#i cannot trust my own mind!!!

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

doctors: try to remember the depression is not you

me, internally: so do you want me to end up psychotic or

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

weirdly a thing I've been coming back to lately is like, being afraid that I can't tell between my own imagined scenarios and reality? like, what if I'm wrong about what's real and what's just my anxiety/on occasion the dreams you have while half asleep? anybody else feel that or have I just had anxiety my whole life and I'm unfortunately letting it take the lead this week :(

[purpurussy]

i log on to this site. i write essays about dnp and their gay little antics. i save them to my drafts because i am scared of being perceived. i log off again

[lenasai]

when people insist a story must end with the protagonist falling in love even when the character in question is explicitly not interested

ID: A drawing of a person vaporizing someone else with an aromantic flag beam coming from their middle finger. End ID.

[nejackdaw]

Thinking about Celann and his ever present grief at the life he could have had, he and his wife and (he always hoped) their daughter. A life where he was a father--he'd hardly ever wanted anything more than that. So full of love he was ready to burst and needed somewhere to put it, wanted a life with his favorite girls.

Thinking about how the ever present desire haunts him no matter how deep he buried it. It keeps coming back, relentlessly, this anguish that he threw it all away. He could have had exactly what he wanted and he was stupid enough to abandon it all, and for what? Because he was upset? But then he always remembers how hollow he felt after the incident, like if you rapped him with a knuckle you'd hear he was just a shell. He forgives himself, then, remembers how wrong everything felt, and he thinks about all the time he spent desperately trying to make everything feel right again.

Remembers when he realized he was the problem, what needed to be fixed. Removed.

He abandoned the life he had and every dream he'd ever held close because he wasn't him anymore. Celann would never have killed anyone, would never have done... that. He was some other Celann, different, trying to make himself fit in the life of a man that no longer existed. And so he left.

And he has no right to ache so badly at the thought of what he gave up, no right to ache at the loss of a family (of two families, but he starts thinking that and breaks every time, so he's gotten good at simply skipping over the thought) when he was a killer--an adept one, a practiced one--that could mangle and maul and kill and do it again and again. What right does he have to still want that happy little dream?

But the dream is a ghost and it haunts him, is there every time he's out on a supply run and sees kids playing around the marketplace, sees women cradling infants and fathers carrying sons on their shoulders. (He reminds himself of the blood on his hands, is scared he might stain them with it if he reaches out to touch them.) It's there when he has a bag and his axe hanging from his hips and finds a girl crying for her mother, lost and separated, jostled by the crowd.

It's there as he calms her, kneeling on wet and gritty stone, hovering between her and the flow of the crowd so they give her space. He lifts her and holds her against his side with one arm and something in him weeps, feels something soft in him as her tiny weight settles and she starts chattering at him about the groceries she and her mother came to buy.

They weave their way through the marketplace as they help each other--she tells him where he can find what he needs, and he silently curses the nords and their height as he tries to peer over shoulders to catch a glimpse of the woman she described--and that cold weight that's usually settled in his chest, his grief and remorse, lightens with every step. She's warm through his sweater and splutters indignantly every time the ever changing wind blows her brown hair into her mouth and he laughs, quiet and warm.

They check places she's already been, in case her mother doubled back looking for her, and take detours so Celann can fumble to place newly acquired groceries in the bag beneath her, unwilling to hold her over the side with his axe and equally unwilling to put her down, awkwardly shifting her weight as she laughs at him. He's silly for buying such expensive things, she tells him, and he light heartedly tells her Skyrim is silly for not having the things he used to use in High Rock. The revelation he hasn't always lived in Skyrim excites her to no end, and the rest of the trip is a Q&A of the sort only a small child can provide.

He feels warm inside, in his chest, where usually he feels vaguely cold at best, and for a moment he's reluctant to relinquish her when they finally find her mother, guided by the sounds of panicked calls of her name. There's a fond sadness as he sets her down on the stones again, and the woman looks at him oddly for a moment before the look turns knowing, though he's sure the conclusion she reached is slightly off.

She quietly asks if her daughter reminds him of her. He stands there silently for a moment, looking down at the little girl as she rifles through the things her mother's found.

He tells her yes.

[katyspersonal]

[invinciblerodent]

an unforeseen side effect of my boy discovering the power of friendship, and the fact that emotions and human connections are good actually, is that it comes with simultaneously discovering that he's at least lowkey attracted to two types of people exactly: those who project confidence on the outside, but are sweet, soft, and in need of comforting on the inside (not entirely unlike a frightened animal), and pretty men with long, brown hair looking at him through lowered lashes with big, dark eyes.

a downside to that is that his newly found friend group is half one, half the other, and Gale kind of sits in the exact middle of the Venn diagram like an appealingly plump toad on a rock.

Look at him. The thought behind this face is very much an ".... oh, I'm not indulging this thought. I'm burying this so quick, and so deep, that it suffocates immediately."

[femmeterypolka]

finished listening to bloodchild and other stories.

[blitz0hno]

So after our ermmmmm turbulent first relationship-turned-situationship of 2 years w our ex highschool best friend our longest lasting relationship is <24hrs total and still managed to end w the person saying I'm terrible???? Fuck.

Tough thing is, I did my damn best but every time I explain this shit it'll ALWAYS sound like I'm leaving something out that I did wrong; but I was always the one apologizing even growing up I always had to apologize, is there just something about me that makes my actions more severe? Why do I have to feel guilty over people who never cared to actually know me? Did I not work hard enough to be "known"? I only ever wanted to see them happy and I thought I expressed that.

Why do people think that it's ok to try and gaslight me just so they don't have to admit fault? I know she blocked me and I said I respected that, only for her to try to tell me that I didn't care. Well I admit fault when it's mine, but the minute I ask the same of the other person they just act like I want to be "right." Well am I wrong for wanting to be CONSIDERED? For wanting my perspective acknowledged the way I take theirs into account?

Plenty of people find others that care for them like that. Why do people stop caring about what I need just because I act independent? I don't even ask for much. I had to stop myself from asking for "basic kindness" when she asked me what I wanted in a partner at the risk of sounding pathetic, but I guess I don't even get that. I just upset motherfuckers one way or another, I don't even have to do anything but be myself.

Is it something you really do earn? Something I have yet to lower myself to deserve? I want someone to be fucking honest with me, allow me to be honest as well, and not abandon me for it. Someone needs to tell me what the fuck I'm doing wrong. Is everyone I'm close with just going to freak out and run the other way the SECOND I mess up, just because I normally don't? Because I try so hard not to, I'm just expected not to? Not an ounce or effort of forgiveness that makes me give people chance after chance even when they hurt me?

Don't lie about me.

It's ok for everyone else but not for me.

Why? Hey,

why can't I just get it right?

[unsurebazookacore]

when I grow old enough I’m moving somewhere where it gets so cold all the bugs just die

[naamahdarling]

Time for y'all to

send asks!

again!

[piplupod]

i think perhaps nightmares should not be allowed to be terrifying in both the surface level experience of it as well as the symbolism of the experience. it should only be scary one way or the other, not both.

[vreemd]

it's so. weird how you're not allowed to be therapy critical or anti therapy even if you've yourself been in therapy for 15+ years and it was completely useless or even detrimental. and you see other people like you going down the same path. therapy does not work for everyone and it's a huge fucking money and energy sink.

like especially when it comes to cptsd I just personally feel like that is literal physical brain damage. talking about it has the same effect as talking extensively about a broken leg and pretending it doesn't need a splint.

like a physical injury needs rest. you're not going to keep purposely dislodging an open fracture expecting it to magically heal so why do this exact thing to trauma sufferers. useless.

[fallingbyjuleecruise]

i think most art that tries to critique christianity, and specifically american charismatic christianity, is shallow and honestly corny unless it comes from someone who has experience w that institution

[erythristicbones]

i think making my own discord server for my original stories was one of the best decisions ive made in awhile tbh

[opens-up-4-nobody]

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