#what a vicious vicious cycle this is. need to shower to not feel too depressed �� too depressed to shower

[ivyloveheart]

Ughhh I’m so mad I wish my body and my hair could stay clean for longer than 2 days it’s so hard to motivate myself to shower and do so consistently.

[odiesdayoff]

Boss's Orders

pair: Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

summary: Jackson Rippner was hired to keep you alive, no matter the cost.

warnings/tags: suicide attempt; insensitive conversations about mental health/suicide; implied age gap; smut; choking; showering together; Jackson and reader dislike each other; Jackson loves Lisa

also on AO3 <3

If you're struggling and happen to see this note: you're not alone and it will get better <3

The hotline that I found in the U.S. is 988.

It was undeniably cliche, you were well aware of that. Standing on a ledge on a Saturday night in the so-called prime of your life. It wasn’t your fault that the classic techniques worked so well. All you needed was an easy out and as you peered down at the concrete only a few stories below, it was the right choice.

The wind was unforgiving, nearly pushing you off before you had fully decided. The people down below looked like ants. You almost felt sorry for them for having to witness your body hitting the pavement. It had to be done.

So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the creaking of the door to the stairwell and footsteps made by well-polished shoes. The man made his presence known by clearing his throat. You turned to face him, though the tips of your sneakers remained off of the ledge. “If you’re waiting for some speech about how your life is worth it, don’t bother. Get off the fucking ledge.”

His lack of sensitivity or empathy whatsoever caught you off guard. He curled his index finger for you to come closer as if you were a child…or a dog. “And if I don’t?”

He sighed. Was this too much of an inconvenience for him? “I don’t get paid, which will piss me off. Now, get down.” He pointed to the ground in front of him. Did he really think he could just command you like that?

Ignoring him, you looked at the sidewalk again. Once you stepped off, there was nothing he could do. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and took a step forward. You expected to fall, but the feeling never came. The man grabbed hold of your arm and roughly yanked you back on the rooftop. He allowed you to gently fall to the ground before letting you go.

He looked down at you, rolling up his sleeves. “You really can’t listen, can you? What happened? You didn’t get the concert tickets you wanted? Your crush doesn't like you back?” He feigned pity. The condescending questions felt rhetorical until he kicked your side and raised his brows, waiting for an answer.

“I’m depressed.” You coughed out. It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was the primary reason. The lack of control in your life just fed into your depression in a vicious cycle.

He laughed. “Depressed? Oh, please. What do you have to be depressed about?”

You knit your brows, looking up at him and deciding to ignore the question. “Why do they even care? And who are you?” The wind against your skin was almost taunting you. If things went right, you’d be in whatever afterlife existed. Yet, you were stuck here. With this guy.

He sighed. “Name’s Jackson. You’re the only heir to the throne and your family wants to protect their legacy. I thought I’d be hunting down terrorists, but I’m just babysitting a stupid girl who doesn’t know how good she’s got it.” He didn’t know you, or anything for that matter. The last thing you wanted was to live the life that your parents planned out for you. “And don’t think anything is off the table in regards to keeping you in line.”

The two of you walked through the roof door and down the stairs to your apartment. None of your protests were even acknowledged as he went straight into your kitchen and took out the knives, from steak to butter. Next were forks, scissors, box cutters, even your can opener. “That’s a bit much. Do you really think I’d kill myself with a potato peeler?” You watched as anything that could be labeled as sharp got swept into a box.

He continued to raid the cabinets. “People get creative.” You weren’t that determined to end your life, not yet, at least. The utensils clanked inside of the trashcan, it was surprising the bag was intact.

You knew that stopping him wasn’t an option, as if you had a fraction of his strength. It was time to go back to your usual coping mechanism: distracting yourself with meaningless games. Fortnite, to be more specific. The game launched and you slumped on your couch with the controller resting in your hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” He abandoned his excavation to glance at the screen. You eliminated a player, choosing to ignore the judgemental question. “That’s not even how a sniper works.”

“Like you’d know.” It was a game where eating fish gave you shield powers and anthropomorphic bananas used guns, who cared if the mechanics weren’t accurate to whatever terrorist weaponry that he was used to? You eliminated another player.

“You couldn’t even begin to imagine the things I’ve done.” Too busy listening to his constant comments, your focus wasn’t directed towards the game. Another player shot you down, losing at 38th place. They began to emote.

You sighed and set the controller down. “I’m taking a shower.” The one thing he couldn’t follow you into was the bathroom, at least, you hoped. He didn’t seem to care that much about your feelings, but seeing you naked might just cross a line.

“Fine.” He crossed his arms and watched as you made your way down the hallway and into the bathroom. You looked in the mirror, seeing your broken reflection. This was the closest you had ever truly gotten to committing the act to end your life and here you were, still here, still breathing. A shower could help. 

You turned on the water and the white noise of it hitting the tub was oddly calming. It drowned out all of the noise in your head. That’s when it hit you. The window was right there. If you left the shower running, Jackson would be none the wiser about your escape. Maybe you wouldn’t go and try to die again, at this point, anything was better than being stuck with him. Who knows what he was capable of?

The window popped open easily and you fiddled with the screen. How is it possible that it barely kept bugs out, but was so difficult for you to remove? It was baffling. 

The screen relented and you gently placed it on the ground. You only wished you had your phone with you or something other than the clothes on your back. The toilet paper holder wasn’t exactly the best method to hoist yourself through the window, though. Your shoe slipped on the roll and you had to hold onto the windowsill for dear life.

Steadying your breathing, you tried again and landed on the fire escape right below the window. You caught your breath and turned toward the stairs, only to make eye contact with Jackson with his arms crossed. “Think I’m an idiot? Turn around.” He took your shoulders and ushered you back through the bathroom window. 

He closed the window and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. One clasped around your wrist and the other on his. “Clearly, I can’t trust you enough to take a shower on your own, so I guess this will have to suffice until I escape-proof this place.”

You scowled at him, almost like a little kid who got put in time-out. “I still need to shower.”

“I’ll stand on the other side of the curtain. For modesty, I’m not a total creep.” It seemed that he had this all planned out, unfortunately for you. You reached into the shower, still running (wasted so much water and didn’t even get an escape out of it), to check the temperature. It was hot enough.

You unzipped your jeans, then looked at Jackson again. “Can you at least turn around?” He turned as much as he could, keeping his connected wrist behind his back. Your shirt and bra now hung on the handcuffed wrist, unable to get it fully off without taking the cuff off. “Um, my shirt is stuck.”

He turned around and you shot your arm up to cover your breasts. Without a word, he pulled a pocket knife out and cut through the fabric. Those were expensive, but he wouldn’t care. Now fully undressed, you took a step in the shower and slightly pulled Jackson closer to the curtain. He had pulled the sleeve of his jacket up, but the edges were still catching the stream of the faucet.

The hot water felt cathartic against your skin. You reached for your shampoo with your free hand and began to lather it into your hair. It had been a long while since you had showered, even if the idea to take one was technically a lie. Any time you tried to use the other hand, you were met with a tug of resistance from Jackson.

You tried to go on, washing the shampoo out of your hair and reaching for the conditioner bottle. You unusually used your left hand, but that one was still chained to the hitman and you nearly slipped and fell. “This isn’t working!”

“Water feels fine to me.” He was smug. Of course, he knew what you were talking about but had to make it difficult for you. You pulled the curtain back to look at him, holding it in front of your body.

“Either you unhook me or you get in here so I can actually do what I need to do.” You dramatically shut the curtain. Both options sounded bad in reality. You let the water hit you while you tried to calm yourself down.

About a minute later, Jackson pulled the curtain back and stepped in beside you. He was fully naked. A part of you wondered if he would get in with the full suit, but he seemed to be full of surprises. “Finish your damn shower.”

It was a little bit easier to reach for things and actually wash your hair, but the anxiety that he was staring directly at you was enough to make you extremely uneasy. You reached around him to grab the bar of soap and a washcloth, trying your best not to make any contact with any part of him other than his wrist.

Through it all, he just stood there. He wasn’t even in the actual shower, just getting slightly damp from being so close to it. You had never encountered such a strange man in your life.

“I’m done.” The shower almost immediately turned off. You opened the curtain and wrapped a towel around yourself. He still stood there, water dripping from the tips of his hair. “I’ll get you a towel, I guess.” You stepped out of the shower and knelt to get a towel from the lower cabinet.”

You should’ve stood up before you turned around. You were at eye-level with his dick. It looked pretty big, but it was completely soft. How could he have been naked in a shower with a woman and feel nothing? He must’ve been gay. Or asexual. Not like you could actually ask him that.

He took the towel out of your hands and wrapped it around his waist. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

“What’s your type?” You tugged your wrist and he reluctantly followed you into your bedroom to find clothes to change into.

Once again, as if he hadn’t just watched you shower, he faced away from you. “If I wanted to feel like I’m fucking a Make-A-Wish kid whose only wish was to get dicked down, then you’d be right up my alley. I go for real women.”

Asshole.

Over the course of the next two weeks, that became your life. You couldn’t do anything without him breathing down your neck, no matter how many times you tried to show him that you could behave without the restraints. The only times that you were allowed to be alone were when you were using the bathroom (he’d attach the cuff to the cabinet door handle) and when you were in bed (cuffed to the headboard).

You stirred awake in the middle of the night, feeling the bed shake. For a second, you thought that there was some kind of earthquake. That is, until you heard soft moaning and heavy breathing.

As quietly as possible, you turned to see if the sounds matched what you were imagining. Jackson was sitting on the other side of the bed, feet on the ground, tugging at his cock with one hand and holding a photo in the other. He had no shirt on, allowing you to see the various scars and healed gunshot wounds that littered his skin. “What are you doing?”

“Take a wild guess.” His voice was a bit strained, not even breaking his concentration. He held the photo tighter.

Your eyes narrowed, and then you reached out and snatched the photo from his hand. It was a woman. She had curled auburn hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. “Who’s this? Your girlfriend?”

He grimaced. “No.”

“She’s clearly someone important if you keep a photo of her in your wallet and you jerk off to it.” Jackson tried to take the photo from you, but you pulled away. This wasn’t something you were going to back off of.

“She’s why I got stuck babysitting you instead of doing actual meaningful jobs.” He tucked his dick into his sweatpants, though there was still a noticeable tent, and faced you. “Last year, I had to convince her to change the hotel room of a politician my client wanted dead. I had to do it during a red-eye flight from Dallas to Miami. Obviously, I failed.” Taking advantage of your shock, he took the photo back.

“What if you…pretended that I was her?” You finally sat up and leaned against the headboard. He looked you up and down, his mind a bit clouded from the sheer amount of arousal still coursing through his veins. 

He gripped the photo harder, sighing. “Don’t expect me to be gentle.” 

At this point, you had to take what you could get. You shifted out of your sleep shorts and panties. Jackson wasted no time in straddling your legs and lining himself with your entrance.

It’s not that you were not aroused , but you wouldn’t say that you were. Only not entirely ready to take him just yet. You felt the stretch of his cock inside of you, straining your muscles before you could mentally prepare yourself. 

His lack of empathy showed further, taking no time to slam himself inside of you and almost jackhammer himself into completion. You whined and reached out to push against his chest. He gripped your wrist. “Shut the fuck up. You’re ruining this for me.”

His eyes were squeezed shut, face scrunching up with his own imagination taking over the situation. “Lisa…” You felt his hand press on your neck, but you knew not to protest. “You can’t escape me, Lis. You knew I’d come back for you. The only way you’re getting rid of me is with a bullet in my forehead.”

The more he spoke, the harder he fucked into you. “Wanted to take you back to your hotel, book the nicest suite, and stuff every hole of yours with my cum all night long.”

His thrusts became sloppier and you could have sworn that your face was turning purple with the amount of pressure on your windpipe. “Lisa.” He repeated her name as he came and pushed his cum deeper into you.

Once he released your neck, the first breath was almost as good as if you had actually come. He scowled down at you when he opened his eyes again. “Oh, right. You’re still here.”

[brewinkel-blog]

The disappearing act.

What’s that place in between suicide and life. That place where you don’t want to die, but you feel like everyone would be better off without you. That place where you are surrounded by people that love you, but you feel alone and want to pull away into your own little world. Not distracted by technology, but by your own thoughts. Staring off into space wondering why you’re like this. 

Why do these negative thoughts and feelings only seem to come once a month? It’s a vicious cycle. For a week or two, feelings shift to neutral. Then excess energy for a week or so. Then depression. Then absolute torture of the mind. And when that lifts, the neutral state returns and things seemingly go back to normal. But, during those bad times, life is excruciating. Too much time is spent in the shower just trying to pull myself together. 

Medications have never helped. Talking to doctor about hormonal changes to see if the emotions are tied to my cycle is hopeless. Doctors don’t listen. They don’t see women as human beings that have struggles and pain. Oh, “you just cut off your arm? Did you take some Advil and a hot bath to see if that would help? What about water, are you drinking 5 gallons a day?” 

So, I’m stuck in the cycle. Stuck in the hopelessness. Stuck in this feeling that life won’t every change or get better. The anxiety is intense. Death isn’t an option. The kids need a mother. But do they need a mother like me? Would they be better off with a better mother? When they get older, will they look back and feel the same way I do about my childhood? Will they question what was wrong with their mother their whole lives? Will they question my love?

Death isn’t the answer, but disappearing is what I want. Disappearing would give them all a happier life. Death isn’t the answer, but disappearing would be so much easier than life. 

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Yandere!Lee Minho x F!Reader TW : yandere themes ; reader is in a depressive state ; manipulative behavior ; smut ; public PiV intercourse without protection (wrap it before you tap it folks) ; exhibitionism ; let me know if there's more!! Word Count : 4.7k Request : @whatudowhennooneseesyou Okay, I need a pt. 3 to yandere lee know. What if he notices the reader is experiencing depression from being able to leave the house or do anything? And he's desperate to make you happy. Of course, please it smutty, needy & possessive. Thank you xx A/N : Of course of course!! The yandere Lee Know request series is my favorite to write!! (technically this is part 4 because part 3 was the shower sex one) Thank you for all your wonderful requests, and please do not hesitate to send in more!! You're the best!

Rain trickled down the glass panes of the windows, your eyes focused solely on one that seemed to fall behind the rest, inching its way along while the others had already reached the bottom, pooling on the sill outside before falling down to the sidewalk. It inched, and it inched, and inside your head you were cheering for it, you wanted it to win, even if it wouldn’t make it until last, it would at least make it where it needed to go. Moving and moving until… It got swallowed up by another droplet of rain, completely disappearing until all that was left was the bigger drop that rushed down the window and beat every other drop that had landed before it. 

You knew what it was like to be swallowed up completely, to just become a part of somebody else whether they truly needed you or not. In the long run, everyone was racing to get the sill… to get to the end, everyone was going to end up the same way, much like the drops of rain that hit the ground. Was it really important for the one drop to swallow the one you had your eye on, did it really help? Did Minho really need you, or did it just feed his desire for authority, to be completely in control of you and everything you did? 

It had been months since you left the house, but only a couple weeks since the falling out with him where he had laid his hands on you in a way that had left you feeling broken and unwanted, even by him… He had apologized, he had made it up to you, but he still didn’t let you leave, and you were stuck in a vicious cycle of fighting, silence, and then sex… As if that would make up for all the damage he was doing. 

In his mind, sex was all he needed to give you to make up for being an asshole. Whisper in a few I’m sorry’s and you’re so beautiful’s, and everything should be good as new. If you didn’t forgive him by the time he pulled out, it would only relight that rage inside of him and it would spur up another argument that would end just the same as the one before. 

“Darling?” Minho whispered, his cold hands coming down on your shoulders, freezing you through your skin, deep into your bones, but you didn’t shudder, you didn’t shiver, you didn’t want him to know that you knew he was there. “What’s outside that window that you keep looking at?” He hummed, sitting beside you on the bed, his eyes trying to find whatever yours might be locked into. 

The thing is though, you weren’t looking at any one thing in particular, you were just… looking. “Life…” You murmured, never tearing your eyes away from the fogged window, littered in streaks of rain and racing droplets. “The world… People… Everything.” You continued, and you could feel Minhos body tense up beside you. Obviously that wasn’t what someone like him wanted to hear. The yearning in your voice was obvious, the craving to be free. 

“Don’t be silly. You have all of that in here. Are you living?” He didn’t give you time to respond, mainly because he knew that whatever response you might give him would probably be sarcastic. “You are, you’re alive in here. You’re a part of the world just by living in it, so therefore, the world is here too. You have people here, and that’s me… You have a person, and that should be all you need.” 

Fighting, that’s what would happen if you disagreed with him, so you simply nodded, your entire body falling over onto the bed to rest your head against the pillow, your eyes still focused on the window though. “Yes.” Was all you said, not even bothering to get the blankets out from underneath you, instead grabbing Minhos end and folding it over yourself. 

Things were worse than he thought they would be. No matter how much he apologized for the slap, you had changed, and you hadn’t been the same since. He could tell that you were spiraling, you were sinking into a depression that he feared he wouldn’t be able to save you from. You didn’t fight with him anymore, you just agreed with everything he said, and while he hated arguing with you, the lack of arguing scared him. 

How much did he love you? Sometimes he even asked himself that question. Clearly he loved you a lot because he put up with a lot from you, but did that really qualify as loving someone, or was it simply tolerating? You rarely asked for anything, and when you did, he’d tell you no… And while he was doing it for your own good, and maybe because he selfishly just didn’t want to give you what you wanted, he knew that there would come a time when he had to say yes, or lose you. 

It seemed like he was losing you already though, and he feared the worst, and during one worry filled morning, he had taken everything that you might be able to hurt yourself with and tossed it in the garbage, gotten it all out of the apartment completely. Sure, he still had you… But you weren’t really you. You were just a fragment of the girl that he had loved. 

“I’m gonna take a day off work tomorrow. How does that sound?” He asked, his hand absentmindedly rubbing up and down your thigh. Usually you’d pull away from his touch, or get flustered and hide your face in your pillow… But there was no reaction, you just continued to stare out the window, a soft hum of indifference sounding from somewhere inside you although your lips were drawn tightly shut. “Get some sleep, darling. I’ll bring you something to eat.” 

Taking the day off would usually mean just spending the day inside, and he himself was perfectly content with doing that, but he knew that you needed more, you needed to go outside or that small fragment that was left of you would be gone as well. He needed to bite the bullet, he needed to give you what you needed and deal with whatever might come later on. 

“Good morning, darling.” He cooed, pulling open the curtains that he had shut the night before, hoping that your lack of outside visuals would get you out of bed, but it only made you fall asleep. Now that the curtains were drawn, your eyes were right back to being glued on nothing and everything all at once. “Do you want to get out of bed today?” Your head shook to his question, your hands pulling the blanket up higher around your face until all that was visible were your eyes. “Oh? Such a shame… There was this really nice restaurant that I wanted to take you to, and I thought we could take a walk or something.” 

The bait was set, and he saw your eyes momentarily shift from the window to look over at him, doubt etched in every single line of your irises. You didn’t believe him, and why should you? He had never offered to take you out before, so why would he start now? “Why?” Was all you could say, all you could ask. You didn’t trust him, not as far as you could throw him, and the offer actually scared you. 

“Because you want to go outside, and… Well… You’ve been very good and… I think that calls for some kind of reward. Don’t you?” The thought of taking you outside scared the living shit out of him. How many people would look at you, stare at you, try to talk to you? What if you told them that he had kidnapped you, that he was holding you captive… Which would be the biggest lie ever, he wasn’t doing anything like that… He just didn’t like to let you leave. 

Those thoughts almost had him backing out, turning away from the plan, but the way you jumped out of the bed… You were smiling… It was the first sign of life he had seen in your eyes in so long, it was the first time you actually looked at him, looked at anything but that damn window. “Oh, Minho! You’re the best!” You squealed, and he was thrown off guard when your body crashed against his own, your arms wrapping around him and your face buried in his chest. “I love you… Thank you…” 

Was this… all it took? All he had to do was… swallow his own pride once every blue moon…. And you’d love him like this? You’d willingly hug him like this? “Of course, my darling. Anything for you.” He murmured, his arms instantly wrapping around you and holding you close. “Dress warmly, okay? It’s quite cold outside, I wouldn’t want you to fall ill.” He said before placing a kiss to the top of your head, and you were so eager, nodding quickly up to him before rushing over to the closet and pulling out something to wear. 

His hand was tightly wrapped around yours as he walked down the street, and while it felt like walking on shards of glass for him, your steps were light, almost bouncy as you looked around. Your finger would point at storefront windows, and he’d take a mental picture of all the things you seemed to like so that he could buy them for you, gift them to you whenever you thought he acted out of line. “It’s so nice out here… Are you having fun?” You posed the question, and truthfully, this was not fun for him, this was not fun at all. It felt like the entire male population was looking at you, trying to steal you away from him, it made him sick, it made him angry. 

“Mmhm… I’m having fun as long as you are, darling.” His voice was strained, but you were too enamored by the outside world to notice. You squeezed his hand tighter before pulling him over to one of the store windows, pointing out one of the shiny bracelets that were on display. “Do you like that one, darling? Just let me know and I can get it for you.” 

Your head shook as you continued to look at it, your eyes practically glued to the piece of jewelry. “I just thought it was pretty. You don’t have to get it. I was just looking.” You smiled sweetly up to him, brushing your thumb across his before starting to move again. “We should get to the restaurant soon before the tables are taken. It’s almost lunch time.” You mused, and he nodded along, letting you pull him wherever you wanted to go, but not before taking one last mental picture of the bracelet you had pointed out. He’d get it for you as an anniversary gift, or a birthday gift, or just a gift to let you know he loved you. 

The wait for the restaurant wasn’t as long as you thought it would be, but that was only because he was who he was, and the two of you were given a table in the back, far away from everyone else. “Is this okay for you?” Minho asked, pulling out your chair for you before the waiter could. “Do you want to be out in the main area?” His fingers tapped against your shoulders as you sat down, shaking your head slowly as he pushed your chair in. “Good. We can have more privacy back here.” He murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before going to his own chair. 

Minho loved seeing you in his home, in his room, in his bed, in his clothes, he loved seeing you in any and every way that would show him that you were his, but what he realized he loved to see even more was the beautiful smile that was on your face the entire day. He loved having you close to him, and you didn’t try anything, you didn’t talk to anyone, you would only look at him and whatever was interesting that caught your eye. You were solely his, and it took taking you out of the apartment for him to really grasp that. 

Of course, his mood couldn’t stay light for long, not when the two of you were surrounded by people who didn’t seem to understand how a relationship worked. Or maybe they just didn’t care for relationships, at least they didn’t care for other people's relationships. He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but it was becoming harder by the second and he was like a ticking time bomb, it would only be a matter of time before he exploded. 

It wasn’t time at all that had his anger and rage combusting though, it was one single action played out by the foolish waiter. One hand was all it took, one hand placed on your shoulder, the way the waiter's fingers seemed to squeeze, the uncomfortable look on your face when you looked at Minho… All he saw was red, and in an instant he had pushed himself away from the table, the movement causing the drinks to tip and spill over. You gasped loudly, pushing your own chair back and standing up, revealing your pants to be stained by the liquids that had run over the edge of the table. ��Don’t worry, let me help you.” The waiter said, pulling napkins from his apron, but Minho pushed him back, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you away. 

“He just wanted to touch you, he wanted to take you away from me… Disgusting… People are absolutely filthy. Can they not see that you’re mine?!” He ranted and raved as he led you to the bathroom, pushing open the door and practically shoving you inside. “You’re all mine… You know that, right darling?” Minho mumbled to himself as he pushed the door shut, locking it behind him. 

“O-Of course I know that… Wha-What are you doing?” You whispered as he stalked towards you, like a hunter would stalk its prey, until you were trapped between him and the counter top, his hands caging you in as he pressed himself against you. “Minho…” You whispered, a flustered mess, giggling nervously as you tried to move away from him, but he only pressed further against you. 

You were practically sitting on the counter at this point, pinned, nowhere to go. “They don’t know that though… They don’t respect that.” He mumbled, his hands moving from the surface of the counter to grab your hips, his fingers digging into the knitted fabric of the sweater. “This is why I can’t take you out. Everyone wants to take you away from me. Need to show them that you’re mine, kitten… I’ll let them hear you… I want them to hear you.” 

Although your head was shaking, he could tell by the way your thighs squeezed together, the way your eyes seemed to sparkle, you were excited by the thought of him taking you in such a place, the thought of potentially being caught by someone. “We can uh… We can just go home…” You tried to persuade weakly, but your arms were draped over his shoulders and you weren’t really trying to move away anymore. You wanted this… And he needed it. 

“Such a cute little kitten… come here…” He mused, his hand sliding up your back to grab the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer to him, his lips just barely grazing against your own as he yanked your head back, reveling in the soft whimper you let out. “Don’t you want everyone to know that you belong to me? Aren’t you happy to be with me?” He quizzed as he dragged his lips down to your neck, kissing one particular spot he knew drove you wild, and then biting down on it lightly, sucking at the sensitive skin, his cock growing hard just from the moans that he was eliciting from you. 

“Mmhm… I am… Minho…” You whined, your own fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him back, the motion causing a pop to sound out in the bathroom when his lips disconnected from your skin. “B-But we shouldn’t… Not here…” You whispered, your chest rising and falling heavily as you stared at him with parted lips, glistening in the flickering fluorescent lights. 

“Please, kitten…” It was a first to hear him beg like this, his fingers kneading into your hips as he tried to pull you closer to him. “I just really need you right now… I need to know that you’re mine… That no one else gets to have you but me.” His head hung low as it shook, his hair brushing against your face as he let out a heavy sigh. “I take you out… Just like you wanted… And all I want is this, you… You don’t know how hard it is for me. I see all these other men looking at you… It scares me… What if they take you away from me?” 

Now, deep down, you knew this was a way of manipulation, a way for him to get just what he wanted. It was a new form of manipulation, one that was brought about from the events of the day, and while you weren’t a fan of any type of manipulation in any way, you found this form of it strangely endearing. It almost sounded like he was going to cry, his voice breaking at different moments just to really get to you, and you hated the fact that it was working so well. “Minho…” You whispered, your hand hesitantly reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’m yours… you don’t have to worry. Maybe we can… just… make it quick… so we don’t get caught…” He had you right where he wanted you, and you could feel cheeks pulling up from the smirk he was hiding with his head still hung low. He was a great actor, a master manipulator, and you fell for it every single time. 

In an instant you were pulled off the counter and quickly turned around, his hand gently pushing against your upper back to bend you over the counter. “See what you do to me, kitten?” He groaned lowly as he rubbed against you, you could feel how hard he was through his jeans, and you were disgusted with yourself when you felt that all too familiar tingle in your stomach. “Only you make me feel like this, and…” His hands moved around your waist to undo the button of your pants before yanking them down, the sudden exposure in such a public place had you nervous but so excited at the same time. “I know that you’re feeling the same way, aren’t you?” He slipped his fingers between the waistband of your panties, gliding one of his digits between your slit and humming softly when he felt just how wet you really were. “What a naughty kitten… Trying to pretend like she doesn’t want to be fucked for the whole restaurant to hear. That’s what you want though, isn’t it?” 

Dammit. No matter how much your mind told you it was a bad idea, you just couldn’t deny him, couldn't deny yourself  of what you truly wanted, and at the end of every day, no matter how horrible it might be, what you truly wanted was him. “Y-Yes… please Minho…” You whimpered, pushing your ass back against him which had him letting out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips to hold you still. 

“Good kitten.” His hands slid down to your ass, delivering a light smack to the plump skin, the sound resonating in the tiny room. “I’ll fuck you dumb, until all you can think about is my cock. You belong to me, kitten. Everyone needs to know that. Why can’t people just… understand that.” His tone went from taunting to irritated, and you braced yourself against the counter, trying to grip onto the edges when you felt the thin material of your panties being peeled off of you, his movements slow as he moved them down your thighs to pool against your ankles along with your pants. 

Minho was impatient, but he wanted to relish in the excitement of the moment, a moment that he knew wouldn’t come again for a very long time. He didn’t like taking you out, but there was something so exhilarating about doing this here. You hadn’t even heard his own pants come undone, and maybe it was because you were so focused on the sounds coming from the other side of the locked door, waiting to hear someone try to come in, but your train of thought and all your focus was derailed as soon as you felt the tip of his cock pushing against the tight entrance of your cunt. 

Your face was quickly buried in your arm, your mouth pressed into the crook of your elbow to muffle your gasp as you felt yourself slowly being stretched by him. “Now now, kitten, I said I wanted everyone to hear you… Not just me.” He scolded, gripping your hair and gently yanking it to pull your head up, the action causing you to moan loudly as your walls tightened around him. “There we go… It wasn’t that hard, was it kitten?” 

Fuck, he was so hot, the way one corner of his lips pulled up into the sexiest smirk, his hair shadowing his lust filled eyes, turning them darker than they usually are. It was easier to get over the humiliation of potentially getting caught when you’d be caught with him. “Keep… keep moving, Minho…” You begged in the most pathetic soft voice when he bottomed out and then stilled. 

“Tell me who you belong to, I want to know that you know.” He demanded, his hips only slightly beginning to move, although you were sure that it was only due to his lack of patience. “Who’s the only one who gets to fuck you like this?” He questioned further, and you whined loudly at the sudden pop quiz that was keeping you from feeling him thrust into you the way you both wanted. 

“You! I’m all yours Minho! Please, fuck me.” You wiggled your ass back against him, watching his eyes roll back and his tongue dart along his bottom lip before his head fell forward, his eyes locking with yours in the reflection of the mirror. The look was absolutely menacing, and you would have been scared if you weren’t 100% sure he’d never hurt you again. 

His fingers locked tightly around your hips, his nails digging into your skin, causing you to wince as he held you in place. “No moving, kitten. I’ve already rewarded you with a day out… Now I’m getting my reward. I’m gonna take my time with you.” Of course that’s what he was going to do, and as you rolled your eyes with annoyance, he pulled his hips back and suddenly slammed them forward with full force, your stomach being pressed against the edge of the counter was painful, but that feeling was quickly nullified by the pure pleasure Minho was bringing you. 

With the constant ramming of his hips against you, his cock being pushed deeper into you with each thrust, your mind was becoming hazy. You couldn’t remember where you were, and you didn’t even care, all you could think about was how amazing Minho felt, the sounds of his low breathy moans filling and strings of curses that were mumbled under his breath filling your ears and those sounds alone could have brought you to the edge. “Fuck… you’re so good… feel so good… I love you…” 

You were mumbling out the only things that came to your mind as you feebly tried to grip onto the flat counter surface. Your moans were getting louder, mingled in with whimpers and whines, gasps and incoherent jumbled nonsense. Minhos cock twitched with every slurred utterance of his name, and he could feel his heart racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins at the mere thought that anyone could come in at any moment and find the two of you like this. He wouldn’t stop though, he’d keep fucking you until your cum covered his cock and his cum filled your throbbing cunt. 

“Love you too, kitten…” He murmured back, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the center of your back. “Keep being loud for me… keep telling me how good I feel, you know how much it turns me on.” And you did, god, Minho got such an ego boost whenever you praised him. “You feel amazing too… so fucking wet… so warm…” He was practically purring at this point. 

The sudden knock on the bathroom door had you covering your mouth, looking at Minho through the mirror, but he only smiled wider, his hands moving from your hips to grab your wrists and hold them behind your back, pulling you up into a standing position in the process. He really wasn’t going to stop. “M-Minho… They’re gonna-“ 

“See us?” He completed your sentence, continuing to thrust into you as his free hand trailed down the center of your stomach, and you already knew where that trail ended, and the thought of it had your stomach twisting into knots. “Let them, want them to see how beautiful you look when you’re shaking and cumming all over my cock, kitten.” 

A sound of keys jingling had you tensing up, your walls tightening around him in an attempt to get him to stop, but then his fingers began their assault on the sensitive bud, rolling quick circles with the pads of two of his fingers. Your head rolled back, falling against his shoulders as your breaths came out more rapidly, your legs shaking and threatening to give out as he continued, your whines growing louder as you felt your orgasm coming closer. 

“Cum for me, kitten… come on…” He urged, kissing along your neck as his fingers somehow became faster, his hips rocking slowly but each thrust had the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. “Let them see you, watch how you fall apart…” He cooed, and with one more roll of his hips into you, you were pushed over the edge, your eyes losing focus as the door to the bathroom flew open. 

Not even the sound of whoever it was that had caught you could bring you back down from the world's greatest high, and your pulsating walls had Minho cumming just as hard, loud grunts breathed out beside your ear as he held tightly onto you to hold you steady. “You do so good for me, kitten… so perfect…” He sighed, finally looking over at the man that was standing like a statue, eyes wide as he stared at the two of you. “Isn’t my darling beautiful?” Minho mused, brushing your hair away from your face, and only then did you feel the rush of heat from your embarrassment consume your entire body. “Don’t look at her. I didn’t tell you to look.” Minho continued, turning you away from the man who was staring, slowly pulling out of you and helping you pull up your own pants before doing the same with his own. 

“Y-You’re not allowed back in here! I should call the cops!” The man shouted once the two of you were fully dressed again, and Minho only chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist as he walked you to the door, only stopping to pull a couple bills out of his wallet and press them against the man's chest. 

“Don’t worry, we weren’t planning on coming back anyway.” Minho retorted, moving you further out the door until you were on your way out of the restaurant, the cold air feeling much more chilled against your sweat covered, flushed skin. “Shall we go home now, darling? Or would you like to see if we can find somewhere else to have some fun?” 

[sk-lumen]

I feel that I am on the cusp of great change, but something is holding me back that I can't let go of because I don't know what it is. From since I can remember, most of my 'problems' have come from not being able to love or be loved. How do I combat this?

Hi anon,

I'm happy to hear you're ready to make a huge change in your life. Whatever your level up journey has been so far, know that I'm proud of you. Making big changes is not easy, because let's be honest, it requires a certain degree of mindfulness and owning up to where you are in life. But it's a necessity to review what is, so you can decide where you want to go from there.

From what you mentioned, there may be a lot to unpack, but the important thing is you've already made the first step - choosing to heal, to recover, to get better.

"Not being able to love or be loved" is not a light matter, and I empathize with that. There are so many reasons or causes for this, but the good news is, everything you need is at your disposal: it starts with you. It starts with shaking the dust off your inner world and stirring up any limiting or toxic beliefs. By asking yourself deep questions which delve into the core of any childhood memories, wounds, traumas or anything else.

Questions like...

When was the last time you felt really loved, really seen and appreciated?

Do you feel worthy of healthy, deep, fulfilling love? If not, then why not?

Do you find yourself unconsciously sabotaging your relationships, rocking the boat just when it gets really good? Perhaps it's your subconscious' way of finding itself in new, uncomfortable environment (that being a healthy relationship) and, in a half-panic to steer the situation into familiar grounds, it sabotages everything. At the same time, it now proves your internal/mental belief system (of not having/deserving healthy relationships) and continues to validate them in this vicious cycle. And the key to overcome any vicious cycle, is to break it. Break the patterns, shift your mindset, reprogram your belief system.

What is “familiar” for you in terms of a relationship? Is it a list of mostly negative aspects? Then it may be time that you to change your mindset about what is familiar (=safe, good) with positive aspects that actually builds a healthy relationship.

Yes, healing starts with mindfulness and self-awareness as the first step, but then you need to practice it. I'm not going to sugarcoat the journey of self love as some glamorous, cotton-candy filled process (although incorporating pink into your environment does help, not gonna lie). It’s not just fancy facemasks and treating yourself. That’s just the glamorous side.

Self love practices can be actual selfcare practices:

By taking care of yourself, day by day, you begin to see your own beauty and appreciate all that you are.

By taking the time each day to nourish your body with healthy, hearty meals that keeps you strong and vibrant with vitality; by taking the time to brush your hair, lotion your body, brush your teeth, or indulge in further skincare regimes.

By looking out for your future self by doing things you don't feel like doing but which you know will make you feel better afterwards (just getting out of bed and taking a shower, when you may be feel depressed or anxious or just drained of energy); or even just by wiping down the kitchen surfaces, putting away any household clutter, and preparing your outfit for the morning after... The you from next morning will feel so much better to wake up to a clean, tidy home and outfit ready to go, right?

All these things add up. Day by day, it builds on your bond with yourself.

It helps you find safety within, because you realize you'll always have your own back.

It helps you find peace within, because you realize everything you need is already within you, those things you're chasing, none of them are essential to inner fulfillment. That cute person thinking you’re hot? Falls short next to finding that all-encompassing relief of feeling fully comfortable in your own body.

It helps you develop trust within, as you can now trust the most important person in your life - yourself, because you're loyal and authentic to yourself and honor your boundaries, your fears, your needs. When you make sure you're priority nr. 1, you'll be at ease because you'll never have to worry about being abandoned, or not being validated or appreciated through external forces. When you take care of your needs from the getgo, you step out into the world as a whole being, and not a half missing its other half.

It helps you find love within yourself most importantly, and at long last, you'll stop chasing it everywhere outside of you, because you'll realize what you really need to fill that emptiness within, is already within you - your own acceptance, your own respect and appreciation.

Darling, you're absolutely worthy of love!

If you don't believe it, write down "I'm lovable" every day. State it out loud every morning and day and night until it's engrained in your mind.

Use all of these habits and practices to your benefit. Journaling, meditating, mindfulness. Healing selfcare practices. Selflove begins with you taking care of you. If nothing else, it begins with you saying "yes, I accept that I'm lovable and worthy of being loved in my fullness". Yes, it begins with you, but you don't have to walk this path alone. You can accept help from friends and family, from specialists, just keep in mind that your healing is your responsibility first and foremost, not anyone else's. Other people can help on this path, and you can and should let them because they love you and only want to help you. But keep in mind they, too, are responsible for their own healing and working through their challenges and limiting beliefs.

I mention this because codependency and projecting onto other people are not the foundation for a healthy relationship, on the contrary. Because by projecting onto other people in a relationship, we are essentially expecting them to fix our issues, heal our wounds, fill the emptiness in us, make everything better in our place. We put our whole life's burden onto them, and then we wonder why the relationship crashes and burns, turns toxic, or leaves us unfulfilled. Why? Because the solution is believed to be in the external world, outside ourselves, anywhere else except ourselves. Because in a world where everybody rejects accountability for their own healing, the burden falls always on "the other person", and you can see why it can turn unhealthy fast. However, in a world where we strive to take charge of our healing journey, we lay the foundations for our own healing. It begins with each of us.

Note: I'm not licensed to offer specialised advice. For that, I would heartily recommend a specialist such as a therapist. Here and now, I want to make clear that there is nothing taboo, unusual, embarrassing or strange about reaching out to therapists. In fact, I genuinely believe if everyone had a therapist, the world would 200% be a happier place, because we'd stop just bottling every damn thing inside, you know? A specialist can help with listening, with providing clarity over your whole life, with forming accountability for your own choices, and so much more. They can help realign your thought patterns, your beliefs which, as we age, get so engrained and fixed in our heads, that it gets harder (yet still possible) to budge and change.

I hope these gentle words offer some comfort, and help you in your journey of healing. Just remember, you’re not alone okay? And if anyone thinks you’re not lovable, just throw this post in their face, because if Lumen says you’re lovable then you better damn believe you’re lovable. *mic drop*

Much love, -𝓛𝓾𝓶𝓮𝓷

[the-darkfactory]

A SICK GIRL.

This text was written and published in November 2018. This is the first time I translate to English. Hope it reaches those who need to read it most. Much love.

I was born dying. I was dragged from my mom's belly straight to the intensive care unit and spent a month in the incubator until I could breathe without machines. I was also born whole and no one ever told me that, one day, my mind was going to split in two.

I was very little when I first felt strange. Very strange. I was already 5’6 feet tall when I started my last year in primary school, finding clothes that fit me was torture. However, for my graduation party, I found a purple dress that seemed perfect. When I tried it on, under that all-showing light in the changing room, I felt fat. That was the first time I was disgusted by my reflection.

After a summer tinged with school farewell melodrama, I started high school. I spent most of my free time studying, listening to the Backstreet Boys or reading Harry Potter. At the end of the first semester, I got the best grades in my class. While everyone at home was happily celebrating, I made a pact with a friend: I was going to stop eating.

My thinness brought about new habits and what I remember the most is how cold I was: during school recess, my friends would go out to play and I would stay in the classroom wearing every sweatshirt I could find. It would take me forty-five minutes to eat an apple and before going to sleep, I would go over each food item I’ve had in the day and calculate the calories. I also learned that I had to get up slowly to avoid the dizziness that turned my room into a washing machine.

One day my family and I went to one of those “all you can eat” restaurants. After two sandwiches and a bit of cake, I started crying because I had an intense stomach ache, but it was all a premeditated drama I staged so they wouldn't make me have dinner. Two days later, my mom dragged me to a clinic. I had to take off my clothes and stand on an ice-cold scale. "You weigh 39 kilos," the doctor announced. "You're anorexic."

I was taken to a hospital that had a team specializing in treating people like me. We waited for hours until my name was called and I was met by an anti-anorexic army: a nutritionist, a clinical doctor, a psychiatrist, a psychologist and others I never understood who they were. They made my parents leave and Anorexia and I were interrogated. They asked us if we vomited, if we had thought about committing suicide and if we had ever been abused. When we talked about my parents' divorce, we burst into tears. Then they faced the back of two chairs and asked us to separate them according to how far apart we felt they had to be from each other in order for us to fit between them. We did it and passed the test: we knew we were tiny. The doctors said I was on the verge of hospitalization. I was a sick girl.

Once our relationship was made official, we went to the hospital three times a week. Long waiting, weighing, talking. We were forbidden to be physically active and we had to write down how much of what we ate a day. Mom sometimes comforted us and sometimes shouted at us. One night she yelled a lot because we had only had a piece of fruit for dinner, but how could I explain to her that eating made Anorexia hurt and so it hurt me too? We were sent to a psychologist we stared at in silence for an hour. We finished our junior year with straight As, enslaved at home and undernourished.

Anorexia and I did everything together. I would start a sentence and she would finish it. When I moved my hand to grab something, she was the one who forced my fingers closed, and if something bothered her, I did whatever was necessary to calm her down. One afternoon, we went cycling with our friends and we were carried on the handlebars so we wouldn't move. Everything was going beautifully until a sudden stop made us fall face first to the ground. We got up spitting teeth and blood. We broke our four incisors, skin came off our lips and we split the right side of our face. That night before showering, I stared at our skeletal, beaten up reflection. Days shy of my fourteenth birthday, I cried my heart out asking Anorexia what the fuck had she done.

I wanted her to go away. The only thing I could do to get her to leave was eat. Sometimes she won, sometimes I won. Once, she lost 100 grams and I went home after the medical check up feeling a killer urge. Another day, I gained 200 and that night she didn’t let me sleep. It was war. If Anorexia told me to hide food, I ran off to snack with my brother. If she hated sandwiches, I'd buy a dozen of my favorites. For every complaint of hers, a food bite of mine, and so, bite by bite, I filled her mouth with silence until I could no longer hear her speak.

I started my second year of high school with a seemingly healthy weight. I went to the hospital once a week. Eventually, I was told I could go once a fortnight, once every twenty-one days and, somehow, I stopped going altogether. I don’t remember how or when that decision was made. The only thing I do know is that during all that time I ate almost nothing from Monday to Friday and a lot from Saturday to Sunday in order to weigh more at the Monday check-ups. The thing was that once the pact between Anorexia and I had been made, she would try and talk to me every day. People didn't notice but I knew she was still there. We were still the best students, we lifted weights after eating a salad and we never got our periods. We were stopped on the streets to be offered jobs at modeling agencies and we realized that our bond had the aesthetic approval of society. I forgave her for all she had done and gave her, again, space in my body to grow.

When we turned seventeen, Anorexia changed. She screamed at me and didn't feel like doing anything. We quit the gym, gained weight and developed insomnia. One drunken night, we came home and went straight to the kitchen. We opened the fridge and devoured, on our knees, all the leftovers from dinner. We then shoved our fingers down our throats. That's how Bulimia arrived.

Bulimia was fiercely hungry. My cheeks, arms, and chin grew like a fatty bubble. I was disgusted by my body and I got dressed in the dark. I stopped studying, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. At prom I had two drinks and passed out. I woke up in hospital with an IV in my arm and my worried mother by my side. I didn't know how to explain that for weeks and in order to be skinny that night, everything I ate, Bulimia vomited.

I wanted to feel normal. I was very weak and exhausted, but Bulimia was young and confident. She never shut up, she would even eat raw polenta in spoonfuls and vomit it all, leaving me tired and confused lying in my bed. Her arrival was abrupt because Anorexia had already drilled holes in my head: they were different versions of the same thing and a pattern of destructive habits that infected everything. They turned my life into a living hell.

We vomited so much that we spent hours burying our heads in the toilet seat and we would only stop when we saw the first thing we had eaten leaving our body. We did it five, six times a day. We used every bathroom we set foot in. The ones at school, my friends' houses, restaurants, my grandmother's, my dad's. I developed arrhythmia and thought that Bulimia was going to get me killed. Some nights, while dreaming that I was violently bingeing, I would wake up desperate and ready to stick my fingers in my mouth until I realized that, that one time, the binge had been a dream. That feeling of “fake need to vomit” was the closest thing to peace I felt during those times.

Bulimia didn't want me around anyone. She made me think I was crazy and that I would never be able to be separated from her. I stayed away from my friends. I stopped having dinner with my family and we would lock ourselves up in my room. Mom would bring me trays of food that Bulimia kept in plastic bags. I once found a rotten chicken inside the closet. It was full of maggots. We were almost found out when my brother saw a glass of vomit in the bathroom that we had forgotten to flush down the toilet. He brought it to me and said, "Is this yours?" while retching. We nodded and took it away from him as if it had been a misplaced shoe.

I don't know how I managed to free myself from anorexia and bulimia, but for the last three years I have hardly felt their presence. Sometimes I wonder if I started traveling around the world to confuse them and leave them stranded in another part of the planet. Maybe they got bored of my criticism and couldn't stand my will to not share my body with them. One thing I’m sure of is that love played a major part. It was crucial to understand that I did not choose to live with them and that asking a person with compulsive thoughts to stop having them is like asking a paralytic to simply stand up and walk.

Anorexia and bulimia stole my time and energy. I gave them my will to live, my projects and motivations. In return, they gave me anxiety, panic attacks, depression and suicidal thoughts. They still whisper to me every now and then but I can ignore them. It’s not always easy. I don’t know, this coexistence has been very strange but they definitely don’t own me anymore. Looking for the reasons I developed this disorder is complex. I know that I was affected by the pressure I felt from a very young age to be perfect, the weirdness that arose in my family dynamics after the divorce and feeling that for society I was worth more as a woman the skinnier I was. The final trigger must have been a genetic predisposition and a bit of mystery: there is still a lot that science doesn't know about all this. Once my disease was established, it became a vicious, out-of-control cycle that was perpetuated by the worst evil of all: silence. I felt a deep shame, thought it was my fault and that, hence, I deserved what was happening to me. That made me sicker and I vowed to hide it, which was possible because these disorders are invisible: they lock themselves inside bodies of all types, gender, background, shape and turn them into slaves.

When I stopped vomiting and regained control of my hands, I wrote this. It feels weird. After seventeen years of being in a symbiotic relationship, there is something I still don't understand: if I am no longer a sick girl, then who am I?

[theotherackerman]

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.

NOTES:

Sunday, January 17th

chapter nineteen: i just like hanging out with you, all the time

Mikasa ended up losing to Eren at video games.

It was a rare moment that Eren was better at something than Mikasa.

“Finally!” He yelled two o'clock in the morning.

“Shhh! You’re going to wake Levi and then he’s going to spray you with that spray bottle again!” Mikasa said as she put a hand over Eren’s mouth.

There had been a time when they were fifteen that Eren had spent the night while Grisha was working the night shift.

Eren and Mikasa had been playing video games back then too but Armin had also been involved.

There had been yelling and then Levi had come in. He had sprayed all three of them with a spray bottle filled with water.

They made sure never to wake Levi again.

“I’m to lick your hand,” Eren said as he was slightly muffled.

“Don’t you dare,” Mikasa threatened him before removing her hand.

“Glad to see that threat still works,” Eren smirked.

Mikasa reached behind her, grabbed a pillow, and hit him in the face with it.

“Hey! Again?”

Mikasa rolled her eyes before standing up. She walked over to her dresser and grabbed clothes to sleep in.

“I’m going to go change in the bathroom, you can change in here,” she shrugged.

“Yeah, it won’t take me that long so you should be good when you come back and won’t have to knock or anything,” he rambled.

“Okay," she replied as she walked out into the hall and closed the door behind her

Mikasa went into the bathroom and began her nightly routine.

Why was she so embarrassed by the idea of being naked in front of Eren? He had taken her virginity all those years ago and she had taken his. Not to mention they both knew exactly what would have happened if Zeke wouldn’t have walked in that day.  

Eren Jaeger is going to be the death of me, she thought before she splashed her face with water.

After finishing her routine, she walked back to the room. She saw a shirtless Eren on her side of the bed. The necklace holding the two rings still hung from his neck. He looked to be asleep.

Why did he always pick her side?

There was a perfectly good other side.

“Are you asleep?” she asked him.

He smiled.

“Get on your side,” she hissed.

“You know that’s the second time you’ve called it my side,” he smirked before he scooted over.

She was going to kill him. She yanked the blanket off him before she got into bed herself. He glared at her for a moment before his face softened. He yawned.

“Goodnight, Eren.”

“Goodnight, Mikasa.”

A few moments passed.

Just the two of them laying there in the dark.

Both thinking.

"We did waste a lot of time, didn't we?" Eren asked after a moment.

"Yeah, I guess we did," she replied as she rolled over and looked at him.

"What if I don't want to do that anymore?" He asked her.

"Huh?" She asked.

"What if I don't want to waste time anymore?" He asked her.

Mikasa swallowed.

She didn't either.

A hand searched from him in the dark.

It found him and he pulled her towards him. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tight.

This is what she needed.

She needed Eren's touch.

"I always sleep better with you," he whispered.

"Me too," she replied.

So she laid there in his arms.

Eventually, they both drifted off to sleep.

------------------------

Eren’s alarm went off way too soon.

His arms were still wrapped around Mikasa which made him smile but he was disappointed that he had to get up. Eren wasn’t sure where he had left his phone in the room. So there was a good five minutes of him searching for it. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his pills and water. He took one, washing it down with the water. He looked over at a sleeping Mikasa.

He had wasted far too much time with her.

But not anymore.

Now he was her equal partner.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” he told Mikasa.

She simply nodded as she pulled the blankets closer, almost wrapping them around herself like a burrito.

He laughed for a moment before he left her to make his way to the bathroom.

He passed Levi in the hallway which made him realize suddenly that here he was just in basketball shorts.

Levi wouldn’t…

Levi was going to think…

Eren was a dead man.

Surprisingly, Levi didn’t seem to mention that part.

“Don’t use up all the hot water. There’s more people than just you,” Levi said simply.

Hange was a few steps behind Levi.

“Don’t worry, that’s his way of saying welcome back. He won’t admit it but he missed you too,” Hange said before patting Eren on the shoulder.

Eren nodded before he made his way into the bathroom.

He got into the shower where he began to reflect on his past.

He had missed these people too. Not just Mikasa.

He would never forget how when he was fourteen and Carla had died, how Levi had stepped up. Armin was already over here due to his grandfather’s work.

What was another kid in the Ackerman house?

Eren then realized the cruel truth.

He had broken more hearts than just Mikasa’s.

And none of them would admit it.

He had seen how weary they had all been the beginning. Many of them had called for blood if Eren fucked up again. He didn’t blame them.

Yet when Mikasa had forgiven him, they all had forgiven him.

It was as if they all knew something else was going on. They were just waiting for him to realize it.

What kind of people loved someone like that?

How could they love him like that?

He was a mess some days. He would get extremely sad for no reason. The mania had been worse. The fake highs that ended up making him nothing but empty afterwards. That resulted in extreme sadness, the depression.

It was a vicious cycle.

Even with the great addition of his medication, he knew there would still be some days like that.

Yet they all seemed to understand that.

Ymir had confessed her mother had struggled with it. Something that surprised Eren.

Why would she confide something like that in him?

Because they are your family, dumbass. It was Zeke’s voice that popped into his head.

Zeke was right.

He was a dumbass.

-------------------------

Mikasa was exhausted.

Her sleep schedule was really getting out of hand.

She was still half asleep as she got out of bed.

She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Strange.

Why had it been closed?

She shrugged before she pulled her toothbrush out of the holder next to the sink.

Why was there water running?

Had someone left it on?

She walked over to the shower and pulled the curtain back.

There was Eren.

She stared at him and he stared at her.

Neither of them were sure what to do.

“You didn’t lock the door,” Mikasa finally said.

“Yeah, I see that.”

“How are you awake?”

“I...alarm. Medication. You know, I have to take it the same time everyday.”

“That makes sense.”

“You?”

“Oh, I’m still half asleep and came in here to brush my teeth and shower.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I’m going to brush my teeth.”

“Okay,” Eren said as Mikasa pulled the shower curtain closed again.

Mikasa began to brush her teeth.

“You know, this is only something that could happen to us,” Eren laughed.

Mikasa nodded her head. He wasn’t wrong.

By the time, Mikasa had finished brushing her teeth, Eren was done with his shower.

“Throw me a towel,” he said from behind the shower curtain.

Mikasa got into the closet and pulled one out.

She looked over to see Eren peeking out of the shower curtain.

She hurled the towel at him.

“All yours,” he said as he stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist.

They made eye contact for a brief moment before they both turned red.

She waited for him to leave the bathroom before she locked the door behind him.

He really was going to be the death of her.

Luckily for both Eren and Mikasa, everyone was downstairs at breakfast.

“I wonder if they’re dating again,” Sasha asked as she stabbed her eggs with a fork.

“I doubt it. Remember how long it took the first time?” Ymir said before drinking her coffee.

“We’re going to have to suffer through that again, aren’t we?” Sasha sighed before taking a bite.

“I don’t think so,” Armin said as he put down his fork. Everyone looked at him. “I mean last time what took so long is neither knew the other’s feelings. This time, they both know each other’s feelings. Last time, they got together because Eren confessed when he was jealous. This time, I think they’ll do it right.”

“Did they actually stop dating? I mean, yes, they broke up but neither of them saw anyone else, right?” Ymir asked before she put down her coffee cup.

“Eren didn’t. He told me himself,” Armin said as he picked up his orange juice cup.

“We know Mikasa didn’t,” Historia added as she took Ymir’s coffee and took a drink of it.

“As long as I don’t have to suffer through that again, I don’t care,” Levi said before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t think any of us want to suffer through that,” Annie mumbled.

“Did you just take my coffee?” Ymir asked Historia who was clearly holding her coffee mug in her hands.

“I didn’t want to get up and make my own,” Historia shrugged.

“That’s my coffee. I need it to survive.”

“I’m not going to drink it all.”

“I know you. You will.”

“But it’s so much better when you make it.”

“You always say I make it too strong!”

Hange laughed at the argument between Historia and Ymir while Levi just sighed again.

Eren walked into the kitchen, his hair still clearly wet.

“Where’s Mikasa?” Historia asked.

“Don’t change the subject!” Ymir snapped as she tried to grab the cup of coffee out of Historia’s hands.

The blonde simply twisted so her back was facing Ymir.

Ymir just sighed before she got up and walked over to make another cup of coffee.

“I think she’s in the shower,” Eren said before sitting down. He hoped no one would notice how red his face turned.

“Makes sense,” Historia nodded before taking another drink of coffee.

“So Eren, what are you doing with your life?” Hange grinned.

“Uh, well, mostly...nothing. I mean I’ve been working on music for our band. We got a gig coming up. I can’t really go anywhere due to not having a license back yet,” Eren shrugged as he put eggs on his plate.

Hange didn’t press any more questions. They simply nodded.

Eren hated talking about these things. It was his own fault that he had lost his license.

Mikasa came downstairs. Obviously, her shower had been very short this morning for some reason.

“You could come help with the basement if you want something to do,” Sasha suggested as Mikasa sat down.

“I would but I don’t think Zeke wants to drive an hour every day. How’s the studio going?” Eren asked.

“It’s….going…”Ymir answered as she sat back down with a new cup of coffee.

“Still moving boxes today?” Sasha asked.

Mikasa nodded.

“Okay, I’m asking because I can’t take it anymore. What are you two?” Ymir asked Mikasa and Eren.

Eren and Mikasa both immediately went red.

They hadn’t talked about what they were.

Were they back in a relationship now?

No, not exactly.

“We’re….something,” Mikasa answered.

Eren’s eyes met hers for a moment.

Mikasa reached over and took Ymir’s cup of coffee.

“Really? Again?” Ymir threw up her arms as she stood up.

-------------------------------------

Work on the basement began after breakfast.

Annie, Ymir, and Historia sat on the floor going through boxes.

Armin and Eren were on duty to take boxes up to the attic.

Sasha and Mikasa were in charge of making sure everything ended up in the proper pile for either trash or attic.

Levi and Hange had final say what pile the boxes ended up in.

Sawney and Bean ran around, demanding pets which they were happily given.

They found plenty of Christmas decorations that Levi had forgotten even existed down here.

They also found a collection of garden gnomes.

“Why is it riding a motorcycle?” Ymir asked as she held up a gnome.

“I have no idea. It was Kenny’s,” Levi answered as if that said everything

“You should put it in one of the flower beds,” Hange suggested.

Levi just sighed.

Mikasa picked up the box of gnomes and put it into the attic pile.

“Did he use the gnome to torture people?” Ymir asked with a smirk.

“He didn’t use them to torture people. How would he even torture someone with a gnome?”

“I don’t know. Maybe someone was afraid of them.”

“Kenny didn’t use everything to torture people,” Levi said as he rolled his eyes.

“But he did torture people?”

Levi just sighed.

“Oh! She backed you into a corner,” Hange teased Levi.

“Go find another box to go through,” Levi said as he walked away waving his hand.

Eren did not want to go home, he realized as he sat with all of them around the dinner table that night. Armin wasn’t going back to the dorms until Monday afternoon but Zeke would be here early tomorrow morning.

“Hey, do you think I could stay here until after Mikasa’s dad’s birthday?” Eren asked Levi.

He also didn’t want to leave Mikasa alone on that day. He felt guilty enough about doing that last year. He had drunk so much that day to deal with the guilt.

Levi raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s your house after all,” Eren replied as he looked down.

“Probably should call Zeke and see what he thinks,” Levi replied.

“Okay,” Eren said.

Dinner continued.

Eren suddenly felt like he was a child again while Zeke and Levi talked about if it was okay for Eren to stay at Levi's house until at least Mikasa's dad's birthday.

"What about your therapy appointment on Tuesday?" Zeke asked through the  speaker on the phone.

"Oh. Right," Eren rubbed the back of his neck.

"I can take him," Mikasa spoke up.

"Oh, good. This will pressure her to finally get a car," Levi replied.

"Really?" Eren asked.

"I wasn't planning on it but I guess," Mikasa sighed.

"Take Ymir! She knows so much about cars!" Historia chimed in.

"Well then, Levi, it's up to you," Zeke replied over the phone.

"I don't care. Stay here, leave. I don't care," Levi shrugged.

"That's a lie," Hange replied. "He is happy to have Eren back."

Levi just sighed loudly.

“Just text me, Eren. So I know you are okay,” Zeke replied.

“I will. I will. Thanks, Zeke,” Eren beamed.

“Thank Levi too. For putting up with your ass,” Zeke teased him.

“Thanks, Levi.”

“Whatever,” Levi said. “I’m hanging up now.” Levi ended the call.

---------------------------

In the sun room, Armin, Eren, and the band all gathered.

“So what song is next for us? Got any ideas rambling around in your brain up there?” Ymir asked as she sat down in one of the chairs.

“Lyric wise, I’ve kind of hit a wall,” Mikasa sighed as she sat down on the piano bench.

“You and me both. This whole thing with my dad and losing the songs...I don’t know. It’s made me pretty bummed. I mostly just want to write a song that goes Dad, go fuck yourself ,” Historia sang the last part before she sat down next to Mikasa.

“What about you, Jaeger? Anything rattling around in that brain of yours?” Ymir asked.

“Not really. I’ve got a bunch of unfinished stuff,” Eren replied before he sat down next to Ymir.

Armin sat down on the other side of Ymir with Annie.

Sasha sat down at the drums.

“Writer’s block is real and it’s an asshole,” Ymir sighed.

“It happens,” Sasha shrugged.

“Maybe we’re all forgetting a lot of shit has happened lately. We’ve been through a lot. I’d be more surprised if you all could write right now,” Annie replied.

“I have an essay already. I haven’t done anything on it,” Armin confessed with a sigh.

“You’re going to wait until the last minute again, aren’t you?”

“Sorry, Annie.”

Annie simply sighed.

“Anyone else just not feeling it tonight?” Sasha asked as she spun around in a circle on her spinning stool.

“Me,” Historia said as she stood up.

“Same,” Ymir sighed.

“Cancel for tonight? We can try again tomorrow. You know...when we’re not tired or whatever,” Annie shrugged.

“Let’s do that,” Mikasa added.

They all parted from the sun room and went their separate ways. Sasha and Ymir swiped the game console from Mikasa’s room to go play in Ymir’s with Armin. Annie and Historia had begun to make a gender neutral baby wish list.  

Mikasa and Eren ended up in her bedroom, looking for something to watch on tv.

“You know, for as many channels as you have here, there’s nothing on,” Eren said as he changed the channel.

“That’s why we have contests to see who can find the worst thing on tv,” Mikasa said as she rested her head on Eren’s shoulder.

“Are you tired already?” he teased her.

“Yes…”she replied with a yawn. “My sleep schedule is getting worse.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he replied as he turned it onto a nature show. He left the tv on there, deciding this was fine for now.

“We should go out on a date,” she said as she closed her eyes.

“Yeah? Where do you want to go?” he asked her as he leaned back against the pillows.

Mikasa was left in the air. “Hey, I was resting,” she frowned.

“You can come back here,” he laughed.

“Of course, I can. It’s my bed.”

“It’s our bed according to you. Since this is my side,” he teased her.

“You can always sleep on the floor,” she told him as she leaned back. She gave him a gentle shove.

“Hey! Is that how you treat your 'something?'” he grinned..

“Well, I don’t know what to call us. We’re in that weird stage,” she confessed as she looked down.

“I don’t care what you call it. As long as I get to call you mine,” he teased her.

“You stole that from somewhere. I can’t remember where I heard it though.”

“No, I don’t remember either. It just popped into my head. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

She smiled at him again before resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist.

Hours later, Levi would pass by Mikasa’s bedroom. He saw them, sound asleep with the tv on. He closed the door before making his way back to his bedroom.

[spikebhm]

❌ ✔️ 💗 💞 🌓 🧸 🏃‍♀️ 🦸 ↩️

So I asked a few...

👀 Yes. Yes you did. That’s quite the assignment! Are you per chance a teacher that likes to torture kids with loads of homework before the weekend? LOL Ok, let’s get those joints loose, nice cup of lemon tea and here. we. go! ❌ = What feedist related kinks do you not enjoy? A disclaimer: Even though I don’t like a kink doesn’t mean I disagree with you and your feelings towards a certain topic. Everyone is free to do what they want and express themselves but please approach everyone with the same respect as I would do. Thank you. ♥ I tend to dislike most of the ones that have something in common with lack of hygiene, inflation type stuff (atlhough I bloat often times when I overeat on pastries and then chug down a soda), unnatural type of weight gain like through padding (even if it is convincing!) or digestive sounds. A belly gurgling or someone swallowing heavily is one thing (and I do like it) but burps and farting aren’t sexy at all to me! Also health-play is something that makes me scuttle away under a cupboard because I am a bit of a fainter lol. D: Like not being able to see my own blood. My brain is weird. (I know that seeing blood is not part of the thing but anything about body disfunctionality is just kinda eeeeeh to me!) ✔️ = What feedist related kinks (force feeding, vore, inflation, etc) do you enjoy? Ooooh, that is a looong, looong list. Over the years of lurking and exposure, I refined my taste to “almost anything that surrounds feedism.” I love force feeding, belly rubs, STRETCHMARKS, rapid wg, immobility (love me a blob on occasion 😩), being uncomfortably full, public stuffing and teasing, approval and praise, FUNNEL FEEDING ... Fat shaming and exercise + ex-athlete, denial of weight gain, TIGHT CLOTHES, mutual and contrast are both super endearing to me, squashing ... Oh and BELLY BUTTONS. Especially the squished ones. And deep ones. Oh lord, the deep ones! 🥵 💗  = Do you prefer a slender or larger feeder/partner? No preference! Slim, Fit, Average, Chubby, Fat, Obese - All good in my book! 💞  = Do you prefer soft belly worship or rough belly play? I would say I’m 70% on the soft belly worship but if the chemistry is right, the consent is there with lots of trust, I can have my belly played rough with ♥ 🌓  = Do you prefer to be a submissive feedee or a dominant feedee? I prefer to be the submissive type for sure. Although I can be bratty and of course use my body to get what I want, I almost always prefer to be the submissive feedee as I tend to blush quickly, turning myself into a flustered mess of a bear lol. 🧸  = What's your favorite way to soothe a stuffed tummy? Aaah, I developed a lot of techniques over the years to get my tummy soothed and found some helpful things to help the process. Whenever I’m too full to move, I give it my best shot to stand up. Whenver I sit down, my stomach is bunched up and by standing up I feel a lot of relief. I also like to take a shower after a stuffing - the feeling of water on my skin takes my mind away.  If I have an upset stomach, I will take a tea spoon of iberoghast. It helps with digestion and immediately soothes my tummy aches. Also, belly rubs and playing with my hair is a good method I found out to help me a lot. Also makes me more hungry too - truly a vicious cycle from which I know no escape from! 🏃‍♀️ = Is there anything you used to do that is harder now that you've gained weight? Oh wow, yeah. I don’t have a drivers license and whenever I need to do groceries, I have to go out and go to the market by walking. Now that in itself is no problem, I like physical activities. But the problem is, if you are as fat as me, going up a hill to get to the super market is so incredibly ardeous. I feel like carrying bags of groceries up the hill to the market and back lol. So yeah, that became difficult. Also I get out of breath easily now when I do laundry as I live in the topmost part of a very old building and my washing machine and dryer are all the way down in the basement and there is no elevator. 🦸 = Who's your favorite superhero? Why? Oh snap! What a cool question to ask. I will divide the question into two parts, one will be a more western look and the other part will be a more eastern look at a super hero! So, my favourite western hero is probably Captain America. I love to see a struggling hero from a different time, to fight for something that lost its meaning over the time he was frozen. I loved this characters depiction in all the Marvel Movies, Captain America: Winter Soldier is still my favourite superhero movie ever. Just a heads up: I’m a HUGE weeb. Like, incredibly so. I don’t watch that much anime and manga as I did before but my heart is still with all these great animations and amazingly fun stories and characters. My favourite eastern hero is probably a tie between Kouta Kazuraba aka Kamen Rider Gaim and Shinnosuke Tomari aka Kamen Rider Drive. Both of them had some very satisfying arcs in both of their stories in which they played their parts. Kouta had to realize that becoming an adult meant more then taking responsibility for your owns actions. The way he progressed in the story to understand his role in the greater scheme of things was very inspirational. On the other hand, Tomari faced a traumatizing event and had a hard time to find “a drive” to move on with his life. It was interesting to see a superhero with a depression and how he handles his daily “up’s” and “down’s”. ↩️ = If you could have one "do-over" in life, what would it be? I think I would make my parents listen to me what I have to say. Yeah. That would’ve been helpful with a lot of things! Thank you SO so much for the questions! I think I deserve a nice snack break. ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

[madhubwritings]

Hold On

Pairing: reader x Harry Styles

Word Count: 1.2k

Requested?: No

Plot: Harry misses you after you commit suicide.

Warnings: Self harm, mentions of anorexia and depression, suicide, it's just really sad so read with caution.

a/n: I got this idea during a breakdown I had and I just needed to vent. Sorry for any mistakes but I hope you enjoy it.

PLEASE DON’T TAKE THIS DOWN OR FLAG IT. I PUT WARNINGS AND IF YOU THINK IT’S GOING TO MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE OR TRIGGER YOU, PLEASE SKIP.

I enjoy writing about these topics and spreading awareness and it really sucks when all my hard work is taken down.

So here I am posting this again for the second time.

Please and thank you.

Why is he even dating her?

I don't like her.

She's like Camille but 50lbs heavier.

She seems rude.

He could do way better.

Harry's girl could shed a few pounds...

It was comment after comment. They were never ending. You sat all alone in your shared bedroom. Harry was off again to promote the release of his new album and you often would wake up with him gone and fall asleep before you could greet him home. This vicious cycle of never seeing your boyfriend, but seeing the hate his fans felt towards you made your self esteem plummet.

There was no reassurance in you life and it was finally getting to you. You turned back to your old guilty habits of your teen years and gave up on how you looked. Food suddenly became a fear, razors hid in different places around the house for ease, and being alone became normal and needed.

Harry didn't notice. He didn't notice the lack of food in the house, how you stopped wearing his short sleeve shirts to bed, but opted for hoodies and leggings. He didn't notice how you turned up the thermostat to warm the coldness you felt the lack of food. He  didn't notice how your cheekbones sunk in and your eyes only seemed to turn a duller worn out shade than when you two had met. He definitely didn't notice the hate you received from his fans.

That's what hurt. You had to fight this alone. But you couldn't. It became too much. You were tired of living and being ignored by the person you needed most.

You got up and sat the note you rewrote daily on the kitchen counter for the love of your life and made you way back to the shared bathroom. You mind races with memories. The shared baths you had, getting ready together for date night at the mirror, you waking up peacefully from signing coming from the shower, the dance parties late at night. It's been forever since you felt that happy. You crawl into the deep set tub and curl up and break down for the first time in months. It was time. You know Harry would never forgive you but you were being selfish.

You grab the antidepressants you haven't taken because they made you nauseous on an empty stomach and dump them into the tub with shaky hands. You pick them up and put them in your dry mouth. Turning the tub on you bring the water to your lips and swallow the sobs threatening to escape along with the small blue pills. You pull out a brand new blade you got from tearing up one of Harry's razors and hold your breathe lifting your sleeves to reveal shallow red lines from from previous breakdowns. Turning the blade vertically you press down onto a major vain and sob violently as your arm is quickly painted a deep red. You press harder the further you go up until you reach your elbow. With black spots clouding your vision you copy your actions on the other arm and drop the blade shaking violently and hug yourself closely, Harry's yellow hoodie turning red.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Your ears are ringing when you hear pounding on the door followed by the deep voice your boyfriend. "Y/N." Harry shouts. He continues banging as you can hardly register what's going on. The room is spinning when the door flies open and Harry collapses onto the ground from the force. His eyes are wide and full of tears when he catches the sight of his girlfriend laying in the tub, her blood sliding down the drain.  He crawls over quickly, trying to dial 911 with shaky hands. He puts in on speaker as he pulls you out of the tub, realizing how sick you look for the first time. You're lighter than ever and your head rolls back as he shakes you gently. "Y/N." He whisper cries. "Please don't leave me. Come back. I still need you." His tears coat your face as your eyelids start to droop. He's yelling to the responders on the phone while caressing your cheek. "Please don't leave." His voice cracks when your lungs no longer fill with air. He pulls you up to his chest even closer and listens to a blank heartbeat. "No no no no no no, Y/N please. I need you." He cries loudly into your chest.

6 Months Later

Harry hasn't been okay. He's canceled every live interview and concert since Y/N killed herself. She killed herself. He feels so guilty. He didn't realize she was suffocating and was crying out for help. Jeff put him in therapy in hopes up speeding up the grieving process and getting him back on his feet. But he doesn't realize Harry lost the love of his life.

Harry hesitatingly agreed to having a charity concert to suicide prevention and awareness in hopes of others realizing the reality of life and how not everybody wins. He sat on stage dressed down in black skinny jeans and a gray shirt, "I wrote this song for my beautiful angel." He says slowly, his heart aching at the thought of her. "Y/N was my everything. I blame myself everyday but I believe it's time to overcome that and relive the beautiful memories she gave me. So with that said, this is a goodbye to the sadness I've felt from the last 6 months. May Y/N live on with the beautiful memories she gave all of us."

Loving and fighting

Accusing, denying

I can't imagine a world with you gone

The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of

I'd be so lost if you left me alone

Harry sings softly into the mic strumming away on the guitar you got him for his birthday.

You locked yourself in the bathroom

Lying on the floor when I break through

I pull you in to feel your heartbeat

Can you hear me screaming "Please don't leave me"

Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you

Let me take your hand, I'll make it right

I swear to love you all my life

Hold on, I still need you

Harry sings loudly as tears fall from his closed eyes. His voice cracks on the ends of the notes.

A long endless highway, you're silent beside me

Drivin' a nightmare I can't escape from

Helplessly praying, the light isn't fadin'

Hiding the shock and the chill in my bones

They took you away on a table

I pace back and forth as you lay still

They pull you in to feel your heartbeat

Can you hear me screaming, "Please don't leave me"

Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you

Let me take your hand, I'll make it right

I swear to love you all my life

Hold on, I still need you

I don't wanna let go

I know I'm not that strong

I just wanna hear you

Saying baby, let's go home

Let's go home

Yeah, I just wanna take you home

Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you

He sings the ending with passion and a shaky voice. The crowd is quiet as he wipes the tears from his red and puffy cheeks. He leans onto the mic, "Fly high angel." He says quietly before waving lightly. He heads backstage for a moment of fresh air. He paces slightly as he rubs his face sobbing loudly. Harry will always love you.

[heartsheartsgalore]

things i’ve learned while recovering from depression/anxiety/cptsd

- people are not tired of “you” necessarily. they’re tired of the output from your depression/anxiety/whatever negativity

- it’s unfair to expect friends to take on all your negativity

- friends are not people to unload all your negativity onto

- friends don’t have the skills required to sort through all your mental health. that requires a professional.

- some friends do suck. some friends make you feel worse. it’s okay to not talk to them. 

- it may seem like some friends only want to hang out with you when you’re feeling better. that might be true for different reasons. maybe they feel triggered and their own mental health suffers when around yours. maybe they’re literally shit people. who knows though? ask. it’s always okay to just ask and be open. don’t blame someone if you already know your mind warps things and is probably projecting your own insecurities onto them.

- therapy might not be for everyone, but generally, mental health professionals are better are helping you organize your thoughts because they’ve (theoretically) been trained to look for patterns and such. regular friends aren’t trained to know what to look for.

- it’s hella hard to find a therapist you immediate connect with. it sucks. don’t feel like you have to stick with a therapist when you don’t vibe w/ them. it’s okay to try new ones. 

- if you try to find new therapists, know that you’re prob gonna be more defensive each time. this is normal. your distrust is valid. but it’s still good to try. 

- it’s okay if you need to take a break from searching for therapists too. it’s a long arduous process. if you take a break, be mindful of not letting the depression take over during your break. how? see below where i list a few examples.

- it sucks when people say to ignore the pain and suffering you feel. it’s valid to feel upset when you feel unheard. 

- when trying to recover from an eating disorder, fixating on losing weight is not the way to go. that just feeds into the eating disorder. figuring out why you have the eating disorder and solving that is the first step. 

- when eating disorders stem from people telling you you’re ugly all the time: fuck those people. curse them off in your head. or tell them off in person!

- when eating disorders stem from wanting to look like other fit people: fit people exercise and eat healthy all the time. taking shortcuts by starving is not going to get you fit. 

- eating regularly is better than starving. this might make you gain weight, but it’s better to consistently eat meals to form that pattern and then later change the things you eat. ramen every two hours? fuck yeah. eventually only eating ramen every other meal and eating pasta for the other meals? fuck yeah. eventually swapping some fruits and veggies in? fuck yeah. gain the weight at the beginning and then work it off later, but keep the routine of nourishing your body with energy. it’s a mentality thing. 

- fuck people who call other people fat and ugly. those people are the ones who have ugly personalities.

- https://www.7cups.com/ is a good site to just have someone to chat with. here and there people won’t connect or their advice is bleh. but it’s nice to feel somewhat connected for a moment during those difficult times. some people on there are good at showering you with supportive things. even if you feel like it’s not hella genuine cuz literally they’re strangers who don’t know you, it’s still nice to hear nice things about yourself. “it sounds like you’re going through a lot, but it sounds like you’re trying your best. whether you believe it now or not, i think you’re a good person and i’m rooting for you!”

- https://www.imalive.org/ is also a good online chat when feeling overwhelmed

- if you’re being abused at home then call someone to help get you out

- allowing yourself to do nothing and taking a long extended break is not wasting time. it takes a lot of time and energy and safety to let out the negative feelings. 

- when you can, try to be proactive and fight against the intrusive thoughts. “my brain is telling me i’m worthless. i’m not worthless. i still have the ability to think. cheetos. baby kittens. space. witches. haHA! i stopped my brain from cycling the negative thoughts. oh...but i’m just wasting time....NO! goldfish! bagel bites! HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL! ~we’re all in this together~ pitch perfect” etc. depression is a vicious spiraling cycle of negative thoughts. shoving in random thoughts (preferably positive things you enjoy) can help break the cycle. 

- even if it sounds stupid af, break the cycle with anything. name all the objects in site. count how many pieces of lint are on your clothes. do anything menial to distract when the depression takes over. 

- abusing substances, self harm, starving are all succumbing to the depression and it’s okay* if in that moment it was hard and you couldn’t resist. feeling guilty about it will feed the depression some more. but next time, try to fight it off with obscure neutral or positive things. (*by “okay” i mean, it’s alright to accept that it happened. accepting it and learning and moving forward toward recovery is better than feeling shitty and falling deeper into guilt)

- the depression hashtag is full of people saying “i’m the only one who...” “i’m so alone and no one understands” etc. but i mean, there’s soooo many people saying that so technically, no is really alone. everyone just feels misunderstood by the people in their immediate surroundings. this is the benefit of the internet. people who are similar can connect. 

- don’t fester on each others’ negativity. empathize. feel comfort that other people understand. but once the negativity spins and feeds your depression, disengage. 

- after doing something hard (like writing a long post about depression) treat yo self! neutralize the emotions. imma go eat some crunchy snacks now cuz hearing the sound of the crunching helps ground me. find things that help ground you. 

- crunch crunch

[befitandchase]

Where do I begin?

It’s been a stressful day. I’ve had maybe 4 total hours of sleep last night. Went to bed at 8pm, woke up 2 hours later, didn’t get back to sleep until well after 2, tossed and turned until I got woken up before 6 by the dogs barking.

I stay in bed until about 7, then start getting ready. I had therapy at 8am, but since it’s less than 5 minutes away, I took it slow, played with the pups, then threw on whatever clean clothes were within reach and headed downstairs. I left at 7:45, and had to wait because my therapist still hadn’t arrived at the office yet.

The appointment went... as expected. Lots of filling in the blanks, lots of true interaction and engagement. And then a whole lot of tears. The last 15 minutes were spent crying angry, resentful tears that set the mood for the rest of the day.

I did get a new diagnosis, though: clinical burnout syndrome. I identified with all the symptoms from every day being a bad day to exhaustion to apathy and numbness. It’s treatable, thankfully, with intense therapy and dedicated self care. Thursday we come up with a plan, an honest to god written plan that I can look at and tick off.

I’m relieved and a bit apprehensive at the same time. Self care isn’t something I’m good at, like, at all. I don’t take care of myself and since I’m being honest and open right now, I might as well tell y’all what I mean.

I shower once a week. I haven’t brushed my teeth in... I don’t actually remember the last time I brushed my teeth. I’ll wear the same clothes two, sometimes even three days in a row, only changing my socks and underwear. I don’t wash my face because it gets too dry afterwards and starts to peel, which leads to picking and ultimately self harm. I have, on almost a regular basis, made myself bleed because I can’t stand the feel of my rough skin, so I pick at it. It’s a vicious cycle.

Anyway, I got home a little after 9am and grabbed a frozen breakfast sandwich to eat. Afterwards, I curled up on the couch under a blanket with Mocha laying on top of me and took a short nap.

Waking up was extremely disorienting. I was dizzy and loopy the moment I opened my eyes and not 5 minutes later my mom calls.

Last night I got ambushed during dinner. Instead of thanking me for paying their bills, my parents got on my ads about my financial situation. I got so angry, especially when I told them to drop it because it was none of their damn business, that I threatened to get up and leave. I wanted to, so badly, but I’m a coward so I stayed. At least they stopped.

But I digress. My mom called after my nap to berate me about not clearing my stuff out of the office. I nearly lost it then, and just hung up on her, but not before she said something along the lines of “you need to stop stressing out your sister.”

This is where things basically take a nosedive and I spend the rest of my day curled up in a little corner of my bed, the covers pulled around me tight as I watch mindless YouTube videos. My sister has MS. It was caught early enough, so she’s doing fine, but the simple fact that they think she’s worse off than me just...

I have been through hell and back. I feel like I’ve been through a blender, my life being ground up into tiny unrecognizable chunks before being poured out on the ground and stepped on.

They know I’m depressed, that I’ve been depressed for a long time. They know I suffer from anxiety too. But they downplay it as if it’s nothing, as if all my pain somehow isn’t as bad as my sister’s. And that really fucking hurts.

So, yeah, I hung up on her and rolled over in a bid to try and fall asleep again. A part of me was angry because how the fuck did she even know about the office? Then I remembered my dad saw it when he came over last weekend.

I can’t sleep now, so I go upstairs, clear out the office, and just sit down at the edge of my bed. I’m numb at this point. My exhaustion is bone deep and I feel absolutely worthless. Then my BIL comes home with food for him and my sister.

He tells me he had no idea I was home, otherwise he would have gotten me something too. I’m not angry about it. Honestly, I’m not even hungry. I’m too numb to even care. But then he calls my sister to ask her to bring me something but she tells him that I’m supposed to be having lunch with my parents...?!

I text her immediately and tell her that’s not fucking happening. At this point, my anxiety is sky high. I feel so out of breath, I just sit there in my bed unable to breathe. Then I get a text several minutes later telling me she misunderstood them and that’s not what’s going on and asks me if I want anything. I want to text back “that’s for the unintentional panic attack” but just tell her no, I’m not hungry.

I sit on the bed for several more minutes trying to process everything that’s happened. All I want is to curl up under a blanket and be left alone. So I grab my comforter and I’m about to slip downstairs into the basement when the lock on the door turns. My sister’s home. There go my plans to hide away for the day.

Instead, I find a little clear corner of my bed, crawl into it, pull the blanket over me and hope she leaves me alone. Nope. I have to tell her that I want to be left alone before she backs out of my room and closes my door.

And basically that’s where I’ve been since 1pm. It’s 7pm now and I would still rather be curled up under my comforter, but I smell food and I’m hungry. So I’ll tough it out, eat my dinner, then head back upstairs to go back to bed.

I hate how I feel right now. I hate how just looking at this mess

Is giving me extreme anxiety that I don’t know how to overcome. I hope tomorrow’s a better day, but right now, I’m thinking it probably won’t be.

[azuredmoon]

dimitri + HIS MENTAL HEALTH 

HIS PTSD 

After the Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri returned to Fhirdiad a changed man. Physical ailments that he sustained after the carnage include several burn marks on his body and ageusia -- a loss of his sense of taste -- due to head trauma he incurred when he was nearly trampled over by frenzied nobles who were trying to escape. Very few know of these -- save for servants who closely tend to him and Dedue. The young prince tries his best to change clothes alone and pretends to still enjoy food for its taste ( lots of the Blue Lions in particular bond over food and so he does not want to miss out on that or dismiss its importance ). 

However, what changed the most about the prince was developing a deep sense of SURVIVOR’S GUILT and PTSD as he was the only one who made it out alive. Dimitri says he experiences terrible headaches when he recalls the event -- and even labels his headache as a reminder to never forget the lives he left behind. What is even more trouble is that he hallucinates and supposedly hears the voices of those who died supposedly demands he avenges them, which is amplified after when he is led to believe that Edelgard, his own stepsister, killed their own family. As a soldier, Dimitri is used to the chaos of a battlefield, but what truly triggers his PTSD is when he hears innocent people involved in the bloodshed -- especially children. That -- and being surrounded by fire as well as being held in tight spaces (brings back memories of being nearly trampled and burned)

HIS DEPRESSION 

While many would agree that Dimitri dearly grieved and changed after Duscur and the war, it is hard for people to actually say he still suffers from depression. This is mainly because Dimitri is able to supposedly get up and be functional, but the issue actually resides in the fact Dimitri forces himself to be busy with work in order to stave off his feelings of numbness and loneliness. It’s harder for him to give himself a break rather than all the labor he puts himself through because doing nothing actually gives him time to sit down and think about what he’s done. 

Having said that, sleeping for him is a nightmare as there’s too much to think about. It also possible that it begins a vicious cycle of not sleeping at night and not wanting to get out of bed in the morning. In particular, what really causes him to spiral is thinking too much about Edelgard -- what could have been, what he could have done, and what he ultimately did in the end. Dimitri doesn’t also pay much attention to grooming when he spirals. You can make all the ‘Dimitri doesn’t shower’ jokes you want but you know, he thinks he’s dirty -- to the point that no scrubbing can clean the blood on his hands, so what’s really the point of taking care of himself ? 

Other things that aren’t particularly helpful to Dimitri’s episodes are his ageusia. He doesn’t see the point in eating sometimes unless it is to sustain this body -- this weapon -- to serve others. Also he doesn’t necessarily know how to express his emotions, so so much of his negative feelings end up stewing inside him until he’s ready to break down. 

HIS RECOVERY 

But he is taking it upon himself to get better ! If not for his people, then for himself. Over the course of years, Dimitri is better able to ignore the voices he hears and deal with the headaches. Perhaps not completely silence them altogether, but he can better tell the difference between real voices and those he is hallucinated. 

He also isn’t opposed to being with company and friends as, again, it gives him something to do and focus on rather than negative thoughts. What would be the most influential help is actually having people sit him down and work him through voicing what he wants and how he feels. Maybe then he wouldn’t need to bury his emotions until they’re ready to boil over.

[gabbying]

World Mental Health Day.

I was twelve years old when my mother first decided there was something wrong with me. She was sitting on my bed after I had showered one night; the first time she had seen scars on my arms, and she had found a knife I had stolen from the kitchen, that she had not even realised had been misplaced. With tears in her eyes, she asked me why I was doing this, and without feeling much of anything, I looked back at her and told her I wanted to feel something more painful than losing my Grandfather.

That had happened when I was nine years old, and when a year later I still found myself grieving, I was taken to a doctor, who spoke exclusively to my mother, and only asked me if my Grandfather had sexually abused me. Not if I had been practically raised by him, or that in the short nine years I had had with him we had more good memories than I have with my own father at twenty-five; when my mother was brought back into the room, the doctor said I was suffered with ‘The D Word’, but due to not being a teenager, they did not want to diagnose me, officially.

I spent years talking about my issues; but speaking only about my issues. About my family breaking down slowly, about how my brother would beat me up, about how my mother and father would barely acknowledge me, mock me for my interests. The issue with speaking about your issues is that they will always come back, and by the end of each six weeks I was given in counselling, I would experience these exact same issues. And when my mother forced me to the same doctor, and I would say I wanted to see someone to teach me how to cope with these feelings, I would be sent straight back to the same counsellor, who would not listen when I said I needed to be taught coping mechanisms, and I was stuck in a vicious cycle, being too young apparently to make my own choices, and to not what was good for myself.

When I was midway through my thirteenth year, I was forced back to the doctor, who was confused as to why speaking to someone was not working. Although I said I wanted to be taught how to cope, he gave me my diagnosis of ‘The D Word’, and even though I explicitly said I did not want it, I was put on anti-depressants. Actually, over the next few years I was put on multiple.

·         One made me throw up, without fail, an hour after I had taken the tablet. When I told my mother, she told me to not be stupid, the doctor told her that it doesn’t have that side effect, although upon reading the leaflet, there it was written. Nausea and vomiting, a common side effect.

·         One made my mouth feel like cotton, not the worst side effect, and it was one of those that after taking it for a while, it would go away, I was told. Yet months later, I was still drinking about a litre an hour, and was still complaining about an unquenchable thirst, causing me to have to be tested for diabetes, despite telling the doctors of my medication.

·         One made me lose my appetite completely, I could not even bring myself to drink, to the point that when I had my period, I was passing out. My mother told me this would be a good thing for me, as I did need to lose weight after all! I was constantly tired, which went well with my inability to sleep.

·         One made me lose days completely. I felt like a zombie, I would show up to work for my shifts to be told I had done that shift, four days prior, and I could swear that it was the correct day. I could not remember if I had bathed myself, brushed my teeth… I could not remember anything. I only had slight breaks of clarity in a cloud of ‘what the fuck is happening to me’.

I went to the doctor in my second year of university, the first time I had willingly taken myself to a professional, to say I was struggling to cope, and I needed help learning techniques. I told him an example, that our washing machine had broken, and I was so mad at the world, I could not stop crying, and had an overwhelming urge to hurt myself. He laughed me out the door, saying I cannot be depressed because of a washing machine, that was just absurd, and I did not know what depression really was.

I attempted suicide for the first time a few weeks later; I was in an abusive relationship, and felt like I truly had no right to feel the way I did. And I just wanted a fresh start.

The hospital forced me to see a doctor at the same surgery, and I begged them to let me see someone to teach me how to cope, and they again forced me onto anti-depressants, with a handful of workbooks to teach myself to cope. I did not have the motivation to drag myself to seminars and lectures that I was paying nine thousand pounds for, so why would they think I would sit and read these pages upon pages on what depression is? I did not go to any follow-up appointments they had made, and I do not know why I was so shocked when no one chased me. I knew I was not worth anyone’s time to make sure I was okay.

I got my degree without trying. I got into a loving relationship with my now fiancé, and everyone still seemed shocked when I expressed my feelings of hopelessness, of not wanting to live. I told this to him, and at multiple points trying to break up with him because I always saw my life ending early, and through my own hand; he refused, saying he would do everything in his power to ensure that was not the case. For a while, he tried to plan for the future, and I never would reciprocate, because I just did not see a future for my own life.

He helped convince me that I should seek help, through a mental health service, and for the first time someone listened to me, for the first time I felt like I may just be cured of the Big Black Dog that curled around me, and that had become a part of me; but when I told a worker that I had dark thoughts, she told me I could not have, otherwise I would have acted upon it. She was right, I suppose, maybe I was making things up for attention. Even so, I got through to a service that would teach me ways of coping with my dark thoughts; until they without a warning took me off their system, and I have spent a year and a half trying to get back on with no luck.

For half of my life I have had depression, and more recently anxiety. It is a part of me, whether I like it or not, it’s a part of the way my brain is made up, and it is very unlikely I will ever be without it. I have accepted it, honestly; my fiancé has accepted that there are days where I need to be alone, and days where I cannot be left alone. I relapse, and I still self-harm, but the time it takes me to pick myself up from these episodes is shortening significantly.

I live in a country with an amazing healthcare system, one where everyone pays into it, and everyone can get something out of it, and unfortunately it has always been stretched to breaking point, and sometimes people (like me) fall through the cracks. It is no ones fault, except maybe mine for not fighting hard enough for the help I feel I need. I got diagnosed with mental health issues at a weird point in time, just before mental health became a big talking point and during the time there was a massive stigma about talking about depression. It used to be a deep, dark secret, however it is no longer something I keep quiet about. Sometimes I make jokes about it, and help others around me to not be ashamed about what they go through. I was diagnosed at a time where my mother thought that depression was just feeling down, something that nine out of ten people would grow out of, and at a time where my symptoms would frustrate her.

This is an extremely short, extremely condensed version of my story. But even though the healthcare system has failed me, I am still here. And today, I saw a glimpse of getting better, in choosing a venue for my wedding reception in two years time. Two years. Thirteen year old me, sitting in a doctors office, would never have dreamed of imagining planning anything two years in advance. She never would have imagined that all over her social media, people were opening up in a day called ‘World Mental Health Day’. People she went to school with opening up, speaking about how they were suffering at the exact same time; although they had different stories, the feelings and sentiments were exactly the same.

I’m not better. Not by a long shot. One day I will find a healthcare professional to help me find ways to cope when the world is dark. But for now, I’m here. I’m in a world where I can speak about this openly. And for now, that’s a fantastic feat.

[kingofthewilderwest]

TMI expression of my emotions below. [replies fine; *NO* reblogs]

I’m beyond the point of being able to take care of myself, and it’s been that way for years. I used to function fine living on my own, with a few quirky mistakes here and there (some friends may remember the Saga of the 3 month old Popcorn on the Floor). But now I legitimately can’t handle caring for myself in the most ESSENTIAL “keep this human running” tasks. 

Food? The refrigerator has lots of mold. I’m smart enough to subsist off things that can be microwaved (frozen vegetables, baked potatoes, etc.), done on stove top (canned soups, rice), or eaten right away (celery and peanut butter). But it means imbalanced meals with little protein and often turns into too much junk food (because it requires no cooking) ...which gives me no energy to function, obviously. And I can’t cook well, so even when I do have energy to prepare a meal, it tastes bland at best - where’s the payoff? It often turns into me skipping meals because... I’m bad at keeping food stocked - no energy to shop for food - or I feel depressed, exacerbated by the vicious cycle of no food-given energy in the first place.

Cleaning? The apartment is terrifyingly messy. Nothing is sanitary, not even the shower. I can’t access my own bed because my bedroom is piled with objects that haven’t been put away. I often trip over things. I’ll reuse dishes and clothes instead of washing. If I have an upbeat day and I clean, I’ll get part of the problem squared away, but never enough to make this place neat enough to function and be maintained. Yeah yeah, peck away a little at a time and keep it maintained, I know that’s supposed to be the trick, but it ain’t happening no matter what I do. And if a place I live in isn’t neat, it makes me feel more depressed and fidgety and unable to think clearly.

Sleeping? Well. My sleep schedule is always in flux. Currently, I’m sleeping from about 8 AM to 5 PM on a given day. Soooo I get no sunlight, either, and I’m not awake during hours when other people are awake or when most stores are open.

Physical health? Well, let’s say that I’m on several prescriptions, but because my brain is so FOGGED UP and I can’t think clearly anymore (I had such a sharp brain until my mid 20s dammit???)... and because my house is a mess... I constantly forget my pills, have no clue what they are, and am never consistent with them. The last time I took pain medication pills, I was in a desperate amount of pain, and I ummmm... overdosed pretty badly and found myself vomiting on the floor shaking for nine hours. (I LEARNED MY LESSON I AM NOT TAKING OVER PRESCRIPTION AMOUNT AGAIN). I also don’t think I’m on the right meds, either, so even if I were taking them, I don’t know how much I’d be helping myself. Let’s just say that I’m drastically overdue for asking for a diagnosis on bipolar. I want to visit a doctor, get this squared away, get help for this... but that would involve so many steps to find a doctor (I just switched health insurance), transfer my medical records, schedule an appointment, be awake at the right hours to get there, have extra money to pay for potential treatments, and lots of other steps. Which I don’t have the energy to do. Nowhere close.

Socialization? [laughter] Oh dear. Between living alone in an apartment (but I really do function better living alone because I’m such an introvert who needs My Space), living in a city where none of my friends live (most people are about 30 minutes to 2 hours away), and working remotely... I get VERY little physical social interaction.

At this point in time, I’m pretty lonely, but I’m so deprived of spoons that about the best I can do is exist in the same room as someone else. Big social events aren’t going to help me and are often too overwhelming for me to even consider attending. The little things are all I have energy for, but I need them. I want to exist in a room with someone else badly; another person in the area makes me work better, think clearer, feel happier, and express affection to them. I want nothing more than to physically curl up with someone and feel them and be with them and secure with them and listening to them and sympathizing with them and laughing with them or falling asleep on their shoulder. Can I be held? Please? Touch deprivation... yeah of course that’s going on.

Since I have so little energy, I often get behind on work. Which means that, when I *do* have energy, I have to prioritize making money. I live by myself in my own apartment; if I don’t got the money, I don’t got a place to live. And if I don’t do my job consistently, I’m at more risk for losing my job, duh. I expend ALL my existing energy on work. I don’t have time for anything else (food, hygiene, fixing my sleep schedule, socialization). It’s practical to focus my attention on the most important thing: making an income. Everything else will collapse if I don’t work.

Basic human needs are NOT being met for me anywhere. Food, cleanliness, human interactions, medical shit... I am objectively not taking care of myself. And I’m not a fucking irresponsible person who can’t handle large loads of things. This asshat graduated with four college degrees (including a graduate degree) and several minors in four years with Highest Honors in Phi Beta Kappa while working several jobs and even teaching a college course at one point - that sure as hell wasn’t lack of discipline that got me there. Sure, I’ve always been lazier on some things like cooking (I hate cooking, I’m so **BAD** at cooking, YOU eat my cooking and see if you like it). And sure, before I left for college, living with family helped me live fuller because I wasn’t taking care of me myself and I with no backup. But no period of my life was anywhere near the brain-muddled, helpless disaster zone I am now, unable to do anything ANYWHERE.

I’ve asked for help. My parents have done a lot, I’m infinitely grateful, but exactly because of that, I don’t want to put any more on them. They’re empty nesters; they don’t deserve to have this weird bag of bones they raised for nearly two decades and spent a fuckton of money on... crawl back needing nannying. As far as my friends? Either it’s people long-distance who express concerns (but can’t do what I need most because of the distance), or it’s people close-by who say they’ll do something... and NEVER follow through.

I get that we all have spoon issues. Sometimes you don’t have the energy to talk to me. Sometimes you don’t have the energy to come down and visit me, or have me visit you. But if you hear me say I need help, and say you’d like to help... and then never contact me again even when I try to contact you... because you’re so sparse replying to me... then nothing helps. Spoon issues make communication more difficult. I get that. I have that problem, too. But friendships cannot be maintained and cannot be meaningful unless you interact. I get people saying “We should hang out” or “I’d like to help” and nothing ever gets done. I’m not saying this out of the selfish “help ME help ME” - or to guilt-trip people into helping me because that’d be jackshit wrong... it’s just - if we’re all doing friendships like this, we’re just going to perpetuate loneliness and unfulfilled interactions, aren’t we??? I know lots of lonely people affected by shit like this. We need to get better about this.

Of course some of it’s on me. I have trust issues where I think that even very well-meaning loving people aren’t going to make a difference because I doubt they’ll understand me enough to get what I actually need helped. I’m a logic-oriented person and lots of my friends, precious and pure and glorious sweethearts as they are, think in more emotional ways. And I’ve noticed logic-oriented and emotion-oriented people get encouraged different ways. So I never get the help that works for my brain and needs? Not to be dismissive of the kind words people give because they do want to help, but it just feels like I’m the odd one out that they don’t understand how to help, so I’m stuck at being “unhelped”? Or people telling me, “Just appreciate what they’re trying to do because they’re helping as they can!” But it... but it DOESN’T help me!

Lots of ways people try to verbally encourage fall flat to me. “I believe in you!” changes nothing; what you think of me doesn’t make me magically able to actually do it, for fuck’s sake. The point is I can’t do it, and even if I could, you thinking I could doesn’t change shit or make the problem less difficult. Heck, “You can do it!” just makes it sound like people don’t understand and acknowledge how hard this is for me. I know other people get encouraged by things like that, but for me it’s just rubbing salt in the wound. “Things will get better!” is objectively false; life is a neutral force in how it progresses; sometimes it does get better and sometimes it doesn’t. Overly squishy stuff is too coddling and actually annoying to me. Advice tends to come off as people not having processed what I’m actually going through and telling me shit I know better than they do. I know what I need and I try to communicate it humbly because I believe communication is important to good interactions with friends, and I try to listen to others to know how I can best help them in their struggles... but it just seems like there aren’t the right people in my life to be able to get the help I objectively need. I don’t mean it to sound dismissive or selfish... I really don’t... I will be the first to jump on listening and helping to friends... I always want to be there for my friends and help THEM... and it took me years to even open up to people and admit I needed help because I didn’t want to burden them...

I’m just LEGITIMATELY stuck and in a hole I can’t get out of myself. 

If I forced myself to a near-point of breaking in exhaustion every day, I possibly could do it myself... and there’s something to say about us being determined and surviving through tough times by taking that teeth-gritting step... but I don’t feel the payoff in that, as I’m pretty depressed a lot and don’t feel like my life is going anywhere meaningful. It’s a flaw but I don’t have that determination to stick through a fuckton of really really hard life changes to climb out of this hole myself. 

It’s just... everything is a tangle. I can’t solve one issue without dealing with the other issues simultaneously. Cleaning the house to make my head clearer involves me having enough energy to clean in the first place, and the time off of work to be able to afford a cleaning day. Having enough energy to do work and then clean means eating better. Eating better means having a clean enough place to cook and store food... and more energy. Having more energy means... well... you get the point. They’re all so knotted together I can’t untie this myself in my current state of mind.

It’s pathetic, really. I know that if I had more motivation, I could potentially climb my way out of this. It’d be hard work and it’d be taskmastering, especially without taking significant work time off, but the end result would be TOTALLY worth it. I can call myself out on this lack of choice too. The most successful parts of my life were those in which I cracked down on myself and disciplined myself and got shit done. I should be doing that here, too, but I’m not. I’m letting it continue to fester for half of my days. But I keep telling myself, “It’s okay, you’ll get to laundry tomorrow, you NEED to do work to pay bills,” and such as it is, then I never get this taken care of. I keep telling myself, “You can afford to sleep in after your exhaustion, even though that means prolonging the sleep schedule fix again.” I am culpable for my own problems, too. I’m not blaming myself. I’m not guilting myself. I don’t feel blame or guilt or self-hate or anything; most else might be shit, but my self-confidence is fine. I just acknowledge this problem for what it is.

Until I get these problems solved, everything else is muted. My mental processing, muted. My ability to help all my friends with all their problems, limited. The community service and church involvement I want to get back to. My desires to work on an original novel. My desire to save up money to someday afford a house. My desire to be able to get out more and make meaningful memories with friends. All that. Instead I’m stuck in this limbo of too-tired-to-work or must-work-before-tired-again and whoops-didn’t-take-care-of-myself-today-again-huhhh.

Anyway. Rant ended. For now. 

I just really really really really really want help with this mental health struggling. And I really really really want another human to Be There and non-lonely me.

[nyruratchet]

Time...

“...Why you punish me?”

So, I explained last time the situation regarding the creation of my music...monetarily. But let me explain and expand on how my time is utilized on a monthly basis.

If I haven’t made it clear, I hate my job. But here’s the thing, it’s flexible (for the most part), has benefits: (insurance, free-ish air travel, scheduled pay increases). Cons: passengers are allowed to treat crew like shit, always working with new people (that you may not mesh well with), anyone you try establishing a relationship with has pre-conceived notions/little to no faith you will ever be around, pay SUCKS until you get REALLY senior (7+), and...more, but I digress. But that flexible schedule, albeit limited, has afforded me the ability to work on music; until it doesn't. 

See, I was getting “comfortable” in my work situation a few years ago until certain a situation beyond my control forced me into deep debt, bad credit, and deeper depression. In order to fix all of this, money is needed. How do u get money? Work more. More work leads to more depression and sometimes health issues. So, I’ve been stuck in this seamlessly endless cycle of paycheck to paycheck living. And my desire and NEED to work on my music has not helped it (as explained in the previous blog post). Every time I get a bit more money, it goes to my craft. 

See, after you put all that money into creating art, you have to then put it OUT there. And in the case of a performer, you need to do live performances. That is a whole other situation in itself. There are lots avenues to get live performance experience. Open mics, concert showcases, live cabaret/karaoke bars, etc. Guess what THEY ALL COST MONEY. But not only money, LOTS of excess time is involved. 

This past spring, I was dragged into a showcase by my producer friend (who I’m partially in love with but he’s straight...but that’s another story). In order to do a showcase, you have to apply for acceptance. Applications involve you submitting current work and having a worthy social media following (which you have had to spend constant time building). Once you fill out the application, send the files and info, PAY your entry fee ($25) and receive your acceptance, you then have to sell tickets. Yes, how do they get people to come to the showcase? By having YOU bring them. And if you cannot find people to buy your tickets, all of those tickets come out of YOUR pocket. So, I was given 25 tickets to sell (last minute mind you); 25 tickets to sell at $20 bucks each. So, if I don't sell them, I owe the company $500 dollars. Yup, that’s correct. In order for me to perform my original content on their stage, I needed to make sure they got their $525 and help them get people in the venue so that they buy drinks at the bar (which we were given ZERO drink tickets for). Now before stepping on stage, you don’t get a sound check. So, you show up early before everyone to check in and simply check they have your correct music file(s) then wait...and wait...and wait. But your music has to be edited within their restrictions (this means more studio time. Remember, studio time =more $$...just making sure ur following me. Too many times you’ll hear big recording artists talking about how they have just sat in studios for hours creating a song from scratch. Yeah, only if you are signed to major label is this a thing! But anyway...back to the showcase.) 

Needless to say, I did everything I needed to. But I had some help since I asked to do this last minute and told them UP FRONT they would have had to get that unsold ticket money from me in blood. I landed from working a redeye the day before, got a nap in, did my vocal exercises in my car on my way to New Jersey, checked in and sat there. Since some people didn't show up on TIME, I was abruptly grabbed from drinking my whiskey at the bar and told “YOU’RE ON NEXT!”  Being the seasoned professional that I am, took that shot to the head, said “Actually, that’s not my slot...but ok, I’m ready.” NO SOUND CHECK, NEVER given TIME on the stage beforehand...I went on. Sung my ass off with a standing ovation from the judges. Then, went back to drinking with my friends who were in shock because they had never heard me really sing live. Then I had sit for HOURS while mediocre “rappers” and “singers” rapped over pre-recordings of their own vocals. Finally, they were ready to announce the winners. I won that sucker.

But what did I win? ...A promise to be put into another show... *DICK FACE*  No money to recoup what I just spent getting to this moment. No free promotion on social media to help me and my art. NO, some bullshit. So, I took the experience fore what it was and cut my losses. I got some exposure and was able to test out an unreleased song...but besides that. Nothing but wasted time and effort. I left there feeling somewhere between elation and disappointment. Not to mention, I was exhausted; I had done all this after working my full time job, and had to work again the next day. So all I had time to do was drive home and sleep. 

“Like a wave bashing into the shore...

Since this, I have had some money issues and mental health issues, so I have just barely been able to work on music. On my days off, I have to sleep and get back in the groove of being a real person instead of a redeye zombie. Then when I’m feeling slightly normal, I’m back to work...it is a vicious, irritating, restraining cycle. I’ve tried working shorter flights so I’m home more; nope, the pairings (schedules) for those flights work you in a way that leaves you feeling raped. My company will build a pairing with a duty time of 27hrs and only pay you for 15-17 of those hours. DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. Then on top of that, your rest time at the hotel is set to 11hrs...WTF?? 

Let me explain this for those of you with normal jobs. On these pairings, you are schedule to work a number of flights each day. So, 3 day pairing means you work 3-4 flights each day and have 2 layovers. Now lets say FLIGHT time is 1.5-2.5 hrs each (8-12hrs). Then you land from your final flight for day one. We’re usually delayed at our carrier...honestly, rarely on time. So, you have minimum rest at 11hrs. BUT, before you can leave the aircraft we have to get all passengers off the plane, CLEAN the seats, wait on our shuttle which is probably late if your pilots are sucky human beings and haven’t called ahead to make sure they’re there (Pilots aren’t required to clean; just us lowly peasants). So, by the time you get to the hotel, down to 10hrs. If you get there and rooms are ready, great. IF NOT, another 20-30 min or longer. But, lets say you’re down to 9.5hrs now. Get to your room. Hopefully your key works, air/heat works, no one is already in you room (yes...it happens all the time), room already cleaned, no bed bugs, and you aren’t by a noisy ice machine/elevator. You then have to shower and eat. Let’s say you get all that done in an hour. You now have 8.5 hrs to sleep...BUT WAIT, the van is scheduled to pick you up from the hotel 45 min to an hour before you are supposed to report at the airport and you need to be dressed and ready to make that van. So instead of 8.5hrs, you actually have 7hrs at best to sleep and pop outta bed, get dressed and properly ready to do the shit show all over again; all the while, knowing they are really only paying you for the time you spend on the aircraft, AFTER THE DOOR IS CLOSED AND THE BRAKE IS RELEASED. Time before like boarding, checks, delays? nope...no pay. Just us waisting our fucking time. Literally.

Why, is this? cuz everyone does it is the answer. That is how all airlines do it, so you have no leg to stand on. Got a union, the company retaliates like a reprimanded toddler. Now as I said before, once you get to be a super senior in your company and can choose what you want to work, when you want to work, in the position you want to work, getting $40/hr at base hours and a crazy amount for premium (overtime) hour, etc. the job is GOLDEN. (Unless that company gets purchased/merged.) But for a young person/flight attendant in debt, living in NYC, with a high cost of living, life ain’t fun. I tried living in New Jersey for a lower cost; that came with its own issues. I’ve taken out loans, became a hermit to save money, worked holidays, etc. Dug my hole deeper is what I did. And I’m pretty good at setting goals and managing my time and getting things DONE. But for some fucking reason, life is not working in my favor. This job is not working for me. I see younger people coming up behind me doing LITTLE to no work, getting musical accolades with trash “music” (I know, matter of opinion...but really. C’mon now), young white/latino/asian twinks shaking their ass for anything that breathes and getting rich men to pay their bills or marry them, all the while telling me they just want my BBC or other racist BS like that (Yes, I have receipts) and I’m just like WTF AM I DOING WRONG?! Have I spent my time stupidly? 

And the most recent shit that really hurt my feelings: If any of you remember (to the three of you reading this lol), a few months ago I posted about help getting into bartending. Well, I had actually asked a friend in person before that about bartending and if he knew any directors who could do a music video. This “friend” told me “no, not really”. Didn’t know anything about that, he just does movies and short films (which I’ve donated to his kickstarters for btw...) but no one who he thinks does music videos. THEN, I asked this same “FRIEND” how much he would charge to be IN a music video, as I had a song (the one I won the showcase with) that he would be perfect for as it deals with subject matter he rallies for. I wanted to help his career out in turn by help my video out, because I’m ugly and having beautiful actors in my video would be a better sell (as again, I need this song to make money. He then tells me me, he’s not sure how much he would charge for that. SEVERAL MONTHS LATER...this bitch releases a music VIDEO to his NEW SINGLE about a SIMILAR SUBJECT!! Without promotion, he gets instant 2.2k hits on the video on youtube. MIND YOU, he would always be shy to sing around me and I told him, “you need to give yourself more credit. You have a beautiful voice.” Meanwhile, I’m asking for some knowledge from him, and he wouldn’t help me with ANYTHING. I have NEVER asked for a hand out. Just tell me where the door is, I will get in even if I have to pick the lock. But he not only pretended he didn’t know where the door was, he was holding the keys, had lock picks on the side and duplicates to share; But, for whatever reason...didn’t want to share that with me. Even though, I was going to include him in MY art without any thought and was willing to pay. Now, I have some thoughts on why he did this. But seeing as I’m on the verge of tears, I’ll end on that note.

...You wash away my dreams.”

[exhaustedcloudd-blog]

so heres the hoedown throwdown my dudes

I come from a decent family, I haven't had any traumatic experiences, I am okay now (ish haha), and I don't usually talk about this kind of thing, but I'm here, and I'm hoping this will help someone out there somewhere. so here we go, 

I am taking my GCSEs, and I am taking many creative subjects which require lots of homework and coursework. on top of this, I have had undiagnosed severe panic attacks and a bucket load of anxiety. I have a history of getting very down and hurting myself. emotions run high in me 😅.

I panic a lot, I worry a lot about things that I don't need too, I manage to work myself up a lot and bring myself down too. since I was about 7 I had a chart which I would get read to every day, I would have to answer the questions and let the teacher know how I was feeling. I used to have many fears, about things like being separated and big public spaces and getting lost and knowing what was going on. 

I don't know how it came to be, but my centre point of all this is control. I feel like I need to be in control all the time, I need to know what's going on, I need to know any organisations, I need to know who's who and what's what, otherwise I panic. and it is not an obnoxious thing, it's not like I need to be best or I am being bossy, trust me I am not😅. sometimes I can be super quiet, where I don't speak up, but at the same time, I'm very social and I like meeting new people and talking lots!

some stuff has happened, a little fight in my family (meaning I didn't see my uncle and my cousins for over 3 years), for some reason I can never trust my parents and worry when they go out, and I feel like I have to act as a parent, my uncle dying, my aunty dying, and my best friend, my grandad dying of dementia in April. (all these deaths occurred between March and April this year) which kind of sucks....

I have a history of when I wasn't in control I turned to not eating and hurting myself, I hated that I was tall and skinny before I started starving, creating a vicious cycle of hatred between myself and my body meaning I wanted to not eat and be in control even more. then I started cutting, which made me feel awful, it just felt so reliving at the moment, but the marks and scars made me feel so upset and so self-conscious afterwards. I was angry and frustrated and it made me cry a lot. I had panic attacks that could last up to an hour of me hyperventilating and shaking in the corner of my shower. I got myself down into a spiral of 'depression' ((i don't know if I should/ could call it that because I haven't been to the doctor and been medically diagnosed, and if there's one thing that annoys me the most is when people say they are so 'depressed' or 'have an eating disorder' or have 'really bad anxiety' when really they are just a little bit upset or not hungry... don't even get me started on people like that!!!)), I even had horrible thoughts of killing myself a couple of times, I basically was in a really low place putting way too much pressure on myself for a couple years. luckily, by the end of year 8, I managed to dig myself out of that hole, with an unsupportive school councillor and a form tutor who really wanted to help but really didn't know how and a mum who still thinks even to this day I'm doing all this for attention.

<<if you want some specific stories on any of these then just comment and ill make one! I don't mind if it will help you!>>

I have a history of help, different charts and art therapy, counselling, just talking to a pet or my mum, group therapy and now my new school councillor has hooked me up with one to one talking therapy and a group session, and talking to her once a fortnight and also maybe an exit card for when I get panicky in class (wow she's so amazing I cant even-). however the one thing I can't do is go to the doctor, my mum doesn't think I need to, I don't know how I could without an adult's permission...

at the moment I have a love-hate relationship with myself, I'm going back into a group session on Fridays, which I do enjoy a lot because the lady who runs it is so lovely. I have some vitamin tablets with extra iron which will hopefully make me feel less tired and therefore more motivated as I think I'm lacking in that aha! I'm trying my best to keep up with school, doing art and product design does mean a lot of coursework, but I enjoy it so it should be fine! no boys for me at the moment, I still have a lot of guy friends but dating can and should wait... been there done that! my body,,, eeehhh.... I'm quite skinny in my eyes but to others, I apparently look normal... I hate my legs, think they are way too skinny... I'm starting at the gym to try and get what I want to look like, but that's a very slippery slope that again,, been there done that! I know it's what your mum or granny would say,, but social media is impacting us SO much! panic attacks are still coming and going, my most recent was my worst I think, I was in the corner of a room for about an hour and I couldn't control my breathing, my dad had to pick me up and physically help me calm down. my relationship with my parents is..... okay, this morning my mum shouted at me and in short she said something along the lines of ''you can't be bothered to do simple tasks and say its mental health issues which then you make the school pay for your therapy and you are just lazy and blaming on mental health'' which then obviously I had a go back, but it hurt a bit. I mean,,,, I'm working on it, I don't think they mean it, I just think they aren't educated as to when they were young, kids didn't really have problems like ours. anyway.... I'm working on that. 

I think that's all to say for now! and I hope that I could help or relate to at least one person!! and also comment if you would like any specific stories!

thank you :) x

-exhausted cloud