#depression spiral

[random-ass-memes]

[sapphicsigh]

Been feeling really dyshoric recently, and it's so incredibly frustrating. Like I want to start wearing a binder but

1. If a sports bra is too tight, I feel Iike I'm constricted, and then that makes me feel like I'm having an asthma attack

2. I don't have $40-$65 to spend on a binder

I just need to head to the thirft store to see if I can get some clothes that better suit me, but clothes shopping is so emotionally draining. I just don't have the spoons.

AND ANOTHER THING! what is considered "masculine" and what is considered "feminine" is so fucking arbitrary like...fuck you society for creating the concept of gender. I HATE YOU.

Commiserate with me plz

Or

Practical advice/tips would be welcomed

[thediktatortot]

Little Steve ficlet i wanted to just write out. I understand that you can't dive into the emotions of all the characters in one show, but I really wish there was just a little more visual nuance when writing characters after tragety happens.

Warning for suicidal thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanism.

------

It's over, Eleven says, her tone and expression so matter of fact that Steve can't feel any atom in his body doubt what she says.

It's all finally over and Steve Harrington can finally breath, he can finally go home and begin to put his life back together and start thinking about the future and what he wants to do with it because no more monsters are coming around to try and sometimes excede at killing the people around him.

Except, when Steve does finally get home, takes the shoes off his sore feet that have been carrying him all night on legs that burn with overuse connected to a torso that's seen better days attached to a pair of arms that can't lift up passed his waist and a head so full of the sounds of monsters screeching, children screaming for their lives and the flashes of oily muck and dark red blood, that it takes everything in Steve's body just to keep him standing.

Forget breathing, Steve thinks to himself as he makes a puddle out of himself in the front entrance of his house, the echoed sound of his own chopped and harsh breathing the only thing greeting him as he lays on the cold tile floor.

They like the cold, Steve remembers, a viceral feeling of fear washing over him from head to toe is enough to get him to push himself up off the tile and onto his hands and knees.

It's over, he thinks to himself, it's over and all Steve has left to do is to pick himself back up and move on with his life.

But there's a joke in there right? Steve Harrington gets to move on, gets to keep on trucking while the list of names on Hawkins Post Memorial section grows with every passing day. Steve Harrington gets to live and die knowing that there was nothing he could do to save anyone who died, knowing none of those people had easy deaths and were confused and alone while Steve Harrington gets to come home and sleep in his own bed and live to see another day.

It's taking everything in Steve's power to just breath right now, dark spots in his blurred vision while he fights against the vice grip against his lungs in his ribcage. It hurts. It hurts so bad and there's nothing he can do to change anything that's happened.

He can't get them back. He can't tell them it will be okay and that it wasn't their fault or that they should appreciate every day because today might actually be their last.

He can't go back to tell Barb just to stay inside, or that maybe he could walk her to her car to make sure she got home safe, or tell Nancy she should take her friend home.

He can't go back and tell Billy that things would get better once he got out on his own, that maybe they can be friends instead of posturing to one another in some weird dick measuring contest that Steve is pretty sure was Billy compensating for something he was lacking in his own life. Maybe he could have saved Billy from the tragic end he had endured if only he had let his own pride go and just talked to him.

He can't go back and save Eddie, tell him Chrissy's death wasn't his fault and that he should stick around because Dustin looked at him like he was the coolest thing since sliced bread and how if he gives up now the world wont get to experience his guitar skills and wicked humor. Maybe if he would have stayed with Dustin and sent Eddie with the girls he might still be alive and Dustin might not be more silent then he's ever seen him.

He can't save anyone and he can't save the lost opportunities and moments he might have had if he would have just made better choices and he'll have to live the rest of his life knowing the truth.

Life is brutal. It does not hold it's punches.

-----

Steve had awoken on the entrance floor of his home after he passed out from his panic attack, the panic and fear that he had felt when he had first gotten home completely absent in the face of pure numbness that overtook him the moment the morning sun met his tired eyes.

It comes in waves, the emotions, rising with the suns settings and welling up so loud that only the blaring of the TV playing movies can drown out.

Sleeping means being alone with your thoughts so he just doesn't, waiting for his body to take it from him instead. The sleep deprivation doesn't last long, can't keep it up and still function in any meaningful way seeing as Robin pulled him into helping out volenteer.

He hates it, being around people so full of hope and ignorance, putting a smile on his face when all he wants to do is cry. It's like sandpaper on his patience, with every 'It only gets better from here' and 'God has a plan for us all', Steve wants to throw everything he's doing on the ground and curse every single one of them.

How can they be so happy? Why does HE have to be the one to know what happened, to know what really happened? Why does everyone else get to move on and forget the people who died when he has to live with their faces in his mind for the rest of his life?

He stops volenteering. He can't do it anymore, a whole month of well wishes and promises for a better future and he just can't stand it anymore.

His parents are home again at least, their business trip before spring break having gotten lengthened due to the earthquakes and the town lockdown, but their home. Steve wants to tell them, to open up about what happened but he knows he can't, makes up watered down events to at least let them know he...experienced things. He can't fake the pauses he takes, the harsh breaths he has when a memory overtakes him or the tears that well up in his eyes as he thinks about all the people who should still be here.

They care in their own ways which helps just a little, Steve's father reaching out to him through sports numbers and requests to help him clear out his office. He hasn't asked yet why he's clearing his office, but he thinks they might be thinking about moving, especially with everything that's happened in Hawkins over the last few years.

Steve's mother takes him with her everywhere, the grocery, to the post office, to pick up supplies from the hardwear store, to talk with the neighbors a street down. He has to take a walk when one of those neighbors ends up being the Cunningham's neighbors, unable to hear the coverup version of events through a mouth who'd only known what happened after it was on the news.

It takes everything in him to leave the house, to get out of bed or off the couch and get out into the sun of early summer in Hawkins. If Steve's mother is irritated by it, she never lets it show, giving Steve a rare show of patience for his moods.

His wounds still bother him, somehow never having gotten infected like he had expected them too, but he assumed it must have been the near compulsive need to clean himself off and clean his wounds that helped prevent it during those first few days. The wounds itched, a constant nagging at his stomach, shoulders and back like itches he just couldn't scratch, adding to his already bright and sunny mood.

Steve was lonely.

After summer set in to its fullest, Steve noticed just how little anyone came to see him, their own lives busy with picking up the pieces and figuring out how to make a new puzzle that still made sense even with pieces missing. Robin called him almost every day which helped just a little, knowing he wasn't forgotten keeping him getting out of bed in the morning like he had something to look forward too still.

But still...it wasn't enough.

Steve was lonely in a way that his parents being around, midnight phonecalls and hugs from tweens couldn't fix, a deep sinking need of intimacy and closeness that had eluded him all his life and that gaping void was only made wider by all the digging the Upside Down did on his life's priorities.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to save himself or ask to be saved and the energy it would take to explain all the little details that clawed into his mind at night and kept his mind spiraling and his breath halting just didn't feel worth it. Everyone has problems, especially everyone in Hawkins and Steve was not a man to burden others if he knew there was nothing they could do to fix it.

Maybe things would get better some day, he would tell himself, willing his mind to think of better and happier things like he was trying to coax a dog out from hiding with a bone. Sometimes the neediest of dogs still stay at a distance, pain and terror etching itself into their minds to the point of no return.

Maybe he would die tomorrow, drown in his own tears or pass out from hyperventilation but maybe his body wouldn't keep breathing like it usually does when he passes out. Maybe he'd get hit by a car as he drives his mother to the grocery store, hoping they hit his side instead of hers. Maybe his mom would finally leave his father if Steve was the only one left holding her back. Maybe his father would go find a woman who met his desires and keep her for once.

Maybe he'd trip and fall down the stairs, or step into the road at the wrong time, or choke on something, or maybe he'd just do it himself and take himself out of his own misery so the thoughts can finally stop.

Movie nights with Robin are bandaids.

Dinners with the Hendersons are little slices of too sweet hours stippled through his weeks that leave a fake sugary feeling in his mouth that comes with whipped sugar donuts, never as creamy or satisfying as cream donuts.

It's hard to shower.

Showers make him think of Billy, showers make him think of water and lakes and sometimes it's just so hard to take his clothes off and put them back on again that he skips the full routine and washes his face before going to bed instead. He used to be good at brushing his teeth, but now he usually doesn't remember until he's disgusted with himself and furiously destroying his gums at two in the morning because if he doesn't brush his teeth right then and there, they'd fall out and he'd finally look like the slob he feels like.

It's hard to eat.

It's a chore to make food, anything that doesn't come pre-prepared or easy to make in a few minutes is out of his skills right now. Coffee is easier. It tastes good, it's constant, it helps him keep awake and if he drinks enough of it, he barely notices the hunger until later in the afternoon. The shakes and nausea are horrible though, sometimes horrible enough to get him to sit on the kitchen floor in front of his fridge picking at anything in grabbing distance he can stick right into his mouth.

It's hard to look at his friends or his family.

He can see they see him, he knows what they see, can feel the thoughts of pity and wishes to make him feel better when they can't and it kills him inside. He hates knowing how he looks because he should just be able to do the things he needs to do and if no amount of external judgement can help, then what will?

It's hard to be sober now.

At first the alcohol helped him fall asleep, kept him just tipsy enough to make pushing the darker thoughts to the side easy enough to function, but soon it stopped working. He drank more, but the hangovers and the shakes he started to get were enough to push him to other things, having to drive all the way to a town over to get weed since...since Hawkins dealer was out of the picture now.

That helped for a while, the haze taking away the fear and thoughts long enough for him to fall asleep at night and get real rest, but it never lasted long. His tollerence was too high now, a single joint not enough to get him dazed anymore and it was eating through his savings every week.

It's hard now to exist.

The drugs aren't working and there's nothing he can do to put the breaks on his life and make it stop for just one fucking second so he can breath, and it's just so hard to breath. It hurts to breath, it hurts to wake up, it hurts to talk it hurts it hurts everything hurts.

He wears socks in the house now, both because he's always cold and he figures if he slips on the hardwood stairs at least it would be an accident. He eats without a care, knowing aspiration is by far the least good looking way to die but it's unforgiving at least. He drives a little too close to the center line, hoping someone with a little too much confidence or too little experience just happens to cross into his lane and takes him out of his misery.

[ravingvisionary]

I miss it here, but also have zero motivation to do anything or exist so everytime I open this app I look at two posts and then just close it again. Hope all my beautiful, beautiful mutuals are well.

[walker-in-beauty]

Just one of those nights where you feel like you’ve let down everyone because you could have been so amazing, and done so much, and had so much potential you never lived up to.

Where you feel like a failure because when you were a kid you were so “smart” and “passionate” and “caring” that everyone looked at you like you were going to save the world someday. And you never did. So you’re a failure because you never did.

You never did…

[axolautie]

i’m autistic, and haven’t worked in about a year bc of an autistic burnout. also bc it’s incredibly difficult to find a job in our current economy for some reason.

there is this cute af bookstore near me that i’ve been to a few times. i fell in love with the visual aesthetics of the place. and since it’s a little small business bookstore, i figured it could be a great job for me to make some money without all the stress of a career job.

so i went in yesterday to visit them and i fully expected to have a tiny interview on the spot when i would ask them if they were hiring. but for some reason, i walked in an was immediately shy.

being shy is ofc normal for me. is it bc i’m autistic? maybe. but anyways, i gave myself some time to mentally prepare by looking around the store and i just kept getting a weird intuition feeling that they may be racist.

idk what sparked it really. i’ve been there before and never had any particular encounters. maybe just this specific time, i noticed later on that i wasn’t greeted when i came in. and it seemed that there was a family working together.

i do remember my first assumption being something along the lines of “oh i can’t intrude, it’s a family business” so it wasn’t initially a race thing but as i lingered, my mind wouldn’t wander from that.

i worked my way back to the front of the store where i saw the “mom” sat behind the register. as i was preparing to say something, i looked up and noticed 2 books that had swastikas on them.

now i know it’s a bookstore and they’re going to advertise books that they want to sell blah blah blah. but having something like that, with a caricature of hitler on each swastika just blatantly behind the register?? i think that’s saying something. i immediately shut myself off from the idea of working there so i didn’t even approach them. for my own safety. and i know i shouldn’t feel bad for someone else’s actions or beliefs but i was literally so shaken.

after i left the shop, i did feel as though i was being watched by them and it was so creepy.

also, i feel like i’m mourning the loss of that job opportunity. like ofc, my family is saying don’t worry about it, that i will find another opportunity elsewhere. but my autistic brain fantasized about it and i can’t seem to let it go. i’m upset. and i feel like i’ve begun to spiral into a depression today.

i just feel like i can’t get a job for the life of me and every time i try, something comes up to wreck those plans. 😭

anyways, i’m going to try to sleep or watch tv or something. my brain is so fried today.

[night-flare]

I’ve determined that pretty much everything online about mental health/illness is essentially a baking/cooking recipe. You have to wade through 50 pages of bs to get to anything actually helpful. Just put the solutions up first and then dig into the topic after. Here are all the solutions of how to break a downward spiral and now here are things that could trigger one and the signs of a spiral and how it is similar and dissimilar to other things. How hard is that?!?! Here is your recipe that my grandma made and now here are all the adjustments I like to make and my life story and my grandma’s life story and now here are the reviews where not a single person actually follows the recipe all of them have made there own adjustments and substitutions but then still have 5 stars even though it’s a new recipe now lol. Why is this so difficult why???

[cleanestkittyspams]

trying to be happy but depression will not let you

[dearcodyp]

Dear Cody,

I miss you. I know it’s been 5 years. Yesterday I played bar trivia and I met a new group of friends. All of which were queer and non binary. They needed 2 extra people so me and tye joined in. I feel weird for making new friends. I feel guilty for making new friends. I feel like you would’ve enjoyed it. They had a music category that you would’ve crushed at. They also had a nick cage category that you would’ve found funny.

I also wanted to wish you a happy 420. I know we were to young to celebrate and I’m sober now but I’ll watch a Sifi movie in your memory. I love you and I miss you.

-Simon

[armageddonoctopus]

Gloom

An animation about depression I made for uni!

[smoreboi]

Stuck in a depression spiral remembering all the times I tried to share facts/art/stories about special interests with my parents and they’d cut me off to ask me why i was wasting time and brain space on these things that will never matter in real life. I’d be so happy with these things, so incredibly proud of my typically lacking memory when I could remember whole story plot lines and it’d take me forever to explain them and then their only response was to tell me that was why I was failing my classes. I’d do art that I actually enjoyed and instead of telling me it looked good they’d ask how long it took and then tell me I should have used that time to do homework or chores instead. I’ve been more open with them about sensations that are bugging me and they’re just ignoring it. I haven’t been cleaning my hair recently because it’s getting long and I’m aware of it and can feel it on my neck and I hate it and I’ve been asking to go get a haircut for five weekends now and I’ve been ignored and pushed to the side but I know if I do it myself or ask a friend to do it, even if it comes out looking nice, I’ll be yelled at the next time I see them. I’m 18 ffs, I shouldn’t have to be afraid of this, but I still go into a bad place every time I think about them being upset with me.

tldr: uncontrollably sobbing because of the traumas, I should not have drank coffee at 00:17

[x-leavemealone-x]

looking at my reflection makes me sick

[taxinealkaloids]

i love the tower princes. i love that there’s absolutely no way in hell that this friendship is even remotely good for either of them. love that they assuredly are making each other SO much worse with every second they spend together. 

[toxooz]

workin man (orc)

[prwlnglthr]

manic depression has a-captured my soul...

[bliss-in-the-void]

I’m not sure if this has been pointed out before, but one of Satoru’s hugest motivations in life is “not letting anyone take away youth” from young people, just as Toji had done to himself and Suguru.

And in JJK 0, Suguru attempts to kill Maki, Toge, and Panda along with Yuuta, as well as causes the death of countless other sorcerers during the night parade of 1,000 demons. He had turned into exactly what Satoru was trying to protect his students from.

Yet, Satoru never resents him for it.

Not at all. It blows my mind. Satoru still only regarded him with trust, respect, and love. He still referred to him as his “only best friend”.

In the moment that Kenjaku fooled Satoru into thinking that Suguru had survived, he was happy to see him. There was not an ounce of anger towards Suguru like there easily could have been.

And (manga spoiler ahead) Satoru even goes as far as to imagine Suguru as he had been after he committed his atrocities, in the gojo-kesa robes and standing beside the teenagers he had tried to hurt the year before, only saying, “If you had been there, I would have been satisfied.”

Like, Satoru fully understands who Suguru was in that moment and straight up loved him anyways. Suguru had become the very thing he resented the most and yet somehow was never the object of Satoru’s resentment.

Holy hell.