#tw bipolar

[rainagainstthewindowatnight]

oscar recognized films

silver linings playbook ( 2012 ) dir. david o’russell

[honeybee2807]

When I first read Cursed Child at 12, at the time, I was aspiring to be a psychologist and was researching a lot on depression and anxiety(especially for kids and teens since I wanted to help them the most). When I read Albus' character, I kept seeing many signs of him being depressed. The way he seemed to neglect himself(there was a line that described his face as sallow[which is a word used to show unhealthiness and self neglect]), his bouts of anger and lashing out, and his general upset and low self esteem. And since bullying and family issues were top reasons for a child to be suicidal, I was convinced.

Now I'm realising that he's more likely of a candidate for a personality disorder(cough... bipolar ...cough). I admit, I'm not as well-versed in personality disorders(so feel free to point out if I'm wrong).

I remember the first time I read CC, I was a bit confused at Albus' sudden mood changes which I deemed to be unrealistic. A classic example was during his third year. He fought with his dad and got angry to the point that he burnt his hogsmede permission form and had a rant, but the moment he saw Scorpius, he instantly went all cheery and exclamation marks??? Normally it takes a while for someone to calm down from a fight and it would be fine if Albus was relieved or just slightly happy. But he went full on exclamation marks and he def wasn't angry at Scorpius.

But that didn't convince me that something could be wrong. The fact that did was the whole time travel plot. Albus read to me as downright cheerful and his insane plot to travel time couldn't even be discouraged by his bestie who claimed multiple times that this was a bad idea and Albus lost his mind. It was like a switch had flipped and he was opposite. Albus was still Albus sure but he acted different than what was told to us. Of course that could be also because he wasn't in Hogwarts which was a major cause of his distress.

But here me out. Once Rose and Hugo got deleted out of existence, it would be a sensible thing to realise that time travel is not a good idea. Scorpius certainly realised it(tho he was skeptical from the start). But Albus didn't and decided that it was a good idea to try again. Either he was a complete idiot or delusional. Then he gave a monologue how losers have powers and abilities(err wot???) and managed to convince Scorpius to try again.

Albus finally seems to come to his senses afterwards(thank god!).

I was incredibly confused for years. Then I read this fanfic where Albus was portrayed as bipolar and then it clicked. All of Albus' overly cheerful behavior and crazy ideas could be described as manic. And I don't think really need to explain the depression part to y'all.

Again, I could be wrong. I'm extremely sorry if I misunderstood bipolar disorder and mixed it up. But yeah, that was my interpretation.

[romeulusroy]

72 Hours (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,409

Warning/s: hospital, hospital tw, mental health, mental health tw

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This is something different lol. December of 2020 I checked myself into a psychiatric hospital :) It was scary and new, but it was definitely necessary. I don't think it should be a taboo subject. It's definitely not something my immediate family will or likes to bring up, but it's also not something to be ashamed of, y'know? Idk. I've been feeling bad again. Not like in 2020, that was- it was very bad, but still not great. It happens. Meds stop working. The heaviness sets in. I use writing to get through it, those bad feelings, so that's what I'm doing. Just know you're not alone when you're feeling bad. My inbox is always open, I am always willing to talk 💜💜💜💜💜💜

They are terrible thoughts. Horrible, repulsive, aching thoughts that feed off everything you are. They see the worst in you. When you’re done, that’s all there is left. The most repulsive parts of you. The bare, naked, scarred bones. You used to fear you were a bad person. A truly sinister, evil person. Now you don’t have to worry. Now you know. You are. Selfish, and evil, and a burden. Unlovable, unkind, undesirable. He doesn’t love you, not really, and he wouldn’t miss you. No one would. You’re sure of it. You’re so sure of it your bones ache. They long for the soil, muddy and rich. Your whole body wishes to be put to rest. To finally find peace. Being alive hurts. It hurts so bad sometimes. It takes everything out of you to roll from one side to the other. Things have taken up space in your bed. Books sleep soundly next to you, begging to be read. Notes, loose paper, begging to be written. You hope, in nestling with them, loving them even in rest, that they will save you from yourself. They will drag you out of this abyss you’ve found yourself falling in for a long time now. If there is a bottom, you haven’t found it yet. Every second of every minute you flinch, expecting your head to crack open, expecting your neck to snap on that solid ground. It never comes though. How much darker can things get? How much longer do you have before the light, the shrinking light, clouds over? You fear, when this is over, that everything will be gone. You will be gone. Forever. Your own mortality hangs in the balance. You claw at the rocky walls, your fingernails bloody, ripping apart. You scream so loud, for hours, but no one is near enough to hear you.

Is it my fault? Those are the first words from his mouth, the first thought behind those puppy dog eyes. You hold his face, his stubble scratchy in your palms. Did I do something wrong? You make sure your words are stern, but not scary, not angry. He bruises too easily, your peach. No. None of this is your fault. I just, I have to go away for a few days and figure things out. That’s all. 72 hours. Then I’ll be home. You muster a smile, the edges of your mouth heavy in their upturned state. He looks so small, so worried, shaking hands at his side. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. Neither do you. It’s always been something in your life. An endgame. An option when you run out of options. You talked it over with your therapist, loved and trusted, and they too believe this could be beneficial. Your bag is packed for three days. Three days apart. Basically a weekend. You can do that, right? You can manage, he can, too. You don’t think you have any other choice. Standing there, your bag at your feet, you feel the heaviness. The weight. You want to finally collapse inward like a star, bright and burning and suicidal. He looks you over, your expression, your body, everything you are. You will understand him to understand, to get it, but you don’t need to. He already does. It wasn’t an easy decision to come to. None of this has been. But if you want the hurt to stop, if you want to stop falling, then you need to leave and get help. 

He picks your shirt from the laundry, holding it against his chest. He wanders around the apartment, massive, lonely without you by his side. It smells like you, the fabric. You hadn’t changed out of it in a week, week and a half. Sweaty, you’d argue, but he likes it. It’s familiar. Roaming like a ghost, restless, trapped. Mostly you sunk into the mattress, the sheets melding into your skin until you were one singular being. The tears, silent, hidden, but not quite. Coming home from work, finding your cheeks freshly wet, your eyes red and glazed over. The thoughts unsaid, but screaming. Screaming and wailing and willing you to step over that edge. Nothing about it is easy. Nothing about it is gentle. Nothing about this you could stand for much longer. Dinner, so sweetly prepared, goes uneaten. Everything sits like rocks in the pit of your stomach. Threatening to come back up again. Mostly, you push the food around your plate, managing a smile, managing interest in the conversation. You spend all day in bed, but you are unable to sleep. The bags under your eyes look like they hurt, aching, pulsing. The hollows of your eyes seem deeper, darker, haunted. Your body is so heavy. You never knew flesh and bone could feel like concrete. Every step, every movement, it is unthinkable. You curl into yourself, hoping tomorrow will be better, hoping this will go away. It won’t. It never does. 

Roman didn’t know things were this bad. Even as he watched you wave from the check-in desk, even as he watched the doors close behind you and an escorting nurse, even as he waited for you to come back, a voice in his head told him things weren’t this bad. They were. You’ve been sick for a long time. He thought if he was home more, if he cooked dinner, real dinner, and cracked jokes and held you so tight at night, then it wouldn’t get this bad. Cyclical. Things got like this. But it always went away. It got bad, yes, but then it got better. Why wasn’t it going away? You didn’t have the words to describe it. He’d find you laying in the tub, the water cold, shivering, crying, unable to get out. It took too much energy, too much determination, none of which you had. Unchanged from the pajamas you wore for days at a time. He blamed himself. He wasn’t doing enough. He wasn’t there for you enough. If, if, if. You told him it was just your brain, your mind, getting a little lost. When it got lost, it was hard to find its way back. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t anyone or anything, just your brain. It would be like this for the rest of your life. You couldn’t bargain or bribe your way out of this. It had to be done. He saw the scars along your skin from the times before, when things were bad, very bad. He didn’t want anything like that from happening again. 

He called you as soon as he could. Roman’s voice was shaky, unsure. You were the one easing his fears, his worries. If you didn't, no one would. He didn’t ask how it was going, he wasn't sure if he should. You sensed the curiosity, telling him your new routine. You’ve been sleeping better, easier. The food is terrible. There are doctors and therapists who are going to help you, make your brain better. He breathes a sigh of relief. Not because of what you say, but how you sound. Your tone was so scary. Scared of your thoughts, scared of what you might do. You sounded lighter. You talked as long as you could. When you hung up he went to bed with your shirt, one arm reaching out to your side of the bed. Wanting you. Needing you. Knowing this is what had to happen. Everything his father had taught him, you had he retaught. This wasn’t taboo. It wasn’t evil or wrong or anything to be embarrassed of. It’s just something that is. He counts down the hours. 48. 47. 46. . .

Soon you will be home. You will have medications, different pills, pills that will work. You will be in your own bed again right next to him. You will get better. You will feel happiness again. You will laugh and smile and it will be so genuine it hurts. And when this comes back, when everything gets dark again, because it always does, he will be there like he is now, like he has been. He will be there. Because when he made a promise to you, he made it to all of you. The good parts, but the bad parts too. The scary, mean, lying parts. The parts that tell you you aren’t worth it, that you won’t be missed. He’ll spend every day proving them wrong.

[gab0kcal]

“it doesn't get better and it doesn't get easier. i can't keep lying to myself saying i'm gonna change. i'm poison. i come from poison, i have poison inside me and i destroy everything i touch. that's my legacy. i have nothing to show for the life that i'd lived and i have nobody in my life who's better off having me.”

[ryan-sometimes]

As a bipolar person, I’d really like to know what your thoughts on kanye west are

You really want to know? Ok.

I have bipolar 1 disorder which is the same thing Kanye has. I also know plenty of other bipolar people. And our general consensus, even over moral judgements over the shit he’s done, is genuine wonder at the fact he is still alive. Because most bipolar people who are that ill and that aversed to getting help just…….. don’t tend to live that long, which is really sad. I rawdogged bipolar disorder for only 3 years and that almost ended me several times in many different ways. I cannot imagine doing it for as long as he has and still being alive, and most bipolar people will tell you the same thing. It’s simultaneously incredible and terrifying.

[ben-c-group-therapy]

AN: This fic is purely self-indulgent! I needed it at this time Sorry for my grammar and poorly written story. It was off the cuff.

TW’s: If any of the following are likely or even remotely possible to trigger you PLEASE DO NOT READ BELOW! Depression; Mania; Manic Depressive; Bipolar disorder; Self Harm Scars; Self Harm Thoughts; Suicidal Thoughts; Mental Illness.

WC: 1,808

“Have you ever felt so alone even when you’re surrounded by people?” You looked up at Nick, thick tears gathering in your eyes at the admission of how you were handling life and all its highs and lows currently.

Nick felt his heart break as he looked down at you, curled up on your oversized comfy sofa. As he had come into the apartment an hour ago after not hearing from you all day and not seeing you at work, he noticed your place was eerily quiet save for a few sniffles coming from the living room. The place seemed almost untouched, with no dishes in the sink, no drinking glasses anywhere, or the water bottle you carried around faithfully. The only place that seemed lived in at all was the living room, where it appeared you had camped out the last couple of days at least. A blanket tossed haphazardly over the back of the couch, takeout boxes on the coffee table, and a couple of plastic water bottles on the floor. It was very apparent to Nick you weren’t feeling well mentally and in a dark place.

Nick exhaled a shaky breath before taking a tentative seat on the sofa beside you. He knew you well enough to know that when in a state like this you wanted your space but you needed him close by too.

“Yeah…yeah Hermosa I have.” He sighed. “I don’t know how you’re currently feeling or what you’re dealing with baby but I’ve felt that way. Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours.” The handsome hazelnut-eyed detective let his hand reach out towards you, holding it over your thigh. “When did you first start feeling this way? Hmm?” He spoke softly, his voice full of concern.

“I don’t know. Everything just snowballed.” You sniffled and looked up to the ceiling as tears welled even further in your eyes while you tried not to cry openly, always wanting to remain strong on the outside for everyone else. Nick though…Nick saw right through it all. He always had and always would and as he did he pulled you to him, into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you; his large hand on your head soothing down your hair before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Nick had been in your life for nearly five years now, at first only a partner at work but now your boyfriend for nearly a year after you both confessed your feelings after an argument after a frustrating week and a huge disagreement. You had yelled at him your feelings and he stared at you dumbfounded, never believing anything so good could happen to him, so good as to have you have the same feelings he felt for you, that is. That was Nick though, Nick Amaro who never thought he deserved the best in life which you always felt he did, knew he did. Then again you felt the same way toward yourself. Never believing you deserved anything good or anyone good in your life and that anything or anyone good had to have an alterer motive. Perhaps that’s why you were kindred spirits, you both knew how the other felt in some similar sort of way all the while knowing it was completely different sets of situations that led you to the place you were in life now.

Nick looked over to the table behind the couch seeing your medicine containers filled still from the last week. You hadn’t taken them then, a reckless decision in a moment of mania or brain fog, maybe both, he couldn’t be sure until asking further. While at work the detective was one of the best at interrogations he was careful when it came to you, he knew you hated feeling like you were being interrogated like one of his perps. It always ended up in you pulling even further away and shutting everyone, including him, out. “You didn't take your meds this week?” He questioned softly as he caressed your hair and back.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember when.” You muttered.

“Baby…you had an alarm set. What happened? I wanted to be here but I was undercover. I’m so sorry mi amor. I can’t always be here to remind you, you know that right? I worry. You have to take your meds so you feel better; so you feel okay.” Nick urged, feeling himself worry even more now at your words.

“Nick…Nick I don’t need you to babysit me. I know what I did was reckless. I know I skipped. One day I got up late, and I missed my alarm, and cut it off. The next day I said I didn’t have time, so I skipped it. The next, the same. The following I forgot, the same with the next and the next, and then I got to the point where I felt amazing I didn’t need it I thought. I was stupid and things spiraled. It felt great for a while! Boy did it feel fucking great. Now…now I just feel empty, and alone. Alone when I’m at work. Alone here. Alone with you. It doesn’t matter, I’m alone.” You started to feel yourself get carried away trying to explain what your mind felt like right now.

The detective listened, his heart clutching at your words and the pain and conflicting thoughts you had to be having right now.

“It’s not normal and it’s not okay. I just. I want to feel okay. I don’t want to have to live life on meds and still battle my thoughts, my mind saying awful things. I’m filled with rage and with hate and I’m not…I’m not hateful, I’m not vengeful, I’m not like this Nick. You know I’m not! I’m empathetic, I’m kind, I feel other people’s emotions and pain so deep inside myself that I carry it wherever I go and I try to make it better. I’m not this person my mind makes me believe I am.” You pushed off of Nick’s chest, or tried I should say but he held you tight to him knowing in a moment you’d break, the flood of tears would form and you’d not be able to stop it. Knowing you you probably hadn’t cried in a long time and needed it. Needed to feel healthy and not with the methods you used to use. Nick’s mind flashed with the memories of new scratches and new cuts and new bruises before you and he had gotten together and you had started an intensive therapy course and continued with therapy and treatment since. You had relapses of course but it hadn’t been as frequent and he had made it his life mission that no one, not even yourself, would harm you again. The squad and so many others, including yourself told him that it wasn’t his fault if you had faltered or slipped again, that it wasn’t his duty to make sure you were okay 24/7 but he still took it seriously and it made you feel even more guilty you had hurt him so bad by hurting yourself.

“Baby… Hermosa, you…you haven’t hurt yourself again have you?” He was afraid to ask…afraid of what the answer might be. He had been gone away without contact all week and had no idea if you were okay or not even if you assured him you were a big girl. Even the squad had said they’d check on you, which they did until you stopped letting anyone in yesterday morning.

“No…no, I haven’t. I’ve had thoughts but I haven’t.” You choked up and the man looked over your hands that had clutched his shirt desperately then down to your wrists and arms seeing no signs of new red angry skin. “It’s like a fucked up addiction. I did it to feel. I did it to make sure I was alive and all the while forget that I was and attempt not to have to deal with it at all anymore. I hate it. I hate I started it but I did now I have to live with it all because I started and my fucked up bipolar.” You cried.

“How…how can you even stand me?? Why do you want to be with me? Why? I’m so fucked up Nick! I’m screwed up! Why would YOU want ME? Me of all the women you could have, you chose the girl with a brain so messed up as mine.” You broke down as the handsome raven-haired detective held you tighter, tears gathering in his own eyes as you soaked his shirt with your own.

“Because I’ve never seen someone so compassionate. Someone so filled with life when you’re interested in something you can’t stop talking about it. Your eyes light up, your smile is huge and you can go on for ages until you realize I’m staring at you with my stupid big grin. Because of your smile, your spirit lights up even the darkest of moments, of days, the darkest corners of my mind. When I think of having you as my work partner and my girlfriend I ask how fucking lucky am I to have you by my side to confide in, to hold, and to love. How lucky am I that Zara and Gil have another amazing woman in their life who can teach them compassion for others and empathy and set a good example. Baby love you so much. I know we’re both fucked up but you are the light in the center of my heart that keeps it beating. That keeps me going. I don’t care that you have times when your life feels a mess, mine feels like a shit show most of the time too but when I hold you, or you hold me, I feel I’m sane. I’m okay. I’ll be okay because you’re here now. You’re going to be okay? Alright? I’m here. I’m going to love you through this and beyond. We’ll get you back on track and get you feeling better. I love you, please…try never to forget, even if you do, I’m going to remind you every day for the rest of eternity that you’re loved and cherished not just by me but by family and our squad and friends. Always.” Nick held your face in his large calloused hands gently as he spoke before kissing your tear-stained face and lips. “I love you. Please rest here, okay? When you get up I’ll be right here. We’ll start new. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.” He cooed and rocked slowly side to side hoping to soothe you as you cried yourself to sleep knowing Nick was right, he would be there for you and help you till you saw the daylight again.

Author’s Note: Please if you feel hopeless, empty, sad, or alone or are having any thoughts of SH, Suicide, or even just a feeling of helplessness and depression, call or text your local hotline (FOUND HERE). I have used the Crisis text line (text HOME to 741741 in the USA) several times and it helps to have someone to listen when you hate or are anxious about talking on the phone! If not these lines, please friends/family for support or someone who will listen to you. I’m here to speak to you and try to understand even in your darkest time you aren’t alone even if you feel you are. You are enough and you are loved. I love you. ❤️

[ikamigami]

The fact that schizophrenia, shizoaffective disorder, bipolar disorder or depressive psychosis have higher risk of attempting suicide and higher risk of suicide completion really make one think considering that Sun having one of those is pretty much canon.

And yet there are people who dare to say that Sun is fine and that he received help. Well, first, Sun isn't even close to fine and second he didn't receive the help he actually needs.

Also increase of anxiety in individuals who has disorder with psychotic features is one of signs that said individual may attempt suicide.

And we can see that Sun is most definitely more anxious as of recent.

Another thing is that many patients with depressive psychosis don't report having suicidal thoughts or suicide ideation but like I said they are at higher risk of attempting suicide or suicide completion.

And like I said there's a strong possibility that Sun has a depressive psychosis.

Another thing is that Sun most definitely had psychotic episode during the time when he went after Eclipse because when he was recalling a memory from this event he remember it incorrectly. He said that he tried to kill Eclipse with magic blast but we all saw that it didn't happen like that. Sun at that time was unable to control his magic outbursts. They just happened. Also we could see that he used it on self-defence after Eclipse threatened to kill him. He didn't use his magic to kill Eclipse.

Most of the time when people have manic or psychotic episode, they can't recall what exactly happened because it affects their memory greatly.

And now Sun also drinks alcohol which is an awful mix with having any mental disorder and especially in such amount.

Also I think that Sun purposefully changed the address of the package so Moon and Solar wouldn't be even more concerned that Sun is the one who bought that subscription.

Sun is most definitely not okay. :)

"I'm fine and stress free" says the guy who drinks a bottle of wine a day with 13-14% of alcohol.

[gh0stgirl-hotline]

nobody seems to help when you ask they always wait till it’s 2 late and you don’t want it anymore funny how that works

[threadbaresweater]

The upsides of a manic cycle:

incredible productivity (I have cleaned out my garage, deep cleaned three rooms of my house, bought groceries, done 8 loads of laundry, took kids to park, shampooed carpets, and meal prepped in the last two days)

needing less sleep to feel okay

feeling funny and smart all the time

intense focus and determination

I'm good at everything and everyone loves me

The downsides:

the racing thoughts and irritability

feeling like I have to do it all RIGHT NOW

short temper

the inevitable downward sprial

[sickness-health-all-that-shit]

here I am back at it, with an offering for this week’s @galladrabbles and @tsuga-of-mars‘s wonderful prompt of the Firefly quote "May have been the losing side. Still not convinced it was the wrong one."

“So why the fuck not say you wouldn’t make him take the meds? He’d’ve let you into the house and that fucking puta wouldn’t have shot at you, no?”

Mickey smiles sadly. Damon’s not entirely wrong.

He could’ve said ‘Fuck the meds’. Decided to keep Ian, any way he could have him. Stable, unmedicated—whatever. As long as Mickey had him.

But he remembers overhearing Fiona talk about Frank and Monica. How he enjoyed her at her most manic, only to abandon her when she inevitably crashed.

Yeah.

No.

Mickey might’ve lost Ian.

He still doesn’t think he did wrong.

[dikfuk]

I’ve watched the first 3 episodes of season 2 three times now and like

I just feel so strongly that ed is so bipolar coded. And not to villify bipolar people. But the shit he’s going through is how it feels to have a mixed episode. Even though we’re not like maiming people and making our toxic friends eat their own toes…it somehow is still such an incredible illustration of how it feels to be in that state of mind. How it feels to hate yourself and be grasping at straws to find something, anything, to take the edge off. And none of it works. But you feel so lost and you try everything and you keep trying anything even if you’ve already done it and it didn’t work. Anything to escape from your own mind. Anything to escape from your body just for a time. And you just want to be loved and your inner traumatized child just needs something but you don’t know how to give it to them.

Fuck.

[rainagainstthewindowatnight]

oscar recognized films

silver linings playbook ( 2012 ) dir. david o’russell

[usereddie]

tw depression

y’all can read tho i just don’t wanna put smth triggering on anyone’s dash

bipolar is SOOOOOOO fun i’m having such a great time rn i am so dissociated and depressed i feel completely numb or i DID until my brain started panicking trying to bring me back to the moment so i started scratching up and down my fore arms with enough force it’s red and bleeding a little so like i am no longer numb because my arms are burning. jesus christ.

[tic-toc-clock77]

My mom got diagnosed with bipolar recently and last night I went to stay with her. It was a very emotional night for me so you'll probably be seeing a lot of Dwellers content involving the mothers of the cast for a bit. Maternal angst, here we come. More of a personal explanation below

cws; neglect, drinking, abuse, abandonment

We talked about a lot of things; mostly about she had a lot of regrets in raising me how she did and it was the most lucidity she's ever had, that i've ever seen her have in all of my 16 years alive. Her impulses and her stunted mentality are still present but she seems better. I lost faith slowly in my mother since I could remember; she pushed me away, neglected me and I always felt alone in her home during the weeks. I lost all faith in my mother when I was 7, I held such incredible disdain that I still sometimes feel today.

My mother was never a "mother". For years, I was blamed for her messes, her problems and she always found ways to shit talk me to her friends. She abandoned me regularly for random men and even treated me as if I were coemption for the romantic/sexual affections of her adult lovers when I was 9 years old and had begun puberty. I nearly broke my arm once and had laughed at me while taking photos, she did the same when I'd fallen off my bike after she didn't allow me to wear the proper gear my dad bought me.

My mother never cleaned, meaning our house was a mess, our dishes weren't clean and she refused to clean them so I could eat, I ended up doing it myself or trying to learn to live with it. My mom would also waste money; she wouldn't by groceries or anything we actually needed. Instead she spent all our money on clothing and other expensive fashion things. There's a lot of other things too.

I held this disdain since age 7, I bottled everything up until 4 years later, at age 11 and on Christmas, my parents got into a huge argument and I decided I didn't want to go back and forth anymore, I wanted to live full time with my Dad. My dad left and told me to call him if he needed to pick me up. When I tried calling him, my Mom took my phone, threatening me not to leave but I left anyway, taking my phone back and abandoning her.

Now that time is passed and she seems better, I can't allow myself to forgive and forget these things, even now that she's on proper medication, I find it hard to trust her, I don't think I ever will.

I don't think I even love her at all, she's not my mother by anything but blood which makes it hard to write motherly characters like Connie Rogers.

I wish I knew what it was like to have a mother but I don't, I'll have to settle for writing a mother thats better than mine

[gh0stgirl-hotline]

how do people just go places and do things?

[thiselectricnightmare]

Once again,

VERY LITTLE ABOUT THIS MANIA FEELS HYPO.