cabinets in my mind, and now everyone in the office brings their pets to work, and uses different colored highlighters. It is a little bit chaotic, but now she is the reason behind the climb, behind the rise of success, and the public image that I have worked so hard to garner. She has become the only priority, and while I fear that one day she will wake up, and ask me if I want to go to the Amazon with her where I will surely get attacked by a poisonous frog and die a horrific death, well, then at least, I will get to have some really hot “sorry I killed you” sex before I go. Maybe then I could get an answer as to whether I was really crossed off her list or not, if I was the one that she had always envisioned herself being with, if I was that other part of her, the part that stole her swing set jumping courage and kept her up at night because I was too wired to sleep. Maybe God would tell me if there really were such things as soulmates, and maybe I could thank him for making her mine. Then promptly begin trying to negotiate my way back down to Earth.

            I’m sure she’d still love me no matter how I came back as long as I was still there. She jumps on the kitchen table as soon as we are through the door, and for a moment I’m afraid she’s going to stop me and force me into baking a batch of sugar cookies before we even get naked like she did that one time. I’ve never hated such sugary goodness so much in my life. It was what she wanted, and where before I was powerless to anything except ambition it seems as if all of that has been usurped. Though she’s still a nuisance.

            I move between her legs, and her hands instantly go up my shirt. She giggles as I pull back slightly from their coldness. It’s like she does it on purpose. But as she pulls me closer to her, I can’t find it in me to care. I’d take her cold hands any day.

            It is then that I think about trying to write something of my own though I’m not sure I would do it justice. How could I get close to the girl who had a smile that steadied the constant pulling of trying to get higher, and that I didn’t even really mind that everyone in my life seemed to prefer her because I knew that at the end of the day she would take me over them all? How could I admit out loud that I looked up the meaning of her name, and decided that a port for the bitter and suffering seemed oddly fitting? It would be admitting too much for each of us, too much when words were unnecessary. Too sentimental to name this girl as home. Though it very well may be true.

            So, as her hands find the buckle on my belt, and the sound of a zipper sliding fills the air, I ask her something instead. “What were you for Halloween when you were eight?”

            “The pink Power Ranger,” she replies instantly, not deterred by my timing or odd question.

            “Oh,” I reply. “I was the Red one.” And if she stops for a moment to look at me before telling me that maybe I should get on my knees first as she tugs at my hair firmly, and follows it up by telling me that I really do need a haircut then the smile that comes across my face really can’t be helped. Can it?