#now im just like a manic sad? if that makes sense

[mardmeehanabadi]

I need to go back to work soon and pay off these credit cards so I can go shopping some more. I suddenly love shopping because I'm accepting that I can style myself however I want and just skip right over anything that feels too girly and be my weird non binary self from now on. Which does mean I want more clothes in general because I never had a proper "wardrobe" just a random mish mash of whatever was on sale when I forced myself to go shopping.

[necroromantics]

You talk alot about BD, i hope its not disrespectful to ask what differentiates BD from BPD? I do some research for my character too and stuff and i still couldnt grab the difference sowwy

Also, what happens when you have both?

Its never disrespectful to want to learn man, no worries at all :] Bipolar Disorder (BD) and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) get mixed up all the time, even by doctors who are real old-fashioned or otherwise uneducated

The best way to approach this question is to take a look at what the DSM-5 describes them each as. (For those unfamiliar, the "Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th Edition" aka DSM-5, is the guideline doctors in the field of psychology use to diagnose someone with a specific disorder. Not all countries use this, some use the ICD. I live in North America where they use the DSM so Im going off of that. All in all, theyre pretty similar though.)

First off, Bipolar Disorder is classified as a mood disorder, while Borderline Personality Disorder is a personality disorder. They fall under two separate categories of classification.

Im not gonna get into all the different types of BD and whatever cuz I have another post on that, but type1 BD is the most commonly known. Its the "manic depressive" type. You see here that the hallmark feature of bipolar disorder is the presence of mania, which is described in the page from the DSM-5 above. You see how the manic episode is required to last at least a week? That period of elevated energy and mood is called a manic episode. This is the "mood swing" that is experienced in bipolar disorder. It is severe, extreme highs and lows, that last quite awhile. Manic episodes are a bipolar-only experience. If you experience at least one manic episode, you are bipolar. These episodes are all there is to the disorder. Bipolar is about experiencing certain distinct periods of time where you're in a manic state, or a depressive state.

Now if we look at BPD, you see how it has NOTHING to do with manic episodes? BPD is actually also known as "emotionally unstable personality disorder". So the classic volatile emotions, switching up quick, going from happy to sad to angry, being moody, all of that is associated with being BORDERLINE. It has nothing much to do with Bipolar disorder.

And while someone with BD may experience emotional instability during a manic or depressive episode, the difference is that it is episodic, while the emotional instability in BPD is near constant and all encompassing.

Here is what the DSM-5 has to say about differential diagnosis for Bipolar. Symptoms do overlap, but a person experiencing a bipolar episode shouldnt be evaluated for BPD cuz those symptoms would better be explained by the bipolar episode, not by having borderline PD. Make sense?

Someone can be diagnosed with both BD and BPD, since the two are different and distinct disorders. The BPD symptoms would just be constant while the BD symptoms would only come up during episodes.

If you just have BPD, you wont experience manic episodes.

If you just have bipolar, you wont necessarily experience things like intense fear of abandonment and the constant intense emotional instability that defines BPD.

[bpdetrimental]

yo idk if your chill w/ questions about bpd n shit but uhm

whats the difference between BPD n Borderline again? I think I have the one where its like weekly n not daily, but im still very unsure if thats a thing (did hear it from one of my friends) and am obviously still researching

just trying to learn n stuff yk, mb if this is too informal or something

Hello, my friend! Thank you for reaching out :) sorry this is a bit long, but I really want to help you out!

Although I am not an expert in any sort of sense, I do like to do research to help and understand others with mental illnesses. I hope this may be able to help you understand a few of the key differences of the two to help you along your journey!

Bpd (borderline personality disorder) is more of the kind where you feel intense mood swings depending on many different variables. Here is a definition I have found to help define it in short

“Borderline personality disorder is a mental health condition that affects the way people feel about themselves and others, making it hard to function in everyday life. It includes a pattern of unstable, intense relationships, as well as impulsiveness and an unhealthy way of seeing themselves. Impulsiveness involves having extreme emotions and acting or doing things without thinking about them first.”

Here is a link to read up on it if you’re interested!

This article really helps you get a grasp of some of the key concepts, causes, risk factors, etc.

There is also the criteria you have to meet to be diagnosed with Borderline, for which you need to meet at least 5 of 9 of them to be diagnosed.

1. Fear of abandonment

2. Unstable or changing relationships

3. Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

4. Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors (e.g., excessive spending, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating).

5. Suicidal behavior or self-injury

6. Varied or random mood swings

7. Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

8. Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

9. Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

Unfortunate, right? Well, there are also subtypes of the disorder, which make it very difficult to get a proper diagnosis as well.

1. Impulsive

2. Discouraged

3. Self-Destructive

4. Petulant

Here’s a link to an article that may help to learn about them as well!

Link: https://www.verywellhealth.com/types-of-bpd-5193843

Now onto BP (Bipolar Disorder)

Here is a definition I have found and I will provide the link, which includes the definitions for the differing diagnoses and questions and answers regarding the disorder.

“Bipolar disorder (formerly called manic-depressive illness or manic depression) is a mental illness that causes unusual shifts in a person’s mood, energy, activity levels, and concentration. These shifts can make it difficult to carry out day-to-day tasks.”

Link: https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/bipolar-disorder

Of course, there are similarities between the disorders, but key differences as well! Things like mood changes, suicidal behavior and harmful behavior, are things both have in common, whereas a key difference is the rate at which the moods change. For example, a Bipolars mood may last distinct periods of time (maybe weeks or more), while a Borderlines moods may change rapidly within the course of a few minutes.

Here’s an article of the similarities and differences of the two!

Link: https://www.healthline.com/health/your-faqs-answered-bipolar-disorder-vs-borderline-personality-disorder

Of course, as I have said, I am by no means a professional! I encourage you to do your own research (you know yourself best) to see if either of them resonates with how you’re feeling! This way, you are able to get a diagnoses and some help!

Either way, you need to know you are not broken, and still are deserving of love. People with personality disorders have suffered a lot, and yet we are still stigmatized and hated by some. Nonetheless, I have learned that the community here on tumblr (and others out there!) are more than welcoming and accepting. There is always help out there!

And if anybody with BP or BPD has anything else to add, or would like to correct me on anything please let me know or comment! We are all here to help each other <3

[elvesandlanterns]

Ghost Helpline chapter 40

Secrets before dinner 3

Jack peered closely at the green vials, “No way, you actually pulled off recreating a medical grade ecto degecto?!!”

“What like it’s hard?” This bitch.

Before the two could start another fight Ziyad placed their hand down on the little vamps shoulder. Ziyad took over the conversation quickly, “This is great Wilbur, I assume were being given the test batch?”

“Well I cant just go around poisoning my patients now can I？” the manic man laughed, “Though I suppose I can but that would be bad for business.”

Ziyad held back sighs, he admittedly hated working with Wilbur but this was for the greater good. Magical creatures (half breeds his mind unwontedly whispered to him) in the mortal world needed healthcare, and they surly weren’t getting it. Trust came hard to them. Understandably. And while king Phantom was doing his best he couldn’t be everywhere at once. And even if he could be there would always be a sour taste at accepting aide from royalty.

No instead people were more willing, happier even to seek out black market healing guilds like Wilburs. At least then you knew exactly what the catch is.

“Im sure your clientele appreciate it.” Ziyads smile stretched thin. He really hated working with Wilbur, “Speaking of your clientele, when can I schedule my sister to see you?”

Ecto degecto was still in its infancy of being considered a universal blood type for magic kind, but for the death touched it was a necessity. A necessity they weren’t even sure she needed or not. It would be best to check, and Wilburs guild was good at gathering info on his sisters illness. It probably helped that their family paid him so well. Ziyad thought as he bit the inside of his cheek raw.

—- —- ——

Tims heart raced, his sister? His sister?!!! Tim could sill remember the first time he saw the Masters family. The were all gathered about laughing and smiling. They looked so happy.

She looked happy, wheelchair bound and attempting to run her siblings down.

He’d been jealous. Jealous and sad. And suddenly any thoughts of Vlad Masters being some up and coming big bad had disappeared from his mind and he sold his old empty house on the spot. As if the money could somehow be as warm as that laughter.

No no after that first meeting he never suspected Vlad Masters.

He should have suspected his son. Tim grimaced at his own sense of vindication. Guess there not such a happy family after all.

— —- ——

Jason was actually properly shocked at what he heard. …Was …..was this guy EXPERIMENTING on his sister!!! Green threaded to swallow him whole, how dare he! How dare he hurt someone like that! Hurt his family! Hurt a kid.

Holy shit the kid!

Was the kid his sister?? They needed to intervene now!

This sick fuck is going down.

—- —- —-

Jack wasn’t named after anyone in particular. Violet had renamed him far before she had met the Masters family. Far before they knew. /that/ story. Before any of the kids knew about any of the stories that came before them and by then the name Jack had stuck. But being called Red, even as a code name, felt special in its own way.

Violet and Red like a ridiculous beautiful color combination a pair idiots would make up. And they did. Violet, Konstelacio and Red, Jack. The first time around he had been named Jack because it was common, grounding, easy to play off as foreigner trying to fit in. It was practical. But Red? Red was like roses and hearts and blood and Violet. Like being renamed to compliment her entirely. It made him feel secure.

Now if only it also wasn’t also so common.

“It’s Red —-Red——!”

What ?

All Jack heard was his own name as he tripped over the side of a table clutching his stomach as a bullet wizzed by. Crying out as the bond between him and Violet chooses right then and there to flare up terribly.

“Red!”

“Kid! Oh my gods they shot Red!”

—- —- —-

Ziyad feels something off. Gotham was full of shades and shadows and spirts. He had grown use to the felling of being watched but this felt different. Different he scoured the warehouse turning his eyes up the window just as glass shatters to the ground, damn it, “Its Red Hood and Red Robin!! Get down!” He cant reach Jack before he falls yelping in pain clutching his side, he can hear Wilburs yell clearly too clearly, “Kid! Oh my gods! They shot Red!”

He’ll think about how horrible he is later. Later in bed he’ll think about what Reds blood hands and never seeing that kid in the kitchen at fucking midnight ever again. How he’d never get to hear him and — argue over mechanics and science ever again. Later he’ll think about how lucky they all are to not be mortal. Later, later Ziyad will tear himself apart over his piss poor decision making.

But in the moment all he can think about as he sees the kid get shot is, ‘shit, Violets never going to forgive me.’

He doesn’t think at all as Red Hood rounds closer to them, doesn’t pull back his punch because whoever this guy is he is most defiantly not mortal. Not anymore. And while Ziyad might not be a halfa, he is also defiantly not mortal. He doesn’t think and punched Red Hoods helmet hard enough to crack it.

—- —- —-

Jason is momentarily thrown at the shout of “Oh my gods! They shot Red!” Whipping his head around to look at Tim. Tim whose throat he cut, Tim who he hurt and ignored and mistreated. He looks for only a second and a second is all the man needs to get one over on him.

Gripping his head Jason dodges a kick rights himself back up. The kid is on the floor behind them, shes on the floor. Just like Tim. Jason hadn’t been aiming at her. He didn’t mean to.

Swing. The bastard doesn’t let up for a minute and it takes too long for him to realize the space growing between them and the kid until its to late. Beanie guy throwing various liquids at Red Robin as he yanks the pink teen up harshly and makes a dash for it. Whatever he threw at Tim is turning to smoke, odviscating his view of the man he’s fighting.

All he can see is green eyes. All Jason can hear is Tim choking on smoke. On his own blood. On the blood Jason put there.

Oh it is on!

—- —- ——

The vigilantes take stalk of their surroundings. The men had run off with the case of lazerous water but several crates remained, Marked with letters SBS. Tim walked over to the closest one, he had work to do.

He does his best to block out the sound of Jason behind him, he cant do this right now. He cant. Focus on the case. Focus on the case. This was way bigger than the initial drug ring he assumed it would be and he needed as much info as he could get.

“I need an explanation Tim! And I need one now.” He heard his brother growled out, lovely.

Ignoring his questions he pried the top of the box open. What the hell. What the actual hell? This wasn’t drugs or lazerous water this was so much worse.

“Jason shut up.”

“Fuck no you -“

“Jason shut up and look.”

The crate was insulated, cold. And filled with blood bags.

[spaceytoxinz]

My massive Gideon headcanon (it's sad OUGH)

(cw for mentions of childhood abuse/neglect. doesn't get graphic but there's mentions of it)

So for starters this is going based on the little bits and pieces we even have of Gideons personality, I'm not a professional psychologist or anything, I just like studying psychology and I have random experiences cause i have like c-ptsd n shit so I'm mostly basing it off that (ME PROJECTING AGAIN?!??!?) so yeah

Alr so for starters, I feel like there's 2 reasons why Gideon became the way he is. Either he was a spoiled brat with daddy's money who was never humbled (which I'm pretty sure fits Lucas more cause of that one line)OR he did not have the ideal upbringing at ALL. So I feel like the second option makes a lot more sense from a psychological standpoint. First of all, he very much prefers having control/power over other people and situations, like he NEEDS to have the upper hand. Another thing to point out is that one line were he says hes been stuck in his own head since he was born or smth (the glow stuff yadda yadda). so from that, I think that he had some sort of trauma where he was neglected or even abused during childhood (mostly going off personal experiences rn). I think the hypersexual headcanon also fits into this very well, especially with the possibility of him being neglected/abused. It's his way to gain control of a situation in a way, a way to get attention (not being an attention whore, more like the emotions in the moment) , its also a quick way to get serotonin i guess i forgot the specific chemical. But yeah, this bitch would do anything to avoid dealing with his own emotions. he's aware of his issues but chooses to almost run away from them and resort to self destructive behaviors to "cope". if his needs were never met (specifically emotional) and if it is all he was surrounded by, it would make sense for him to just straight up ignore ramona until she left. like he was probably conditioned by this trauma and would continue what he "learned", not that it's a good thing lmfao but im pretty damn sure he has major abandonment issues, i mean shit he literally froze his other ex girlfriends and mentions how one day they will all go out with him.

But ya you cannot convince me that gideon was a spoiled little kid while im at it imma project and say he grew up in poverty and now impulsively spends money to cope /hj

anyways i've been typing all of this out during physics and im still manic so if shit doesn't make sense its probably because of that, hopefully nothing sounds off cause of it, especially since i know this stuff personally.

[aftonfamilyvalues]

My mother was an abusive narcissist. Basically she knew I was being sexually abused by my father and was too afraid to leave him/hated me for the fact he was gross towards me and denied it, both parents spread lies to hide the abuse.

Once I was an adult and I’m 21 being threatened by my father over making a savings account, yea I’m reaching out to social workers (who ended up not believing me/took advantage of me as their new cash cow/I’m on disability…. Benefits initially went into my mother’s account. Guess that made her like a pimp I mean she didn’t work, stealing my benefit… they never had any intention of giving it to me.)

Talking to regular women and feminist women online is what got me out of that situation. Like telling me my rights and what resources.

I planned no contact. Father was stalking me via proxy and his police position. I was glad when she died. She obeyed him. She as an obedient slave, I would’ve had a stalker for life.

When my mom died, my Father made comments like “she won’t have to worry about wrinkles now. “ and “she was only 110 pounds.” Or “I’ll have 2 wives in the celestial kingdom now.”

I use to fantasize about killing them both. Sometimes I feel like I killed my mother, like I was her oxygen, she claimed I had special needs ; mormon church says women need to get married? But I’m too scared my father will violate me for having a bf/I dare in secret then ghost because I’m terrified he’s clearly painting a message that I’m “his.” Just tell everyone I’m autistic and don’t like to be touched and may never get married.

I feel anguish and sad I never experienced romantic love, wish I did as a teenager (because obvious men are unsafe, ) but murderous rage that basically my father felt entitled to my body, and humiliated about what that must say about me and my own mother didn’t care but she died because she was scared of folks finding out she was a horrible mother; nothing showed in the autopsy. Prior to her death she manically went around asking if I was talking about me, read my diary, started hitting me, etc.

This feel violated and my therapist suggested I needed romance to heal which makes me cringe because she didn’t get it, the concept of romantic love to me growing up was the concept of “pure” verses damaged Good’s. I did feel “clean” when I’d engage in sexuality at one point, (and the froze up and ghosted and felt guilty for hurting his feelings but I was scared/conscious I was being abused/had been molested and could go through that again, during intimate touching/never lead to sex or kissing because j froze. I feel a sense of sadness and regret and regret of never experienced a healthy sexuality or been the gate keeper of my own sexually.

I basically can never heal cause it all happened while I was developing. They claimed I was developmentally delayed.

My mother carried it to her grave but I think she died because I started telling the truth. I feel betrayed and angry even at her dying to preserve her image, as if she died on purpose.

I don’t think I’ll ever have a healthy sexuality, or ever feel good enough, and hate that I never got to grieve cause Instead seen as crazy for grieving/ evidently I just need to get over it and be “normal.” As if I even ever got to be normal in the first place.

I’m glad my mom died, somehow I always felt it was my job to save her when she abondoned me, constantly wanted her to like me, but she didn’t , felt guilty about going no contact, and scared, but it was a massive relief. And angry, cause now there no closure. I wish I had let her hit me, let her beat me, she couldn’t hid it anymore so she died.

this is one of the most awful things ive ever read, im so sorry you went through all this

[cherrybomboyfriend]

a man with a hammer sees everything as a nail. a tarantula doused in poison sees life as a box of chocolates

may 15, 2024.

it’s been a few days since my last letter; i have no clue what to call these rants except for what they are? letters to an abyss of bystanding entities. it makes me so sad that one day all of you will die. this exact fact is the thing that keeps me up every night and tickles tears out of my eyes all the time. i’m tormented and tortured by fatality. one day my mother will die. one day my uncles will die. one day my friends will die. one day my little cousins will die. one day i’ll die. i’ll be forgotten like 50’s actresses that got booked for a single role then never appeared in anything ever again. mortality has been familiar with me since i was a child. one of my earliest (yet funnest?) memories was attending two funerals in one day. the first funeral was for an aunt on my grandmother’s side, and the second was for a cousin on my grandfather’s side. i remember looking at all of the solemn faces as a 7 year old and simply enjoying the fact that all of my family members were hanging out together, understanding that someone has lost their life and will never come back yet not being phased by it. the first funeral i’ve cried at was my father’s. i’m pretty sure i spent that entire day crying. i was 12 when i woke up in the middle of the night to police standing outside of my bedroom door. i peaked through the crack to see so much commotion in the hallway, not knowing what to do or what to think. hours passed before my mother crept my door open with a weak voice telling me that she’d be leaving me in the house alone to go with my father to the hospital. years later she told me that she already knew he was dead based on a feeling in her stomach. that was the first time in my entire life that i had felt such deep and guttural emptiness. i realized that humans weren’t rubber bands that relied on their elasticity to keep their pacemakers on. i realized that i could die at 12 years old.

these thoughts haunted me well into my teenage years, with those years rounding off with my grandmother’s death. she was a stubborn old woman who didn’t want to see any doctors and yelled at anyone who offered her help. i knew that her time was coming close to running over well before she passed, which haunted me. logistically it made sense, but spiritually? it drove me mad. sometimes i manage to convince myself that i can predict people’s deaths in manic delusional states. sometimes i get “an itch”, then start sobbing thinking about how one of my friends is probably dying as i wipe tears from my eyes. i’m haunted by my own intuition and i question it every day. i question if i can control time and death. i question if life is even worth living if im gonna spend every minute of it waiting for the day that the birds chirp in slow motion and my breath hitches at an uncontrollable rate. i’m terrified.

i hate how much these thoughts control me. i would take any pill that allows me to not think about the concept of death for at least one day. at least one hour. at least one minute. why doesn’t anyone else feel the same way i do? people plan their future without any anxiety and i don’t understand it. why are you planning a cruise for 2 years from now when you could possibly crash in your car on the way there? why are you planning on attending undergrad school when you could get shot tomorrow? why are you beginning things that could abruptly end? why are we living just to die? what am i supposed to do with these thoughts? put them inside of my purse and eat them as snacks whenever the government decides that im too old for assistance? do i spit these words into a bottle douce them in alcohol then chug them back inside until i get poisoning and see the light? what do i do with the amount of thoughts that haunt me every night?

i can’t do anything. it’s the most freeing and dismal thing ive had to realize. i still don’t think i realize it because i cry at any thought of an end-of-the-world situation. i can’t do anything and i can’t escape. if there were a way to make people immortal scientists would’ve done it by now. i just have to accept my fate. these thoughts make me feel like a prisoner on death row screaming and pleading for the electric shock to implode on itself as soon as it reaches an inch away from my forehead. i don’t know what to do. i don’t know how to prevent it from making me sad every day. i want out, but i can’t get out. i don’t know how to end this letter. i just want things to get better. i want to come to terms with these thoughts instead of pushing them away. i want to be the average joe. i don’t want mortality to run my life like a big soccer game. i watch the shot clock as i hyperventilate from my bed. i don’t want to go to sleep anymore.

okay well… if there’s one positive note that i can clench onto as a send off it’s that i’m glad that we’ve invented chocolate. it’s the best creation ever. sweet treats. if humans weren’t here then there’d be no chocolate. or at least any as good as the bars i get from the grocery store. i love those. and nutella. and chocolate wafers. i’d die for one of those. i’m happy again. goodnight. sweet dreams my little mortals. we’re all gonna be alright.

[stonpoet-thestoneddisciple]

STON POET - OFTR GONE WIN

OFTR gone win 

No more being sad again 

Real 1s,  no fake friends 

I'll die for my fam

Going manic man , Never panic  man

Bitch I been the man

Felt different  since a kid

Chose ta be born in sin

Lucifer losing man

Knew i make it yeah

Sticking ta the plan

Be ya self homie

Never stress , Dank weed

All about positivity  , Was down bad in poverty 

What happen ta integrity 

Give they soul away , sacrifice  family

Love ta just do me 

Rather  stay real , free

Bitch Im in a dream , no this not the real me

My faith made   opportunities 

Balling out 2k 

They playing yall like  a game

A celestial  being , many possibilities 

Mental slavery , We In the matrix aye

Think Im just insane , They gone remember my name

Rather  write now mane

We eternally  , yall just some dummies 

Go hard  , always plotting

OFTR gone win 

No more being sad again 

Real 1s,  no fake friends 

I'll die for my fam

Killing Devils yeah , no more child trafficking 

Yall getting  tortured  bitch

Hit , I will not  miss

Lucifer a  pussy ass bitch

Money don't  make you rich

Gotta have common  sense 

Frauds yeah Im against 

OFTR gone win 

No more being sad again 

Real 1s,  no fake friends 

I'll die for my fam

[magicalslug]

Vent, do not read.

It's not fair i was perfectly happy prior to all This and now i am in my room having a manic episode that wants me to say out loud "I'LL KILL MYSELF I'LL KILL MYSELF I'LL KILL MYSELF" when i know DAMN RIGHT that's an empty threat AND a sign something is causing me emotional pain!!! But it won't get solved by saying out loud such a horrible thing i don't mean!!!!

I hate you bpd!!! I hate you!!!! Why do you always make me feel lonely and empty!!!!!! Lonely and empty!!!! It's not my fault i get anxiety constantly, thinking of the ways i am not loved!!! Fuck off!!!!!!

It shouldn't be a big deal, why are YOU making it a big deal?!?!?!

...i know im like this because my birthday is coming up and i know. I know it won't be special.

It'll be special to me of course, i am glad to have one more year under my belt, im glad to be alive.

But i don't want anyone else to acknowledge that. Because i know they dont care.

I mean, they do in a casual way of "oh hey congrats!" But they dont really care im alive one more year, not enough to celebrate with me.

Ugh what i just wrote makes no sense, let me try and put my real problem with it like this:

My birthday is of course, special to me.

But. I don't trust anyone else to find it special as well, and it doesn't sit well with me when other people try and congratulate me or celebrate it for me.

That type of thing feels false. I know you don't mean it, i know you're not really happy for me, so please don't bring it up.

There's only like 3-5 friends that i trust at least mean it, they will truly be happy for me.

But the rest i know are Casual Friends who will celebrate or acknowledge it out of an obligation and i don't want that.

I'm terrified of that, it makes me feel gross.

If you don't like me say it to my face. Be true with me, say you don't care for me and let's end it there.

God.

But see that's the problem.

I'm...

I'm far too paranoid for my own good. Normal people don't have a complex about their birthday.

Normal people have a family to celebrate it with. Friends. Lovers. Family mostly.

I don't have any of that (liar!! You have friends!!)

I don't. I don't have friends that can and want to celebrate it with me. Those that do are far away/busy that day so when the next bday comes i will be trapped on my job and on my own.

That's fine.

That's fine.

That's fine.

Last birthday was nice. Friends celebrated with me in the office. I got a book as a gift. We had cake. It was nice.

It's a nice memory.

But this time i want to be on my own like a sad animal that's been wounded and wants to hide to lick their wounds.

My bday this year made me sad because even though I'm happy to be alive, it makes me incredibly sad that i don't have someone to celebrate it with. Someone that cares. Someone that cares about me.

It's childish. I'm so childish.

Yesterday i started rereading that johnmerle fic and i had to stop after the first chapter because it hit too close to my life. It always did, but now that i am a working man it felt even more real. And it broke my heart.

Because love is real! Love is real and it will always be real regardless of if i experience it or not!!!! But.

Well i yearn. And i can't help pining for a life that's shared with someone that cares about me, but most importantly, someone I care about.

In any case, lately I've been crying a lot because i feel so alone and i know for a fact it's a BPD THING (literally a symptom!! This is not news!!! It's in fact one of the only ways i get to confirm for myself IT IS BPD!!!) But i am still hurt.

I have friends!!!!! I love my friends!!!!!

Why do i still feel so fucking lonely!!!!!!!!!!

Why do i feel like no one cares!!!!!

Why can't i help but imagine a world where I'm gone and nothing changes!! (Augh, because it's true! Remember! You're not the protagonist of the world! Just of your own life!)

Sigh, that's true.

So calm down. Don't cry over that.

Remember that the universe is uncaring, but there's people that care.

(Where are they?)

Well they're your friends. They would help you if they could, right?

...

You don't know.

I don't know.

The problem is that i inherently believe no one could possibly care about me because i am Me.

Forever trapped in a glass box no one cares to pry open.

It's a bpd thing, feeling that way.

I know. Doesn't make it easier to deal with.

I can't help it. I don't even know what i want.

Of course i do. I want someone who loves me just as much as i love them.

I want to be hugged. I want to be listened to. I want someone i can share my art with.

I want someone that sees me. I want someone that wants to know me.

I want someone that just wants more of me.

I want someone that doesn't make me afraid or ashamed.

Doesn't everyone want that?

To be loved? Cared for? Yearned for?

It's a bpd thing, to never be satisfied. To have this black hole in your chest. All consuming, never ending.

No matter how much love you get, it'll never be enough.

And to that i say: that's not fair! Because I've never been loved in a way I've wanted. Romantically! I've had boyfriends but they weren't a good relationship, or a stable one.

I want a lover! A beloved! And i want them to be perfect for me, not necessarily a perfect person!

Is that so much to ask?

...

...i know the answer is yes, but that's what's so cruel.

I will never find someone. I will never find someone. And i should make peace with that.

But it hurts me each time i realize how fucking unlovable i am by modern standards.

I'm poor and boring and """ugly""" so what do i have left?

Nothing. I have nothing to offer the world.

So why am i here?

Why am i here?

...

...

I just want to go home to my cats.

But i can never go home, there's not a home to go back to.

I want to go home.

I want a home, a place i can call my own and have it be my safe heaven.

Ah... ah so much yearning in just one body.

Love is real, i know this, so why can't I feel love around me?

It's ridiculous. I KNOW IT'S BECAUSE OF THE BPD IT LITERALLY IS AND I KNOW THIS and it still hurts. So much.

I love my friends, so much. But from my perspective it'll always feel like I'm nothing to them.

And it's because i was born with a black hole in my chest. I'm sorry.

I never asked to be so fundamentally broken in invisible ways that only become obvious when i start to inconvenience others.

A delight to have in class.

Silent and dutiful.

What a delightful child i was.

Too quiet for my own good.

You do know love is real right?

I know.

Just be patient.

Not all days will be good days.

Today wasn't a good day, but tomorrow will be better!

What makes you feel so sure?

Well, we've been here before haven't we?

I guess. We've had manic and sad moments like this many times.

And we always come out of them, and we always push onwards, and we always feel better afterwards.

Life is good, you know this.

I guess.

It's just the heartache which makes it difficult to think properly. It's emotional pain that's physical!! That's why it feels so bad!! But we'll get through this together, alright my love?

We have many things to look forward to! So many things! We have travels to make now that we'll soon be free to do so!

As soon as we get that sweet visa, we'll visit friends!! We'll go to greece!! You want to visit greece so badly, isn't it?

I wanna see those clear blue waters. I want to feel the sun on my skin. I want to dance on the beach. I want to feel like i can experience true love there.

Good!! Good! These are the travels that matter!!!

You matter! Ok? So don't cry anymore. Oh my beloved, you've always had such a fragile heart.

It's okay, i won't judge. I don't judge because i love you. I love you so much.

I'm tired, can we have a nap?

Of course we can. Anything you want, I'll make it happen.

I love you.

I love you, my dearly beloved. So much.

[dannybobany]

CANON CANON CANONNNN so real all of this is so real and true !!! I love all of these idea omg

I especially cannot agree more with the idea of omori feeling like he needs to preserve Mari’s memory as much as possible, he relied a lot o Mari within headspace, unable to face his fears without her…. Now that she’s not here Omori feels like he has to do everything he can to keep her memory “alive”- he’s afraid to forget his big sister —

And while we’re at it I actually came up with a method in which Omori might’ve figured out the sweater was once her’s, In both the calendar and the photo album art it’s shown that Mari has a Christmas sweat with a big “M” on it, maybe Omori decided to go through the box his purple sweater had come from looking through what he assumed to be hand me downs from Sunny, only to find that red and green sweater with the big “M” and realize suddenly that it’s actually a box full of Mari’s clothes, concluding the very sweater he was wearing must’ve been hers too..

So that’s one method I thought might make sense

I also very much agree with the sentiment that Omori struggles with his emotions, in headspace emotions were easily manipulated with items and skills, he’s taken a back by just feeling them at random, and it’s not like omori didn’t “feel” things in headspace, but those emotions were more distant and usually tied to Sunny,

I think Omori probably struggles with Hyper-reactive emotions, a translation of his ability to use tier 3 emotions in headspace, now becoming a point of inconvenience for him when he finds himself completely blowing up at the tiniest things- jumping unexpectedly from happy, sad and angry, manic, miserable and furious, I think it’d be quite awhile with living with these new emotions and grief/fear before he ever becomes “used to it”

(Footnote: whuhhhhheuehh him hugging Sunny out of fear after seeing somthing… wwuhhh im gonna cryyyyy)

@dannybobany pspspspsps new Realboy content

After figuring out his sweater used to be Mari's, Omori refuses to take it off unless it absolutely must be washed

he will defend that sweater with his life lest he forget Mari the way Sunny tried to

he has a lot of issues with memory and confusing fiction with reality thanks to his experiences with Headspace

he still sees Something in the corners of his eyes sometimes and Sunny just stands there confused as his little brother buries his face in his chest for seemingly no reason

I feel like Omori has trouble with facial expressions

not like to a Who's Lyla extent, but he smiles when he's sad and laughs when he shouldn't and cries at the slightest provocation

[howdoiliveanymore]

That’s why I’m more suicidal now then I ever was

[noforkingclue]

Can you write a fic about Dhawan Master finding out that you’re asexual? I know you just wrote one for him, but I just adore the way you write. And I completely understand if you’re not comfortable writing this. Anyways, love your blog ;)

Thank you anon, I'm always up for writing for Dhawan!Master.

Honestly, even though I write smut I'm not sure where I stand I on my own sexuality. I known I'm bi and would like to be in a relationship but when it comes to sex I just... don't know. I'd much rather cuddle up with someone under a blanket together. I just feel kind of 'meh' about the idea of sex. Does that make sense?

Title: There Are More Important Things

Doctor Who tag list: @v4n1r, @queerconfusionthings, @yourneighbourhoodclown, @love-of-fandoms, @emilythezeldafan, @fabulous-jj-style, @theseeker945, @pleadingeyes, @kjaneway1, @truthbehindthemysteries, @im-a-muggleborn, @startrekkingaroundasgard, @mythandmagik, @geocookie21, @zerocanonlywriteshit, @thewinterpoet2, @anteroom-of-death

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @imjustassaneasyou

“I have something I need to tell you.”

The Master looked up at your and raised an eyebrow. He flicked a switch on the console and the TARDIS shuddered slightly. You bit your lip as you looked at the floor. You picked you nails as you shifted from foot to foot, wondering the best approach to what you wanted to tell him.

“You’re nervous,” he said, “What’s wrong.”

“It’s about me.”

“About you,” the Master frowned, “What’s happened.”

“I can’t keep living like this. Not tell you something about me that is so important.”

The Master’s shoulders sagged and he nodded.

“I understand,” he said quietly, “I knew this was too good to last.”

Now it was your turn to frown.

“What do you mean?” you asked

“You want to leave,” he said, “I understand. Honestly I was preparing for this and I’m actually surprised about how long you lasted with me. It been interesting. I’ll drop you off back home.”

“No!”

“Don’t lie to me,” the Master sounded bitter and you could hear the sadness in his words, “Please, just don’t lie to me anymore.”

“I’m asexual!”

Silence fell over the two of you. Your relationship with the Master had been slowly moving forward and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t excited about it. The Master had managed to pull emotions from you that you weren’t expecting. You never realised that you could feel this way about another being, let alone something as brilliant and manic as the Master. But although you were excited you were also afraid. Afraid that he would want more from you, more than you wanted to do.

“I like you,” you continued quietly, “Like, really like you, but when it comes to sex I just don’t… I don’t know, it’s like a piece that’s meant to be there is missing. It’s made being with people very difficult. They always expect me to do things that I don't want to and don’t understand when I tell them why. It makes me feel like I’m broken, like there’s something wrong with me, and because of this I’ll never find someone to spend the rest of my life with. I feel love, I get crushes, I just don’t want to have sex. I need to tell you this because you deserve the truth about me. You’ve never hidden anything from me and I’ve been keeping this from you. I understand if this has put you off me, if you don’t want to be with me anymore. You can drop me back on earth.”

By now tears were falling down your face. You angrily brushed them aside, ashamed that you had become so weak in front of the Master. The Master was looking at the console, probably too ashamed to even look at you. You swallowed thickly, your answer in his silence as you turned around to head back to your room to pack. However, before you even managed to walk one step the Master grabbed your wrist.

“You’re not broken.” He said quietly

“Huh?”

“I said,” he repeated, “You’re not broken. And all those other pathetic humans who have told you that are small minded and don’t deserve you.”

“You… you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” the Master spun you around so you were facing him, “There are far more important things in a relationship than sex. I don’t care, I’d rather have you with me, by my side and comfortable. You have been by my side when no one else has been and I have become used to your company. Your companionship is all I ever wanted, to have you with me and travelling with me. You make me feel like I’m a better person than I actually am. Maybe I just want someone who will stay by my side and understand me. Someone like you.”

“You are a good person.”

“Love,” the Master said, “You know what I’ve done.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Really? Even after all the suffering I’ve caused to you humans.”

“Maybe,” you gave him a teasing smile, “That’s what I like about you. And maybe there’s some humans I’d like to see suffer.”

“Whatever you wish my human.”

[borealnyx]

MASH season 6 thoughts

first of all, i want to thank @genderqueer-klinger, for being my friend, my pal, my spiritual twin and for watching this season with me despite our diferences in acceptable dinner times.

First of all, lets talk about the new guy. Charles Emerson Winchester the third. somehow he has become my favourite winchester ever and the most punchable one in one go. this man is an improvement to frank burns on all sides. he is funny without being a cartoon, and most importantly he is smart and gives as good as he gets without being above stupidity. i like that he works as a folly or an ally of the other guys depending on his mood and it makes sense every time. his thing with margaret was weird because they would honestly make way better friends than lovers, but they are both to emotionally stunted and on 1950s comphet to recognice this.

speaking about compulsive heterosexuality and margaret. this season has really cemented her as a lesbian for me. what was comrades in arms if not a lesbian suffering from comphet and trauma and a very confused bisexual, enduring it? what was temporary duty if not a woman reuniting with her old flame and expressing dissatisfaction with heterosexuality? i want mr penobscott to die and margaret to enter her divorce era when she shines more than ever.

for bj i can only say that im glad he is doing things on his own now. on the two previous seasons i had the feeling that he was just there to chill and hang around, but in this one he is more his own character. if that character happens to enjoy psychological manipulation and lying for fun, thats just a plus. im obssesed with the bit when he has a crisis because his wife doesnt need him for every single thing, very normal reaction. Also, im starting to suspect that this man has caught feelings of the romantic variety for his best friend.

For hawkeye i can only say that hes still a little manic, and a little depressed and that he is more trauma than human at this point. He is my buddy, my friend, my good time pal. But alan alda is an enemy who wants to make me suffer and he is succeding.

Radar wasnt in this one a lot, which made me sad. But he has still hit a few growing up milestones and im honestly so proud of him.

Klinger is finally embracing the fact that he just like wearing dresses. And thats such A Choice tm. When will any other character be on his level?

This season continues the improvement line of all the other seasons, even if i wish the finale had been stronger(the season 4 finale really shook me to my core, ok)

[spicysugar019]

Alrighty folks here's my pinned post.

About me:

He/him/male

Im 21 years old (born in 2000 baybeeee)

Not comfortable sharing my first name (even tho it's super common and you couldn't find me using it). So on here I'll go by Eugene (my middle name).

Im currently at the highest weight I've ever been at, litterally 100 lbs over my starting weight (when I was either 11 or 12 at 4 foot 2 I think?). So please be cautious when talking to me about numbers at the present moment (Feb 2022).

Gae 💅 though currently dating a nonbinary beast

List of disorders cause I find it funny:

EDNOS, PTSD, chronic MDD, Chronic Insomnia, SAD, Chronic Substance abuse, ADHD, Bipolar (aka manic depressive disorder), (fuck dude im making this at 4am so im forgetting so fucking many), GAD, Panic disorder, dysthymia (I group that in with MDD but it's still a separate diagnosis ig), Social Anxiety disorder, unspecified psychosis, codependency disorder, gender dysphoria, and lastly a thing im not diagnosed with cause I don't bring it up in therapy and I actually don't feel like disclosing because of stigma around it and I'm not in the place to be told I'm faking by random strangers who don't know me or being told I'm doing it on purpose for attention thanks very much assholes.

How am I not permanently in a mental facility? Negligence probably! Stick around to see if that fact changes I suppose.

God what else do I say?

Stats: (again I'm at my highest weight ever, please don't comment on this to me, I just found out about it yesterday legit).

Cw: 270

Hw: 270

Sw: 170 (I was 12 and 4"2)

Ugw: 98

Is it even possible???

Im 5"4 (short kingg)

Things I struggle with due to mental health:

Eating (ok duh?), weight, body image, flashbacks, sleeping too much or too little no in-between, depressive episodes that usually land me in the hospital, hospitalizations (high score: 6 times in one year between December and March), major mood and behavior swings, Panic attacks that can last up to like a full fucking day rendering me completely useless, sometimes I see shit that isn't there, sometimes I hear shit that isn't there (they're thinking these are depression related psychosis mixed with not sleeping for like 4 days solid and not eating. Makes sense to me), I need people. No like I need them like I cannot be independent without trying to k!ll myself every single day, suicidal ideation, self harm, I have to get biweekly IM injections of boy juice into my ass-- and not the fun kind-- so I don't try to die constantly, and then other things I will not disclose ♡ and im poor.

At the moment I see 3 therapists and I'm looking for a fourth. Just therapists, this dosent include physical doctors or psychiatrists or psychologists or anything. One does CBT, another does EMDR, another is a nutritionist, and the one im looking for will be a DBT therapist. Gotta fucking collect them all am I right? (I'm not treating it like a game: I have to make jokes about it).

I am currently restricting and exercising (doing a piss poor job at it if I do say so myself).

Trying to stay below 800 a day currently.

Want to exercise daily but I simply do not have the time to. Will do it on the weekend tho! But right now I wake up I work I come home and scroll through tiktok and tumblr and then I "wake back up" again. I "sleep" when the gym is closed.

Wanna get to know me more? Please send an ask or message me im lonely and very open and honest about what I go through (except the disorder I will not disclose to anyone, thank you in advance for respecting that boundary!).

I love music and deeply enjoy connecting through music with people. I listen to anything I can understand the words to (this excludes country im sorry).

My favorite things to consume? Cigarette smoke and human hearts 💕

and taco bell 🥺

I like playing the cello, doing art (painting, sculpting, throwing, drawing, digital, animation, glass work, and a few lesser ones). I love and adore my partner they are the best thing that has happened to me. I like driving and singing.

I dislike showers (body dismorphia and gender dysphoria and ptsd, MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS), and yeah.

Im getting tired fucking finally after 2 days so I have to act now and sleep or else it'll be 2 more. Please message me if you have any question, need advice, want to talk and chat, ect. Disclaimer: if you are asking for advice I reserve the right to refuse and turn you down. This is not personal. You issues are real and they are valid you're on fucking eddie tumblr for God's sake.

DNI: Pedo/pedo sympathizers, under 18, fat phobic, homophobic, transphbic, or a generally shitty person.

Ok off to bed I go. Thanks for reading even though I know no one did. Thanks for letting me pretend.

Goodnight friends! Good morning? Fuck off dude idk, it's 5am.

[reidswritings]

lay me gently

word count; 4.9k

warnings; 6x18 spoilers (but just the end of it), drug usage, overdoses, medical talk, curse words ,,,, and i think thats ittttt

author’s note; welp this took foreverrrr for me to write because i was worried i didn't do it justice. but i guess im pretty okay with how it turned out!! so i hope you enjoy!! also italics are flashbacks!!

Y/N reaches for him. She reaches for him to try and make it better, to try and make sure he isn’t going to break into a million pieces right in front of her. She reaches for him because it makes her feel better. She reaches for him but his hands stop her, larger ones wrapping around the smaller ones. He has a rough grip on her— tough, but not hard enough to leave a mark or hurt the pretty girl. No, he’d never hurt his Pretty Girl. His grip was solid as if he was holding her to him; like if he let her loose she would drift away. 

His voice comes then, wrecked, “Y/N, please.” It’s a cry for help and it breaks her heart, she decides as he continues, “Please, don’t make this into something it’s not. Stop, Y/N, stop making this a thing; I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

He was not fine, but she conceded. That was the last time she saw him; that was three weeks ago. Well, not the last time she saw him, but definitely the last time she spoke to him. The last time she heard his silky smooth voice, the last time she saw the lovely brown eyes that always had a silly undertone to them. The last time she watched his kissable lips as they moved forming the words she didn’t want to hear. She missed him, she missed him more than she knew possible. 

She knew something had happened, but she didn’t know all the details; he never gave her the full story. She often thinks back to the night before that last one— the one where her boy ran away from her. To the one that changed everything. To the one that was the beginning of the end. 

A knock at her door had her dropping the books she was carrying, letting them fall to the floor in a unforgiving heap, loose papers falling from in-between pages— she knew if Spencer had seen, he would be rather disgruntled and scoop them up and place them back in their rightful place before doing anything. 

Faster than she could fathom, her feet were rushing her to the wood, pulling it open. She knew he was coming, JJ had called— said it was a bad case, said that they had lost a good friend, said that Spencer had lost it. She had said that he was wrecked. 

JJ was no where near correct—yes, he was in fact wrecked, but the boy Y/N was staring at was not Spencer Reid. This was someone else. Someone she couldn’t recognize; someone she had no business knowing. Someone she didn’t want to know, frankly. 

The boy in front of her was barely holding himself together. It looked like he was having trouble standing, like he was going to fall into a pile any second; his hand was holding onto the wood frame, knuckles white. His face—the once beautiful, laugher filled face—was tuning a sickly shade of green. The girl before him was worried he was going to vomit, though that would be the least of her worries. Spencer let out an ugly sob, arguably the worst thing she had ever heard. Her heart broke for him, she moved to touch him and he jerked out of his daze, now looking the worried girl in her eyes. 

“Em— Emily, she— she’s gone. Y/N, I can’t— I can’t, I didn’t— I never said goodbye.” His hand dropped from the door and he swayed, she reached for him again. He pulled away, moving past her into the dimly lit foyer. If they were in a different scene, she would admire the yellow cast that was turning her Pretty Boy into an even more beautiful version of himself. She was so in love with him, it hurt somedays. His hands were as wild as his words, as wild as his eyes; Y/N didn’t recognize the man in front of her. He was manic and she was panicking. 

“Spence,” she began, not knowing where to go from there. She let the words flow, letting her instincts take over. “Spencer, hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, just take a breath. It’s gonna be alright. Calm down—”

“Calm down?” The manic boy whirled on her, eyes wide and wild. His voice sounded just like it always did, fast and smooth. However, this time, it held undertones of anger, sadness and denial. It was like he wanted to turn back time, wanted to forget that she was really gone, that he would never speak another word to his good friend. “You want me to calm down? Y/N, I-I don’t even know how to do that right now. Everything feels so. . .”

He had paused, not knowing how to explain his feelings. He couldn’t put it to words, she could though. She supplied him with the words, “Fuzzy?” 

He paused then, letting his breathing slow, “Y-Yeah.” The boy’s breath hitched again and Y/N hoped he wouldn’t launch himself into a panic attack. He nodded, rubbing his eyes with his long fingers, hard. “I don’t know what’s real. Everything is happening so fast; it feels like I’m in slow motion and everything is just— everything is just rushing by. Y/N, what do I do?”

Y/N’s mind was blank. Y/N’s mind was blank and she hated it. She hated it more than she’s ever hated anything in her whole life. She hated that she didn’t know what to say, how to help him. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, no words escaping her lips. So, instead, she moved forward and wrapped him in her arms and said, “It’s gonna be okay. I’m right here for you.” 

He took comfort in her arms, and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot where he was and what was happening. He forgot that one of his best friends had just died. Upon remembering, he jerked away from the girl he had begun to fall in love with. He pushed away, closing his arms around his body; closing himself off from the world— from her. 

In his disheveled mind and blurry eyes he saw his neighbor, his girl, his pretty love, open her mouth presumably to comfort him again. But he didn’t want it. He didn’t want anything from her, from anyone. He held a hand up effectively shutting her up; he took the opportunity to take his exit. 

The boy practically ran as he left in his hurry; the door slamming in to the wall, leaving a mark— not that Y/N cared at the moment. Her breath was in her throat, watching him leave her apartment and rush into his own across the hall. She felt her lips move, saying his name in a plea. A plea to let her help, to let her in. A plea for him to not shut her out. 

But all she was met with was the door slamming and the lock sounding. 

That was almost three weeks ago. Three weeks of forbidden glances and almost words. Every time he had seen her turn the corner to their adjacent doors, he would turn the other way, walk back into his one bedroom, he’d take the stairs or the elevator— just to avoid talking to her. He avoided talking to her because he knew. He knew she would see right through him; he knew that she could read him better than the seven profilers that he called his family. She was better than the best; she was better than the BAU, and that was saying a fucking lot. 

She saw it on his face; she saw the pain and frustration. She saw the internal fight; she saw it all and she just wished he’d let her in. She saw it for weeks. For three fucking weeks she saw the way he hid within himself and withered away. She wondered what it was; she wondered what he was doing to himself. 

She wished he’d talk to her. Open up to her. Share his pain with her. She wished that she could have her boy back. There was one day that really bothered her; it was just another day of the week, a boring Wednesday. It was just another day of coming home and hoping not to run into Spencer Reid; she was beginning to break with each passing look. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle the stranger facade, the cold shoulder, the longing for each other. It was too much. 

Against her hopes, she did in fact run into the handsome man. He was standing in front of his door, a duffle at his feet and his messenger bag slung across his body. He looked tired— more tired than she had seen him in the passing weeks (it made sense that he stood there. he must’ve been on a case, she hadn’t seen him in a few days). His hands were fumbling, shaking, with his keys before sticking them in. He just barely turned the key, hadn’t even heard it unlock yet. 

His hair was unruly and Y/N wished she could just. . .  run her fingers though it and fix it, like she used to. His eyes were bloodshot and lidded, fighting to stay open. Y/N took note that he looked like he was swaying, like he was about to fall asleep. Like he was dead on his feet. He looked pale, sick; almost like he was getting over a cold, but Y/N knew better. She knew better. This wasn’t a cold. Y/N had stopped at the end of the hallway; a deer caught in headlights. Spencer had heard her shoes come to a stop and he turned; another deer, another car. 

He coughed, wiped his nose and said, “Y-Y/N?” 

The boy swayed some more, hand flying out in front to steady himself. He heard her gasp and his once clouded mind became sharp. she knows. she knows. she knows. she knows. she knows. she—

“Spencer?” It was simple. That was it, one word, his name, and he was running into his apartment after struggling to unlock it for a few seconds (ones that really felt more like hours). She didn’t sleep that night. Her mind was too plagued with thoughts of Spencer Reid. She knew if she did try and sleep she would fall asleep only to be woken by her anxiety surrounding the Pretty Boy. 

Y/N wasn’t dumb. No, in fact, Spencer often said she was one of the smartest people he knew and that meant a lot considering that he worked with seven brilliant minds, as well as being a certified genius. She knew what was happening to the boy across the hall. That Wednesday confrontation had confirmed it for her. She knew. 

She knew and she was planning on having a one on one intervention. She would’ve asked his friends to be there too but she had heard (from Spencer) that they weren’t very present the first time he had this problem— so here she was, on her own. That was what brought her to his door, she had knocked only to be met with silence. She knew he was home, she knew he was in there. Being neighbors with a guy who you’re simultaneously in love with and worried about gives you a lot of perks— one of them knowing where he is at all times, in the most non-stalkerish way ever. 

She knocked again. Silence again. She hoped he was just ignoring her. She hoped that he was just in the shower and hadn’t heard either knocks. She hoped that he was doing anything other than the intrusive thoughts her mind was throwing at her. She hoped, she hoped, she hoped. Y/N knew what she had to do. Spencer had given her a key to his place—for emergencies. She knew that it was an invasion of his privacy, but she had to know. She had to see him; had to see that he was alright. She had to. So, with her heart in her throat, threatening to jump from her body any second, she put the key in the lock and twisted, pushing the heavy door open. 

And god damn it, she wished she would’ve poked her nose in sooner, because slumped on the couch was a very drugged up version Spencer Reid. She would’ve given anything, everything, to not have to have him in this pain, to not have him dealing with this. Her heart stopped, upon seeing the unmoving form, and she wanted to die. 

There sat (sat being a loose word) Spencer, his usually buttoned shirt was laying open, showing his uncharacteristically toned stomach. The sleeve that was on his left arm was rolled up, his rubber tourniquet tightly on his upper arm and there were a few track marks in the crook of his elbow. His left hand was loosely balled into a fist and his right held a needle that was more than likely in his arms minutes before. 

Y/N was in shock. She couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes off the sight in front of her. The boy who she had come to love was no longer present. The usually Pretty Boy’s head was leaning on the back of the ratty couch, eyes barely opened and unfocused. His long hair was matted to his forehead in sweat. His breathing was shallow and coming out in rough puffs; she could see how much he was struggling with the task. The neighbor girl was worried that he would stop completely if she didn’t do something. 

She moved forward quickly, her hands pulling at the rubber, throwing it on the ground. Her hands moved to his face, cupping his head. Her fingers expertly wiped at the sweat, moving it off his skin. “Spence? Hey, Spencer, can you hear me?”

His unfocused eyes landed on her, blinking slowly a few times—too slowly— and his mouth opened and his brows furrowed slightly. “Wha— what’s hap’nin’? Y-Y/N?”

He moved weakly against her, pulling his face away and then his arms. He tried to push her away, fight her, but she was significantly stronger than him. In another life, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed— would’ve thought it was off putting that the girl he liked could easily over power him. But alas, its not and she is. He grunted out against her, whining; he felt limp against the sofa again, eyes unfocused and confused— too tired to move, to fight her. His body was defying him, giving up. 

“S-Spencer?” With no response, she pulled out her phone— a moment of clarity. She could do this. She could do this. She could do this. Calling the emergency team was a hard thing to do, explaining what happened, who he was, where they were— it was hard, but what was harder was seeing him be placed on a stretcher and loaded into the back of an ambulance. The hardest thing, though, was not being able to go with the brown eyed Pretty Boy. 

If you asked her, years from now, what she remembered from that night she’d always say watching the love of your life be pulled away from you with no guarantee that you’ll see them again is the worst pain imaginable and I’d never wish it on my worst enemy.

The lovely people that came to Spencer’s rescue had told her that she unfortunately wasn’t allowed in the back of the rig— something having to do with regulations and legal things. She didn’t argue, she didn’t have the energy to. The girl, who was suffering the effects of shock, pulled out her phone again. She knew Spencer wouldn’t have wanted her to, but she didn’t know what else to do and he wasn’t there to stop her. She let her fingers dial the number that just happened to call her three weeks earlier. 

The voice on the other side answered quickly, a cheery tone to it. Y/N distantly wished that she could also share that feeling— she wished she didn’t have to rip the happiness away from the beautiful blonde she had come to know. She wished that JJ didn’t have to listen to the words about to spill from her lips. Y/N wished that Spencer never stuck the needle in his arm. She wished that things were different. She wished and wished and wished until her head hurt. 

JJ met her at the hospital sans Will and her boys— probably a good idea on her part. Especially considering the state that Y/N was in. The usually posed girl was now disheveled, her hair was sticking up unnaturally (from pulling at it in anger, confusion, sadness— all of the emotions, really), her eyes were puffy from crying and JJ could tell that the girl in front of her was in another world. Y/N was sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs provided by the hospital and her leg was bouncing at an alarming speed. JJ knew she needed to get Y/N’s mind off the boy; she needed to do something.

The hospital was noisy yet also controlled. It was like everyone who was talking was miles away, that they were trying to keep their voices down in fear that she would burst and lose it. 

“Y/N?” It was soft, Y/N realized. She recognized the tone and connected it to how Spencer usually addressed her. Logically, her mind knew it was not Spencer and that it was a girl’s voice that had began but her heart and lips knew otherwise. 

“Spencer?” Full of tears and hope, Y/N’s voice called out first, just as soft. Then her eyes moved up, hoping to see the curly haired boy, and were (unfortunately) met with her pretty blonde friend who was squatting in front of her. She was hovering— Y/N didn’t like that. She felt closed in but she didn’t have the heart (or the energy) to tell her to give her some space. 

JJ could see the hope drain from the girl’s body. “Just me, sorry.” The blonde patted Y/N’s knee before taking the seat next to her. “How you doing?”

Anger. That was what flowed through Y/N’s veins at the question. “How am I doing? I don’t know, JJ. How do you think? I just found the guy I love passed out, on the brink of an overdose! All because you guys couldn’t—”

She cut herself off with a gasp; she took it too far, she knew that. She also knew that it wasn’t anyone’s fault— no one except Spencer’s. She knew that. She was just so scared for her boy.

The girl next to her was taken aback; JJ’s mouth hung open, eyes wide. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to say something— anything. JJ knew it wasn’t her fault, she knew that. She wasn’t the one that gave him the drugs, she didn’t encourage him to take them. Maybe Y/N was right though, she wasn’t there for him like she should’ve been. She left him to grieve on his own. She may not have encouraged him but she sure as hell was at fault. She may not have stuck the needle in the boy’s vein, but she might as well have told him to do so. 

JJ’s mouth opened again, words soft and regretful, “Y/N, I am so sorry. You’re right, I should’ve been there for him. I don’t—”

Y/N took a breath, calming herself, “No, JJ, I-I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I know it’s not your fault. Spencer did this to himself.” 

The girls waited together in silence after that. The only sound being the many people rushing around the building and the small conversations of the people around the two girls and the heavy breathing from the aforementioned women. They comforted each other— not with words but rather with their body language. Y/N and Jennifer held hands, willing the other to stay calm, until a doctor approached them, solemn look on her face. Both girls stood up, hand in hand. Y/N’s nerves skyrocketed, she felt like she was going to pass out. If the doctor didn’t give her any good news, she was sure she would. Her thoughts were moving a mile a minute and she was willing the doctor to speak, tell them what happened, tell them something good.

Why wasn’t she talking? Why is she looking at her like that? Why won’t she stop smiling like that? Why won’t she tell her what’s happening?

“Y/N,” The doctor, who had once given her name but was now forgotten, began before her eyes looked between the blonde agent next to her and then to Y/N. “Can we talk in private?”

Private? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god, that’s not good. Private is never good. “Uh— You can say in in front of her. It’s okay.”

A sigh came from the doctor’s lips, hands folding in front of her. “Y/N, are you sure?”

“Yes—!” A sigh from Y/N. A beat passed and then she tried again, softer this time, “Yes, please, just tell me what’s happening.”

“Okay. . . Well, when you brought Mr Reid—”

“Doctor Reid—” Both horrified girls corrected simultaneously. It wasn’t important, they knew that. Of course they knew that. It was important to the bedridden boy though, and they knew he’d correct the doctor if he was here. So, they did what Spencer would do and corrected her. 

Another sigh from the woman in the scrubs, “When we brought Doctor Reid in, he was experiencing an overdose, as I’m sure you know. He was also having trouble breathing and had a seizure while on the way in.” 

The doctor paused, waiting to see if either girl had any questions. Neither did, but both felt their hearts stopped. Y/N felt the tears return to her eyes, she felt like she needed a minute. The broken girl let her hand slip away from the blonde’s and sat back down in the dirty chair. She placed her head in her hands and did some breathing exercises. She distantly heard the woman continue talking, “We were able to stable him and he’s resting now. He might be a little groggy but you can probably take him home in a bit. I can take one of you to see him, if you’d like.”

Y/N’s body and mind sharpened at that. She could see him? He was fine? She felt JJ’s presence next to her again, a hand was placed on her back, rubbing. “You should go first.”

“What about you?”

She smiled a soft smile (one that she was sure was taught to her by Spencer), eyes wet, “I’ll check in with him later. Go ahead.” The young girl didn’t need another word before she was up out of her seat, following the doctor. Her heartbeat was in her ears; she wondered if the woman next to her could hear it. It didn’t matter, she ultimately decided. They stopped in front of a half closed door; the doctor opening it to let the girl in. She must’ve expected her to rush in, because she started to swing the door shut. But Y/N was frozen, eyes locked with the Pretty Boy, that is until the door almost hit her. The girl mumbled a small, sorry before making her way fully into the room. 

The boy she missed so much was leaning back into the bed, his arms at his sides— he looked uncomfortable. He was awake and that surprised Y/N; she had half expected him to be asleep. She wasn’t ready to confront the boy yet. His eyes watched her move around the room; she was pacing, hands shaking the nerves out. He could see that she was wrecked and he knew he was the cause. He wanted to turn back time, he wanted to make sure she never had to deal with him like this. The boy opened his mouth then closed it. He didn’t know how to make it better. He wished he did, but he really didn’t. 

Maybe Emily was right, he thought and his heart broke for his lost friend all over again, my genius IQ really does get slashed to 60 when I’m looking at a pretty girl. 

Y/N, after a few minutes, came to a rough stop and turned to him, a fire in her eyes. An emotion that he had never seen directed at him before— it scared him. Her voice came then, angry and wrecked, “Spencer Reid—! What— Why?!”

He had no answer for her, so he just slowly lifted his hands in a shrug and said, “I’m sorry.”

She let out a sigh and then laughed bitterly, “You’re sorry? Spencer, I-I don’t even know where to begin. . . you could’ve talked to me, you know?”

A cough and a sniff, then another sigh. He knew. “I know.”

“I was so worried. Spence, I— I thought you were gonna die. Do you want to die, Spencer— is that it? You were trying to kill yourself?”

“No!” It was rushed and harsh. It hurt his throat causing him to clear it before speaking again, “No, I don’t want to die, Y/N. It was an accident, ‘m not suicidal.” The boy threw his head back against his pillow in anger. He wished that she could just know why he needed the release. It made sense to him; he wanted her to understand.

“God!” She threw her hands out, angry, “Spencer, fuck. An accident?! You accidentally shot up? You accidentally got yourself addicted to Dilaudid again? God, Spence, seriously?” 

 She was angry, Spencer knew that. She had every right to be, but he was also feeling attacked. He was just so, so tired and irritated. He needed a minute, he needed a breath and Y/N asking him all these questions was not helping him whatsoever. “What do you want from me?!”

The angry girl was taken aback and it showed. Her whole body language changed, she took a few discombobulated steps backward as if she had been pushed and her mouth fell open at the question. Spencer immediately felt horrible— he wanted to take it back but it was too late. The words had already been said. 

“What do I want?” The words were soft, a tone of hurt to them and despite himself, Spencer nodded. “Spence, I wanted you to talk to me. I wanted you to not shut me out! I didn’t want this; I didn’t want you to fucking overdose because you’re too stubborn to talk to me. Spencer I—”

Tears filled his eyes as he asked, “What? You what?”

“Spencer. . . I-I love you, you know that. Spence, you know that. I know you do.” The boy’s tears fell as he nodded. His words were caught in his throat. He sniffed, he did know. His heart fluttered at the confession. They weren’t official; they hadn’t had the talk. They were just two kids dumb in love. She continued, heart heavy. “But I swear to god, Spence, if you keep down this path you will loose me. I will not be apart of this; I will not watch you kill yourself.”

A beat of silence passed. Then he spoke. It was soft and small, a tone of anxiety accompanied it. “You’ll leave?”

“Don’t make me the bad guy, Spence,” She grunted out, a nervous hand running through her hair. 

“Y/N— I-I don’t even— I don’t know what you want me to say.” The broken boy admitted, trying to sit up. Y/N moved forward, sitting next to his legs. She grabbed ahold of one of his hands, lacing their fingers together. 

“I want you to tell me you’ll stop. Spencer, I want you to tell me I won’t find you like— like that again.” The girl was looking down, away from Spencer, but he knew she was crying. He knew her too well. He knew that this was breaking her. But he had to say it, even if it would break her heart.

“I don’t know if I can.” He cried, hand squeezing hers. She met his eyes then. 

“Spencer, please.” She knew it was selfish of her to ask, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine a world with out him. 

“I don’t think I’m strong enough, Y/N/N.” 

“You are. You are, I promise.” She nodded at him, hope flooding her veins. “And I’ll be there when it gets too hard.”

She felt him squeeze her hand again before he spoke, fears lacing his wrecked voice, “You will?”

“I will, Spencer. I promise. I just need you to try. Just try and I’ll help with the rest.”

The boy nodded, tears falling from his beautiful brown eyes— the ones that Y/N was more than in love with.

She didn’t lie that night; no, she stuck with him throughout it all. She was there when the cravings got so bad that he was in physical pain and tears stung his eyes. She was there for him when he woke up from nightmares. She was there to rub his back when he vomited all his food into the toilet and when he was so frustrated because he couldn’t be trusted to hold a glass, let alone his gun, before it slipped through his weak fingers. She was there when he wanted to die and when he was so uncomfortable that all he did was cry in her arms. She was there for it all. She had kept her promise and stayed there for it all— just like he would’ve if the roles were reversed. 

[katierosefun]

top 5 clone wars episodes

whooo boy, thank you for the ask!! // ask me my top 5 anything 

1. victory and death -- i mean, i both love this episode and hate this episode because i hate how painful it is, but also,,,,,also, i think it’s one of the most perfect finale episodes in the history of finales. i’m in love with the fact that dave filoni really said that the two original characters of the clone wars were going to be the ones who got to survive,,,,i’m in love with that haunting ending shot of anakin/vader walking away from that helmet.....the rich symbolism in that one shot.....the fact that we saw anakin’s eye through vader’s helmet....morai flying above.....ahsoka dropping her lightsaber.....the fact that this episode was chock full of parallels.......no but also, the fact that,,,like the ending really symbolized that this is the end. this is the end of a chapter. we see it flicker before ourselves just briefly, and then it goes out. like what the fuck. dave filoni you are  paying for my therapy bills now. 

2. old friends not forgotten -- bro what the fuck was this episode. the fact that dave filoni paralleled this whole episode with anakin, obi-wan, and ahsoka’s first meeting. no. no this wasn’t okay. this hurt so much. i made so many pterodactyl screeching sounds at like 6 in the morning that day no i couldn’t handle it. the thing is,,,,,the thing is,,,,,,the pain. the pain in anakin being lowkey manic because he just wants to talk to ahsoka,,,,,obi-wan being the one who has to be the voice of reason but he’s tired, and ahsoka is angry, and anakin just wants his friends to get back to normal,,,,,,,,no im so sad anakin skywalker obi-wan kenobi get  the fuck back here and hug ahsoka 

3. alter of mortis -- bro...this episode drives me insane. the fact that ahsoka’s lowkey possessed and screams that she hates it when anakin calls her “snips”,,,,the fact that anakin actually stops calling her “snips” after that.......the fact that anakin’s voice cracks and he’s on the verge of tears when he shouts that “you have to help her”,,,,no the fact that anakin skywalker refuses to fight ahsoka and is just trying so hard not to hurt her,,,,,the fact that obi-wan and anakin are both so incredibly worried when ahsoka’s out......the fact that obi-wan gives ahsoka the softest, gentlest smile when ahsoka looks at him.....fuckign hell this episode was peak trio being a family and i can’t-- 

4. voyage of temptation -- iconic episode. what an iconic episode. all the fucking tropes. obi-wan kenobi and satine kryze getting all,,,,,*coughs* high-tension in that one scene,,,,someone pointed out that in the animation, obi-wan’s eyes flick down to satine’s mouth and i’m going bonkers. anakin holding a martinin and laughing to himself,,,,,,,”go find your girlfriend” / “right....wait, anakin she’s not my--”......we have a love confession......we have anakin being the cold-blooded killer......what a comedic beat i’m saying that the clone wars deserved an emmy for that alone.........the satine stroking obi-wan’s beard and obi-wan’s voice getting all high-pitched because he’s flustered holy shit no i love them so much my fuckign parents oh my god 

5. the wrong jedi -- another one that i lowkey hate but also love because yes, it’s depressing, and i have a serious issue with some of the stuff in the episode, but it’s also......it’s so heartbreaking, and the writing of the last few scenes makes me go insane. the fact that the sun is setting when ahsoka walks away.....the fact that anakin briefly reaches out for her....the fact that we don’t ever see ahsoka tano cry except for two (2) episodes, one when she thought she lost obi-wan, and again here, when she knows she’s losing anakin,,.,,,no i’m going to go insane,,,,,the sad, sad look anakin gives ahsoka as she’s walking away,,,,you’re suddenly struck by how young and yet how old the two of them look.....both forced to say goodbye too soon....no i can’t--and yet you feel this sense of triumph because yes, this is a way for ahsoka tano to survive....and yet you also feel grief because now you can’t help but wonder how things could have been different if she’d stayed.....