#the bpd nearly got to me near the end but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catboii · 1 year

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(( hi to anyone who forgot they were following this DEADass blog!!

I've obviously not been on here, or on any RP blog at all, in forever. I'm gonna put this weird update(? more like a note to myself) under a cut, in case it gets kinda long... I might add updates to it later because there's alot I want to say. but I doubt anyone who would've been interested back when I was active, is still around (not to be negative! I don't expect them to be, I hope everyone I hung out with is living their best life!!) but I don't really know where else to collect my mess of thoughts on this character (I only sort of use twitter atm? and char limit lol), so for now, I'll post it here, and if I ever wanna link back to it, it's all neat and together...

if you've forgotten what this blog used to be since I changed URL and icons etc the last couple times it was active, it was Catboii, then before that SolicitorC. I have no idea if this character is actually dead, or if it is still out there somewhere, living it's best life (hopefully) maybe one day I'll tie up the loose ends, and finally set it free.... who knows

the reason I'm here, thinking about this character so fondly again, is I've actually been tentatively thinking about. writing things. again. I've been reading Homestuck fanfics again recently (i know right? in 2023?? what the shit) I doubt anyone who followed me on this blog knew me back on my other RP blogs, where I occasionally mentioned my fanfics (from 10 years ago aparently, mostly 2013 wow)..... most of which I'm embaressed about today so some I've orphaned, but the experience and practice was good in the long run

but the point is I've been thinking about writing something in my spare time (which I don't have much of, and I have multiple mental things that mean I have to re-read and correct and rearrange things I write like a million times. so far I've taken nearly 2 hours <now nearly 4 including eating and moving from upstairs to downstairs back upstairs...> to write and re-read this post, and I'm nowhere near done yet.... I'm gonna try to not be so anal about how this lays out because I've moved some paragraphs around and it sometimes doesn't make sense, but it literally doesn't matter! this is mostly just so I can look back on it in the future and be like, "oh yeah, I did that...")

I was thinking about trying to write some original fiction about one particular set of fantasy characters I have, and I like to remember the inspiration for their origins, so here we are.....

people who actually know me know I'm a HUGE slut for recycling characters. I have OCs who've been in literal hundreds of AUs, with either the same characters as always, or some different ones. and alot of my OCs, surprise surprise, started off as Tumblr RP muses.

I actually have a new version of this character, completely off tumblr or any other platform as of yet. although now he's completely diverged and I've created an entirely new timeline, new history, some actual lore of where he's come from and WHAT HE IS (finally) and how some of my other characters fit into the "universe". and I'll be honest, I did take some inspiration from some chatacters we met along the way. they have different names, I've changed their personalities somewhat, some are just loosely based off of the "concept" of a character we met, or the kind of relationship or interactions they had with my/other characters around,,, and they may not fit together with each other in this universe the way they did on Tumblr because they're not them, but the inspiration that I got from the interactions our characters had, had a big impact on the way this character has evetually turned out. I have BPD and "favourite people" reaches to more than just actual real life people for me, it reaches to characters, and I did have some "favourite muses" that really stuck with me, even if my muse wasn't a fan or they didn't really interact. there were also characters that my muse was really into, that I personally wasn't a fan of, but still mean alot to me and our progression

I obviously don't wanna just straight up plagierise someone else's character, and that wouldn't make sense anyway.... I can't copy someone else's character, and even if I COULD, they were probably fandom muses, which wouldn't work here in our new world. I can make up new characters, self indulge for the purposes of progressing my other character's stories... but that feels empty and pointless. these characters STILL hold a special place in my heart? and so some kind of weird tribute, without actually telling the person who made them, just makes sense to me I guess.... I wasn't gonna out mysef like this tbh, because to some people it might sound bad, I have alot of other characters who I've basically done the same thing with, took some loose inspiration from some OCs/fandom muses someone else made, and put some bits and pieces of them together in a completely different character of my own. I have a couple who are still mildly reminiscent of the originals, or are a very close paralell (with my own quirks), which I actually did get permission from the original creators to use and change... sometimes I think about actual TV or book characters who these smaller characters remind me of, and other RP blog characters or OCs, put bits of these characters together, then pick them apart, thinking about how they grew up, their family, friends, how that would've formed them as a person... frankensteining them together into some kind of guilt-free brain baby. this is essentially how you make characters, right? they're even initially inspired by real people, or real people's traits or personalities... then you squish them up and mould them into something else? it's not like I'm profiting off someone else's hard work and creativity... idk I don't really know how I feel about it.

for me, making characters is more than just "welp I need someone to be this guy's friend for a few chapters", they're a big part of the story, each one of my characters need to have some kind of background. even if that background is that we don't know anything about them for whatever reason.

anyway... back to the point I was getting to.

Tii, or Kiity, started off as... sort of a weird social experiment (at least that's what I'm calling it as a joke) on how out of character I can make a "normal" homestuck AU character, and not feel even the slightest bit bad about it. until I did.

the full timeline from when I was actually active is here but if you're not into long rambling explanations, here's, something..... (spoiler this turned into way longer than the timeline page, but this one has actual me in it, and my thoughts, rather than a sorta,,, emotionless list) if you DON'T wanna read the full timeline, but would like to read about my NEW character, I'll put this between these squigglies, and you can just skip it

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homestuck stuff (so if you don't get HS then I'm sorry!): he started as just a normal post-game Sollux but he was god tier, didn't remember anything from the game or where his friends were, but couldn't die! fun! while he'd had the blog he got one of those pesky magin anons which turned him into a literal catboy, which he was actually really into bc people gave him alot of attention, so we made it permanent, there was some stuff with an Alternian uprising, human troll experimentation, he had his own lab, did experiments with parasites, especially brain worm type deals, I think this Sollux (I've had a few) didn't have Psionics? bc I'm a sucker for broken bois, it's been such a long time that I don't remember much myself. there was a phase with quadrant prostitution, hence the blog title "Solicitor". the first URL is where the nickname Lit came from. totally accidental but "it's Lit" was a great tag line. there was alot of memory loss in here, a universe's Signless manipulating Lit's memories to his own advantage... I have a terrible memory myself, and forgetting important things is a big fear of mine, so I thought I'd vent it out as a plot point, again, fun! it was also a handy plot ploint to let Lit forget muses who went inactive, rather than waiting around for them to return (since he was clingy but I'm realistic and have no problem if someone has a real life)

no more homestuck: there's a climax point where Lit was manipulated by a demonic creature called Kreed, which mostly happened off-blog. partially because I was too cringe thinking "lol demons" to actually go very far with it publicly. but in the end it worked out in my favour, because the story was getting REALLY DEPRESSING, and it was sorta going stale... this is where I dropped fandom and made Tii an OC, I was sort of feeling weird about the whole fandom thing since the character didn't feel like the actual canon character at all, with the memory loss and the manipulation. it was totally in character and it was story/character progression, but it didn't feel right calling it Sollux anymore, and honestly it was a little restricting.... it wasn't out of place though, because other people were making their fandom characters OCs around this time, rather than just starting up a whole new blog for the OC, having to get followers/interaction from scratch... you know, the grind.

there was a while at this point where Tii thought it was happy? but honestly no, it wasn't, and it was dragging me down a bit, which is why I kept dipping out, and I made a couple of ther blogs around this point. in general the blog experience was good, most of the interactions were great, but I'd put too much,,,,, brain? into emotions and the afterthoughts. I got too in my head, and in Tii's head, about the past. there were toxic muses that Tii dwelled on, and even if I tried to erase the memories, they would still pop up on it's dash and it would start a spiral, there would be posts on the vent blog regarding these people and Tii would be like "WHO DIS??" which was partially funny, but in the end exhausting.... it turned out, what I was *hoping* would be a superpower (forgetting traumatic events) turned out to be Tii's downfall.... I decided to go no-contact with my own character at some point. mostly I was just genuinely too busy, but I started to pop back on every now and again on mobile to see how things were going, say hi to a couple people, but eventually it would all start spiralling again, and it just wasn't enjoyable. I tried making another blog for an OC, which I don't think I even finished setting up before I decided I just didn't have the time or energy to start up.... but that's not Tii stuff, so nevermind that

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today, Furui is a Nekomata (with some shapeshifting abilities), in a world where maybe 2% of the population is some kind of fantasy creature, living in hiding. most can blend in with general society, so humans think it's WAY less than that, although they know they're around...

I have a few "main characters", including Keisuke, who was a boy who grew up at the family temple/shrine (I'm not too familiar with Japanese culture, and I'm not about to pretend I am, so I forget which it is) where Furui lived back when he was an actual, literal cat. he frequented the site, even though his family told him not to go alone as the ghost of a black cat haunted it. it was actually just a Yokai. so much better... the Yokai grew quite fond of Keisuke, and hung around him, let him put a handmade collar on him so he could hear the tinkling bell when he was around. although Keisuke moved abroad to study when he was older, and when he returned after several years, the cat was gone. at some point, Furui, not understanding human language, so thinking Keisuke had just forgetten about him (even though he did try multiple times to say he was leaving,,, )and other humans pestering him and trying to chase him out, had gotten fed up, and turned into a malevolent spirit, burning down the temple/shrine, and killing several humans who'd tried to harm him

on a lighter note, fast farward a couple years, there's some goofy intro where Keisuke meets Furui in a human form, but he's an absolutely terrible human impersonator. they somehow end up being buddies and Keisuke teaches him how to person etc etc story things.

there are other main characters like Lyric the sweet but secretly manipulative Siren, or "Lyra" to humans. then there's Denali the reluctant Werewolf who I've actually toyed with being the protagonist. they have a complicated relationship where Lyric doesn't want Denali to be so self destructive (drinking and sleeping around), and doesnt actually know that he's a literal werewolf. because he won't tell her. he's worried she'll absolutely freak out about him getting hurt or hurting people... what he doesn't realise is she's just using him and has got him wrapped around her little finger, because she thinks he's just another stupid human. he, of course knows she's NOT a human, but think he's special, and she would NEVER use her powers on him.

Furui and Keisuke move abroad to [wherever I decide this takes place] where Lyric, Denali, and a bunch of other characters live. Furui quickly befriends Lyric because he can smell non-humans, being a cat and all, meets Denali and finds out he hasn't told Lyric his secret, so (as he's not a human, so doesn't have human values of trust and camaraderie, and is... not a nice person in general) threatens to out him if he doesn't play along with his games.. those games, being he's been the dark creature slowly picking off the werewolf packs roaming the streets killing people. one of those packs, being Denali's own. Furui takes great pleasure in making the guy choose between his relationship with Lyric, who he thinks he feels more than just platonically for, or his pack. this of course has alot of ways it could go, and I haven't fully decided.... but it's fun to theorise.

originally, Furui had a huge crush on Denali (which was gonna end in some kinda violent throwndown between him and Lyric), because in my mind he started out as this huge confident wolf boy, and who doesn't wanna fuck a werewolf, but as time's been going, he's been showing his vulnerabilities, and Furui will absolutely not be into anyone who is scared of anything, especially if it's not tangible... he's a ilteral spirit, he can't die or be killed. he toys with death on the daily, and I have a couple of quick little drabble scenes written up already (to get it out of my system) of him being absolutely annihilated, only to grotesquely and noisily pull his dislocated/broken limbs back into their sockets, and raise up from the ground gushing blood and bits of his insides all over the pavement.... you can't be second guessing your words in case you hurt someone's feelings around someone like that, if you want them to respect your physical prowess. on one hand, I like big confident scary Denali, but I also like confidence being a front, and secretly vulnerable doggo boi. it's a hard life.

anyway I'm just ranting now, and it's been.... like literally over 5 hours. I started writing this at half 4ish? and it's 10pm now. I feel better though, like I got something out of my system, and I got some of my story thoughts down, instead of just letting them swim around in my head then be forgotten.

if anyone did read all this for whatever reason, then I hope you have a great day, and thankyou for sharing this with me ...

#ooc.#i forgot tags lol what is tumblr.

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ansonmount · 5 years

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i just realised why i love kai so much

#NOT YOU KAI #lmao #i have a thing for men who would legit kill me #its literally a life long issue i've had and you know what #thank fuck i can get it out of my system via fiction #because LEGIT theres men in this world who would abuse the fuck out of me #because like idk if y'all heard esp u ants but like borderlines have a THING about being in self destructive relationships #so safe to say kai is literally one big coping mechanism #fuck i'd rather enjoy fiction than go anywhere near an actual toxic irl relationship #im very blessed to have a wonderful boyfriend #we've been together nearly 7 years in may #i am so lucky because this was long before i got my bpd dx so i could have ended up in an even worse situation than i have been #you ever get in the car of a stranger you've only known online on a kink website? i have #thats how fucked up i am #or was #thanks for coming to my ted talk #i figure i'll put a #abuse cw #tag on this just in case

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lifewithabrokenmind · 3 years

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So a lot has changed in such a short amount of time since I started this blog, ive disconnected from the world of tumblr and ventured away into the world. I got to spend the Christmas holidays with my son for the first time in his life! So that's something extremely special for me.

But with that being said I nearly didn't make it last year, My mental health deteriorated immensely. I was self medicating with alcohol and trying to cope with a mentally abusive girlfriend who eventually turned physical. One night I had a big day working out on my aunties property and fell asleep on the lounge watching a movie. She innocently woke me up and helped me to bed, cute right?

Well that all of a sudden changed, as I quickly fell back asleep after being physically exhausted and not needing to take my sleeping meds which is unheard of in my life for the past 6 years. She shook me and woke me up. She had forgotten to turn the TV off in the lounge room. I barely woke up and mumbled "no baby, can you do it im exhausted and I fell back asleep instantly". The next thing I know I have this extreme stinging pain in my back. Turns out she cracked it and hit me as hard as she could. (I'm not a big guy, I'm 5'8 and weigh about 65kg she was shorter but considerably heavier than me) and I dont know what came over me but I lost it. I jumped up out of bed and started raging. (I don't get angry easy either, I believe everything can be solved through conversation and no confrontation, because confrontation makes my anxiety play up really bad) I'm yelling the absolute house down, saying things along the lines of "I can't fucking believe you" "what is wrong with you" kinda things but obviously swearing and crying. She chased me around the house stopped me from leaving or entering certain rooms while screaming at me to slap her back and get even, this goes on for 30 minutes or so and after being called a piece of shit every day for the past 5 months and everything else because we lived in a smallish country town where work was scarce, and I was finding it hard to find work. She had a job which she was lucky to obtain outside of her normal profession so it gave her some sort of "im better than you complex". So that was it she was in my face again she turned around dropped her shirt and screamed at me to slap her back and I did. I felt horrible the moment I did it. I fucking hate violence, I cannot stand the thought of someone being hurt by my hands as I have been beaten most of my teenage and adult life. She started crying, saying she can't believe I did it back that im the worst person in the world just going nuts at me and she then lunged at me with her nails going for my throat, she had stilleto (or however it's spelt) type nails you know the ones that come to a sharpish point if asked too? So my first thought was to protect myself I grabbed her hands and somehow managed to spin her around and bring her back against my chest where she swung her head back and head butted me (luckily I have a hard head and jaw) I then pushed her onto our bed as I did not want to cause her anymore physical harm she has then bounced off the bed in some weird motion that almost seemed faked and fell on the floor. She then rang the police on me.

I was mortified, I begged her to stop. But that was it, that is when my fate was sealed. I grabbed my shoes, wallet phone and put on my winter coat as it was late autumn at the time. I left into the night and headed to my "safe spot" a place near a lagoon with lots of ducks and geese, I sat there for an hour I heard the siren and saw the police car go past. I cried most of the time, I felt ashamed, sick, useless, a complete piece of shit of a human. I started thinking of how to end my life that night, and I figured it out. I knew what I was going to do, so I headed to the pub, or bar depending on where you are from in the world. I knew that hanging myself sober was an extremely difficult and painful task as I had tried it before. I finished off about 6 or 7 beers at the pub, full strength of course. I rang my grandmother and asked her to stay at hers over night explained the situation. She agreed, that woman has helped raise me and will always be the woman I hold the highest in my life. So I get there she sees that im a bit intoxicated, we have a talk she asks if im okay, and I breakdown a bit she makes us both a cuppa tea and we have a cigarette together before she gets up and goes to bed. At this point I'm just waiting for her to get comfy and doze off so im on my phone my slight buzz is wearing off so I go for a walk up the road to the local pub and have a few beers there. I think I drank another 6 or 7 and decided to go for a walk to the softball/baseball oval to look at the stars and prepare myself for what I was about to do, I had already put rope aside and a pen paper and a torch to write nan a note and tell her to ring the ambulance and police and send them to an exact spot. She wouldn't wake up until after 9am the next morning. So I'd been on the oval for quite some time and decided it was time to go do what I need to do. As I left and was crossing the road the police came out of nowhere and spotted me. I was wearing my favourite NRL teams jersey at the time, so easily spotted. Some would call that luck, but it wasn't. I was arrested and thats when I lost my freedom for 3 months.

Jail was hard, I saw people stabbed and bashed beyond recognition. Drugs and the mental health issues a massive portion of these indigenous and white men had. It was insane, and remember im not a big guy so that was even harder. My first 3 days there my cell mate and I were chillen in our cell then a guy came in and beat the shit out of him and took all of his belongings blood was everywhere I hadn't seen anything that violent in quite some time and I was physically shaken. A few of the boys noticed and came down to talk to me about it all and told me I was fine. I explained my situation with my diagnosis of autism and bpd. And they respected me for being honest and took me under their wing. So long story short jail became a bit easier and I started to get desensitised to the constant aggression and thieves and drug users and all the bullshit that comes with jail. The whole time my now ex was writing me in jail saying how sorry she was and she wish it was different and she would be there for me when im out and that was lovely until I got out. That's when this all takes a turn.

And I think im going to have to do this in parts. Because there is a lot of details behind this. I dont know if anyone will even read or whatever but let me know if you have and I'll try and keep this a regular thing.

#life #my life #mental help #mentalhealth #writers on tumblr #my story

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let-it-raines · 4 years

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another kind of green (7/10)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: mature

a/n: I apologize for the wait on this one. I’m obviously super spacey lately because I forgot I was supposed to be posting this story🙈

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2| 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

-/-

Emma didn’t notice the leaves change.

Yesterday, she swears that she looked outside and all of the trees were full of deep green leaves and that the grass on the ground was an equally vibrant shade. Today, however, there are brown leaves on the ground and orange and yellow leaves hanging off of limbs, and the grass growing next to the sidewalk is browning the slightest bit. She blinked, and the days changed from early September to mid-October.

How in the world?

Where did all of the time go? Wasn’t she just doing a local commercial (her least favorite kind of job) for the autumn festival that’s happening downtown? How is time for that to already be happening? They shoot those weeks and months in advance.

“On your left,” Killian calls out, and Emma doesn’t flinch. She’s used to it.

“You’re late.”

“Traffic.”

“You walk here.”

“A hell of a lot of pedestrians, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t slow down her pace, letting her legs keep powering her through this run. She’s on mile two, so Killian really is late. They’ve been getting up and going running a little after six most mornings for the past month. It’s far earlier than Emma would ever normally do it, but she likes having a running partner surprisingly enough and Killian has to go to training at eight every morning. It’s either this or run by herself so that every step is pretty much agony.

Just like she didn’t notice the changing leaves, she never really noticed how Killian wormed his way right into her run.

(At least he buys her smoothies…most of the time.)

(He’s grown fond of his mango one as well, and sometimes she does foot the bill.)

Emma turns to the side to finally look at him. He’s dressed in a pair of joggers and a BPD training sweatshirt he has to wear to the Academy, and he must be leaving directly from here instead of heading back to his apartment to take a shower.

She ran into Graham while grocery shopping last week. He was with his girlfriend, so she didn’t talk for a long time because that’s awkward as hell and she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, but she did learn that Killian told Graham that their marriage wasn’t something intentional. She’s not really sure when or where or why, and while something like that would normally piss her off, she’s relieved that the guilt of Graham finding out she got married like that is off her shoulders.

She’d forgotten about seeing him until she saw Killian’s sweatshirt. Graham had one just like that, and life seems to like bringing things back around for her. Maybe she should ask him about talking to Graham, or maybe she should just forget about it and move on.

Everyone else seems to have done so.

“You want to race?”

“Huh?” Emma asks, blinking away until Killian comes back into focus. She’d totally zoned out.

He raises his brows before reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. “Do you want to race me, love?”

“Please,” she scoffs, turning away from him to focus on what’s in front of her, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma quickly turns to him again. His smirk is obnoxious, and she’s not about to pass that up.

“First one to the bench with marks from where that guy sat on wet paint wins, okay? Loser buys smoothies.”

“You’re on. When do you want to – bloody hell…”

She doesn’t hear the rest of his curse, and she does know that it’s a curse, because she’s already increased her speed and is sprinting as fast as she possibly can. It’s at least half a mile until that bench, maybe a little over, and Emma can run that far this fast without any issue. Her problem is that Killian, even though he was slower than her when he started, has started to catch up to her. His strides are already longer than hers, but with his speed catching up after so much training, she needs every advantage she can get.

Smoothies aren’t something to play around with.

He’d be so obnoxious if he won.

Killian’s on her heels for every step of the run. His muttered words and the panting of his breath hover just behind her, and she knows that if she were to suddenly stop running, he’d stumble over her. But she doesn’t stop. She lets her legs and her lungs burn and keeps going until she gets that adrenaline high that she’s been searching for. It’s been elusive lately, most of her runs dragging along at a snail’s pace, but this isn’t a long run anymore. It’s a sprint to the finish line.

Very literally.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

The bench is in her sight now, the poor markings left behind by someone who ruined their pants by sitting in wet paint last week, and she propels herself forward to get there before Killian when she feels a hand on her wrist, tugging her back, until she’s falling to the ground, her elbow hitting hard against the grass until she rolls over onto her back and feels the weight of Killian on top of her.

“What the fuck?” she grunts. All of the breath has been knocked out of her, and Killian’s entire body pressing down on her doesn’t help. “What was that for?”

“Sorry,” Killian grumbles, propping himself up on his elbows to lessen his body weight. His cheeks are flushed a slight pink, and his hair is falling over his forehead in sweaty sections. It makes him look younger than his usual penchant for styling his hair off his forehead. Maybe her brain just isn’t functioning correctly and he looks exactly the same. “Are you hurt?”

“I imagine my ass and my elbow are going to be bruised, but other than that, I’m fine.”

“You were about to be run over by a bike, love. Did you not hear me calling you or the incessant ringing of the bell?”

“Uhhh.”

“Exactly. I saved your life, and I think a little gratitude is in order. I do normally prefer to do more enjoyable things with a woman on her back, after all. Of course, you would know.”

His brows quickly wiggle across his forehead, and when his tongue runs over his bottom lip, heat curls between Emma’s legs that has absolutely nothing to do with how sweaty she is from running.

“Just like our marriage, I’m wiping that part from my memory.” “Ah, but you weren’t drunk for it. You actually remember it. Tell me, darling, what was your favorite part of that night? Was it when my mouth pressed into your neck in the hallway or was it when it pressed into another rater delicious – ”

“Okay,” Emma mutters, pushing her hands up against his chest until he rolls off of her and onto his back on the grass, “that’s enough of that. I haven’t eaten yet today, and you owe me a smoothie.”

Changing the subject. She has to change the subject.

“I don’t believe you won the race.”

“I was going to if you hadn’t tugged me down and nearly caused me to break a bone.”

“I was trying to pull you to the side. You’re the one who went down.”

“Semantics.” “I don’t mean to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team. When it comes to running, of course. I save your life from a horrific bicycle accident, and you, well, I’m not sure what you do.”

Emma sucks in a deep breath before exhaling and twisting her head to the side. Killian’s already looking at her, lips pressed into a soft smile, and he reaches over toward her until his fingers are brushing against her skin as he tucks loose tendrils of her hair behind her ear

Did she just get a chill or was that her sweat drying?

Getting her sports bra off is practically going to be impossible. At least she can do it in privacy.

Sports bras are obviously both the best and the worst.

“I kick your ass in races.”

Killian laughs, finger brushing against her cheek again. Her body is basically a puddle now. “I’ll buy our smoothies, Swan, but you have to agree to let me take you out for your birthday next week.”

“How do you even know my birthday is next week?”

“It was on our annulment papers.”

“Oh.”

Killian twist over until he’s on his side and propping his chin up in his hand and tapping his temple. “I know you may not remember things, at least according to your manager, but I do have an excellent brain up here.”

“I’m ignoring you basically calling yourself a genius because I have to ask: when the hell did you talk to Mary Margaret?”

“Last week. Ariel was talking to her on the phone at a shoot, and they got to talking about how I’m reliable while you are not.” “I have only missed one appointment, but Mary Margaret holds onto that and brings it up every time I almost forget something. It was for an understandable reason, too.”

“And what was that?”

Emma blinks, and her mind catches up to what she just said. Shit.

“It was nothing.”

“Oh, no, it was definitely something. Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Yeah, well, inquiring minds don’t get to know.”

Emma quickly gets up from the ground, moving so quickly that she’s dizzy, but she doesn’t want to be lounging on the grass any longer. People are running by them, dirty shoes near her face, and she doesn’t even want to think about how many animals have relieved themselves where she was just resting her face.

She doesn’t want to think about anything other than getting some calories in her, taking a shower, and meeting Ruby at Flock so they can shoot next month’s catalog of clothes for the website.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, but she keeps on walking. “Swan! Love! Emma!”

“Not in the mood, Jones.”

“You were two minutes ago, and I cannot figure out what I possibly could have done to piss you off in that time.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I obviously did something.”

“Can’t you for once just do what I say and leave me alone?”

“Perhaps if you had actually told me to bloody leave you alone.”

Emma quickly turns on her heels to look at him. She nearly smacks herself into his chest, but she doesn’t need another collision with him, not today.

“Killian,” she says slowly, “leave me alone.”

His gaze doesn’t move away from hers, deep blue staring at her and making her want to back away, but she doesn’t. In the back of her mind, she knows he’s done nothing wrong, that he isn’t the one who’s actually pissed her off, but he’s here. What better excuse is there than that?

“If that’s what you want,” he begins, leaning down and giving her a mocking bow with a flourish of his hand, “then that’s what I’ll do.”

-/-

“This is the smallest piece of fabric I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve seen your underwear drawer, Ems. I know that’s not true.”

Emma rolls her eyes at Ruby and tugs on the top, adjusting it until it covers her boobs. How this boutique expects any normal person to be able to wear this piece of fabric is beyond her.

“It’s ridiculous,” Emma continues, still trying to tug it down, “and this is supposedly a winter sweater. Has anyone here ever actually experienced a winter in Boston? This isn’t going to cut it.”

“Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?”

“That’s a disgusting phrase.”

“It’s obviously very apt today, though.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a liar.”

“No, I’m just cold.”

Emma turns on her heels and walks back out in front of the camera and the white wall as the photographer and the owner of the boutique wait for she and Ruby to be ready. Emma does the standard poses, flipping her hair and fake laughing, and then she trades off with Ruby until they’ve both gone through the entire catalog of clothes that were on the racks in the side of the warehouse.

This is the weirdest job, and she’s honestly not sure that she enjoys it much anymore. That seems like a problem for a day where she’s not already pissed off at the world.

“I will buy you lunch if you tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“Nope,” Emma sighs, tugging on her coat and fluffing her hair out as they get ready to leave the warehouse. “You cannot bribe me.”

“Okay, but what if we go back to my place, and I make Granny’s onion ring recipe?”

Emma stops and turns to Ruby, her eyes narrowing at Ruby’s wolfish grin. “You’re evil.”

“But you love me.” “That’s debatable.”

“Nah,” Ruby sighs, wrapping her arm around Emma’s shoulder, “it’s really not.”

They walk the fifteen minutes to Ruby and Mulan’s apartment, the chill of the air nipping at Emma’s nose, but once they’re inside and the heat is on and there’s that wonderful smell of onion rings and grilled cheese being cooked, Emma’s no longer freezing. She’s warm and calm and maybe she doesn’t have to be as pissy as she has been today.

“So, Mulan says you haven’t come to class in a few weeks.”

Ruby says it casually, doesn’t even bother to turn around, but Emma knows that this is the beginning of her fishing into what Emma has been doing. The woman isn’t sly at all.

“I’ve been doing other things.”

“Other things or…men?”

“Running. I’ve been running, Rubes.”

“Mhm, and you wouldn’t happen to be running every day with a very handsome man that makes me thankful that I am interested in both men and women while poor souls like you only get men?”

Emma huffs into her glass of water. “How could you possibly know about that?”

“Because I, too, avoid my girlfriend’s Pilates studio and like to go running that path sometimes.”

Well, shit. She didn’t think anyone really knew she was doing that.

“We both run. We happen to run into each other. It’s a thing.”

Ruby turns around and arches a brow, cocking her head to the side. “What’d he do to piss you off today? Might as well just skip to that question.”

“He didn’t piss me off.”

“You don’t get onion rings if you don’t tell the truth.” “Screw you.”

“That was the deal.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not very good at keeping deals.”

Ruby sighs and plates another few onion rings before turning the stove off so that the cackling of the grease quiets down. “You’re going on runs with the man that you married.” Emma opens her mouth, but Ruby holds her finger up. “Yeah, I know about that. You know Marg can’t keep things to herself. I also know that if you want to shake him off, you wouldn’t be spending so much voluntary time with him. So did he actually do something to piss you off that I need to kick his ass for, or is this just Emma being Emma?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what that means.”

Emma ignores her and reaches up to take an onion ring only for Ruby to hold the plate away from her. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Sighing, Emma crosses her arms over her chest and leans back on the barstool. She was pretty sure Ruby was joking about Emma having to talk about her mood, but apparently, she wasn’t.

“Nothing is wrong with me.”

“Yeah, and I’m a rocket scientist.”

“You could be.”

“Emma, do you like your husband? Is that what’s freaking you out?”

“He is not my husband.”

“You’re evading the question.”

“No,” she mumbles, “I’m not, and no, I don’t like Killian. I guess I just slept on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Can I have my onion rings now? The full plate?”

Ruby’s brow stays arched until it falls so it can furrow with her other one. “Do you really not want to talk about it?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about.”

-/-

Emma’s a liar.

She’s a lying liar who lies, but she’s not about to admit that to anyone other than her glass of wine and the can of icing that she’s eating. However many calories she burned today don’t matter because she’s consumed all of them since this afternoon.

It’s totally been worth it.

Mostly.

She can’t binge watch Poldark and not drink wine and eat icing, right? That would just be stupid.

Her phone buzzes on the couch cushion next to her.

Killian Jones: I owe you a smoothie. Is there a chance I can buy you one tomorrow?

Shit. Of course he’s texting her.

And of course he’s being nice.

The man knows exactly how to be an ass. Can’t he be one of those right now?

Can’t she not want to text him back?

Emma Swan: I feel like I should be the one buying you one since I was so bitchy today.

Killian Jones: I wouldn’t say that.

Killian Jones: Because I think you’d murder me if I did.

Killian Jones: And also because it’s not true.

Emma snorts into her wine, taking another sip, and then leaning forward to put the glass on her coffee table.

Emma Swan: It was true. You can say it.

Killian Jones: I’d rather you not kick my ass. You could do it anyways, but training already beat me down today. I’m in a weakened state.

Emma Swan: That bad, huh?

Killian Jones: It was like I ran for six hours without stopping while also having to climb over obstacles and have men my own age yelling at me while twenty-one years old just ran by with no hesitations.

She laughs again before stretching back onto the couch. She should crawl back into bed and get herself comfortable, let herself fall asleep, but this is pretty comfortable too.

Killian Jones: But I love it.

Emma Swan: Yeah?

Killian Jones: It’s awful, but I also feel like I have a purpose, you know? I’ve wanted this for so long.

Emma’s heartrate picks up, and she closes her eyes and drops her phone to her chest. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t have some kind of great want that’s driven her life. She’s always been a foster kid, someone who isn’t sure what’s coming around the corner, and even when she aged out of the system, she still didn’t know. There was Neal and jail and…he ruined her life. Neal ruined her fucking life. He took away her choice for her life, and even though she’s doing okay now, she could be doing better. It’s not something she wants to think about because a decade has gone by since then, since he abandoned her like most everyone else has, but rarely a day goes by where he doesn’t come up in some way.

But really, it hasn’t been a decade. It’s been three years since he showed up at her apartment door, finding her somehow, and acted like not a day had gone by, like he hadn’t done this awful thing to her and like she must still love him.

She didn’t then.

She doesn’t now.

Neal will always be her first love and the person who loved her first, and what a shame that is.

That’s why she missed her shoot that day. Mary Margaret had been pissed, had gotten angry with Emma for maybe the first time ever, but then she’d sobbed into Mary Margaret’s shoulder as everything in her life felt like it was falling apart.

Again.

And here she is letting Neal worm his way into her thoughts again, into her life. He’s not around anymore. She doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life, and he really doesn’t deserve to occupy so much space. She’s been doing it for years, wearing these pretty white dresses at least once a week and pretending to be someone who could even think about getting married when it’s never been what she wanted, not after him.

Not even with Graham.

Maybe one day she’ll figure out how to move on completely and how to leave Neal in the past where he belongs.

She’s got to get out of this headspace before she drinks herself into an oblivion, so she opens her eyes and looks back at her phone. No one can see her face or hear her thoughts, and even if she is absolutely terrified of Killian Jones, he’s the only thing that’s making her feel remotely safe right now.

Emma Swan: I’m happy for you!

Killian Jones: Thank you, love.

Killian Jones: Did I tell you about the guy who is now wearing an eye patch because of an unfortunate fall on the rope climb?

Emma Swan: This sounds like the beginning of a really bad high school soap opera.

Killian Jones: Oh, but it’s even better than that.

Killian tells her the story, as well as several others from his first few weeks at the Academy, and Emma distracts herself with it, finding that it’s easy to get lost in Killian’s stories. Even texting, he has a way with words that has her easily being swept up into the conversation so that her lips tug at the corners and there’s a smile permanently press into her skin. He’s funny and charming and he deals with her shit even when he shouldn’t. He should run away and never look back.

The thought causes her breath to hitch and her chest to pang and…

Maybe Ruby was right. Maybe she does have a thing for Killian.

Oh shit.

-/-

Tag list: @xemmaloveskillianx @therealstartraveller776 @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic

#another kind of green #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

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anxietycalling · 3 years

Text

how i spent my summer vacation

Or, where the fuck have I been these literal years? (I can’t believe it’s been years.)

I feel like I need to, at some point, talk about everything that happened between now and the point where I dropped off the face of the earth. And, like, actually talk, not that thing I do where I make a joke out of everything. So... I’m doing this up front, so if anyone actually still follows my shitshow of a life, you know what you’re getting yourself into before it’s too late.

Okay. Where to start.

Um, obviously, after the 2016 election I gtfo’d the US. Because I couldn’t legally work in the US at that point, I had pretty much no savings and no money because every dollar I did get went to supporting me and Dash because of the absolute nightmare that happened there. I’m not... mad at her anymore, not quite - I recognize that a lot of actions on both sides were the result of severe, untreated trauma and mental illness, so it’s hard to look at either of us and say that someone was the villain there. It’s hard to recognize when you’re in survival mode that your actions are self-destructive. But, anyway, because of that, I had no choice other than to move in with my parents. Which many of you are aware is not the healthiest choice for me mentally or physically.

And, again, it’s not that my parents are bad people. They’re good people who are trying their best, but there are two factors that lead to me living with them being a terrible idea. 1) My mother has a lot of unprocessed intergenerational trauma due to mental illness that she is still dealing with, and 2) Neither of my parents have ever lived in an urban center, which lends itself to a specific mindset when it comes to dealing with mental illness and LGBTQ+ issues. Which is to say, it’s hard to have a regular dating or sex life when everyone knows your business while your parents are simultaneously trying to pretend you don’t have genitals that they’re uncomfortable with. Also, I didn’t have my license at the time because I let it expire before getting my permanent one, so I was pretty much at the mercy of whoever could drive me places. (I lived in cities before that, so not driving was never much of an issue. I am highly proficient in public transit.)

So living with my parents was this precarious balancing act of trying to do everything they wanted me to do, because they were letting me live there for free, and meeting the demands of my bosses (who immediately demoted me once they found out I wasn’t planning on living there forever), and trying to have a social life outside of my family. And, like, I had just come out of the closet, so I was also trying to date without my parents finding out, because, like? It gets exhausting trying to explain why you have a right to exist and love who you want to love and I tend to get defensive when I feel like I have to justify myself. But all that secrecy really wears on you. I think in the worst of it I was probably sleeping 3-5 hours a night between the anxiety, having to walk or wait for rides everywhere, and staying up late enough after my parents went to sleep to try to meet guys on dating apps.

Dating apps when you live in a rural area are the worst. Not only is there a limited dating pool to begin with, it sucks when someone ghosts you and then re-signs up for the same dating app using a fake name and you catch them at it. I get it to some extent; people are afraid of being outed, even if on paper we’re one of the premier retirement destination for gay couples near Toronto. (Read: affluent, white, cis gay men.) It’s gotten better in the last couple of years, but... Yeah, there just was nothing for me there.

Obviously I had to widen my perimeter for who I was willing to date, and that’s how I met Husband. Completely by accident. My phone provider was out one day, so I didn’t get any messages from anyone for almost 24 hours while I was figuring that out. His message to me was one of the ones that got pushed through when my phone service restored itself. (I still, to this day, don’t know why or how this happened.) And there was nothing there that was inherently like, “Hey, you’re going to date and then marry this guy,” other than the fact that he actually put effort into his message instead of sending “hey” over and over again to get a response. But he was funny, and he was charming, and we fell for each other really quickly. Pretty soon all my money (which, again, limited, because the awful ladies I worked for decided I wasn’t leadership material even though they gave me no training or direction, ever) was going to taking the train here pretty much every time I had a day off from work. And I was lying to my parents about it, because they decidedly do not like or approve of dating apps or internet friendships in general.

Something happens in relationships where one or both of you are chronically ill. There comes a sink-or-swim moment in the relationship where you either step up and deal with the shit that happens, or you realize you can’t handle the intensity or uncertainty of it, and you gtfo. And... obviously, I chose the first option. Pretty much immediately after my first visit (as in, I was still on the train) Husband calls me, because his doctors are afraid that he has cancer. I go home, work exactly one day and turn the fuck around and go back so we can meet with the hematologist and find out whether he has bone cancer, Jesus fuck. Thankfully, it turned out that he didn’t; it’s something that comes up a lot because he doesn’t have a spleen and that, apparently, makes it look like you’re dying a whole lot. We ended up moving in together a month later because living at my parents was making me suicidal, which isn’t the greatest love story of all time, I know, but I had wanted to move out anyway and living with him was a much better option than random roommates.

I didn’t talk to my mother for... a month and a half, after I moved out. She kept trying to contact my friends on Facebook one day and I was ready to freak out on her for being controlling or something. Turns out, my biological father died. At the time, I was calm. Like, I wasn’t surprised - he had nearly died of alcohol-induced cardiac failure before I moved to the US, and it’s not like he had done anything to make his situation better - but it turns out I was actually in shock, I guess. The whole situation was fucking terrible; not because he died but because it kind of cemented that my only value to his side of the family was being “the only granddaughter” and not that they gave a shit about me as a person. They misgendered me in his obituary; they spelled my brother’s girlfriend’s name wrong.

I think the worst part is that they tried to make his celebration of life thing about how great he was as a person, though. And, like, I’m sorry, but great people don’t molest their children, or their children’s girlfriend. They don’t have sex in front of their children with their children’s physical abuser. They don’t make their teenage child in charge of being the sober adult when they want to go drinking. They don’t let their partner physically abuse their child when that child tries to get them both help for their drinking. They don’t trap their kid on a boat for a week with a creepy adult male stranger and freak the fuck out when that child has their first anaphylactic reaction to a novel food 20 kilometers from land or the nearest hospital. They don’t call that child on their birthday every year to remind them what a woman they are and always will be when they were the first fucking parent I came out to.

Actually, no - the worst part of him dying was that I had to deal with his hellbeast girlfriend afterward, because apparently there was money for me in an RESP that he had never cashed, but all that got me was a shady financial representative who repeatedly wanted my mother and me to break the law over it. Like, my mom got her lawyer involved and everything, and once the legal letterhead came out the financial dude dropped off the face of the earth, stopped answering my calls and I never got my thousand pity dollars.

And, like, things were okay for a little while after that because Husband and I were close with our roommates up until the point where it became clear that one of them had severe, untreated borderline personality disorder. I’ve lived with someone with BPD before; I’ve lived with a hoarder before. I was not prepared for the level of hoarding that this woman could produce. Or just, like, generally weird and shitty behavior and refusal to seek treatment for her condition. We tried everything we could think of, but ultimately we had to have secret meetings outside our house with our other roommate (who was dating her at the time) to figure out what to do with her. The things we found out... I’ve never wanted to genuinely harm a person before. Because she had been r*ping our roommate for months, and convincing them we didn’t want to be their friend, and using all their money because she wouldn’t go to work or apply for welfare or do the bare minimum required to be a human being. We had to get her removed by the police (who I do not advise contacting unless there is genuinely no other options) and the police acted like it was a typical roommate squabble even though we had fucking proof. So, anyway, we had to contact hell roommate’s parents and sister, and do all the packing to get her shit out of our house.

I will add that there were a few golden months right after hell roommate moved out. We got very close with remaining roommate, and it was nice, but then they started dating their current boyfriend and it just got... uncomfy for everyone somehow? They never outright said they were dating him, it was weird, one day they were like “Hey, I have a friend coming over!” and then he was just... there all the time? And they never told us they were dating? And, like, I’m happy for them, they’re great together and genuinely like each other, but it was weird. It was uncomfortable when we had to have the “We want to move out” conversation, too, because originally we had wanted to move to a bigger place with all of us, but ultimately we ended up keeping the apartment.

So that should have been fine, right? Especially since they moved in with one of Husband’s friends. Except that that friend turned out to be secretly awful and took advantage of everyone around them, and accused good roommate of being secretly racist and a bunch of other stuff that wasn’t true. (Trust me, good roommate would rather sever their left leg than do something that would hurt someone’s feelings.) And, like, I’m sorry, but you can’t use your master’s degree in social work to push around people who you know freeze during confrontations and have memory issues due to trauma, and then turn around and lead healing from trauma workshops. No. You’re a garbage human being who deserves to step on a thousand Lego. (Legos? Anyway.)

OH. Right. Before that, I had surgery. I had surgery and then pretty much the day we got home from that, the pandemic happened. At the beginning of it, good roommate and a woman who would later become one of our best friends came to stay with us because, again, horrific garbage pile of a human being in their house. Recovering from surgery took forever - I still don’t have feeling back 100% in my chest - but thankfully I was better enough by the time they moved to be somewhat helpful there. (They were incredibly smart and hired movers. We were pretty much there because we had just bought a car and could move breakable stuff.)

Ugh. God. Sorry, I have to jump back to 2018 for a second, which is when I was diagnosed with OCD. Like, officially, I mean. It was probably pretty obvious to everyone who wasn’t me, but I always kind of thought that since I wasn’t on My Mom-level germophobic, there was no way I could have it. Uh! Turns out! Normal people don’t cry when a garbage bag that is clearly about to be taken outside touches the floor while they are putting their shoes on to take said garbage bag outside. So... I take pills now. And go to therapy. Which is very expensive. But, yeah, my symptoms were pretty fuckin’ bad then. And continued to be bad - like, bad enough that I had to quit my job in 2019 because my bosses weren’t taking it seriously enough or even listening to me. (It’s Mcdonald’s, it’s chill, they ruin or fire all their best employees.)

Okay. Back to now. Pandemic! School! Suffering through all my pre-requisites so I can take actual interesting classes! Somewhere in there we started watching Twitch streams - I think it was because Husband found out Felicia Day streamed, and he loves her, and it kind of spiraled from there? But anyway, I somehow ended up part of this weird, delightful community that’s genuinely nice and non-trollish, and now I stream sometimes. Or attempt to stream. Or attempt to keep a regular schedule. It’s nice, though, to feel like there’s someone to hang out with when you pretty much can’t leave your house. There’s a sense of normality to being in a place at a specific time and seeing specific people. And Twitch has given me a lot of ideas on research topics I’d like to pursue in grad school.

Like I said, it’s been a pretty mixed bag. There have been some really bad parts, but there’s a lot of good stuff that happened too. I just. I miss Old Me a lot, lately. I miss who I was before all the trauma. (I mean, obviously not all the trauma, because I don’t miss being a literal child, but like... 18-23 or so.)

I think this might be the most I’ve written outside of a school context in actual years. Part of me keeps thinking about adding in APA formatting, but uh. You can’t really cite something when it’s just memories inside your own head. Anyway. I need to work on liking myself more, and working through some of the baggage that goes with trauma, and... I don’t know. It’s nice to have an outlet that’s not my husband or my cats. (Again, Husband is awesome, Husband is amazing, but we’re around each other 24/7 right now. I think he deserves a break sometimes.)

So... Yep. Thanks, if you made it this far. I promise not all my posts are going to be like this. I just figured, if you were going to stick around, you probably deserved to know what happened while I was gone.

#personal

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sageadrianwhite · 4 years

Text

***trigger warning possible***

With good news tho

So 2 weeks away as of this Saturday from 7 years clean!!! I've managed nearly for 7 years not to fall back on drugs & drinking. I've managed for almost 7 years not to starve myself either. I struggle in my 20's to not self harm, but always stop myself where I've maybe done one and realized stopping myself.

I've managed to get worlds better I remember being 19 an addict thinking I wouldn't see 21. I was almost right September 5th 2013 about a month before my 20th birthday. I nearly took my own life due to losing someone I loved, after I had found my one, when I had finally gotten free massive truma and the abuse of my ex. The guy I was with who was also my best friend in this world and was the one of the only reasons I was beating my addictions at the time. He was stood by me and pushing me for my best and to finally get better after a 5 year struggle to overcome the truma I've been though. I was the teen you hear about with a Micky or 2-6er taped under the bed frame. A stash of drugs hidden in a buildabear. The "rich kid" that couldn't handle the pressure of being the perfect Islamic daughter and live up to the perfect image keeping it all together spending lots on products and makeup to look not like an addict So my parents, friends and teachers didn't know. It doesn't make it easier when your abusive fiancee at the time gives you the option to be beaten or do the drugs or have your face forced in them and they have their way after.... I was a dumb 18 year old, but I'm the islamic culture not uncommon from 18-26 to marry.

It broke me when a boyfriend of mine died. It went two weeks no contact as of the night we said I love you the first time when he told me he had to pick up his drunk abusive father from the bar.......I told him to be careful and text me when hes home safe turns out he told his dad about us. His father was upset and enraged he was dating a girl who was 19 when he had just turned 18.... so his father grabbed the wheel jerking it. They hit a pole. He died on impact my then boyfriend. His father died 2 days later in hospital.

I found out two weeks later when his mom got into his Skype and called me saying shes glad she finally got in to his social media so she could let me know as he only knew his passwords.

That night My abusive ex found me when I went to the bar. I wanted to drown for a night the feeling of loss as it was the first true close loss I have had to deal with by then and was planning to then get back to sobriety the next day from finding out my boyfriend had died.

That night my abusive ex gave me drugs and convinced me to kill myself before leaving the bar with my ex best friend he cheated with. The fact he made me believe with the abuse, bullying, learning disabilities and mental illness I was the problem and believe I was better off dead due to being hammered and in a severe grieving state..

I don't remember anything after taking the drugs just waking up in my bed at home about 5 in the morning with a damp feeling all around my blanket and sheets, my room smelt coppery, my mouth tasted like a penny, but I was sitting up hugging my knees cold as hell. I felt the urge to pee so I got up fast not thinking and ran to the bathroom soon as I went past the mirror I saw the fact I was all bloody. I had unconsciously self harmed myself to the point I had 167 cuts on my body between my arms, ribs, thighs, ankles and hips. I felt dizzy looking at myself covered in blood trying to stop it. I lost conciousness and fell I hit my cheek on the way down which to this day causes me the odd facial pain due to if I had hit it any harder I would have broke the bone in my cheek and end up needing cosmetic surgery. I passed out waking up 20 mins later. I remember forcing myself to get up falling straight down to a near passout state lying there unable to move call for help or anything. I had still been bleeding and I had fading in and out consciousness at that point and somehow I heard his voice telling me "it isnt my time, I've got so much to do and this isnt where my story ends. I need to get up, I am meant for much better things than this and he better no be seeing me any time soon that when everything feels lost fight against all odds. Prove everyone wrong that you will see 25 and be something"

I somehow pushed myself up fading in and out of consciousness and stumbled bloody down the hall half using the wall and crawling till I managed to get my moms bedroom door open as I managed to grab her ankle and raspiley say "mom I need help I'm sorry"

I passed out again just as she sat up in shock looking at what I looked like last thing I remembered was the horror on her face and. When I came to my mom had saved my life and my little sister who was 13 was crying thinking she was gonna lose me. My mom she had stopped the bleeding, and made me throw up while unconscious to sober and get some of the drugs out which saved my life and she got me drinking wholy detox tea soon as I could drink and swallow plus some watermelon for the sugars.

After I spent 2 months with a massive black eye and healing cuts covering my body. That night I almost died and my mom saved my life on what would have been my little sister's first day of high school, September 5th 2013. I got help I joined therapy, I went to AA in secret till 5 months in when i had a routine, I went to NA for 4 months till I had a solid plan and was sober, started looking at programs for my mental illness and learning disorders. By 21 I had been a year an a month sober.

Now at 26 years old I've been almost 7 years sober as of September 5th 2020.

It will be 7 years sober and clean. I own my own business, I travel, I have my physical health for the first time in 10 years almost and I have the most loving, understanding, compassionate, sweet funny and kind guy possible

These days I couldn't be happier healthier and luckier to be here after what I went through life is too short to be filled with misery and hate and too short to waste being disillusioned by a fake happiness created by chemicals that arent good for you. I remember the monster I was and my lash outs and after seeing others addictions I know what I sadly put my loved ones through.

Please if you need help go seek it it's never too late because addiction is only ment to destroy you and everything you love so please don't let it win and get help

I don't post much besides the odd photo of myself here and there on my tumblr, but too many people I've cared about in my life I've lost them to drugs, I almost lost myself 7 years ago. I've had people who did drugs and turned abusive or into a monster losing themselves in the process of thinking they are medicating their issues like I did. So please if you suffer go get help it may be an underlying reason of why you have addiction mine is due to BPD (Boraderline personally disorder) which also has its issues with impulse control.

Just please get help its never to late to get treatment. Please do not wait till you get where I was. To this day I still deal with lasting effects from being a addict in my formative teen years. Odd stomach pains, not often hungry, a valve issue better my kidneys and bladder, facial pain from the fall and some digestive issues, plus old injuries that didnt heal right due I medicated for because I couldn't lose my sports or music & theater. Addiction is no joke please get help before if destroys you and everything you hold dear to you.

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drlauralwalsh · 4 years

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Top 7 Recent Obsessions and 3 Freshly Intolerable Topics

Since my wife died in February, I’ve transformed into an obsessive recluse. I’ve always been a weirdo but now I’m a grieving weirdo. It takes eccentricity to a whole other level. Before, my obsessions were psychology and home improvement projects. Now, work is impossible and I break down trying to choose flowers at the local Home Depot. Removing every last dandelion from the yard is my glorious new passion.

Since I trust you, I’m going to tell you about some of the other strange occupiers of my mind. Like squatters, these topics have moved into my brain to fill up the unused rooms. I vacillate between kicking them out and kinda liking the company. Until new obsessions come along, I’ll play reluctant host to this ragtag collection of ideas.

1. Life After Life

It’s natural to wonder what happens to someone after they die. I’ve been doing some light reading (usually at around 3AM) on what psychic mediums think on the subject. Apparently, we continue life on the other side, often recreating the likeness of our earthly homes and possessions out of familiarity. In my wife’s afterlife, I hope she made some improvements. She’s likely finally found the perfect couch (comfy yet stylish!) and is no longer taunted by the daily dog hair tumbleweeds.

I have a few questions. Does my wife get to meet celebrities? She’d be totally psyched to meet Dolores O’Riordan, the lead singer of The Cranberries, who died in January of 2018. Did she get to watch the last season of Homeland that aired after she died? Can she still water a lawn in contemplative meditation? Most likely, she’s cavorting with her first girlfriend, Suzy. I’m told Suzy was a little crazy in her earth life so I hope she’s not a bad influence.

If I end up living a few more decades, I’ll probably grow and change substantially. Will Patty recognize me when I finally make the trip? Will she and I still be soulmates or will I have to share her? Like, did Suzy claim my wife as her soulmate? I don’t wish anyone loneliness in the after life but dang, I’ve got dibs.

2. Cookie Butter Therapy

If you’ve read my self care tips, you know I’ve found cookie butter solace. Listening to my body’s unique nutrient requirements, I heed the call for that smooth comfort. As a psychologist, it used to bug me when I’d see memes like, “I don’t need therapy, I’ve got wine!” Occasionally speaking aloud, I’d reply, “Hello future client!”

Now, I’m not so sure that retail, alcohol or food therapy is all that bad. I mean, it IS bad in that it doesn’t solve the problem and could turn into something worse. But if keeping your head above water saves your life, perhaps I should reconsider these stopgap measures. Personally, I’m planning a future half marathon to combat the future cookie butter problem. And by planning, I mean it’s on my list to look up neighborhood jogging routes.

3. Signs from Beyond the Veil

After my Dad died in 2002, I looked for evidence that his energy was still around. Losing a spouse takes it to a completely new desperation. Again, according to psychic mediums, we can ask our departed loved ones for specific signs and they will try to send them to us. Oh the pressure! Being an overachiever, of course I wanted to come up with the perfect sign to request from my wife. One that hits just the right balance of inside joke and everlasting love.

To get the ball rolling, I picked the first thing that came to mind. I asked my wife to send me a maroon Nissan Rogue SUV. Weird, I know - but also the perfect symbol of our family. I’m not that great at these requests just yet so I hope she knows I’m asking to see one, not get one as a gift. Years ago, she borrowed my maroon Nissan for a road trip with two little boys who would become my step kids. Having not yet met, questions about the car’s owner became a convenient way to talk about Mama’s new sweetheart.

I started seeing this car EVERYWHERE. There’s this one little problem, though. Have you ever heard of confirmation bias? Psychology Today says, “Confirmation bias occurs from the direct influence of desire on beliefs. “ Basically, I started seeing the car because I wanted the sign from her. The overly enthusiastic part of my brain said, “Yeah, but wouldn’t she also FLOOD the world with whatever sign you requested????” Next time, I’ll ask for money.

4. Meditation

After all the grief festivities were done (i.e. initial horror and subsequent wake and funeral), one of my besties recommended the book, Proof of Heaven by Dr. Eben Alexander. The author is a smarty-pants neurosurgeon who had a near death experience. He woke up out of a coma, wrote everything down, and set about trying to disprove the platitudes he once touted to patients. Anyway, a fascinating book and GREAT for the active griever in your life.

Veering from his conventional colleagues, Dr. Alexander’s career diverged towards the path less taken. He’s now involved in projects with the founders of Sacred Acoustics, a brainwave entrainment audio recordings company. That’s a fancy way of saying guided meditations with binaural beats that create experiences. There’s one that facilitates “communication with spirits across the veil.” Since I’m obsessed with getting back with my wife without leaving my kids and dogs, I became a convert.

Before Patty died (AKA BPD), I was known to dabble in mindfulness and may have claimed I meditated for longer and more often than I actually remembered to do. Don’t judge me, I was a busy mom! With a renewed desperation and time on my hands, I gave these wacky meditations a go. OMG, y’all they are amazing. I dare say I’ve done a little cavorting with my wife (at least in my mind). Seriously, between ADHD and grief brain, I can still knock out a 38 minute ‘Love Body’ meditation, no sweat. In the least, it’s a crutch over the rough spots.

5. Crafty Crystal Suncatchers

I haven’t gone off the deep end (yet) and meditated while balancing my chakras (okay, maybe once) with family heirlooms. If you read more than one book about the afterlife, you’ll pick up on themes. Psychics love auras, butterflies, and RAINBOWS. Since I’ve got time, I figured it wasn’t hard to put together my own suncatcher. You can certainly purchase these dandies but I prefer my own extremely amateur creations - especially since I need one for every window. Not sure what to do with these colorful messages from beyond but they are a comfort of sorts.

You may have gathered that I wasn’t previously into the paranormal. For instance, I knew that smudging was a thing but now, thanks to Etsy, I have my own kit. Same with healing crystals. As a child from a family of geologists, semi-precious gems, variegated rocks and hefty quartz crystals already held a special awe. I must note that my grandfather never mentioned crystal suncatchers as a method for communicating with the dead. It’s all me who’s hoping for yet another channel where, through refracted sunlight, my wife asserts her presence.

6. Documentaries About Death

It’s a widow habit to categorize life events as ‘before’ and ‘after,’ We use these terms with a wistful air of melancholy apology. We didn’t create these terms but they’re used as handy shortcuts before launching into yet another story about our dead spouses. This next tidbit is about me, though.

I love documentaries but before, I’d skip over the downers. Who wants to watch a flick about eroding habitats when your lawn looks so good? Times change and now after, I’ve completely confused Amazon’s algorithms with my new entertainment searches. I find comfort in tragedy.

I recently watched The Bridge, a documentary on the world’s most dangerous suicide locale - the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. Since it was built, upwards of 1,700 souls have leapt to their nearly assured demise. The doc profiles the families of people actually caught on film at the moment of decision. Should sound awful, right? To me, it’s soothing. Not the suicides, but hearing the family process the death. They’re in the soup with me. Their stories make me feel normal.

7. Unique Grave Decorations

I’m only sharing this with you because I know you’ll understand. I threw this one in the mix because I had a brief, but intense love affair with unusual grave decorations. Did you know you can get “grave blankets” to keep your loved one warm? Obviously more popular in northern climes, they're actually giant wreaths of evergreen branches to cover the gravesite. Sadly, they aren’t allowed in my wife's cemetery or I’d be all over it. She was always cold…..before.

Switching gears, turning towards the following topics is a sort of exposure therapy. They each flutter at the windows of my mind and blot out the light (which I need for rainbows). I might as well add them to the growing list of crap I have to deal with eventually. Just so you know, I’m not weird enough to literally keep a list (yet).

1. Birthdays, Holidays, and Other Horrible Occasions

I know they’re coming. I limped through some already. May holds the double whammy of Mother’s Day and my birthday. Despite the embarrassing lack of evergreen splendor, we’ll visit her gravesite where I’ve already smuggled in other decorative contraband. Since I buy presents for myself all the time, for my birthday, I generally request a tasteful yet classic homemade card. I’ll get through the anticipatory dread and trudge through the sewage of my lowered expectations. It’s only another 24 hours to get through.

2. Getting Married Again

I can’t even think about what’s next. Or rather who. When I do think about it, I feel sorry for the sad sap who’s attracted to the runner up spot. Here’s the thing, I think about getting married again ALL THE TIME. My fantasy only went as far as imagining waking up in a fully formed relationship. Because I loved being married to my wife, it seemed reasonable to want our life reinstated. As the days turn into months, finding someone new continues to stubbornly insert itself from outside my head. I blame Patty. She always insisted if she died first, she’d want me to remarry. Less charitably, I countered that if I died first, she could never remarry because I’m her one true love. She apparently wants the last word.

To be fair, I am only 45 years old. When my stepson asked, I told him I was going to marry the dogs. He just doesn’t want me to change my last name, so on that we’re cool. Like passing me a note, Patty’s best friend from high school also delicately floated the idea. Even my brother-in-law said he wouldn’t want me to pass up something special. They all want me to be happy. I don’t want to want to get married again. It feels like forcing myself into a loveless, arranged marriage. With my luck, I’ll live another forty years. Maybe I’ll feel differently if my wife sends me a convincing sign.

3. The Next Death

The completely self absorbed grieving person I’ve become can’t even think about the next shitburger tragedy that’s surely on its way.. You’d think I’d have a guess who it might be but you’re wrong. I never would have put my wife on the shortlist but here we are. With new obsessions hoarding space in my grieving mind, it’s too crowded to handle another disaster. So I just don’t think about it.

If you’re grieving too, I want you to know you’re not a weirdo. Or at least you’re a weirdo like all of us - another broken toy tossed onto Bereavement Island (like Fantasy Island but more sad). I was never particularly interested in psychics, grave ornaments or dead people (beyond famous authors). Grief turns you inside out until you no longer recognize the person you were before. It wasn’t so easy to tip me over and I certainly didn’t cry in public. Falling into grief is similar to falling in love. With both, I lost my appetite, deeply felt things I’d never felt before, and became completely obsessed. In the end, grief is just another stage of love. An unfortunate byproduct of the grandest home improvement project. I’m comforted to realize that even as I’m swept up by transient passions, I’m essentially the same loving partner at my core.

#grief #afterlife #psychics #weirdo

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fulcrum-agent · 6 years

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8: What is one mistake you've made while roleplaying?

This is super personal, so it’s going under a cut.

Since towards the end of SWG’s original height, near the time City of Heroes launched, but before EQ2 landed, the person I was dating and living with brought up the idea of having our characters in different MMOs become couples.

It wasn’t all that much of a mistake, initially. Even though he and I parted ways, it didn’t have many immediate effects.

By GW2 and SW: TOR, I got into a fairly long term (10 years) relationship again with my first fiancee. Initially, we were in different states, so we made our TOR characters a couple - our group did about 2 years of pre-game RP - though that didn’t happen in GW2 because I nope out on Asura in that manner unless I’m playing an Asura.

And that’s where things became a long, spiralling mistake. Through several games, up till the relaunch of XIV, our main characters were always romantically involved.

Fast forward a bit to December 2013. I met someone in XIV who ended up becoming my main’s oathsworn (she’s not one for marriage, at all). He lived here in the same state as I do, just two hours away, so the fiancee and I went to meet him; sometime within that month, he became part of the Household, and we started dating OOC. My fiancee liked him well enough, but always was a touch wary of him; I wasn’t sure why till after a car wreck in November 2016.

He showed us an image of himself as a teenager/young 20 year old, and he looked uncannily like the person who high-level gaslighted me as a young teen (which is another story for another time). That was only rather reinforced during the next election primaries, as my CPTSD was shot from the car wreck, and I had a night terror that was almost entirely realistic (pro tip - if you get night terrors never use sleep masks because instead of the shadowy shapes you see in normal night terrors, it reverts to REM level image creation).

The night terror was that someone had come into my room, then got into the bed, and was forcibly turning me towards them, then trying to pull me to them in a very possessive, domineering manner. The face was obscured because there was bright light in the room behind him (as it I was apparently aware it was midday), but it was impossible to tell if it was the person who gaslighted me (one of the politicians here has a name from that mess, I don’t deal well with political season here) and the guy I met in XIV.

He was very good at manipulation, he was very mentally abusive. After my fiancee moved back home for a job in September 2014, this guy only got worse with the abuse. Although I had been gaslighted as a teen, the textbook type of gaslighting is a tad unfamiliar to me; after you have someone nearly hardwire your reality into something that almost belongs in a novel, it’s actually pretty fucking hard to recognise lesser abuse.

This person was also exceptionally controlling, telling me how to run my FC even after he’d stopped being an officer. Telling me how to write stories for the FC RPs, and getting super passive-aggressive if I didn’t agree to it, rather than trying to hash out better ideas together. He also was so insecure - coupled with his controlling nature, mind you - that he basically forced every single one of my character into some sort of relationship RP, and threw fits if it seemed like the few who weren’t attached got into relationship RP; after any one of them seemed to be getting romantically involved with someone, he rather pushed one of his characters into romancing that character, until I’d relent to it.

Initially, I wasn’t so bothered by it, I’d RP’d relationships with people I’d dated before at that point, and the time spent with my fiancee before this all happened had started conditioning me into it. It was after the first time this person demanded I stopped RP’ing with someone that things started to bother me.

Unfortunately, with this person, it all became conditioned into me. I tried several times to untangle my characters after we started having massive fights - which he never got into a fight with me unless we were alone, another massive manipulator/gaslighting trick - because at that point, he wasn’t playing XIV much, and because of the car wreck in 2016, he’d moved into the other room because I literally could not be touched without massive pain (well, more than usual, fuck you fibromyalgia). I wanted to be able to continue growth with my characters, especially my main character, but any progress I made lead to him having a fit over it, and another fight.

He also always insisted things weren’t as bad as they seemed. He used a borderline personality disorder trait, splitting, against me; he’d claim he hadn’t done anything terrible, and that I was just splitting - however, largely, I learned to handle my issues with splitting in the early 2000s, after I learned I had BPD, though admittedly, his shite made it very difficult not to have splitting occur more frequently.

Eventually, someone very dear to me was on Discord with me while I was laid up from a surgery. The kindness and caring that person was showing me had been waking me up to what was going on. The day this occurred, there had been a horrible fight before the guy left for work, cus I could literally not do anything, and had an issue with the bedding, and he flipped out about absolutely having to stay home and fix it when I could have just waited by going to sleep in a lazy-boy downstairs - which I had told him, but he made the almost executive decision to deal with it himself.

After my fiancee, our future houseboy, and this person saw what I wrote out to describe it, I managed to explain what happened to my mum, and when this guy got home that day, she told him he had to move out.

The freak out he had over that was amazing. He came upstairs, heard me laughing with the dearheart who was trying to help me get back to being at least mentally/emotionally functional, and just demanded I get off the call. He refused to accept the 24 hour rule, or that I actually did not feel up to it. I was so freaked out, that I didn’t disconnect the Discord call properly, I just pulled the headset out.

Little did myself and that dearheart know, at the time, but that flips Discord into speakerphone; he muted his mic, and listened to the whole incident. This guy yelled at me, demeaned me, and bullied me into a grand maul panic attack in which I lost the ability to speak, and even move. And instead of backing off, he threatened to get my panic medication and force the conversation to continue. I can’t even remember what caused him to back off from it, but he did. Plugged the headset back in, and found out that it never disconnected, and everything was finally heard.

That single thing snapped the last chain keeping me from ending things with that person. It took him a couple of months to move out, and he was still very aggressive frequently; I had to go to Philly for an appointment, and he was being so aggressive about spending the day there even though I had planned to spend time with the person who overheard the fight via Discord, the nurse took me back to the room, and immediately asked me about domestic violence (and that was really the first time I had a good cry about it - the appointment ended up being 2 hours, because their DVU came to talk to me).

I didn’t often take it laying down. I basically became a tiger that got cornered - I would unsheathe the claws, and lash out, in an attempt to get him to back away from me, frequently. Towards the end, I was having to do so several times a week. But it was either fight back, or be totally undone. Literally, the only thing that ever worked to stop him was psychological warfare.

However, even after all that, I discovered that what he did with XIV (in particular) had left some pretty lasting ramifications.

The first of which is that I discovered that it had literally become hardwired into my brain that the game is experienced with your significant other. I get extreme anxiety about things when someone I’m with has their characters romantically involved with others - which the fact that it’s a thing pisses me off greatly. For a time, I also had issues bothering with the MSQ, because that was something that was done with the ex for basically four years; that’s gotten significantly better, as I’ve done the past two patches without someone going through them with me.

The weirdness about character relationships isn’t going away though, even when the other person is only doing it 100% IC. I’m trying to break out of that mindset, but it’s fucking difficult as hell.

I also now get massive anxiety when a stranger starts any sort of flirty or romantic RP towards my characters. Even people I’ve known a few months trigger that anxiety. Because I don’t want them to do what the ex did again, now that I’ve figured out the lasting repercussions.

So, after all that, I feel like ever getting involved with relationship RP with someone I was dating was a huge mistake.

Thanks for the ask, @vianne-solainteau - sorry it was so ah…heavy.

#personal #rant-like #try not to think about this whole thing much #thank gods for the boy that helped me realise wtf was going on #vianne-solainteau #prompt answers

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m3i5xo · 7 years

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For the past 2 weeks i have been working residentially as an activity leader with international students. When it comes to leading sporting activities and speaking to large groups of people in this manor, i nearly always feel confident and enthusiastic. I went into this job thinking delivering sporting sessions was the biggest element of the job, and not much else (i was very wrong). Also this was my first ‘proper’ job, i know how my BPD effects my daily life and relationships- but i have never experienced my disorder in a working setting before.

Throughout the two weeks i never wanted to be on my own, i used to cling onto another activity leader as often as i could. I feared being left on my own, and not knowing what other people were doing. I met this one girl, and she behaved exactly how i would want somebody to behave, she always waited for me; asked if i was coming with her; always was texting and ringing me- it made me feel less on edge and i began to trust her very quickly. All the other activity leaders were older than me, and i was quickly labelled the ‘dumb’ one who needed lots of extra help. We went on lots of excursions around the UK, whereby i had to deliver a politics tour on my own with around 50 kids, this made my anxiety so high i was crying the nights before, sweating constantly all holiday and over-thinking to the point i was in tears. The general organisation by our manager was very poor, this one time i was told at 11pm i was having to prepare and deliver a teaching session in a classroom of 20/30 kids at 9am. The lack of structure made me have a panic attack that night, and i was taking my anger and emotions out on boyfriend (over face-time), then i ended up self-harming.

I felt generally embarrassed the whole holiday as everyone knew i was not as good as the other activity leaders, and my unstable emotions determined how well i delivered my job; i got extremely on-edge and stressed at very small things; for example the tennis courts were locked and i was trying to contact my bosses for the code, and ended up sending aggressive voicemail’s in a panic.

I have learnt from my experience that i am not the same as everyone else, and i quickly do appear very different compared to everyone else. Near the end of the week i had a meeting with my boss and told him about my BPD, and he was very upset i didn’t tell him sooner. After this be made sure regularly i was ok, and did not make me go on trips on my own. Therefore i have learn’t to try and not be ashamed of my BPD in the workplace, as hopefully people should help me and adapt things :) Also i have learnt that every time i am depressed/anxious/on-edge, i am not going to stay like that. Everytime my boyfriend would tell me it will all be okay, and even though i may never believe him before, everything always did up okay. I should have more confidence in myself.

Overall these past two weeks, i have met people from around the whole world, made friends with the staff from Mexico, learn’t about all the different cultures, been part of the most amazing and supporting team- which i can grantee everyone will stay in touch. I have even arranged a night out with one of the other activity leaders! This has without a doubt been one of the best experiences of my life so far, and i hope in the future i learn to manage my BPD at work and with new people.

Stay positive, time will always go on.

#boderline personality disorder #mental illness #mental disorder #mental heath help #experience #mental health recovery

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staticdecay-blog · 7 years

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Post 5 - Abandonment Issues

I have been asked before of why I am infatuated with, and enjoy being in abandoned buildings. I can speak at length of the parallels between those spaces and my own self and my emotional space, about the comfort I find in the affinity with them. They stand in their neighborhoods, overlooked or hated by most, neglected, becoming ruins and testaments to the nature of decay......but for the few that take the risk to their health, their freedom, and rise to the fears of being labelled a weirdo or outcast...they find a beauty there, they find story after story after story told on and in the walls, in the furniture left behind, in the documents, pictures, and relics that are scattered among the floors.

To find the history of a building, and how it became abandoned is usually a not overly complicated affair. Sometimes it can be found simply by looking at it, such as when a fire claims it and leaves a large chunk collapsing and charred. Other times it is not so obvious but usually boils down to economic failures in general. The actual details can be so completely varied...some are failed business ventures, some suffer from gentrification, some have slumlords, some have histories of drugs......they are like us in so many ways...a thousand faces a thousand stories...there will be similar circumstances among many of us but rarely the exact same.

I have been asked not nearly as much, how I came to have abandonment issues. For years I thought on this...I would trace scar after scar that is etched in my flesh and ruminate on it. The first answer was "because I am BPD." This is, however, a very common and dangerous answer/dynamic because it shuts down really finding out WHY?

Then I began to think back over my life. I thought of the numerous people in my teens and adult years who said they would "be there" and then cut out as soon as things got remotely tough, or even remotely not tough. Girlfriends...friends....mentors......it was a pattern that I saw and experienced in my life but even those instances...those were not the causes, those were symptoms.

Just as the obvious answers of why those buildings are empty and falling apart can be found but lack the details...so too can it be pretty easy to see the pattern of my own abandonment issues. However, the details may require some digging beyond the daily newspaper archives or beyond the archives etched in my skin.......

The year is something I cannot recall beyond a rough guess, but based on certain things such as the vehicle we drove and the fact we often went to the playground, I would guess it was between 1990 and 1992. I know for certain it was before the years of hell I would face in Fredonia middle and high school. It happened in early summer and I would have been between 9 and 11 years old.

The playground at Fredonia Central School was a sprawling fortress back in those days. It would later be torn down as a safety hazard but in its time it was called the creative playground. It was entirely made of wood with everything interconnecting. A lot of hidden passages, bridges, towers that would give way to tire tunnels, various monkey bars, slides, poles, and no shortage of things to climb, jump on or off from, run across, and potentially break your neck on.

Remember all those old NES games? It was extremely easy to take yourself to those scenarios on this playground. It was NOT a playground it was a haunted castle, or a fortress held by the evil ninjas or soldiers. There is a reason it was called the creative playground...because it was ripe to create various fantasies to act out in our solitude when we were not star athletes or cool kids.

It was also an extremely good spot to play hide and seek or capture the flag if you had friends or random playmates that happened to be at the playground at the same time.

My father had gotten home from work and after dinner he somehow found the energy after 8 or more hours of grinding steel in a sweltering mill to take me to the playground. The sun was just beginning to set as we were pulling up to the playground. This meant we would get about 45 minutes or so.

The frogs could be heard from the small forest patch that contained a little pond, and the sounds of the night started to fall as I opened up to the playground. It did not take long to ask my dad to play hide and seek with me. There were no other people at the playground that evening, and my father was a good father, despite the fatigue he surely felt he would stand up and he would do something I find myself incapable of as an adult...he could get very in to this childs life and escape the real world with him.

I hid first.

I thought I was clever and I found myself a spot in some hidden crevice. As I would also do as an adult, I would overlook some very obvious setbacks in the plan and soon after I would be crushed to find I was not nearly as clever as I thought.

I do not know how my father found me but he was good at finding things. He grew up in the country and was decent at tracking and noticing things. He probably saw my footprints or made himself invisible and would stealthily wait for me to move a bit and he would see it and then slowly move in to tag me.

Sometimes I would get frustrated with it and the fact that he never let me win. As good a man as my father was, and as good a father as he was, he still had some short comings, as we all do or will. One thing he did not always see was when enough was enough. There was a time we were playing HORSE in our backyard, and every time I would shoot the ball, he would say in an announcers voice "Barkey shoots...and he puts up a brick" and I would get sooooo mad. In that incident I ended up in tears and crying to my mother....

The sun was falling further towards the horizon and the temperature was cooling with it, and I had to find my dad as I was "it" now. I had reached the mandatory count which was probably 50, but I can't recall for certain.

I started up high near the big wizard tower structure. I felt I could see the most ground from there. After climbing up the tower and coming out I crossed the bridge and kept my eyes out both below me, and to the left where the rest of the playground was after crossing a balance beam. There was no sign of my father.

After the bridge I started looking in the hidden areas below the bridge before going to the area that connected to the hard, one board balance beam that I could not get across without stepping off a couple of times. This area had more hidden areas within it and I started clearing them. Numerous people had been there, as was evidenced by the simple and young graffiti displaying things like "Jenny <3's Tim" or a statement of dislike against one teacher or another.

None of the people that had been there though were not there now, nor was my father.

Temperature drop. Losing light. I clear the playground with no sight of my father. Panic rising.

My mind went to the place it went every time my parents would leave: "what if they dont come back?" If they ran late I would become very panicked inside of myself and think they were dead or that something happened to them. They always came back though.

My mind was racing because I could not find my father. It was racing faster than the speed of horizon swallowing the sun, faster and louder than the frogs who were screaming at me.

I combed through the wooden corridors, towers, bridges and nooks looking for him again.

I came to sit at the foot of the widest slide in the playground. I watched the sun disappear over Lake Erie in the distance, creating intense shadow figures of nearby trees and houses. I was crying hysterically at this point with full rivers being developed from what were first gently moving streams down my cheeks.

I was left alone. It happened.

Through misted, glassy, blurred eyes I made my way back to the van. I opened the passenger door and climbed in to the seat. I was hoping that my dad was in the van but that was dispelled as soon as that door opened.

My head slumped down, staring at my feet...this is a position I would come to know well a few years later for numerous reasons. I would occasionally find the hope and will to look out the window to see if my dad had magically reappeared. He didn't.

The sun was all but gone but my tears certainly were not. My breathe was dwindling from the sobs and crying. No hope was felt so I aimlessly looked back at the window.

A shadowy figure moved and I realized it was not a backlit tree. This figure moved closer and closer until it could be recognized as my father..........

Parents have the best of intentions a lot of times. Mine certainly did. My father never considered the consequences of not "letting me win." He, nor I could have ever predicted that twenty years later I would sit within the walls of, or on the roof of some decrepit abandoned building self portrait, watching that same sun disappear, taking the light with it....and contemplating HOW I came to relate more with that spot than any person I have ever met.

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pisati · 4 years

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made the mistake of mentioning in therapy that I’ve had friends put me through some rough shit and my therapist wants to focus on that this week

but uh. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it

and it’s not that I can’t, it’s more that my therapist is still something of a stranger to me, she’s older, and while I think we get on alright I’m still not entirely comfortable telling her very personal details about certain relationships I’ve had

I’m sure I never processed it properly. I’m sure I didn’t process my dad’s death properly. I’m happy I at least have the resources for now to help with that. but I just don’t feel ready to talk about either one. I don’t like breaking down crying when I don’t feel like what I’m talking about really warrants it. I can’t tell yet if what I’m talking about is actually that painful or if I’m just telling myself it’s not.

she pointed out something to me last time that kind of stuck out. it’s something I don’t even realize I do. I’d told her about how one night last week I’d been winding down for the night and out of nowhere charlotte video called me on facebook and we ended up talking from like 8:30 to 11:45. it was an alright enough conversation, it’s nice talking to someone and having that friendly connection outside of a work environment. I don’t get that too much anymore, least of all in-person. but one of the first things I said about it was that it kind of disrupted my routine, a little warning might’ve been nice, she mostly talked about herself (not unusual for her) and interrupted me a lot... and my therapist asked if it was a good thing that it happened, though. I said, well, overall, yes. she pointed out that my first move, even after something good, was picking out all the bad things about it.

I didn’t even know I did that. I do it to myself when I talk about myself too. I feel like a child blaming everything on my mother, but she does the exact same fucking thing. I can’t imagine I didn’t get it from her. I don’t know if it feels like a neutral thing, if it just seems like humility (at least when I’m talking about myself), I just.. didn’t realize how much of my focus is on the bad feelings rather than the good ones. and now that I’m thinking about it, no fuckin wonder the good feelings don’t ever seem to be as good as the bad feelings are bad.

I want to shift my thought patterns. I do. even when we were talking about this, she pointed out that I seem to stop myself a lot too. I want to shift my thought patterns, but it’ll be a lot of energy. I think I mean to say that as a statement of fact, pointing out an obstacle I know I’ll have, and not an excuse not to try. I don’t think I worry excessively about things anymore, but I do have a tendency to mull over the ways things can go wrong or could be challenging. overall I don’t think “I could be right or I could be pleasantly surprised” is necessarily a bad approach. but it does keep my focus on the bad things.

I don’t see myself as a negative person. I know I certainly don’t want to be. but this is making me realize why people said that about me in the past. I do want the good things to be good enough. I want to be able to say something was good and not even subconsciously try to find something that wasn’t so good about it. .......that’s going to take a lot of work.

I’m not even sure I’m going to know where to start this week.

one of my friends suggested just leaving the parts involving sex out. but that’s the whole issue. that’s the part that hurt the worst. without that detail, I just sound like some clingy bitch who couldn’t get over the guys she liked and got disproportionately upset that they were sleeping with people that weren’t her.

but god I know I need to talk about it. it can’t get better if I don’t get it out and actually process it. I do have the tendency to block it all out, shove it in a box in the back of my head, and tell myself I’m fine. tell myself I was just overreacting and all that pain wasn’t warranted and actually having feelings for a person is weakness and now that I don’t feel anything for anyone I’m stronger for it. right?

nah I know it majorly messed me up. I guess I don’t have to go into all the gritty details. just. I [am? was?] the kind of person that has an emotional investment in sex. I could never have been the kind of girl that slept around in college. or, at least, I couldn’t have done it and come out of it mentally sound. l went into college with the mindset that I was invisible and not worth the effort, so anyone willing to do that must really like me. that got me into trouble when I hooked up with someone I already liked. thought he had feelings, turned out he didn’t, so that sucked. I tried to get over it, but it turned into 2.5 years of him using me. it turned into him becoming one of my best friends outside of that, me not *really* getting over the crush I had (or at least not giving up the hope that he’d change his mind), and then me getting really, really hurt watching him hook up with other girls, decide he had feelings for a few of them, do basically nothing different with them than he did with me, except with them he actually tried not to hurt them. he didn’t seem to give a shit what he did to me. didn’t seem to *really* care how much what he did hurt me. he was the one who said, after 2.5 years, we probably shouldn’t mess around anymore, because clearly it was hurting me too much. but then almost 3 years after that it was back to the same old. I tried to cut him out. I tried to distance myself. farm jam 2 years ago, I don’t even think I said a single word to him. I told people I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t even want my tent near his. I wanted to enjoy my weekend. and I honestly really did. I think I was anxious the whole time that the girl he decided he had feelings for that time would show up, but she didn’t. I spent my time with other friends and it was really nice.

he finally got the money to get a therapist. he learned he had BPD and got on meds. he talked to her about me. she talked him through how he saw things, how I must have seen things, how he didn’t seem to realize it, but what he did really hurt me. he apologized. more than once. he knows there’s really nothing to be done about it. I’ve VERY cautiously been on good terms with him again. he’s one of the only people that knows me as well as he does. or, did, anyway. we haven’t talked nearly as much as we used to since everything fell out.

I think what’s getting to me the most right now is that it seems to have been back to the same old, but it’s empty. not that it’s ever meant anything to begin with, but I don’t even know what to make of it now. at least before I still had some kind of hope that maybe he’d change his mind. now I don’t care and I don’t even want him to change his mind anyway. part of me thinks it’s self-harm, in a way. maybe not being deliberately harmful, but more that I’m actively deciding not to do what I know is better for me.

I assert my boundaries, he listens. I’m not comfortable with the same things I was before, and that’s at least in part due to the pain he caused. could be that he wrecked the part of me that was emotionally invested in it. I still sort of feel that way, though; I don’t think I could hook up with just anyone. but the last time it was just.. a suggestion. a deliberation. a decision. but not for him. he just happened to be there. and it was probably okay in my mind because it’s never been weird. god only knows how many times, how many places. almost like an old married couple; neither of us care that the other’s put on 10, 15, 20lbs. neither of us care about morning breath or greasy hair or unshaved legs or... yeah. neither of us feels like we have to put on a show for the other. I’ve only relatively recently joined the camp of feeling nothing, but I guess now we’re both there too.

I literally do not know why. I would have slapped present me hard across the face 2 years ago if I knew. all that hurt. I remember it, sort of. I guess being devoid of feelings and being isolated for so long you have the image memory but not the feeling memory. I remember sobbing until I nearly had panic attacks. I remember the burning in my chest when I just knew. I remember being able to think nothing but I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, you ruined me and I hate you. knowing he saw none of it, and was going off with whichever girl and friends and being happy. and I just had to stew in that pain alone. I was scared to tell him I missed him for fear that he’d take it the wrong way, but she didn’t even have to think about it. I was upset that he seemed so afraid that anyone should think he and I were anything. like even the idea of him dating me was so scary to him. they all knew what was going on, wasn’t like it was a secret. that hurt too. didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea, except me, seems like. still can’t seem to keep his hands off me.

---

I guess that’s the worst of it. though I can’t say it didn’t take a lot to get there too. so many people I felt like I wasn’t good enough for. no matter what, it seemed like I couldn’t make anyone want to stay. I don’t mean force them, I mean.. it just seems like nothing about me is worth the effort. to anyone. that boy from high school, I understand. there was [N]; he said he loved me. he’d call me at ungodly hours of the night while I was sleeping and would ask me about my day and would listen, he said because he just liked hearing my voice. he disappeared in the middle of a conversation. never answered again. he randomly messaged me 5 or so years later, turns out he’d never deleted my number, but he was just going through some shit back then. he’s married now. [Ty] and I never really were anything. nobody brought it up. better as friends anyway, but it still kind of hurt when he stopped talking to me once he started dating someone. he’s married now too. [S] was.. something. I don’t really know what happened there. I never had feelings, but I guess at the time I thought that was the best I could do. he was the first person to ever try, at least in-person. he was my first.. pretty much everything, besides boyfriend (though evidently some people thought we were dating). and I regret every bit of it. some interesting stories though, I guess. he pushed me around once in a while, sometimes a little too hard. he guilted me into it once. decided he hated me when his friends put the moves on me, knowing full well what his feelings were. decided he hated me more when his friends invited me out instead of him, even though they’d invite him to the bars, which I wouldn’t be able to go to for another 2 years. he later apologized too. I went back to indiana one spring when I really didn’t want to-- this was after that one awful new years with A. he was really depressed and wasn’t taking his meds right and I was worried about him. I may not have had those feelings, but I still cared about him. and I hope he knew that. he’s married now too. I don’t know what to think about T. it wasn’t supposed to be anything. we were both caught a little off-guard by feelings, I think. I was surprised he liked me back. I loved staying up all night just talking; we were both horrific insomniacs and could just go and go until we decided to at least try to sleep. they warned me he was a charmer. and was he ever. but he’d still melt in my hands too. it was only a few weeks. but I think that was the closest thing to what I imagine love feels like. we were such calming presences for each other. I was going through terrible (and worsening) anxiety at the time and I couldn’t have panicked around him if I wanted to. and then I left. in his vows at his wedding he said something about how he was in a really rough, low point in his life just before he met her. he was with me just before he met her. I know he meant the things he said to me. I know we had (still have?) a lot of respect for each other. but it hurts knowing I was just some forgettable stepping stone; a waste of time, so he told people. I’m happy he’s happy. I just don’t like feeling like a final footnote in a shitty chapter of his life.

okay. now it hurts.

I hate pulling the box out. digging through it. I’ve added to it over the years and it just fucking hurts to see every single almost-maybe-was-something-but-wasn’t-and-that’s-probably-because-of-my-glaring-flaws relationship, one right after the other, and always with me ending up hurt. always with them moving on and being happier. when it’s packed into the little box I don’t have to think about it. I can maybe hope to try again. maybe. sometimes I forget why I’m so hesitant and back-and-forth about it. because it’s all packed away.

I just want one thing to work out. one person who wants to stay. I just can’t see things ending up any other way. it always fucking does. always almost-something. I hate feeling so inadequate all the time. trying to tell myself it’s not me, it’s just not the right situation. not the right person. can’t help but try and blame it on myself. I’m the common denominator here.

being a lone wolf takes a lot out of you. I think I pretend I’m a lot stronger than I am. or at least.. it’s hard work to look like I’m stronger than I feel. the lonely gets to me sometimes. I could really use a shoulder to lay my head on. another heartbeat to listen to. someone actually wanting to hold my hand. maybe one day I won’t cry over the fact that those simple nothings feel like a pipe dream.

I still don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it.

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greyred · 6 years

Text

Is Funny.

Is funny.

How my bf is mocking me about my darn imperfect English grammar.

Babe, nobody finds ‘Grammar-Nazis’ fun at parties! :D

Is funny.

How long I have been sober and executed perfectly. Even though it is literally the most depressive and boring task ever. Ever in my life.

Is funny.

How I have neared with my brother lately. And it is just few more weeks before my Little One leaves to Medina and be learning in University it’s nearly impossible to get it, for.. max 10 years. I will be missing him like missing a limb, not kidding!

Is funny.

How He got that far with our past life and present. I am most proud! That’s the place where I feel, however good I managed to grow this little thing up, between all this war and hell, trying to do my best while being a child myself. I feel like He is my Baby. My Kiddo!

Is funny.

How my greatest fear moved to my city which I did not see coming, fooling my family and more. I don’t wish to speak about that person in more detailed who established The Great Murder in my family [Topic so hard, will be told much, much later, if even...].

Is funny.

How sometimes Karma IS a Bitch! Isn’t it!

Is funny.

How I feel like Karma have punished me for all the matters and tragedies in the world. Even though I couldn’t even hurt a fly. (seriously, i couldn’t, i find it eww to poke such things, god bless my OCD! :D ) But it’s okay.. I’ll be punished for all of Your mistakes! Oh gosh, it almost sounded like talking about Jesus! Definitely NOT!. Not that Great!

Is funny.

How I saw Jesus (nickname in this blog for a certain person, if u dont know, read below, biiii....peaach, strawberries, cherries!) yesterday in The Moon where I havent been for ages because had to be boring and sober until.

Is funny.

How I enjoyed being there feeling like it was yesterday for last one. All my Dear Darlings! You... You make me feel like I could linger on in this miserable world for a bit more.. Just a bit more... I love every and every single one of You! And yes, I DO Love my friends more than anything.

Is funny.

How my health is turning against me in most hilarious ways. I well heard those stories how your body is going to give you a middle finger after you turn 30 and more. Didnt think it would happen to me! :D Haha, isnt this the most hilarious... (laughing hysterically ending with a tear). :(

Is funny.

How I at least still dont have wrinkles and people mix me up with at least 10 years ‘Younglings’.

Is funny.

How I find it weird and funny.

Is funny.

How I feel that I have not just lived for 200 years more than I have. But much, much longer.

Is funny.

How I find it most comfortable. I literally DON’T give a FCUK about so many things! Actually most of them. Most of people. I despise people. They are stubborn judgmental “all-knowing” pricks of annoyance! Good God, couldnt you handle your Little Ones ? I also despise myself. I think I am a waste of space and being.

Is funny.

How I still dream about ending it all and just quit as a lil bitch I am. I once said to my bf jokingly about some random topic - ”Oh I’m such a spoiled brat!”

He said: “Do you understand that You are seriously the very opposite of spoiled brat!”

After that I had nothing to say. Because in my heart I knew he was right. I just have the terrible way of putting myself in the most awful place in mind. Darn PTSD.

Is funny.

How I adopted The Great Being Of Asocial(-ism?). How being alone with myself got most addicted thing I have ever, ever had. Please, forget about alcohol and eating disorder. Those were hardest but overcame eventually too. Drugs? Not even close. I truly think I am a weirdo who cant get addicted with whatever you see in those movies and shiet. I’m still like meh.. Just let me be alone!

Is funny.

How cutting people away, didnt achieve me no pleasure. It simply made me more and more depressed and sick.

Is funny.

How I have to live now with everyday fever and little annoyings like severe breathing problems and endless cough. Its like having never-ending Flu but not contagious. And my Docs say: It is Stress-related! Oh.............................. Why Thank You for the knowledge you will never get better because the stress wont ever melt. :/

...

Is funny.

How with all the time I was fighting against the one diagnose, I had to admit, this is it. I am Bipolar. Tho with knowing that there are so many different types of that disorder and I am most probably the mix of BPD & Bipolar, along with MDD, OCD and all the other super COOL shortlings of pure Hell on Earth.

Now tell me more about how God is all forgiving and sweet!

Strawberries, cherries.

...

This time The Great Plan for The Final Solution will be different. I have dodged the destine so far with fooling myself. Now. I do not have this opportunity anymore. And yet, I still have that stupid, most stupid instinct. It rejects and dismisses my doings. Again I blame Them!

...

Yet I have to serve the endings of threads. There are things to do. Places to be. People to meet. Decisions to resolve.

#depression #bipolar #not funny

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angry--tiresia · 7 years

Text

Why I’m fucked up [part 1]

REBLOG WITH YOUR OWN ‘WHY I’M FUCKED UP’

YES THIS IS ME OVERSHARING

There’ll be 3 parts I think;

1) I always feel stupid

2) I always feel ugly

3) I always feel unwanted

So;

1) Me feeling stupid. In primary school I was bullied, nothing big, a beating here and there but mostly just threats and repeated public humiliation. This made me hate everything to do with school and I don’t think I ever studied for a single test, however it was a rich afrikaans school, and this is an incredibly important point, being in a good school makes it hard to do badly. So even though I did terribly in comparison to my classmates, compared to most people from worse schools I did great. That obviously didn’t matter and I was constantly laughed at for my marks.

Then I decided to change environment to an artschool, started acting classes a week before the audition, and I got in. This school used to accept 10% of applicants based on their audition and every other person in my class had been acting for years and had usually starred in at least one piece of commercial media - I was totally out of my depth and had a lot to catch up, and was again, continually humiliated for my inability to just know what to do. But by the end of the four years I kind of knew what I was doing and it was acknowledged, but by then I’d had years of insecurity buidling up.

Now this school was amazing for the arts, heck even Charlize Theron went there, but in every other aspect it was truly horrible, with teachers blatantly lying to students. For maths, I could count the number of problems we did in a year on one hand. I was best friends with someone who worked 8 hours every day, so they did well, but from primary school - [and an initial month or so in the begining of high school where no teacher would translate single words in test questions/content because I was learning the language] - I knew that I was too stupid to ever reach that point. So they too humiliated me nearly every day, sometimes with a bit of a crowd, for how stupid I was. In grades 10 and 11 my maths teacher called me in at least once a week to tell me that I really don’t have enough intelligence for pure mathematics, and I should rather do mathematical literacy.

But I wanted to become immortal, to get to a point where I was better than I am now, and to do that I’d have to do biology, at a good uni, so I needed maths, and in matric my dad finally convinced me to do some work and I ended up getting the second best marks in my class, with my best friend [whom I was obviously inferior to] got the best marks of anyone in years.

So I got into a good uni for science. But I wanted to prove to everyone for once and for all that I wasn’t an idiot, so though I did biology I also did pure physics and pure maths. And here’s a part to understand, for the past five years I’d been taught crap for maths. And doing maths trains your brain to do maths, it trains you to think in a certain way, and not only was I in class with people that had come from schools that had reputations and were significantly better than mine. And not only that, but the vast, vast majority of them had taken subjects in high school that I had never heard of, ones that had covered essentially the entire first year of mathematics. Throughout this year I was repeatedly laughed at and called an idiot. And even my closest friends would make jokes, for years afterwards, about my stupidity, the only comfort for 3 years being from my best friend [and fp for those that understand bpd] ; “It’s not your fault you made friends with clever people”.

In second year I decided to do physics instead of biology, but at that point the people in my class had again, done applied mathematics in first year, something that was not required but was assumed knowledge for physics, and again, I cannot emphasis enough, it trains their brains to solve that kind of problem, and be more malleable to learn solve those kinds of problems. Objectively at this point I was years and years behind everyone else. It was during this time that my best friend again made a joke that for some reason goes in the book of things that people have said that completely change the way I see the world, myself and the way I act - it was that moment that I was finally convinced that, yes, after almost 14 years of being told I was stupid on a near daily basis, that I was in fact stupid. Even before this, the opinions of people outside my field didn’t matter to me because all my degree was was a mask to hide my stupidity, and I knew fully that any of them could do everything a million times better.

I have tried to fix this, but it’s impossible, I’m to this day seen to be the stupidest person in my friend group, most recently we were at a restaurant and someone made a comment of “who would be the most likely to invent teleportation” and everyone pointed at my best friend, [except said best friend who pointed at me, n’caaw]. Someone said “But [referring to me] has a degree in physics” To which the response obviously is “But [best friend] has the brain for it”.

And my favorite thing is to hear people say “You shouldn’t care about what people think” when they’ve been showered with affirmation for years. The best I’ve gotten is my room mate saying “No, you’re not stupid”, in the same way you would tell a dog “Oh you’re a good boy” and my best friend [only in the past year and a bit] saying “I think you’re smart”. And my parents, and I can’t deny the solid base they gave me, but a solid base can only take you that far.

My second favourite thing to hear is, upon asking for help [which takes nth level courage btw] “I don’t know any better than you” when they’ve literally already made the most perfect decisions or answers for that exact question and you’re entirely lost cause you don’t have 4+ years of direct experience in that field/thing because this is the first time in your life you’re seeing it.

And logically I can see why I feel the way I do. The moment I get good at something I drop it to throw myself into a field that I know nothing about. At the end of high school I auditioned for the new york film academy, and at the time they had no bursaries for South African kids, but they wanted me so badly they sent a million letters to a million sponsors to try get my tuition paid for, but my audition had been live and no bursary came. At the end of my physics degree I went to one of the professors that I thought wasn’t too horrible, and I pitched an idea to him about how to model the fundamental forces in a more unified manner, to which the response was ‘It sounds amazing and innovative, but I simply don’t know enough to be able to tell you anything more’, and had to send me to an expert in the field, who liked the idea enough to want to make me do a project that would lead into it for a masters project, unfortunately I couldn’t. Or my current supervisor, upon hearing my ideas on the possibilities of time travel offered to write me a recommendation letter to the most prestigious theoretical physics institute in the world.

But instead of pursuing any of that I’m throwing myself into software engineering, again, a field I know nothing about, where I will be laughed at and humiliated for not knowing.

And what’s shattering about it all is the way it changes the way I interact. Earlier this year a friend said “I’m going to see a Wagner opera - you’ve probably never heard of him” and instead of replying “No, actually I know Wagner’s work pretty intimately, I can’t agree with the directing style he pioneered, nor his style, however his concept of the ubermensch really inspired me for a while”, I said “yeah, I don’t know much. I think I might have heard his name before” Because, lets be real, they almost definitely know so much more than me.

Or last year I was on set with friends and someone was constructing a grid and they simply wanted to know that if they had [say] 20 tiles and the grid had to be 4 tiles wide, how many layers deep the grid would be. They were 100% in arts and honestly didn’t know how to do it, and in front of a small group of people they asked me, as they knew I was a final year astrophysics - physics major. But in that moment I was too insecure to be able to lift my voice to divide 20 by 4. So I rather said “No, ask [this friend] they know better”

I’m terrified of giving my opinion because I know chances are that it’s wrong, because I’m stupid, and the person I’m telling will know better, and they will see my mistake, and they will make fun of me. AND when I do gain the confidence to give my opinion, usually only to the people very closest to me, they will stop listening to me halfway through my sentence, and I would end it with “Oh, you’re right, no one cares”, and not a single person has ever noticed. Most notably [because I suffer from jealousy when it comes to this person] was when me and my best friend were out, but she was talking to this guy on her phone [someone I’m jealous of for the attention she gives him - I’ll get to his in the ‘unwanted’ section], and eventually she clearly felt bad for straight up ignoring me [lol this is actually seen as abuse towards people with bpd] she said that they were talking about the ethics of supporting a politician who’s personal life contradicts his policy - and, other than being totally jealous of the ability to have such a conversation - she asked for my opinion. So I gave my first point of his policy affecting more people than his personal life so I’d vote for them, to which she responded that ‘he can’t be trusted to stick to his policy if he doesn’t believe in it’. I was a full sentence into my reply when she looked down at her phone and started to message him, and it was just, once again, such a thorough “Lol your opinion doesn’t matter cause you’re stupid and who cares, but his on the other hand” As a safety check I again ended with “Oh yeah you don’t care” with no response. And this also, not from her spesifically, happens about once a week, perhaps once every two weeks, but if we’re going with this week I think we’re going on 3 already and it’s monday.

So, my final note is, why would I feel anything but stupid? On some logical level I want to say that I know I’m not stupid; but it never feels like that, and in addition to that, what evidence is there that I’m not stupid? There is literally none, and significant, 14+ years, worth of proof that I’m an idiot.

Also sorry for grammar/spelling typos, I’m really tired.

REBLOG WITH YOUR OWN ‘WHY I’M FUCKED UP’

#intelligence #insecurity #personal #stupid #help #bullying #bully #lgbt #trans #transgirl #grades #school #university #mathematics #hurts #bpd #actuallybpd #actuallyborderline

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