#or maybe with therapy ill get over my repulsion for relationships...

[fiveamandawake]

in the spirit of using this blog as the vent and journal it was created as:

I don't know how to end this friendship. I'd like to do it kindly, while being completely clear that I'd prefer for him not to contact me again.

This is someone who doesn't have other friends, and who depends on me for i) emotional validation, ii) guidance, iii) motivation to get better. We were friends, then briefly in a relationship, then friends again after I moved across the planet into a literal hellscape of grief and terror to which my own depression contributed its own tang.

I haven't been in regular contact with him. I've been ghosting him, more or less, since I got here in 2020. The thing is, I've been ghosting all of my friends and all my family that I don't live in the same building with, without exception. I gave everyone who I'm close to a general explanation of the difficulties of my life at present, and to some of them (him included) I also offered some of the more painful details as explanation for why my mental health didn't allow for consistent contact anymore. I know it's a shoddy way to treat your friends, but I have been doing my best (in therapy and out of it) to get over my weird fear of contacting my own friends, and getting nowhere with it.

So, me: radio silent, mostly. Him: writing letters begging for updates, telling me about how it's too hard to try and overcome his depression without my support, saying that he can't stop thinking about me, saying he's doing badly and needs help, talking about how I was causing him worry and distraction by not "letting him in" and sharing my own problems.

I am going to be fair to him by saying I knew about this aspect of his character from early on in our acquaintance, and at the time I enjoyed how cherished it made me feel. How adored. He was, and is, constant, loyal, in every way wanting to be there to support me through my troubles the way we used to help each other through them before.

However, things have changed. Specifically, years of handling back-to-back problems quite beyond what a person just reaching her twenties ought to deal with have changed me from the person he knew to someone harder and hollower, less prone to kindness. I'm chronically ill now, my mental health is autumn-leaf-trembling-on-a-twig fragile, and I'm unemployed and stranded away from employment opportunities with my money running out mainly because I can't rely on my own body and mind not to let me down in an emigration situation.

These changes in me have led to a much lowered self esteem. With most of my friends, I stuggle to reach out across the months and years and share my troubles because I am ashamed of having done this to myself, sunk so irreparably low and despairing so wholly that words of encouragement or consolation feel inadequate as a response. I don't give them the grace of knowing me as I am now, and still trying to love me. I'd prefer they bear in mind the gentle, whimsical person who I was in university and before that. With him, who knew me and loved me at a low point and who I know would love me still if I gave him the chance, I don't know just what my problem is.

I only know that above all, his persistence and insistence in that I let him in, that I engage with his life and that I tell him about mine, has caused a perverse repulsion in addition to the shame that drives me to hide from those who cared about me. I can't, but with him I also don't want to. I don't want to know him anymore, though he continues to be kind and attentive, with a mind I find delightfully beautiful in its contours, troubles and all.

It's a strange reason for breaking off a friendship: I can't be the support you need, and I refuse to open up to let you support me. Perhaps, later, in less dire times, I will come to regret losing this dark pearl by throwing him back into the open waters. Maybe I will miss him.

Right now, though, his messages continue to dig at me with guilt. I cannot and also will not want to change my actions in the short term. These messages continue to pitch increasingly towards melodramatic "so this is it, then, you're abandoning our friendship", which I can understand to a degree after 4 years of rarely and reluctantly broken silence on my part, but which annoys and exasperates me to a much greater degree. None of my other friends, though I've known most of them much longer than him and been just as close to many of them, are wailing and tearing out their hair in my inbox every few days. They heard "I still care about you, and if you send me messages I'll read them lovingly even if I can't respond. I'll be in touch when I can," and they took it at face value. Why couldn't he?

I am his only friend, this brilliant, high-achieving person, this closed-off, troubled figure who holds a world of consideration and devotion closely guarded in him. I don't want to disappear permanently from his life, not when his messages to me provide at least an unanswered outlet for his feelings, but I am not a door to be knocked on incessantly, and I tire of the emotional appeals which I cannot answer, and which make me feel terrible each time I cannot answer them.

I think, though it will be painful to him, the healthier thing to do is to stop our association altogether. Maybe in the years to come, if I am ever better myself, I will feel the rupture to be painful myself. But he needs to find new friends, try for new loves, and experience the failures and occasional successes of life's social encounters for himself. My friendship, weak, pale thing that it is nowadays, is not enough to sustain a whole person. I doubt he will let go of it and go out to seek new instances of live or friendship if things remain as they are. I have no wish to string him along, and so it must end here.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi :) I... really wanna read a fanfic or two but I can't find one I vibe with xD So... do you know one that's not too long (around 100k words maybe), has hurt and comfort, smut (am I allowed to ask about that?? Ahhhh) and a happy ending? Top!lock would be a bonus but it's not necessary. And if it's a nice AU (like... any kind but no crossovers pls), it would be perfect! :D By the way, I found your blog only a few hours ago and I already feel really comfy and Idk, kinda at home here ^-^

Hi Nonny!!!

Welcome to my corner of the Tumblrsphere!!! I’m so happy you’ve found me, LOL, because I love all my followers and friends! <3

First of all, I think it’s super cute that “not too long” to you is “around 100K” LOL LOL LOL!!! <3 That said, I’d argue all my fic recs are fabulous, LOL. But again, I’m stupidly proud of the wonderful lists I’ve accumulated, because it satisfies my organization kink LOL. And yes, you’re ALWAYS allowed to ask for smut here LOL. 

ANYWAY, so I’m gonna use this ask as an excuse to post up a long-overdue part two to my 50 to 100K fic list! But first, here’s some past lists for the genres you’re looking for:

FIC MASTER PAGES: PG1 || PG 2 || PG 3

Toplock (Mar 2020)

Omegaverse

Please Check PG 3 for all my AU fic lists. There’s a lot :)

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words 

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 2: 5K to 10K Words

Fandom Favourites / Popular Fics

I hope those will get you started! So now, here’s the main event!! Hope you enjoy them!

50 - 100 K WORDS Pt. 2 (Novel Length)

See also:

Fics Under 2000 w.

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 2

Fics Under 2000 w. Pt. 3

E-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt 1 (Short Fics under 20K)

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Long S3/Post-S3 Fics (20K+ w.) [Apr 2020]

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017)

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug 2019)

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w. || Notting Hilll AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

This Thing All Things Devours by cypress_tree (E, 63,844 w., 15 Ch. || In Time AU || Science Fiction, Dystopian Universe, First Meetings, Action / Adventure, Romance) – In 2169, time is money—literally. Humans are genetically engineered to stop aging at 25, when the numbers on their arm start counting down from one year. When that time is up, they die. The only way to get more time is to earn it, borrow it, or steal it.John Watson lives day-to-day in the crowded slums of Zone 13. He never imagined living any differently—until he meets the practically-immortal Sherlock, and helps him on a case to track a local time-thief...

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) –  A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 97,884 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 2)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed (tm) with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

Chapters 1-5 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Martin awakens slowly, as if floating up from the bottom of a pool. Sensation returning to his heavy limbs, he becomes gradually aware of the heat enveloping him.  Not a burning heat, not the Desolation—just warmth all around.  It’s been such a long time since he’s truly felt warm that he is very nearly lulled back to sleep by the sheer comfort of it all—when a chill runs through his body, and he is startled back into full consciousness.

Ah. That’ll be the fever, then.

Sweeping a hand over his brow, he curls his nose in displeasure at the sweat he finds beaded there.  He startles again when something next to him moves in response.  Head whipping around, eyes wide, he prepares to face whatever monstrosity has crept into his bed, when he realizes—it’s Jon.

God, it’s Jon.  In my bed.  In our bed.

He sleeps with his face turned toward Martin, a hand lying draped across his arm, hair hanging loosely across his face.  Martin has rarely seen him in such an unguarded moment, looking so peaceful, so trusting—his chest swells with the dawning remembrance of the kiss they had shared that night. It had been so gentle, so filled with love, so warm—

Martin takes a deep inhale to settle his butterflies.  Upon exhaling, his breath catches quickly as he realizes that thick tendrils of smoke are now streaming from his mouth.

Gasping and clapping his hands over his mouth, he shoots up to a seated position, holding his breath in shock, heart pounding, mind racing.

Nonono please god don’t tell me this has all been a lie please please—

He tentatively exhales a bit more, chest on fire—but there is nothing.  No more smoke.  Relieved, he wheezes out rapid, shaky breaths, leaning forward to ease his attempts to slow them down.  His nose immediately starting dripping, and he wipes a sleeve across it, disgusted with himself even as he does so.

Did I dream that?  Was I hallucinating?

Behind him, a soft noise of discomfort catches his attention.  Jon rolls onto his back, furrowing his brow and curling his arms into himself, away from the sudden draft that has invaded his now-absent blanket cocoon.  Seeing this sends a pang of guilt through Martin, and he lies down once again, pulling the blanket back over his and Jon’s shoulders.  He closes his eyes and desperately prays that it had all been a dream.

A few minutes pass this way, Jon snuggling a bit closer to Martin’s warmth in the meantime.  Martin finds himself still locked in the struggle to catch his breath—his nose is now completely useless, and there is a strange sensation of both airiness and weight on his chest, pressing on his lungs.  It appears that his struggle to return to sleep is going to be futile.

He sniffs heavily, the wetness amplifying the sound.

Jon shifts again at this, brow furrowing as he returns to some level of awareness.  Martin has to make a decision, and quickly.

I have to get out of here—I can’t wake him, god knows the last time he’s actually slept.

With a well-practiced noiselessness, Martin extracts himself from Jon’s side, gently tucking the blankets around him as he does.  Jon does not move again, his breathing still deep and slow.  Satisfied that he has not been disturbed, Martin moves silently across the room and through the door.

Martin excels at quietness.  This is one thing his mum had praised him for over the years—his ability to be quiet, to fade into the background, to stay of sight and mind whenever she needed.  He creeps down the steps in stocking feet, doing his best to avoid causing any of them to creak.  A chill runs through him again when he reaches the bottom of the steps and flicks the light on.  Looking longingly at the dusty blanket folded over the edge of the couch for a moment, he sniffles again and heads into the bathroom.  

Don’t look don’t look don’t look, he thinks as he passes by the mirror, keeping his head down.  He pauses, considering the roll of toilet paper for a moment, before taking the whole thing off the holder and carrying it back out with him.

Back in the living room now, Martin unfolds the dusty blanket, shaking it out for a few seconds before crumpling onto the couch beneath its folds.  Letting out a miserable sigh, he tears off a long bit of toilet paper and does his best to clear his head, ears popping uncomfortably in the process, and ends up a bit lightheaded.

Better lie back down for a bit if I can, he thinks, fluffing the pillow to his left and stretching out as much as possible on the too-short couch.

Before even a minute has passed, however, that odd airy-but-heavy feeling has landed in his chest again, causing his breaths to feel compressed, coming in short.

What is this?  Is it panic?

Testing this theory, Martin takes what is meant to be a deep, grounding breath—until it suddenly hitches near the top. A small gagging sound escapes him before his body convulses upright, driven by the painful, violent coughs bursting from his lungs, threatening to choke him, ripping through his agonized throat.  Tears gather in his eyes and run down his face as he continues, gasping for breath as the rattle in his chest struggles to clear.

Don’t wake Jon don’t wake Jon don’t wake Jon, he thinks on a loop as he tries desperately to muffle the sounds with the blanket.

Several minutes of this leave him doubled over, his head pounding with congestion and exhaustion.  His throat is on fire, but he can’t even drag himself over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Pathetic.  Useless.

Loud.

Martin closes his eyes and leans back against the sofa, removing the blanket from his face and listening carefully for any signs of movement from upstairs.  With relief, he hears nothing save for the occasional creak of the house settling.  He smiles gratefully down at his lap.

Thanks, Sir Blanket, you worked like a charm.

Sighing wetly, he turns to stare at the pillow still welcoming him from the head of the couch, but Martin doesn’t dare to lie down again.  He’d like to keep the ability to breathe, thanks very much.  So he settles for curling up against the arm rest, supporting his head with his hand.

What was that smoke upstairs?

I feel quite certain now that I was awake.  That it was there, actually there.

It’s got to have something to do with the Lonely, doesn’t it?

With…him?

Another fever chill courses through him, and he pulls the blanket back up to his chin, curling in even tighter.

Alright, let’s not panic.  Let’s think it through.  We know it’s the Lonely.  So it’s probably bad, right?

He considers this for a few moments, coughing harshly into the blanket again.

It didn’t…feel bad, though.  It felt…warm.  And happy.  Like a weight lifted from me.

…maybe it’s the Lonely leaving me?  Maybe because I’m not alone, not anymore.

He smiles briefly at the thought.

Does it have anything to do with the fact that I’m ill?

Admitting that to himself, even just within his own thoughts, pulls a deep sense of shame from him.

What a waste.

Of time, of energy.

Jon doesn’t need another thing to shoulder right now.

He swipes a hand across his dampening brow.

In his heart of hearts, Martin knows that these things—relationships, caretaking, et cetera—are meant to be a two-way street.  He’s had many conversations with his therapist about exactly this—ever since his mum left for the care home, he’d been trying to undo his habit of constant caretaking of others.  He hadn’t made much progress in therapy, though.  Really, he couldn’t even tell her half of the bizarre things that were going on in his life unless he wanted to sound delusional.

Martin half-chuckles.

If she only knew that the Lonely existed, perhaps she’d refer everyone with the curse of caring too much there.  That’s as good a way as any to get it all torn out of you.

He pauses, taken aback.

What a bitter thought.  Is that who I am now?  A bitter old thing with white hair and beard?

He loses some time envisioning this thought, and when he comes back to himself, he is once again lying down on the couch.  The uncomfortable pressure in his chest is still present, but he finds he no longer has the strength (nor the will) to lift himself back up.

What a right mess this is.

When he coughs again, it’s deeper, more rattling—and so loud it leaves his head pounding again.

Don’t wake him don’t wake him don’t wake him

His mother’s voice turns up to berate him.

Be quiet, Martin.

Settle down, Martin.

This isn’t about you, Martin.

…

…Oh god, how high is my fever?

His thoughts continue spinning as a fitful sleep overtakes him at last, and he begins to dream.

Jon wonders now if the dreams he’s had over the years have all been this—the nightmares of others.

He had never been one for sleep, work always preoccupying his thoughts, but…this was different, now.  Now that he knows what he does to people by taking their statements, the anguish he causes—he’s found himself repulsed by the very idea of sleep.  The unfortunate reality is that, for now, some part of him is still human, and humans require sleep after so many hours of tortured wakefulness.

Tonight is no different.  Except that it is, wholly and completely.

He finds himself wandering through Martin’s dreams tonight.

He’s in a back garden, a dilapidated old thing surrounded by an iron fence laced up with weeds.  A small child in a bright red raincoat and Wellingtons runs haphazardly through the garden, splashing in a mud puddle and screaming with delight as it all flies into the air and onto his clothes.

Jon can’t help but smile at this young, carefree version of Martin, and he is contented with the fact that Martin is dreaming peacefully.  He begins looking for some way to exit, to opt out of what feels very much like spying.

The peacefulness does not last for long.

A large man, who looks so very much like Martin, bursts through the back door of the house, screaming at the child, who falls over into the puddle in shock.  Jon cannot make out the words, but as he watches the man approaching the child, his face turns into some ugly, twisted thing.  The child cries out, and—

Jon is now inside the house he had seen from the back garden, in the corner of the living room.  Martin’s parents are arguing heatedly about things he cannot hear, cannot understand, when he sees Martin—a bit older now, with long curls flowing down the back of his nightdress—creeping ever so cautiously through the house and toward the kitchen.  He collects a glass of water without being seen, without being heard, and carefully slinks back up the stairs from which he came.

Jon watches Martin’s father walk out the door.

He moves forward in time, rooted to that same corner of the living room, where he sees Martin again—this time, around eleven or twelve years old.  Already he has shot up in height, very nearly matching Jon’s own.  He is once again carefully tiptoeing through the living room, this time carrying a stack of very heavy-looking books.  Jon realizes with dread what is about to happen a split second before it does.

BANG.

Martin had dropped one of the heavy textbooks, and startled his mum awake from the couch.  She yells again, and Martin proceeds to drop the rest of the textbooks from his now shaking hands.  As he kneels down to pick them up, apologizing over and over, his mum chucks a shoe at him from where she sits.  Martin doesn’t even react.

Jon has never felt such a seething fury as the one swelling in him now.

Another time jump, and Jon finds himself cramped into a small bathroom.  Martin appears to be a young teenager now, still with dark curls cascading down his back.  He has a school uniform on now—a pleated skirt—and is leaning over the sink, sobbing.

Jon’s heart is absolutely shattered.

After a moment, Martin picks up a pair of scissors from the sink and, with a look of furious determination, mercilessly hacks at his own hair, ringlets dropping listlessly to the floor.

His work done, Martin stares at his own face in the mirror for a moment.  Leaning in, an entirely new expression crosses his face—one of realization, of understanding.  He smiles and runs a hand through his shorn locks.

The jumps are coming faster now.  Jon sees Martin in his bedroom, his chest wrapped in ace bandages, tugging at them desperately as he struggles to control the deep, wrenching coughs erupting from drowning lungs.

Martin is alone in the hospital with pneumonia, nasal cannula in his nose, watching the fog creeping in with a fevered gaze.

He sits alone at a picnic table at university, as everyone passes him by.

Eyes streaming with tears, Martin submits his form to drop out of university.

Jon watches himself slam the door in Martin’s face at the institute.  The fog is rolling across the floor in billows now.

Martin returns home to find his home completely barren—his mother moved into a care home, with no warning and all of their belongings.

Jon is lying in a hospital bed, with Martin holding his hand, trying desperately not to look at the grey tendrils wrapping around his limbs, around his heart.

Martin walks up to his mother’s casket.  The fog is no longer following him, it is him—streaming from beneath his glasses, his clothes, his skin, his mouth, choking choking choking choking—

Jon startles awake to the sound of Martin’s anguished, gasping coughing from downstairs.

Running a hand through his hair, Jon takes a moment to grieve.  Guilt floods him as the reality of his trespassing sinks in—though it had been unintentional, it was a betrayal of trust all the same.

He remembers their conversation from weeks past.

“The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?”

“You know, I think it always did.”

He had been right, of course.  As always.

After a few grounding breaths, Jon divests himself of the blankets and stands, his body protesting every move.  Martin’s coughing has died out, replaced again by the silence—the same silence that Jon now knows has haunted him all his life.

Not anymore, Jon determines, tying his hair back as he begins to descend the stairs.

Not anymore, Martin.

[theroundbartable]

This is why I don't really like the "don't fight the symptom, Fight the roots of it" mentality that has been indoctrinated into our brains.

I mean, yeah, it makes sense. You cannot fix your problems, if you don't search for the roots of them. But the thing is, that you need time to find them first.

What are you supposed to do with the symptoms until then? Ignore them?

I say no. I say, if you see some of your symptoms mirrored in someone elses experiences, take lessons from how they deal with it. Regardless whether or not you've been diagnosed with the same illness. Mental or physical or maybe the person isn't even diagnosed themselves.

Because why wouldn't you? Are your feelings inferior, because you aren't diagnosed, or are their's, because clearly they have a disability that you simply cannot have? because it would be shameful? Is this what you're thinking? I think you see where I'm getting with this.

I personally, never went to therapy, for the same reasons that many people fear it. The attention. Of this random person that clearly sees me sick or tells me it's all my imagination. Or my parents. Or others all around me.

But I wanted help, because I felt that something was'nt right. I was unreasonably anxious, my depressive "phases" seemed to go on forever. I kept isolating myself, yet seeking for attention. I was scared to wear dresses (i'm afab), which made no sense.

I didn't know where that came from. But i knew the symptoms, so I went to explore and listened to all the sources I could.

I listened to men who talked about wearing dresses. Now, i'm no man, but I felt that fear and they helped me through it. I started buying dresses, wearing them in my room, or outside when i felt bold. Slowly, i found the clothes that fit my style. I was already over 18, when I first saw myself in the mirror.

I was depressed over losing a friend. I didn't lose them to death, though I saw similarities in my behavior and that of people who lost a loved one. Or those who lost touch with the person they were in a Relationship with.

I learned through their grief, how to deal with that pain. And in return was able to better console them as well.

I struggled immensiley with anything sexual resembling. In movies, in people, in simply touching others. I learned to slowly approach my fears from knowing how to deal with nightmares. Dive right back in, and change it in such a way, so you can deal with it. So i watched movies with sexual content, so i could get used to it on my own terms and learned to hug my friends trust people again.

I learned through them, that I had never set boundaries for people. I learned to set them, realized I was asexual along the way and now know that I do not owe anyone sex or romantic love.

I learned through dissociative identity disorder when trauma forms and how suppression and amnesia works. From there I found a page about the symptoms that follow sexual abuse. Now I wasn't sexually abused..... Or was I? Because so many symptoms resonated with me. Amnesia, anxiety, aggression, apathy, living in fantasy worlds, sex repulsion etc. Etc. It scared me. So I figured, I had to deal with those symptoms, since I had no memories of anything traumatic happening. And only when I learned to trust people again, when i felt comfortable, that's when I remembered what caused my anxieties in the first place. What I had repressed.

And this can apply to anyhing. Of course therapy is the better option. But when you feel you can't go there, or you feel you don't deserve to go.

Your feelings are valid. And you can figure out where they come from. But you cannot learn from experiences you do not have. You can only learn from people who have dealt with them before.

And that can be from people who seem to have nothing in common with you at all. If you share the symptoms, you might also share the roots. If you don't, you might share the path that helps you deal with it.

"surely im faking this," i think, directly experiencing all the symptoms nd not benefiting from it at all

[theatricalplacenta]

Just having some early morning thoughts on relationships. Contemplating and reflecting on how trauma affects your ability to connect with people or have basic fucking emotions, or how to trust people, or connect with them.

Growing up with a literal bat shit crazy biological mother, who was narcissistic and didn’t love her children beyond loving them as possessions, beat them to shit, verbally abused them, left them in situations where they were sexually abused, and on one occasion even sexually abused her eldest (me) herself; /REALLY/ fucked up my ability to form relationships of any kind. I’ll never leave my friends, and I consider them family because they are much more to me than my birth parents were, and I love them like I love my siblings, but they can leave me, and i will “understand”, because I see myself as unlovable.

Years and years and years of therapy didn’t fix it. Didn’t help it.  Years and years and years of seeing a psychiatrist didn’t help either. Everyone always says “see a shrink”, like it’s an instant fix. Sometimes, things take your whole life to work with, to understand, to make peace with, and learn and teach yourself to do things you would have learned as a child. (Or maybe you had, and became unable to process a certain strain of thoughts, or feelings after a certain situation or occurrence.  Sometimes things are never fixed. Most of the time, you learn to live with it. Ptsd can be reversed... as can depression... but it is not something to expect. Aiming for “normality” can set you back. Striving for perfection instead of taking baby steps towards living with your mental illness; living with yourself, is just setting yourself up for failure. the need to “fix” can make the world seem so much bigger, or can make the path you want to walk seem so much longer as you haven’t planned any pit stops. I use to cry when people would hug me when I went into foster care. My foster mom would ask to hug me, and I had never been asked before. I would say no, until one day I said yes, just to see what it was like. To see what a hug that wouldn’t be accompanied with crazed whispers, or spindly, dagger fingers clawing into my back, keeping me captive as my birth mother conveyed her love and care; love and care that was never present, but she desperately tried to make it seem like it was, and it wasn’t very believable after being beaten to hell and back, screamed at and taken down with verbal assault until she foamed at the mouth and turned red and blue in the face with hatred and anger, or after she would make me watch her beat and abuse my baby brother and sister, my children, that I raised, because I was too strong to be hurt physically. Because hurting them was the only way I would understand how much she “loved me”, and hugging me- making me look, constricting my body- touching the body she so vehemently made me aware of  being ugly and disgusting, putrid-  What would it be like to be hugged by a mom who respected me, and thought I was good, and kind, and artistic, and wanted what was good for me; genuinely... Well... I can tell you. It still repulsed me. Not her- never my foster mom, but the touch. The memories that came with it. The physical feeling of nausea and revulsion, and the instinctual panic and fear that came with it- it was all there. It still is to this day- BUT, just because I am not over it...does not mean I didn’t learn to rationalize, and live with it. See, hugging was bad for me. It still is- but back then, I started going out of my way to welcome hugs, or to initiate them, because I needed to condition myself at the very least, if not train my brain to expect positive interaction with hugs. I do now, but the initial trauma will always be there, and I think I will always feel sick when being hugged, or touched in general- But... I learned to live with it. Not to say that I- nor ANYONE else has to learn to just... “live with it”, because that’s ridiculous... but if you work towards it... just baby steps... things might get better. Hell, I still panic at the sight of shoulder-blade length, wiry, curly, dark hair. I had a full on crying my eyes out silently, breath taking panic attack on a bus from seeing a woman with her hair on the road outside the window. ANYWAY The point is, shit like this affects your relationships on a primary level, and it can stay that way. I don’t have the tools to apply to my own ptsd, nor to attempt to try and help another work past their trauma, and who fucking knows if others do... I honestly haven’t found anyone who gave me factual life advice to ease these sorts of problems, but in general these people, the psychiatrists and therapists, gave me a better understanding of what is happening to me, and why... but I've come to the obvious conclusion that you can’t just /fix/ what is broken when it’s trauma.I can’t make myself attracted to people. I can’t make myself okay with being touched, even if I can become accustomed to it. I can’t just decide to have a relationship with someone like I see so many do.  But does that make me broken? Does that make me strange? Does that make me less of a person? I’m not sure... I love people in my life wholly and unconditionally, and I want to love someone some day in the way of romance.... but is my want for romance simply a want for the idea of romance?  I’m a private person... I don’t like to be nagged or when people are super clingly- or expect to talk to me every single day.... I could never not have my own bed (But i’ll peg that on my bed being my safe place, and only my closest friends may share a bed with me) I’m just.... maybe I’m just meant to die alone. On a sort-of-less-serious note: WHAT IS LOVE- HOW DO I FIND IT.  DO I GO ON TINDER!? DO I HAVE TO BE SKINNY FIRST AND LOOSE ALL THE WEIGHT I PUT ON FOR THE SOUL PURPOSE OF SCARING OFF ANYONE THAT COULD SEE ME SEXUALLY- AND NOW I’M LIKE “Damn, i wonder if sex with a person is cool. The fuck do I do- do I make a craigslist add?  Hire an escort? LOL “HELLO, I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT SEXUAL INTERCOURSE IS LIKE WITH A HUMAN BEING. IS IT AS DISGUSTING AND AWKWARD AS IT SOUNDS? OR IS IT AS HOT AS WHAT I WRITE ABOUT?” SHOULD I JOIN CHRISTIAN MINGLE AND SHOW UP WITH MY RELIGION-HATING ASS!?

AMERICA, ESPLAIN. This has been a delusional 1 am self reflection with Thea. Who should have used those two golden hours of awake time from not sleeping off her pneumonia, to finish colouring her villain deku zine piece! It’s so close to being done, and yet, HERE SHE IS!- wondering about how people could possibly be comfortable getting married, how they find and keep love- how the hell they’re having babies, and living happily- while she’s over here, crying into a bag of mcsweenies original beef jerky, with a dog at her side, and has a 95% expectancy to be living in her car or under a bridge at any given moment.  Life is really something else. I really don’t expect any of you to have read this, but if you have, share your experiences! Maybe you have pointers! Tips! Pick up lines. Maybe you can just re-affirm i’m stupid af and I should just shut the fuck up.

[artificialqueens]

The Ghost of Room 203 (Trixya) Chapter 9 - Bramble

A/N: Sorry for the wait in between chapters. Enjoy!

Before Trixie knew it Friday came and that meant treatment. Over the rest of the week she had spent her time divided between the group, class, therapy sessions and in Katya’s room. The two had initially not gotten off the best start, Katya seemed to pretend nothing had occurred between the two, even going as far as insulting Trixie indirectly. Trixie had then gone marching to room 203 demanding questions, to which Katya’s logic was that she couldn’t just act nice around her.

It was flawed logic in Trixie’s mind, surely she could just not acknowledge Trixie instead of insulting her.

Aaron was slowly improving, he still had dark circles but his skin was returning to its natural colour. It was Thursday that he scared everyone when he banged his side into the door to the rec room. An intense bruise appearing quickly. He later explained to Trixie that a symptom of his cirrhosis was bruising more easily. It sucked but he was used to it.

It didn’t take a genius to tell something was off with Willam. He had distanced himself more from Courtney, and the whole group. He was overall, quieter. But no one pointed it out to anyone else.

Trixie’s mother even surprised her with a visit, making up for the fact she would not be there on Friday. It hadn’t gone well. She insisted Trixie talk about herself, treated her differently and overall make Trixie feel worse off. Luckily, Kim walked into the room interrupting the conversation. After that Trixie’s mother excused herself, something about work, but Trixie knew her work schedule. She didn’t work that day and wasn’t on call in case she was needed. She just wasn’t comfortable around more ill people.

She had been here a week and she could already find herself falling into a routine.

Except today was foreign waters. She didn’t have therapy later, she had treatment. She was sat crossed legged on Katya’s bed. She had told the group she had other plans today and not to worry when she didn’t show up to therapy. Aaron had given her a knowing look when she walked off with her lunch in hand.

As if they weren’t close enough over the past few days their bond had grown stronger. Trixie had confided in Aaron about her relationship with the Ghost and how they were getting closer. He didn’t seem as repulsed as Trixie imagined Willam would if he found out.

“Where are you at?” Katya waved a hand in front of Trixie’s face.

“What?”

“Where’d you go, you spaced out on me there,” Katya looked concerned as she stared into Trixie’s eyes.

“Oh sorry,” Trixie looked down at her food. Her appetite not with her today.

“You need to eat, chemo on an empty stomach won’t be fun,” Katya acknowledged Trixie’s full tray. “It is chemo you’re getting right?”

Trixie nodded as she picked up half of her sandwich and took a bite. She couldn’t deny it tasted nice but she still didn’t want to eat it. The thought of her treatment scared her.

“Do you want me to try and arrange it so I can be there so you aren’t alone?” Katya inquired.

Trixie shook her head as she took another small bite. “You need the physiotherapy.”

“Damn you for caring more about me than for yourself.” Katya chuckled. “So how is the pig?”

“I told you to call him by his name.”

“I personally believe pig suits him better,” Katya shrugged.

“Willam, is still being funny. I don’t know what it is and it’s infuriating.” Trixie sighed.

“Maybe he’s being released.” Katya shrugged as she went back to eating her own lunch.

Trixie thought for a minute before deciding it was best if she just focused on finishing her lunch. Finishing half of her sandwich Trixie pushed the tray away from her. “You sure you don’t want someone there today?”

“I’m sure,” Trixie reassured but didn’t sound too convincing. “Besides I’ll have my nurse with me.”

“If you say so,” a knock at the door stopped the conversation before it carried on anymore. Trixie knew Katya wouldn’t stop until it was too late or she caved.

“Time to go I’m afraid.” It was Ben at the door, he wore a sad smile as he let Trixie say goodbye to Katya for the time being.

“Remember,” Katya said grabbing Trixie’s hand before she could walk away. “You’re only dying if you tell yourself you are.”

Trixie nodded as she walked past the door, she would be ok.

—

Treatment was as expected, hell. Trixie hated sitting unable to do anything besides watch the fluid drip down into her blood. They were killing her to keep her alive. Halfway through her nurse came and chatted with her before leaving. It was safe to say, Trixie would not go to a treatment alone ever again, not without something to occupy herself with at least.

She was lying in her room when the door was sent flying open. Behind stood Willam with a manic smile on his face, he was up to something. It was the first time all week that he had seemed his usual self.

“Get up loser you’re not being a hermit any more,” he said as she strolled into the room to force Trixie to get up. “I’m not allowing you to be The Ghost 2.0”

“You don’t even know her,” Trixie grumbled as she sat up, a dizzy spell washing over her slightly.

“What?” Willam asked surprised by Trixie.

“I’m just saying, you don’t know why she stays in her room or anything.”

“So we’re defending her now, that’s new.” Willam waved off as he dragged Trixie up. “I feel like I barely see you at meal times now, where do you go.”

“Leave her alone,” Aaron chimed in with a plain expression on his face.

“You know where she’s been?” Willam asked with a raised eyebrow. The rest of the group stood timidly behind the three of them and watched the altercation take place.

“So what if I do, she has a right to not tell you.” Aaron shrugged.

“Well I’m her friend don’t I get to know why she hasn’t been hanging out with me?” Willam challenged.

“Like you actually care,” Trixie snorted as she pushed past Willam. “Or have you forgot you have been cold to all of us, even* Courtney.”

Courtney looked down at her hands as she began to fidget. The rest of the group didn’t know what to say so they remained quiet. “That’s not the point, where have you been?”

“Willam,” it was Courtney that spoke in a quiet voice trying to get him to stop at the same time Aaron said, “Stop!”

“You really want to know where I’ve been?” Trixie pried. “Fine, room 203, you happy?” Trixie exclaimed pushing past everyone and storming down the corridor. She knew Therapy was soon but she didn’t want to deal with the group right now. She stormed down to the garden and pushed open the fire exit so she could get a breath of fresh air.

—

Trixie had to drag herself to therapy soon after. She doesn’t want to face Willam after the incident in her room not long ago, but she knows if she doesn’t attend it’ll raise questions. She feels exhausted, from treatment to the argument, she is emotionally and physically drained. When she gets to the room she sees the group in the middle of a conversation. Aaron is sat arms crossed across his chest with Alaska trying to reason with him. He seems visibly annoyed.

Trixie takes a seat at the back with Kim, she’d rather be a Debbie Downer than have another argument. Kim seems surprised to see Trixie hanging around with her but welcomes the change as the session starts.

It would be the only Art Therapy session Trixie willingly took an active part in. Splashing large strokes of reds, blacks, and blues across the canvas. Trixie’s piece by the end of the session looked a mess of colour but the meaning behind it stood clear.

She was leaving when Courtney pulled her aside. “I know he is unreasonable most of the time but hear him out, please,” were her only words before she left.

Trixie looked up to see Willam looking somewhat sad but also with a hint of annoyance. “The Ghost, really? We’re we not good enough for you?”

“If you’re going to be like that then forget it,” Trixie sighed.

“No wait, I’m sorry, please listen?” Willam said more concerned now. “I’ll forget about the Ghost.”

“That’s big of you,” Trixie retorted crossing her arms over her chest.

“Whatever,” Willam drifted off. “I’m being released, and that’s scary, ok?” He exclaimed.

“Distancing yourself so you don’t hurt us? I get it, trust me I tried when I found out I was terminal.” Trixie explained. “But you don’t have to be a dick when I find other people to hang out with.”

Willam sighed as she nodded. “The Ghost of all people though,” he whined.

Trixie gave him a look that read ‘watch it’ before speaking. “Get to know her before you say anything else. She’s a good person.”

“If you think she’s good she must be decent at least, so you getting in there?” He asked wriggling his eyebrows up and down.

Trixie laughed before shaking her head. “You are a vile, vile person.” She hugged him quickly. “Are you having a leaving party, you know, a last hurrah?”

“Depends, are you planning it?”

“That can be arranged.”

[annwithsass]

Coffee. Black, two sugars.

I find myself conflicted as I go about my ever failing daily routine. On one side I have this fight or drive inside of me, pushing me forward, urging me to reach for what I want and believe in, pursue my dreams and don't let anything get in my way.

That's a great thought to have, looks good on a bumper sticker too, but the act itself. Of really doing what you want, be it big or small. Our greatest obstacle to start and keep going forward, is ourselves. We are our own worst everything.

This will be the first real post I make about my battle with mental illness so if reading things about mental illness, it's symptoms, and the dark sides of it are triggering to you in any way, please leave this entry now. I wouldn't want me sharing with everyone cause anyone pain.

My outpatient treatment team advise me that I've in all likelyhood had depression since I was a child. I went through the early years of my life always feeling alone, dejected, and afraid. I was an only child, and I don't blame my parents for my issues [like maybe having a sister or brother would have helped] there's no way to know that and they were great parents working with what they had to make sure I had what I needed to survive and be content. They never knew how bad my anxiety was, how depressed I was, they never knew because I hid it, I never talked about it, I thought I was just being an annoyance and shoved it deep down inside myself.

Until the age of eleven, I didn't really hang out with anyone. I had been ripped away from the place I called home because my parents wanted to move and not that I had a lot of friends where I was living, it was just that I went to a private Catholic school so it was a very controlled enviroment, a lot of variables I'd never been subjected to I was about to have thrust upon me in a very unceramonious way.

I entered puplic school for seventh grade and stayed in that same public school system until graduation in 2009. Within a week or two of being in this new place I now called home, I met people that seemed to be like me, but they weren't as upset as I was all the time. I needed to know their secret, so I asked them one day. "How do you take the edge off? How do you make life not bring you down so hard?" The answer they gave at first was Marijuana and Nicotine. I became a habitual smoker at the early age of twelve and have struggled with it ever since.

[[Authors Note: TO ANYONE WHO READS THIS THAT IS UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN, CONSIDERING TRYING SMOKING, OR CURRENTLY SMOKING AT ANY AGE. STOP, NOW, SAVE YOUR LUNGS. IT'S HIGHLY ADDICTING AND VERY HARD TO QUIT. I AM MUCH OLDER NOW THAN I WAS THEN AND I AM STILL STRUGGLING TO QUIT ENTIRELY. PLEASE, FOR YOUR HEALTH AND THE HEALTH OF THOSE AROUND YOU THAT YOU LOVE AND THAT LOVE YOU. JUST DON'T START SMOKING. It makes your breath smell bad, teeth yellow, and tongue taste aweful anyway. As well as it kills your sense of taste... Imagine all the pizza, ice cream, or any food that you love and not being able to taste it anymore.]]

So I was smoking cigarettes and pot, I was newly molded into what most people referred to when I was in school as the emo kids, punk kids, weirdo's, there were a bunch of names they used but they all just meant the same thing. I was seen as an outsider, which to their looking glances, I would put on a tough exterior, act like that's how I wanted to be seen, that I wanted no one around and to be left alone. What I really wanted was real friendship, someone to talk to, someone to be there for me. I didn't understand what was happening in my mind and with my day to day life.

I had always had an active imagination, drawing, painting, writing, creating, inventing, I wanted to make things all day everyday. When I reached age sixteen, something inside me just *snapped*. I struggled to create even the simplest of ideas and put them on paper. It got worse and worse and worse until finally I just couldn't take it anymore. I needed to get the feeling out, get the pain out, get the pressure that was building underneath the skin out... At the age of sixteen, I began self-harming and attempted suicide for the first time.

After getting into some legal trouble with my school over my drinking problem. Yes, my habits grew numerous. I was smoking still, cigarettes, weed, and now on top of that, I was drinking and doing other drugs that I won't specify. So I got caught, in school no doubt, and ended up on probation and instead of being put to labor for like a community service type deal, I was put in mandatory counceling. The first time at therapy, did nothing for me. She was a very religious woman and I wouldn't talk to her. I would arrive at the appointments as I was supposed to, then I would leave, that's it.

After my probation was over, I started dating. The first man I ended up with physically abused me. He left a mark that still haunts me to this day, and not a physical one either. One that I haven't been able to shake for years, about my self-esteem. The next man I dated, he was abusive mentally and emotionally. My dumbass kept going back to him, as he asked me out just to break up with me with some massive repulsive excuse in a couple weeks.

Then there's the big ex. We dated for 7 years. That's a lot of my life that I spent letting someone who is now fondly referred to as [the devil] in my house and never by his name. I went through a lot while in that relationship. Not all of it bad either.

I found my calling in Emergency Medical Services as an Emergency Medical Technician and Ambulance Operator. I found goals and aspirations in the EMS field, I began drawing again, playing video games again, I felt like I was living for a while. Those were the bright moments. You can't have light without shadows, however.

During these years is when I was in a motor vehicle collision that should have killed me, and on bad days I wish it had. This wreck took everything from me, I was in a wheelchair for many months and had to work tirelessly after having surgery to rebuild my pelvis to regain the ability to walk. I did all that and once I was upright again, I got back on the ambulance, to help those who needed me.

The wreck left scars you can see but it also left ones beneath the surface. I suffered a traumatic brain injury, which changed the way my brain worked, that whole experience did. Six months after the wreck, I was diagnosed with PTSD. Some months after getting rehabilited and able to go backto my apartment that I shared with the man I was with... I also was diagnosed with MDD, OCD, and Acute Alcoholism. I was diagnosed with those while in a Behavioral Health Unit a few hours from where I lived. I had tried to commit suicide again, things were spiraling and I was losing hope.

The relationship I was in ended and the damage that he had done to me, I locked away [unknowingly]. I moved back in with my parents and did what I could to rebuild. I got a job again and started to feel okay. I went to outpatient therapy and took my medication as I was supposed to, I quit drinking all together, and cut back my smoking cigarettes to almost none and I wasn't doing any other drugs at the time. Things, were finally starting to look up.

Then I decided that I didn't need to be on my medication anymore, I decided that I was fine and the meds were just holding me back. I stopped going to therapy too. I fully quit taking my medication about a week after I met a new man. At this time it had about been a year since my attempted suicide and I had only relapsed twice with the alcohol so I thought I was "CURED". I was wrong.

Soon after stopping my medication, my anxiety started peaking through, I was losing time, full days or weeks even, I relapsed again and again with alcohol, I began hurting myself again only this time it was different. It was like someone else was controlling my hand, it was like I was watching a horror movie but I was the star. Everything else around me was just blur and distortion, the only things clear were my blade and my blood. After a few more relapses and moving to a new house, I came and told my parents that I was struggling again and needed their help. Of course they were right by my side with everything I could need, they were very supportive and still are to this day.

I got back to therapy, got back on a medication regimen, started working on getting better. During therapy however I kept having moments where I was talking but I would lose the time, or I would be telling my therapist about something that had happened only to stop myself because the people I was living with had told me that it hadn't. As the months went on, I began losing more time, this time just complete blank-outs. I would wake up in strange places, cuts all over, I woke up once with a large black-eye [that we later found out I did to myself].

Because of my PTSD what I was going through required a special handling and a special controlled enviroment. That's when I learned about a place called Sheppard Pratt and their Trauma Disorders program. I spent two weeks in their program. Learned that while I don't have the traditional diagnosis of DID, I do dissasociate, and it is heavily related to my trauma. It was while working with them, I recovered memories from when I had dissasociated during my time with my ex... The things I saw, heard, felt, my body, my mind, my everything just went into overdrive. I was sent home with a better understanding of my diagnosis and tools that could help, as well as a clearer head and new meds that helped with nightmares and my other symptoms.

I got home and sitting on my bed felt strange, unpacking my bag felt worse, I knew this was my home but it wasn't behind Sheppard Pratt's walls anymore, it wasn't 100% SAFE. I'm not saying that I ALWAYS felt like I was in danger but it was a feeling that was persistant in any case.

A newer symptom I had never had consistant dealings with reared its ugly head, hallucinations both auditory and visual. At this point my depression is getting even worse because one minute I know exactly what's wrong with me, the next I have no idea. Ontop of all this when I had my psych eval done to return to outpatient care originally, I was diagnosed with ADHD so I've got that doing the mamba with my PTSD and it's a party in my damn head.

All of this information leads us to today, as I'm sitting here now, writing these words, about share them with the world. I am petrified. I am lost. In all that I am I know that what I have is real, it has made me disabled, it has made it so I can't work right now, it makes me feel like a burden both to my family and society.

However, somewhere in all that darkness, there's this little light. A flame, if you would. Burning as bright as it can to get my attention. When I focus in on the flame surrounded by black nothingness. I feel that desire to help people, I feel that passion to make people smile and laugh, I feel the warmth of pulling a friend into a hug and saying, "I'm here for you, I believe in you, I've got you." I get the want to keep fighting, I feel the push to take another step and inhale a little deeper next time just to feel my chest expand with a rush of oxygen.

The darkness in me, I'll always have to fight it. I'll always have to fight tooth and nail with myself to make sure my flame doesn't get snuffed out. I still want to help make this place better and right now the only way I can do that is with my words so that's what I'm doing. If you're reading this and you're struggling with depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, relapses in drug treatment, or you're just having a really shit day. Know that I am reaching out to you, so you know you can reach out to me. I am here to listen, I am here to help, and there are so many others out there like me that just want to help too. Please, hold out your hand and let one of us grab onto it and pull you out of the darkness. You are not alone, and that means never having to fight alone either.

[[Authors Note: There are a lot of details that I left out of this because my journey wasn't the main point of this writing. The main purpose is to inform, educate, and create safe places where people can come to start a conversation about something that should always be being talked about because it's important. Living is important.]]

To everyone who read this, thank you, I know it was long but I put it out so other's like me, that might feel one ounce of what I do or maybe those who have it even worse can know that they have other's like them out there and we want to be that shoulder to lean on and the hug that pulls the pieces back together while you walk through this scary place we call home.

-A

[strawberrymeriadoc]

Confession

Merry was angry. He was SO angry. He was sick of himself for missing Jamie again. They had been together 5 years. He put on some music that hit close to home. He stormed around the apartment with his headphones in and was singing along. 

But it hurt his voice so much. Merry’s voice had been injured for years and years. An unholy combination of self-harming by screaming at the top of his lungs for minutes that probably put nodes on his vocal cords as well as many years of acid reflux issues. Another lovely inheritance from his mother. Add hormone replacement therapy and it really just hurt to talk at all most days. 

We grew up together, Merry thought, she helped me escape my abusive family. She came out to me years before she came out to anyone else. We slowly swapped genders. For years, she was the only good part of my life. He felt pathetic for even thinking that but it was true. How could she just leave me like I never meant anything to her. Jamie was the closest friend I ever had. 

Merry finished singing (he had finished an album minus the song that made him cry last time he listened to it and all his favorite songs from another artist). He sat down, realized the date, and cried. Tomorrow would have been their 6 year anniversary. It’s really not my night, thought Merry. It didn’t help that he was on his period despite having taken medication to stop it. And to make matters worse, he was clearly having some sort of reaction to the progesterone. His hands had been shaking all day and he felt ill whenever he stood up. 

Peony meanwhile had watched the whole thing and he thought she looked concerned. Luckily Pippin was out late at the biology lab. Merry wished Pippin could comfort him but he didn’t know if they really knew each other that well or if he was being repulsive in some way through his interactions. He had often been told he was too bold, too mean, too loud, too much. He didn’t want to drive his new friend away. 

But on some level relationships only felt “right” if they were all encompassing. If he could think of no one else but them. If they would die if he died and he would die if they died. Merry knew in his mind that this was wrong. That it was a product of unhealthy attachment with his mother who felt the same way. 

She never let him have boundaries. He didn’t even get to have a door. He wasn’t allowed to make noise as an infant or she would shake him and drop him. He couldn’t talk to friends over text very much or relax too long. There was no boundary he could set that wouldn’t be seen as an attack. Thus he never learned that boundaries could exist to begin with. 

Merry was ashamed beyond belief of it, but he had made it very hard for Jamie to have boundaries as well. Merry had never intended to hurt her, but he had. He insisted they call every night when she didn’t want to. He would even guilt her into cuddling when she didn’t want to. He never felt like himself when he did these things. In fact, he almost never felt like himself when he was around her, at least in the last couple years. He’d always just...switch. 

At his worst he would hold her down while cuddling so she couldn’t leave when she wanted to. Merry did this more times than he could count. His worst memory of all was of snapping into dissociation. He didn’t actually remember what happened. He just came to as he was holding her face. There was a wound on her lip and he didn’t even remember what he’d done. He must have punched her or squeezed her face very hard. 

It happened one more time after the break up. Merry remembered pockets of it. He remembered screaming and having his arm around her trying to get her phone. He bit her on the back then somehow they were in a different room and she said something about this proving he was a man and then as the two of them came near the door he came to again and started crying his eyes out. He was finally himself again and he felt this unbelievable guilt and shame. 

I’m a fucking monster, Merry thought playing this all on repeat for the millionth time, no wonder she broke up with me and doesn’t want to be friends anymore. I’m a terrible person. I can’t even believe I did that. Merry didn’t tell anyone about what he’d done because he was afraid that none of his friends would ever speak to him again. And I’d deserve it, he thought. 

Since the breakup, Merry had apologized earnestly several times. He wasn’t trying to get her to forgive him. He just felt so terrible about all he’d done and wanted her to know he regretted it and to ask if there was anything at all he could do to help. She always said no. 

Now they almost never spoke and Merry just wanted to stay out of her life. Even though she had said she wanted to be friends, she made it clear after the breakup that she wouldn’t treat him like one. She blamed him for his own suicidality. She talked about him behind his back and turned some of his friends against him. She didn’t really treat him like a person. He finally accepted that they weren’t friends.

After he moved out, Merry felt like himself again. Or maybe for the first time. He didn’t dissociate nearly as much. He felt in control and that’s when he really started to take charge in his life. After being forced into some very uncomfortable living situations in Minas Tirith, Merry got accepted into the University there and made some new friends and eventually moved in with Pippin whom he barely knew at the time. That was just four months ago. Merry sat alone on the bed for a few hours just staring at the wall. 

~~~

Merry was feeling suicidal. It was slight enough that he didn’t think it was even worth mentioning to himself. But he did. It felt like a deep feeling of drowning, but being too weak to struggle and just letting happen. Sinking slowly down and down. The light goes from white to light blue to indigo. The water pressure was squeezing his head. His lungs felt crushed. He wondered if it would be alright to just sit there in that space for a while. 

He heard a noise and was snapped slightly out of the drowning feeling. He felt agitated and like he was dirty and disgusting. His throat still hurt tremendously. Merry realized that the sound he heard was Pippin coming in the front door. Oh thank G-d, Merry thought. Merry’s need to not be alone won out over his intense feelings of social anxiety and he came to the living room. Pippin was leaning in front of the fridge putting groceries away. 

“Hello!” said Merry. 

“Hi!” 

“How was...um how was the lab?”

“Well. You’re not gonna believe this. We had been working for 3 hours (which feels like 10 hours when you’re with Gandalf). We were just about to run a second test when Professor Aragorn burst through the door and disrupted the whole thing. Saying something about needing Gandalf urgently and this and that. He and Saruman were just standing in the doorway looking very dodgy. Then Gandalf left me in charge of the whole thing even though this was not the class I am assisting with, I’m just a student. So all my classmates were giving me stares and side eyes thinking I was getting too uppity. But I didn’t want to be in charge, Gandalf just told me to. Well, anyway after they all left we were about to run the test finally, but someone noticed that Aragorn slamming open the door had altered some of the instruments. So we had to recalibrate the whole thing. Ughhhhhh. Anyway, that is the story of why I am arriving home now at midnight” 

Merry tried very hard to listen. He cared so much about making sure his friend felt heard. But his face suddenly felt like it was on fire and tears began clouding his vision. 

“Oh, Merry! What’s wrong?” Pippin asked, crossing the room to him. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt your story,” Merry stammered. 

“No, no you’re alright.” Pippin said softly trying to sound reassuring 

“I-I did something really bad,” Merry said between sobs now, “And I can’t tell anyone and I feel so bad that I just want the feeling to end. I don’t want to be here anymore. I just can’t do this. Everything’s wrong and people are hurting all around the world and I want to help but I know it won’t really do anything and it’s all just going to get worse…” he trailed off, realizing how much he was spinning out. He felt sick to his stomach. 

“Nothing feels real anymore, Pippin. Even when I talk to my friends they all seem...far away. Like I can’t reach them. Even here with you right now. I just...I’ve been struggling with this feeling so long I just want to let go and make it stop” Merry finished.

“Oh, Merry, it’s going to be alright. Here let’s go sit down” 

They made their way over to the couch. Pippin went away and came back with a box of tissues and a glass of water. 

“Thanks” Merry barely got the word out before breaking out into tears again. “Why are you being so nice to me, don’t you know what I’ve done?” he demanded, almost furious. “I hit my girlfriend, Pippin. I hit her. At least three separate times. She had a cut on her lip that stayed there for weeks. She never trusted me after that. I-I-” he broke off crying again. 

No, you fool, don’t manipulate him into thinking you’re some innocent victim acting all upset. Like it actually bothered you. You’re mad at Jamie, you don’t even feel that bad about it, you just know you’re supposed to so you’re making a big deal out of it, a voice in his head that wasn’t quite Merry said. Merry couldn’t meet Pippin’s eyes and time seemed to stand still for him. A whirring anxiety filled his chest.  He had never told anyone this before. 

Pippin was very taken aback by all this.

 “Why, Merry?”

“I don’t know. I never meant it or planned it. It just happened. If something really stressful happened I’d be upset but then sort of black out. And I wouldn’t realize I’d done it until it was over” You didn’t black out, you must just be remembering it wrong, the voice said. But I hardly remember it at all, Merry thought. How is that possible, countered the voice. 

“I’m a fucking monster.”

Pippin was silent for a long time. Then he placed his hand on Merry’s shoulder. “I know you’re a good person,” he said slowly, “even if you’ve done some bad things”. Merry wanted to shout You’re wrong! Everyone else would think I was evil. But instead he said, “I’m scared I meant it, Pippin. That I did it on purpose all along” 

“Did you?” 

“No...But s-sometimes it felt good. Like she would finally understand me. Even if for a second. She’d have to listen to me” he looked down, ashamed of himself. “Pippin I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m a terrible person. I know I should be saying sorry to her again but I already have so many times and I-I don’t want to bother her. It’ll just put her through the pain of it again remembering. And she’ll never really forgive me and she shouldn’t...” He trailed off. After a moment, he looked up at his friend. 

“Do you hate me now?” Merry asked in a small voice. He was terrified of the answer. He loved Pippin. But if anything could make someone lose all trust and love for a person it was this.   

Pippin sat quietly for a moment. “No,” Pippin said finally, “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you at all”

Merry cried again. “Can I please hug you?” Merry asked. Pippin nodded.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll be better. I’ll try, I’ll try”  Pippin patted his back and rested his head on Merry’s shoulder. 

“I know. You’re sorry for what you did right?”

“Yes more than anything else ever in my life”

“And you apologized to her and worked on never doing it again right?”

“Y-yes”

“Then you’re doing the right thing. You can’t change the past but you can’t stay wrapped up in it either.”

Merry continued to cry then and they kept holding each other tightly as the darkness of the night encircled their apartment. 

[colorisbyshe]

Sorry for bringing ace discourse into your askbox in the year 2018, but I just noticed the only people that I have seen identifying as ace are people traumatized by sex or dealing w/ internalized homo/bi/transphobia. Ex: Tim Gunn. Doesn't this show that, at the very least, it is something people should get help for instead of just putting a label on it, call it a day and pretend they're systematically oppressed? I'm a victim of sexual violence and I get the feeling but... stop

Okay, so, we’re gonna do this… alright. Back to my roots, back to ace discourse. This post better get zero notes because i am NOT doing lesbian/bi discourse, q slur discourse, AND ace discourse at the same time.

I want to say that I believe there are genuinely asexual people. People who genuinely feel no sexual attraction, understand that to mean that if you aren’t sexually attracted to people that means you don’t want to have sex with them (which means they can still have sexual desires like, “Wow, I’m horny, time to jerk off,” but that being horny in the sense that, “Wow, I wanna fuck them,” isn’t an ace experience but an “allo” one), and are chill with it exist and are ace. I’m fine with them. i’ve BEEN them.

I also think that a lot of people traumatized by sex and genuinely do “become” ace in the sense that they no longer have any interest in sex and are so repulsed that they just can’t feel sexual attraction anymore. While I would recommend some level of therapy to them, I also recognize that a. that’s not possible for everyone and b. therapy doesn’t mean they’re going to change at all. So, y’unno, there’s a fine line to walk when it comes to trauma.

But I also think there needs to be a recognition that the idea that aces are primarily LGBT, neurodivergent/mentally ill/traumatized, minors, and/or women has to be dealt with. A lot of aces brag about how cishet aces are a rare thing and how cishet male aces are practically non-existent and that is the biggest argument against asexuality being a common thing because there is literally no reason for LGBT people to be more likely to actually lack sexual attraction.. but there are about a million and five reasons as to why LGBT people wouldn’t know they’re experiencing sexual attraction, would deny experiencing sexual attraction, and would not want to experience sexual attraction. Same thing for all the other groups listed.

Asexuality–especially when it is so broadly defined to include people who are most definitely not lacking in sexual attraction (demi-aces, grey-aces, lithros, and “sex positive/neutral” aces)–becomes a sort of bandaid label for people in denial or repressing themselves. It becomes a way for people to pussyfoot around their actual labels, the parts of it that are most demonized (ie the sexual parts), and their own feelings. It’s a way to not confront and work through trauma and dysphoria and internalized misogyny and homophobia and trnasphobia and fatphobia and racism and ableism and whatever other phobia/ism we wanna stir the pot with.

It’s a way to maybe say, “Okay, I’m gay, I want to have sex, but unlike those OTHER gay people, I am not a predator who has to have sex and is prone to animalistic urges like all of this homophobia I grew up with told me, I’m One of The Good Ones!” It’s seeing gay or trans or woman as identities defined by sex–and by sex I mean Deviant sex–and not wanting to be grouped in with that, so they find away out via labels.

Meanwhile, “Gay” can include any relationship to sex possible. Horndog, promiscuous, voluntarily celibate, wants to get laid but sucks at it, sex repulsed, traumatized by sex, low libido, high libido, prefers to flick the bean over sex with other people, top sun, bottom moon, vers rising. There is no real need to clarify it to strangers or to make your relationship to sex a central part of your identity, especially if your relationship to sex is just. not wanting it. Like, my central identity as a bisexual isn’t “not straight” or “not gay,” it’s “bisexual.” Most identities don’t work when centralized around what you aren’t or do not want. “Lacking sexual attraction,” especially when it isn’t attached to any behaviour (ie lacking sexual attraction but still having sex), doesn’t mean anything.

So, when people make a big deal out of it, I do have to wonder if there is a level of something else going on. “I’m a homoromantic ace but being ace matters to me more than being gay does,” SCREAMS internalized homophobia to me. And it’s very hard to see it any other way.

So, if I know that person, I might talk to them about it. If I don’t, I might privately be skeptical but reserve full judgments because, again, I believe asexuality is real. But in general.. it’s rough because I do think this kind of explosive movement to reconsider every identity as ace is a response to trauma, internalized self hate, and a sort of need to be pure so you’re “not like the other girls” or whatever other marginalized group you’re kind of trying to create distance from. Even cishet aces seem to be getting invested into it to say, “I’m not like other cishets, I’m not an oppressor.”

I can’t tell what is genuine and what isn’t. As a 25 year old with a medical condition that kicked my libido’s ass and went undiagnosed for years, with internalized fatphobia and a general Bad Relationship with my body in general, who is a homebody who barely even sees enough people to be attracted to (seriously, I mostly just see family, friends who I can’t see as sexual beings, and then old people)… I can barely parse my OWN feelings when it comes to my own sexual attraction, so I’m not gonna dictate someone else’s.

But from experience… yeah I do think a lot of self identifying aces aren’t ace and are using it as a way to avoid confronting inner demons. And that we should work to help them work through that rather than just being like “Yup! Sounds good, you sex loving gay person who doesn’t want o be called gay, just a homoromantic ace, you are totally fine and this isn’t a cry for help!”

QUICK NOTE THO: Tim Gunn never identified as ace the way we mean it now. He meant it as “celibate/just disinterested in sex” and has since clarified that. That’s what ace meant when he used it. And, yeah, he did use it out of the trauma of being cheated on as well as the AIDS Crisis, so no aces should cheer him on as an ace icon, especially since he has semi-recently started to put himself out there again because he was tired of isolating himself out of fear.

[self-doom-blog]

Chapter 1. "Doom"

noun.  Death, destruction, or some other terrible fate.

verb.  Condemn to certain destruction or death.

First of all, I’d like to say that most of the times I will not use my own words for what I’m about write on this blog, I have a really hard time trying to express myself and since I’ve never ever written or wrote before, I’ll be using a little help from quotes, songs, books, etc… -A

It’s so hard to talk when you want to kill yourself sometimes. I’m a mentally ill person, I’m suicidal, although it’s been years that I haven’t tried to kill myself, but you know… I'ts always on my mind, like a “plan B” if things ever go wrong. I’m considering suicide like ‘this is normal’.

Thinking this again... I'm not suicidal, but if a car came while I was crossing the street, I don't think I would move out of its way. And if someone held a gun to my head, I wouldn't exactly beg for my life. In fact, I'd tell them to go for it. No, I'm not suicidal. But if I had an opportunity to die without having to kill myself, I'd probably take it.

I don’t like being this way, it’s scary. I never choose to be this way but this is how I am. And this is my journey.

I’m 22. Self diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder.

I bet that sound crazy. I know I’m no doctor to do so. Sometimes I feel like I have something more, sometimes I feel like having a much more deeper mental illness or maybe I have nothing at all… Who knows? In my life I have only attended to 3 different psychologists in life for behavior and mood problems. Did it help? No… I’m not saying seeking this kind of help is useless, it just didn’t work for me.

For introducing myself, I come from a very average family. Never suffered hunger, money was never a problem and I have always attended to private schools. There’s nothing wrong where I come from, I don’t blame anyone for my situation / condition. Right now I study medicine at a private university. I want to become a surgeon, a plastic surgeon to be more specific, my second option is being a psychiatrist.

I spend a lot of time in my kitchen, I live alone. I like that. I’m always on my laptop, doing absolutely nothing but listening to music. I do that 24/7. It’s like a therapy for me, I like rock, I am of those persons who likes ‘classic’ known bands such as  Queen, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Black Sabbath, David Bowie… I have a very extended taste in music, I enjoy anything that comes from the 60′s to 90′s, from country to heavy metal. I like songs for their lyrics more than for the rhythm. I don’t like today’s music, they only sing about butts, alcohol, women, partying, drugs, cars, money… I find it disgusting, boring and sometimes even repulsive. The point is that I spend a lot of time in iTunes, I don’t do anything else, I sing, I think, I sing, I think, I sing, I think… that’s the routine. Sometimes I isolate myself like ‘how am I going to avoid everyone today’. I have a secret tho. I talk alone. Like a schizophrenic person… but I know that I talk alone, I mean, I know there’s no one there. I do not confuse what’s real and what’s not. I just talk like there’s someone there to talk to, actually is like a group of people in my house. Yeah, like talking to imaginary friends, but I repeat, I know I am talking alone. Do I have real friends? Yes. I have 5 real friends, those kind of friends that are trustworthy. I don’t have ‘’part time friends’’ or ‘’party-only friends’’ or ‘’side friends’’ or whatever, you know… those extra friends. The 5 friends that I mention are beautiful people, they have never showed me disrespect of any kind, they help me with whatever I need, they guide me when I don’t know what to do, they help me with homework and with university stuff and so much more things. I prefer being with real people more than talking with my “extended personalities” (talking alone). When I’m talking alone I create different persons along with their personalities, I like to think that are just extensions of my own personality, like the person I cannot be, or the person I would like to be; for example, some of them are shy, they can be extrovert, they can be sarcastic and rude or they can be clownish and I create an image for each. I have never tell this to any doctor or psychologist and I have never been to a psychiatrist, for fear, like they can make me take pills or stay in a mental ward for sure. I know how it works. But as long as I think I’m sane I will keep it for myself. And does my family know about this ‘’extended personalities’’? No. I think they have heard me talking alone but I don’t think they find it alarming, because some people think out loud or talk to themselves… And I have said this to them, that sometimes I talk to myself… but not in the way I really do, that consist of creating various personas.

And I walk around in a dissociated state, not remember what I've done each day thinking 'it must be Halloween soon' even though its April.

Why am I writing this? The answer is simple. Sometimes I feel like taking out all this emotions in someway and this is it. 

I think this was just a little introduction for who I think I am. As the time passes I’ll write about my past, my thoughts, my everyday life, along with memories that comes to my mind at the moments. You’ll get to know me slowly.

You don’t understand? Trying to explain mental illness to someone who's never experienced it is like trying to explain color to a blind person.

If you want to read what Borderline Personality Disorder is like, here you go. This is how I feel, is pretty accurate for me.

***Borderline personality disorder (BPD)***

Pattern of abnormal behavior characterized by impulsivity, unstable affect, inconsistent interpersonal relationships and poor self-image. Some individuals also display uncontrollable anger and depression. Symptoms include intense fears of abandonment, sensitivity to feelings of rejection, and irritability of vague or uncertain origin. They often engage in idealization and devaluation of others, alternating between high positive regard and great disappointment.

Self-harm, suicidal behavior, and substance abuse are commonly associated.

.SYMPTOMS.

-Splitting (thinking in extremes) -Chaos in relationships -Markedly disturbed sense of identity -Intense or uncontrollable emotional outbursts -Unstable interpersonal relationships and self-esteem -Concerns about abandonment -Self-damaging behavior -Distorted self-image -Impulsivity -Frequently accompanied by depression, anxiety, anger, substance abuse, or rage.

.EMOTIONS.

Feel emotions more easily, more deeply, and longer than others. In addition, emotions may repeatedly resurge and persist a long time. Consequently, it may take more time for people with BPD than others to return to a stable emotional baseline following an intense emotional experience.

The sensitivity, intensity, and duration with which people feel emotions have both positive and negative effects. People with BPD are often exceptionally enthusiastic, idealistic, joyful, and loving. However, they may feel overwhelmed by negative emotions (“anxiety, depression, guilt/shame, worry, anger, etc.”), experiencing intense grief instead of sadness, shame and humiliation instead of mild embarrassment, rage instead of annoyance, and panic instead of nervousness. They are especially sensitive to feelings of rejection, criticism, isolation, and perceived failure. Before learning other coping mechanisms, their efforts to manage or escape from their very negative emotions may lead to self-injury or suicidal behavior. They are often aware of the intensity of their negative emotional reactions and, since they cannot regulate them, they shut them down entirely. This can be harmful to people with BPD, since negative emotions alert people to the presence of a problematic situation and move them to address it which the person would normally be aware of only to cause further distress.

While people with BPD feel joy intensely, they are especially prone to dysphoria, depression, and/or feelings of mental and emotional distress.

There are 4 categories of dysphoria that are typical of this condition:

1.- Extreme emotions

2.- Destructiveness or self-destructiveness

3.- Feeling fragmented or lacking identity

4.- Feelings of victimization

Within these categories, a BPD diagnosis is strongly associated with a combination of three specific states: feeling betrayed, “feeling like hurting myself”, and feeling out of control.

In addition to intense emotions, people with BPD experience emotional lability; or in other words, changeability. Although the term emotional lability suggests rapid changes between depression and elation, the mood swings in people with this condition actually fluctuate more frequently between anger and anxiety and between depression and anxiety.

.BEHAVIOR.

Impulsive behavior is common, including substance or alcohol abuse, eating disorders, unprotected sex or indiscriminate sex with multiple partners, reckless spending, and reckless driving. Impulsive behavior may also include leaving jobs or relationships, running away, and self-injury.

People with BPD act impulsively because it gives them immediate relief from their emotional pain. However, in the long term, people with BPD suffer increased pain from the shame and guilt that follow such actions. A cycle often begins in which people feel emotional pain, engage in impulsive behavior to relieve that pain, feel shame and guilt over their actions, feel emotional pain from the shame and guilt, and then experience stronger urges to engage in impulsive behavior to relieve the new pain.

As time goes on, impulsive behavior may become an automatic response to emotional pain.

.RELATIONSHIPS.

Their feelings about others often shift from admiration or love to anger or dislike after a disappointment, a perceived threat of losing someone, or a perceived loss of esteem in the eyes of someone they value.

This phenomenon, sometimes called splitting, includes a shift from idealizing others to devaluing them. Combined with mood disturbances, idealization and devaluation can undermine relationships with family, friends, and co-workers. Self-image can also change rapidly from healthy to unhealthy.

While strongly desiring intimacy, they tend toward insecure, avoidant or ambivalent, or fearfully preoccupied attachment patterns in relationships, and they often view the world as dangerous and malevolent. BPD, like other personality disorders, is linked to increased levels of chronic stress and conflict in romantic relationships, decreased satisfaction on the part of romantic partners, abuse, and unwanted pregnancy.

.SENSE OF SELF.

Tend to have trouble seeing a clear picture of their identity. In particular, they tend to have difficulty knowing what they value, believe, prefer, and enjoy. They are often unsure about their long-term goals for relationships and jobs. This difficulty with knowing who they are and what they value can cause to experience feeling “empty” and “lost”.