#Bkwk vents

[black-king-white-knight]

Vent.

I swear to fucking god I want a sugar daddy.

Or a brain transplant.

Because I either need to get an entirely squeaky clean brain that won’t get pissed every time she makes a “joke” about my autism or money to just fucking leave.

And that’s not even the worst thing she did in six hours.

Ah well. At least my father’s only implied that I had less than half a brain recently.

[black-king-white-knight]

Oh for fuck’s sake Tumblr.

Get your fucking shit together.

A read more is supposed to fucking work.

That means not need text before it.

Ugh. Just wish my stupid fucking brain would switch off sometimes. Maybe then I’d stop wanting to die so much.

[black-king-white-knight]

This is just a vent post.

And this is just to chew up space so the actual vent stays below the Keep Reading.

Because apparently that’s something Tumblr won’t do now.

Fuck. Maybe living with my parents is a good thing. Eating’s already a fucking shitshow, maybe I’ll finally get somewhere healthy now with the constant reminders and ‘jokes’ that two meals a day is me being a pig.

Then she’s up and sighing and suggesting what I can eat in that put-upon voice of hers. Yeah, thanks. I know I’m a fat ugly fuck already, but thanks for reinforcing that all my life. You’d made your opinion on fat people *so* fucking clear too.

Still. It’s not all bad. At least you’ve stopped making jokes about my autism. And my father’s stopped pretending to swing for me as a joke. And my brother only chased me around the house with a plastic knife and a fly swatter when I was a kid that one time. Fucking fantastic insight into how he saw me that was.

Mr. “Oh, I didn’t realise we weren’t both having fun at the time.” Because he just burst out of his room and started chasing me when he was taller, stronger, faster, and armed, just screams, “FUN” to anyone with two fucking braincells, shit head.

It’d be nice if my mother wasn’t still of the, “face your fear and you’ll get over it” bent about my constant anxiety, but I shouldn’t be greedy.

Fuck. I need a therapist. Just gotta not kill myself long enough to get somewhere good enough to get one. Try explaining to my parents that I need a therapist because of them though.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been mentally and emotionally self-harming since I was six.” Those nightmares did help me though...

I can’t even get them to accept a shortening my of deadname because I cannot stand the long version.

And my LDR. Oh honey, you need someone better than me.

Motherfucker.

[black-king-white-knight]

Vent.

Can’t tell if this is just a really intense desire to hurt myself or if I’ve graduated to actually wanting to die. So yay.

But, of course. I don’t want to kill myself. Just die, not kill myself. Because I can’t be that fucking productive.

Now I’ve ended up picking a fight with my SO while trying to explain my head full of shit. Looovely.

[black-king-white-knight]

Since I’m really not having a good night tonight, I’d love some distraction. Cute animals, weird facts, Sanders Sides/Shorts/Cartoon Therapy headcanons, (preferably Moxiety or anything with Remy) would be really appreciated. Just anything to drag me out of my own mind for a while.

[black-king-white-knight]

You know what? My anxiety can go fuck herself. I do know what I’m doing and if my anxiety wants to be a little bitch then she can fuck right off.

My writing *is* good.

Although scientifically batshit, I grant you.

[black-king-white-knight]

I hate writing. I really, truly do. I mean, it’s great, it’s fun, it requires me to use my brain. Which wakes up my anxiety. So I start over thinking everything. Yaaay.

I’m now going through my AU wondering if my titles are too pretentious. If I’m over explaining things. On a brief outline fic that probably no-one’s going to read anyway, even if I do publish it. Thank you, anxiety.

[black-king-white-knight]

Vent.

Tfw I know I’m going to enjoy what I eat but I know when I start I’m going to end up pigging and then my ED’s going to rebel and I’ll end up feeling awful and skipping two meals a day for a week or some shit to cope. Ah well. At least I haven’t intentionally vomited my food since then.

And a round of touches I can’t get out of without being yelled at for being so groumpy and told to “get a sense of humour” and a day of being misgendered and deadnamed.

Happy Birthday to me indeed.

[black-king-white-knight]

Vent.

Can I just find a nice person to murder me please?

Or even a bad one. Someone who should be arrested or something can be slapped with a murder charge, I get my wish, everyone’s happy.

[black-king-white-knight]

Vent

Trigger Warnings: Mental Health, Self-harm mentions, Swearing, Eating Disorder mentions, violence mentions, vomit mentions, death mentions.

I’ve just emerged from my current self-harm spiral so I’m clearing my head of some of the shit I hurt myself with. Until next time. And feeling nostalgic, apparently. And no, I am not going to kill myself.

I’ve been self-harming since I was six. Not physical. Mental and emotional. Well I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember and my memory goes back reliably to the plane going to England. And me throwing up all the way there. Heh, and all those people around me wondering where the fuck it was all coming from. I wonder if my eating disorder started back then? I mean, those lists of mental and emotional self-harm symptoms include shit like, “deliberately triggering yourself”, “not eating when you’re hungry” and “not covering up when you’re cold”. Also social isolation. Four of my biggest practices when I was in school. Still are.

Then again, being too autistic to eat sometimes was also the problem. Being too young to cook safely for myself, then not wanting the huge fights and interrogations about why I wouldn’t eat the food my mother made. “I’ve never forced you to eat anything in your life. I’ve just never given you any other option.”

Yeah. Thank you, mother.

Ugh. So many years at school skipping lunch because I was terrified of being judged for what I was eating or my autism just screamed “NO”. Force down a dinner that night and then bring it up in the toilet later.

I want my healthy body back. Where I can look down and see my ribs without needing to such anything in. Motherfucker. Not this fat fucking ugly thing now please. I don’t want it.

My brother throwing a knife at me while chasing me around the house. Only a plastic knife he made at school but it still had an edge to it. And he had a flyswatter in his other hand. Fucking CHARMING mental implication of how he saw me when I was 10 or so. I mean, fair enough, but he didn’t have to say it.

“I didn’t realise we weren’t both having fun.”

Really? I was being chased by a knife wielding (the blade of which came off the handle and flew past me into the garden, I fucking thought he threw it at me) boy who was taller, physically stronger, and physically faster than me when I’m not scared shitless.

Yeah. REAL fucking fun.

Oh well, he was just getting his own back for me almost murdering him I guess.

And my father... nothing there really. Some threats to decapitate me, some of those jokes where he pretends to punch me and laughs at my flinch... not respecting the privacy of my room, but he does of my computer and that’s the important part.

At least my mother’s stopped joking about my autism. Maybe because she now seriously thinks I might have it, perhaps.

If only I’d used that knife when I was six, maybe everything’d be better.

[black-king-white-knight]

Vent

Triggers: Eating disorder mentions, self-harm mention, lots of swearing. And me just being a salty, bitchy little bastard.

Ahh, Google. I can understand their stance and corporate desire to want to be the cheapest whore in the world, throwing themselves at anyone with an ad who waves a couple of coins in their direction, but I would have thought someone with two brain cells to run together would have explained the concept of not trying to kill their customers.

Apparently, that concept is far too fucking complicated for them.

Which isn’t actually surprising, but given they put the effort into trying to look responsible with their motto being, “Do the right thing”, I wonder what they did to whoever had enough brain cells to understand the value of appearance.

So last night I’m on my phone looking for the app, “Meal Log” because I’m pretty sure I’ve got an eating disorder, but it’s not on the Google Play Store. That I was able to find, anyway. Same thing happened when I went looking for the “Calm Harm” app a little while ago. (Maybe I need to update my browser?) Although, to be fair there, looking for Calm Harm was just unhelpful, there weren’t any potentially triggering apps there.

What was there, instead, were a pair of ads showing calorie counting apps, (just the fucking thing you want when looking for an ED assistance app) and a whole load of other ‘fitness’ apps which just seemed to all be meal trackers and/or glorified calorie counters.

Because this was last night I’ve already had my tantrum of calling google whores and incompetent fuckers (more than I have been here anyway, a previous draft was just all caps and way more swearing) and I’ve now just switched to apathy, so I can’t be bothered pointing out all the ways this problem could be fixed by someone at Google rubbing two brain cells together and producing a spark, but whatever.

Just... fuck you, Google.