#OKAY POST OVER stuff like this makes me fall into an existential spiral

[peekychu]

Super surreal seeing hyperfixation and special interest enter the mainstream vernacular when sometiems.... An interest is simply an interest lol. These words are losing their original meanings.

It's bonkers to me how many words/terms coined within a niche space (mostly by and for underprivileged groups) gradually fall into the hands of popular white youth, then eventually capital media until the soul is sucked out of the original word. Language is bonkers and nothing is sacred xD

[amazinganxietyisnotonfire-blog]

trapped behind those pretty blue eyes

CHAPTER ONE

chapter two >> 

AO3 LINK

Summary: Dan recalls Phil’s spiral down into a psychotic fit. I tried to make this as brutally honest as possible but there’ll be more fluff in later chapters.

Quote: I can't believe that I was sat at dinner complaining about a lack of sex when Phil was going through hell on earth, and I didn't even understand. I still don't, to be honest.

Genre: heavy angst 

Word count: 2069

Triggers: mental illness, schizophrenia (implied), near death, suicide attempt (kind of, not really), kissing, vomit, termites, hallucinations 

Uh, hello internet I guess

AmazingPhil's channel has always been filled with stories about strange people he's met or other bizarre little occurrences. He's a magnet for the unusual. It makes sense, in a lot of ways, as he's unusual himself. He's always been an imaginative person, and maybe that was why I never noticed. I knew Phil as this incredible, happy, brilliant, amazing man and maybe that was my problem. I'd spent so much of my life idolizing him that I struggled to see the cracks forming in his foundation. I don't know... I don't know if I'll ever be able to post this but I just need to talk.

- - -

Phil's weird stories had started to clump up. That afternoon he was telling me about a strange man "woofing" in his ear, and making me laugh. We were sat on the couch, his head leaning on my shoulder. Still giggling, I tackled him onto the couch. I couldn't help it. He just looked so happy. I was always jealous of that, of his happiness. Whenever I ended up crying on the floor because I was hopelessly upset about nothing, in particular, I envied him. I wanted to see what it was like inside his brain.

Anyways, we were kissing, and before long he tried to flip us over. He succeeded, but he also managed to roll us off the couch. I landed rather softly and couldn't be bothered to care, especially not when he started to plant kisses on my neck. I promise this story has a purpose other than kissing, I just, I--It's hard to talk, uh. But, we were kissing until he froze. He tilted his head to the side as if trying to hear something. Something about Phil's look told me to be quiet. Before long he shook his head and we went back to kissing.

I let myself forget about how strange that was almost immediately. There just wasn't any reason to worry. He seemed fine. I have to tell myself that no one could have seen what was going to happen next. I can't--I can't deal with the regret. I, I'm sorry.

Okay, I can do this. I need to do this.

It took another month for me to notice something else happening. I suppose there might have been other, little signs but this was the next really important thing. I'd woken up, for some reason, and Phil was gone. I decided to go see if he'd just decided to sleep in his own bed. I know it's dumb, but I get nervous when I don't know where Phil is. He was always so good about that. Anyways, sorry, so I was walking down the hall when I heard it. It was quiet but I could make out what sounded like Phil arguing with someone. I couldn't make out the words but he sounded really upset and I felt weird about eavesdropping. If Phil had woken up in the middle of the night to go make this call it felt wrong to try to figure out what he was saying.

But who am I kidding? Of course, I wanted to know.

I tiptoed over so I was standing by the door and could just barely peek through the crack. He was saying things like, "no... no I can't... you need to leave... leave me alone... shut up," and I couldn't guess who he was talking to. I moved a little closer to try and make out the mumbling I heard between those words when I heard him jump to his feet. I panicked and ran back to my room as quietly as I could. I hid under the blankets until Phil came to lay next to me. I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't have to confront him. I know, it was cowardly.

After that, little things kept happening. He started to be missing from the bed a lot more and started to get twitchier than usual but I didn't ask him about it. I tried, once, but he laughed it off and I just let him. I just let him pretend to be okay, maybe because I needed him to be okay. I needed him to be the one to ground me after my latest existential crisis or remind me that life was just as exciting as it was scary. So I just let him pretend to be okay.

It really started to get worse two months after I started to think anything was wrong. We were home, late at night, and Phil was lying on the couch on his laptop when all of a sudden he bolted upright and shouted, "shut up," at the top of his lungs. I was in the bedroom when he started screaming. Naturally, I ran out to see what was wrong. He just kept screaming at something to shut up. I didn't know what to do. I tried to argue with him that there wasn't anyone making noise but he looked so terrified that eventually I just stayed with him until he collapsed into tears. I remember him whimpering about how loud they were, and I didn't know what to do. All I did was help him to bed.

The next day he convinced me that it was just stress. I don't know why I let him convince me, but I did and we spent the next week being lazy. We called it pajama week, and he seemed to be getting better. Or, at least I let myself believe he was. I love him so much, and I didn't want to scare him away like I almost did back in 2012 so I just let him tell me he was okay. I gave in and nothing changed.

Phil got very secretive after that. He avoided me as much as possible and he stopped leaving the home. He only got dressed to film videos. The rest of the time he stayed in days old clothes and started sleeping in his own bedroom. He said he was sick and didn't want to get me sick, but the days turned into weeks and before I knew it he'd been "sick" for a month. It was believable because he'd lost a significant amount of weight and always looked ill, so I let myself fall for it. I let myself ignore all the times I would catch him talking to himself or looking over his shoulder. I tried to convince him to go to the doctor's, but whenever I brought it up he got really angry with me. Like swearing at me. Phil never swears. But there he was, swearing at me.

None of you guys ever knew because he could hide it so well for short amounts of times, and when he could reshoot videos a million times it was easy to pretend, but he was getting worse.

I didn't understand it. Most of the time he would just avoid or lie to me, but sometimes he would crack. There were a few times that he would crawl into my bed, what used to be our bed, and cry that they were too loud and beg them to stop. I would hold him, but the next morning when I tried to confront him he would scream and I would tell myself that I couldn't force him into doing anything. I was always the stubborn one, and he was always the older, smarter one. I used to run to him whenever I needed anything, whether it be permission to leave uni, a hug, or even editing tips. Now he was the one falling and I didn't have anywhere to run to, anyway to help him.

So, I just let things get worse. I would soon come to regret that. By then I knew something had to be seriously wrong, but I guess part of me didn't want to admit it. I couldn't just force myself to man up and do something to help the man that had saved my life countless times. So I just let him fall and tried to convince myself that I was helping him by just being there for him.

I don't even know why we had that stupid thing of pest killer. I must have bought it when we found rats, but we ended up learning that we didn't need a jug of the stuff.

I went out, to get dinner with a friend, and I complained about Phil. I complained that we hadn't had sex in weeks, that he was always irritated with me, that he'd gotten so reclusive. I complained about him but I didn't tell the truth. I didn't tell about the voices or the fear. I can't believe that I was sat at dinner complaining about a lack of sex when Phil was going through hell on earth, and I didn't even understand. I still don't, to be honest.

I went home and it was so quiet. I was used to it, so I didn't think much of it and hung up my coat. I stumbled into the kitchen, a bit tired and a bit tipsy, and was immediately hit by the smell of vomit. I looked down and Phil was sat curled up, shaking, in a puddle of his own sick. Next to him was the opened thing of pest killer. I shouted at him, asking what he'd done. All he could say was that they were gone, that the bugs were gone. I called the hospital and told them everything I knew, crying. Phil just kept going on about the termites in his organs and puking. He screamed, trying to point out the termites that he saw in the vomit.

This next part gets blurry. I remember crying, and feeling like I'd been shot in the stomach. As I waited to see if Phil would even live I couldn't believe that I'd let him get this bad. I blame myself, logically that doesn't make sense, but I just keep wondering what I could have done differently. I had no idea how much pain he was in. I used to wish I could live inside his mind, but now I don't think I could have survived it.

Phil did. He was on life support for eleven hours before the dialysis managed to rid his system of the chemicals. I stayed with him the whole time. Once he came to he panicked, screaming, and they sedated him. The next time he woke up he was a little calmer. While he was sedated I had to sign off on his transfer to a psychiatric ward. He's an adult so they can only keep him there for 72 hours against his will, but they're hoping that he won't want to leave.

I'm trying to get a power of attorney to show that he's not mentally well. I have to. I let him fall, I don't want to take him home and let him kill himself. He isn't safe. They say he's having a psychotic episode. They say that it might be schizophrenia. I was filling out forms all night. I don't understand how my Phil ended up drinking pest killer. I can't understand this. I know that he'll be safer at the hospital, where people understand his illness.

But it hurts so badly.

When I told him where he was going he screamed at me that they were going to kill him and that I was abandoning him. He screamed that I hated him. I told him I would visit him tomorrow. He told me to fuck off.

I love him, and I know this is his brain chemistry talking, but it just hurts. I just want him back, and I'm willing to put in the work to help him. I owe him. This isn't a romantic illness, and I don't think love will cure him, but I can't imagine it will hurt. It'll be okay. We'll go to the doctors and therapists and he'll get better. He has to. I need him to. He was always the most positive part of me, but now all I can see when I close my eyes is him screaming that he hates me.

That's all.

I guess if I ever post this, you guys didn't even know that we were dating, but right now that doesn't feel like an important secret anymore.

Bye.

// wooh, that’s my first tumblr fic. let me know your thoughts!

[thatgirlwhoworksforwhatshew-blog]

rant: relationship, pt 1

okay, so long story short, my friend was going through a hard time with convincing her boyfriend to trust her, that she has no intentions of getting back with her ex. 

i wasnt exactly intending on making much of this, but just tell her to break up with the guy,if hes being too much of a toll on her mental health, and if he cant help himself to trust her. because from what i learned, we cannot bring people to trust us, atleast through words. ‘what happened once, always can happen another time’. what ever. 

okay, this interaction with me breaking things down to her, got me thinking about various things with my own life and relationship i shared with a close friend of mine. we had troubles with trusting each other, because in a way, we never got to accept each other in the truest sense, when we had the time, and then, when we realised we are too late to repair the damage.so (i guess) we cut it off, we dont talk anymore!

okay, so me, actually talking about this, is because her talking about her relationship made me realise how much my relationship with HIM was very very damn special. im not holding a bias because it involves me, but honestly, i could sense it. our relationship was complicated in many layers, and it was beautiful. not being a masochist, but i liked the hardtimes too, they made me feel alive. we somehow worked together to solve any issue we had, any awkward situation, any sad situation, any fight. yeah, there were times when i used to cry to sleep, hallucinate, shower multiple times to wash off the history, but all, i realised was because i wanted a fresh start a cleaner one. 

okay, there was some sort of mental health disturbances for sure, which i believe is something i can never give space for, in my life or functioning. apart from that, i guess we shared a pretty good bond, in the weirdest sense, we’d smoke up, sleep in, eat, listen to music, and talk good stuff on phone. 

well, that did get screwed up with a lot of sex in the middle, when all we did was just fuck, and we lost the essence, which was exactly when we started to fall apart. what i felt like could work, just backfired and i myself was in it just for sex, and later on, forgot to give it all a thought, and fell into the spiral of ‘us’ without identifying what we are. rest is history, for another time.

so, talking to my friend, i kept specifying how she might still want to hold on to things they ‘both’ specifically shared, and she tells me, shes got just some mushy conversations about him over ig, and promises of marriage and some stupid plans, which she herself no longer cares about. 

i mean, that was not inducted, she said it. so im shamelessly quoting her.

so, now, the question is, why in the world would she want to be with her so called boyfriend? im so pissed. ill explain in detail. ‘

okay, so this isnt any normal everyday blonde im talking about, shes a pretty rational person who claims to have figured out love as a philosophy student. she is committed to this guy, for what you may ask, she dosnt know. im sorry, but i havent been as disturbed and as disappointed in my friends for so long, i can feel my insides move.

back to the question,  why in the world would she want to be with her so called boyfriend? which beings me to, ‘why do people want to call partners like that as a boyfriend/girlfriends’ when they dont mean it, or have intentions of sticking to the role? 

dont even get me started on the vocabulary these cliches share, i just cannot begin to describe my disdain towards this behaviour, which i cannot pinpoint one specific reason to. i mean, this milllenial lingo itself fucks me up, but this specifically fucks me in the a hole.

so, why do these people not want to go to sleep without hearing a meaningless ‘i love you’? i believe, giving attention is part and parcel of a relationship., and this fucks me up again. why would you crave for fake attention? approval for the sake of approval is not approval enough. fuckers. 

and whats with the fun and fancy of being in a relationship to show the world, what a great couple you are? click pictures and fucking post them to get more approval, and do what? climb up  a social ladder!

i cannot begin my rant about girls wanting to date, because they want a man in their lives. whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy? fuck off people. get something serious to concentrate on, in life. read i dont know, existentialism!

okay, we’ll move to me now. 

i can say im a sucker, for back talking about my own friend, i honestly dont have many friends who are dating rn, because i am fucking not interested in their fucking private lives. i filtered out gossip-less friends, and who give me brain food to be in my contacts. fucking douches can stay out. but again, i have no problem if you can put your problems in your pockets, dont cry over the advices i give which could have worked, but you chose not to take. and, im not man-hating or love-hating person. trust me, i love the concepts of both. i just never met a man or fall in love. i respect and idealise both so much, that i hate when people disrespect and misuse things for the fukssake.

okay, the reason im ultra pissed is, because what i held with HIM was so fucking precious for me, and if at all i had a chace id want to do it all again, or even start anew with HIM. but people are getting second chances for mundane relationships, and here i lay in my quarantined life, all alone, looking forward for my token number to a neverland. 

again, im not hating anything or anyone. because people are complicated, and relationships are another level. you need to find the spark, and work if you feel like its worth it. and i agree, you dont know where youre going until you reach., but there needs to be a spark which you realise once in a while which makese you want to live and share your time with the [person. idk, what or where this is going, but i just want people to find that spark, that person who makes you feel like the mundane everyday things and everyday relationships with people are just bullshit, and gives you an entire new narrative of life, and makes you live and aspire a better life, together. 

fuckers, dont commit until then!

peace out!