#I'm trying to get myself back to work instead of being an unstable and depressed blob

[syggwolf]

And after doing all of option three, I would often come back, and I would say, "I'm sorry, I have BPD."

Saying 'I'm sorry, I have BPD' with zero further explanation or consideration of how I hurt someone and how I recognize that I hurt them was basically a declaration, a promise, that I was going to do this again, and also that I couldn't do anything about it. I was telling those around me that I could not control myself, that they could not relax around me. When you do that, you are dehumanizing yourself into an emotionally unstable bomb. One of the first clinical descriptions I read for BPD(I was working my way up through the literature, oldest to newest, probably a bad idea with a subject as janky as mental health, but hey I like to be thorough and I went to school for psychology.) was a description in some older literature that literally compared a person suffering from BPD to, wait for it... P L U T O N I U M. Thanks for that, old timey psychiatrist, you ruined my life for six straight months. I internalized that. I believed I was slowly killing everyone I loved, radiating stress and pain out at them and driving them away, that the only safe place for them was ANYWHERE BUT ME. I became deeply clinically depressed and convinced that I should probably just kill myself because I BECAME my diagnosis and that diagnosis was basically, "You're a substance that poisons people by existing.".

Then I discovered DBT. The entire premise of DBT is that with help from others, and learning to reorient your thought process and interrupt it in a healthy way, you can avoid exploding by being able to be honest about how you feel without making other people feel like garbage. Yes, I uncontrollably feel IMMENSE pain over what seems like trivial things to other people, but no, I do not have to turn that pain into incredible displays of outwardly directed violence. I can instead turn that pain into an honest and in depth discussion of the real problem I'm having and try to seek comfort and reinforcement that I am cared about with people who understand my condition. In short, my emotions are intense and unyielding, but I can still get them validated by people who actually care about me and understand that I have this illness. So the trick here is that instead of saying, "I'm sorry, I have(and am) my mental illness and I can't do anything about it.", you instead say, "I'm sorry that I hurt you, your feelings are important and I do not want to hurt you, and I am taking responsibility for my actions. You are coming first in this situation because I trust you to reciprocate. I have a mental illness called BPD, sometimes it overwhelms me, this is what that mental illness does to me and why, now that you understand me better and I've put your feelings first, here's how we can work together to prevent it from happening again."

There is never a simple and easy conclusion to the question of whether a mental illness or other illness or disability should be mentioned as a mitigating or explanatory circumstance. There IS a very good chance that it DID and will continue to play a factor. Having said that, there is also no point in turning yourself into your diagnosis or maliciously shifting blame to the diagnosis to avoid apologizing if you've actively done something that harms another person. Apologizing, even with a mental illness, will not kill you and does not undermine the seriousness of your mental illness or the fact that you lost control. Apologizing lets you TAKE control BACK by admitting you're a human being who makes mistakes and can hold the power to rectify them. It's empowering. Obviously, BPD cannot be cured. It's a lifelong disability that has cost me many a potentially good friendship and many good experiences over my lifetime. I cannot exist without saying I have BPD, but I can honestly say that I am not controlled by BPD. I am a sufferer of BPD who wants to fight back. I've found others who are willing to listen to me and respect what BPD is, as long as I understand when I've messed up and genuinely do my best to make them whole about it when I do, and I could never have done that by just saying, "I'm sorry. I have BPD."

Sick list of symptoms bro. Now try humanizing your behavior instead of pathologizing it.

[andaniellight]

Answering Ask Game for Fanfic Writers

Answering asks by beloved @neinnonay my forever indulging friend <3 <3 <3 from this post btw! Feel free to do it too if you see this :D

Q5: have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing

I sadly don't! I don't do playlist for my writing because i can't even get a solid hold of my own, which is why i think the writers who do are so impressive lmao i only do playlist for recommended songs of the pairings that i like and are suitable for them instead

Q11: what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? (also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?)

Oh! This was from a long time ago when I was working on my Witch Hat Atelier fic, 'Cascade(s)', that's unfortunately incomplete (because life happens), but I found out that "blue is a pigment that is unstable and dangerous”, and it is actually about Cobalt Blue pigment irl. Also, scientifically speaking, the safest pigment of blue is this pigment that's called YlnMn Blue / MasBlue that contains the the elements Yttrium, Indium, Manganese, and Oxygen. #TheMoreYouKnowIfYouDidNot

And, yes, I worry a lot about fact-checking because I'm the type of person who'd look up shit if I find something niche and interesting in the things I read to make sure if it's real/not. I reflect on that behavior as both a reader and a writer to clear more path for me for the plot or to make it as ornaments for the story, so it's more interesting.

Q17: what is your favorite line you've ever written?

Ough this is tricky... I'm trying to remember the most memorable ones and, uhhh. I think it's this one from The Batman fic I did in 2022: “You haven’t answered me,” Alfred says insistently, inviting Bruce back into the room, back to him. “Are you hurt, Master Wayne?”

Q35: tell us about a character who's very different than you who you love a whole lot

ngl THERE ARE PLENTYYY 😂 i think i can only talk about Luffy rn tho because of how totally different we are. i am everything that Monkey D. Luffy is not. he's genuinely the embodiment of hope that i'd often lose because of depression. I won't be able to dream so big and bravely like him. I won't be able to be brave so dauntingly like him in the first place lmao he's like. the gasoline to my fading flame that is my crushed soul... not to sound so fucking pathetic but yeah i love him with all my heart, he's the cutest and the sweetest and the dumbest yet the smartest and the most freeing character ever and i love him so much for it. even i still struggle writing about him for fics because i feel like i'm not being myself, but every second is just <3 <3 <3

Q41: what is the weirdest story idea you've ever had

Definitely this one where Daredevil and The Punisher both got turned into werewolves LMAO and i did published it on ao3! but the more i work on it, the more i realize that maybe this is never the one i want lmao sorry!!!

Q62: what's the weirdest reason you've ever shipped something?

SKSJDHKSJDFHKS does shipping Jack Frost and Hiccup back in the day counts as something? :) just because :)

Q63: what's the best insult you've ever read in a fic?

I can't answer with specifics for this one but I swear Spider-man fic writers are on God the masters for this thing. There are just SO MANY good insults by Peter Parker whenever he's being himself and all of them will never fail to crack me up I can't even pick one most favorite one.

[valehirvas]

Hi! I need help understanding what Is gender dysphoria from a transsexual perspective because I'm confuse at my own experiences and the doctors I've seen viewerd dysphoria as only wanting to/believing you are the opposite sex and nothing more

I’m not an expert on this obviously, all I’ve got is just my own experience.

For me, it’s primarily a strong desire and a feeling of “should be” about male sex characteristics. As a child, I would often cry in my bed looking forwards in my life thinking it was already over because I wasn’t a boy, not because being a girl to me was bad in itself - I didn’t view it as limitating or see myself as lesser in any shape or form, I just didn’t feel like my body was as it should have been and the thought of never physically becoming a boy was crushing to me. This came along with various stupid childish misadventures like trying to learn to pee like a boy to feel more comfortable: let’s just say that one ended up in a disaster. I also quite classically tried to explain to my mother how I felt - that I wasn’t like a “girl girl”, I was more a boy girl. Something like that.

I didn’t have social dysphoria at this stage, because I’m very privileged in the sense that my parents and most adults around me allowed me to be exactly who I was, and those who found me disagreeable and too boyish never explicitly made it a gender issue, so I was blissfully unaware of the idea that girls weren’t supposed to act the way I was acting. I was very much a tomboy, but I was never made to feel like this was a bad thing, it was just who I was. I was in a lot of minor trouble often because of how active and curious I was as a kid, but nothing worse than doing what other adventurous kids were getting up to. For example, we liked breaking into the sewer system to chase frogs. Our parents HATED it, for obvious reasons. Things like that. But these were hardly things that only boys got into, and my friend group was rather equally split between the sexes at the time, so yeah, no, my social dysphoria did not exist at this time.

With puberty, things got a lot rougher. It’s tough to tell how much of it was because of dysphoria and how much of it was because of abuse in my life; I was targeted by a school teacher who made my life hell and triggered my depression at the ripe old age of 11, and ever since things were just really difficult for me.

I was still struggling with wanting to be a boy; I only had male role models, only male ideals of what I wanted to grow up to be, in terms of media and idols. I desperately wanted facial hair. Meanwhile, I was being raised by a single mother, and my experience with men was dreadful, and puberty chased off my male friends so I was left living in an all-female bubble, pretty much. I didn’t feel separate from it, but I was certainly different. My friends went down a more traditionally feminine path while I was a clusterfuck of alternative fashion and obscure interests.

My biggest “oh” moment was when I was about 12 years old and for the first time approached my mom to buy my own set of clothes - I’d secretly wanted to dress up as one of the boys for a long time, but this was the first time I really got to try it out. Being a skater was in because this was the early 2000s, so I bought a large t-shirt and a pair of skate shoes, and yes, a skateboard, and when I looked into the mirror like that, I felt like I was in heaven. I felt like things were finally going right and that this was who I wanted to be, that this was who I was supposed to be.

When I was 14, I met my first trans person. I had a terrible crush on him, he was a couple years older than me and identified as an FtM. The year was, what, 2005? I knew instantly that I was the same as him, but it scared me so badly I swore off ever thinking about it again, and that I’d just live as a woman like I was meant to be, because he was extremely suicidal and abused alcohol and drugs, and I didn’t want to die like that. It just seemed like the worst outcome - I knew I was like that, too, but I didn’t want that future. I was afraid if I’d accept how I felt, I’d end up killing myself like he’d tried to do so many times already. So I went DEEP into the closet.

I struggled a lot with relationships, being viewed as a girlfriend and treated as such, like my partners telling me they loved how I looked, touching my body, appreciating it as a female body. I told my first love that I wanted to go by the name of Gabriel, and that I felt like a boy inside, but that was as far as I went. I was 15 at the time. Around the same age I got sent to a group home because the social services were struggling with me (I wasn’t attending school due to my depression and various other mental disorders, and they needed to get me off their books asap). There, I was assigned men’s deodorant because they were out of women’s, and I never went back from there. Little things like that just made me feel so much better in my own skin. Now I at least smelled like a guy. It felt heavenly. In this same place, my supervisor was a nice young woman who borrowed me movies to watch. One of them was Boys Don’t Cry. Let’s just say I was pretty badly traumatized by that, and went ever deeper in the closet, because once more I knew that I was exactly what was portrayed on the screen but the reality of it was... well, I’d either kill myself or be murdered. Nobody wants that. So yeah, there.

Afterwards I went hyperfeminine but also became incredibly toxic because of how bad I felt in my own skin - I was extremely unstable, but at least I was playing my role right, right? I was suppressing how I really felt and trying to force myself into some weird caricature of a woman to spare myself from a painful death.

I used to do a lot of larping as an older teen and a young adult. When I was 18, one of my girlfriend’s characters was transsexual, and I went looking for information about the condition, you know, having the excuse of just “doing research”. That was the turning point. It was so comforting to know that I wasn’t alone, that this was something other people had gone through, too. That I didn’t have to live like this forever.

The things that bothered me most were the fact that I couldn’t grow facial hair, and my chest, which has always been very large. I’ve never had particularly bad dysphoria about the shape and size of my body, and I coped with genital dysphoria by packing, but the fact that I couldn’t grow a beard was the worst thing in the world to me. I went through a year of self-searching and research, during which my girlfriend left me because, duh, she’s a lesbian and I’d just come out as a trans man and it just wasn’t working out anymore, but she stuck by my side to help me become who I wanted to be, and fuck if it wasn’t working. Embracing the way I’d felt and doing the things that helped me feel better - like wearing the kinds of clothes that gave me that sense of comfort and rightness, and binding my chest - helped me to such a big degree that I stopped being completely fucking awful as a person. I stopped flipping out at the smallest of triggers and slamming doors and shouting and being an absolutely unbearable piece of shit, and my ex has repeatedly told me how good it felt seeing me become so much happier before her eyes. I practically changed as a person when I started my transition, first socially and then eventually medically, I became a very calm and difficult to irritate kind of an individual instead of the mess I’d been the years before. And I don’t mean “changed as a person” like I adopted a different personality, just that I stopped being blinded with anger and self-hatred at all hours of the day and lashing out at anyone who dared to love me as I was because I couldn’t.

Starting medical transition scared the shit out of me, because I’ve always been afraid of permanent changes. I nearly ran out of my tattoo appointment last minute because the idea of being marked forever killed me, and I only have one piercing that I can take out without leaving a visible scar for that reason. So obviously, taking that step was horrifying to me, but after doing my time looking into my soul and reflecting on my needs and desires for a year, attending some councelling and in general looking into what I really wanted from my life, I finally entered the diagnostic process, which here took at the time six months at the very least and included a lot of more thorough examinations like a psychological evaluation, chromosomal check and even an IQ test to make sure I was capable of consenting to the treatments.

Testosterone was a gift from gods in how much it eased my dysphoria. I ended up quitting it eventually because of how much it messed with my mental disorders like anxiety, and worsened my psychosis, but in terms of how much more at ease I became with my body, I can’t thank it enough. Seeing my body grow more hair on it, even some of that facial hair I’d always wanted, was blissful. Having my voice drop was comforting and comfortable, and I was excited to practice it and get back my range for singing and speaking, and that whole period of changes was just so good to me. I can’t describe it any other way. My dysphoria’s never come back since I stopped, because the changes that happened were those that I’d so desperately needed the whole time. I never got top surgery because of weight limitations placed on it, and this was an enormous source of pain for me for a long time, but I’ve learned to cope with it now. I’m getting along with my boobs because they’re just a part of my body, that is, unless they start growing cancer which does run in the family, and I’m never not suspicious of them for that reason.

It’s just, it’s hard to describe the story of my dysphoria without telling you all of this. It’s not just one or two things, it’s a history of a lifetime, little things that are good and this grand shadow that follows you around and makes everything more painful and difficult to endure because it’s already weighting you down. The terror of realisations and going back in the closet, but also the unmatched comfort and feeling of finally being how you were meant to be when you see yourself more akin to the picture in your head.

There’s a lot that I’ve left out, and not much of this is probably very helpful, but it is what it is.

[luvleekaotix-imagines]

this is my first time requesting, ever, and I just wanted to ask if it was okay to request a Connor x Human! reader? the reader working alongside with Hank and Connor, and reed is always messing with them and Connor decided to take matters into his own hands? I would have written it myself, but I'm not very good at writing for Connor quite yet.

Anonymous said to luvleekaotix-imagines:

[screams] I LOVE U FOR WRITING CONNNOR AAaaAA. Can I request connor x reader where reader is human and is depressed, so he’s trying to understand it and doing his best to help her? TYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

A/N: a little more sassy!reader. some things you can’t pass off with sass tho.

✤✤✤✤✤✤

It was meant to be a regular day at work. You were actually feeling pretty good. The local bakery you passed were selling sweet buns with ube filling and it had been awhile since you had the treat so you bought a few. You wandered into the office with a half-eaten bun in hand and a little spring in your step.

“What the fuck is that?” Ugh. Gavin was waiting by the breakroom with a coffee in his hand which you hoped was shitty. “Why the are you always eating weird ass food?”

You hoped he was still pissed off about the little food ordering incident. “It’s a bun with ube filling.” You took a pointed bite. “It’s delicious. Not everyone is an uncultured swine like you and eats only boring white boy shit.” You were never in the mood to deal with Gavin Reed and his awful attitude. Like always you sneered at him without stopping on your way to your desk, but this time he did something unexpected. Gavin stepped in your way and you stopped, narrowing your eyes. “Move.”

“Nah.” He advanced with a threatening aura, but you held your ground. He wouldn’t physically do anything to you while people were in the office. You could already see some onlookers peering curiously. “I’ve had enough of your attitude. You need to shut the fuck up.”

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. “My attitude? My attitude, Reed? I’m only like this to you because I treat people the way they treat others and guess what, genius? You treat everyone around you like fucking shit.” You spat your words with as much venom as you could muster. There was no point in playing nice. Everyone knew you were over Gavin’s bullshit and you had been for a long time.

You had expected Gavin to give you that frustrated glare before storming off, but he simply smirked and you hated how it threw you off. “See that right there?” He pointed a finger in your face and you wanted to tear it off his hand. “That’s the reason you’re stuck where you are in your career.” Gavin laughed, “You’re never going to get a case of your own. You’re never gonna make primary and you’re always going to be fucking slave to the department because that attitude isn’t something we want here.”

It was like a slap in the face. You swallowed, your usual smart sass disintegrating beneath the possible bitter truth being thrown in your direction. You had hoped to one day have cases of your own instead of supporting others, but every single time there was an opportunity, you were denied the chance to take the lead. You hid the fact that you thought something was wrong with you really well—you hid it behind your smile and sarcasm and quietly buried your ambition.

“Just admit that you’re a shit wannabe detective. Make yourself useful for once and quit.” Gavin spoke lowly and you stared at him, for once not knowing what to do or say. You stood frozen, trying to grasp for something, but feeling it all slip. Still, you weren’t willing to give into this piece of shit human being. He didn’t deserve any kind of victory.

A hand gently touched your shoulder and you turned to see Connor standing beside you with his usual polite smile. How long had he been there? Oh god, what did he think of you after what Gavin said? Did he think you were useless too? “If I might interject—”

“This doesn’t concern you, dipshit, fuck off.” Reed snarled immediately.

You could see the LED indicator at Connor’s temple change from blue, to yellow and flash red for a moment before changing back to blue. He turned to you and you thought maybe you saw something a little different in his dark gaze. “Of course.” Instead of leaving, the android turned to face you fully and ignored Gavin. “I thought you’d like to know that Detective Reed’s statements about you may be untrue. In fact, I have data that contradicts his accusations. Would you like to hear them?”

What was going on? You were slightly confused but nodded slowly. “Sure, go ahead, wonder boy.”

“I’ve analysed the data on previous cases that you’ve worked on and they have an overall higher success rate than all of Detective Reed’s work which he mostly tries to do alone.” Connor relayed smoothly and you were sure if you were drinking anything you’d have choked on it. A smile grew on your face and the android smiled in turn. “On top of that, most of the cases that Detective Reed has solved were reliant on information that was gained by your efforts.”

You turned to Gavin who looked positively murderous.

“There is much more statistical data I can tell you about,” Connor tilted his head slightly, “but in summary, there is absolutely no proof in the statement that you are a—‘wannabe detective’—or that your attitude is detrimental to the department’s overall cohesiveness. There is proof, however, of the opposite.”

The android finished, still completely ignoring Gavin which only aggravated the detective more. “You fuckin—” He made a move towards Connor and you shoved the android back, fully intending to take whatever he was about to throw at your companion.

“Reed. My office, now.” Fowler roared from the stairs just outside his office. He sent you a look. “Don’t you go anywhere, after I’m finished with Reed, you’re next.”

Shit. You gave a half-hearted salute in response and watched as Gavin stalked off in a huff, flipping you and Connor the bird—it was a lot better than a punch though. Relief flooded your body and you slumped your shoulders. “You good, buddy?” You turned to Connor. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

Connor was silent as he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even really know why he had come to your defence. It wouldn’t have been very helpful for you to start a fight in the middle of the office, maybe it was that? Or maybe it was that he didn’t want you to get hurt and that he didn’t like the expression that you wore on your face when Gavin had said awful things to you. Something quietly became unstable in Connor’s processor. There were always lots of little instabilities whenever he came in contact with you.

“Ahhhhh, but I have to meet with Fowler later.” You whined, though with a smile on your face. “I find him such a cliche. Whaddya think, Connor?’

Connor thought he was happy to see you smiling again, but he kept it to himself for now.

[dandystones]

Yes means no.

***There are two parts to this long ass post because I didn't realise I had so much to say oops***

Setting boundaries, I recently learnt I've been terrible at that for most of my life.

I hate when people tell me what to do, to the point I'd do the exact opposite, but I always wanted validation. I sought it from everyone and their mothers because I never got it from myself.

The internet seems to talk a big game about how the universe will keep on sending you lessons in all it's glorious forms if we don't pick up on it; like how we always encounter the same toxic people and relationships, one after another.

It's funny when I recall them now.

***PART 1***

I like to think I've been very blessed when it came to friendship. All through my life, I've always felt that I made friends easily and had plenty of platonic support. However at different stages of my life, I've also noticed that despite all the good friends I surrounded myself with, I've always had that one person in my life who was just a little too self absorbed, borderline narcisstic and treaded way too close for comfort.

For reference, I'm going to list some people but not their whole names: my mum >> X >> O >> H >> C

The most coincidental thing I've come to realise is 1) that each person had a specific time in my life where they rose to prominence, or in other words, where they suffocated me the most 2) the end of each 'stage of prominence' was the start of the next. For example, when I thought I'd finally stepped out of my mum's narcissistic shadow, X stepped and morphed into that narcisstic figure until I'd decided it was time to cut ties. Around the same time, I met O and she slowly morphed into that person.

Continously, I realise I've always had that one presence in my life and each person would stay for many years until a breaking point, after which I would draw the line and keep my distance. As a rough estimate, I took about 25 years to understand that this exhausting cycle of going through toxic loved one after another is simply a lesson of setting boundaries.

I came to this realization in the past 6-12 months because I was having a particular hard time adjusting at work and it was really tough to master the art of stakeholder management. I won't say I'm an expert now, but I've gotten much better at putting my foot down and helping people to understand how their basic (read: brainless) actions are making my job unnecessarily difficult and defying my work ethics. I started to understand the importance of setting my own boundaries because we can never assume anyone would know them if we don't speak it.

Around the same time, I noticed the last person in this cycle, C had started to transition out of her role as the narcisstic shadow in my life entirely on her own. I've never had that happen to me without having to ruthlessly cut ties before. It's like something just clicked. On hindsight, the lesson just made sense and perhaps because I understand what it is now, there was no longer a need for the lesson to remain.

I always thought I was good at saying no to people, because I didn't care what they think which is true for the most part, I don't care what strangers think. What I came to realise about myself was that I needed help saying no to non strangers, people I care about, the people I need in my life.

***PART 2***

The word 'no' carried too much grief and associated history with abuse and neglect. My parents never made it easy for me growing up; affection was a competition between myself and both my younger sisters. My father could never find balance at work, so he overcompensated by trying to take control of everything at home. Nothing I said nor did could ever please him, he was always angry about the tiniest thing.

Everything was someone else's fault; between denying me any help with school work because I didn't go to a school of his choice and completely beating my self esteem down because I dare ask him for any help to a seemingly insignificant act like him accidentally stepping on my toes at the supermarket, he would twist and mold all my words until they made him looked like a hero in his own fantasy, that I was beneath him, and that everything bad that happened in his life was my fault and no one else's.

You couldn't fight him with reason even if you tried to, because he wasn't fighting for anything, he just wanted to win and he would say anything to wear you down. Every night would end in the same way, a disgustingly heated verbal mess between him, myself and my mom; abuse of any kind is simply the cheap power you get when you destroy people for the sake of your ego.

My mum was completely helpless in that regard, she stayed the hell out of his way whenever he had an outburst, even if it meant leaving me to fend for myself. I refused to back down from the injustice and his words dug its claws deeper in my gut, every quarrel we had made me sick with anger because no matter how hard I tried to defend myself, every takeaway was how each of his mistakes were the result of my failures even if it had nothing to do with it.

This went on for years. I knew I couldn't run away because I was underage, financially unstable and still needed a roof above my head. I felt absolutely helpless and remember crying myself to sleep all the time, praying to God to take me away - away from here, away from being the family's punching bag, away to another universe where parents actually protected their children, built them up and supported them.

Growing up in an environment where your survival thrived from avoiding all the stressors that could result in rage meant that I became extremely cautious in expressing my needs and opinions out of a fear of of displeasing my parents. Every subsequent outburst was a slap in the face, a painful reminder of how abandoned and unsupported I was in this family.

This led to a series of bad behaviors where I was desperate to please and longed for a life devoid of rejection. For the parts of myself who had endured so much neglect, I just couldn't bare the same devastation over again. Putting myself second and others first was easy as long as they were happy. I had this belief that if I accidently let myself be honest, people wouldn't accept me and I couldn't risk letting my guard down again.

Over time, I started saying yes to everything I wanted to say no to. Yes means no, no came with a '... but I'll do this for you instead' to overcompensate my fear. Slowly but surely, I became exhausted from pleasing people all the time. I said yes to social events I didn't care to be at, I patiently listened to every word of every person who needed me even if they didn't care to be there for me, I helped every toxic person who saw an opportunity to exploit my time and kindness. Without realizing, I was unnecessarily deriving a form of validation from being a yes-girl, I didn't know how to say no. Beyond that I'd lost my sense of self because I didn't know if anyone would care about me if I stopped doing all these things.

This obviously manifested in many unhealthy coping mechanisms and constantly wanting to be alone because I felt that everyone around me wanted something from me I couldn't give. It became a toxic cycle of self harm, feeling absolutely hopeless and finding sick joy in dreaming about the many different ways to end my life. At age 17, I've never felt more alone.

Ive had to see a counsellor for prolonged periods of my life and thisemotional abuse was one of the key moments that contributed to it.

Recovery was one hella of a slippery slope and had relapsed so many times I've lost count. I was convinced my abuse had rewired my body's ability to understand what love was, all I felt was the fire of resentment, burning my insides with the anxiety of having to live out the rest of my life in a bubble of 'my mistakes'.

Through my counsellor, we had to un-learnt the act of being too harsh of myself, as a result of the years I spent projecting my dad's expectations on myself. Rewiring your brain to calm itself down when you're triggered is difficult but not impossible. There were many scenarios where I became aware of the fact that the voice in my head mimicked my dad's in giving all but bone crushing criticism, guilt tripping my every move and spiralling myself into depression again.

Re-learning the notion of 'giving myself to others' whilst being 'unapologetically myself' was interesting and refreshing. Mostly, my subconscious got better at unlearning the act of constantly censoring myself for the sake of others; how to live freely & become a more honest version of myself regardless of the people around me. Not in any manner that might be of harm to others though, just in a way that allows me to stop relying on other people’s validation to keep my spirits lifted.

Every relapse back then sunk me into my depression, harder. Looking back now, I'm glad I didn't give up even though the chance was present and tempting every step of the way. Everyday still feels like a challenge, but I get it now when people say it gets easier

[buttercup-blue]

You are seriously goals, first of all. I just want to say I appreciate your existence. I also wanted to ask, though: do you have any tips on sugaring when you have a mental illness? I have depression and anxiety (granted, I mask them pretty well) and I want to make sure I'm doing everything I can to limit the impact on my hustle iykwim.

Hi there and thank you for the kind words! I'm actually really glad you brought this up, because mental health is super important to me. So just a little backstory on where I've been at while I've been a sugar babe... I've been medicated for almost four years now. I take an SSRI and a dopamine enhancer, both at a double dose. About a year ago, I decided (stupidly) that I felt fine and didn't want to be medicated for the rest of my life. About 6 months after I stopped taking them, shit went south and I obviously got back on them.I've been open with my SDs about having depression. It's not one of the first things I tell them because it comes off as unstable. But for me personally, identifying as being depressed is important for my psyche. It is a part of me whether I like it or not and I find trying to hide it or act like it's not there is bad for me. So I'm on a nice cocktail of meds now and feel like a normal person every day. But back when I started going south, I hit the breaks on sugaring. It's tough mentally and I didn't want to push it while I was susceptible to negative thoughts. BUT Travel Daddy and I had a Vegas trip planned (we've been a couple times) and I love traveling with him so I went anyways.I had just gotten back on my meds like a week prior and they make me sick and dazed until my body gets used to them. I was not at the top of my game and was open with him about it. We had enough fun that I was distracted, he sent me to the spa and made sure I was comfortable the whole time. But I still felt exhausted after the weekend instead of refreshed. So I guess what I'm getting at is that you are allowed to be human! I would not advise bringing it up on the first few dates, but you shouldn't mask it forever. Being in a good arrangement should feel similar to a relationship when you're together. Being honest and being yourself is attractive with someone long term. As much as this is sex work, we aren't blow up fuck dolls and are allowed to have feelings. And just general advice. You are the most important person in your life. Put yourself ahead of everybody else, always. I'm not saying to treat people shitty for your own benefit, but if something isn't good for you, lose it and don't look back. MEN'S OPINION OF YOU DOES NOT DETERMINE YOUR SELF WORTH. I have to tell myself that frequently when I'm on the prowl because you come across a lot of nasty guys when looking for an arrangement who just want to tear you down. If you have trouble finding a good arrangement, do not blame yourself. Be easy on yourself when you're having bad spells. Don't go on any new dates, don't push yourself into uncomfortable territory just for money. Taking care of yourself should be top priority. Again, sugaring is mentally taxing in and of itself. There's a lot of fucked up stuff that can happen that can be emotionally hard to deal with. Having depression/anxiety doesn't make you any less of a person, and it won't make you any less of a sugar babe. Take care of yourself, make sure you go to therapy if you need it and go on meds if you need them. If you don't have the money, if you're in a SR, I would imagine a man being more than willing to help you out financially for the benefit of your health. I do all of my sulking, sobbing and release of disgusting thoughts depression makes me have in the privacy of my comfy ass bed with my dog by my side. Any of the real shitty stuff, obviously keep to yourself or your therapist. I don't think TD wants to hear how I obsessively plot to kill myself when I'm off my meds. He has enough shit to deal with in his life, I don't want to add to the pile. Make sure you are composed when on dates. Don't put yourself in a situation where there's a possibility of falling apart. When I go on sugar dates I find I try and put my best foot forward. I make sure I'm primped and clean, walking with confidence, speaking with confidence, genuinely trying to enjoy life. After a while, that confidence I found carried over into my vanilla life and I became a better me.Sorry this response was all over the map, but I hope at least some of it is useful. Having a mental illness is taxing, but it shouldn't limit your life. Be in tune with who you are and how your feeling and you'll find the right fit.