#ill tag it as that even if its jus minor

[astrrorat]

uhm rick angst yay

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

[rubyredsparks]

Blossoming Souls Ch. 5

Relationship(s): Romantic Logince, Moxiety; Platonic every other relationship

“Tags” for the whole story: morally grey!deceit, Deceit, Remus, Thomas as a character, Romance, Minor violence, someone’s potty mouth, Foul language, Minor homophobia (it’s not that bad), Miscommunication (this one is though), Friendship

Chapter Summary:  Remy broods too much, and Roman's first crush might be a little ill-advised when their first impression wasn't that good in the first place.

Remy woke with a raging headache, and he groaned pitifully as it worsened. He slowly sat up, a hand to the front of his head and eyes shut tight.

He groaned again at the disorientating change in position as his headache shifted to a dull throb. His stomach rolled, and he forced down the vomit he wanted to expel.

“God,” he croaked, feeling the dry, scratchiness of his throat. “I hate hangovers.”

His legs moved on their own accord as he shifted out of the hard… something he was on and stumbled his way toward the windows, the sunlight streaming in too much for him to handle, and shutting the curtains closed.

He braced himself on the window, covered by the thick cotton. Breaths coming out ragged, he gagged against the foul aftertaste of vomit and alcohol in his mouth, barely stopping it from coming out.

Remy took a shuddering breath and straightened up shakily, eyes squinting in the still too bright room. He shook his head to clear away the muddling thoughts, instantly regretting it when his headache worsened.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes for another few moments.

He let out a shuddering breath, his headache dulling to a light throb, something he could handle. Walking to the bathroom, which was a feat in and of itself, he washed out the lingering aftertastes, spitting it out harshly, and took a drink of water.

Patton’s rumbling snore could’ve caused an earthquake with its ferocity, and Remy grimaced, the noise not helping his headache. Patton snorted, and Remy shot the unconscious man a small glare.

He shook his head, feeling less groggy after washing up.

Remy sighed, looking wistfully at the bed. He remembered seeing the barely there sun rays peeking in before he had closed the curtains.

There wasn't much time before Patton would wake up, meaning the other two would wake up as well.

He couldn't blame them, Patton was always an early riser, even when they were kids.

And wasn't that a thought? Had it only been ten years since the two of them had last seen each other?

Remy could still remember the wide smiles Patton always wore, the warm hugs and… his innocence.

Remy wasn't blind, even with his sunglasses. He could see the brittleness Patton had on, even with his bright smiles and cheery tune.

Something had happened since they were kids until now. But it wasn't like he and Patton were any closer than they were before.

Ever since… well he didn't like to think about that.

Remy couldn't blame Patton for not recognizing him. He was taller, blonder with shorter hair, and, well, manlier.

He still remembered Patton as the short, kind boy that wanted to greet his next door neighbor with cookies and a smile.

There was a pang in his heart as he remembered the past, two children with scraped knees and perpetual smiles on their faces.

Patton snorted, and then groaned, shifting on the bed. Remy froze, stuck in one place without knowing where to go.

The personal guard rustled with the bedsheets, slowly getting up with a stretch of his arms. He yawned, loud and unabashed, smacking his lips.

Rubbing his eyes, Remy watched, still frozen in place, as Patton turned to Remy with confusion.

“Remy?” he said groggily, squinting, and there was something in his eyes that Remy wished he knew what it meant. It looked like familiarity, but Remy knew that couldn't be true.

“Hey there, Patty-cake,” he said nervously, and he suddenly felt naked without his sunglasses covering his eyes.

Something flashed in Patton’s eyes, but Remy refused to let that slip sink in, “You can take the shower now, it's open. And not to be rude, but girl, you're rank.”

“Er-” Patton scrunched up his nose and nodded, “Alright. What time is it?”

“Don't you worry your pretty little head, doll, we have time to get to the palace. It's ass o'clock. Why the hell did you think it was a good time to wake me up now?”

“But you woke up first?” and bless his heart, Patton looked terribly confused and his eyes were still drooping.

“I did not come here to be slandered like this!” This was familiar territory, the over excessive reactions, the overreactions, the exaggerations, this he could handle.

“I- I'll just take that shower now then,” Patton mumbled, sleep still in his voice, and it's a testament to his weariness with how he hadn't said a single pun since he woke up.

Remy sighed as he watched the bathroom door close, crossing over the room and scooping up his sunglasses.

Putting them on, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, the security of the glasses boosting his confidence.

He wasn't ready for today. He still didn't know what Roman’s motive was for hiding his identity. All Remy knew was that he could not have Patton finding out who he really was.

As he stood, he nodded to himself and picked up his bag. His hand was on the doorknob as he took a deep breath in and exhaled, “Showtime.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Roman snorted, groaning, and felt something heavy on his chest. He groaned again, lifting his left arm to scrub at his face.

He felt a bit grimy, his hair greasy and mouth smelling like death. He tried to sit up, pausing when there was a whine of discontent.

Blinking owlishly, Roman looked down to see a man with glasses skewed and pressing on his face. There were little snuffles of sleep, breath coming out in short bursts.

Roman felt a hesitant fondness bloom in his chest at this man who had just met. He didn’t really know what to think of him; he had seemed so cold and stoic the first moment.

He had walked into the room to talk to Patton, find out a little more of their venture to his kingdom, if they were the envoy from Eiehde.

And they were, when they introduced each other, Roman had a niggling suspicion, but he had to make sure. When Logan had inadvertently told him, he knew he was right.

Logan snuffled, cuddling closer to his chest. Roman quirked a small smile at his betrothed. And God, wasn’t that a thought?

Barely twenty three and already on the verge of getting married, Roman wasn’t sure if he regretted it or not.

But staring at this man, who he still had just met, he figured he could live with being in this arrangement. Yes, he was a hopeless romantic, but it was part of his name!

This man whose eyes lit up as Roman told the story of Sherlock Holmes, this man who seemed to be cold and aloof, but Roman can just tell that there was something hidden underneath that cold exterior, this man who tore apart Roman’s words and charms in a matter of seconds, that man that Roman felt like he was already falling in love with.

And it was only hours ago that he had met the man.

Roman couldn’t deny that Prince Logan was physically attractive. Lean, but still barely reaching Roman’s shoulders. Hair a curly mess that was attempted to be held back with a headband. Dark skin smooth as silk, silver-blue eyes that shimmered like the moon. God, Roman was so gay.

He knew, though, that not telling Logan and Patton his real name would send mixed signals when they would inevitably meet in the castle.

Roman just hoped that Logan would forgive him by the time they exchanged vows.

He moved, hoping to extract himself from Logan’s grips without waking the young prince. When he had gotten all but his arm out of the prince’s grip, he thought that he had gotten off scot-free.

Of course that was when Logan fluttered his eyes open, groaning and gripping tight to Roman’s sleeve. Roman froze, he was stuck. The virtual death grip that Logan had on his sleeve confined him in one place.

“Wha-?” Logan’s sleepy voice croaked out, and he looked at Roman with a hazy smile, something Roman wondered if he did without his sleep-addled brain.

“Terribly sorry, my Prince,” Roman murmured, the phrase twisting unfamiliarly on his tongue. “But I’m afraid that it’s morning and that we’ll have to leave soon.”

“Alright…” Logan said, trailing off back into sleep.

Roman smiled fondly but rolled his eyes, “My Prince, we must leave now if we want to make it to the palace of Eiehde.”

“C’n’t we jus’ sle’p?” Logan slurred, dazedly burrowing back into the mass of blankets.

“‘Fraid not, Prince,” and the royal title fell from his lips far easier than it had before. Roman gently poked Logan’s cheek, getting an annoyed snort in response.

Roman pulled out his last resort, yanking the blankets off Logan’s body. The other prince yelped at the sudden change in temperature, shooting upright.

“What the fuck!”

“Language, my Prince,” Roman tutted gleefully. “I told you we were on our way out. Be glad Remy didn’t wake you up. He would’ve dumped scalding hot coffee on you if you didn’t wake up at his first call.”

Logan squinted in the dark up at Roman, who was leaning over him. “Where are my glasses?”

“Here, you nerd,” Roman said, handing him his glasses. “Sunrise is barely peeking through. We’ll have to leave in less than an hour if we want to get there before teatime.”

The bespectacled man only groaned, rolling back onto his side and letting his glasses dig into his face. “Leave me alone.”

“No can do, my Prince.” Roman chuckled at his antics, smiling fondly at the man. “C’mon shower and stuff, and then we can have breakfast. There’s this jam that I love that I’m sure you will enjoy.”

“Jam?” Logan slurred sleepily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He yawned, and Roman chuckled.

“Yes, jam.” Roman grabbed Logan’s hands, tugging him up. Logan groaned but blearily allowed Roman to drag him up and out of the bed, stumbling.

The hidden prince suppressed a smile at the sleepy prince, who was murmuring and yawning quite adorably might he add.

“Alright then, my prince, let’s get to it!” Roman said cheerfully.

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Masterpost | Previous | Next

[tcohs-messenger]

Okay so my blog keeps acting up and I can’t tag you in this post but BASICALLY for angst time MC wakes up in bed for some reason (injury, illness, it’s up to you) to find Nadia/Julian/Asra sitting in a chair next to them dead asleep because they’ve been working tirelessly to make sure they make it through the night (knowing how much you like angst I figured you might enjoy this prompt lol)

I hope you don’t mind that I made this a continuation of the possession ask from HERE~ This was really sweet to write, thank you bub~

Warning! Mentions of blood and vomit in this piece

with a GENDERNEUTRAL!Apprentice

Asra-

They woke up in what could only be described as pure agony. Every muscle felt too tight to function, even breathing only seemed to constrict their chest further, and even if they wanted to move, their energy was sapped down to nothing. Opening their eyes was a challenge, so much so that, instead of waking up, they just fell back asleep. 

When they woke up again, they could move a little bit more, and they turned to see the one person they wanted the most. Asra was slumped over, half of his body laying in the bed they rested on but bent in the most awkward position. If they could move a little bit more, they would have shook him awake to make him properly lie down but…

He was fast asleep, still bent awkwardly and fingers intertwined with their closest hand. They squeezed his hand back and laid back down to wait for him to wake up. When he did wake up, he seemed too tired to even check on them anymore. But they seemed alright enough, and their coaxing for him to lie down with them. He was smiling the entire time he was brought to lying down, his arms loosely holding them as he finally took a restful nap. Later- he would explain everything that had happened, but for now, sleeping was both of their top priorities. 

Julian-

They woke up from a nightmare, one where Julian was savagely beating them to death. But they knew it hadn’t been too far from reality. Something strange had happened but they couldn’t place exactly what it was. They recognized this place as Muriel’s, especially considering the multiple furs covering them. Nearby, at the edge of the bed, Julian was fast asleep. 

They wouldn’t have done anything to disturb this rare moment of him actually sleeping- but he was hunched over on a stool, barely actually sitting there. Any moment he could tip over. “Pss- Ju- Julian…” Saying his voice hurt their throat, but they call out for him anyway. “Julian!”

He jumps, immediately falling onto his back and toppling the stool with him. A series of pained groans comes from him before he finally sits up and comes to their aid, checking every part of their body to make sure they worked and checking their vitals. He’d been up for three days straight as they faded in and out through consciousness, but now he could finally rest peacefully along with them under layers of furs (until Muriel came back, of course). 

Nadia-

Doctors were called around the clock to check on them. They were given a good diagnosis, but there was no god damn way that Nadia would leave them. She knew her plan had worked the moment those once blood red eyes had faded away, but the effects of the poison had remained- and for a long time. They only woke up intermittently to vomit blood and then fall back asleep. 

It took its toll on her- her migraines became more frequent and powerful, she hadn’t gotten proper sleep in days, and she hadn’t eaten an actual meal in longer than that. She resorted to lying on the floor beside the bed, being close enough to hear if they gagged or stirred awake. 

When they woke up, now without the need to rid their stomach, a strange relief had filled them. They bent over the side of the bed, only consumed in weakness, to see Nadia sleeping weakly. A few calls of her name and desperate tugs woke her up, and only minor coaxing made her fall under the sheets with them. The way her hands gripped their own was surreal, desperate to make sure that they’d never slip away.  

[bpd-black]

hey guys, so this is gonna be a long ass post, but here’s the tldr version: i love you and i hope you continue to learn about yourselves, and advocate for your mental wellbeing cause y'all are literally so beautiful and important and an integral part of our universe, the world literally wouldn’t be the same without you ✊🏾💕

SO, i just wanted to let y'all know that if you’ve ever messaged me (and this is for my black followers, btw, the rest of y'all … i don’t know why tf you’re here, but none of this is for you so ✌🏾bye, you can leave lol) please please know that i almost always read whatever’s in my inbox right away, and that i do care about your questions and what you have to say, even when i don’t answer right away or at all. you guys reaching out to me is NEVER bothersome. NEVER dumb. NEVER ridiculous. and tbh, it’s always flattering to think anyone would come to me w/ mental health concerns, considering that this blog literally started as a place for me to just vent out into the void & that i used to block anyone that followed me, lol.

(i jus didn’t want people to follow my blog ??? idk, i just felt like i had no other outlet to scream, and i was in a really bad place back then, idek, it made sense at the time. anyway, NOW this blog is a place for me to store information, affirmations and links to resources that i find informative or helpful. and i actually really love getting feedback (cough and validation cough) from you guys 💖 so pls, just know that you mean a lot to me.)

THE THING IS, though: i’m still not a professional. and when it comes to something as serious as mental health (especially in the black community) i just feel like i still have too much learning to do and too much healing to do before i’m qualified to offer any real advice. rn, all i have to say to most of y'all is ‘damn, thas unfortunate, me too’ and i really don’t want to give anyone a half assed answer like that, lol. it might take me a while to research what you wanna know, so yeah. bls be patient with me.

also i kinda wanted to introduce myself, since i don’t think i’ve ever posted an intro on this blog lol:

in summary, i’m a twenty one year old black girl, gay as hell, still living at home, still unemployed, still on leave from college, and still struggling just to shower and get out of bed every day :)) which sucks and i hate my life rn and i battle with like, intense self hatred cause a lot of my family is very disappointed in me and, quite frankly, i’m very disappointed with myself.

moving on, lol, more about my mental state: i’ve only ever been professionally diagnosed with depression and gad, though i personally believe i experience too many bpd symptoms to rule out the possibility that i am, in fact, borderline, and so i consider myself as such.

(( a small rant about that real quick: imo, and tbh, labels are just terms that researchers make up to help organize studies, keep track of patterns, and come up with plans and solutions to help large groups of people. so, basically, i am a strong advocate of NOT beating yourself up too much when it comes to finding the ‘right’ label for you and NOT attacking someone else that you don’t think ‘fits’ the description for a disorder or illness according to your research. like, yeah, fake ass neurotypicals are annoying as hell and they can all choke but ! the only person who really knows what’s going on in someone’s brain is that person themselves. and NO ONE owes you a dissertation on their mental struggles just to ‘prove’ they’re in pain. so, imo !!! it’s just a lot more important to recognize and identify what SYMPTOMS you struggle with, and the severity of said symptoms, and worry about umbrella terms later !! cause that insight will make it easier to look for help and advice and !! mental illness and personality disorders are all on a spectrum. so yeah. go easy on yourselves 💕 anyway, i struggled a lot with that concept, and for far too long, SO just wanted to get that out of the way before i continue (hope that made any sense) but i digress!!! ))

i also struggle with both intrusive and suicidal thoughts, a few minor self destructive habits, and i’m currently taking medication for my depression and anxiety. and tbh, though i still have some pretty terrible days, i will say the meds have helped a LOT. and i’m so glad, cause i’m the first in my family to openly take medication for a mental illness (stigma stigma god fucking stigma) and i was so so scared the meds would just make it worse, but they didn’t, so yeah :)

also, and this is a bit personal (but i’m willing to be a bit vulnerable with you guys, if it’ll help anyone at all) but, i planned on killing myself last year. it didn’t happen (evidently lol) but i ended up staying at the hospital for a week and then participating in a two week partial program after that. i’m currently looking for a new partial program or support group that i can join, and i’m trying to get a job and get back to school.

also, i have been seeing a therapist since my senior year of high school (which !!is a bit of a wild tale tbh, but long story short, my parents literally refused to believe mental illness was a real thing for the longest time. and it wasn’t until i told them i literally wouldn’t graduate high school if i didn’t get some help that they believed me.) my first two therapists were awful racist white women (still fuckin hate them btw) but my third therapist was a really cool white woman who actually introduced me to my current therapist who is this really amazing black woman and so far, i feel like she’s been the best fit for me. but i’ve very recently had to put my therapy sessions on pause cause i’m poor as hell and couldn’t pay for them anymore, so yeah. and, tbh, that’s really been stressing me the fuck out as of late, but what i’m trying to do is make the most of whatever other resources are available to me (helplines, textlines, self care strategies, forums, blogs, google, etc.) and i still have a social worker so idk, i should be okay 👌🏾

anyway, that was a lot of oversharing but, now you all know where i am atm ;) and i only share this with you guys cause a lot of asks i receive are about feeling like shit for not knowing what pd you have, or about being too poor to afford good health care, or not knowing how to convince your conservative ass black parents that you’re dying and need help and like !!! all of those topics are so so important to me on a very personal level !!! and i wanna help y'all so bad. but tbqh, i’m still trying to figure this shit out myself 😕 so, what i’m hoping is, just by letting you know more about my experience and being as honest as i can about it, at least one of you readin this might feel a little less lonely dealing with your pain. idk.

anyway, second to last thing: fr tho, i hope y'all know that it is both a rare, and amazing trait to be as insightful as so many of you are. even just trying to figure out ‘god, what is wrong with me’ and taking the time to do the research, is self care. it’s defiance. it’s acknowledging that a better life is possible, and it’s straight up refusing to settle for the pain you’re in now, for a life less fulfilling than what you know you deserve. i feel like the generations before us didn’t do that enough (with good reason, tbh, even today it’s still hard to know who we can trust) but it’s high time black people start healing our minds and our hearts. so power to you ✊🏾

and yeah. that’s all i wanted to say this morning. i’ve been wanting to say all that for a while, but wasn’t sure where the hell to start. i just hope that was all coherent and made sense, lol. don’t ever hesitate to message me guys. i may be an emotional wreck that takes too long to reply, but i do love you. lol.

and please please please continue to research things on your own as well, like. keep up with the latest studies, the TED talks, the blavity articles, the mental health blogs etc. etc. learn as much as you can about how to take the best care of you, even if my executively dysfunctional ass can’t help right away lol.

also !! (last thing, i promise) a quick update about this blog: i edited it a bit, namely my tagging system, to make it a bit more useful. i won’t go through all my tags here (maybe i’ll add an about page and a tag page later) but, for example, there’s my new affirmations tag (full of helpful reminders that i like to think about everyday) my positivity tag (just, yk, positive shit that makes think positive thoughts) and my black tag (whatever content i feel like pertains to just my fellow black + mentally ill peeps, cause lbr a lot of our struggles only happen at the intersection of both identities) 💕

i also have a music tag for music recommendations!! cause i like to believe music is very healing all on its own ;)

AAAAND that’s it lol 😘 stay safe out there guys !! this world is wild but, tbh, we know better than anyone what it means to make the very most out of our lives no matter what. happy black history month 🖤