#please don't send me to the psych ward for this one<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[lilu-the-almighty]

my professor "write a piece about an object in your life that is important to you using vivid imagery :)" Me "ok so three pages of how paint is made of dinosaurs and you make art by letting the dead dinosaurs possess you and reclaim the primal nature of being alive to resurrect themselves on your canvas? that is what you want? that is what your asking for?"

[paanzermensch]

I'm Being so delusional when I tell you I can make a lore reason on how constantly being near fire/explosions affects him.

I think we need to acknowledge this (Suffering Cute Aggression)

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Hi, your therapist red flag post made me send this ask.

I feel like I fundamentally fail at introducing myself to a therapist. When I was 17 I visited two therapists during the same month for one meeting and one kicked me out because she accused me of being healthy but lying and the other one called the psychiatry (though I said no) to pick me up.

I am now 21 and guess what. I am looking for a therapist again. And the first meeting in September told me "You are healthy, just a lack of vitamins" and the therapist two hours ago told me "You need to go to psychiatry immediately! You will not be able to do a therapy, you will never be able to do a therapy without visiting the psychiatry first."

I told her "No" I don't want to because as a young teen I was in psychiatry and I still have flashbacks from that. And I don't think I "won't be able to do therapy", I don't feel particularly bad and not even remotely as bad as back as a teen, when I really went to psychiatry.

But, I told both the same story (and during them I visited two other therapists who told me, they aren't the right person for me), how can they see so different things in it? Why do I apparently suck so much at telling a consistent story?

I know I seem more down when I visit a therapist for the first time, I hate meeting new people, and I live so remotely that it most times took me hours to get there. But I have like most average issues, depression, socialphobia and a bit of trauma. It's not rocket science.

Therefore it most be the way that I introduce myself, that sucks. How can I do better? I mean I tell everything revelant, it's not that. But maybe the way I explain it... I don't know. But I am desperate because in 9 months nobody wanted to treat me and there aren't indefinitely therapists in my area.

And do you maybe have resources how to treat myself because I am losing all hope ever finding a therapist...

Hi anon,

I'm sorry to hear about your negative experiences with therapists. I think when you have experiences like this it can be easy to feel like there's something wrong with you, but please know that every therapist you mentioned was the one out of line.

You can be "healthy" and in therapy. I believe that everyone has something to work on in therapy. Even just having a professional to vent to can be helpful. I would imagine it's quite hard to tell if a client is healthy but lying just in a single session, and even so, confronting that client about it would depend on building rapport first. And even if someone truly lying about issues they don't have, it still indicates some underlying issue that could be explored in therapy. So perhaps this therapist was making some kind of excuse.

It's also worth emphasizing that therapists are not allowed to give direct suggestions or commands. One of the main goals of therapy is to develop self-reliance, so enabling a dependent relationship on the therapist (where the therapist tells them what to do, instead of getting them to think about what they should do) is counterintuitive. Therapists can also be held liable for making direct suggestions or giving advice as that may backfire. Part of your therapist's main focus should be on your autonomy as well. I'm curious what context led her to insist you should be admitted.

It sounds like you've experienced two extremes, one where a therapist insists you don't need therapy and another that insists you be admitted to a psych ward. I'm not your therapist so I don't feel right saying neither of them are right since I'm missing much context. But both of them seemingly had some kind of issue with their own relationship with their role as a therapist.

It's quite natural to have different conversations with different therapists, and that can depend on their own modalities, styles, experience, and approach. There's a well-known experiment done in the 60s where a client named Gloria agreed to have 3 different recorded 20min sessions with 3 different therapists, each one with unique modalities that they founded. Mostly due to the therapist's approach, Gloria talked about different things with each therapist.

All this to say, I know I'm missing some necessary context, but based on what you've shared, it sounds like these interactions had more to do with the therapists than you. I know that experiences like these can discourage you from continuing the search for the right therapist, but as someone who had to bounce around before finding the perfect fit, I can say it's incredibly rewarding to keep trying. But that being said, there's no rush. I wish you the best of luck in finding the right match.

I hope I could help and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[chaoticstateofaffairs]

So...I am typing one handed...I may or may not have gotten angry at a situation I can't fix and put my fist through a glass table we have outside and then proceed to punch the side of the house (brick) several times but on the brights side, I don't think anything is broken.

Just have 2 get a few stitches (hopefully) and go home, bar the fact that hopefully they don't want 2 contact the psychologist in charge 🙄

But luckily I have a good group of friends who want 2 keep me out of the psych ward and have offered to clean up the mess I made before the docs want 2 do a house check 👍😃

Edit #1:There are no patients in the waiting room and only two cars out in the parking lot so hopefully this will be a quick in and out 😂

But the dreaded question at the front desk:

"Ouch, how did that happen? 😮"

"Uh...well, um...I...you see, I uh...honestly, I really don't know how to explain it to you. 🙂"

"O...Kay. Well give me your wrist so I can put the bracelets on."

"Ok. 🙂" (Extremely happy she didn't pry)

Meanwhile, Cat was off 2 the side just in a state of shock that no one pried. 😂

Edit #2: So, the waiting game has started and I've already been asked twice in the last 10mins if I'm sure I'm really not in pain and I've replied both times, "No ma'am, I'm not in that much pain, I promise. 🙂👍", and of course they find that incredibly odd but they will find out soon enough that this is not an abnormal occurrence for me 😂

Also, I'm pissing Cat off with the fact that I keep leaning down and untying her shoe but she still loves me 😂

Edit #3: Apparently it's bad morale for patients coming in and seeing one who's dripping blood all over the floor even though I have a wrap around my hand and it makes them not want 2 stay in here, so now I'm in the back waiting for the nurse and doctor 😂

Edit #4: Why did I put myself through this 🥲 I was gonna say something totally fucking disgusting but Cat deleted before I could hit send...oh well. 🤷‍♂️

Edit #5: I REALLY need a cigarette if my crazy ass is gonna sit here in this small ass room 🙄

Edit #6: Y'all know I'm crazy by now so I'm just gonna put this out here. I wonder what it would feel like 2 punch through this sliding glass door? 🤔

Edit #7: I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES IM GONNA HAVE TO FUCKING SAY I DON'T WANT THE FUCKING DRUGS! WHAT CAN'T THEY UNDERSTAND!!!! (At least they are referring to me right but that's thanks to Cat and not my scared ass)

"Sir, you need to take something or otherwise when the shock wears off it will be incredibly painful."

"I have told everyone who's talked to me about taking those things and I have said no, and my answer will continue to be no. So please, stop asking if I want some pain meds." (I was a little harsh with my tone but not what the way they put it)

"Sir, there is no need to get unruly."

"Un...unruly?! You have yet to see unruly but if you continue to try to give me those drugs that's when you will see unruly and if you give them to me without my knowledge you will also see a lawsuit, I have told all of you SEVERAL TIMES, I don't want those drugs, so please stop asking."

Edit #8: Nothing is broken, just bruised and going to be very sore, but I do need stitches, lots of them 👀

Edit #9: No, no I will not stop pacing in my room, THERE IS NO ONE IN HERE EXCEPT FOR CAT AND I, AND THE CURTAIN IS CLOSED SO NO, I WILL NOT STOP PACING.

Nobody can fucking see me, jfc! Now because of these jackholes pressuring me and fussing about my pacing that is affecting no one, I'm getting angry again and that makes matters worse cause then I get short with people, very short.

Edit #10: I'm about to go batshit, I want out, I'm slowly getting angrier at all the noise, at people, at this STUPID FUCKING INCESSANT BEEPING FROM THIS DAMN MONITOR THEY WONT SHUT TF OFF, HELL CAT HAD TO DO IT! FUCK! But I can't do a damn thing because it's my own fault that I'm here in the first place, I couldn't control my anger over the fact that there is a situation in which I possibly can not help in nor do I have fucking control over, which SUCKS and I'm trying, I'm trying so fucking hard but in all honesty I think they just want away from me and I don't blame them, I'm not good to be around. I don't know why tf Cat is till here if I'm being honest, it's not like I'm worth it.

Just...fuck.

Edit #11: I just want 2 hit the fucking wall until I can't do it anymore...fuck.

Edit #12: Doc is in 2 stitch Cal up and we will be out of here, nothing bad has happened to his hand just needs a shit ton of stitches on his left hand and just a small bit on his arm, nothing to major but enough to be serious and warrant a visit to the psych doctor tomorrow, but everything is looking good.

[imoutodaughter]

pattern of isolation/social seperation

at home it was very rocky with mom being overwhelmed and dysregulated and dad overworking and being vry emotionally repressed and toxic and absent and sometimes just like straight up abusive??? lots of fighting parents.. and big episode nights where little things would snowball into dysregulated mess on all sides

I would lay awake at night and listen to my parents yelling and arguing about me and what to do with me through the walls.. my room was next to theirs

there were nights where it would get physical with my dad and I, one night I remember I was upset and trying to talk to him and he was in the kitchen so I blocked the exit and stood in the exit way from the kitchen and he got upset at that and picked me up and threw me on the kitchen floor hurting my leg,,,

at one point I was having a super bad tantrum fit cry session where I was bawling my eyes out in my room and begging to see my mom literally "I want mommm I want mommm I want mommy I want mom please momm" (who was in the master bedroom next to mine, and didn't want to see me because she was done with the whole thing and exhausted and I think maybe scared I'd hurt her..? my dad eventually came into my room and guidedme to/i think like told me i had to? get in his car and then he drove us out to an area near Mt Sima and the gravel quarry there and I was still crying and crying and super dysregulated and he then eventually kicked me out of his car and drove away fully off into the distance and I jus collapsed onto the ground sobbing and sobbing and sobbing until he came back about 25-30 minutes later? 40? not sure.. was a long time? but I was just so dysregulated/dissociated I think just crying and crying it was hard to tell.. he picked me up and I don't remember much after that I think I passed out at home.. I think I was maybe 12 or 13 idk?? I really don't know how old I was when this happened I just remember it happening vividly

I would play alone alot, I would play with Legos and lots of different toys and let my imagination run wild and run around outside and play pretend by myself, I would get really into video games and their stories and worlds and universes and world building..

sometimes I would have friends over! that was nice and I also liked going to visit friends but I would mess up behaving a lot of the time and accidentally ruin friendships :< I didn't know what I was doing at all

in school I would be separated a lot, taken to a small room away from the class a lot of the time, hidden away, it was literally a pipe maintenance closet with a piano in it at one point,,,

I got expelled from elementary school because I had a freak out and got rly rly angry and dysregulated at a teacher who was treating me rly unempathetically and kinda mean and I exploded on her and started throwing scissors at her an got expelled...

my parents took me to the hospital and the hospital decided to send me to an evaluation program in edmonton where I was kept for 3 weeks. as soon as we got in after the medevac flight they said my parents had to go and that I couldn't see them and it was basically operating as a child psych ward and I could only see them on weekends and call them sometimes... there was a classroom where we'd do normal class things and a cafeteria like big room and then a room with rows of medical beds and all the kids got one and that was where we stayed and slept.. sometimes we were taken away and put thru medical tests like cat scans or something? I know we did a brain scan thing.. one night I was woken up and led out of the room of kids and laid on a medical bed in a separate room with several waiting doctors and hooked up to a head node thing and then they told me to go back to sleep because they needed to do a sleep test... I hated it there a lot I wanted to go home i wanted mom and dad but I wasn't allowed to leave and I didn't have many belongings and I couldn't call them a lot.. I would freak out randomly and behave rly badly and sometimes would get put in a seclusion room.. I was in this ward for 3 weeks and I was 10 years old. It was a rly traumatic experience I think.. I was super super distressed the whole time

after getting home from all of that I switched schools and my parents got me a puppy because I was begging one saying it would help me because I wanted a friend to play with and bond and talk to and they got me a yellow lab puppy and we named her Jazz.. when she was still really young like um I forget how old not adult but not puppy... my dad and I were out walking along the copper haul road with her which is a small rarely used access road in the woods kinda a bit out of town. I was concerned that he had her off leash because what if something bad happened and he told me not to worry... after that as we were walking back to the car we heard a vehicle coming down the road.. my dad and I were on the left side of the road and jazz was on the right, as the vehicle was coming I guess he wanted to make sure she was safe and called her over but she hesitated and then came running at the exact perfect timing to cross the road in front of the truck and get hit right just feet in front of me... I screamed and panicked and ran up to her and cradled her in my arms and she was twitching weird and obviously not okay and I was screaming and crying holding her while she was dying and eventually my dad pulled me away and we took her to the vet immediately but they couldn't do anything she had already passed..

even at my better school I was kinda separated off with the ea in a other room a whole while, picked up drums and stuff and got really into music an bonded with it

it wasn't rly til the very very last year of elementary school and then the first few years of high school that I wasn't super isolated tbh and even in that period it was a lot of..... teen.. hormonal bs and rocky first relationships... and then there was the whole getting getting charged thing... which deleted all of that and cut me off from my peers basically completely,, an then I dropped out and welp

I was also like exploring my sexuality???? and gender??? identity?? cuz like I was just figuring all that out??

at the same time my sister was getting sick so mom an dad and sister were very occupied and overwhelmed and drained and emotionally absent, sometimes literally absent a lot.. tons of time home alone just not knowing what to do or staying with my grandparents so I kinda jus fell into internet and games

and then I stayed on internet and games and not knowing how to self regulate or knowing basically like any healthy development stuff with a bucket load of emotional scars until about 22 until I finally started to sortof become self aware a little and make sense of it all but that's still very much a journey.. I have so so so so so so so so much healing to do and learning and growing to do bleh but I just wanna exist and be a healthy person emotionally and physically for myself and others :< I want to love and be loved. I want to experience. I want to create. I want to heal

[valleydoli]

𐙚 Ao3 & Tumblr fics i love part 2 𐙚

oh my goodness, okay, so! I love you guys so much! thank you for following me, I really appreciate it! I'm not a writer of any sort, so I'm extremely shocked at the amount of followers I received from letting you guys know my favourite jjk fics! (and the twitter links ofc :*) but I'm still reading a lot of fics on tumblr and ao3 so I'll try my best to continue letting you know what ones I've loved and let me know some of your favourite fics I'd really love to read them! ♡

also, if you don't like what I recommend that's totally fine everyone has their own preferences when it comes to what they want to read but don't send anything mean to the authors I recommended. they take so much time in producing these fics for us! so please be nice! :3

𐙚 silent love by @strbymacaroon sukuna x fem reader (completed)

When moving out of your dorm and leaving your eccentric roommate goes to shit, you're offered by one of her friends to move in with him... for free! That is, if you don't mind living with two completely opposite college boys.

However, life isn't that easy, and there's a hot asshole around the corner to piss you off. Especially when he's always up late at night when you're studying, purposely trying to get on your nerves in the most perverse way possible.

You hate him.

Yet, the tables seem to turn when he comes knocking on your door asking for your help.

Under one agreement, that is.

𐙚 it had to be you by @mysteria157 Nanami x fem reader (completed)

Despite your differences and frustrations with one another, you share a drunk but passionate night tangled in the sheets. But now, five weeks later, you and Nanami Kento have no choice but to navigate a rocky relationship while also embracing the new responsibilities of parenthood that lay ahead.

Maneater Toji x fem reader (completed)

Maybe you're single for a reason. You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations, and you refuse to settle for less. For the ones who aren't worth the air they breathe, you chew them up and spit them out. You savor the taste so you know what to avoid the next time. So when he looks down at you with that devilish smirk and calls you 'Princess', you're determined to prove that Toji Fushiguro is no exception.

In Too Deep Toji x fem reader (ongoing)

Toji, a notorious hitman, moves to America for more money and a better life for his son. He didn't expect to sleep with you, let alone want more. When his dangerous life catches up to him, he takes on one final lucrative hit, but realizes this target has unseen connections hitting closer to home. Now he must navigate a perilous job while desperately keeping his criminal double life hidden from you.

𐙚 One of the Girls by @/ladyofwhims toji x fem reader (completed)

You want one night of great sex, and you happen to have the one thing Toji finds irresistible: $$$$. But nothing is ever simple.

𐙚 Clipped Wings by @/mahithoes sukuna x fem reader (ongoing)

(TW has graphic themes! Sukuna is lowkey scary in this.)

Routine visits to different prisons and psych wards are mainly what your life consists of. You’ve encountered many unique individuals who express differences in their personalities, physical behaviours, and personal attributes. It was your field of study and you excelled at it, one of the best in your workforce in this small city. Forensic psychology was something you were compelled to do from a young age, you’re now 26 years old and pursuing your dream. After your last client had lost his life in a gang-related incident, you were assigned a new inmate. You were warned before you accepted, this prisoner was uncooperative and notoriously violent. It is your goal to break through them obstacles and find out the truth behind all of the gruesome crimes of Ryomen Sukuna once and for all.

Trials of Heartbreak (ongoing)

Six months have slipped by, half a year. That’s how much time has passed since you decided it was best to part ways with your long-term boyfriend, Choso. The decision was not mutual, and it abruptly ended in a mess of tears and broken-hearted pleas. Three years were thrown away like nothing, but at the time, you believed this was the better choice for yourself. You left him a wreck, and it would be a lie if he said he got over you. His life fell to pieces the day you left, and he’s recollecting himself slowly but surely. While his heart is still yearning for your love, he made changes to his life in hopes of bettering himself. His new job keeps him busy, and it’s unlikely he’ll bump into you in this area of town. This is his fresh start, a new beginning.

For the Thrill (ongoing)

toji fushiguro is a 36 year old single father as well as a self-employed mechanic. after toji's divorce from his wife he never bothered to fulfil another romantic relationship, he didn't see the point and wanted to raise megumi alone. what many people don't know about toji is that he involves himself in a multitude of illegal activities that occur within the city. he's known as the champion of the roads, his participation in the street races has given him a knowledgeable reputation within the deviant society. you are a 21 year old freelance graphic design artist, you moved to the city when you were 19 and met your boyfriend shortly after. however, things between the two of you haven't been going so well; his neglect towards you is evident, he doesn't try to hide it. you desperately need a fresh start from a rough beginning.

𐙚 Karma by @spideyyeet Sukuna x fem reader (ongoing)

funny story! they have a different name on ao3 and i didn’t realise and i thought someone stole their work and i was like oh no they did not just do this in broad daylight! but nooo i was wrong 😭

It was easy tutoring rich university students . They paid you decently, but of course what really brought in the cash was slipping a couple trinkets from their homes into your little bag on your way out. It was all well and fine until Yuuji forgets to tell you his hot older brother is back, and you’re caught red fucking handed.

@c0pkiller Everyone’s Doll Gojo x fem reader (ongoing)

Satoru Gojo, a best-selling erotica author, may know more than most regarding matters of sex, but when it comes to his own sex life things couldn’t be duller. The very moment your face pops up on his computer while utilizing a sugar baby service called The Daddy Network, you catch his eye (something most people fail to do), and his world changes, becoming something he's happy to be a part of for the first time in his life. However, every person has their flaws, and the relationship you form with Satoru is put to the test more times than you can count, forcing the two of you to truly take turns breaking each other’s hearts. Gojo tries more than once to convince himself that he doesn’t need anyone - especially not you, but old habits die hard and, often, not at all.

Cosa Nostra @/msheds0519 (ongoing)

Naoya (your very soon-to-be ex-boyfriend) has a problem that he thinks you can fix, Sukuna thinks otherwise.

Missed Connection by @/sahm2k2c (completed)

You had just settled in for the night to watch a new true crime documentary when you get a text message meant for someone else. A missed connection could be just that but after a short exchange with the person on the other side of the screen, you can’t help but want something more.

𐙚 Now let’s get into fics i’ve read on Tumblr! 𐙚

I may not add all of them only because I've read so many I genuinely cannot remember some of them 😭 but I have reblogged most of the fics I've read and loved! (also some aren’t long fics more like series? i dont know :D)

@spideyyeet MMA Toji (I be rereading these all the time I wont sit here and lie...)

@tojipie Prison Boyfriend Toji

@slvttyplum i legit reblog all their fics so if you follow me you’ll see them all the time😭

@saintobio Sincerely Not Gojo x fem reader (completed)

CW: mean!gojo, VERY OOC, adultery/infidelity, profanity, explicit smut, violence, emotional trauma/physical abuse from past experiences, neglect, heavy family drama, illnesses, classism, pregnancy, undertones of masochism, undertones of manipulation, abandonment issues, overall toxic relationships, graphic depictions of self-harm, suicide/murder (and attempts thereof), minor character death, plot loosely based on twotm & tre.

Sincerely Yours Gojo cx fem reader (ongoing)

CW: ooc, profanity, illnesses, toxic relationships, cyberbullying, classism, mentions of abortion, cheating, explicit smut, mentions of suicide (or attempts thereof), mentions of depression + more to be updated. please read with proper discretion.

@xxsabitoxx Pale Blue Geto x fem reader (ongoing)

@lemonlover1110 Literally all of their work.

@tojikai Permanent Mark Gojo x fem reader (completed)

CW: tragedy, alcohol abuse, self-harm, self-destructive reader, smoking, physical violence, cheating, toxic relationships, manipulation, eventual smut, pregnancy, mentions of abortion

Sundered Gojo x fem reader (completed)

CW: mean!gojo (at first), pregnancy, arguments, implied noncon, insecurities

@thehighpriestess1 Scars Don't Fade Gojo x fem reader (completed)

CW:Mentions of death, TW : Suicide (in one chapter)

August (completed)

@sukunastoy Shameful Attraction (ongoing… i think 😁)

CW: This story has moments of mistreatment and abuse in it. There are references all throughout about this behaviour—Hitting, name-calling, degradation, hiding bruises, domestic violence, sexual assault, being drugged/unaware, cheating, unfaithfulness etc. Also, reader is thin/underweight

@lostfracturess Concern and Control (completed)

CW: [18+] this story contains abusive/possessive behaviour, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behaviour, (heavy) angst, graphic depictions of violence/injury/combat, character death, suicidal thoughts. reader discretion is advised. Reader is 20+ btw!!!

@kamiversee The Fuck List Choso x Gojo x fem reader (i think?) (completed)

A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

Let me know if you enjoyed these as much as I did! Also let the Authors know first of course!! And send me some new fics to read I literally spend so much time reading these fics and I genuinely enjoy them so much! If I remember the other fics I've read I promise I'll update this one with them added! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

[bakugou-ou]

Ik I'm anon and all, but I don't wanna get off it because the embarrassment would probably make it worse. I'm just tired of life… mines is pretty useless if you ask me, and according to everyone else who if ever met, I'm ugly too, I wouldn't kill myself because I'm too much of a coward to do that, but I don't know what I wanna do with my life and I can never be happy without someone ruining it That's why you and other creators' story helps me, it makes me think about my dram life I'll never get

Listen, friendo, whoever you are, you’re not ugly, and not useless. You don’t need to come off anon if you don’t want to, I get it. This is gonna get v personal here in a sec, so I’m putting the rest of this down under a cut in case no one gives a shit about my personal life and doesn’t wanna see my tragic anime backstory, but I’m sharing it with you because you said that you like my writing. This is the story of how I ended up running this blog, it’s got lots of talk about suicide, mentions of rape. It’s not pretty, so read at your own risk. Also, it’s long.

When I was four years old, I tried to jump off the balcony of my apartment, I wanted to die. It wasn’t a kid doing a stupid thing, I literally thought if I fall from this height and hit my head on the ground, I will die and then went for it. I fell onto a 7ft tall cinder block mailbox on the way down, four feet below my balcony, crawled off of it, and walked back upstairs to my parents like nothing had happened. 

What was wrong that someone barely past toddlerhood wanted to kill themselves over? I don’t know, maybe it was just that my parents were fighting all the time and hated each other, maybe it was because I have the genes for it. More on that last bit later.

When I was six, I tried to throw myself in front of a car, thinking that if a small child like myself got hit by a car going 25+ mph, I’d die. The driver hit the brakes, I played it off like I’d tripped into the road, no one knew how I really felt. When I’d told my parents I wanted to die, they thought I was being dramatic, they didn’t think a kid my age even knew what that meant, the finality of it. But I knew, and I craved it.

When I was eight, I tried to hang myself in my older sister’s bedroom with her sheets. She found me, took me down before I blacked out, and we never spoke about it again after that night. I was pissed with my sister for saving me, I cried and punched her as she held onto me.

When I was twelve, I tried to eat a bottle of Xanax, thinking it would kill me. It didn’t, it just made me really, really fucking sick. Not sick enough to go to the hospital, but very sick. I had no lasting organ damage, but I still wanted to die.

When I was fourteen, my boyfriend dumped me over the phone on a day he was supposed to come to my house, and ignored me while I cried. He had me on speaker phone, actually, and his friends were laughing about it and I could hear them. I could hear him laughing along with them. So, I decided to eat a bottle of asprin for dinner a couple of weeks later. I was stupid, it didn’t work, and I was hospitalized in the mental ward for 2 weeks.

When I was seventeen, I had just left an abusive relationship, graduated high school, and my mom told me that my ex raping me repeatedly for 9 months was my fault and that I was asking for it by continuing to date him the whole time. I was too scared to leave, I had been told by a counselor at school that no one would believe me. I tried to eat all of my antidepressants. I was hospitalized for 3 weeks in the mental ward.

When I was eighteen, I tried to do that same thing again, in conjunction to another thing my mom said about my abuser. My cousin had been raped while studying abroad, and she was talking about poor cousin, your poor cousin, it’s so traumatic, but when I mentioned that I’d been abused for three quarters of a year and no one batted an eye, she told me I was being selfish, and that my time for being the victim was over. How dare I detract from my cousin. So, again, I tried to eat a bottle of pills. I was hospitalized for one week in the psych ward.

Earlier this year, at the age of twenty, I was hospitalized because I felt like I was going to slit my wrists if I stayed home. So I checked myself into the hospital. I was there for a week while my doctor tried to find better meds for me because clearly mine weren’t working. My mom had told me that she was ashamed of my sexuality and my gender identity, and the rape issue came up again, with her saying I wanted it, that I let it happen.

I have bipolar II, borderline personality disorder, OCD, PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, and selective eating disorder. A lot is messed up with me. I get the anxiety from my mother, and the bipolar II from my father. The PTSD was a gift from my ex boyfriend, and the rest I just ended up with.

When I was a little kid, I loved books; my father read all sorts of books to me, all the time. Artemis Fowl was the first series we read, then Harry Potter, then my mother read me the Chronicles of Narnia, then my father read me A Series of Unfortunate Events. We also read other books, things that weren’t series. I loved reading, and I wanted to write things that made people feel the way I felt about the stuff I read. 

Both of my parents are naturally talented writers. At the age of six, I began to write fan fiction for Harry Potter. I was way too young to be on the internet, but I was online writing fanfics on snitchseeker. Some of the only validation I found in my life was from random strangers on the internet, encouraging me to continue writing and complimenting my plot lines, even if my grammar and spelling were atrocious; on the internet, no one knows you’re a little kid writing Drarry fanfic.

I was a really athletic kid, so I didn’t spend all my time writing, but a good chunk of my free time was spent writing if I wasn’t surfing, playing soccer, or skateboarding. I didn’t have a lot of friends, I wasn’t likable, apparently, and I had a really hard time in school. I got into a lot of fights because people picked on me, but I was always the one who got in trouble for defending myself. It pissed me off. I developed issues with authority. I wrote in composition books to escape all the crap around me.

By the time I turned 11, writing was my life. I had just moved to California from Hawaii, my life was basically turned upside down, and I was miserable. So, I made a myspace account, wrote fanfic on there, and threw myself headlong into it. I have a fanfiction.net account I’ve long since forgotten my username and password for, but it’s out there with dramione fanfic, sasusaku, things that I liked at the time. I need to escape everything happening around me. My dad, my best friend, wasn’t anywhere near me, my mom was a bitch, and my demented grandmother moved in with us. It was miserable.

By the time I was 15, the only hobby I had outside of practicing for orchestra, was writing. I laid in bed on days off and just sat on my laptop, writing. I stopped publishing things after I got a mean comment once, my first one ever. It bruised the ego I didn’t even have so badly that I refused to publish anything for three years.

When I was 18, I published my first fanfic in 4 years. It was a Criminal Minds fanfic, featuring an OC and Spencer Reid. I was so fucking proud of it, and while lots of people loved it, a lot of people said mean shit. So, I posted Loki fanfic, which got infinitely more love, and then I did an alternate version of my Criminal Minds fic, that one got even more hate than the original. Then I published a Wallander fanfic. I haven’t touched them in 3 years, despite people asking me for more.

Up until this time last month, I never showed my writing to anyone. I kept everything to myself, hidden, I was ashamed of it. It is my only coping mechanism, but I couldn’t share it with anyone. My parents had my computer passwords up until I was about 16, sometimes they’d look through my text files and come to me later and tell me how amazing my writing was, and encourage me to publish it. But I never believed them.

On a whim, I started this blog; I love Boku no Hero Academia, it has given me something to look forward to every week. I live Chapter to Chapter, episode to episode, I track my time with it, it’s a coping mechanism. I saw that there was a decently active fandom on here, and I wanted to be a part of it. I hesitated on making the blog for a few weeks, thinking that no one would want to read my writing.

A month later, there are nearly 600 people here, constantly asking me to write scenarios and headcanons for them, telling me they love my writing, and think I’m a nice person, and that they’re glad I’m here. Every time I get a message like that, I cry. I never thought anyone would ever care about my writing, let alone write it. When I got a single follower that wasn’t a friend I know in real life, I cried. I was so excited. When I got my first request, I was so, so excited. When people began sending more stuff in, when people started talking to me and wanting to be friends, I cried. I’ve made a dozen friends on here as a direct result of their writing, and my writing.

I love running this blog, and I love writing for everyone. I have felt useless and like a waste of space my entire life, I’ve been told that my entire life, I’m made to feel like that every day of my life even now by the people around me, save for my friends, but when I log on here, I’m reminded that hey, maybe I’m not useless. If I manage to make even one person happy with what I do, that’s all I want.

So, you saying that my writing helps you, helps me. All I’ve ever wanted in life is to make other people happy, to please them, and my writing is apparently doing that. I’m really, really lucky to be in this position.

Even if you don’t have something like this, you’re not useless. You should be here. I know you said you’d never kill yourself because you’re too cowardly, but I’ve never seen suicide as cowardly, but that’s probably because I’ve tried to do it so many times. I’ve made a total of 8 attempts in 21 years. I don’t think I’ll be trying it again, though. It’s taken me 21 years to find something that I’m kind of maybe a little good at, that makes me even a tiny bit happy, and that does some good for other people, too.

Shit sucks, life is really awful, and I completely understand the plethora of reasons any given person would feel like wanting to die. I’ve never thought it unreasonable or dramatic to feel that way, it’s just how some people feel. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life until 3 years ago, and even now I’m unsure if it’s really what I want to do with my life. I’ve got a lot going on behind the scenes that makes me feel like shite, and a lot of the time, the people around me try to ruin what little I have that I enjoy and that makes me happy…

Even with all that happening, somehow, I’m still here, and I’m writing this. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I get your feelings, I hear you, they’re valid, and I love you, stranger. Because I feel the same way as you all the time. This blog is my escape from that. It’s really the only thing I have keeping me from my intrusive thoughts.

If you never come off anon, that’s fine, but if you need to talk about things, I’m here for you, or anyone else who needs it. Really, if I can even try to help, I’ll do my damnedest to help. I hate seeing other people feeling as junk as I do on a daily basis, I want to try and make it better. If being a friend, even if I don’t know who you are, helps, I want to help. If writing things helps, I want to do it. But, for me, it’s not just helping other people, it’s helping myself. You coming into the box helped me. So, you’re not useless. You’re keeping me here, too.