#you can't handle it without me. not without having to deal with the trauma intrusions I keep at bay. you remember how it was before me.

[sonofsin]

😒

[squid-ink-on-toast]

me handling a situation better than my parents even though it effects me more than them, is not a good testament to my character, but in fact a bad testament on there's

[pets-will-play-ask-blog]

Author! You've mentioned other stories you've written in the past not being as dark as this one. Did you just recently get into dark fics then?

I'm gonna say yes. I've never really been a dark fic writer. I suffer from intrusive thoughts brought on by OCD so I've always had ideas involving darker themes but I didn't start actually putting them on paper until now. And frankly, I'm glad I waited until I was an adult. I cannot imagine how badly teenage me would have handled the themes I write about now.

And it's not that my other stories are less dark. It's just that they're...less grounded? I suppose They're more surreal. The situations of tragedy and drama within them are still related to real world trauma- abuse, parental loss, PTSD, grief...but the worlds and the characters within them are way less realistic. More fantasy. With worlds that are purposefully meant to be fantastical and whimsical and very obviously not real. So it's easier for myself and the readers to distance themselves from the icky feelings that reading about those themes normally bring.

Not that PWP isn't whimsical and fantasy, but the characters and world are a LOT more similar to our actual reality. Yes, some people have animal features. But also- there's sex trafficking, and late stage capitalism, and uncomfortably realistic abusive relationships with uncomfortably realistic characters. Also, relationship and sexual trauma is something that I have been through. So it's a lot closer to home than anything else I've ever written about.

Let me put it this way: Those other stories are escapism for me. Pets Will Play is a way for me to actually deal with my own trauma without going to therapy because I can't afford it and talking about my feelings is hard.

[anniesucksatlife]

A Momentary Lapse of Reason

My name is Annie, & I suck at life. I woke up early today & couldn't fall back to sleep. So rather than wallow in self pity & my intrusive thoughts, (before I have to get ready & drag myself to a doctor's appointment) I decided on a whim to make a tumblr. I made one a long time ago, I just didn't really do anything with it. What I will do with this one if anything, I'm not sure. I've been dealing with a lot in my life these past few years. I have no real friends, or maybe I do & I just can't be real with them because of my own problems. I was diagnosed with adhd & autism last year & I'm still kind of figuring out what I can even handle or maintain in terms of socialization. I've had several recent traumas. It's like I get punched in the gut & as soon as I've pulled myself together, I'm knocked flat on the floor by something else. I've been denied disability 3 times. (4 counting the first time I applied when I was 18) I've had my hearing delayed twice, most recently because my attorney had a medical emergency. So I'll likely be waiting a few months for another chance. During these past few years I've been essentially without an income. This makes me largely dependent on those around me, especially with my physical & mental disabilities. This is problematic for many reasons, but especially because I have a poor support network. I can't stand being around my parents but I am forced to rely on them in many ways. My fiance who I met a year & a half ago helps as much as she can, but she has her own issues as well. She is the best thing that ever happened to me. The hardest times for me are when she is not with me. Especially in these instances where my body wakes me early & I need to manage my mind without her, as I don't want to interrupt her sleep again. I get the urge to write sometimes, but something usually keeps me from following through. Today is the exception. I want to start writing down the things that plague my racing mind. Maybe if I do that I can find some peace from my thoughts. & maybe if people find what I have to say important enough then I can find a way out of my living nightmare. I have a lot to say. Things many don't want to hear. I have ideas, real ideas, about how the world could be made a better place. Ideas about how to stop people from having to go through what I have & continue to. However it's hard to do anything with that when you are so debilitated by your own life's circumstances. My ideas are that of a social nature yet I feel isolated from the world because of my mind & body. Not to mention that the world itself is cruel, especially to an autistic trans person living in a red district shit hole in the northeastern US. I've said enough for now. Maybe someone will find my experience valuable, validating, empowering or something like that. It's impossible to know if you never put yourself out there.

[philosophicalparadox]

Cough, it’s me again

Our dear demon bastard stated what type of women he likes. What do you think would be the type of woman (and maybe even man) he dislikes the most?

He is living in my head rent free

This one is much easier and less complex to answer 🙏 (I promise your other ask is in the works 😚 its just taking its dear sweet time to manifest in coherent thoughts)

My picture of a person Mephisto absolutely would not like conveniently exists in canon: Michael Gedouin. And no, I'm not just saying that because I hate the bastard.

Gedouin is everything Samael loves to despise. He's clingy, desperate, arrogant, short sighted, pushy and rude. He's got delusions of grandeur and crippling insecurities. Mephisto would eat him alive out of spite - possibly literally if he weren't so fat as to give the malnourished demon clogged arteries for the effort.

I personally think that when Samael expressly dislikes or loathes someone he goes out of his way to be an absolute menace to them. Because he's petty like that.

Canon kind of backs me up on this, and offers a compelling series of reasons why. Everyone he dislikes in canon, he dislikes because they're too intrusive or rude (Lewin) too cocksure and ignorant (Arthur) too needy and pushy (Yukio to a degree) or too self absorbed and narcissistic (Lucifer).

What do all these people have in common?

They're all liars.

They all lie to themselves and to others constantly. Lewin lies to others because he has to in order to appear normal; Arthur lies to himself so that he feels normal-ish despite blatantly knowing he isn't; Yukio lies to both himself and others for the sake of status quo and because he has crippling insecurities he would rather pretend didn't exist; and Lucifer lies to everyone including himself because his mind and ego can't handle the truth or reality, so he twists the narratives to suit himself, and to hell with the rest.

Samael, Father of Lies, absolutely despises liars.

He despises liars, and he despises those who turn away from a hard truth they'd rather not face. In his mind, these people are cowards, possibly, and I don't imagine he is fond of cowardice either. Part of why he is so hard on Yukio is because Yukio refuses to see or acknowledge the present, focusing -- and hiding in - the past or sometimes the future. He is similarly stern with Rin at times because Rin was running away from the past, but with no sense of direction for the present or future; he was lost, though, not deliberately hiding. Yukio hides; he uses the past or possible future to justify the present while acknowledging neither, and that makes him both annoying and dangerous; vascillating between the past and future without thinking about the present is how you end up circling a drain with no outlet. Yes, Yukio is depressed and stressed and has some serious trauma issues, and that is why he acts that way - no doubt Mephisto is well aware of that - but he also was stubborn and foolish and refused to accept help in any way except very marginally for his way, and his way was not what he needed. And I just don't see Samael having the greatest patience with people who wallow in their misery and refuse to help themselves, or if they are, like with Yukio, then they won't listen to reason if they're wrong.

Samael does not like people who deny the truth. Who insist they know better than he does, who won't budge an inch no matter what he tells them. He has not the patience, and after a lifetime of dealing with Mr. Narc Himself I honestly can't blame him for that.

At the same time, he finds great delight in tormenting people he despises. He ribs Arthur all the time and makes a mockery of him, he belittles Yukio and infantalizes him in some respects; He openly says he doesn't like Lewin and finds him creepy due to his persistent, invasive intrigue regarding himself, and doesn't bother him much I feel because anything Samael did do to bugger him would only entice him more; and he can do nary a thing about Lucifer, except quietly chide him in the back of his mind and hope his brother comes to his senses eventually. A hope I think he has lost all faith in.

Now, I feel a need to bring up an odd little relationship regarding these things - Amaimon.

Does Samael dislike Amaimon? Yes, i think he does, in a way. But he dislikes him because he is rude and lazy and doesn't like to think for himself or make hard decisions and acts like a total child about it when he does. Amaimon doesn't pick sides because he doesn't want to think about the ramifications of either choice, so he just doesn't make one. (until he has to). Amaimon doesn't like actual hard work, so to entice him to do anything one must invite him to "play" or offer a reward - and sometimes punishment - worth motivating him. Amaimon does not give a single flying fuck if anyone really likes him or not, which I do think Samael finds admirable about him actually, but it comes with the caveat that he can't trust Amaimon to blend in very well or follow a set of rules he sees no point in following, like "Dont punch people, because they die, and we dont want them to die". To explain anything to Amaimon, one must explain it in his terms, on his terms, which makes him difficult and annoying to deal with at times because if there's no relevance to himself going on, he has no reason to care. He is the quintessential "not my problem" guy.

(I confess after writing this I am a lot like him in many regards)

Samael doesn't appreciate people who make his life more difficult, I would say for the above case. He prefers things to go a certain way, and people who propose to mess this up by being stubborn and difficult to control are thorns in his side; but he is willing to put up with them for the greater good of his work.

Rin is another thorny case for Samael at times, though its more that Rin has the utmost potential to be a problem than that he presently is one; Rin is strong willed, though not exactly stubborn - he can be plied fairly easily with the right kind of persuasion, and as recent chapters have so kindly delivered onto us, Rin is the faith-having sort of person; he believes in Mephisto's power and abilities, and has faith that Samael would be able to put the world to rights if Satan wasn't being such a stubborn Git about it all.

That being said, I could easily see the tables turning if Rin decided to get in Samael's way and provoke him with his stubbornness, especially since Rin isn't always keen on listening to reason, so I hesitate to say Samael likes or dislikes Rin outright - I think he's an edge case and that Samael cautiously likes him, but would absolutely kill or maim him if it came to that. And I personally am of the mind that Rin is very much aware of this.

So, to recap -

Samael does not like Liars, Truth Deniers, and People Who Make Life Harder.

I also am of the mind he has a particularly vengeful distaste for thieves, based on the possessiveness of his personality and penchant for collecting things, but only insofar as they have stolen from him. After all I doubt he got all of his own belongings by moral means, given Loki and Dionysus' penchant for being thieves themselves. So steal away - just don't steal things from the Devil, maybe. Unless he wants you to. (Ahem, Impure King arc). But even then, probably not the wisest idea.

[contentment-of-cats]

Weaksauce.

Weak this morning and tired even when I woke up. I did too much yesterday, even though I feel as if I didn't do anything at all. My stamina is for shit. I did note that the rehab doc is ordering PT 3 times per week at home once I am out of the hospital.

Better late than never.

It's reconditioning, meaning that since my surgery I have been deconditioning without proper care. What I could have done during recuperation, I have no idea since I had so many abdominal incisions and a new ostomy that I could barely get on or off the toilet or in/out of bed. Those incisions went through muscle. Hell, I couldn't shower standing up until six weeks later.

So. Legs. I'm trying for two 30 minute sessions on the bike, plus two 90 minute sessions with the TENS unit. I'm not dealing with this emotionally too well. I've always been someone who would rather walk than ride and now I can't.

Let's Talk About Trauma

Understand that I am not a professional, but a someone with trauma from childhood forward - for most of my life my experiences were not considered trauma. One of the most eyeopening events of my life was someone asking me, very gently, "Was this normal for you as a child?"

The basic explanation of trauma is an emotional response to situation that inflicts harm to your feeling of safety, your sense of identity, and even your sense of reality. It also hampers your emotional health and responses and makes it hard to have healthy relationships. The precipitation of trauma can come from a single incident, ongoing situations, or a complex timeline of multiple traumatic events. The resulting after-effect is known as PTSD or CPTSD.

I am not using the DSM-V definition because it is actual shit. I take psychiatric meds, they do have a place in treatment. These are twpo thoughts that can coexist.

The Three E's of Trauma

Event: Psychological abuse, physical abuse or violence, physical trauma including medical trauma, observing an event without being directly affected (witnessing a car accident as an example), neglect, or any event that puts one in fear of life or safety.

Experience: Relating to how someone responds to Event. What might traumatize one person might not traumatize someone else. How an individual perceives the event, labels it, and how they experience disruption is how it becomes trauma. Almost all trauma extends from a difference in agency, where the person experiencing the event has little or no ability to stop or alter the event whether it's inflicted by a person, group of people, force of nature, and so on. When the person experiencing the event feels powerless, they experience feelings of humiliation, shame, guilt, self-blame or self-doubt, and can even (personal experience only) gaslight themselves into believing that the event never happened.

Effect: So, the sneaky thing about trauma is that there may be a lag between cause and effect; meaning that you might not connect the effects you feel with the trauma and believe that you were not traumatized. Some issues arising from PTSD include memory and attention (brain fog, forgetfulness, obsessive thinking, intrusive thoughts, unable to focus as examples), unable to handle stress (don't get me started), unable to control or appropriately express emotions (includes being emotionally numb, being a rageball, internalizing emotions, self-harming and so on), being unable to trust, fatigue/exhaustion, and the maladaptions of avoidance and hypervigilance.

Fuck, that's a lot. Whoo boy. My main effect is maladaption - unhealthy coping mechanisms. I am QUEEN.

Crying It Out

For a long time, I was unable to cry. No matter how angry, or hurt, no matter how much grief I felt, I had no tears. Since roughly New Year's, I tear up very easily, and here is why that helps from Harvard Med.

"Researchers have established that crying releases oxytocin and endogenous opioids, also known as endorphins. These feel-good chemicals help ease both physical and emotional pain. "

"Thinkers and physicians of ancient Greece and Rome posited that tears work like a purgative, draining off and purifying us. Today’s psychological thought largely concurs, emphasizing the role of crying as a mechanism that allows us to release stress and emotional pain."

Crying has been made taboo and taken as a sign of weakness and excessive emotion - you know, femininity or childishness. Men are taught (or traumatized) not to cry, and women taught to emulate male behaviors to earn the right to ascend the economic ladder. Even little kids are derided as 'crybabies.' So, methinks, if being unable to cry is a sign of trauma, maybe my tears are a sign of acknowledging trauma and being able to deal with it in a healthy way.

"Why is it incumbent on me to suck it up, be a bigger person, and not to cry instead of being incumbent on other people to not be assholes?"

Something to think about.

[eggfriiedrice]

the part about the solely medicalised view of ocd really resonated with me and something thats also kinda difficult is in ocd communities online is that it's the same talking points. i recently finished a round of trauma therapy, so treatment explicitly not for ocd, but obviously it was heavily impacted by it. and i think it's the first time i was able to be compassionate towards myself about having these fuckin thoughts. i was learning to actually feel and handle emotions and so we sat and validated that yeah. some of that stuff is scary and unpleasant.

at the end of the day you cant work with someone and say well actually, it's okay to feel emotions! apart from these ones. these ones are BAD. (and unhealthy, and god forbid, immoral – watch my brain latch onto that one).

so back to what i was saying. i find a lot of the time online communities surrounding ocd mirror what medicine has to say which is useful and important. but it makes me wonder. i can't even admit that my intrusive thoughts are upsetting without a flyswatter response of "well, they're unwanted and irrational and untrue. they're not real." well yes i know, but they also make me feel like shit. all the time. so far it hasn't killed me to at least validate that before acknowledging that they're neither real nor helpful.

i have a perfectionistic brain. and i'll only speak for me because it's a stereotype and it could be true for lots of people with OCD but not necessarily everyone. so for my silly little brain, it kinda sucks for there to be this overarching meta-standard. i have to be a perfect person and also perfect in how i deal with my intrusive thoughts – otherwise it's bad. if you acknowledge that your intrusive thoughts make you feel awful, then you're giving them power – and not only is that bad, but it's your fault. and for every minute, hour and day you lose to rituals and rumination – you didn't deal with it how you're supposed to, and that's bad, and it's your fault, and you'll never get better by engaging with it, and you should be ashamed really, because OCD is as simple as just ignoring and disengaging because it's totally not driven my normal human emotion.

those thoughts aren't real, but the feeling very much is. we already know this. why can't we actually acknowledge it?

Do You Think Something Would Really Happen?: OCD and Shame.

I remember sitting at the dinner table with my parents after coming home from school, pushing my food around with my fork. Steak, potatoes, and corn. It was late at night, my parents having picked me up from daycare after their 9-to-5s, and we sat in a collectively exhausted silence. Half of the table was taken up by mail, flyers, and my old homework sheets.

I analyzed my plate. My corn touched my steak, my steak touched my potatoes, and my potatoes touched my corn. As I’d start with the corn, I’d have to grimace as I came to the conclusion that whatever touched the steak and potatoes would need to be left on my plate. It was contaminated. I’d cut around the edge of the steak that touched my potatoes and corn, and ate around the mashed potatoes that also touched the steak and corn. 

My parents would raise their brows and dismiss the quirk until it became a constant habit of mine. Any food on my plate that touched was suddenly contaminated and therefore, inedible. They’d occasionally scold me for leaving so much food on my plate, not because I was full, but ‘because my food touched’. 

They would eventually learn that it was easier to divide the food so it didn’t touch in the first place, in which case I’d be able to clean my plate.

It eventually became a joke at the table.

“You know, it all touches in your stomach.” I’d nod, “It’s different on my plate.”

And, they’d laugh. My face would flush, and I’d very quickly learn to be ashamed of my little rules, despite the accommodations both me and my parents made to enforce them.

Underwear, and then socks. It was always the right sock. Then I could put my pants on, and then my shirt. Any other way was incorrect. I’d restart if I did it wrong, and everything had to feel right. I can’t wear those jeans because they don’t feel right. Not today, maybe tomorrow. I’d become ashamed of how long it would take me to get ready. When I went to a uniform school, it became much easier.

Forks all go in the dishwasher, facing the same direction. They can only take up two rows. All big spoons go together, and all little spoons go together, only taking up a row each. All of the bowls faced inward on the top rack … I think you get the idea.

My parents would tease me by putting a dish in the dishwasher improperly. I would feel violently ill as I was forced to fix it before turning the dishwasher on. I would get caught doing this, and my parents would let out a little laugh.

Someone at daycare named the dog on their DS game after a phallic body part. I felt like I was going to be ill. I had to tell the caregiver. I tattled. I felt even worse when she was punished for it. It was my fault. 

I had to punish myself too.

I never realized that all of these little events were textbook symptoms of OCD. Nobody in my life did. A lot of my compulsions were mental, and because of it, I thought everyone did them. I thought everyone felt a duty to report when someone broke the rules, because if they didn’t, something bad would happen to them. I thought everyone avoided the cracks in the sidewalk, just to make sure nothing bad would happen. I thought everyone put the knife in their hand back down until everyone left the kitchen to be sure they wouldn’t stab someone. 

Saying it out loud makes a lot of sense. However, the inherent shame that would follow my sudden realization that I had OCD was never something I expected. I had gotten through C-PTSD treatment easily, but the grip of embarrassment that coiled around my stomach, up my spine and around my mind would be unbearable from these new symptoms. The shame has done nothing but make my symptoms spike. As someone who has been mentally ill their whole life, I have never felt worse.

OCD is a disorder often attributed with two symptoms: obsessive thoughts, and compulsive behaviours. However, OCD is such a broad disorder that it’s impossible to truly understand its breadth through this two-symptom definition. Obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviours can take on dozens, if not hundreds of different themes, and can be difficult to pinpoint without the appropriate knowledge and understanding.

And, there’s an inherent shame that comes associated with these obsessions and compulsions. An inherent knowledge that they’re foolish, unreasonable, and illogical. And yet, I lock the door anyway. I put the knife down anyway. I isolate myself anyway.

Nobody talks about the shame associated with OCD. There’s such a medicalized view of OCD, focused on treatment and eradication, that I find early on a distinct lack of care from medical professionals on the symptoms I experience. So easily do people brush off my distressing thoughts, ones that leave me isolated to my bed, ruminating about what I could have done better. And yet, reassurance is bad for OCD.

I was scared when I had to tell my doctor about my symptoms. I was more petrified to even tell my therapist who I had grown to. I remember trembling as I typed out the obsessions and compulsions I engaged in, once on notepad and again on my phone. I remember feeling violently ill as I convinced myself I was insane, that I was going to engage in these horrible acts. That I was a monster pretending to be a good person. They would lock me up when they heard all of the horrible things I had done in my head. I could never be the ‘good’ person I needed to be. That this wasn’t OCD; this was just me.

I remember getting a psychiatric appointment set up with my doctor as she seemed relatively unphased by my symptoms. The reassurance I so desperately craved, some sort of absurd reaction that embodied the illness and distress I felt, was nowhere to be found. I’m so desperate for the claws of adoration to tear deep into my skin, so deep that I bleed before I realize how much this love hurts. I needed her to cry for me. I needed more.

I needed more validation. I needed more love. Love so much it stings.

I remember having to find a new therapist, because I needed someone who knew about OCD. I remember thinking I found a good one, and I disclosed some of my more taboo symptoms. I was, instead, dismissed outright. I was told that I could be schizotypal. That I could have commanding hallucinations.

“You should tell the psychiatrist about your commanding hallucinations,” she said,

“they could get dangerous if you act on them.”

She spent so much time trying to understand and dissect these ‘commanding hallucinations’, trying to understand the ‘source’ of my intrusive thoughts, that she forgot I was a person. Maybe it was tied to my cat dying in grade 7, or the way I was raised as a kid. How did my dad treat me? When did I learn to speak? How was my birth? When did I learn to read? Did I grow up with friends?

She dug her claws of ‘care’ so deep into my body that I became nothing more than a cadaver in her eyes. I was in so much pain that I can’t remember the rest of that therapy session. I fauned. And yet, I still tried to convince myself that she was just caring for me. That, this was the affection I hungered, right?

Still, I know that everything is fine. That I am personally loved by so many people around me. I have a supportive partner who would do anything to make sure I’m okay. I have amazing friends by my side. I’m successful and beautiful and wonderful and optimistic.

Yet I still crave that violent, awful reassurance and care. There’s a shred of doubt that I could secretly be a murderer, a rapist, a liar. I have to make sure I’m not. I have to.

As I filled out the YBOCS with my new therapist, I made it to the last question. A question where the score didn’t matter. It wouldn’t impact what the clinical severity of my OCD was. I don’t really even know why it was there. It read: “Do you think something would really happen?”

No. But I ashamedly do the compulsions anyway. How am I supposed to feel loved without reassurance?

[moonlightflower21]

save me...

"And who's this?" You blurt out the sentence before you can even think about it, silently cursing yourself at the intrusion of privacy. The picture that was framed on the mantel, hidden by the bonsai trees and plants he kept there. The frown deepens on his face, sucking in a breath at the familiar face.

"That would be Eva. My.... Well ex partner" You can sense the discomfort in the air as he holds the picture in his hands. His knuckles have paled slightly but it doesn't disguise the shake in them.

"Was she the one..." You don't finish the sentence, already knowing what had happened to her. The brothers told you and it felt like pouring salt on his wounds, the last thing you wanted to was to bring up bad memories again. Not after everything.

"Yes. I suppose she finally got the happy ever after she was longing for even if it meant she lay on the floor without a heartbeat. She's happy somewhere. And that's what keeps me going. Maybe in a different lifetime we could be...." His tone was soft, hoarse as if he was trying to hold back those emotions.

His finger gently brushed the smooth glass, a strange forlorn longing to hold her again. To smell the rosy shampoo she always wore, to hear her necklaces jangle when she turned her head. To brush her silky locks from her face, to admire her features as her eyes lit up like stars in her honeyed eyes. He could lose himself in there forever, they felt like home.

In a way, he envied her. She didn't have to bear the pain as she tried to move on. She didn't have to be sucked into some drug business, constantly watching her back for anyone that would strike. Hold her family together even when parts of her were slowly disintegrating. She didn't beg and plead every night to the sky, hoping the pain would go away forever.

No, he did that. And even to this day, it still hurt like hell.

It was beyond difficult, even now he wasn't quite ready to delve into that torture. He didn't think he would ever be ready to face that trauma.

"Leonardo..." Your voice reaches out but he can't take it, he refuses to break down in front of you. Not today, not ever.

"I'm so sorry" You whisper, the uncertainty of whether to take him into your arms lay heavy on your mind. You know that he was just opening up to you, it was at his pace he decided to make the next move. Not yours. It was more than enough that he even let you into this personal aspect of his life.

"Just... do me a favour and never speak of this with anyone okay?" His normally strict voice has dropped a couple of octaves, evident he's trying to fight those tears that sting his eyes. His eyes remain focused solely upon the picture framed beautifully in his hands, not willing to look at you in case he does something he'll regret. In case he'll break down and he couldn't put that image onto you.

"Of course" You murmur, your fingernails digging into your palms. So badly you wanted to hold him, to share some of the burdens he's been carrying along the way yet again you accept interfere with his decisions.

His back turns to you and you take it as a silent sign that you're dismissed. Walking towards the door, you reach for the handle before sighing looking at the turtle. He doesn't seem like the strict CEO, a stoic leader or even the scary mafia boss. For the first time since you've met him, you've seen more than what those around him have. The light hearted side, the sarcastic and funny side. And it's shocking at how much he carries. How much he deals with on a daily basis and those demons he constantly fights off.

"For what it's worth, you're a great leader and a great brother. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive yourself because you deserve that. You deserve peace" You utter, unsure if he's even heard you. He doesn't make any comment and you don't expect him to either. These words can't bring him any closure or comfort but you hope they ease his mind for a while. He deserved to feel happiness. All the brothers did. Turning back round, you open the marbled doors and leave his silent office.

And he sat there, bottom lip trembling clutching the picture desperately. Hot tears fell through his clenched lids, gasping softly for air that felt like it didn't reach his lungs. He felt stupid, pathetic if you will for crying over your words. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been at war with himself, wondering if this life was all worth the numbness.

He didn't think he'd ever feel himself again.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

I need someone to vent to, and maybe some validation or advice.

TW suicide (not actually in danger)

I'm a suicide loss survivor and even if the victim was not a relative or closed friend it still left me with trauma, which manifests, among the other things, with worrying constantly about others and feeling useless whrn someone is not alright. Now one of my closest online friends is going through a very dark time and I can't say anything to help her. I try, but it's not enough and I'm so scared what happened will happen again. The kicker is that in these cases, I'm back to dealing with intrusive thoughts about how I am useless, if so many people around me are hurting maybe it's my fault, and I should kill myself because I am useless and dangerous to those around me and if I had done it long ago none of these people would be suffering because someone more worthy and helpful and caring would be by their side and the one I already lost would have changed their mind since it was after their death that I decided to resist my suicidal impulses because I did not want anyone to suffer that kind of loss but maybe if I'd gone first they wouldn’t have gone through with it. I don’t mean to follow these thoughts. But I'm so scared.

Ahoy Anon,

I'm so sorry for your loss. No matter how close you were with them, the way your trauma manifests is always entirely valid.

Dealing with the constant intrusive thoughts and the feeling of uselessness is an exhausting thing to experience, and I'm sorry you've had to fight it on your own for this long. Being in a situation like that again can't be an easy thing to handle.

There is nothing you could ever do or say that would diminish your worth. And there is never anything you could do that would suddenly deem you useless, either- you deserve to exist without feeling a need to be useful towards others.

I want you to know that you aren't at fault for the actions of people you care about, Anon. No matter what.

Something I do when I feel similarly is to treat my thoughts like a close friend. Although it's far from a new method, and something you might have heard of before, it helps me treat myself with the same care I'd give to someone I love.

There is never anything wrong with taking time for yourself, especially when you're already taking the time to be there for others. If you need to block out time to do something that comforts you, or time to let yourself exist without pressure, you will always be entirely valid.

You deserve to be treated the same way you strive to treat others. I hope you're able to get some rest soon, because you really do deserve it.

-Mod Nova 💫

[pop-punklouis]

this is so embarrassing but sigh here I go. I want to be that bitch. The girl that inspires and people are happy to be around. I'm a loner, and I'm working on being financially independent and building my self-esteem from rock bottom as I struggle to re-parent myself, y’know, because my parents taught me to live in trauma like many of us in our 20’s on Tumblr. I want to be more positive, while realistic but it's hard blah blah. Anyway, I walk by this place every day to get to work, and as of recently I noticed this guy. I think he's cute, but I can't tell if he's my type for sure (looks-wise) just because I've only seen him as I'm walking by and everyone here wears masks. I promise I’m not super shallow. Personality will always matter to me more than looks. I want to stop and talk to him while he's at work there but idk how to. I'm not all that worried about it not working because there is plenty of fish and I'm not emotionally attached because Idk him. However, I'm stressed about being perceived and having a way to approach him and what if he's not single. I wish it were easier to meet people neutrally, like back in grade school when I wasn't dead inside and we were forced to get to know each other without any pressure. They didn't have to know if you were interested and not being romantically experienced was more acceptable. My social anxiety is 11/10 these days so I doubt it would go smoothly. I always think of how things could go wrong but remind myself that no matter how much I picture it it’s always gonna go differently. I imagine the most realistic scenario is that I awkwardly shuffle for a minute or two like I’m supposed to be there, he’ll think I need help with something, do the customer service thing not know I’m interested. He won't show any interest in me and then I’ll walk away. I should probs not bother with dating and keep my baggage to myself until I sort it all out. Lol you don’t have to have any kind of answer. I just needed to vent and you always provide safe comfort vibes on your blog

oh bb!

you can always come here and ramble about life or crushes etc.

tbh a lot of our anxieties about how others see us or interact with us are in our heads and we just fuel the intrusive thoughts rip. someone once told me that we’re all dealing with our own shit and most times the interactions we worry about don’t even cross the other person’s mind. also that we all handle things differently so we have to keep that in mind when we expect certain reactions and behaviors from others that end up reflecting more on ourselves than it does them. that helps me a lot going into any kinda interaction or relationships with others. i know that swerved away from your message a little bit but, it came to mind as i read your text 🤍

i think it’s all up to you and what you think you need to focus on right now in your life. don’t let yourself not take opportunities or risks bc you think what you consider “baggage” will affect that. tbh i think you should go for it. you never know what could happen, and if he’s not interested at least you’ve only got a little wounded ego and nothing deeper has been built. go for it if you think you’re up to it x

i’m sending you all my warmth, grey!!

[polyamorouspunk]

(I feel like I had an emoji for my anons but for the life of me I can't remember them and scrolling/searching your blog turned up nothing so I'm just gonna assume it was 🌠?? Since that's in my recent emojis.)

Anyways confession time cuz I need to get this off my chest. I've been having a lot of bpd fits as of late and it's been making my relationships difficult, or rather one of my relationships since my bpd decided to turn one of my partners into a fave person.

He's not the best at understanding mental health, he hardly understands anxiety and depression and you'd think those are the easiest to understand since they're so common. He tries to still be there for people even though he just doesn't get it, but it makes it really hard for me to explain my bpd attacks that end up with me making stupid mistakes.

I've certainly gotten better with my bpd, but I still lash out sometimes, I still accuse and gaslight without even realizing it. It takes a couple seconds after I've said the stupid thing for me to realize what I did, and I try really hard to apologize and make up for it and be better in the future, but I wish it was easier to explain that God I don't do this on purpose.

Cuz Ig if you don't deal with intrusive thoughts and panic attacks and crap like that in any capacity you just can't see how that's done on accident. He asked if I found it fun to do that stuff and I just broke, like... No, I don't. I really truly don't. I wish I was able to handle these feelings more effectively and not hurt him. He's never done anything wrong, just bc he doesn't understand what my brain is like to have doesn't mean he's treating me like shit.

...honestly, the fact that he's still with me, still planning on living with me, still loving me, still actively wanting me around proves that he still cares deeply for me even though I can't control my anger sometimes.

I just wish my bpd, my trauma, didn't affect our relationship so much. I'm grateful for his patience with me but God damn I wish I was less volatile.

Someday I'll get therapy. I want it really bad. This country sucks with making it easy to get but I want it someday.

I hope your life is going well btw Punk, your blog makes me really happy in the punkiest polyamorousiest way. Thanks for running it and talking with us followers, you're genuinely a really cool guy -🌠

GRAPHIC TW

Oh my god anon I’m so sorry to hear that. I’ve been open about my struggles with what I now know as bpd in the past. I totally get the “I just acted that way and I couldn’t control it”. I reached the point of being physically abusive to my partners and it was awful. Sometimes it got so bad I would just dissociate and feel like I was trapped inside myself unable to control my reactions.

My bpd has been acting up again since the little accident I got into yesterday, feeling like “I made a mistake so obviously I need to go home and kill myself” (not really but like simple mistake = suicidal ideation over them).

Someone once asked me how my bpd worked and I was like I over react and feel way too much at everything. Yesterday as I was going through all of this my brain was like “best way to describe to someone how my bpd works? I got lost once and I had suicidal ideation over it for 2 months after.”

I just had some bad dreams of being super jealous and being hurt and blah blah blah and i can feel my chest hurting and my brain is just telling me all the bad things you know? And my coping mechanism mentally is literally just picturing graphic self harm, which I’ve been on a kick of since my accident because of all the feelings.

Like god having bpd is so bizarre how do I explain to someone I gently rear ended someone by mistake yesterday and I’m dealing with it by imagining torturing myself and self mutilation.

I’m feeling that “I want to lash out because I’m hurting so much”, the “I wanna start shit because I don’t feel well”, the guilt-tripping, the manipulation, all of it. It’s so fucking hard knowing you’re a shitty fucking person who hurts people, and then when they stick around? And they still want to be with you? Sometimes you wish they would just leave because that’s what you deserve: if you’re going to hurt people you deserve to be alone and miserable and you deserve the pain. And when they stay you just feel so, so guilty. Screaming crying why am I such an awful person why can’t I just be normal why can’t I just love someone without ruining it. Yeah I feel that anon I’m so sorry.