#my mental health is in shambles and only getting worse

[spinogreen0iq]

vent in the tags, (mentions of selfharm, suicidal thoughts)

my anhedonia is eating me alive so i’m making these mental illness memes to cope

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

Heading to school now to finalize my decision to retake the year. Set your bets NOW on whether I’ll start crying again, completely shut down and will be unable to speak, or the third, secret option! (Not even I know what the third secret option is yet, but we’ll see!)

[twopoppies]

Gina, I want to tell you I have been reading your blog for a couple years now. I’ve never sent an ask to anyone. I first came into the fandom when I watched Harrychella and I thought hmm this man isn’t just flagging he is screaming at the top of his lungs. Then I watched the Cosmic Leeds videos and I fell down a rabbit hole. I am not someone who believes “conspiracy theories”. I am however old enough to know closeting has been proven to exist in the entertainment industry. I’m also from a rural area of the U.S. where homophobia is the norm, so unfortunately I had no trouble believing closeting still exists. I went into full information gathering mode about Larry Stylinson, but it was more than that too. I fell in love with 1D and all the boys’ solo work, especially Louis. I loved his voice, his songwriting, and his ‘real’ personality (when he allowed it to shine through all the media training). I read through every tumblr I could, you and Daisie provided a wealth of information that can not be ignored. I feel certain that Larry was real and I hope they are still together. I’m not one of those people who never doubted. It would be hard not to second guess things in this fandom with all the gaslighting that goes on. I write all of this to say that I’ve never felt so sad and like there is no hope for change as I do right now. It feels like Louis’ fandom is falling apart. There is so much division, hate, and intolerance of any idea that doesn’t conform to someone’s own. Louis pr strategy honestly baffles me. A divided fandom is so tiring. It seems less like pr and more like intentional sabatoge, which I guess it could be. I just don’t see any way out for him or Harry. I think Harry’s extended break is partly because of this too. I think he was overworked and emotionally drained for many reasons, but closeting most of all is exhausting. If I’m feeling this way as a fan I can’t imagine how they must be feeling. It breaks my heart. Sometimes I hope I am crazy and Larry was never real because the story is just too sad. Don’t even get me started on bbg because it is the shittiest situation ever. I think I need to take a step back from the fandom for a bit. But this brings me to my point. I’m pretty resilient, I can not be the only person feeling this way. It makes me so worried for Louis’ career and for both Louis and Harry’s mental health. I guess I don’t really have an ask. I just wanted to say thank you for all the information you have provided over the years. And, I needed to get this off my chest. If I posted this on twitter I would be roasted and I’m not strong enough for that right now. I meant it when I said I fell in love with their music, so I will continue to support all the boys. I’m hoping there is a master plan that will eventually set them free. But, I just keep coming back to the line

‘Said I had a plan for us Time had came and changed it all We had to disappear 'Cause nothing gets through here’

I will add one more thing. I believe there are more Larries than people think, but we are tired of the gaslighting and the hate, so many of us step back or hide. This is why the industry wins most of the time. 😥

Hi, sweetheart. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I'm sorry it feels so overwhelming right now. I do think taking a step back is probably really healthy for most of us. I've actually never seen the fandom in such shambles.

I don't know what Louis' plan is in terms of his fandom or his future plans. But I have dozens and dozens of sad, confused, and angry messages in my inbox, and that fucking sucks. I really don't see a way forward at the moment. I will say, though, that some of the upset stems from some people's tendency to lean into worst-case scenarios and amplify their own worries by jumping to conclusions. Then there are the shit-stirrers who try to make things worse by sending in fake receipts or theories. It's hard to stay grounded when there's insanity whirling around you.

As for Harry and Louis, I do tend to believe they're still together. I don't think their relationship has been as easy as many of us would like to believe – I don't think it could be, given their ages when they met and the conditions they've had to live with. I do think they're soulmates... soulmates don't always end up together, but I tend to think these two will make it. I certainly hope they do.

Our fandom never does well when the boys aren't active. I think if you want to get your sanity back, now is as good a time as any.

[bunnysdollette]

₊⊹⁀➴ How to get your shit together in a slump: BD’s instant guide to feeling 100% again! ⟡﹒⪩⪨ 🫧🌸🧁

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧ Hi angels :) Thank you so much for the positive reception on my last posts. Anyway, I’ve been super down lately so I’d thought I’d create this post as a bit of a reference point for anyone who feels like their life is going off of the rails these days. This is how I get myself out of a slump. 💬

♫ todays song is…some by SOYOU

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ GET OFF THAT DAMN PHONE.. 📝 ⊹₊⟡⋆

wait! I was just joking. don’t close your phone until you finish reading (haha). anyway, take a look at your screentime for me. you might have been scrolling for hours or trying to distract yourself from how horrible you felt by doomscrolling endlessly…no. we can’t do that.

usually when I’m in a slump I feel damp, it’s not just about laziness. this could also be the result of exhaustion or a number of factors. dampness is an evil condition in chinese medicine where you feel heavy, tired, and dead. scrolling will only make this worse because you’re prolonging the pain. the first thing you should do is get up, stretch, breathe, and maybe crack a window. the airflow will make a big difference, I promise. 🌿

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CLEAN UP GUIDE. 🌸 ⊹₊⟡⋆

when my room is a mess my state of mind is a mess. I can’t do anything, I’m literally loosing my marbles bc all I can see is a messy space. if your brain is in shambles rn, the smallest amount of organization you can do right now is tidy up your room a little bit.

this doesn’t even have to be a big clean, but small steps make a big impact!… remember your space is sacred. 🧘🏾‍♀️

make the bed. doesn’t have to be fancy, just make sure everything is where it needs to be.

wipe down surfaces like desks, mirrors, and vanities. you can even include a scented spray whilst doing this to make your space smell much cleaner and nicer!! I literally cannot function when my room smells like asscheeks.

remove any old cups, or food waste that you were procrastinating from doing so. don’t want to attract any bugs.

Sweep the floor. You probably don’t notice how many crumbs are on the ground, but please just do it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ RECHARGE YOUR “STATS”. 🛁 ⊹₊⟡⋆

honestly the best way to get out of a slump is self care. neglecting your needs and body can often lead to things going downhill, depressive episodes, etc. We all forget to take care of ourselves properly sometimes, but it’s important to pay attention to our needs and personal wellness.

Ask yourself.

“Did I shower today?” ➜ Take yourself a nice, warm shower and stay in as long as you want.

Take some time to reflect on your day or anything that’s been on your mind. And be sure to wash up well, so you can feel really nice after and tap into your feminine energy. You can even add bath salts, milk, or bubble bath. It will literally make you feel like a princess. . . 👑

“Did I eat/drink today?” ➜ Go eat something.

I prefer light meals or snacks that are cold like fruit, water, or a juice when I’m feeling dead but you can also eat whatever you want. Just think about what will make you feel good and reduce the dampness as much as possible, and will prevent brain fog. Heavier meals aren’t the best for that though.

I bet you feel better already after doing these things! Remember that taking care of yourself is the most important and you are a priority.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ REFLECTING AND MAKING A GAME PLAN 🧁 ⊹₊⟡⋆

Lastly after you feel a little bit better now and you took care of yourself, I would really suggest reflecting either through journaling or shadow work questions. They’re the easiest way to just brain dump all of the crap you’ve been thinking about lately and get it out of your system in a healthy and helpful way.

You can write about things like “how have I been feeling lately?” “What’s one way I can improve in xyz” and so on. This is a mundane activity you can do at the end to organize your thoughts. Mental health is a huge thing after your physical health, as it literally not only affects your world but the world around us. Especially if you are trying to achieve your dream life/dream self, manifest anything, etc. you will need to take care of your mental health to not be consumed by your emotions and keep your mind in check.

Also something that is crucial is practicing gratitude and mentally grounding yourself. You can list things your grateful for, mediate, or exercise. Anything to get yourself into that mindset you need going forward. I personally love to listen to the wizard liz’s podcast in times like these, it’s a great motivation for me.

Remember that slumps, dampness, depressive episodes, all of it, is normal. We are just humans at the end of the day. Be a little nicer to yourself today and take some small active steps towards your goals. ✨🫶🏽

✧ thanks for reading beautiful !! ; so basically I’m thinking of maybe making a community here on tumblr for the girl bloggers that share dream girl content and stuff like that? idk let me know what u think. inbox is always open, stay hydrated and cute, buh bye 👋🏾

[pandaspansawareness]

Disabled Rage

We talk a lot about female rage which is great (rage that stems from a lifetime of being faced with misogyny), but we should also be talking about disabled rage (rage that stems from a lifetime of ableism, being misunderstood, and unable to get the appropriate care.)... For years I have struggled with a constant internal sense of anger that has destroyed my mental health and has caused issues with adrenaline surges and a fear of seeking healthcare. Here are some examples:

Tourette's specialists refusing to believe those of us with Tourettes when we say suppression harms us, and trying to silence people with the condition as they believe that they know more about TS than the people who actually have it.

POTS specialists acting like forcing yourself to walk more and exercise will cure you when POTS often co-occurs with ME/CFS and similar issues that cause post-exertional malaise meaning that being pressured to walk more and exercise can use what little cellular energy you have left to the point where your body cannot regulate the autonomic nervous system at all and it all just gets worse. Since using a wheelchair and exercising less my POTS has been less horrific to deal with but so many "POTS coaches" and doctors refuse to listen.

The "OCD cycle" making me feel like a failure for being unable to stop my rituals because I literally thought that my thoughts could cause the end of the world and that the aliens in the afterlife would be angry at me. I felt so guilty for not being able to stop this "OCD cycle" that I purposefully didn't get treatment for an ankle infection that had grown almost 10 times its size and had gone all purple because it made me believe I deserved the pain.

The medical system denying the existence of Chronic Lyme despite over 700 peer-reviewed scientific articles and studies showing Lyme and co-infections can persist despite antibiotics and therefore be chronic. If you believe in antibiotic resistance and post-infectious inflammation there is zero reason not to believe in chronic Lyme. Due to this denial, we are forced to spend thousands on private healthcare as even the NHS won't treat us. I would be de@d without long-term antimicrobials.

Autism "specialists" who know hardly anything about Autism and refuse to listen to Autistic people.

Natural and alternative interventions being seen as "quackery" even when they are evidence based when they are essential for those of us who react badly to medications or can't afford medications. I wouldn't be alive without some alternative interventions, and yes they are evidence based with scientific studies backing up their usage.

Hospitals being inaccessible with no room for wheelchairs in the waiting room, extremely high reception desks where they can't see a wheelchair user over them, toilets with the red call string tied up where disabled people ironically can't reach it...

Constant medical gaslighting, having doctors dismiss and belittle serious issues and deny referrals to the point you either have to spend thousands of pounds on private healthcare to save yourself or self-diagnose to save yourself as you have no other option and have people ridicule you and say "sElF DIAgnoSis IsN't VaLID" as if it's a choice - it is traumatic to have no option but to diagnose yourself because the medical system is in shambles and won't help you. Diagnosing myself in the past when doctors wouldn't listen not only reduced some of the trauma caused by doctors, and saved my life. It is a privilege to be able to get a formal diagnosis.

Not being able to exist online as a disabled person without being fake-claimed or harassed by strangers...

This is just the tip of the iceberg. I don't know if myself or others like me will ever find peace.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Two completely random things I might regret dropping here later. But I think I need to get it out of my system and maybe it'll help me stop being a whiny insufferable grouch I've become the last days partially because of today's episode coming out.

TW for self-hatred (mine) and suicidal thoughts (not mine, don't call psych ward on me, please; and it's not in the post itself, only in the song it mentions later on).

One.

Waiting for Ghostfuckers fucked me up completely. Like not in a fun way. In a 'I've considered dropping this show despite how much I love it' way. Because it touches on a topic so deep and personal to me I am not sure I want to be inadvertendly called out like that. So I stopped checking tumblr, I avoided any HB mentions, I couldn't write two lines in the fic without being triggered (so if I ignored your tags or messages or replies—sorry!). Don't know since when I've become so sensitive. I actually took pride in being quite callous to everything. But apparently here I am.

It's not like the show is the sole reason my mental health went down the drain in the past weeks. Of course not. It's just that was the last fucking drop which sent me spiraling.

If anything, I dare to say it actually helped me understand myself better in many ways and learn to try to accept some fuck-ups I've done with my life, that it might be just fine to be fucked up a little.

Reason for all this rambling? None. Guess I just relate to Blitzø hard in this way and I am afraid to see even uglier side of myself. And maybe if you feel the same way about the silly demon show, I don't blame you, I am with you. But fuck it, I embrace it. Fucking hit me with that episode and leave me in shambles. I'm not ready, but hey, I am the AT and the FUCKING PENGUIN SHORT survivor, it can't be worse than that, right?

RIGHT?

(Watch me fucking crawl in the corner and wail in like? 8 hours from now on?)

Two.

I have that song on repeat, and its chorus is what I think characterizes all Blitzø's actions. Not the song itself though. This is the case where I take the chorus out of context deliberately, because the rest of it, well . . . this is TW-worthy. Suicidal thoughts TW-worthy. Consider it your warning.

So I'm just focusing on this part.

My personal hell, I'll bury it, bury it Weight of the world, I'll carry it, carry it Pile it all on, I've gotta be strong For somebody, for somebody Put my pain in a pill, I'll swallow it, swallow it Too numb to feel, I'm hollow, I'm hollow I have to hold on, I've gotta be strong For somebody, for somebody Somebody else

It's so Blitzø, isn't it?

Burying his trauma so that he can get through another day. Not realizing it keeps chipping away from his life however he tries ignoring it.

Swallowing his immense guilt and act brash. Put his pride on display, not realizing it's not the opposite of shame, but its source (I thank ATLA for this great quote).

Taking responsibility for literally everything happening around him. No matter if he could help it or not.

He's gotta be strong, he has to hold on and pile it all on. For somebody. Somebody else, who matters more than he does.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I take some of our dogs to the pound, or make my mom buy them shock collars?

CW: Animal Abuse Mention, Suicide Mention

I (nb24) live in a house with my mom, dad, little brother and 4 yappy dogs. Living in this house takes a severe toll on my mental health, but I'm generally left to my own devices and it's a stable environment. I do not have the finances to move out, the economy is in shambles.

My mom had accumulated two small and very loud dogs over the years. This already was a strain. Neither of these dogs are trained. They are never taken outside, only use the pad about half of the time, and one actively attacks and bites visitors. (They are so small that this doesn't cause severe injury.) I am autistic and am easily overstimulated by loud noises. So was my format partner, and the dogs were one of the contributing factors as to why they moved out (though not the primary one.)

Things only got worse after that. About a year ago, my mom brought home two more dogs without anyone's consent. She had apparently discussed the prospect of bringing home one to my dad exclusively, but not two. She said that they were the last two at the breeder and she didn't want to separate them.

One of these dogs turned out to be very anxious and barks nearly constantly. I tried voicing my concerns, telling my mom that the dog would be a problem and she should give it away. She insisted that it would settle in, and if it didn't, she'd consider my words. The dog has only gotten worse, and she moved the goal posts, refusing to get rid of the dog because it's bonded now.

This has had debilitating consequences. There have been weeks where I would be having a full meltdown every day. My headaches have gotten worse and are definitely affecting my work. Everyone else in the family hates this dog, and my dad has often threatened to abuse or kill it. My mom has been offering unethical solutions like debarking, which I've refused, but still will not give any of the dogs away.

At this point, I've reached my limit. I cannot continue to live like this. The noise has been frequently driving me to thoughts of SH or suicide.

From what I see, I have three options.

1. I can either underhandedly steal the two most problematic dogs (the new one and the one that bites people) and take them to the pound, where they will... hopefully... be adopted eventually. My mom is going through a lot of severe unrelated stress rn, so I'm afraid of the wrath I might receive and the repercussions this will have on her mental health.

2. I finally cave to the immoral options. The one that seems the least bad would be remote-controlled shock collars. I've already tried the humane ones that vibrate and they do not work.

... or 3. I don't do anything to the detriment of my mental health. This is their home and their pets. Maybe I can find a place to stay during the day so I'm not trapped here.

So... WIBTA if I carry out option 1 or 2? If anyone has any advice I'd love to hear it. Please help.

What are these acronyms?

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 4: Breathe

Author's Note: I'm off of hiatus! 🎉 I'm already 3k words deep into chapter 5, so that should be coming out soon. Here's to writing more in 2024 (if anyone still cares about this fic lol) 😁

Word count: 6.2k

Content warning: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+ only, fluff, mentions of mental health

Chapter 1 to start from the beginning. Next chapter

It in fact did not hold. Even worse, it happened within a couple of days. The cherry on top? Andra was unaware as she sat curled up with the book Ghost had pulled off her bookshelf. She was revisiting the story, with a flush that crept up on her face, radiating the apples of her cheeks. The chances of her losing all ability to sit there without so much of a hue of red on her face would be dead in the water. And imagining Ghost’s voice narrating the male’s dialogue? No shot she would be alive after hearing him whisper that shit in her ear. 

Sammy’s frantic bark snatched her out of the shameful fantasy, warning her that something was awry outside. Andra plopped her book down without a second thought, slipping a finger through the window blinds to find her chickens free-roaming outside the pen. “Shit.” She grabbed the cream-colored cardigan from the back of the couch and threw it on and slipped her feet in some easy access shoes, darting outside to go scoop up each chicken. One by one, she stuffed them back into the cozy chicken coop where they would be on lockdown, muttering profanities and curses under her breath. 

All of them went willingly and without so much of a fight. Except for the broody hen, Helen. “Cut it out!” Andra hisses as she winced at the peck of her angry little beak. Her feathers stopped flapping frantically as she was shoved into the coop, and Andra swore she received a side eye from the poultry. She did a head count, not seeing any other chickens in the vicinity. There was a rooster missing. “Dammit, Ted…” Andra jogged around the perimeter of her house, followed up with the barn, the enclosure a couple of more times, and lastly the patches of crops, weaving in and out of the stalks of summer produce, on the hunt for that damn rooster. The tracks of chicken prints were too sporadic, too many chickens have toddled around for her to notice any wandering prints veering off in a different direction. Or maybe she just sucked at following tracks. 

At this point she checked every area nearby seven times over. Her throat tightened, eyes burning as she was on the verge of tears. Andra thought of every scenario, the worst including a wild animal finding the rooster and making a meal of him. She cared deeply for her animals. It pained her to think about finding a mangled, poultry corpse in its wake. 

Andra wiped her teary eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan and shambled back inside. Her phone sat next to the book she abandoned, and she went to pick it up to make a phone call. The line rang once, twice, thrice. It forwarded to voicemail. 

“Ghost, it’s me.” Her voice quivered. She cleared her throat to gain composure. “I’m alright, but my chickens got loose and one is missing. Thought I’d give you a heads up if you find one wandering the road or jumped your fence… okay, sorry to bother you.” Andra hung up after leaving the message, and let out a leaden sigh as she sunk into her couch. Sammy senses her distress and provided comfort with a nudge of her nose against her elbow, her big brown eyes looking up to Andra. 

He called it, too. She replayed Ghost telling her, if the chickens get smart, they’ll breach it. Her chickens have half of a brain cell, collectively shared amongst each other. She never expected it to actually happen. She nearly raised those chickens after they hatched, when they were able to be separated from the flock of the breeder she bought from. They were the first farm animals she had ever owned, spending so much time researching before and after owning them, learning their personalities and behaviors. Andra wanted to continue her search, through the backwoods of her property or across the street in the overbrush of weeds and trees, but it felt like it would be too unsafe to go out there without some form of self-defense. So, she curled up into herself on the couch, hands concealing her face and catching the tears falling from her burning eyes.

----- 

Ghost was hit with a wave of uncomfortable heat as he walked out of the psychiatrist’s office. Something else to aggravate the growing headache he seemed to get after the waste of the one-hour session he spent with Dr. Smith. He believed that Ghost made some sort of progress this time around. Why did he have to go and open his mouth about things?  

”Simon, good to see you return.” Dr. Smith always greeted Ghost with the same salutation at every appointment, whether it was genuine or not, Ghost didn’t care. He was probably just relieved that he returned instead of eating one of his own bullets. “What’s new?”  

Ghost’s scowl remained on the clock relentlessly ticking in the back of the room until he decided to direct his attention to his doctor. “Not sleeping well.”  

“Is it worse than the last time we discussed?” He asked with a professional tone. 

Ghost gave a stern nod. “Getting less hours.” He knew the next question that was going to be asked. “Even with the meds, I have been compliant.” 

Doc took a moment to scribble his notes. “What’s changed?” He looked up to meet Ghost’s face sincerely.  

“Took on another project at the shop. Waiting on the parts to come in, but I have been inspecting the rest of the truck to see what else I can patch up to make sure it doesn’t come back too soon.”  

The conversation veered to details about the truck, Ghost’s shoulders relaxed the more he droned on about the project. It was sometimes a relief to discuss work with other people than Soap and the guys at the shop. He was reluctant to admit that he found a kernel of camaraderie with Dr. Smith upon discovering he was a veteran as well. Ghost cared enough to learn about what he did with his time; a mechanical engineer that served and ducked out once his years were up. It sounded like he mildly enjoyed what he did, retiring so he could pursue a different career and took advantage of the education benefits. Smart man. Possibly something Ghost should have done but was too arrogant and young when he had first enlisted back in 2001. 

Dr. Smith pushed his bifocals up the bridge of his nose with a finger. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so invested in a project before.” 

Shit. Ghost fell for the tactic. He let out an exhale as he leaned back in the cushy chair, turning away. “It’s for my neighbor.” 

The sounds of pen scratching against paper filled the silence. “Never heard you talk about your neighbor, or anyone else besides your old mates for that matter.” 

“Her truck breaking down is the reason why we met.” Ghost explained with a tension in his jaw.  

“Is she part of the reason for your loss of sleep?” 

Ghost muttered under his breath, “Christ.” He sat up in his chair and rolled his neck. “This is starting to feel more like a chat I would have with Johnny over drinks rather than a psych appointment.” 

Dr. Smith laid his pen flat on his yellow notepad. “It might not be ground breaking work we are doing here, but you managed to tell me more than you have in the past three sessions we have had.” He got up and walked behind his desk, retrieving a prescription pad from a drawer, and started writing. “If you want, I can up the dose or we can keep it the same and I’ll send you on your way with a refill.” 

There was a relief that came over Ghost. “Let’s keep it the same.” He didn’t want to talk about Andra anymore, and thankfully it was obvious to Dr. Smith. 

“Here we are.” Dr. Smith handed Ghost the white slip of paper with awful chicken scratch. “Keep looking for that humanity, Simon. It’s in there.” 

The truck took an uncomfortable amount of time to cool down. His shirt stuck to his body, increasing his irritation. Might as well start driving to the shop, it’s not gonna get any better. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and felt a haptic vibration in his hand. 

One missed call. 

From Andra. 

Ghost, it’s me. The adrenaline dump flooded his veins. She sounded upset and in distress. He’s never heard her on the verge of tears before, it was like a claw punched a hole in his chest and used his heart as a stress relief toy. Whoever, whatever made her this upset was high on his priority list to handle.  

He had to replay the message another time, realizing the rest was muffled out and ignored after the first three words. I’m alright, but my chickens got loose and one of them is missing. “Christ, woman...” Ghost let out a breath that he was holding in. What a way to start a voicemail, making him think the worst that could have possibly happened. She must have noticed it too because her next words sounded more level-headed.  

He killed the line with the voicemail inbox and dialed the auto shop. “Rus, I gotta call out for the day. I’ll make up my hours, oh and let Mr. Caldwell know his vehicle will be ready tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be there for his pickup.”  

There was no fuss about Ghost calling in on short notice. He was the one person in the shop that the supervisor didn’t have to worry about. Much to his chagrin, he couldn’t say the same about Soap sometimes.  

Ghost shut the door a little harder than he meant to, his head fell back against the headrest as he took a deep breath. Was it happening again? He reached into the glove box, retrieving his pills. His hand tightly gripped around the small orange vial as he worked on controlling his breath. Inhale for five, exhale for five. Ghost hated that stupid technique, it felt ridiculous. But it worked. The panic was subsiding, and the pill bottle fell from his hand onto the floorboard of the truck beside his foot.  

Ghost picked it back up and tossed it into the neat compartment, leaving the parking lot of the office to make his way over to her. 

He pulled up to the sight of Andra kneeling before the broken part of the fence line, putting some kind of temporary fix for the day. Her head perked up as she noticed him coming closer, parking in the dirt driveway. Andra got up on her feet and wiped loose grass and dirt off of her jeans, her eyes red and puffy. He killed the engine and stepped out of the truck. 

“What are you doing here?” Andra sniffled, trying and failing to hide the fact that she’s been crying. 

“Got your message.” He answered. 

Her lip quivered as tears welled up in her irritated eyes again, and she turned her head away to look at the pen. “Ghost, you didn’t have to show up.” She covered her face in her hands, taking in a deep breath. “I just wanted you to let me know if you find him, this didn’t have to turn into a search party.” 

“Where do the tracks end?” 

Andra looked at him again after wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “This way, maybe I’m not sure.” 

He wanted to rag on her about her lack of confidence in tracking prints, but didn’t when he remembered who he was talking to. There was nothing worse in this moment than seeing her so worked up and upset over this damn chicken. He was going to find it for her, it couldn’t have gone far. 

She led him to an area and pointed to the pockmarked ground full of three-toed prints. “This is where they mainly stayed, and, the tracks are just all over the place and don’t really lead anywhere…” 

“There,” Ghost pointed out a trail of individual tracks that led astray. Of course, it wandered off into the thick wooded area of her land. He headed back to the truck to retrieve his pistol, tucking it into the backside waistband of his jeans. Andra wasn’t fazed at the sight of his gun, probably reminded her of being back home. “Stay here, I don’t want you getting hurt out there.” 

“I’m going.” She protested with a broken voice as she followed behind him. 

“I don’t want you getting hurt out there.” Ghost stopped to turn back to her. “And we don’t know if there are any wild animals out there.” 

“You’re gonna want me out there, trust me.” Her voice was firmer this time; she wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

Ghost sighed as he observed her small, trembling frame. She really needed to put something on other than loafers.  “Go put on some sensible shoes, and we’ll look together.” 

Andra was quiet, all except for the crunching leaves beneath her boots. Ghost took the rear, letting her take lead at a short distance. If she was going to trip, fall or hurt herself he would be able to prevent it from turning into a disaster this way. Her shoulders slumped, but her head swiveled as she combed her surroundings. 

“You ever explore these woods?” Ghost breaks the thick silence, and attempt to pull her from her somber. 

She glanced over her shoulder in dismay. “No, I’ve never had the courage to come out here alone. I hear howling late in the night sometimes.” She resumed her diligent search, and Ghost doubled down on what he thought she looked over too quick. 

The tracks were growing thinner, but they still led them into the path of ancient trees. Sunrays bled through the leaves and branches of birch and ash trees, cascading ribbons of light down on Andra. Her hair shimmered with bits of blonde strands within her brunette hair, something Ghost never noticed before. Every rustle made her stop, startled by unknown wildlife. Most times it was the scuttles of lizards across stepping stones and miniature boulders. When it wasn’t this damn chicken, her shoulders would fall with a sigh. 

“We’ll hear it before we see it.” Ghost reassured her. 

“He’s probably dead by now…” 

It pained him to see Andra sulk over her lost animal. Ghost stopped beside where she planted herself, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She looked down to his touch, then up to his masked face in surprise. “Let’s keep looking.” His hand retreated before she could place her own hand over his, then another rustle in a wild bush a few meters ahead alerted him. 

The damn bird came clucking out from behind it. 

“Ted!” Andra exclaimed as she raced to him, collecting the brainless animal into her arms and embraced him. “You stupid fucking bird, making us come out here to get you.” 

“You named the bloody thing Ted?” Ghost deadpanned. 

She plucked bits of leaves and twigs out of Ted’s feathers. “I never said I was good with coming up with names for animals.” 

Ghost chuckled at the sight of the brightness returning to her face. She met his eyes, kindness and gratitude radiating before she could even tell him with words. “Thank you, Ghost. You’re always coming to my rescue.” 

His heart jolted at her words. “Don’t make a habit of it.” Andra’s giggle made him turn away to hide his sheepish reaction. Andra passed him up, focused on grooming Ted and insulting him fifty different ways. Something caught his eye before he started to follow her. 

Footprints. 

Not their footprints, these were in an area off the beaten path. Ghost retrieved his firearm before stalking towards them, inspecting the prints. They were older, it wasn’t from recently and there were more than one set. Three sets of footprints. He turned his attention to the direction Andra was walking away, unaware that he stopped to investigate. 

It couldn’t be some random people or even kids coming out to wander these woods, at least that’s what Ghost convinced himself. They were too far out away from town, away from other neighboring people. Who knows, maybe the group was traveling their own acres and turned back around once they realized they came into someone else’s property. He really wanted to believe that, and not the darker theory that crept into his thoughts. Or did she lie about coming out here? Why would she do that? She could have easily explained she had gone exploring with a group. 

All of the prints looked too big for her foot size.  

Ghost didn’t want to alarm Andra. He just got her to smile again, this conversation will come up later.

----- 

Ghost was relieved to see Andra’s spirits lifting without another tear in sight. That stupid bird put her through enough turmoil, he’d rather never have to see her like that again. She was going over the details of how the broken pen and runaway chickens were discovered. “They would have all been gone if Sammy hadn’t barked at the window.”  

“What had you so distracted?” Ghost poked with mild curiosity.  

Her answer left out of her rushed before she could stop herself. “I was reading – and in between I was prepping some dough to make sourdough bread.” She interrupted herself once more, lost in her own thoughts. “Oh no, did I leave it on the counter or did I put it in the oven to rise? It’ll be fine if it rises for a few more hours, right?”  

It sounded like she was talking to herself more than asking Ghost, which was fine because he didn’t know the first thing about baking bread. He chuckled to himself. “Horror or romance?”  

“Huh?” Her external ramble was interrupted.  

“Were you reading horror or romance this time?” Ghost glanced at her briefly, his smirk concealed beneath the mask.  

Andra went sheepish once more. “Romance,” then, her tone shifted as she grumbled, “It was getting good until you gave my pen Ojo.”  

Ghost whipped his head to her direction quickly with a perplexed expression. “I did what now?” What does an eye have to do with anything?  

“You gave it the Evil Eye,” she looked back to him. “That’s why it broke.”  

His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change, feeling even more confused now. Ghost let out a lighthearted scoff. “It’s my fault that it broke now?”  

Andra huffed a defeated sigh. “No, I’m just being ridiculous.”  

If that’s what it was, Ghost found it amusing. “So now you’re gonna ‘ave to explain the Evil Eye to me.”  

“We have this superstition in Mexican/Hispanic culture where if you look at something for too long, you can potentially send bad energy its way. It can be an object or a person, and to cancel it out you can touch it or them.”  

“That’s not a thing.” Ghost retorted, holding back laughter. “I never heard about that when I was in Mexico.”  

A playful smirk crept over Andra’s face. “Maybe because they believed you were the Evil Eye incarnate.”  

Ghost let out a sarcastic laugh. “Very clever.” The truck rolled into the parking lot of the hardware store, locating a convenient parking spot nearest to the store. Ghost cut the engine, and sat there for a second. “Well, if that’s the case,” Andra gave him a puzzled look as he reached out to run a strand of her soft hair between his fingers. “That way your hair doesn’t fall out.”  

The gesture was well worth the furious blush that spread over her face like wildfire, despite his own heart jackhammering in his chest.

-----  

Ghost was reassessing the hole in the pen while Andra let out Sammy to run around and handle her business. He gives her a quick greeting pet before standing on his feet, gesturing to the pen. “We can either replace this side or replace the entire perimeter.” 

“Might as well use all of the supplies I bought.” Andra pulled her work gloves out from her back pocket and slipped them on. “We work on different sides?” 

He nodded with a grunt. Watching Ghost haul the supplies off the bed of his truck was something Andra couldn’t pull her focus away from. What is wrong with me? She was acting like the sight of muscle and sinew flexing and tightening beneath his work shirt was… erotic. And Gods, every time he grunted and growled from the weight of whatever he hauled off his truck… that’s it, no more romance books for you for a week. He slid on his own gloves, this pair had her biting back a smirk. They matched his skull balaclava, and it made her wonder if he shuffled around in skeleton-patterned socks in the comfort of his house. 

She looked away with a smirk when Ghost noticed she was gawking. “I know, I know, don’t say anything.” 

“I didn’t.” Andra’s voice went up in pitch. Her smile grew when she caught a glimpse of him shaking his head in her peripherals. 

Ghost was fun to tease, and his choice of gear made it easier to find something to poke fun at. Was it low hanging fruit? Sure, but it’s all she had to tease him for. The joking around was her way of trying to learn more about people, and if they could laugh or joke back, they were worth getting to know. It was the ones who stuck their noses up at Andra that she steers clear from. 

The work began, and Ghost had Andra looking like she had never picked up a hardware tool in her life. While she had one length of old fencing nails removed, Ghost was nearly done with the sides of his wall. The man knew how to work efficiently, it didn’t even look like he was breaking a sweat. 

“Did your dad teach you how to do blue collar work?” Andra asked as she struggled with a nail. 

His rhythm and focus was derailed by her question. “No, old man wasn’t worth shit.” 

Oh… the gravel in his voice sent a chill down her spine. Estranged father, got it. 

Ghost resumed, cutting out the needed dimensions of chicken wire. Andra could see him blink a few times, that calloused glare lingering. “I did some work in basic and before I was sent off to my specialized unit, not making chicken pens, but we learned out way around manual tools for several things.” He went quiet once more to concentrate on the measurements. 

Andra threw aside the old chicken wire once she pulled out all of the nails. “Do you have any siblings?” 

He hesitated before answering. “An older brother.” 

“Oh.” She started unfurling her needed piece of wire. “Do you stay in contact with him?” 

“No.” His answer came out short and quick, nearly cutting Andra off. 

What am I doing? Andra frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something you don’t want to talk about.” 

Ghost sighed as he used the staple gun to nail in the new wire. “No one ever asks, so I’m not used to talking about it. Considering you’re quite chatty, it was bound to come up.” Her cheeks burned from his comment. “Maybe someday.” 

That hardened look softened to humor, and relief washed over her. Don’t bring up the family. She felt stupid for mentioning it. Maybe she would never learn more about the mysterious man who, for some reason, kept helping her out when she’s been nothing but trouble. He was right about one thing; Andra is chatty. And she didn’t want to give up talking to him. She decided to switch gears. 

“Hey Ghost.” Andra grinned to herself. 

“Hmm.” 

“Don’t challenge Death to a pillow fight. Unless you’re prepared for the reaper cushions.” 

Ghost froze in place, his eyes flickered to her. “Not bad.” 

“Your turn.” She encouraged. 

He took a second to think of one. “What do you call a dog with no legs? Doesn’t matter, he won’t come anyway.” 

Andra peered over her shoulders. “Don’t let Sammy hear that one.” Ghost chuffed a laugh. “My favorite Disney movie is the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I love a hero with a twisted back story.” 

That one managed to get a snicker out of Ghost. This dork likes puns. 

“What did Kermit the Frog say at his puppeteer’s funeral? Not a word.” 

He’s morbid, and it’s great. 

“Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.” 

There was a beat of a pause. “That was bad.” 

“C’mon, it was good.” She laughed. 

“I have bad puns, but that one was awful.” 

The lacerating pain hit her hot and fast. “Fuck!” The whipping sound of the wire sprung against the wall, make it stop in its tracks.

Ghost immediately shot up onto his feet, flying over the short distance she was away from him along with Sammy galloping over in concern for her momma.  He saw the blood saturating her jeans as well as the gash that was oozing beneath the torn denim. “Let’s get you inside.” Ghost had linked his arms underneath her shoulders and hoisted her with ease, earning a growl of pain from her. “I got you, we’ll take it slow. Do you have a first floor bathroom?”

Andra threw an arm over his shoulder as he guided her to the house, giving him directions for the bathroom he led her to. Sammy stayed behind them the entire time, whining and panting as if feeling helpless. Andra coaxed her companion with reassuring words in hopes to calm her down. She was hissing and groaning the entire way there, and her attempts of trying to focus on anything else but the pain failed her, until a smell hit her. Was that cardamom? It filled her lungs as she took a deep breath, trying to disguise it as a inhale to calm her down. Technically, it did the job because wholly Gods, he smelled like a comfort she never had.

He swung open the front door, carrying most of her weight. Hell, he could easily carry all of her weight if he really wanted to. “Is there a first aid kit in here?” Ghost asked while he eased her down on the lip of the bathtub. Sammy laid by the bathroom door, watching Ghost closely to make sure he's taking care of Andra.

“Yeah, below the sink,” she whined. He didn’t waste any time finding it. “God, today really stuck it to me.”

“Bad things come in three, isn’t that the saying?” Ghost quipped, earning a snort from her. “If the broken pen is the first and Ted was the second, this one must be the third.” He slid off his gloves and ran his hands through soap and water in the basin. “Can you pull up that pant leg?”

Andra tried, but it had her wincing from the flashes of pain. “Nope, that’s not gonna work.” Ghost returned, his fingers tugged at the zipper of the first aid kid before kneeling in front of her. “There’s a pair of scissors in that bag, I don’t care about losing a pair of jeans-” His damp hands settled her leg between his thighs to stabilize it, and with hardly any effort at all he tore the denim wide open. Christ alive. “Or you can do that.”

“Let’s get this cleaned up and wrapped.” Ghost abandoned her leg to swiftly rummage for the necessary supplies. Antiseptic, gauze, and self-adhesive bandage. With everything lined up beside him, Ghost gripped the back of her leg, right onto her tensed up calf and gently moved it. She could feel the tremor in his hand. “It’s not deep, you won’t need stitches.”

Andra sighs in relief, followed by a yelp when an antiseptic-doused washcloth was applied onto the wound. His sorry was quiet and short, if she heard it. A deep focus washed over her from the sight of Ghost knelt before her, caressing her leg while the other hand cleaned her off. The pain suddenly didn’t feel as bad as before, now when his touch became her entire focus. His thumb was tracing little circles into her flesh, just barely.

He must have noticed how still and quiet Andra went. His Autumn brown eyes looked up to her, devoid of distance. His stare had its own gravitational pull, sucking her in. Christ, am I really getting this worked up? It made her feel like she knocked back two fingers worth of whiskey, her legs turning to jelly and her brain now fuzzy.

“Is that okay?”

A breath caught itself in her throat. She’s never heard him whisper like that before. A head nod was all she could manage. Ghost returned back to her wound, and she’s so thankful for it. Suddenly, the ceiling got much more interesting to look at. But that scent floated near her nostrils once more; that was definitely cardamom and something else she couldn’t place. Something soothing, something that made his musk smell… delectable. Her cheeks were red hot from the thought, the need, to press her face into his shirt, the neckline of his balaclava, anything, to sear that scent into her mind.

The cloth of the gauze patch stuck to the fleshy bit of her knee, and she’s startled by the rip of the self-adhesive bandage.

“Done.”

Andra braves a glance at her knee, flexing it slightly to test the hold of Ghost’s handiwork. Of course, he would know how to patch her up in a pinch, and she tries not to think about how many of his brothers in arms he had to do this – and much worse – for.

Further down, sitting on the tops of his thigh was a trembling hand, the other one continued its soft ministrations on her calf. It’s like it was for his own comfort rather than hers. Regardless, she could melt from the soothing sensation it brought her. She was scared of doing something that would make him pull away, but as if he read her mind, Ghost did it anyway.

“Thank you.” Andra warbles sheepishly. “I get to keep the limb because of you.”

Ghost let out a chuckle, his shoulders releasing some trapped tension there. “I’ll finish up out there.” He stood up, and offered Andra a hand to help her get to the living room couch, leaving there with a tornado wrecking every thought about what had happened.

Idiot idiot idiot.

Ghost was just helping her, Andra drilled in her head. It didn’t mean anything the way he touched her, right? Or the way he spoke, the words cutting through her like soft butter. Or the look he gave her. She’s delusional, right? Andra rubbed a hand over her face, desperately wishing she had a bottle of wine in the kitchen.

The hour she spent sitting there chewing her nails and petting Sammy felt like a death sentence. She could catch glimpses of Ghost through the screen door. Every now and then he would shake his head at himself. Her heart sank to her stomach. Maybe he was frustrated with having to help her out today. For having to possibly take time out of a work day to deal with her bullshit. And then that whole thing with bringing up his family…

Stupid stupid stupid.

Andra was so deep in her head, she didn’t realize Ghost had come back inside until the screen door smacked the doorway behind him. “Everything’s solid now.”

She braved a gentle grin. “Thank you Ghost. I meant it earlier, you’re always coming to my rescue and I don’t take that for granted.”

He gave her a terse nod as he pushed open the screen door, his hand resting on the top of the threshold. “Try not to need any more savin’ for a while, hmm?”

Andra couldn’t hold back a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

-----

The truck will be ready tomorrow. 

Tomorrow is today. Andra looked over Ghost’s text again as if there’s a hidden, underlying message in his words. She chews at the innards of her cheek, tapping a foot on her tile floors. It was one of the first messages Andra has received from him that was more than one word. He had checked in several days after he repaired the pen at least, but after giving Andra a short ‘Good’, radio silence. 

She didn’t bother asking Johnny about Ghost. If she was someone that Ghost didn’t want to keep in contact with, fair enough. She’s felt like an enormous burden for the both of them since Ghost found her on the side of the road. Besides, Sunday mornings were already busy enough with Johnny accumulating a harem of regular customers. It was great for business, replenishing the crater that the transmission fix left in her savings. She was preparing for the plummet that was going to follow when the ladies realize Johnny wasn’t returning. 

As well as preparing for the possibility that both of them might go back to being strangers. They never crossed paths before, or at least she doesn’t recall ever seeing a masked man and his mohawked companion in public. 

Andra sighed as she tucked her phone into her back pocket, reaching for her coffee mug on the kitchen counter she leaned against. Maybe she overthought the moment he spent patching up her wound. It left a pink scar slashing across her knee, trailing down her shin. No, stop the gaslighting. His hands definitely lingered on her for longer than anyone should have. She wished he had stayed longer, wished he had done more. 

“Hellooo?” Johnny’s voice carried through the entrance. Andra was used to him coming in when the front door is left open, yet she was jolted back to reality once her inner monologue was interrupted. He offered to come get her before going in for his own shift. Still extremely reluctant to accept gas money for the miles he had put into travelling back and forth. 

“In here,” Andra called out as she finished the rest of her coffee, rinsing out the mug and leaving it to sit in the basin.  

Johnny couldn’t stop talking about some girl that worked at the fish and chip shop he frequents on lunch breaks as they drove to the shop. “You think it means something if she goes outta her way t’ring us up? I mean, sometimes she’ll be in the back and will take over when she hears me.” 

Andra scoffs. “How more obvious does she have to be?” 

He clicks his tongue. “I just don’ wanna make it awkward if there’s nothin’ there.” 

“Don’t be a dick about it, then there won’t be anything to worry about.” Andra got the feeling that Johnny didn’t have the best track record with women. Hence why he was so clueless about this one. 

The two of them walked into the shop jabbing jokes at each other when Andra saw Ghost behind the counter, leaning into his fist as he looked down at an open book. He was sporting the same navy button up shirt with the shop’s logo embroidered above the left breast pocket, the sleeves rolled up to his biceps to reveal his tattoos and smudges of car grime. She could see a tension shift in his shoulders, like he was fighting the urge to look up at her. Okay…? Johnny tapped a fist on Ghost’s shoulder and continued to breeze past him, walking through a door that led to the depot. Andra approached the counter with a frigid apprehension, tapping her fingertips against the surface. “Hey, is now a good time to pick up my truck?” 

“Aye.” Ghost kept his focus on the ledger he was working on, then turned away without a glance to file through a cabinet to search for her invoice. One-worded answers again. 

She let a few seconds of suffocating silence pass before trying again. “The breeder I had bought my chickens from hit me up to let me know she’s got a goat that’s going to give birth soon. I was thinking about taking the kid off of her hands.” More flitting of paper. “I’ll have to expand and build another pen once I can bring it home.” 

“Hmm.” Was all Ghost gave her. A mere acknowledging hum if that. He retrieved a paper with a small zip-lock bag containing her key, stapled to it and returned it to the counter. “Sign this to indicate that we released your vehicle back to ye, if you want, we can inspect the truck really quick to see if everything is in order.” 

His cold attitude and lifeless voice was a punch in the gut. “Did I do something wrong?” No response, just a hand picking up a pen from a worn out metal cup followed by a slide of the pen across the counter. Her expression hardened, and she scribbled a half-assed signature before shoving the pen down. “No, an inspection isn’t necessary. Okay, so I definitely misread the whole interaction in the bathroom then. Not only did she misread it, but the whole thing was also in a different language. Now this passive-aggressive stand-off was Ghost’s way of interpreting it for her. Message received, loud and clear.

-----

If you're enjoying this story, any engagement is appreciated 🖤

[itsclydebitches]

I think RWBY is the only story I've ever seen that literally had two separate, factually true creation myths directly informing how things got the way it was in the modern day... while being completely irrelevant. Seriously, what does this DO for anybody involved? How does this loredump about the Brother Gods help?!

Ruby early Volume 9: My mental health is in shambles and that's due in large part to my belief that I'm solely responsible for stopping this immortal, all-powerful witch. Since no one is going to correct me about the erroneous belief that I'm the Chosen One, maybe we could... talk about how to defeat Salem?

Blake: No. Let's worry about that later :)

Ruby mid Volume 9: Okay so my mental health is getting even worse due to a number of factors, but one crucial piece of this puzzle remains the fact that we have no plan for once we escape the Ever After. Shouldn't we be re-evaluating our priorities? What does it matter if this, that, or the other thing occurs if Salem destroys everything the moment we get back?

Yang: Ruby, that's evil Ironwood talk. Stop it :(

Ruby end of Volume 9: You know what I've learned this Volume? None of it matters. My grief, my mistakes, the burden of sought-after leadership when you're entirely ill-equipped to manage this situation... it's all meaningless. I've been taught over and over that attempts at self-improvement are morally reprehensible distractions because true heroes accept themselves exactly as they are, growth be damned. So now that I'm facing the creator of our Gods, someone with unimaginable power, knowledge, perhaps even the ability to stop Salem herself... I'm going to ignore that! Why would we try to fix things? Why unify and ask for help? Why find a silver lining in this horrible journey? My job is to be the individual savior who wins through the power of slashing things with my scythe, a role I can once again fulfill now that I've stopped trying to improve myself. So goodbye, Blacksmith! Goodbye, Ever After! No need for your long-winded exposition dump to amount to anything. We've done exactly what we came here to do, which is leave :)

[immediatebreakfast]

This chapter feels like the point of no return between Victor and the creature, and we as readers haven't even read about the creature himself since that meeting in the storm. Only the chain of consequences made from what it seems to be a planned revenge against Victor.

So, both Justine and William's death took a toll on Victor, to the point that he has been self isolating himself again. A pattern that he started while he was a student, but this time it feels really grim because while the latter was a consequence of Victor's uncontrolled ambition over his experiments, the former is the result of all Victor's suppresed feelings since he came back. The guilt, the shame, the hate, the rage, the years, all of it it's neatly packaged in Victor's minds to repeat to himself again, and again.

At this point, Victor's mental health is in shambles. Any recovery, and progress he had made with Clerval at the university is untangled, and gone. Along with his father's really unhelpful advice, and poor Elizabeth dealing with her own mental troubles, and loss of innocence. Victor is now once again trapped in a guilt cycle of his own making, this time with no one to get him out of it.

It seems that the narrative is hinting to another mental breakdown in this trip. More placed with Victor's constant suicidal ideations plus his self imposed isolation, and this time the difference in his environment might send him to spiral worse since (and this is just my perspective here) none of the characters who went on the trip have the emotional characteristics to deal with, or help Victor.

Futhermore, Victor will stay with them because his sense of duty to his family's safety overules his own feelings over his own well-being. So Victor shall go to the trip no matter how miserable he feels.

[detransdamnation]

Did you/do you take any psychiatric medications with or without success? Do you have an opinion of psychiatry as a whole?

sending you a hug or a cup of tea if you prefer.

Yes, I was put on an antidepressant shortly after I was diagnosed with dysphoria and other mental health conditions. My doctor thought it would help me manage my dysphoria until I started my medical transition.

It was an extremely negative experience. I've been chronically suicidal ever since I was about seven years old, and still to this day, I have never felt as terrible as I did when I was on that drug. I almost hung myself in my best friend's closet not even a week after I was put on it. Then, after that storm cleared, I just kind of... withered. Regardless, I would remain on the drug for years afterwards with increasing dosages because the doctors had no idea what else to do with me. It seemed the protocol, if one didn't respond in therapy, was to drug the person up—even if said person was insistent, from the get-go, that their treatment was making them worse.

I tried advocating for myself but the amount of control I had in the situation was minimal because I was still only a teenager at the time and brain-fogged to hell. My being mentally unwell in general, I believe, also affected my credibility in the eyes of doctors. After I was finally permitted to taper off, I swore that I would never put myself through psychiatry again—if not for my own sanity, then out of refusal to be at the mercy of people who have the power to force me to continue taking pills lest I be labelled "a problem," or all the same, take them away when I need them most.

So, my opinion on psychiatry. I know there are a lot of thinkpieces discussing psychiatry being a pseudoscience, especially as of late. I neither agree nor disagree. I've not really delved into pieces relating to that specific topic, so I'm relatively clueless of the arguments and any studies or anecdotes which support them.

However, I am highly critical of it (psychiatry) at best, just as I am the current state of healthcare in general. I believe the psychiatric industry in its current state is overwhelmingly fundamentally similar to gender-affirming care insofar as masking symptoms rather than addressing conditions, as well as—often by nature—targeting vulnerable people who are all too often desperate to find a "quick fix" for their turmoil. I would feel uncomfortable purporting that psychiatric drugs should be abolished in their entirety because I understand they are truly necessary to manage mental health conditions in some individuals; however, I also believe they can be more maladaptive than empowering in the long-term and should therefore only be experimented with in urgent circumstances, or as an absolute last resort. Many mental illnesses are byproducts of our environment, whether in whole or in part, which strongly suggests that mental health treatment should involve not (exclusively) medication but removal of oneself from detrimental environments, and where not possible, life skills to help one to manage them.

All in all, I believe treatment constitutes a patient, of whom you generally eventually "let go" of once goals are accomplished and mental state has improved—but in these such worlds, psychiatry and the like, all too often, one creates a client, many of whom, even just anecdotally, never see an end to their suffrage even despite their long-term use of drugs which supposedly help them. I think I can, once again, acknowledge and support people who truly need medication to manage their mental health conditions whilst also expressing concern over the ethos of making people dependent on substances for their survival and functionability, particularly in cases wherein the mental illness(es) at hand can be demonstrably managed through self-help and lifestyle changes.

All this being said, my opinions have been shaped by very negative experiences, having grown up in a place where healthcare has been in shambles for more or less my entire life. You will receive a better, less biased opinion going to someone who has had a more well-rounded experience in psychiatry and healthcare.

Thank you for the kindness.

[ventingintothevoidfornoreason]

I swear there must be something wrong with me. Everyone around me knows how to be human and yet all I ever do is flounder and struggle with everything I ever do. I can barely talk to people, I can barely even plan out a single day to day schedule, I don't even know why I even bother to keep going. And every time I talk to someone about this, to get an idea for what's wrong with me or why all they tell me is that I need therapy and to work on myself but that's not the point. Somethings gone rotten in me from day one. Popped fresh out the oven with mold in the middle that only seems to spread deeper and deeper in and yet no one notices. They just tell me I should see someone who can carve this out and yet what if it doesn't work? Everything I touch leaves a residue on it that shows it's me and by virtue of me just being Bad I can't even be proud of anything. I can barely stomach the idea of anyone having a decent opinion of me without the dread that comes with the disappointment and pain and awful feelings that would inflict on anyone who talks to me for more than five minutes because no matter how hard I try to convince anyone I'm bad and wrong and bad no one listens. I'm missing something so deep and human and yet I don't know what it is and I don't know how I should even begin to try and imitate it. And yet I feel like the best thing I could ever do for anyone is to remove myself. Shrink even further down and disappear and vanish and then everyone can love such better lives. They can lose one more thing on a list of items that only make their lives worse. And I can't even do that right. My own mother worries and every day I don't talk to her she feels worse because I know she just feels awful and bad and irritated when she's around me for too long because I'm such a weak willed parasite in everyone's lives. Soaking up attention and time and feelings and leaving behind only the worse of the worse. Every day I leave my room and hope someone has the guts to end me. To see me walking with the general public and have a disgust reaction so strong they just shoot me and my body dissolves into a paste so foul no one even bothers to stop and worry about if it was a human they saw get hurt. The ultimate noble death left for me is to succumb to a supposed mental illness and leave. Hope that the momentary shock and worry is replaced by nonchalant feelings and a vague sense of relief. That the effect I have on people when I die and they find out I'm dead is like getting a tapeworm removed. Momentary worry for health and then being glad it's gone. Happy even. Because why bother dealing with parasites if you can just kill them instead. Save the resources. Save the time. Save the investment. No more worries about potential and leadership and training and care. No more long term game plans for something that can barely shamble itself together into a respectable shape. Everyone can breath easier when the elephant in the room is gone. Turned to dust and paste and nothing but a slight bad taste in the mouth that easily gets washed out. A faint smell of death and decay that can be hidden and gotten rid of. A cold momentarily banished back where it came from and a virus successfully wiped out. The insistent need to consider someone like me human is something that only hurts both parties. It hurts me when you lash out due to me not meeting expectations impossible to achieve and it hurts you when I dig my teeth and claws and skin in only to turn those I want to be close with into sludge. I'm too much of a coward to pull my own trigger even and that's what makes it worse. Too dependant on the illusion of person hood to finally realize the reality of the situation. That sometimes there are people who are anything but human and not in the fun way. Not human in the sense that I am an unwilling monster who keeps doing things against it's better judgement. Acting only on instinct with no way of caring or changing it's actions to help others. Only drag them down with it

[brokendarkfairyempressforever]

Tests scores and grades define me and I want to cry

Do you know how messed up this is

I had a teacher who didn't prepare us well

I didn't know how to study for it

So much home life crap

So much mental health illnesses that I can't get help

One god awful morning of AP bio test day

And I didn't get a good score on it

I had to deal with so much life stuff that no one else in a million years would ever live through and I had so much trouble staying alive let alone passing my classes

B+ at the end of the year it's fine

But it means nothing

Cause it doesn't count

I have to take the test again or take the course in college

Well guess what?

I was so fucking excited for AP bio I love bio I couldn't wait to learn

And I thought I was gonna have a therapist I thought I'm finally gonna get help it's gonna be okay, hard, but okay

BUT GUESS WHAT

I'M NOT PRIORITY

WHO FUCKING CARES THAT MY MENTAL HEALTH IS IN SHAMBLES

IM DYING EVERYDAY

YET NO ONE GETS IT

LIVE IN MY HEAD ONE DAY AND YOU WOULDN'T SURVIVE

YET I CAN'T SHOW MY TRUE WORTH SO EVERYONE THINKS I'M DUMB WHO WHO CAN'T DO ANY OF THE WORK EVEN THOUGH I'M TRYING BUT I CAN'T I CAN DO IT BUT SOMETHING IS HOLDING ME BACK AND THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO UNDERSTOOD WAS MY LATIN AND HISTORY TEACHER WHO HELPED ME AND GAVE ME ENCOURAGEMENT AND I WAS ABLE TO SHOW MY TRUE WORTH. MY CHEM TEACHER HELPED ME IN OTHER WAYS THAT I'M STILL GOOD ENOUGH HE HELPED ME LEARN THE MEANING OF FUN, HE HELPED ME BE A KID AGAIN. AND I WISHED I JUST ASKED HIM FOR HELP INSTEAD OF BEING SCARED OF EVERYTHING

IF I WAS FUCKING NORMAL I COULD OF GOTTEN GRADES I DESERVED. THAT I'M GOOD ENOUGH

WHY CAN'T I JUST SHOVE IT AWAY LIKE I USE TO. NOTHING HAPPENED TO ME I'M FINE NOTHING HAPPENED SO I SHOULD BE NORMAL I CAN DEAL WITH THAT CRAP WHEN I'M 40

NOTHING HAPPENED TO ME ANYWAY THEY HAD IT WORSE

WHY AM SO SAD, SCARED, ANGRY, ANXIOUS, EXHAUSTED, BURNED OUT NUMB, NOT KNOWING HOW TO INTERACT WITH ANYONE, NOT KNOWING HOW TO CONTROL MY THOUGHTS, NOT KNOWING HOW TO CONTROL MY FACE RIGHT, NOT KNOW HOW TO CONTROL MY EMOTIONS, I CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT I'M SO DUMB AND USELESS AND WORTHLESS I CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT EVERY DAM DAY I HATE MYSELF I HATE MYSELF

I HATE IT HERE I HATE IT HERE I HATE IT HERE

EVERYONE GETS MAD AT ME

EVERYONE COMPLAINS TO ME

EVERYONE VENTS TO ME

EVERYONE GETS SAD AT ME

I STRESS EVERYONE OUT

I TAKE EVERYONE'S STRESS

AND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING

AND EVERYONE SUFFERS

IM AN IDIOT

I'M WORTHLESS

I'M USELESS

I HATE MYSELF

I HATE IT HERE

[joshuasearing]

Saturday 2nd December 2023

So yesterday started of with me struggling to get out of bed then being late to work. To make things worse it was freezing cold, then once at work they had me running parks occationally out in like 0 Celsius. After a while I got put on break and it was snowing. I did worry that I was not going to make it to my tattoo appointment but luckily it was all good. Anyways after about 30 minutes it stopped. Anyways after work I quickly got changed then waited at the bus stop then I got the bus. Then out of the ordinary this is but my bus crashed into a car but it was the cars thought I think. Basically the road we were on there is a bus lane then it merges into the other part of the traffic and becomes one lane. So the bus moved over like it usually does and this car just carried on moving forward. I didn’t witness this as I had my headphones on and was too busy listening to my music. But I did hear this scraping noise and wondered what it was then the bus stopped. Then the bus driver after a while of sitting in the stationary bus said he can’t carry on the journey as the car driver wanted to call the police. Anyways I took a photo of the car and it was ok it just had a bit of bumper and bit messed up. Also luckily no one was injured. Anyways I ended up having to walk the rest of my journey to the tattoo shop. Also on the walk there this guy got out of he’s car and was having an arguement with this girl behind and blocking all of the traffic. This happened in a matter of minutes after I left the bus scenario. Once I got to the shop I sat down for a little bit then someone happened which caused my intrusive thoughts to be playing up and left me in a really weird mental state as was being quiet. Then after a while I spoke placement and size of the tattoo with my tattooist. Then I got the tattoo done. The tattoo I got yesterday was warrior in red ink which is really nice and is on my left bicep. After the tattoo, I walked to the gym however only had about a 20 minute session as my tattoo cover was coming off so I decided to take it off then clean it. Then once I was walking home I spoke to Faith for a little bit and got my cookie dough ice cream for the shop. Once I got home I had some food and also shaved for the first time in a month as it is now December and movember has came to an end. I ended up raising £138 for men’s mental health which is really good.

Now for today same shit struggled to get out of bed. Also work was a shambles today it was ridiculously busy and we were severely understaffed. At one point it was so busy they had me doing just muffins in the morning for about an hour as the muffins were going so far. Also we had so many complaints today but there was only a certain amount I could do. Once the shift finished I got changed then went to the bus stop. Once I was about to get there the bus arrived so I ran a little to make sure I got on the bus. Then I got the bus to the gym. Today I went to the gym with Morgan from work and we did back and also legs for the most part. After are session I walked home got my cookie dough ice cream and ate it once I got home. Since I’ve been at home I’ve just been relaxing which is annoying but I think it is because I’m just so exhausted. I have also posted a few TikToks. Anyways bye journal!

Photos from today! ⬇️

[azulapocalypse]

I'm so tired.

I'm so tired of feeling like I'm working hard only to be tossed aside. What was the point of putting forth so much effort and working so hard at my job for them to show me how expendable I am for them.

I was moved to a position I know I am not good in. Call Centers, I am not good with talking to people, let alone strangers. I am painfully empathetic, and I take things easily to heart. Daily, I have people calling and yelling at me about things I can't control, and I understand their feelings and frustrations. I do, but I don't have the ability to help them, and that sucks. I take all of that to heart and feel like shit that they are going through things and I can't help. Then there are the people who call just to yell at someone, and I am required to just sit there and listen as long as they are not attacking me personally.

I don't have the mental fortitude for that. I sit and cry during lunches and breaks at times because I don't think I can keep doing this. My mental health is in shambles because of this job, I am no longer happy, and I can feel my mind going to a dark place, and right now, there isn't much I can do.

Even if I wanted a different job, I would need to have the mental capacity to apply. Then, it would be putting myself out there for interviews. Not to mention, I bought a house 6 months ago, so whatever job I get, I need to be able to afford to live, or I lose the very thing I worked so hard to have.

Yes, life could be worse. I know that and I have plenty to feel thankful for, but it's hard when your brain is your own worst enemy and you are in a darkness that gets worse the more and more people treat you like shit and the more and more you see of the world. A world where no one care about another person.

I might have lost my father two Christmases ago, but I never forgot the things he taught me. Never forgot his outlook on life and how he always told me to help my fellow man, and this job doesn't help me do that and it makes it so hard just to want to take another breath and have another day to work just to live.

[cherrysnax]