#i havent felt this badly triggered in months

[nobodywritingao3]

.

[corticalamity]

big old fckn trigger warning on this bad boy but i need to vent

because why i am quite possibly the most persistently and chronically and genuinely suicidal as i have been since i was like 16 and i don't know how much more give i have in me since i have felt this way for... like actual months now maybe even a year. i'm not even depressed i am just completely defeated and broken down

i miss all my friends but i am so terrified of getting covid again because of how badly it fucked me up the first time even fully vaccinated, and next to nobody will make accommodations for me, they instead just pretend that i don't exist. i'm lonely as hell, and i miss connection so bad. plus my grandma is in town and has been snarky about me wearing my mask the entire time, even when i tried to explain how disabling covid was when i had it. she's the one person who felt safe to me growing up and now that's all being ripped out from under me because i'm realizing it was just because she wasn't actively abusive and actually there are things she did that were really fucked up.

my to do list is miles long with no end in sight because things just keep adding to it and i feel so defeated there too because i need help with it but i don't get much if any, and quite frankly at this point i am begging for someone to take care of me because i'm so beyond burnt out and have been for a really really long time but i can't just ignore the things that need to be done unfortunately. so now because i am constantly every day even on days i work having to do stuff basically i have no energy for my passions. i havent made art in forever. i've hardly gone out in nature this year and its already june. i havent had time to plant my herbs or do any fun gardening. i've hardly had the energy or time to take care of my houseplants and theyre suffering because of it.

i cant keep fucking living like this. i dont know what to do. i'm completely at the end of my rope i feel so so so hopeless and so lost and so angry and hurt and lonely and desperate

i want to run away and live in the woods and never return

i can tell things are really really bad because all i do aside from fantasize about death is fantasize about living in a tiny house or van or whatever in the middle of nowhere where nobody has access to me and thats all i used to think about when i was a child

[happys-crazy-queen22]

Out For Blood

Gif credit @afacelesschampion

Requested on wattpad.

Sorry I've been absent, it's been a crazy month. But hopefully I'm back, if the inspiration keeps up. Havent had much lately. So we'll see. Thanks for sticking around.

Taglist @nocturnalherb16. @jesseswartzwelder. @leaalfred. @twistnet. @baylishh. @believinghurts. @ilovetaquitosmmmm. @mayans-mc @mypridefulsoul27.

WARNING: Kidnapping. Children abandonment. Murder. Blood. Assault on women. Killing. Hostage situation.

It was your normal routine, taking the kids to the market and getting fruits and vegetables for dinner. But something was different. You could smell it in the air.

Looking over your shoulder you saw two men looking at you. They weren't regulars around there and they weren't Miguel's people. They two were watching you.

"Alberto"? You called over to your security guard.

"Yes, Señora Galindo".

"Can you take our stuff to the car and get one of the others to get the kids? Cristobal is tired". You tell him and he nodded.  Grabbing the bags.

You held onto Melya, your two year old daughter and held Cristobals held as you walked along. The two men followed you. You knew not to panic or show fear. But deep down inside you knew you had to protect your kids.

Hurrying along you went to go to the car since your men havent showed up but as you got to the car there they were, laying dead on the ground their throats slit.

You cover your sons eyes with your hand and turned to run back into he market but you bumped into one of the men following you.

"Cual es la prisa"? The toothless man asked you with a snicker.

"Please. Dont hurt my babies. Please. I'll go with you just dont hurt them". You begged, tear falling down your face.

He nodded to another man that was behind you. You kissed both Cristobal and Melyas head and told them you loved them very much and sat them in the car. It was a beautiful day the sun was shining and the wind blew a cool  breeze.

"We wont hurt them. We came for you anyways". The toothless man spoke as you turned around.

"Can you call their father? Just for him to get them, please? I dont want them out here all alone. They're so little". You sobbed into your hands.

"Don't worry. He knows". The toothless man grabbed your upper arm, you let out a yelp. He dragged you away. You looked upon the kids as you walked. They were fine. Not crying. Just sitting in the back seat playing with they're toys. It killed you to know that this was the last time you would ever see them.

Miguel fault through the crowd of the market. Someone left him a letter to come to the market or else. He didnt take threats to kindly.

He didnt see his wife or kids. Nestor made all his men scatter out and find you. But the only thing they found was the kids sleeping in the back seat.

"Mickey"? Nestor called over the walkie talkie.  Miguel's heart dropped as he ran. Nestor held Melya in his arms when Miguel got to the car.

"Where's Y/N"? Miguel grabbed up his son and daughter. Hugging them tightly.

"No sign. My men are checking". Nestor walked away, talking on the walkie talkie.

"My babies". Miguel kissed their faces.

"Where's momma"? Cristobal asked with a yawn.

"She's still shopping". Miguel put on a fake smile.

"What about the man? Is he still shopping"?

"Man? What man, Cristobal"?

"He was mean to mommy. No teeth. Rrr".

Miguel didn't know what to say. His mind was with you and all he could think about was getting you out before it was to late.

"Sir"? A young boy came over to Miguel and tapped on his shoulder. "I was told to give this to you". And the boy ran off.

Miguel opened the paper and it read "ten million or she dies". Along with a address.

"I'm going alone". Miguel picked up the kids and headed to the SUV.

"You can't. I'm going with you. It's to dangerous". Nestor followed.

"Take the kids home and watch them. Dont take your eyes off of them, Nestor". Miguel kissed their heads and buckled them up.

"Here, at least take this". Nestor handed Miguel a pistol. "It's small, discreet. Maybe they wont find it".

"Thanks. Watch over my kids". Miguel ordered Nestor as he walked away. Going back through the crowd to his car.

Nestor looked at the address and knew exactly where it was. He wasn't going to let Miguel get himself killed. So he told his men to watch over the kids. He had something to do.

Miguel pulled up to an empty house. It was falling apart, there were no windows or even a front door. But outside in the drive way was a nice brand new SUV with thirty day tags.

"Hold it". A older man came out of the house carrying a machine gun, pointed right at Miguel.

"Where's my wife"?

The man didnt say anything he patted down Miguel and pushed him along the drive way to the front door. Looking around making sure no one followed.

Miguel could hear talking and laughing. Music playing in the back ground.

"Jefe". The older man called out as he walked into the room. There wasnt a kitchen or livingroom. Just a big open space.

"Where's my money"? The toothless man came over. Cristobal was right, he was a monster.

"Where's my wife first"? Miguel gulped, but kept his cool.

"She's right there. Didn't you see her? She goes great with the floor". The toothless man stepped aside and Miguel couldnt keep his composure.

You were laying on the floor lifeless. Your face was unrecognizable. They had beaten you so badly that your eyes had swelled shut.

"Hijo de puta". Miguel went to lunge at the man in front of him but he was stopped by a gun to his head from a man behind him, that, he didn't notice before.

The toothless man clicked his tongue. "You should show some respect. Do you know who I am, pendejo"? He walked closer to your body.

"A fucking coward. Beating on women. My fucking wife". Miguel snapped.

"I'm the son of Jorge García. The man you murdered and my mother". The son of Jorge García took out his gun and placed it against your temple. Grabbing a fist full of hair and pulling you up. You let out a whimper but had no more fight left in you.

"Your father was a soplón, a rat. He deserved everything he got. Now your mother, she begged forgiveness and I was going to let her live but she decided to kill one of my men so I had to kill her. It was business". Miguel spoke outraged and heartbroken. He tried to hide his tears.

"Oh look, my father's killer has feelings for this puta. Where was that for my mother"? García jabbed the guns barrel harder into your temple.

"What do you want? Me to apologize for killing your parents? Fine I apologize. Now please let my wife go. We have two beautiful kids and they need their mother". Migue pleaded.

"Then they'll know how I felt my entire life. Living without my parents. But you, you'll live with the guilt of knowing you couldn't save your wife. You got her killed for your life choices, remember that". García laughed with a smirk as he pulled the trigger. With one quick move you were gone. Your body hit the ground with a thud and you blood splattered onto the wall, floor and Miguel.

Miguel screamed, dropping to his knees crawling to your body, tears were a flowing waterfall down his face. His face heated with anger.

He scooped up your head and placed it gently in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Mi Amor. I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. Please forgive me". Miguel kissed your cold lips.

"Where's my money"?

Miguel lifted his head slowly, with a sniffle. "It's in the trunk of my car". Miguel looked back down at your face. His hand slowly inching it's way to his boot, taking the small pistol in his hand. With one quick jerk he shot García in the leg. The man with the machine gun came running up and went to shoot but he was quickly taken out along with the other men in the room. Nestor, walked into the room, his gun drawn.

"Mickey". Nestor ran over to Miguel.

"Bring him to me". Miguel didnt look up as he gave orders to go get García who limped off during the gunfire.

Nestor took off and found his prey laying on the back steps, breathing heavy.

"Get up". Nestor, grabbed Garcías hair and dragged him in side. Miguel was waiting. He had taken off his dress shirt and placed it under his wife's head.

Nestor pushed García in front of Miguel.

"Tell your parents I said fuck you". Miguel shot García in the head right between the eyes.

"What do you want me to do about the bodies"? Nestor asked.

"Burn it all down". Miguel said emotionless. He handed Nestor the gun and went to his wife. Gently picking her up and carrying her out of the room. Placing her in the back seat of his car.

Nestor grabbed the gas cans that laid outside and poured it over the bodies and struck a match. The bodies were engulfed in flames soon the whole building was.

Miguel didn't want her to burn with her killer. She deserved better than that a proper burial. So his kids can have closer and he can have somewhere to come and talk with her about life.

[mikecardenmpreg]

recovery, etc.

so its been just about a year since i got back into therapy and i just want to say this because i didnt make it clear enough when it happened. when i went in for my intake session last december, they wanted to hospitalize me. like. that day. right then. they didnt even want to finish the interview. they just wanted to admit me. because people reporting numbers like mine were in hospitals on suicide watch. they did not want me to leave the premises. i had to assure them that i wasnt going to kill myself (even though i knew that wasnt a promise i could make). i had to sign a CONTRACT promising i would not kill myself before my first therapy session. the intake specialist was skeptical but he let me go (though he had no idea how i was able to function on a daily basis - jokes on him though because i wasnt functioning at all). he had a look in his eye that told me he wasnt sure letting my leave was a good idea. when i went to my first therapy session with ann a few weeks later, she also wanted to hospitalize me and again i found myself assuring someone i didnt know that i wasnt going to kill myself (and that still wasnt a promise i could make). a year ago i was so sick that i was nearly hospitalized for my own safety and for the safety of others. i smiled and joked and laughed through it all. i reblogged relatable sad posts. i tried not to make it seem like it really bothered me. but i was barely hanging on. 

i got my diagnosis on december 13th. i didnt talk to ann much but i told her just enough for her to deduce i had bpd. its something i knew for at least two years. i sat with my knees to my chest the entire session, uttering a few words here and there, picking at the fraying knees of my jeans. she took notes. she told me my numbers were concerning, that people with numbers like these are generally in inpatient care. i stared. nothing behind my eyes. i was a shell. she said “hopefully next time we meet youll be more comfortable with me and we can talk some more”. i felt like an asshole for sitting there and wasting her time. i thought i was a lost cause. i thought there was no way i was gonna get better.

and for the longest time i didnt. i was hurting so much. i was separated from all my friends and still dealing with the aftermath of not one but two absolutely devastating (at the time) rejections. i wanted to kill myself so badly but didnt have the means to do it efficiently and effectively (ive always been too scared to actually try to kill myself in case it didnt work - something ive told my therapist). i felt like the biggest fucking loser. i remembered the summer of 2012 and thinking (back then) that there was no way i could feel worse than i did then. i was wrong. how i felt in december 2016 through january-march 2017 was the worst ive ever felt in my entire life. looking back its mostly static. dont remember a lot of it. all i remember is being angry and suicidal and wanting to hurt everyone around me.

in april i started dbt. it took awhile for me to get into the class. ann had me take other classes to help cope with my other problems (anxiety mostly) and helped me process some of my issues until i could get into dbt. borderline is a little out of her area of expertise but she knows how to listen and is very very good at validating all my little hang ups (i love my therapist).

it took me a few weeks to see the value in dbt. for the first few months all it did was dredge up old shit and trigger me until i was hollow and numb. every week it felt like i was being ripped open and flayed. every week i got to relive a different traumatic memory. every week i disassociated to keep myself safe in this room of strangers (who were also disassociating to keep themselves safe). (disassociation is not a healthy coping mechanism) 

but then i went on medication for my depression and anxiety and the combination of that, dbt, and regular therapy sessions actually began to like work? like? thats wild? and i started to see changes in my life because i was learning how to communicate appropriately and deal with my trauma effectively. and i stopped dwelling on the things that made me feel bad and started diving in to the things that made me feel good. i started spending more time with friends and reaching out and actually putting an effort into being a better friend. i started being honest and open with my parents about my progress rather than being super secretive and hiding things. and somehow the constant stress dreams and nightmares and violent thoughts and suicidal ideations stopped. i was finally able to enjoy things again. i was even able to spend time with my parents and actually enjoy it. hell i even looked forward to seeing them and talking to them (which is a really fucking big deal).

there have been slip ups along the way. things have happened that have really bent me out of shape. but i was able to deal with those things and recover. last december i was prepared to ruin every relationship i had. i told my parents to not come to my graduation. i almost deleted all my friends phone numbers and unfollowed them on all social media so i never had to speak to them again. i was ready to isolate myself from everyone so that when i killed myself (which i was getting ready to do) i wouldnt hurt anyone.

im not gonna say that i cant believe that person then and the person i am now are the same people because i can absolutely believe it. there are times when i want to go back to my old ways because regressing is a lot easier than constant progress. and getting better doesnt always have 100% positive results. ive learned a lot about myself and others along the way. ive had to sever ties. ive learned that some people arent capable of change. ive learned that sometimes taking a break from the people you love the most is the best thing you can do for yourself (and for them). ive had to have hard conversations because getting better has forced me to learn that you gotta actually work for what you want. 

i havent been perfect this whole time either. i still havent learned how to value my own feelings over the feelings of others or how to accept that other people care about me. im sure some day i will. a year of therapy isnt going to fix everything. but some day ill have a breakthrough.

the whole point of this though is that if i can make it through my darkest moments and turn my shit around....anyone can. but its important to know beforehand that its a process. nothing happens overnight. nothing happens in a month. recovery is something you have to work at day and night for the rest of your life. its something you have to want. it doesnt come easy and its not pleasant. its not all soothing baths and flowers and handwritten journals. its crying and screaming and addressing your past traumas and welcoming them into your home like theyre family (and then accepting that they happened but not letting them dictate your every move). its being honest - brutally honest - with not only yourself but with others. its letting go of people you love and learning to exist in the void of loneliness (until the people you love learn to accept the new you). its showing up every week (or month or whatever) and saying something for once, even if you think its stupid, even if you think its irrelevant. recovery is ongoing. im about to finish my first year. i still have a lot of work to do and im actually kind of excited to do it? which is cool considering my contingency plan has always been to kill myself.

anyway. i just wanted to say that. i dont pat myself on the back very often but ive accomplished a lot this last year. and not gonna lie but ive referred to myself as “most improved patient” in my head multiple times these past few months. im in a pretty okay place right now. im glad im still here (despite the world getting worse literally every day). im glad i have people i can share that with. and i hope some day soon i can return the love and support ive been given tenfold :)

[tinybitterasian]

[Tyler-centric] Chasing Home

Words: 1716 Warning(s): Slight Sexual Scene, Major Character Death Pairing(s): Tyler/JC, Tyler/Fay Summary: White-washed walls and the warmth of a thousand suns is how Tyler remembers June. Thirteen is when it all changes, and sixteen is when it all starts. Genre: Angst

White-washed walls and the warmth of a thousand suns is how Tyler remembers June.

Tumbling down the hills and smashing dandelions on the way to the foot, laughing as pollen made him sneeze and the butterflies dance. Watching his little sister blaze by on her tricycle, her pigtails gliding in the wind like the unsteady kite his brother piloted over their fence and into their neighbour’s. Stumbling through the back door, mud-streaked pants and all, grinning up at his mother who stood over a pot of macaroni and cheese – this is how Tyler remembers June.

He’s thirteen when it all changes, when they came for him and his talents, and he’s fifteen when they beat him down enough to make him forget what June used to taste like.

When the sun climbs into his eyes at seven in the morning, he remembers the touch of cold, hard metal against his wrists. When he smells weeds in the air, he thinks of how native species can tell him where he is – thinks of how to find the enemy by the radioactivity laced around the delicate blades of grass surrounding the soles of his boots.

He’s sixteen when they send him alone on his first mission – a tiny shop that’s decked out in bright yellow and black. The smell of coffee hits him like a truck and he stops walking when a shock of blue hair and gold eyes squint at him over the glass case holding dainty pastries and dense cakes.

“May I help you?” the man asks, pale hands running over the handle of one of the drawers, and Tyler knows that there are at least a dozen syringes hidden in there, each containing a cocktail of poisons that would immobilize him in an instant.

Digging his hands into his jacket for change, he smiles his most wicked smile and speaks.

“A tall flat white, please. Skim.”

The man eyes him for a moment before letting his hand glide over the till, punching Tyler’s order in and ripping off a tiny receipt. He hands it to Tyler, eyes locked on his, and doesn’t let his fingers touch Tyler’s outstretched hand.

“Two minutes,” the man says, like it’s a command, and Tyler nods easily, grins again and winks when the man takes a step back.

When Tyler gets his coffee, he makes a show of sniffing the steam hovering dangerously over the rim.

“Thanks,” Tyler says, before dumping the entire cup into a sterile bottle, already writing down the different toxins present when the man curses and heads to the back of the shop. “Thanks, Fay.”

He manages two blocks from the café before a group of four surround him, but he weaves in and out of their defences like he’s made of water and they’re grains of sand. Soon he’s back in the bunker, shaking the bottle at his fellow soldiers and being debriefed.

An hour later, the café mysteriously sets ablaze, and everything is burnt to cinders in a matter of minutes. Tyler stares at the news and sips a cup of juice that’s cold and wet and stings his mouth.

He’s sure that nobody is hurt at all despite there being reports of a body or two.

He’s nineteen when he’s offered his first long-term mission.

Tyler takes it without hesitating. He puts on his black-and-blue jacket and stores his weapons in the hollows of his clothes, taping emergency bombs to his ribs like it’s second nature. Dog tags hang loose from his neck and he swings it to the back so that the cold metal hits against his spine, reminding him that he could die at any time, reminding him that the mission must be completed at all costs.

His name isn’t Tyler for a month. Instead, he’s Ethan, lets his hair run unruly and free, wears mismatching socks, and kisses girls though he tastes bile in his own mouth.

He spots his target, a red-head boy with a smirk, and learns the contours of his body like it’s the map he needs to escape from this hell. The boy is young and eager, barely fifteen, and kissing him is different from kissing the girls, but there’s the dog tags again – hitting his spine each time he bends into a kiss, reminding him that time is short.

They only make him push against the boy harder.

It isn’t a surprise when the boy draws a gun to Tyler’s chest, teary-eyed but fierce. He says that Tyler’s taken his sister, which is a lie, because Tyler’s never killed a red-head girl before. Tyler tells him so, hands still on his naked hip, and the boy grinds out that his sister was a girl with violet eyes and silver hair.

Tyler doesn’t say anything to that, because now the lie’s become a truth. He also doesn’t tell the boy that his sister tasted like lime and nicotine; instead, he stares at the boy while he struggles to pull the trigger. He smiles ruefully, wonders if there’s a time and place where they’re older and less susceptible to ideas like duty and obligation, and stabs the boy with a syringe.

The boy collapses, gasping but not sobbing, staring at Tyler through lidded, emotionless eyes as he takes his final breaths. In a surge of feeling he hadn’t felt in years, Tyler swoops down, kisses the boy, and steals his last breath from him. He feels a shudder run through the boy before he stops moving, and Tyler leaves him there, sheets haphazardly thrown over his skin and the sun shining through the hotel room’s heavy grey curtains.

He rushes back, washes the spray tan off his body and the blonde streaks out of his hair. They place a red cross on top of the boy’s photo. Tyler scrubs at his hands harder, can’t ignore the vicious trembling he feels through his chest that reverberates throughout his body.

Sleep comes easy that night, though the dreams that plague him are all of the red-haired boy and his smile. Tyler dreams of his teeth that are small but sharp, his tongue that can stretch halfway down his chin, and his fingers that drum along Tyler’s wrist to the rhythm of a slow jazz song.

When Tyler wakes in the middle of the night, visions of warm, soft, white sheets in his mind, he wakes up smelling steel instead of the sea.

He feels a pull back to sleep.

Tyler takes it without hesitation.

Twenty-three and he’s scaling the vertical side of a building, hands and feet moving fast as the wind that whistles around him to avoid being hit by the darts a girl is throwing at him.

Tyler doesn’t know how she tastes, but can guess from her thin mouth and her bouncing ponytail. He catches her foot and sends her hurtling down, and wills himself not to take a look at her disappearing towards the streets.

He knows that she won’t die, though, so he continues his ascent.

The blue-haired man is waiting for him, like he always is, and Tyler catches a moment of sadness in Fay’s eyes when he realises that Tyler is unarmed.

Tyler’s terribly young, his dog tags hammering against his spine, and his weapons used up and stolen by the men below.

“You’re alone,” Fay’s voice is tight in his throat, and Tyler wants to kiss him senseless.

“I’m alone,” Tyler replies, and finds the air thick and dry. How this happens is unknown to him. “So are you.”

“So am I.” Fay echoes, needlessly, and he takes his time walking up to his desk.

Tyler doesn’t move. He’s unmatched, and he knows this. But he’s also tired, so very tired, and he wants to see his little sister again. He wants to remember the June sun on his freckles and the sound of her laugh thrilling the air. He wants it so badly.

Fay opens his drawer and takes the syringes out, one by one, while Tyler stares and stares and feels his bones slacken.

“They’re pretty,” Tyler’s voice is useless, as is the rest of his body, and Fay picks up a golden one. Gold, like syrup, with flecks suspended in its viscous liquid, and Tyler’s mesmerised by its beauty. “Fay, they’re all pretty.”

“Yes,” Fay’s walking to him, eyes burning right through Tyler’s chest to land on the dog tags. Tyler isn’t surprised that he knows they’re there. He’s surprised that no one has looked at him like that before.

Fay slides the syringe into his pocket and levels his eyes with Tyler’s.

“You want to know what I taste like.” Fay says, and Tyler looks away.

Fay tilts his head, like he’s trying to fathom Tyler out, and hums. It’s a slow jazz song, and tears prick at Tyler’s eyes.

Fay kisses him, long and slow, like how Tyler kissed the boy, and cups his jaw. Tyler loses himself and kisses back, searching for something he won’t find, his body shaking and his legs losing feeling.

“Socrates,” Fay murmurs, “But you never asked with your mouth. You always asked with your eyes.”

Tyler can only hum in response, the same song, and grabs Fay by the waist, holding him close and feeling his dog tags burn his skin.

They kiss and touch for ages, before Tyler finally, finally feels the prick of the needle, and tears fall down his cheeks.

Tyler refuses to stop kissing Fay, even when Fay tries to speak to him, even when he wants to speak to Fay. Eventually, Fay gives in and lets him taste the same steel and metal and heartbreak he knows so well.

When he feels his legs give, Fay lowers them to the ground, holds him and lets his blue hair fall over Tyler’s green eyes, shielding them from the dark skies outside.

Thank you, Tyler says with his kiss, and Fay can only nod.

Tyler doesn’t say that he tastes the sun and fresh-cut grass too. He never gets to say that that’s why he chased Fay this time, never gets to say that this isn’t a mission but a quest. But he knows that Fay knows. He dies knowing that he makes Fay lose his home, too, and dies satisfied.

Tyler doesn’t get his last breath.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: wow havent written a tyler/fay/jc/coco fic in sooooo long but i got inspired by kel’s doodle so ofc i had to write for 2h (its 12am now & i have work tmr oops)………………….i hope it isnt too bad i cant tell

all feedback is appreciated!!!!! & for extra info:

fay is 8 years older than tyler here & was picked up by the rival organisation at around the same age as tyler. red-head boy is JC & silver-haired girl is coco (who was in a r/s with fay before tyler f-ed everything up) & they both belong to vonna!! fay & tyler both belong to kel!! 

[autumn-kitten]

when its good its so good but when its bad its so bad!!! why does it have to be like this? why cant life be in the middle, why cant it be pretty okay, pretty good, pretty great,  kinda bad, or pretty bad, or really bad? Why is it “everything is perfect” or “everything is terrible and I want to kill myself” ive actually felt suicidal for the past month or so, in like that passive way where I’m not necessarily going to act on it but I can’t get it out of my mind? I havent been that way since HIGH SCHOOL. I hate feeling this much idk how I did it but August 2016 i got so numb and i just want that back becaue i cant handle this!! its ruining everything! no one knows what to do with me because one day something is fine and the next day it upsets me and then the next day its fine! and theres no way to make it go away except wait it out (which doesnt make the issue go away, just the emotion; once the issue comes up again so does the emotion) or to be smothered in affection and encouragement and validation and both are sucky options! i usually feel like i cant ride it out bc its so intense and i wish i could self soothe because very rarely is anyone around and willing to help me so i’m SOL! and even so is hould trely on other people to help me either i should be able to do it myself but i cant! i want to be numb again! im going to increase my medications until i cant feel anymore! the positives are not worth this! i want to die all the time! everything hurts me so badly and im in so much pain, everything and everyone is causing me pain and i cant deal with it! why do i have to be like this? why doesnt anyone understand? why does nothing help? why????????

literally the idea of being like this for the rest of my life just makes me want to get it over with and die sooner rather than later. depression and anxiety have had some ups and downs but are altogether a lot better and ive made huge improvements. bpd? NOPE! if anything it just gets fucking worse! and everyone triggers me! and nothing helps! and i cant deal with the idea of always living this way! fuck! why! i need help!! please!

[constant-unpredictability]

Its amazing at how pathetic I can be. The two people who manage to put forth a little more for me cuz they think Im worth it and I still end up letting them down and not only disappoint them but myself. Seems I cant do anything right anymore. Things just seem to be swelling up inside me lately and I have no way of venting anymore. I’m so sensitive and I break down over stupid things. As I think about it now, it was around this time last year where I came the closest I ever got to ending it all. At the start of this year I was fortunate to get a new life. Months later here I am still a piece of shit who feels the worst he’s ever felt since this time last year. Im not going to lie and say that I havent had those thoughts again lately, especially tonight, Last month I remembered that I distinctly felt happy. Genuinely just all around happy. There wasnt even something that triggered it. The feeling just came to me both times, out of no where. Prior to those two, I honestly cant remember a time when I felt sincere happiness. Now thats gone and I feel so shitty and I have no way to get it out or to get rid of it. Its starting to effect my day to day pretty badly and now even my health. I know I should keep going but I just keep asking myself “Is this life? Is this what it is? Cuz idk if I want it”