#my OCD literally kept me up all night even when I was too tired to keep my eyes open

[xgoldenlatiasx]

moral ocd is one of the worst mental disorders imo because it tricks you into thinking you don’t actually care about a cause or topic you DO really care about and can control literally Every Aspect Imaginable Of Your Life (that’s not even an exaggeration. trust me) and then people on Tumblr have the audacity be like “reblog this or you don’t care about x”

[dumdumsun]

Forever and Never

A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this series ❤️ I’ve had so much fun writing this and am very proud of and excited for it, I can’t wait to see how people react to this. Um I know there are plenty of warnings for a first chapter, but I promise it’s not as depressing as it sounds. It’s just that this story can deal with heavy stuff sometimes, so I just wanna let you know that. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, death, sexual assault and mental illness

Word Count: 3194

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One: Hi, My Name Is

“So, what was your time in Pennsylvania like?”

“Uh… I’d have to say it was the best… and worst time of my life.”

“Best and worst, huh? Would you like to elaborate?”

“Well, I, uh… I mean, I don’t really know how to, like… explain it. It’s a lot. I don’t even know where to begin… Or how I would even word it or anything.”

“Well, you told me you like television and movies, right? You know those shows and movies where the main character tells the plot as, like, their life story? Maybe you could try that.”

“You aren’t… You aren’t serious, are you?”

“You’ll know when I’m joking, trust me.”

“Oh… Okay, then. Well, um…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi? My name is… (Y/N)? This is my life story, I guess.

So, if we’re going to talk about my life in Pennsylvania, we’re going to have to start with my life in Kansas, first. I had two loving parents that soon turned into one at the too-young age of nine years, when my mom died. I remember her as one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. She had this way about her that was so carefree, yet she gave a shit about everything. You could never pin a thought to her because she never let you in on what was bouncing around in her head. She was stubborn and patient and lively. I miss her so much. I don’t usually think about her unless it’s a particularly hectic day, which I then resort to talking to the ring I wear on my left pinky finger at all times. Wasn’t anything special, just some cheap ring with a little emerald inside she found at a thrift store. It used to be hers and she’d wear it on the exact same finger. My dad said she’d want me to have it.

My dad is my favorite person. He isn’t the most… present, though. His mind is never set in one place, always racing with hundreds of unrelated thoughts. It’s why when you finally drag him back into reality, he can’t repeat a single sentence spoken to him. Regardless, he’s all I had for a long time. I never really learned what he does for a living, but I just know that it forces him to leave town sometimes. Well, more like all the time. Before my mom died, it was easy for him to leave for weeks on end, but when he became my only guardian, he didn’t really know what to do with me. It was like he completely forgot how to take care of a child, his child. When I turned twelve, that was when he started travelling again. I would then be home by myself for a month to eight weeks. In these times, I had no choice but to learn to cook for myself, go grocery shopping and housekeep. I became pretty independent at a young age. It wasn’t like Dad left me totally alone, though. He would call every two or three days and he sent me two hundred dollars every two weeks. Like I said, I don’t know what my dad did, but he was definitely getting paid. At the end of eighth grade, Dad had a particularly long trip to go on, so he sent me to Pennsylvania, where his sister lived.

Pennsylvania was partially the best part of my life because of my family. My Aunt Pam was like a second mother to me. She was never able to have another child after my cousin Jacob and she’s always wanted a daughter of her own, so that’s what I was to her. The daughter she could never have. I’d often find her staring at me with a bittersweet smile on her face, watching my every move with a sense of pride, but when I’d ask her what was wrong she’d only brush it off as her admiring me. My Uncle David didn’t necessarily view me as a daughter, but he certainly treated me like one. When he wanted to spend time with Jacob, he included me as well. We’d usually go on drives around the town, but I always fell asleep to the soft and serene music that filled the car from the radio. On the weekends, we would head down by the lake and spend hours learning to fish.

I hated it, but I couldn’t complain. It gave me a sense of certainty to live with a father figure who didn’t leave me alone every two or three months.

Jacob was like a brother to me. He’s a year older than me, which, to him, meant that he had to protect me at all costs. I always assumed it was because he always wanted a younger sibling, and I was the closest he was ever going to get to that. I always felt as though I’d never be able to equal Jacob on an intellectual level because he practically had the IQ of Albert Einstein himself. I felt inferior to him until I found out how much of a joy he really was. On the weekends, he would beg me to accompany him in a movie marathon. I learned that Jacob was a huge fan of Tim Burton (his favorite was Beetlejuice). He’s the only cousin I’ve ever known. Mom and Dad didn’t like each other’s families, so I never met anyone besides this little family. Moving in with them meant that they’d have this huge burden on them.

Yes, I almost forgot to mention that I struggle with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or OCD. It just means that my mind is flooded with these crazy and unnecessary thoughts and so my behavior is affected by them. For example, if I were to blink and felt I put more pressure on my left eye than my right, I would have to repeatedly wink with my right eye until they felt balanced. Sometimes I can’t enter a room until I have inhaled eight times. If I scratch an itch on my left knee, I have to scratch the right one in the exact same place. At the sink, even if I don’t use both knobs, I have to hold both in my hands. And when I turn them off, I often have to check about four times before I am certain they’re turned off all the way. I know, it sounds tiring. Just imagine being on my end, having it be a part of who you are. I can’t do anything to stop it, I wish I could. I was always afraid to make friends because of this. If I couldn’t be balanced, I’d freeze, and I mean actually stop whatever I’m doing and stand still, until my body felt as if I were balanced once again. Who wouldn’t make fun of me for this?

Apparently, no one gave a shit about it. After moving to Pennsylvania, I made quite a name for myself at school. Literally. My name was Zip. I have no fucking clue how that ridiculous name came to be, but that’s what I went by day after day. One could say I was considered popular, but it wasn’t like I actually spoke to anyone. When it came to extracurriculars, I only participated in theatre. I never was part of the cast, just the stage manager. Secretly, I wanted so badly to audition and be a part of the magic they created on that stage. Not to boast or anything, but I had the talent and potential to be a starring role. But I could never bring myself to break out of my shell. Nonetheless, being stage manager still got me quite the attention. Everyone was always so nice to me, so I felt a little bad for not considering any of them as friends. That was until I met Dina.

Dina was new to our school sophomore year. She had this sort of light to her that attracted the pesky moths that were our dull and boring school body. We had the same social status in school. People liked our personalities, so we were well-liked and accepted without doing much to prove ourselves worthy. She was sweet and compassionate and so fun. I didn’t mean to become her friend, but she was so welcoming, despite being the newcomer. We became close friends, but not best friends. We already had people filling those roles.

Dina’s best friend was Sydney Novak. Sydney moved to Brownsville around the same time as Dina, so the two became best friends quickly, but Sydney wasn’t very popular at all. She was shy and introverted, but I thought she was nice enough. I liked her and thought she was a pretty cool person. We weren’t necessarily friends, we were just well acquainted simply because we were both close with Dina. The transitive property, if you would. I just wish we could’ve talked more, our relationship was pretty much nonexistent.

Speaking of nonexistent relationships, let’s talk about Richard Berry. I honestly don’t want to even think about him, but he played a role in my life that was too vital to just offhandedly mention. For some odd reason, Ricky Berry was absolutely in love with me. It was so obvious to everyone except for me. Sophomore year, he expressed his love through the most arrogant and cheesiest of pick-up lines and compliments. I wasn’t so easily won over, if you could guess. I tried being good friends with him, but he’d always fuck it up when he tried to initiate intimacy. I didn’t want to hold hands with him in the halls or receive “friendly” cheek kisses. I’m not what you would call affectionate, especially towards people I’m not close to. It’s just never been comfortable for me. Junior year, everyone around me was buzzing with excitement when they heard Ricky was going to ask me to be his girlfriend. The cheerleaders, who got to know him through his high school football career, constantly pestered me with reasons as to why I would be so lucky to date The Richard Berry. Granted, he became less of a dick junior year, so I thought, Why not?, and accepted. Being in a relationship with Ricky was the most one-sided… anything I had ever been a part of. He was undeniably enamored with me, but I couldn’t find it in myself to reciprocate those feelings. He would show me off to his family and friends like a trophy, but if someone asked me if I had a boyfriend I’d go, “I mean, yeah. I guess”, so not a very healthy relationship. It also didn’t help that Ricky knew nothing about boundaries.

One night, we were in his bedroom, studying for a science test. Ricky wasn’t focused at all and kept trying to kiss and cuddle with me. I let him for awhile, but then he took my book from me and set it on the ground beside his bed. He suggested we have sex right then and there. Now, I was never a prude and definitely didn’t wait to have sex for the first time, but I never wanted Ricky to be my first. He hadn’t earned enough of my trust to even touch me suggestively. So, of course I refused. Ricky only took that as me teasing him, so he advanced, nearly forcing himself on me. Using all my might, I shoved him off of the bed. He stood to his feet, utterly confused, but I only gathered my things and left his house. He tried following after me, but I ignored him until he turned and went back into his home. The next day at school, he was holding me and kissing me and showing me off to everyone like he always did. As if nothing happened between us the night before. It was difficult to do, since he was so inconsiderate, but I managed to break up with him. He tried to deny that we were Splitsville for about a week, but everyone caught wind of our break-up. Once everyone knew about it, it became true for him. I never really felt comfortable with being intimate or open with guys after that.

Besides with Stanley Barber, of course. Stan was my best friend in the entire world. I told only my deepest, darkest secrets to him. And he told me his. The only things we really had in common were our lack of mothers and our hideous bacne. Stan lived a few houses down and was eager to get to know me a week after I moved in. I’d never met anyone in my life like Stan. He was so awkward, but loveable. I don’t know, I guess he reminded me of my mom. The way he didn’t care, but he so clearly did. Whenever I wanted to talk about something that was difficult to voice, we’d smoke to ease the tension. Of course, this wasn’t how we always communicated. Despite his nervous stuttering, he was easy to open up to. Stan provided a sort of security in my life. He was never going to leave me and that put me at ease when hanging out with him, which we did regularly. I don’t know when exactly I developed a crush on him, but I never wanted it to surface in our bond. He was to never know. It was just a stupid crush, right? He was a guy who wasn’t family and was so unbelievably caring towards me. It was bound to happen, but that didn’t mean he had to be aware of it. Though, it was a little hard to keep such a secret when we’d both made out twice already. The first time was while I was dating Ricky, the kiss was very awkward and ended after about a minute and a half. The second kiss was just half a week after my breakup. That time, we’d both known what we were doing. And I may be a little biased, but you couldn’t have even thought to fake the passion in that makeout session. We never talked about either of those kisses and remained friends both times. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me that we didn’t become anything more afterwards. It was for the best, though, because two weeks before spring break, my dad returned from his job in Georgia and moved me to Kansas again. The move was so abrupt that I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to anyone besides my family.

My life in Kansas for the second time was something I’d never want to experience ever again. Since it was a little late in the year, I finished junior year online. For some unexplained reason, my dad had us get new phones and new numbers, so I lost all contact with my friends. I had no one to talk to and it wasn’t like my dad paid much attention to me. I remember spending every waking moment with him when I was younger, talking or playing games or watching television. It used to be so fun being his daughter, but when we moved back to Kansas, I just felt like this huge burden in his life. Our relationship was strained and he clearly had other priorities in his life. Like whatever he left back in Georgia. I’d see his phone ring and the same number from that state would pop up before he’d leave the room and privately talk with whoever. It wasn’t the secrecy that was off-putting to me, it was the fact that it was so much more important to him. Once again, I was ignored by the one person in my life I wanted to spend the most time with. So, you can imagine the joy I felt when Dad had to go back to Georgia for work. I had been attending public school for my senior year and left not even a full month in. It didn’t bother me, I had no friends and nothing to leave behind. Mid-September was when I moved back to Brownsville with Aunt Pam. Everyone accepted me right back in. Especially my classmates. As I walked the halls I heard whispers like,

“Oh, my god, is that Zip?”

“Zip’s back! Where’d she even go?”

“I thought she died.”

The only person I really wanted to notice me was Stan. I missed him so much, I even got into his favorite band to have something to remember him by. I remember the day I got back to my aunt’s house. Jacob had picked me up from the airport and was driving me to the house. He was attending community college, but was still living with his parents. As we drove, he tapped his index fingers rhythmically to the shitty pop music that played on the radio. “So, what are you excited about for senior year?”

“Not much, I just missed Dina and Stan. Theatre, too. I wonder how they’ve been doing without me.” I chuckled. Jacob huffed in amusement.

“But you didn’t miss Ricky?”

“Fuck, Jake, you know I didn’t miss him for a second.” I frowned, waving my hand in dismissal. My cousin tauntingly laughed at me. Had he actually known about what happened between Ricky and I, he wouldn’t have teased me. In fact, Ricky wouldn’t even be alive that day if Jacob found out. No one knew about the incident, not even Stan.

Pulling up in front of the house, we got out of the car and headed to the trunk to pull out my bags. I tried carrying them in, but Jacob insisted that he do all the heavy lifting and simply asked me to carry my backpack and close the trunk. I did what little I was asked of and headed to the front door to greet my aunt and uncle inside, but stopped. In the corner of my eye, I saw movement from the Barber residence. Turning, my eyes locked on Stanley, who was frozen beside his car. He was wearing his work uniform and staring at me with the most bewildered expression on his face. It was like he thought himself to be hallucinating my existence. Smiling, I simply waved at him before walking back inside. When he got home from work that night, he headed over to my house and knocked on the door. I answered with a grin on my face. “Stan!”

“If it isn’t the famous Zip, showing back up in my life.”

“Ugh, do not call me that.” I rolled my eyes playfully before bringing him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin at the top of my head. I would’ve stayed there all night if I could’ve. When Stanley pulled away, my heart hollowed and a pit formed within my stomach. I felt unfinished, unbalanced. And I hate imbalance. He asked if I wanted to hang out and I accepted his offer. All we did was lay on his floor, listen to music and get high, but in that moment, that’s all I needed.

Bloodwitch, a joint, and Stan laying by my side.

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Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit

[suekre]

So ive followed you a VERY long time (like from the deviantart days lmao) and i only just realised that you were talking about ocd in that post. Just wanted to let you know that i have ocd as well and god it is exhausting and i know exactly how you feel! I finally start therapy for it in 2 weeks. Pls know that i love your art and you very much and appreciate everything you create and share with us. All the best!! X

Hey you, I know you! Thank you for coming to my inbox and sharing this with me, I appreciate that so much. :) I am SUPER happy for you that you are about to get the help you need, that is awesome. I wish I could have had it at the time!

(And oh boy, the good old deviantart days, haha! Always happy to have my longtime followers around! :D)

OCD is exhausting indeed. People who aren’t affected can’t imagine what a nightmare it is. I, personally, am more prone to intrusive thoughts than actual obsessive-compulsive behavior. When people hear „OCD“, they usually think of obsessive hand washing or „leaving out every black tile while walking through a kitchen“ or so, while it can manifest in other ways. I didn’t know back then. I just thought I was going completely crazy at the time. I think I mentioned my disorder at times but I never actually openly talked about my own experiences (where I come from, mental disorders are a big NO NO, because it’s all in your head, just pull yourself together, other people are ACTUALLY suffering, it’s just dumb thoughts, you just need to think positive, y’know).

I kinda feel like doing it now. Just to get it out, and also to occupy my brain and hands and hey, maybe someone else can pick this up and find themselves in my own experiences. I sure know how relieved I was when I found out I wasn’t alone with my what I thought was a ‚Very Weird, Unique and Niche Problem‘.  

I gotta admit first - I’m doing much better nowadays. Even my worst days, as horrible as they may feel at the time, do in no way compare to the hell I went through in the second half of 2015. I have come a long way since my last (and so far worst... omg, oof, I hope there won’t be another) episode of intrusive thoughts. But, oh boy, was it intense.  It was the absolute worst time of my life, ever. I’m not writing this to scare anyone. Anyone who is familiar with this, will know how bad it is and anyone who can’t relate at all won’t feel affected anyway and will maybe even think something along the lines of „What the fuck?!“. I get it. It DOES sound crazy.

I have always been an overthinker. I always needed more validation and reassurance than other people around me and for the longest time I had no idea why that was. It was usually subtle - always kinda there but never strong enough to actually affect my life in a negative way. I just felt off at times, and not always super good. But I was generally ok, I could always manage.

Until that one episode that changed my life forever. I know that sounds dramatic but, even though I am in a good place nowadays, it sure DID change my life. I was 31, I lived together with my then-boyfriend and I still remember the exact date. Friday, July 24th, 2015. I remember the exact moment when my entire mind collapsed. It’s so weird, it literally happened from one second to the other. I am not making this up to sound more dramatic, it was a matter of seconds.

I was on my way home after work and I felt… restless and stressed. It felt good to get off work (it was my first full time job and... it didn’t go well, to put it nicely) but I was no longer really looking forward to my week off, and our trip to our favorite Open Air the following week. I picked up some dinner on my way, I came home, and I saw my boyfriend in the middle of the living room, he was making some preparations for our upcoming trip. When I saw him, tall and handsome and smiling at me, I smiled back but inside I felt like crying. My smile was fake. Kissing him felt weird, and also fake. And all of a sudden, there it was. The life changing thought:

„I don’t love him anymore.“

A simple thought. I had weird thoughts before, like anyone does, but they never had any greater impact on me. This time, though, that one thought knocked me off my feet. Not literally, I had turned into a pillar of salt somehow. This was the Perfect Man Of My Dreams (at least that was what I thought back then). The man I wanted to spend my life with, the man who made me happy every day! How could that even be, how could I even think something like that?

I felt even more restless. I didn’t tell him, of course. When he asked how my day was, I put on my fake smile again and said it was okay. We ate our dinner (although I had instantly lost any appetite), and I kept looking at him and the thoughts... just kept coming back.

You don’t love him anymore. What if you don’t love him anymore?

On repeat. It was awful. I just couldn’t shake them off.

It’s the stress, I tried to tell myself. You’re overworked. It’ll be good, you just need some rest.

But I couldn’t relax. My heart was racing, my blood was pumping. I didn’t know what was going on. I begged him to leave his work undone and take me out for an after work drink and he agreed. All the time, the thoughts wouldn’t leave my mind. I didn’t want to think them, but they were merciless, they just kept coming back. I felt so helpless.

A few drinks later, I had calmed down a bit, at least so much that I could stand to look at my BFs face again without feeling guilty. There you go, I said to myself, not quite convinced, you’ll be good. It’s already wearing off. When we crawled into bed later, I was tired and relaxed (and tipsy) enough to sleep and convinced that this was just a little glitch, that things would be just fine in the morning.

When I woke up, I felt exhausted. My heart was racing... and the thoughts came back IMMEDIATELY.

You don’t love him anymore. You gotta leave him.

What. The. HELL!? Why are these thoughts still a thing? Why are they still there? Why do they keep coming back?

I kept trying to push them away but the more I tried, the more intense they became. As if they tried to spite me. I started losing focus on everything else around me, the world slowly started to blur. It was just Me And My Thoughts from here. I tried my best to hide my state, and I think I managed for a while, but I felt like a robot any time I talked to someone. When people would pick up on my confusion, I usually brushed their concerns off. It’s nothing, I’m good.

I mean... how do you even tell someone that you just. can’t. stop. thinking. about whether you still love your boyfriend or not? According to the world, that is something you “just feel and know” after all. Except that I didn’t. I had no clue. I couldn’t feel anything. But, according to the world, that was perfectly normal, too. “Honeymoon phase is over at some point, babe. That’s everyday life, you grow comfy, it’s no longer a flash of feelings every day, you know that. You guys have been together for a while after all, what did you expect?!” ... what I felt didn’t feel like comfy everyday life either, though. Comfy everday life shouldn’t come with high key anxiety, sleepless nights and a loss of appetite at any lived second. If that was comfy everyday life, I sure didn’t want it.

So, what do you do when you have no clue about something? Right! Google! Go and ask the world! “How do you know that you still love your partner?”, “Is the love gone?” ... I spent hours, DAYS doing that, but no answer I found was remotely statisfying (or maybe it was for a minute, but the reassurance never lasted long) and I felt that those articles didn’t actually understand what I was asking in first place. I would spend every day like that. Permanently asking myself the same questions, analyzing myself, testing if the Big Feels for the man had decided to come back... nah, not really. Maybe NOW? If I just look at him close enough?! ... maybe if I squint a little?! Fuck, still nothing! Niente! Nada! I am a horrible person, aaah!

(Our open air trip was an emotional disaster by the way, I felt horrible all the time, and the permanent rain didn’t help. -3/10, do not recommend).

If I had known at the time that I wouldn’t spend just a few days but (more or less) six months with this shit... oof. I was already exhausted after those few days.

Over the course of the next weeks I stopped eating almost entirely. I just couldn’t. This permanent tight anxiety knot in my stomach made me want to throw up at the mere thought of food. At my worst point I weighed 138 lbs (63 kg), at 6 ft 1 (1,85 m). I often joked about how I had almost reached runway model standard. I was sick, I was weak, I was scared, but I just couldn’t eat and the bits I DID force myself to eat were burned almost right away by my crippling anxiety. (I still have clothes from that time, and I sometimes beat myself up for no longer fitting into them before I remember that I should NEVER fit into them EVER again.)

Instead I smoked a pack a day. I hardly got any sleep and when I did, it wasn’t relaxing. Always in Fight and Flight mode. My body was at alert level any minute, any day. I’m still asking myself how it could be that I never actually... collapsed. I was always tired, exhausted and malnourished... I dunno, you tell me.

The thoughts never really disappeared. They kept coming back in all variations. You don’t love him anymore. You have to leave him. You may not want to, but you have to. You don’t love him. I had very few “good moments” in between but in those good moments, my mind was usually frantically looking for explanations and reasons behind all this. For ways to improve my relationship, to feel better about my boyfriend. I came up with the WEIRDEST shit. Almost every day I found something new that bothered me. One day he was a little boring. That’s it! We gotta go out more, do more stuff, that’ll change everything. ... aaah, no. Guess not. The next day, it was something else. The day after THAT, it was something entirely different again.

I was suddenly prone to making some HELLA weird impulsive decisions, too. „I gotta break off contact to that one person RIGHT now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!“, “I gotta talk to my mom about THAT particular incident in my childhood right now, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”, “I gotta make a trip to the mall JUST NOW, THEN I WILL FEEL BETTER!”… the decisions made total sense to me the second I made them, for about ten minutes at most, but the initial rush of relief started to fade again quickly and I frantically started looking for new solutions. Google was my best friend. I couldn’t go a day without googling exessively. Overthinking, pacing, googling. Any day, any hour awake. Over weeks. A few months even. My mind was constantly reeling. It was a bottomless pit.  

I cannot put into words how exhausting that was. Sometimes the idea of throwing myself out of the next window seemed SO tempting, not because I wanted to die, but because I wanted the thoughts to stop tormenting me.

(I was out of regular therapy at the time, btw. I thought about calling my therapist about it but never did it. I felt isolated, I literally thought I had to do this all by myself.)

At some point, a few months into it, I somehow transferred to zombie mode. The thoughts became a little less intense over time. They were never gone but not quite as nagging anymore. But any time I wasn’t in alert mode, I felt just hollow instead. Sucked dry of any joy, of any emotion, of any sign of life. I just... functioned. Still tried to hide it. I dunno how well I did with that. Probably not at all well. I kept it all to myself, just because it felt that ridiculous. Tried to find excuses. “I’m just tired.”, “You know, there’s a lot going on in my head right now, but I’ll be good.” ... truth is that I don’t remember a whole lot of that time, it’s all blurry. There are just a few significant moments.

Such as that one evening, after work, when I left the building, made a few steps and stood five (or ten? fifteen??? who knows?! not me.) minutes on the spot, motionless, because I could no longer remember my way home.

I got fired from that job, by the way. I’m sure it was mostly due to low performance, I get it, but I can’t blame my poor state alone - they were also assholes.

Anyway.

I had, of course, never stopped the googling and one day, after hours of browsing any niche I hoped I hadn’t browsed yet, I somehow found a blog written by a young woman like me. The description tackled almost all of my thought patterns and I was blown. away. She asked herself the very same questions, with the very same twists, and... she even had a name for it.

ROCD. Relationship Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I cried for what felt like hours. Out of relief. There was a person in this world who knew exactly what I was going through. And she even had tips how to overcome it. It wasn’t the first time I had heard about OCD, but as it had never affected me in any way before (I, too, associated it with compulsive hand washing and tile jumping), I wouldn’t have thought of it. After doing my own intense research on the subject, a huge part of me and my life finally started making sense to me. Not much was known about ROCD at the time, but it kinda didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was the OCD part. The subject of the thoughts is entirely interchangable. It’s the chain of thoughts itself that has to be broken. Don’t focus on the relationship. Break the chain instead.

The internet also recommended exposure therapy but as therapy wasn’t an option at the time (weird German laws... regular health insurance covers only a limited amount of therapy lessons within a certain span of time and I had used mine up and there was no way I could pay myself), I decided to try it myself, the key points being:

* No more googling, no more reassurance. Learn to live with the uncertainty, learn to live with Not Knowing.

* Let the thoughts happen. Watch them pass by. They’re just thoughts, they can’t harm you. Don’t fight them, just recognize them and let them stay, they’ll get less scary over time.

* Focus on other things, as hard as it is. Try to occupy your mind and your body. Any minute you spend doing something else but brooding is a win.

It all sounded so very abstract at the time, but I was determined to give it a try. Oh gosh, was it hard. After months of emotional torment and getting used to unhealthy ways of coping, it was SO DAMN FUCKING HARD to NOT google. To NOT think. It felt like torment all over again. How was I supposed to just let the thought sit with me!? It was scary, I didn’t want it! Just ONE little peek, only a second, come ON! I won’t do it again after that?!

Oh god, it was the worst, it really was. Trying to break the chain while I was so desperate to save my relationship was terrible. I honestly don’t remember HOW I made it... but I made it. I somehow... clawed and bit my way out of it. I went right through the pain and made it. It’s not actually a linear process but there comes this point (and I know a few people I met on online platforms who would back me up on this) when you know the worst is over. You just know it. Things weren’t exactly good by the time the thoughts were history but I had reign over my own head again, I could actually SEE the world again, and that was worth everything plus my body weight in gold.

I’ll stop right here because the following months weren’t about my OCD anymore, but about figuring out needs, figuring out myself and what I wanted from life and this particular relationship and it’s not quite relevant and another story. (I DID love my ex-BF but it turned out he wasn’t at all good for me, I had ignored all the red flags for too long, and it didn’t take long after this for us to go separate ways)

I hated this particular time in my life while it lasted but I have learned and taken so much from it. It has changed my life in so many ways. I learned that things are never set in stone, not for anyone. That there will always be uncertain times on our ways. That change is always scary. That it’s okay to be scared. That staying in crappy situations for the sake of it isn’t always the right thing to do. Sometimes, doing the right thing (aka leaving a relationship that isn’t good for you) can make you sad. Love does not equal compatibility.

Looking back, I am - in a very bizarre and twisted way - grateful for the experience. It was an incredibly important lesson for me that taught me to be kinder to myself, to look out for myself and to listen to my own needs. That I should put myself first at times. For the first time of my life, I really got in touch with myself and my own emotions. I learned to understand them, I learned where they come from. I learned to cut myself slack at times.

The list goes on and on, but you get my drift. I know myself inside and out at this point. That wasn’t always the case. Not until 2016.

It still comes back at times. Not with such full force, but it keeps creeping back in, pretty much any time I have to deal with uncertainty in my life. Bad news at work, not hearing from a friend for a while that I’m dying to hear from (inevitably thinking that they MUST be mad at me) or when I spot a few symptoms of sickness that I’m not familiar with (I practically never get sick). Not Knowing What Will Happen drives me CRAZY. I hate uncertainty, I need my life to be stable and calm to fully function.

Now, in COVID times, it’s mostly the fear of suffering from an incurable disease. AGAIN. I’m familiar with that, too. I’m not even scared of catching the virus, I just fell right back into overthinking any symptom I have, even if it’s just a short pain in the neck or whatever (you know, things that one usually brushes off). When my life was busier, I was MUCH better at handling those thoughts. Most of the time, they didn’t even come up in first place. Sitting inside and avoiding contact 99,9% of all times, and having little to no actual distraction („reading/watching movies“ doesn’t help me personally, it does’t occupy my mind enough, I usually just stare right through the pages/screen), however, leaves FAR too much time for the thoughts to unfold, once they come up.

This subtle but lingering concern for my health puts my body into a permanent state of anxiety once more. Fight and Flight mode. The pace of my heartbeat is always slightly, but perpetually, increased. It isn’t always outright panic attacks, it’s this constant state of having to be… alert. Something MIGHT happen, y’know. Be prepared. Relaxing and doing nice things becomes almost impossible. Instead, I get tired and exhausted. Depressed, even. It sucks the joy right out of me. I feel like living under a glass dome. I see what’s happening around me but I am unable to connect, emotionally. People keep living their lives and I can watch them, but I can’t be a part of it. It’s a deeply crushing feeling. I manage to somehow function but I don’t really feel alive. My abandonment issues and fear of „getting left behind“ kicked in again, too. I want to catch up and take part but can’t so I stress myself over THAT, too. This only adds to the exhaustion and makes me feel even more isolated.  

Hello, vicious circle, my old friend.

I didn’t even realize that I had such huge potential to fall right back into it. It all started… I dunno, by mid/end of January?? It’s a bit blurry this time. It is directly connected to Germany’s recent lockdown, though. A massive case of Not Knowing How Things Will Turn Out. I failed to take better care of myself in the past few weeks. And now I’m here. AGAIN. Ugh.

But well, as I said, it’s not as bad and, as I said, I have at least learned some important things over the years. In this particular case of intrusive thoughts, the first rule is: NEVER GOOGLE SYMPTOMS. And never google shit like „chances to survive (whatever illness think you have at the time)“, either. The mind longs for reassurance but googling symptoms is BAD, as we all know by now. It’s not even reassuring when you do it. Because you’ll inevitably end up diving through the vast internet for HOURS, picking up an entry that some person named Kevin made on a cancer forum way back in 2004, saying that his uncle died the next day after finding out he has cancer and that is, OF COURSE, what will happen to YOU, too. There is no other way. YOU WILL DIE.

Excuse the text walls. I took an opportunity to ramble about my own experience, for the first time ever since it happened (not including the few short talks I had with the few people I met on internet forums).

To anyone who made it this far: Thank you so much for reading. It sure felt good to write this down for once, even if it’s just a short summary (yes, really, I mean, we’re talking six-ish months here), and the descriptions fall woefully short. If anyone affected by the same happens to read this -  I am so, SO sorry you are suffering so much. You are NOT alone and you are NOT weird. Talk to someone. Open up. To your doctor, or you therapist, if you have one. To a person you trust. It is the worst but there are ways, there is help. I wish I had known at the time it started for me.

You know now. :)

P.S.: DON’T FUCKING GOOGLE:

[ladyofpurple]

here it is: the post Literally no one was waiting for. i'd put it under a read more thing but i'm on mobile and can't be assed to get out of bed so fuck it. we air our dirty laundry on main for the world to see like men.

so waaay back in february or something, i started seeing a psychologist again. i'd been seeing a psychologist for a while last year, but she had a private practice and got too expensive over time, so i had to stop. now, however, i finally got a referral to the public mental health offices in my county. which is nice, because norway has this neat thing that means when you go to the doctor, public health care facilities, refill prescriptions for medications you have to take daily, etc, the money you spend on those things gets recorded and after you've spent like $260, you get a free card that gets logged into your medical records and you don't have to pay for any of those things for the rest of the year.

anyway, i mentioned a couple of years back that i finally got put on antidepressants for the first time. they helped a lot, but then i just... stopped taking them. there wasn't a reason, really. i just forgot to take them one week when i was stuck in bed with a headcold, and then it was hard to get back in the habit again. i tried to get back on them off and on for a long time, but i'd inevitably just forget again. until, like, i wanna say november/early december last year? i started taking them again. there were still some slip-ups every now and then, but for the most part i took them almost every day. any gaps were no longer than two, maybe three days at the most, and those gaps were maybe once a month or so on average. averages aren't really useful in this context, but i hope you get the idea.

anyway, i finally convinced my doctor that, no, seriously, i really need to see a psychologist, i've always needed to see psychologists my whole life, seeing psychologists help me, i can't afford a private psychologist so i need a public one, and after a lot of begging and insisting on my end and a lot of hemming and hawing on her end she finally agreed to refer me. except she forgot to actually send the email she'd been typing in front of me, and then she quit, so there was a lot of confusion and time spent sorting things out until i got my first appointment.

i didn't like my psychologist at first. she was way older than i'm usually comfortable with (that's a personal me-problem that i know is irrational, and i'm not gonna go into the why but yes i'm working on it), and very blunt in an exasperated sort of way. she made me angry sometimes. she made me feel like i wasn't trying hard enough. but she helped me get shit done, so i guess she was doing something right.

in june she called in a psychiatrist to help adjust my medications, so i started taking zoloft in addition to the other medication (remeron, aka mirtazapine) that i was already taking. the mirtazapine was helping with my depression, but my anxiety was still pretty bad. the zoloft helped.

by my second appointment with my psychologist, she asked me whether i could have adhd, or if there was a history of it in my family. now, i have a lot of family with adhd (how closely related we are by blood is a bit of a mystery to me, my family tree is more like an overgrown hedge and who knows who fits where), and my grandma used to joke that the women in our family "all have a little bit of that adhd brain in us", but as far as i knew, nobody in my immediate, direct bloodline had such a diagnosis. i had my suspicions about myself, of course — i knew that not every focus or attention related problem necessarily has a specific attention disorder source, but i also knew that what i was experiencing couldn't be "normal," in the sense that if i walked into a room with 100 people in it, 86 of those people wouldn't necessarily look at a list of my symptoms and go "oh same hat." i've had add on my about me for a while now. maybe that was silly of me; i hadn't been diagnosed with it, and what i knew about the specifics of it were picked up piecemeal off the internet. you know, that super-reliable place where everyone is honest and factual all the time?

anyway, this began the process of investigating the merits of such a potential diagnosis. research was begun. questionnaires were taken. my mom was invited to one of my sessions, in which she revealed that, oh yeah, bee tee dubs, she's always suspected i have adhd. did she mention that she has also apparently always suspected ocd and that i'm autistic? no? whoops, well, she has now.

end of june i was referred to the neuropsychologist devision of the public health care place. over the course of a little over 6 weeks i went in for 2 interviews, in which i answered several questionnaires, talked about my life and childhood and traumas and what my mom had told me about her pregnancy and labor, every possible symptom i'd ever had, and was sent home with even *more* questionnaries. in addition to these, i went in for two rounds of "testing," in which i was tested on my memory, pattern recognition, reaction time, impulse control, and probably a dozen other things. i was nervous. it was exhausting. i wanted answers but was terrified of what those answers would be.

end of august, my mom came with me for the big reveal. and guess what? she was right. primary diagnosis: adhd, special emphasis on the attention deficit part. bonus diagnosis: asperger syndrome. surprise! i'm autistic, i guess.

it was hard to come to terms with. which sounds really silly, since i wouldn't have even been taking those tests if i didn't think the outcome was a possibility. and it's not like the diagnoses were surprising either. the adhd part was easier to accept, mostly because i already felt pretty confident i had it. but the asperger diagnosis was harder. having to unlearn all those ingrained ableist stereotypes and social stigmas is hard, especially when you had some you didn't even realize were there. it's very surreal to think a thought and be like "no, wait, i do that. that joke is about me." it's a very surreal and slightly upsetting experience to realize how biased you are as general rule, but especially about a facet of your own identity you weren't aware of. and the feeling of everything and nothing changing all at once. i've always been like this. a doctor telling me i have two cognitive/developmental disabilities isn't an event that magically gave me these disabilities. my brain has always worked like this. the only difference between me now and me a year ago is that i have an official, medical reason for Why now.

that's another thing: coming to terms with the idea of being "developmentally disabled." it's not like i'm suddenly a different person — i have to constantly remind myself that my brain has always been like this. but having a piece of paper confirming that i am legally entitled to special allowances in the workplace or at school because i have not one, but two "disabilities" is absolutely buckwild to me.

it makes me reevaluate my life and my past. how many situations did i make worse because i did not have the capacity or knowledge about how my own brain works to self-reflect? was i high-functioning in the past because life was simpler? was it because i subconsciously had a better handle on what works for me and what doesn't, and somewhere along the way i lost that? or was it simply because i didn't have the option to be anything other than high-functioning? it's confusing.

i also lost my spot at college. i can still reapply next year if i want, but at least now i know why i was failing out lmao

anyway, by my birthday in september we started the process of adjusting my medication again. upping my zoloft, getting me off remeron, and as of 6 weeks ago or so, beginning ritalin.

it was a rocky start, but i'm up to 60mg now. two pills in the morning, one in the afternoon. i have a goddamn alarm for 8am every day, even weekends. my sleeping is still wonky, but at least im genuinely tired by 8pm every night. the psychiatrist still wants me to try melatonin for a month (even though i told her multiple times it has never worked for me, and my problem has never been "i'm not sleepy enough"), so i'm on a whopping 2mg of melatonin for the next 30 days. norwegians are fucking WEIRD about melatonin, don't even get me started.

a slightly unexpected side-effect (on my end) of these medication changes: remeron made me gain weight. like, a lot of weight. and i was constantly hungry all the time, overeating to ridiculous amounts. why did nobody ever tell me that weight gain and metabolism changes are a side-effect of anti-depressants? i was more active this summer than i'd been in, like, three years and i just got fatter. which was incomvenient because i kept outgrowing my clothes. anyway, a side effect of ritalin is a loss of appetite and general weight loss. the combination of regularly taking ritalin and dropping remeron entirely? i eat a fraction of what i used to before, i've almost entirely stopped snacking, and i've lost 15 lbs in less than a month. i've already noticed my face is slightly slimmer now. maybe by christmas i'll be able to fit into my old tshirts again.

anyway, my psychologist quit, so i have a new one now. i've only seen her a few times, but she's veeeery different from my old one. i can't decide if i like her or not.

in the middle of all this, i've been going to the social security office as well to kind of get some of my own money, possibly help me get a job at some point in the future. my caseworker is super nice. if she's over 30 i'd be shocked. i relate to her really well, she's very helpful and understanding, and she's very patient with me and my bullshit. she's the kind of person where if we met at a party or something we could probably hang out.

anyway, she's helped me get out of the house sometimes. she introduced me to this youth club volunteer group thing called the fountain house, designed for young people who've dealt with or are currently dealing with mental illnesses and such. i hung out there yesterday and the day before and did some basic office work. it's nice. and then there's a work placement place that can either give you a job on site in one of their four departments, or help you get a job at an actual business elsewhere with more support and leniency than you might get if they just hired you off the street. i'd start in their second hand store. they clean and restore all donations they recieve, and they're super fucking cheap. i treated myself to my literal lifelong dream of owning a vintage typewriter (!!!!!) yesterday, because it's almost christmas and goddammit, i've been doing so much shit the past couple of months i deserve it. do i have space for it? not really. do i have a plan on what to use it for? no. was it heavy and miserable trekking through the snow and rain yesterday back and forth? was it worth the backache in the morning? fuck yeah it was.

a fucking lot of things are happening all at once. diagnoses, medications, lifestyle changes, work placement, social clubs, dealing with bureaucracies on all sides just so i can feel like a person again, not to mention juggling hobbies like writing and drawing and maintaining my irl friendships. i'm getting as many balls rolling as i can while i have the opportunity and mental/emotional capacity to, but i'm worried i'll burn out again. i'm stabilizing and slowly building my life back up, but jesus christ it would suck if this stupid house of cards collapsed again. but i'm tentatively optimistic. who knows, maybe it's not to late to course-correct my mistakes.

so long story short, that's why i've barely been active on tumblr for months. that's why i haven't been writing, drawing, or reading fic. it's coming along, but it's slow.

i guess the most important thing is that it's coming along at all.

[muellercorn]

Basically I Love Taylor Swift

Heyo I want to talk about how important of a figure Taylor Swift has been in my life since 2006. In 2015 I attended my firstTaylor concert (and my only to date) so now that we are on the verge of a new era (and hopefully tour) I've started saving to try to attend a concert soon. Therefore, I eventually feel ready to talk about my experience of attending the 1989 world tour at Hyde Park. This is a story I never even spoke about with friends because I was so desperate to attend a concert for so long that I was ashamed and embarrassed to admit what happened when I attended.

I've been a Taylor Swift fan since day one, I was 6 years old and just completely in awe. So after 9 years of dreaming and wishing I was seeing Taylor live and I could not have been more excited. My parents and I travelled down to London from our home in the North East of England, checked into our hotel then headed towards Hyde Park. Crossing over the road to Hyde Park my vision suddenly went to black and in a split second I'd completely disassociated from everything around me. You see, at age 6 I'd founded my love for TS, but I'd also been put in therapy for what would remain undiagnosed for 11 years but later be named as Emetophobia, OCD, anxiety among a few more. At age 15 I was absolutely no stranger to panic attacks, I'd had several a week since I was 6, however this was only my second time ever disassociating and by far the worst. As we got to Hyde Park I immediately needed to sit down, it started with a panic attack that I felt too tired to have. I couldn't accept that the world around me was real, I wouldn't let my parents touch me as I kept thinking and shouting that I didn't know who they were and they didn't seem like my parents. I just froze on a bench afraid to move for the fear that I'd black out. I just wanted to go back to my hotel, I begged and begged, I was willing to completely abandon my dream of seeing Taylor live. I was getting laughed at and mocked by passers by and I was just done. My parents however were not, although it felt like torture at the time they stayed with me and helped calm me down for at least 2 hours (if not more) because they knew I'd be heart broken if I missed the concert.

So eventually I got myself through the gates, got my light up wrist band and found a spot on the field. Literally just in time for Taylor coming on stage. I still wasn't all with 'there' mentally, but physically I'd made it. Obviously by this time I was right at the back of the field and I couldn't cope with trying to get amongst the crowd anyway, but I couldn't have cared less. I always denied it to others and said our train got there late and we couldn't get to the front, but at the time I was just happy to get to see my idol. I was having anxiety attacks every few minutes and my parents had sworn this was the last concert they'd take me to (and I haven't had the confidence to go to one since). A few months prior they'd decided to stop taking me to the theatre (my other great love) because despite my adoration for the arts, the anxiety the situation caused, resulted in me walking out and wasting a lot of money. All I know is if it weren't for how much Taylor inspired me that night, I would have given up on myself and denied myself so many opportunities and so much happiness in the future.

The concert is a blur to me, the best night of my life, but a blur. However, I have one incredibly distinct clear memory - listening to the speech before Clean, my favourite song from 1989. I'd watched previous speeches on YouTube so as soon as I heard the first few words I knew what was coming, but nothing could have prepared me. Taylor talked about how we were all going through our own anxieties, worries and hard times, but right now we were in awesome outfits and having the best night of our lives. The tears started to flow and it felt so surreal and magical it felt as if I was standing by myself in Hyde Park, just me and Taylor and she was giving me personalised life advice. Then I realised that despite the fact I had never met a single person in that crowd, we were all connected, we all had similar hearts and minds, and as Taylor said in hard times we all turn to music to get through. I cried my eyes out at this moment, I needed to hear what Taylor had to say and more over I needed to feel that inspired and moved.

That moment I decided to not give up on myself, to keep going, to return to a Taylor Swift concert when fates would allow. What made this moment even more special was that I knew it came directly from Taylor's heart, this wasn't the same speech that she'd given at the previous concert or the concert before there were ad-libs that came from raw emotion and passion and it was beautiful. I will never forget how I felt during this and the feeling I felt walking back to my hotel, hope that I hadn't felt in years and I'm so grateful. This is why I've loved Taylor for 13 years. She writes music that matters, that really really matters. This isn't music to make money it's art to heal, to comfort and to provide company.

I can not wait for this new era and to (hopefully) see Taylor Swift live again! It feels like she's written her song specifically for you each lyric related to the human condition at its core and that truly is enchanting. My battle with mental illness still goes on, I'm frightened at the thought of going to another concert, however there's nothing I'm more excited for right now than the idea of seeing Taylor perform live again, I trust her, I trust that the wisdom she'll bestow on me that night will make any prior anxiety completely worth it and will be laid to rest. I'm so grateful and beyond excited for this next era, music is my salvation and I'm ready for my soul to be nourished.

@taylorswift @taylornation

[healthishealth]

Today I am sad and that’s okay.

As I near the end of this flare-up, my mind has yet to catch up with my body. Imagine that day you finally realize you’re going to come out of the flu alive, but you still have that lingering exhaustion for a week or two afterward. That is exactly what I feel, except I often experience this lag mentally. In my field of work as an ERP coach at an OCD clinic, we call this phenomenon “white knuckling.” This refers to when we do an exposure with a client, and they seem to be okay during the exposure, but the next day they come in and tell us they fell apart later in the day. It’s like a mental jet lag and despite being able to predict the occurrence of this phenomenon after my flare-ups, it still feels crappy.

The truth is, I’ve been isolated from the world for the past two weeks. I haven’t been able to work, most of the time I was too tired to even talk on the phone, and I didn’t really have the mental capacity to process everything. I literally did not leave my apartment for two whole weeks except for the few doctor appointments I went to (and I even had to cancel some of those). A lot of my time was spent in the dark due to my photosensitivity. I felt left out of society.

I immediately blamed my medication for my sadness. Last week, I began to taper off of my anti-depressant/anxiety medication. “It must be that. Why else would I feel any negative emotion?” Of course, in hindsight, we can all see how detrimental that thought is. I absolutely should be experiencing emotion – albeit happy or sad. It doesn’t mean that I’m depressed. I’ve been depressed before and it’s very different from feeling sad. Instead of fighting the emotion, I accept it as it is. Today, Alex called on his way home from work to ask what I wanted for lunch. Sometimes when I’m really sad, I also become indecisive. So, instead of hiding my feelings, I told Alex, “I’m feeling sad today. Can you choose lunch?” The response I got was validating and helpful. He acknowledged my sadness and then made a decision that felt overwhelming for me in the moment. It’s okay to be sad and it’s even more okay to express that.

My sadness does not just stem from my illness. I debated whether or not I should include this in my blog since some of my friends might read this, but I no longer feel ashamed of my feelings. This time of year for the past four years has been extremely difficult for me. Four years ago, I went through a difficult breakup that ostracized me from my group of friends. I spent years creating this group, handpicking people to be a part of it. We quickly became a close-knit group and I considered them my family. When I began dating my ex, I brought him into my group of friends and he quickly assimilated. Then I moved to Spain for a year and he stayed in LA with my friends. Obviously, we ended up going our separate ways. Little did I know this would also mean I would lose my friends on top of my relationship. This weekend is the annual camping trip that everyone (except for Alex and me) is invited to. The part that hurts the most is how much it hurts every year. The first year I was uninvited from this camping trip, I was really hurt, but I also allowed myself to be upset. It was a normal reaction in my eyes and a justified response to a cruel thing that came out of left field. The second year it happened, I had held onto some hope that it had been long enough since the breakup and that my ex as well as the organizer of this trip would allow Alex and me to join the trip. I was disappointed and a little shocked that we were still not invited. The third year, I turned my anger and sadness on myself. I was frustrated that I kept expecting the same people to act differently. After all, didn't someone once say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results? Was I crazy or was I just hopelessly grasping at pieces of my past, trying to will them back into existence? My therapist said it was the latter (shrug). Why then, couldn’t I let go of the way things used to be? I’m still unsure of this, but I do know that when year four rolled around, I wasn’t hoping for a different outcome. I knew neither Alex nor I were ever going to be invited to this camping trip. The difference this year is that I’ve decided not to fight my emotions. My sadness does not come from shock; it does not come from a flame of hope being extinguished. My sadness also doesn’t lead to disappointment in myself over the way I’m feeling. My sadness is simply a result of a sad thing that happens every year. Maybe one year I won’t feel as sad, but for now, it’s okay for me to feel this way.

[emeto-things]

My Emetophobia Story!

Hi my name is Abby and I’ve had emetophobia since 2011 when I was only 8 years old. It was the winter and the flu was going around. My brother got it, and for some reason he makes himself sick on purpose so he can feel better? Idk. Either way, my bedroom was next door to the bathroom. I woke up to the horrendous sound of g* and v*. I ran into my parents room and asked my mom what was going. She told me he was purposefully making himself sick and that everything was okay. After shaking and crying, I went to bed and couldn’t sleep because it made me so awake. I ended up catching the flu a couple hours later. I was so worried that I was gonna v* too and my mom could NOT convince me that it wasn’t part of the flu and he didn’t that on purpose. The whole time I had the flu I slept barely any, constantly worrying i’d v*. Thankfully I didn’t! After the flu was gone, I was back to my normal self. Until 2013, when I was 10. I was talking to a pen pal online and we decided to make a movie together. I was in charge of everything, and she’d call me everyday asking if I had worked on it. It stressed me out so much that I developed anxiety. Later that year, I was in the car and felt totally fine but had a scary thought of “what if I get motion sickness?” I had motion sickness when I was younger and I still might I just don’t wanna test it. I started to cry and shake uncontrollably and I didn’t know why. I guess that was my first glimpse of a panic attack but I didn’t know such thing existed back then. I realized my friend was not so much of a good friend after all and decided to cut ties with her. My anxiety kinda disappeared again. I then started to develop OCD. I would constantly check her social media’s and read our old messages obsessively to the point i’d Be sad that I left her. It took me monthsss to get over that. But I eventually did. In 2014, my fears got far behind me and I was having a really good life. I don’t remember having anxiety at all much that year. It was the best year ever to this day. In early 2015 when I was 12, I started having strange, violent thoughts. I’d be sleeping with my dog and get a random “urge” to want to shove him off the bed and hurt him. The thoughts scared me so much since I love him and would never want to hurt him. I started having them more. I’d have an “urge” to kill a family member or poison them. It made me so uncomfortable and scared and I thought I had a serious problem and was going to end up a serial killer. It wasn’t until a few months later I was researching OCD and found that those thoughts are an extremely common OCD symptom and that you’d never actually act on it. I felt so much better! I found out I wasn’t a crazy person! Now I don’t even have those thoughts anymore. I was going pretty good until April 2015. I had been in an art class for about 6 months, but I’m this particular day I went, apparently a sv* was going around but I didn’t know about it. And apparently someone in my class was s* and still came in. It was a very tight class with a lot of kids and we were all sharing the same markers and pens and pencils and one girl (I believe who was the s* one) coughed with her mouth open all the time and we sat literally right next to each other that I could feel her breath on me. I didn’t have emetophobia then so I didn’t get all freaked out. Besides, I didn’t even know anyone was sick! If I did, I wouldn’t have gone. Not because I was scared but because of common sense. (This part may be a little triggering but i’ll Try not to be. Skip this part if you want.) 2 nights later, I’m asleep. I wake up around 4am with a very bad feeling. I didn’t think I was s* I just didn’t feel good. I tried to go back to sleep but I couldn’t. I had a small stomach ache, I was kinda dizzy and my head felt really gross. I was also kinda hot & cold and kept having weird dreams every time I’d start to fall asleep. Since I had anxiety in the past, I figured it was just anxiety so I googled ways to calm down and then eventually, my stomach ache went away and I fell asleep. I was extremely tired & basically fell asleep during a small panic attack which is unusual. I woke up again at 7am and I remember my first thoughts were “omg I feel even worse than I did earlier” and I rubbed my head and felt kinda hot. Idk how to describe how I felt it was just horrible. I went on my iPod and went on twitter and was watching YouTube videos to keep my mind off of whatever I was feeling. I then suddenly just g*d. I went into my moms room and told her I had been feeling bad for a while and didn’t know why. She asked me if I was nervous about anything and I said no. I told her I hoped I wasn’t sick. We were counting the days of places I’ve been to see if it was a possibility for me to be sick. And when I said “I went to my art class the other day” my mom realized that could be a possibility but didn’t wanna say anything. She said she still thought I probably wasn’t s* though. I went back to bed and watched more YouTube videos. I suddenly got reaaaaaally tired and decided to listen to calming music. I put on a song and in the song, someone made a noise that sounded like a g* and that triggered my reflex since I was already feeling it anyway. I knew v* was about to happen but I kept on keeping it from happen. I even started to feel better. So I told my mom I was feeling better and would be downstairs for breakfast soon. I got dressed like I normally would, just feeling tired but not really s*. I went downstairs and got a banana and sat on the couch next to my mom. I ate two bites and started to feel s* again. She had on a cooking show which obviously didn’t make me feel any better. I told a joke to my mom that made me start laughing hard and then my headache and pain all came back. I went from laughing to g* within seconds and then it happened. I rushed to the sink, did my thing and then that was it. I ran back to the living room and started crying like crazy and screaming “what is wrong with me???” But thankfully I didn’t get s* again but I was just super tired and drained the whole day. But we had a birthday party at my house that night since I was feeling better. Since that day, everything has changed. The very next day, I started wondering about every bodily symptom that before then I would’ve totally ignored. Just thinking of bananas sent me into panic, my mom couldn’t watch her cooking show around me and the smallest stomach pain would send me into a panic spiral. Over the summer I got really busy and my phobia got pushed aside. I still worried about it more than I ever did before but I wasn’t panicking and I could get my mind off of it pretty easily. I even got to meet my favorite band (The Vamps) that summer! Which totally distracted me from everything. It was going pretty good until October 2015. I went to Starbucks and got a pumpkin coffee, and had a strange thought of “what if I’m allergic to pumpkin?” And I started to have trouble breathing (not because a health issue, it was my anxiety - but I didn’t know that then.) I calmed down, and the day went on like normal. That night, my family came over and I was in my room singing. I got extremely hot out of nowhere, so I ripped my boots, jacket and scarf off and turned on my fan. I got even more hot. Then my lips went tingly and so did my hands and feet. Then I started getting really dizzy. I ran downstairs to my mom. I had NO idea what was happening. I cried for hours and my grandma (who also has anxiety) helped me and told me it was a panic attack and how she has had them before. They really calmed me down, and after it was over I was so thankful and was glad i’d Probably never experience another one. I was wrong. The next morning, the panic symptoms came back and I was on the verge of another one. I had a panic attack everyday for around 2-3 weeks. I was miserable, tired and my nerves never got a chance to relax because any time I was almost calm, I would panic again. At the same time, my dad lost his job, my brother had a horrible cold that I caught (I’m not even telling that story because it’s too long. I didn’t v* though!!!) and my anxiety was the worst it had ever been. Christmas that year was a total blur because I was so sleep deprived and out of it that I honestly barely remember what happened. In 2016, my anxiety got a lot better. I was still very careful and worried a lot but I wasn’t panicking all the time. I developed OCD hard core though. I couldn’t do simple tasks like cleaning my room because I would have to refill a certain article of clothing 50+ times due to my OCD. My OCD would say “if you don’t fold it like this, you’ll get s*” so I listened to it. I feel like I was dead that whole year. My hair was dry and brittle and almost coming out because I stayed in the shower so long trying to get clean and I brushed my hair super hard because my OCD told me it was the only thing to prevent s* from happening. Thanks to a lovely girl online who helped me with OCD and the help of praying, my OCD went away almost completely!! I was so happy. This was in January 2017 when I was 14. My family had a stressful year though due to family problems. But around June 2017, my anxiety and emetophobia started to pick up again and it’s been bad again ever since. I worry about food and viruses more than I ever have and I’m starting to have panic attacks again. So sadly, that’s where I am now. 15 years old atm. My life is still pretty good I guess. I don’t have controlling OCD anymore, and since I’m older I’m able to think more logically than I used to. But I’m nowhere near recovery yet. Hopefully soon! Sadly, I can’t end my story on a positive note because I have recovered yet. But for all of you out there dealing with this horrible phobia, I know what you’re going through. You’re not alone. I know what it feels like to shaky uncontrollably worrying that any second you’ll be s*. I know what fake n* feels like. I know what worrying to the point you just want to sleep feels like. I know what it feels like to want to die than rather be s*. I know what you feel like! I’ve felt it several times and it’s horrible. But we can get through this together. We are so much stronger than we think we are and we won’t let this phobia beat us. I know it can be so controlling, but we can do it. Getting s* is soooo uncommon. People rarely ever v* and if they do, it’s because they were doing something us careful people wouldn’t. We are so careful that we have way less of a chance than people who aren’t like us - and even they won’t be s*!! Don’t worry. You will be okay. Remember all the times you’ve felt this way and been scared all for nothing. Each time you have a panic attack, it makes you stronger. And remember not to google your symptoms. Google doesn’t know everything and there’s a lot of liars and people who don’t know much out there. Some people probably post things just to scare us health freaks! You’re going to be okay. And you won’t be s*. Keep telling yourself that! You’re okay and we’ll get through this, together. Stay strong my loves!❤️❤️❤️

[graylit]

𝚙𝚕𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 & 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 : 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚖𝚊, 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚎/𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝/𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢, 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛, 𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚎𝚌𝚝.    NOT  FOR  REBLOG !!!! ( unless you’re aloy )

REY  IS  NOT  OKAY, lets kick this clusterfuck of emotional content off with that! She is a ball of anxiety, depression, and low self esteem all wrapped up in spiky armor. She’s basically a lil hedgehog curled up in a ball protecting her soft tummy, which is how she’s lived most of her life until the events of TFA. This doesn’t make her WEAK in any way shape or form. In fact, it’s the pillar of strength that keeps her pressing onward. She is vulnerable and tender underneath the spikes she built to survive a world where softness doesn’t survive or exist.

We’re gonna start with the obvious here  ABANDONMENT  and work our way up down this painful laundry list. Now, many adopted children that are in loving and wonderful homes are still liable to feelings of abandonment or low self-esteem (  this varies from person to people ofc. the adoptees I have known over the years are an even split down the middle  )  ‘why wouldn’t my parents want me? am I not good enough? did I do something wrong? ect’ These are children placed in healthy environments with people that love and want them and those dreadful creeping feelings still exist. Now imagine quite literally WATCHING your parents on a hot and dead planet with a stranger, zooming off into space never to be seen again! If you can garner such lifelong & potentially damaging feelings in a place thats wonderful, imagine knowing and remembering their departure.

That is so goddamn WOUNDING and traumatic that she has no other choice but to bury that pain. It’s a survival instinct. It’s the mind and body protecting you from something too terrible for a child her age to cope with. So she goes on autopilot and clings to the hope of SOMEDAY because she has no other choice.  Trauma like that erases memories, especially in children as young as Rey. 

ANXIETY?  Heaps of it. Constantly. About nearly everything whether she is able to express if or not. There’s a chance she’ll miss her fam if she’s away from Jakku? Panic attack. There’s a chance her AT-AT might be ransacked by thieves in her absence? Panic Attack. You’re headed off somewhere without her? Panic attack. It might be mild at the start, but years down the road now that she’s away from the child labor camp daycare it will hit her full force. Finn will say he has to go off planet, he has to go SOMEWHERE alone and he promises he’ll be back. Her stomach would give a sick and ugly jolt but he had never lied to her before so she bites her tongue and waits. She HATES herself for the relief she feels at his swift return, how weak it makes her feel against a feeling she has no control over. Anyone she has ever grown close to is subject to these feelings, this fear. With Han being murdered right before her eyes she’s utterly shattered and can’t help but expect her loved ones to disappear.

Lets talk about that good ol soul crushing  DEPRESSION !! When the excitement dies down, when you’re heart stops pounding and you’re still for some unforeseen amount of time, it sets in like a weight. When there’s nothing let to be anxious about and the stillness takes ahold. Whether she was laying awake in her AT-AT on Jakku or curled up in her bed on D’Qar / Ahch-To / The Falcon, it is so heavy it nearly crushes her. The moments she doesn’t spend every second fighting to survive are foreign and agonizing. Being surrounded by wonderful friends and adoptive family is fantastic, sure. But depression doesn’t give a fuck how great things are going. It eats and eats at you until you cease to exist. She’s whittled away during the night, reborn every morning, ready to expend all of her energy on work so she can forget.

SELF ESTEEM? where do we download that? reiterating the abandonment issues ‘my own parents didn’t want me, why would anyone else? what did i do wrong? what if i do it again and people leave me?’ an endless stream of consciousness that makes her ache. Rey doesn’t wallow though, not for long and certainly not where anyone can see her. That’s where those lil hedgehog spikes come in handy. She doesn’t need anyone! She’s spelt well over a decade by herself, she doesn’t need to let anyone in. But God she wants to. She’s so tired of being hurt and left behind. She WANTS to be chosen for once, so much so that the girl wary of all physical contact throws her arms around the boy that came to rescue her. Does she deserve it? Is she worth all that trouble? She doesn’t know but she thanks her lucky stars someone things she is.

Last but not least that good ol OCD ‘cause if you think she stopped scratching lil tallies into places or counting down the days you are WRONG. When a habit that important and kept so devotedly, it doesn’t just go away. None of her little ‘quirks’ do and she will go into a full blown panic if they are not completed. Rey missing a tally? She’ll lose track of the days that go by in her head, she’ll lose track of her family, she’ll miss them! That feeling would have been double on Jakku, especially if she was trapped somewhere or away for an unspecified amount of time.

Every single ill that has befallen her, every abhorrent thing she has suffered and quickly swept away in order to survive will come back sevenfold down the line. The body keeps score and boy has she racked up a SIGNIFICANT number. This shit does not go away with a hug and a new life. This will follow her until her dying day, which if left untreated by a mental health expert, could be sooner rather than later. If you honest to God think that Rey would okay in any capacity with whoever left her, that a normal relationship would ensue in the near future, than you have no concept of mental health or trauma or this character in general. 

On the subject of  PARENTAGE & LUKE SKYWALKER since that is still a terribly unfortunate theory ; I cannot think of a faster way to send either of them dark side. Not only does it destroy any integrity Luke had, but it would send Rey SPRINTING in the opposite direction. There is no reason good enough to abandon your child to a life of starvation and hard labor and deep down Rey knows this. There are hints that her parents are dark siders, people that lived and possibly worked on Jakku for the Empire which would make sense given its history. That being the case she’s much more likely to stay were she is, not fleeing to a middle ground or to the opposite side which would happen if the former came true. Her outlook would be tainted because why would a HERO, a GOOD MAN leave her to suffer alone? No matter her lineage, the relationship with her birth parents is FRACTURED. No matter how much she wants them, they have sewn seeds of mistrust in her heart that will take DECADES to undo. With her new family in the resistance, in FINN, she doesn’t need anyone else. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.  She’s found her family in friends and that is far more profound than any blood relatives.

[bakugou-ou]

Ik I'm anon and all, but I don't wanna get off it because the embarrassment would probably make it worse. I'm just tired of life… mines is pretty useless if you ask me, and according to everyone else who if ever met, I'm ugly too, I wouldn't kill myself because I'm too much of a coward to do that, but I don't know what I wanna do with my life and I can never be happy without someone ruining it That's why you and other creators' story helps me, it makes me think about my dram life I'll never get

Listen, friendo, whoever you are, you’re not ugly, and not useless. You don’t need to come off anon if you don’t want to, I get it. This is gonna get v personal here in a sec, so I’m putting the rest of this down under a cut in case no one gives a shit about my personal life and doesn’t wanna see my tragic anime backstory, but I’m sharing it with you because you said that you like my writing. This is the story of how I ended up running this blog, it’s got lots of talk about suicide, mentions of rape. It’s not pretty, so read at your own risk. Also, it’s long.

When I was four years old, I tried to jump off the balcony of my apartment, I wanted to die. It wasn’t a kid doing a stupid thing, I literally thought if I fall from this height and hit my head on the ground, I will die and then went for it. I fell onto a 7ft tall cinder block mailbox on the way down, four feet below my balcony, crawled off of it, and walked back upstairs to my parents like nothing had happened. 

What was wrong that someone barely past toddlerhood wanted to kill themselves over? I don’t know, maybe it was just that my parents were fighting all the time and hated each other, maybe it was because I have the genes for it. More on that last bit later.

When I was six, I tried to throw myself in front of a car, thinking that if a small child like myself got hit by a car going 25+ mph, I’d die. The driver hit the brakes, I played it off like I’d tripped into the road, no one knew how I really felt. When I’d told my parents I wanted to die, they thought I was being dramatic, they didn’t think a kid my age even knew what that meant, the finality of it. But I knew, and I craved it.

When I was eight, I tried to hang myself in my older sister’s bedroom with her sheets. She found me, took me down before I blacked out, and we never spoke about it again after that night. I was pissed with my sister for saving me, I cried and punched her as she held onto me.

When I was twelve, I tried to eat a bottle of Xanax, thinking it would kill me. It didn’t, it just made me really, really fucking sick. Not sick enough to go to the hospital, but very sick. I had no lasting organ damage, but I still wanted to die.

When I was fourteen, my boyfriend dumped me over the phone on a day he was supposed to come to my house, and ignored me while I cried. He had me on speaker phone, actually, and his friends were laughing about it and I could hear them. I could hear him laughing along with them. So, I decided to eat a bottle of asprin for dinner a couple of weeks later. I was stupid, it didn’t work, and I was hospitalized in the mental ward for 2 weeks.

When I was seventeen, I had just left an abusive relationship, graduated high school, and my mom told me that my ex raping me repeatedly for 9 months was my fault and that I was asking for it by continuing to date him the whole time. I was too scared to leave, I had been told by a counselor at school that no one would believe me. I tried to eat all of my antidepressants. I was hospitalized for 3 weeks in the mental ward.

When I was eighteen, I tried to do that same thing again, in conjunction to another thing my mom said about my abuser. My cousin had been raped while studying abroad, and she was talking about poor cousin, your poor cousin, it’s so traumatic, but when I mentioned that I’d been abused for three quarters of a year and no one batted an eye, she told me I was being selfish, and that my time for being the victim was over. How dare I detract from my cousin. So, again, I tried to eat a bottle of pills. I was hospitalized for one week in the psych ward.

Earlier this year, at the age of twenty, I was hospitalized because I felt like I was going to slit my wrists if I stayed home. So I checked myself into the hospital. I was there for a week while my doctor tried to find better meds for me because clearly mine weren’t working. My mom had told me that she was ashamed of my sexuality and my gender identity, and the rape issue came up again, with her saying I wanted it, that I let it happen.

I have bipolar II, borderline personality disorder, OCD, PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, and selective eating disorder. A lot is messed up with me. I get the anxiety from my mother, and the bipolar II from my father. The PTSD was a gift from my ex boyfriend, and the rest I just ended up with.

When I was a little kid, I loved books; my father read all sorts of books to me, all the time. Artemis Fowl was the first series we read, then Harry Potter, then my mother read me the Chronicles of Narnia, then my father read me A Series of Unfortunate Events. We also read other books, things that weren’t series. I loved reading, and I wanted to write things that made people feel the way I felt about the stuff I read. 

Both of my parents are naturally talented writers. At the age of six, I began to write fan fiction for Harry Potter. I was way too young to be on the internet, but I was online writing fanfics on snitchseeker. Some of the only validation I found in my life was from random strangers on the internet, encouraging me to continue writing and complimenting my plot lines, even if my grammar and spelling were atrocious; on the internet, no one knows you’re a little kid writing Drarry fanfic.

I was a really athletic kid, so I didn’t spend all my time writing, but a good chunk of my free time was spent writing if I wasn’t surfing, playing soccer, or skateboarding. I didn’t have a lot of friends, I wasn’t likable, apparently, and I had a really hard time in school. I got into a lot of fights because people picked on me, but I was always the one who got in trouble for defending myself. It pissed me off. I developed issues with authority. I wrote in composition books to escape all the crap around me.

By the time I turned 11, writing was my life. I had just moved to California from Hawaii, my life was basically turned upside down, and I was miserable. So, I made a myspace account, wrote fanfic on there, and threw myself headlong into it. I have a fanfiction.net account I’ve long since forgotten my username and password for, but it’s out there with dramione fanfic, sasusaku, things that I liked at the time. I need to escape everything happening around me. My dad, my best friend, wasn’t anywhere near me, my mom was a bitch, and my demented grandmother moved in with us. It was miserable.

By the time I was 15, the only hobby I had outside of practicing for orchestra, was writing. I laid in bed on days off and just sat on my laptop, writing. I stopped publishing things after I got a mean comment once, my first one ever. It bruised the ego I didn’t even have so badly that I refused to publish anything for three years.

When I was 18, I published my first fanfic in 4 years. It was a Criminal Minds fanfic, featuring an OC and Spencer Reid. I was so fucking proud of it, and while lots of people loved it, a lot of people said mean shit. So, I posted Loki fanfic, which got infinitely more love, and then I did an alternate version of my Criminal Minds fic, that one got even more hate than the original. Then I published a Wallander fanfic. I haven’t touched them in 3 years, despite people asking me for more.

Up until this time last month, I never showed my writing to anyone. I kept everything to myself, hidden, I was ashamed of it. It is my only coping mechanism, but I couldn’t share it with anyone. My parents had my computer passwords up until I was about 16, sometimes they’d look through my text files and come to me later and tell me how amazing my writing was, and encourage me to publish it. But I never believed them.

On a whim, I started this blog; I love Boku no Hero Academia, it has given me something to look forward to every week. I live Chapter to Chapter, episode to episode, I track my time with it, it’s a coping mechanism. I saw that there was a decently active fandom on here, and I wanted to be a part of it. I hesitated on making the blog for a few weeks, thinking that no one would want to read my writing.

A month later, there are nearly 600 people here, constantly asking me to write scenarios and headcanons for them, telling me they love my writing, and think I’m a nice person, and that they’re glad I’m here. Every time I get a message like that, I cry. I never thought anyone would ever care about my writing, let alone write it. When I got a single follower that wasn’t a friend I know in real life, I cried. I was so excited. When I got my first request, I was so, so excited. When people began sending more stuff in, when people started talking to me and wanting to be friends, I cried. I’ve made a dozen friends on here as a direct result of their writing, and my writing.

I love running this blog, and I love writing for everyone. I have felt useless and like a waste of space my entire life, I’ve been told that my entire life, I’m made to feel like that every day of my life even now by the people around me, save for my friends, but when I log on here, I’m reminded that hey, maybe I’m not useless. If I manage to make even one person happy with what I do, that’s all I want.

So, you saying that my writing helps you, helps me. All I’ve ever wanted in life is to make other people happy, to please them, and my writing is apparently doing that. I’m really, really lucky to be in this position.

Even if you don’t have something like this, you’re not useless. You should be here. I know you said you’d never kill yourself because you’re too cowardly, but I’ve never seen suicide as cowardly, but that’s probably because I’ve tried to do it so many times. I’ve made a total of 8 attempts in 21 years. I don’t think I’ll be trying it again, though. It’s taken me 21 years to find something that I’m kind of maybe a little good at, that makes me even a tiny bit happy, and that does some good for other people, too.

Shit sucks, life is really awful, and I completely understand the plethora of reasons any given person would feel like wanting to die. I’ve never thought it unreasonable or dramatic to feel that way, it’s just how some people feel. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life until 3 years ago, and even now I’m unsure if it’s really what I want to do with my life. I’ve got a lot going on behind the scenes that makes me feel like shite, and a lot of the time, the people around me try to ruin what little I have that I enjoy and that makes me happy…

Even with all that happening, somehow, I’m still here, and I’m writing this. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I get your feelings, I hear you, they’re valid, and I love you, stranger. Because I feel the same way as you all the time. This blog is my escape from that. It’s really the only thing I have keeping me from my intrusive thoughts.

If you never come off anon, that’s fine, but if you need to talk about things, I’m here for you, or anyone else who needs it. Really, if I can even try to help, I’ll do my damnedest to help. I hate seeing other people feeling as junk as I do on a daily basis, I want to try and make it better. If being a friend, even if I don’t know who you are, helps, I want to help. If writing things helps, I want to do it. But, for me, it’s not just helping other people, it’s helping myself. You coming into the box helped me. So, you’re not useless. You’re keeping me here, too.

[alightinthelantern]

Oh my god, I want to die. My mother was an abusive cunt to me for twenty years and she’ll never get any punishment, not so much as a slap on the wrist. She got away with it scot-free. All of my abusers got away scot-free, Delaina and Marcus and all of the cunts at Howard Center. I suffer flashbacks nearly every day and they all have positions of power over other children just as vulnerable as me. Delaina is principal of a special-needs school, my mother is on the board of directors at Howard.

They locked me in a basement at Howard Center for whole weekends at a time as a teen when I misbehaved, a dingy little apartment with an electronic keypad lock and a bedroom with a deep square window that glowed red with city lights at night. I had Chef Boyardee from a metal cabinet to eat every day, and I had to ask permission to use the bathroom, and I was locked into the bedroom at night. I wasn’t allowed to talk to whatever staff member was On Duty except to ask to use the bathroom or for food because the metal cabinet was kept locked and I wasn’t allowed to touch anything myself, and they just sat in their little staff room watching tv all day and night. The stays were so traumatizing that it was multiple years before I could look at Chef Boyardee without having flashbacks. And Delaina, the Case Manager who instituted the policy of locking me up and traumatizing me into behaving, runs a school full of vulnerable special-needs children like I was.

“YOU ARE SUCH A SPOILED, SELFISH CHILD, AND I PUT UP WITH SO MUCH FROM YOU!!” my mother and grandmother would scream at me once a week growing up. My mother once served tomatoes with dinner when I was nine and I hated the taste and texture of them so much I spit mine up while gagging. She ordered me to eat them but I refused, unable to bear it, so she put them on a plate in the fridge and punished me by taking away all my toys and other privileges. The next day she served them to me at lunch, and I refused to eat them. She punished me until dinner, when she served them again, and I refused. This went on for multiple days, she getting ever more violently angry at me all the time, and I finally caved after two or three days under fear of physical violence.

She forced me to grow up as a boy when I wanted to be a girl, but I’ve been abused by so many shitty (White) women, who’ve all treated me like a villain because I’m “a boy” and I’m Autistic, that I don’t want to lump myself in with them, and now I don’t know what I am. Once when I was nine I went up to my teacher in school, and said on the verge of tears, “I wish I were born a girl!” And the teacher, an adult woman in her forties, rounded on me, saying “You know, men rule the world, and women have it so hard! You are so lucky to be a boy, and you are so selfish if you don’t realize it!” Those were her exact words. And yes, she was a blonde White woman. Thus, gender is inextricable from trauma for me.

I tried to kill myself when I was 14, and I spent my entire teenage years borderline-suicidal. She spent her entire upbringing of me alternating between neglect and abuse, withholding her “love” any time I had misbehaved, punishing me whenever I tried to show independence, leaving me with no self-esteem and no ability to care for myself. She isolated me from the rest of the world, preventing me from having literally any social life outside of school my entire teenage years, and she always punished me with whatever hurt me the most for even the most minor infractions.

I’m 26 years old and I’m fucking broken, I moved out at 19 and I’ve spent the past 7 years trying to heal myself but I can’t do it, the abuse and trauma haunt me every day. I have Asperger’s, OCD, Bipolar, PTSD, and depression from all of these. I wish I had a gun, I can’t fucking take it. I have a major breakdown every year and a medium-sized one every couple months. And now, when it’s too late to make a difference, when I’m already broken for good and have given up completely on life, she thinks being nice to me will get me to forgive her, being nice by lending me money for a needed new desk, or some clothes, or whatever. This stupid Catholic cunt thinks she deserves forgiveness, when even now she’s so self-absorbed and fragile that the slightest perceived insinuation that she wasn’t a stellar parent makes her purse her lips and glare and shut down and start ignoring me altogether, even when I wasn’t saying or implying anything. Once, a few years ago, we were discussing the movie The King’s Speech, and she said that King George VI’s father was a jerk in the movie. I said “Oh yeah, he was abusive to his children!” which was true. The conversation wasn’t even about her but she made it about herself, and got angry and defensive and stopped talking to me for several minutes. I recently said that I thought I was suffering burnout in response to my childhood, and she just started sarcastically uh-huh-ing (like nasty women do), and took her smartphone out and started scrolling on it so she could ignore me to my face. Even now I’m forced to babysit my own selfish cunt of a mother.

And I love my dad, he’s the only person in my family who’s ever been good to me, but he is such a fucking moron, and he does not understand when I try to talk to him about it. He remembers how my mom treated him during their divorce, how he suffered a life-threatening brain hemorrhage that nearly killed him, how he was rushed to the hospital and when they cut his skull open blood shot out and splattered on the wall over ten feet away from the sheer pressure inside, and how she didn’t care enough to visit him once. But he thinks she’s just a normal person who was going through a rough time, he gives her the benefit of the doubt, he lived a state away and never saw the abuse my mother inflicted on their children behind closed doors, the constant screaming and shaming and pitting us against each other to maintain her obsessive control over us, and it’s exhausting trying to convince him of my childhood was not normal. That most of the problems he was told I had were made up.

I wasn’t an easy child to raise, but I was not the fucking monster I was treated like. I was the scapegoat for all my family’s troubles, and my sisters, angry and hurting at our mother’s abuse, were encouraged to take it out on me, because of course I was ugly and awkward and talked too much and didn’t know how to behave and embarrassed them in public, and for selfish, shallow people there really was nothing likeable about me. And my sisters bullied me and my mother never punished them for it and she always punished me when I fought back. And I tried to kill myself when I was 14, and my mother cared more about how her daughters were upset by my attempt than the fact that I was miserable with life enough to literally try to kill myself. How awful do you think my life was to have forced a naive little Autistic boy who sang along with the hymns in church to think death was the only way out? And still I am villainized! Still I am the bad guy, everyone in my family both immediate and extended view me as the devil incarnate, everyone has always and will always hate me!

And all these snotty young women on the street and in stores glare and snap at me for being Too Male, acting like I’m their oppressor, because I’m male-shaped and I don’t have Good Socialization Skills (when I was isolated growing up and never allowed to develop them), and I talk Wrongly (which is ableism), when I’m just an ugly, awkward, gangly person with such debilitating mysophobia and social anxiety I literally will not leave my apartment if I don’t have to. I can’t work, I live on disability benefits, and I only leave the house for laundry and groceries.

No one has ever taken me seriously, no one in law enforcement or any of the equally imbecilic, incompetent health organizations in this fucking backwater state have ever believed me. Fuck Vermont.

Well fuck the Catholic God and fuck the devil too, and fuck any and every Higher Power that may or not exist. I am so fucking tired. Fuck my life. Just end me already.

[prfm-uk]

Get to Know Me Uncomfortably Well (Filled Out)

@southeastasyano wanted me to completely fill out these 100 questions and a bonus one, and an anonymous asker wanted me to answer just a few. So here ya go! Go on and stalk me, young ones.

For the questions below the cut, I tag: @southeastasyano, @fukigen-na-boy, @prfm-au, @prfm-us, @housekinoame, @cosmog-explorer, @jenmarii, @chrism-sol, @p-r-f-m, @securitylucy, @a-chan-san and @jeffhardys!

What is your middle name? I never use it on my passports or regularly, but I do have a middle name. But I don’t wanna say it >///<

How old are you? I am currently 17 years old!

When is your birthday? June 24th!

What is your zodiac sign? Cancer (yes, I’m that mentally unstable b*tch)

What is your favorite color? Green all the f*cking way!!

What’s your lucky number? 3

Do you have any pets? I had two fish, but they died when I was 11 :’(

Where are you from? While I was born in London, United Kingdom, my family originates from Sri Lanka

How tall are you? I am 6 foot 1 inch.

What shoe size are you? I am only UK size 7.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? I own only five pairs of shoes.

What was your last dream about? It was a dream in which my best friend committed suicide... Yeah, it was grim, and was more of a nightmare :(

What talents do you have? I am pretty good when it comes to learning foreign languages, and I play piano maybe kinda semi-decently well? I can also do that thing where I can show the red bit inside my eyes, and I can fit my whole fist in my mouth.

Are you psychic in any way? Ask @prfm-us

Favourite song? ‘New Americana’ by Halsey or ‘I Know Places’ by Taylor Swift or ‘Warm Blood’ by Carly Rae Jepsen...

Favourite movie? It would have to be ‘The Emoji Movie’

Who would be your ideal partner? James Wright <3 Well, he is my bf so, um, yay?

Do you want children? Yup, I’d love to see my kid go through life and me be like “ha, I remember when I went through that shizz”

Do you want a church wedding? Well, I’m a Buddhist and I don’t know how they do weddings, so I guess I’d be fine with a civil ceremony of sorts..?

Are you religious? Not at all, and I’m not really sad about it either.

Have you ever been to the hospital? So many f*cking times, honestly. Some weren’t as bad, whereas there is one in particular that will always be my worst ever day alive.

Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Nope, I’m pretty submissive with the law, I’m too scared of punishment haha

Have you ever met any celebrities? When I was in primary school, I was chosen to go meet the Queen and that was pretty cool. We gave her like this bouquet of flowers and she didn’t seem very appreciative. (Just kidding, I love you, Lizzie)

Baths or showers? I prefer baths, but I always have showers because otherwise I might never come out.

What colour socks are you wearing? I’m wearing black socks which say “Thursday” in green font. And yes, it is Thursday where I am, my OCD is too much.

Have you ever been famous? Well, Kyary tweeted my video once and I f*cking YELLED, but no, I’m pretty irrelevant!

Would you like to be a big celebrity? No haha, I wouldn’t be able to handle that much attention to be honest.

What type of music do you like? Electropop, I guess is what it is. I also like modern 80s pop (does that make sense) and also EDM.

Have you ever been skinny dipping? No, haha, I think that just isn’t a very common thing in Britain.

How many pillows do you sleep with? Just one, under my head.

What position do you usually sleep in? I sleep like a fetus does in the womb. Enjoy that mental image.

How big is your house? 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms. Not amazing, but my family is somewhat well-off.

What do you typically have for breakfast? Basic cereal, generally.

Have you ever fired a gun? Yup, I spent a short while in my school’s combined cadet force before deciding that it wasn’t for me.

Have you ever tried archery? No, I think I have terrible hand-eye co-ordination anyway haha

Favorite clean word? If you mean normal, random word, then my favourite is kumquat.

Favorite swear word? My favourite swear word on it’s own is c*nt because I love how it rolls off the tongue, it just sounds like pure spite. In an insult, definitely f*cknut or f*cktard is a common resort for me.

What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 4 days, powered by a coffee each day. And I wasn’t even tired, people basically forced me to have coffee.

Do you have any scars? I have one on my leg from a surgery where they put a metal screw in my hip to make sure that it grew straight (well I didn’t turn out straight, but my leg did). Also, I still have a few old ones on my thighs and wrists...

Have you ever had a secret admirer? Ahahahahahaha, as if anyone would go to that effort over someone like me.

Are you a good liar? If I do say so myself, yes, I am. Or was I lying there?!?!?!?!

Are you a good judge of character? Ask @prfm-us

Can you do any other accents other than your own? I can do an LA valley accent..?

Do you have a strong accent? I have a strong British accent, and then I have a semi-strong Essex accent layered on top, so words like “fam” and “lit” just sneak their way into my speech.

What is your favourite accent? Canadian and Australian are my favs!!

What is your personality type? Unstable, but caring..? <3

What is your most expensive piece of clothing? I have a £45 tie that someone gave me as a bday gift. Yes, I don’t get spending tons on clothes...

Can you curl your tongue? I can do it into a U shape and that weird W shape thingy.

Are you an innie or an outie? Innie. Is this really helpful information to you?

Left or right handed? Right handed!

Are you scared of spiders? DON’T GET ME STARTED. I get terrified of the world’s smalliest spiders and I will legit scream and chuck my phone across the room and everyone else will just be confused.

Favorite food? Profiteroles..?

Favorite foreign food? Um, maybe, poutine? Tim Horton’s? Basically I love Canada.

Are you a clean or messy person? Clean, always clean. I cannot function in a messy environment.

Most used phrase? “I put the SAD in Social Anxiety Disorder”. Yes, I am too real sometimes.

Most used word? Well, it’s probably “the”, “a” or “lopsided”

How long does it take for you to get ready? Literally around ten minutes.

Do you have much of an ego? I mean, I don’t have a shred of self-confidence, so no..?

Do you suck or bite lollipops? I don’t know what this shows about my gay self, but I suck... yeah.

Do you talk to yourself? When I’m intensely lonely or need to calm myself down.

Do you sing to yourself? All the time. I cannot listen to any music without dancing and/or singing to it.

Are you a good singer? Hell no!

Biggest fear? Losing those who are closest to me. Oh, and f*cking spiders.

Are you a gossip? Nope, I guess i’m just not in that circle.

Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? I can’t name the best I’ve ever watched, but I recently watched a British-made film called “I, Daniel Blake” and I really liked it.

Do you like long or short hair? Short hair.

Can you name all 50 states of America? No, I’m British.

Favourite school subject? German or Physics!

Extrovert or Introvert? Introvert 100%

Have you ever been scuba diving? Yup, I’ve been in Sri Lanka

What makes you nervous? The dark and silence.

Are you scared of the dark? Oh, I just accidentally answered that. Yes, I am.

Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Only when it’s appropriate, I don’t want to bother people!

Are you ticklish? VERY ticklish! If you touch my neck, I’ll be on the floor in a few seconds.

Have you ever started a rumour? No haha I’d get baited out so quickly.

Have you ever been in a position of authority? I was an editor for my school newspaper? I mean, it wasn’t that thrilling at all

Have you ever drank underage? In the UK, the legal drinking age is 18, I’m 17, and although I’ve never gotten hammered or drunk vodka and stuff like that, I have had very light alcohol for the taste!

Have you ever done drugs? God no, and I intend never to!

Who was your first real crush? Ugh, it seems so immature when I see it now, but there was this cute guy called Josh in my class who kept paying so much attention to me, so I asked him out, and he was like “How’d you know I was gay? Oh, and I’m not interested”. Yeah, I cried that night haha

How many piercings do you have? None!

Can you roll your ‘R’s? I can <3

How fast can you type? Around 75 words-per-minute (I used an online typing test just now!)

How fast can you run? I think I run pretty slow! In school, I was just average, in the middle, but I’m not going to be winning any fun-runs :P

What colour is your hair? Jet black, but any other colour would look out out place on my brown skin :D

What colour are your eyes? A relatively dark brown, but they are still visibly brown in the sun.

What are you allergic to? Nothing, as far as I know :)

Do you keep a journal? I keep a kinda mood tracking thingamajig through an app called ‘Pacifica’. It’s great for anyone tackling stress or any mental disorders such as depression, anxiety, bipolar, etc. But other than that, I don’t keep a journal as such, no.

What do your parents do? My father is a physiotherapist, and my mother is a fraud investigator; she works for the government to find people who are illegally claiming benefits.

Do you like your age? No, because it’s too ‘in the middle’! If I was below the age of 14, I’d be able to relax and be pretty carefree, and if I was above the age of, say 25, I wouldn’t be studying random crap that will never come up in the future and will actually be doing worthwhile things. Instead, I’m 17 and I need to study stuff that won’t come up even in my degree, and it’s almost impossible to find motivation right now.

What makes you angry? People making mistakes when I literally warned them not to; they were just that f*cking ignorant.

Do you like your own name? Some people know, but no, I don’t like my name. I feel like it just sounds a weird, so whenever I tell someone my name, I always include some disclaimer like ‘Oh, it’s a weird Asian name’.

Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? Nope, I haven’t thought of any! I mean, unless I name my kids Dan and Phil...

Do you want a boy a girl for a child? Call me sexist, but I want a boy!

What are you strengths? I can fit my whole fist in my mouth, and I’m pretty good at languages.

What are your weaknesses? I’m quite sensitive and sometimes I get carried away with jokes.

How did you get your name? Well, my parents called over some kinda psychic name-giver as soon as I was born, and they’d use my star sign, read my palm and use God knows whatever info they could make up, and then name me based on it. That gave me ‘Yasath’, which I’m pretty sure means ‘treasure’ or something.

Were your ancestors royalty? No, but they were pretty high up in government jobs :]

Do you have any scars? That’s Question 39, so just refer back to that :3

Colour of your bedspread? It is white and brown. Hey, it’s like me! Sorry, bad joke.

Colour of your room? It has generic, textured cream (I think) wallpaper.

Does it ever get better? I like to think so, and it’s usually the only shred of hope I have left. But if you think it will never get better, then it won’t ever get better, because you won’t let it get better! So yeah, just have that small light at the end of the tunnel in mind whenever you’re starting to lose hope in yourself <3

Jeeeeeeez, that was long! I hope someone enjoyed that at least haha

[awritesfanfics]

Return of the Hounds Pt. 1

I’ve literally been so busy I started this right after I watch TFP and I haven’t been able to finish it until like now. So here it is, I just had to get it off my chest. Part 1 of 2!

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 2,632

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“Boring!”

“You haven't even let me finish!” “It's twins. Solved it last night while you were at the pub.” “But it's never twins, you said it yourself it's never twins!” “Well this time it is.” He ripped the knives out of the wallpaper and returned to start over. “Well that's it then.” You said, defeated. “What?” He whipped around, unconsciously aiming a dagger at you. You threw your hands up in front of your face and grimaced. You wanted to believe he wouldn't throw it at you, but with Sherlock you could never be sure. He looked confused at your reaction until he followed your line of sight. “Sorry,” he said, lowering the weapon. “What do you mean that's it then? You're trying to tell me you can't find a case? In all of London there's nothing for me?” “I'm not your secretary,” you said narrowing your eyes. “But no, nothing left that you want. We've been here for three days, Sherlock. I've read through everything.” “Three days? No, no it can't- oh, that's why John brought the paper in.” “Paper comes on Tuesday though? We've been at it since Wednesday.” “He only brings it in if it's been out there for more than 56 hours. He doesn't even realize but OCD is a very efficient time keeper.” You shook off his deduction. Not important. “So you want me to look outside of London then?” “What? Yes, yes anywhere, look in the bloody- “ “States? Oh, wow, there's plenty to keep you busy here.” The US crime news page seemed to go on forever. Hate crimes seemed to saturate the list, but those were obvious. Sherlock needed a challenge if you wanted to keep him out of your hair for a while.

“Here's one. Has to deal with the president.” He threw a knife at the wall and groaned. “No no, he's an idiot. Next!” Crack. A second knife splintered the wall. “Doctors puzzled at rare amnesia cases?” You searched the article. “Here it is again. 4 dead in connection with unknown amnesia virus.” “Patients manic in their last moments, extensive internal bleeding.” “Amnesia virus contained to one-“  you laughed and shook your head. “What?” He asked, skimming the article from over your shoulder. “Did the press ever get hold of what happened at Baskerville?” You turned to look at him. “No, Mycroft kept it quiet, no one knew.” “So no one found out that it was finished? That anyone found out what was happening?” He cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “Amnesia virus contained to one Indiana hospital. Liberty hospital on lockdown after outbreak of unknown disease take 5 lives, infects 9 more.” Sherlock smiled. “Perfect!” He stabbed the third knife into the arm of your chair, slicing the woven sleeve of your sweater. “We need to get you a damn case, I don't have many sweaters left and I'm not risking losing an arm.” “What exactly has he been doing?” John leaned in and asked quietly, to not disturb the working genius. “I like to think he's been packing, but it doesn't take 13,000 steps in a 50 foot flat to pack for a trip to America. You ready then?” He nodded, glancing over at the luggage by the door.

“I'll grab mine.” “Yea, cab should be ready soon.” He glanced down at his watch. “We're going to be late, Sherlock, what the hell are you doing in there?” He walked out with a small day bag and his face buried in his cell phone, nearly walking right into John. “What have you been doing in there?” Mrs. Hudson said frowning. “Sounded like you were running a marathon. Gonna wear a hole in my rug if you don't get a change of scenery.” A smile snuck onto her lips as Sherlock gave her a tight squeeze goodbye. She gave you a hug as you collected your luggage. “Keep him safe, will you dear?” “I'll try my best,” You giggled as you walked out of the flat. You loaded your luggage into the cab and squeezed in beside Sherlock. “Heathrow, please.” Once you boarded your flight, you settled in. You decided confidently that'd you'd try to take a nap, after sitting through not one, but three of the documentaries provided by the airline. There were seven hours left on the flight; maybe there'd be something better on later. You put in your headphones and, thankfully, started dozing off right away. Your head bobbed gently against the back of your chair, your breathing slowed, and your music drowned out the roaring of the engines. Light turbulence nudged you awake. You brought your watch close to your tired eyes to read the time. 3 hours left. “I slept for 4 hours? On a plane? Well I was surprisingly comfortable…” Your cheeks turned red. You must've rested your head on Sherlock’s shoulder without knowing. You wanted to move softly, so he didn't notice anything, but when you tried, you felt pressure holding you down. His breathing was soft. He must've fallen asleep on you, too. The cabin was dark, the music played softly in your ears. You were the most comfortable you've been in years, and you fell back to sleep. Sherlock stirred gently as the plane began its descent. You followed suit, clearing your throat and turning your head to the open window to your right. Your eyes squinted as you greeted the bright blue sky and the growing buildings below. “So how exactly are we going to get into this hospital to get the information we need?” John asked, munching on an order of French fries. “I mean, it's on lockdown, we can’t exactly just walk in.” “Well, the story did say the only people who seemed to get infected were those prone to seizures, didn't it? They thought it had something to do with the medicine.” Sherlock nodded, cocking his head. “Don't panic.” You whispered to the two. Suddenly, you froze. Your eyes seemed to gloss over as you locked your muscles and threw yourself from your chair. You seized on the floor, voluntary spasms shaking your entire body. Sherlock and John followed along beautifully. “Oh my god, oh my God!” John yelled as Sherlock called an ambulance. “Is anyone here a doctor, my God what the hell is happening to her?!” He exclaimed, drawing the attention of at least two dozen onlookers. A woman rushed to your side. “I'm a doctor. Everyone stand back. She needs space and air. She's having a seizure. No one touch her. Do you know her?” “Yes, yes she's my best friend. She's never done this before!” The woman held him back. “She’s fine, she'll be fine, you friend is calling an ambulance. We just have to wait until then.” The EMTs arrived quicker than anticipated. By then, you were fine, but John insisted on them taking you in anyway, since the fit was “totally out of the blue, unpredicted, and terrifying if it were to happen again.” They agreed, and loaded you into the ambulance. “Where are we going? Which hospital?” You asked “weakly”. “Miami Valley, mam.” “Why not Liberty Regional?” “Well, that’s about 45 minutes away.” “Huh. Good to know.” You sat up in the gurney and gave a swift kick, sending the EMT flying back. “Sherlock, the driver!” You ordered. “Get some scrubs on, Doctor Watson. We have a long ride ahead of us.” Sherlock sent the driver tumbling out of the cabin and took his place. You pulled up a map to Liberty Regional for him and sped off.

“Well that didn't go exactly as I planned. When was the last time you didn't pull the doctor card?” He shrugged. “All worked out though.”

Sherlock whipped through the ambulance dock, opening the back doors to help lower you out. “You can't be here, the whole place is on lockdown.” A nurse tried to shoo you away. “Your higher up seemed to tell us different.” John said sternly. “I called it in already. Said to take a look at her.” The woman was convinced. “She's had a seizure. She’s alright, just had a bit of a fright. First one, you know how that goes.” “If she's scared about that, she'll be petrified once she gets the bill.” The nurse laughed as she brought you in, taking you through the almost completely deserted halls. “Where is everyone?” You asked. Well, not to worry you, but there's been an outbreak of something, so we haven't been accepting new patients. In the process of evacuating them actually. It's contained to a few rooms, though. You'll be fine.” She wheeled you into a dim room and helped you onto the bed. “A doctor will be right in to talk to you. You shouldn't be here for too long.” As promised, a doctor and nurse, both masked walked in with a drip feed and clipboard, shutting the door behind him. The bag was labeled ‘SALINE 1.2 mg dos’. “Hello.” He said quietly from behind the mask. “I apologize, for this. I’d much rather be face to face-“ he said, moving uncomfortably close you “-but as you must’ve heard, there’s been a sort of outbreak here. We’re working very hard to keep everyone safe and prevent his from spreading.” Your blood ran cold. It was Culverton Smith. You hid your accent as best as you could to prevent any possibility of him catching on to your plan.

“Not doing too well of a job though are you? I heard it spread to what, 9 people now?”

He became noticeably agitated. He didn’t expect your response. That just meant he had to work quicker. He laughed it off. “That’s not exactly my area.”

“Well who’s is it? No one knows what caused it, so who’s in charge of it? Neurology? Virology? The janitors?” You cursed yourself in your mind. You’re slipping. You just couldn’t help it. You laughed to help lighten the tension, and he followed suit.

“So what I hear is, you've had a seizure?” He was anxious to change the subject. You nodded. “It was my first one, ever. No one in my family has them either.”

He motioned for a nurse to hook you up to the IV. You started to panic.

“Is this really necessary? I thought I’d just be coming in for a consultation, a checkup.”

“Oh no, sorry. You’ll need to stay overnight, maybe for about a week. We need to conduct some follow-up tests, you know, make sure you’re not infected.”

Your heart raced.

“You read the news, didn’t you? “Strange amnesia virus infects seizure patients.” This hospital isn’t accepting new patients. So how exactly did you get in here? Well by faking a seizure of course! You wanted to find out the cause, so you could help find a cure, didn’t you? Well, relax. I’ll tell you my little secret.” He dropped the mask and the fake accent. “Oh, I am sorry though, this saline that’s flooding your system right now, isn’t saline. It’s a memory inhibitor. Blocks new ones, kind of dissolves old ones too I’m afraid. Take notes, you won’t be able to remember any of this in the morning, if you even live that long.” He laughed again, standing up. “Well, this is lovely, but I’ve got another patient to tend to. And try not to scratch at the IV, leaves a nasty scar.” He returned the mask to his face, and he and the nurse disappeared out the door.

You looked around the room, your memory fading. Anxiety rose up within you, but you couldn’t remember why. You glanced down at your arm, the small needle stuck in your vein.

The IV. The IV. The IV. Those words reverberated in your mind, but you just couldn’t remember why.

Suddenly, Sherlock and John busted through the door, shutting it quietly and locking it behind them.

They were frantic, flying over to your side and bombarding you with questions about why you had an IV in, what the doctor said, and what was going on.

“Wait,” you quieted them, bringing your hands to your temples.

Sherlock and John shared a panicked glance before you decided.

“He said it was something to do with... Agh! I can't remember, it was something with seizure patients, but we knew that already!  uh…”

“I can't remember!” You cried. Your eyes frantically searched the familiar faces for a shred of a memory, something to remind you what was Culverton’s plan. Sherlock grabbed you by the shoulders and met your eyes, following them around the room.

“Can you remember anything?” He pressed, his face twisting in fear of the unthinkable.

You shook your head, then suddenly stopped. your eyes seemed to gloss over for a second, fixated on a distant point in the hallway. You came to, and pulled away from his grip, wiping your eyes and studying the men in front of you. “What are you talking about? Remember anything about what?” You replied, dryly.

The color drained from Sherlock’s face. He swallowed hard. His worst fear had come true. First it was Mary. Now you. He promised he'd keep you safe on any case the two of you went on. And now you were hours before dying, and there was nothing he could do about it without giving in to the one man Sherlock feared.

John stepped in, pushing Sherlock aside. “Yes, Ms. (Y/N), is it? Doctor Watson.” He shook your hand. “You have been sent here because of an accident you had.” He picked up a blank clipboard that rested at the bottom of your bed. “You fell off a ladder and hit your head? That could be the reason why you don't remember, blunt force trauma could lead to unconsciousness, memory loss. It's all very common and nothing to be worried about.” A look of relief crossed your face. “Let's just get a quick look at that. Would you mind leaning forward for me?” You obeyed, sitting up and leaning over. He brushed the hair off your shoulder and stabbed a syringe into your arm.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?! Who are you?! I'm going to call… security, and you'll… you'll be…. arrested… and lose…” Your shoulders fell limp and your head bobbed forward as you lost consciousness. Sherlock rushed to you, but John held him back.

“She'll be fine. Just a tranquilizer. It'll slow her heart rate, keep her in one spot for a while. But we have to work quickly.”

Sherlock nodded, backing away. A call rang in on the landline on the bedside table. With a deep breath, John answered.

“Hello?” He said, clearing his throat. He handed it over. An unsteady hand took it, greeted by a wicked laugh on the other end.

“What the hell is this?” Sherlock yelled through gritted teeth.

“Just a little game of mine. I heard you like games, Mr. Holmes.” His mind was clouded, but still useful. The accent was American, but fake. Crooked teeth interrupted the flow of speech. An echo, a beeping, a heart rate monitor.

Two heart rate monitors.

Three.

Seven.

The ICU.

A second voice piped up inaudibly in the background

“Oh, I'm afraid I have to go, Mr. Holmes. Someone needs my care.”

The distinct loading of a gun. A terrified plea. A single shot. A dull thump. John turned in the direction of the noise down the hall.

“Come get me, Mr. Holmes, before I win the game.” The laugh resumed before cancelling the call. Sherlock tore the phone from the table in audible frustration, shattering it against the far wall.

He turned and saw John, focused like a bloodhound on a scent, waiting for a command. “This way.” He urged.

The pair raced towards the sound, slamming the door behind them.

Part 2

[scriptshrink]

Critique of a Certain Cracked Article - The Bad

Oh boy.  So we’ve seen the myths about mental illness that Cracked got right, and the ones that were partially correct but mostly wrong. Now we’ve reached the ones that legitimately reduced the Shrink to incoherent screaming.

Lock and load, Shrinky-dinks. I’m taking no prisoners.

[Gif: The Winter Soldier loads a grenade into an attachment on his assault rifle while murderstrutting.]

[Cracked image: The charming psychopath is everywhere // Pictures of Negan, Walter White, Dexter, and Loki // They won’t stay charming for long. So many TV and movie villains are portrayed as charming ladies’ men. Even Walter White’s sex life improves after he starts cooking meth. There’s Negan, The Joker, Dexter, Patrick Bateman, Billy Loomis. The truth is, antisocial personality disorder causes a laundry list of symptoms that make a person impossible to be in a relationship with. // source is from the mayo clinic]

...Why is Loki up there? I am confused.

Anyways, people with antisocial personality disorder are very good at manipulating people. They can be very fucking charming, and very fucking good at it.

And I hate the phrase “laundry list”.  Guess what?  You don’t have to have ALL THOSE SYMPTOMS LISTED to get diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder.

You just need three.  Let’s pull three from the list of criteria, shall we?

They lie, manipulate and con others for their own personal gain.

They’re impulsive and don’t plan ahead.

They are consistently irresponsible, don’t fulfill things expected of them, and / or can’t hold down a steady job.

I mean, that certainly describes an asshole, but “a person impossible to be in a relationship with”? Hardly.

[Cracked image - Adrian Monk suffers from OCD. // picture of Adrian Monk hiding behind his turtleneck // Actually, no, he really doesn’t. It’s easier to remember what Monk is not afraid of than what he is. He lists germs, needles, milk, death, snakes, mushrooms, heights, crowds, elevators, public speaking, and airplanes, to name a few. The thing is, that’s not obsessive-compulsive disorder. Those are phobic disorders, which are not related to OCD at all. Actual OCD involves a crippling dependence on repetition and rituals.// source is chicago tribune]

OKAY.  First off. A fear of public speaking IS NOT A PHOBIA. It is a part of Social Anxiety Disorder (Performance Only).

Also, OCD does not fucking REQUIRE compulsions. YOU CAN HAVE ONLY OBSESSIONS AND STILL HAVE OCD. (See my demystifying post here!)

AND GUESS WHAT?  ADRIAN MONK HAS COMPULSIONS.

Performing a ritual because of a fear (such as excessive cleaning / handwashing due to a fear of germs) is a COMPULSION.

Look at literally the first time you see Monk IN THE FUCKING OPENING CREDITS OF THE SHOW.

[Gif - Adrian Monk is walking down a street, and touches a parking meter without looking at it.]

You’d think, because he’s so germophobic, that he would avoid touching those things. NOPE. He has a compulsion to TOUCH ALL THE POLES that he passes when he’s walking.

Sure, he has phobias.  BUT HE HAS OCD TOO.

One last note. 

Those are phobic disorders, which are not related to OCD at all.

Hmm. Yes, that’s correct. Phobias are anxiety disorders, and OCD has its own category. I’m not sure why this is sticking out to me so much. But I’m sure it’ll be important later.

[Cracked picture - In Fight Club, the narrator has a split personality. // image of the narrator and Tyler Durden // That’s not how multiple personalities work. Those with disassociative identity disorder don’t just wake up and realize they’ve been living as another person. They don’t always know about the other personalities, and don’t black out and live as another person. Amnesia and fugue states do happen, but what you see in movies is writers combining them to suit their narrative.// Source is from mayo clinic.]

[Gif of Hades nearly being literally consumed with fiery rage, but calming himself down saying “Okay, fine, fine. I’m cool. I’m fine.]

It’s “dissociative”, not “disassociative”. We’ve had this talk in the last part, Cracked. Do a single goddamn google search so you know how to spell the goddamn names of things.

This part of the takedown comes courtesy of Maxx, one of @dinosaursindisarray’s alters:

DID isn't personalities, multiple or split or anything. That’s not just outdated terminology, it's also an incorrect description, because the alters aren't personalities at all, they're functionally other people.

“Those with DID don't just wake up and realize they've been living as another person.”

k, well, sometimes, they do.

Like, the person might not realize it as it goes on, but then something triggers an 'aha' moment (for some people) that make the symptoms more overt and noticeable, either to the person experiencing them or other people.

There could be a trigger that suddenly floods the person with enough memories to realize what's going on - memories of trauma, or bleedthrough from other alters, memories of that alter being out, etc, and then the person has enough to do research and be like 'something is /wrong/'

[For us], it was like, one day after a lot of stressful shit built up over a couple of weeks, I came out instead of Month and because I was tired and cranky. Her friends noticed and asked about it, I told the truth, and after she came back, her friends were like 'so this thing happened, what the fuck' and Month's blackouts and dissociation started making more sense and she was able to contact a professional to be like 'what the fuck is going on'.

The initial realization did happen sort of at once, which isn't entirely uncommon, especially with psych knowledge more readily available to people. (that can lead to people mistaking shit and thinking they have DID when they don't, cause misinfo, but it's still easier for people who do have it to figure out what the fuck is up and seek help than it was before).

“They always know about the other personalities"

The entire point of DID and OSDD is to keep shit hidden. Keep trauma memories hidden from the everyday life of the kid so they can function and not fucking die. Keep symptoms away from others around the kid so that they aren't abused worse. So this shit is supposed to be kept separate, and if you always know about what's going on, then it’s not happening.

"and don't black out and live as another person"

Yeah. Some people do. Like, full memory blackouts while another alter is out might not happen all the time or with every alter, but it can totally happen with DID. Not OSDD as much, I think, but still.

There are certain alters that Month has NO memory overlap from. Others that she only gets one or two things, others she remembers most of it like watching a movie, others that she remembers it like she was there but really out of it, etc. It's not necessary for every alter every time to be DID, but if there's any amnesia and blackouts between alters (and with trauma memories) then it's DID criteria.

"Amnesia and fugue states do happen"

Yeah, amnesia is that blackout thing you just said didn't happen. Might not be a full blackout but like, amnesia. not remembering. sometimes that means blackouts.

And fugue states are dissociative, but that's a separate thing from DID. Can it happen to someone with DID? Yeah. Does someone have to have DID for it to happen? Nah.

Writers do combine and add shit and dramatize the fuck out of the wrong things (see: m. night) to suit their needs rather than maintaining fact, but yeah. everything else is p much wrong

Thanks again to Maxx from @dinosaursindisarray for taking over for that one. That gave me a nice little respite! Now let’s take a look at the last one, surely it can’t be THAT bad...

[Cracked image - In Black Swan, Nina suffers from a host of conditions. // image of Nina // Real people don’t have them all at once. The film gave Nina the ballerina a cocktail of disorders, including anorexia, bulimia, cutting, and obsessive compulsive disorder, then had her descend into psychosis. The problem is that they’re incompatible conditions. People with psychosis lose touch with reality. Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia are too in touch with reality. // source is abc news]

[Gif of the only thing that can adequately convey my rage: Tsar Bomba, the largest nuclear weapon ever created, exploding and forming a gigantic mushroom cloud]

Okay okay okAY OKAY OKAY.

The only way I can get through this is to go from minor things to major ones. 

You are right about one single thing here, Cracked. You can’t be diagnosed with anorexia and bulimia at the same time. Congratulations. If someone has symptoms of both disorders, it’s either Anorexia with the Binge Eating / Purging subtype, or OSFED (other specified feeding/eating disorder, formally known as EDNOS - eating disorder not otherwise specified).

Okay. Next up. Unless you’re counting when Nina stabs herself with the glass shard at the very end of the movie, Nina never cuts herself. She scratches herself. But I’ll give you the smallest amount of the smoking ashes left of my benefit of the doubt and say you meant “self-mutilation” here, not cutting.

Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia

OCD AND ANOREXIA ARE NOT ANXIETY DISORDERS.

Besides, you just fucking said with the Monk one that phobias are completely unrelated to OCD!! PHOBIAS ARE AN ANXIETY DISORDER!!! AT THE VERY LEAST KEEP YOUR FUCKING BULLSHIT LIES CONSISTENT!!!!!!!

On that note, where the fuck did you get OCD from in the first place??? There’s only two things I can think of that even vaguely qualify. 

Nina’s compulsive scratching. But guess what???  THAT’S NOT OCD. THAT’S EXCORIATION (AKA SKIN PICKING) DISORDER.

Nina’s compulsive exercising. HELLO WHY YES THIS IS A SYMPTOM OF ANOREXIA.

People with psychosis lose touch with reality. Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia are too in touch with reality.

yhghgtfrrghyujuhnukjfgdcghgtfyughyhhjnyh

Sorry about that. I repeatedly smashed my head into the keyboard.

But oh my fucking god.

THE WHOLE GODDAMN PROBLEM WITH OCD AND ANOREXIA IS THAT THEY’RE NOT CONNECTED TO REALITY.

One of the fucking specifiers for OCD is WITH ABSENT INSIGHT OR DELUSIONAL BELIEFS, which means the person in question fully believes that their illogical obsessions are true, you fuckwads!

[[Shrink’s edit - a “specifier” is a possible subcategory of a mental illness. The DSM-5 also two other possible specifiers for OCD: “With good to fair insight”, meaning the individual recognizes that their disordered beliefs are definitely or probably not true; and “With poor insight”, where the individual thinks their disordered beliefs are probably true. It is a grading of severity, not a requirement.]]

Let’s look at a some fucking case studies here. Go ahead. Read them. I’ll wait.

Tell me, Cracked. Do these sound like people who are MORE IN TOUCH with reality?! Will a person really be transported into a mirror dimension if they turn on a light switch??? If they touch something, will their ‘power’ be stolen unless they touch it again multiple times??

Also, is someone with severe anorexia who still thinks they aren’t thin enough even as they’re FUCKING STARVING THEMSELVES TO ACTUAL, LITERAL DEATH “too in touch with reality,” Cracked???

[[Another edit: most people with OCD and anorexia are not at this extreme. But it is far more accurate to say that these disorders involve losing some touch with reality than saying that they are ‘too in touch’ with reality. Seriously though, what the fuck does “too in touch” with reality even mean???]]

Oh, and it’s not like there have been studies that don’t just say that eating disorders and psychosis can co-occur, but that they might be FUCKING LINKED TO EACH OTHER!!!

And now, my esteemed Shrinky-dinks, we come to the most horrendous part of this absolutely atrocious dumpster fire of an article. 

Real people don’t have them all at once.

Real people don’t have them all at once.

Real people don’t have them all at once.

ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?!?!?!?!? 

Guess what, fuckfaces?  

COMORBIDITY IS EXTREMELY COMMON.  

Let’s look at this one study of almost 2,500 women with severe eating disorders. Guess what they fucking found?

97% had more than one fucking mental illness.

Ninety fucking seven percent.

[Image: “I made a chart since Cracked writers apparently can’t fucking read.” // a pie chart with a very small portion labeled Only ED, and the overwhelming majority labeled More than one mental disorder.]

Schizophrenia and eating disorders may not be a super common combination, BUT IT FUCKING EXISTS.  

PEOPLE CAN FUCKING HAVE MORE THAN ONE MENTAL ILLNESS!! 

BUT I GUESS IT DOESN’T MATTER TO YOU SINCE THEY’RE SO CRAZY THEY’RE NOT REAL PEOPLE, YOU ABLEIST FUCKING SACKS OF FUCKING SHIT.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH

[Gif - The Hulk fucking annihilating Loki by repeatedly smashing him into the ground, which is what I wish I could be doing to the writers.]

Concluding Thoughts

If I seem calmer at this point, it’s because I wrote it before the rest of this article. I have no doubt future Shrink will still be screaming into the void long after the queue finally gets to this post.

Let’s take a look at how Cracked introduced this article.

It's a losing fight, going up against the myths pop culture perpetuates. But, dammit, someone has to do it.

That someone is obviously not you. Your writers are willfully ignorant and unable to do even a simple google search of the names of the things they’re writing about to make sure they got the spelling right. 

You have failed to do the fucking most basic research possible. 

A monkey in a library could do a better job than you, as there’s an actual chance that in randomly throwing pieces of its own shit, a book might be knocked off a shelf and the monkey might fucking glance in its direction.

Because left unchecked, people go around spewing every dumb thing they learn from clickbait articles movies and shows that are really just using mental illnesses to advance a plot and make a buck from pageviews, instead of teach us anything useful.

You made a few typos. I fixed them for you.

So, dig in, because it's time drop a knowledge bomb on your ass.

How fucking dare you. 

You are not “dropping a knowledge bomb” on us. This article is nothing more than a fucking whoopie cushion. We sit down, all excited to see myths about mental illness being exploded, but are instead given a bunch of hot air that sounds like people’s ass cheeks flapping together.

Fuck you, @cracked.

I hope your pageviews tank. I hope you have to take on so many advertisers that your readers can’t even see your content anymore. I hope no one ever submits to your ‘contests’ again, forcing you to have a staff member make up all the entries for you. I hope your heads get so stuck up your own asses that you don’t even notice that your website has been spreading malware to your readers like the cancerous bullshit your content truly is.

Oh. Wait. 

Like my torment and suffering? Support me on Patreon.

[foreverdontlastt]

How It All Began...

So I've been struggling the last couple of days trying to plan out what I would write for this specific post in my head. I encourage everyone else to share their secrets and experiences that made them who they are, but I have yet to tell my whole story. I absolutely love getting submissions from you all and each story I read makes me more confident and more brave to write my own. I apologize in advance to anyone (and i won't name names) that I may hurt or may feel as though I am blaming them for something, but if I am going to tell my story it has to be the whole truth. So here goes..

If you ask me to pinpoint a specific time in my life that started of all this madness I really am not sure I could choose. My parents had me young, never married, and each re-married their spouses when I was young, so my household has never just been one house- it was a lot of back and forth and a lot of moving. My earliest memories were those with my mom, because essentially, she raised me and I would consider her a single parent. She worked two and three jobs to make sure I had what I needed. I vaguely remember this time my mother and I were at my grandparents lake house in Upstate NY and she asked me how I would feel if she married my stepdad, Phil. I gave a vague "sure" and that was that (or at least that's all I could remember). I think from that point on my relationship with her changed and the relationship I had with other members of my family changed as well. It wasn't that I didn't like my stepfather, but I was used to being home with my mom in our tiny yellow house at the end of the street where I had the whole top floor to myself. We may not always have had food in the fridge or my mom may not have always known where the money would come from to pay my tuition for school, but she always found a way. The one thing I learned from my mom is that if you want something done, and done correctly, you don't wait on anyone else, just do it yourself. I most definitely get my independence from her. But as I grew older our relationship became more strained and I am pretty sure it had to do with the progression of my mental disorders (mainly depression and bipolar at that point in my life). I went from telling my mom "i love you" literally a hundred times a day to barely saying two words to her. If someone were to ask her now to describe me as a person and what I like she probably wouldn't get the answer correct. I don't think many people would honestly. Plus, when my stepdad came into the picture I felt like things changed and I didn't like the dynamics in the house. I remember hearing them in their room and me being in mine across the hall and I would call my moms name until she came in and I don't even think I had a reason, I just wanted her there. The other major change during that time in my life was moving from Parkville to Cecil County because it was closer to my stepdad's work. I never had a say in where we moved (granite, I was young, but still) and I didn't even see the house until the day we moved into it. I absolutely hated living so far away from all of my friends and family. I felt uncomfortable in the neighborhood because my mom and I were the only black people (yes, my stepdad is white). I felt judged, uncomfortable, angry, annoyed, and stranded (literally). So I guess that whole chunk of time is what elevated my depression and I began to see a therapist when I was in middle school. My mom and I also started arguing A LOT and I would always threaten to move in with my grandmother or leave and never come back. Along with my independence I also get my temper from my mom.  

Now even though things weren't always happy at my mom's house, I always preferred it over my dad's house (for several reasons but i will spare a few of them because i don't want to hurt anyone's feelings). The custody agreement was that I was to go to my dad's house every other weekend and i hated it. I would cry and beg my mom to not make me go. The crazy thing is, I didn't want to go because of my dad- if anything he is my best friend. I just didn't like the dynamic at their house either, and I was not fond of my stepmom. Being at my dad's was a lot different than being at my moms. I would cry in my room all the time and secretly call my mom and tell her how much i wanted to come home. I have two younger brothers, one is 10 years younger and the other is 6 years younger. When I was there on the weekends I usually found myself taking care of them. My dad and stepmom were the kind of parent's that if you were old enough to walk and talk you could basically fend for yourself, and I didn't like that. One day my brothers and I were hungry and my parents had left us in the house with no food so I had to call my grandmother to order us a pizza. Little things like that infuriated me. My dad or stepmom never put their hands on me but there would be nights when my brothers would get spankings and i would go in my room and cover my ears and cry. I just felt like I had to handle way more than a child should have to at that age. I was supposed to live with my dad until I turned 18, but at around the age of 15 I stopped spending the night. I would just go to visit my brothers. 

I went to a private school my entire life called Bryn Mawr and even though i loved it, I also had my moments where I hated it. It was a predominately white school and most of my black friends who didn't go there would make fun of me saying things like "you talk like a white girl," or "you can't be from Baltimore, you don't sound like it.' Those comments triggered my self-consciousness a lot because I felt like I didn't fit in anywhere. I didn't completely fit in with my white friends nor my back friends, I didn't fit in where I lived in Cecil county, and I didn't feel like I fit in with my family. I have always been very different than most and I have also always been an introvert. I let people know little things here and there, but never the important things. I kept everything bottled up and by the time I got to high school I kind of said "fuck it" and did what I wanted to do. By this point the cutting had already started and I was doing things like drinking (I once brought a water bottle of vodka to school) and going in the woods behind school with friends to get high in between class. I was also having a lot of sex and there was on particular party where I had messed around with 5 different people drunkenly and woke up the next morning disgusted with myself. When I was senior I got pregnant for the first time and it was a very surreal experience. No one knew (not even my mom, so sorry mom if you're reading this) except my best friends at the time, my boyfriend, and my cousin Aaron. My boyfriend was a year ahead of me so he was already in college in North Carolina so I waited 3 months until he could come home to get an abortion with me. I would be at school throwing up every hour trying to hide it from everyone. I was pregnant for my senior prom and could barely fit in my dress and was just so depressed and felt fat and worthless. My boyfriend and I talked about keeping it but it just wasn't realistic. I finally got the abortion and to this day I still think about that decision. High school just kind of sucked in general.  High school was also the first time I tried to commit suicide. I remember my mom and I had gotten an apartment closer to school to stay at a couple nights a week because the drive from our house to the city was too much sometimes. One day we had gotten into an argument and I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and swallowed all of my depression meds. Each day I was getting more and more depressed and anxious, and I hated the fact that I had to live between 4 different places, and I hated that my parents weren't together, and I hated that I sucked at school no matter how hard I tired, and the list goes on. So I took the pills and came out of the bathroom and felt a weird sensation come over my body and I started shaking. Even though my mom was in the other room I called my dad and told him what i did and my mom rushed me to the hospital. My stomach was pumped and that was the first of many visits to Sheppard Pratt (psychiatric hospital). After I got out I felt "better" and gave my senior speech on what I had gone through, but in the back of my head I felt wrong and like a hypocrite because I wasn't actually better, I just pretended to be. 

Then came freshman year of college and I attended UNC Greensboro. There isn't a place I hated more than that school. I had absolutely no friends (and that's not an exaggeration), I would walk to class alone, eat in the cafeteria alone, get high in the woods behind school by myself and I would always be in my dorm room. I cried every day and begged my mom to let me leave during winter break so I could transfer. Eventually I transferred to UNC Charlotte and that experience started out good and got progressively worse. To save time I'll just sum up what happened: I broke up with the love of my life after almost 5 years because he had cheated on me for an entire year, I started messing with this boy who only used me for sex and to do his hw but I really liked him and it just fucked with my head, I wasn't doing well in classes because school just was never my thing, and then my fall semester of my senior year I got pregnant again. This is where everything just went downhill and for the next 2.5 years I was more depressed than ever. By now I had been diagnosed with depression, major anxiety disorder, OCD, and bipolar (and more recently borderline personality disorder). When I found out I was pregnant I knew that I couldn't keep it but I wanted to more than anything. Why couldn't I keep it you ask? Because it would have been the child of my bestfriend's ex. To this day I don't know why or how i got myself into that situation but it happened. I was all alone in NC, pregnant, nauseous 24/7, crying multiple times a day, and contemplating whether to follow my heart and keep it ( I already had a name picked out, Laila Marie) or abort it because I didn't want to lose one of the most important people in my life who is now no longer my friend and hates me. So it was a lose/lose either way you look at it. But I will never forgive myself for that. I should have listened to my gut and kept it. I lost her as a friend anyways so what was even the point. So I got an abortion and went by myself and had people protesting outside the clinic telling me how shitty I was and how I was killing an innocent life. Not only that, but the abortion was painful and I just went home and cried for hours. My mom came to visit a week later and I told her if she didn't take me back to MD I would kill myself and she would never see me again. I went back to Sheppard Pratt and yeah. By now I hated myself more than anything, I was lonely, I had made decisions based on other peoples opinions instead of my own, and I felt like a failure. From 2015 until the end of last year I was on a path of destruction. I didn't give a fuck about anything or anyone, I drank excessively, partied, didn't go to school, self harmed a lot, attempted suicide a couple more times, was sexually assaulted more than once, and I felt like I had no one to talk to.

It's hard to explain what went on in my head but just imagine your only thoughts being "i wish i were dead" or "which way will i try to kill myself today?" or be driving in a car and contemplating swerving into oncoming traffic. I just wanted to die. I didn't understand why God would put me on this earth to be so painfully miserable. My soul hurt, my body hurt, my mind was a mess, and I was at the very bottom of my limit. When things got hard my excuse was that death would be the easiest way to avoid whatever it was that was going on. I can't tell you how many goodbye letters i wrote to my friends and family, or how many times I tried to kill myself in my room by trying to hang myself or drowning myself in the bathroom. But I always failed. There was never a day that I didn't cry. There was never a day where I woke up excited for the day to come. I was miserable and I wouldn't wish what I felt upon anyone. I would lock myself in my room for days, not answer phone calls from family- I'd just disappear. 2017 was particularly hard and was the absolutely the last straw. I lost the person that meant the most to me, I met someone who made me feel good inside and supported me but that ended toxically, I dropped out of school for the second time, I ended up in a psych hospital again, and I just completely shut down. 

My last stay in a psych hospital was October 13th, 2017 and since I've gotten out I have become completely different person. Now i won't lie and say that I am 100% better because I still have my days, but they are few and far between. And I will admit that I had gotten off track and cut for the first time in months last week. But the difference between the me now and then is that I can handle things better. I don't immediately jump to the idea of death. As a matter of fact I haven'[t thought about dying in quite sometime. I still have occasional thoughts of self harm, but I don't act on them. Yoga and writing has truly helped me center my thoughts, made me healthier, and has given me a positive outlet to let out the things I have trouble speaking into words. There are still some days where I feel lonely but unless you have suffered from a mental illness you will never truly know what it feels like no matter how hard you try to relate. There are a lot of choices and decisions I wish I could take back, but I have taught myself that dwelling on the past only makes things worse because they can't be changed. I am beginning to love myself, I can genuinely say most days I am happy or at least content, I am taking my medications regularly, I am mending broken relationships, and I am trying to be a good big sister to my brothers because I know they have seen me at my worst and I couldn't apologize to them enough. They are my everything and although we may not share tons of things with each other I hope and pray they know they can come to me if they ever feel like how I felt. 

There are still some things I could mention, but I'm not quite ready for that yet. But I gave you all I could and that is more than I have ever given anyone. I am taking each day as it is and trying to stay strong. I am sorry to anyone that I hurt or betrayed or neglected because of my disease. I am not perfect, nor will I ever be, but I am better. I am better than I was even 4 months ago and for that I am proud. So yeah, that was basically my life in a nutshell. Thank you for listening.