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Insomnia is fun. Like really honestly fun. Ive never had more fun in my life ever.

Its really good to know I can top off really great days, with not being able to sleep ever. Its just really fucking brilliant. Honestly.

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Okay, so I actually laughed out loud. That rarely happens.

Therapist: BPD is debilitating and intense; one minute you can feel despair and hopelessness, and the next you might become so excited and “happy” that you forget how horrible you felt before. This unfortunately is a vicious daily cycle and requires a lot of patience and validation on y'alls part.

Family: yeah, no problem, for sure!

Me, days later: hm im really in a good mood this morning i feel sociable and everything

Family: you’re doing gr8 sweetie! BPD WHO?? :-))))………. so how bout a part time job? :-)

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Waking up from a bad dream.

A dream that was a little too real and a little too accurate about the burning thirst for alcohol, about how I'm the friend who isn't really a friend, about how completely replaceable and dispensable and disposable I am, about how me as a human being am not anything anyone could ever choose to love.

Its a fucking awful way to wake up, I'd rather have the nightmares and the insomnia thanks.

But really, who would fucking love me? I'm less than nothing, not flexible enough to be nobody.

Its dumb that I've only just realised that I'm the one people have settled for. For 3 of those I was supposed to be a secret. Because I'm embarrassing to be seen with, to be seen to be with. How could anyone possibly find me attractive in anyway? Silly of me to have ever thought... I'm not smart or funny or rich or white enough to be so unloveable and broken to boot.

Black girls my age are supposed to be beautiful and ambitious and independent and strong. If not all, at least one. If you're beautiful, its okay to lack ambition or to be strong, nature has made sure someone will love you for at least one thing. If you're ambitious you're probably smart in some way, have a knack for self-preservation and self-care. If you're independent, you probably find that you know how to make the best of almost any situation, probably a leader, the wet dream for rags to riches stories. If you're strong, you either just headbutt your way out of situations you dont want to be in and into those that are more desirable, you're strong enough to care just enough and to stop caring when its too much. If in doubt marry a white man.

I'm probably wrong. I'm angry at myself so I'm blaming the part of me I have the biggest issue with. The biggest physical issue. No. The most obvious, most socially known. Nobody wants to be fat, but no one group of people is going to completely turn on fat people and dehumanise them for centuries. Besides there's too much starvation in the world to be hating someone for being born in the right place with enough access to sugar and carbs. No-one hates stupid people in any great way because they're, in general, too inoffensive to hate (stupid and ignorant arent the same, I dont think?)...with the added benefit of making those with the most meagre quantity of valuable smarts feel more than what they are. Every Sherlock has a Watson. Noone really hates any particular thing or quality a person can have, because its just a quality....by that, I mean individually my qualities cant make anyone feel more than strong dislike, but more likely indifference or annoyance. With the exception of my skin colour. That combined with said individual qualities can inspire a more hearty response.

This is the bed time story I tell myself to make it less hurtful when I fall short of expectations from even those who have none. It cant be me, because there are people who are similar to me who are loved. They are white.

I couldnt even manage to pretend for long enough to be a young mother. Thats a trick for those on the edges. Not quite beautiful, but really not much else. Not confident enough to be very independent, but enough to be ferocious in child care.

When I read my books, I miss an age I've never known. I'd be a farmers granddaughter, because I am. I would only be expected to marry and clean and have children. Love wasnt really on the to-do list and everything else was simple enough: trundle along, dont get gout, avoid being hanged. For a woman it was best not to be beautiful or ambitious or independent or strong or to have any undue intelligence. I would have had a brilliant life then. Of course chances are I'd have been back home (South Africa)...so I'd also have to avoid wild animals and the sun. But a perfect life isnt sustainable.

Perhaps its not that I'm not enough, I'm just not very evolved. I imagine the very smart hated the times they lived in because of how primitive it was, relatively.

I wonder if I chose this life. If I did, then my stupidity is soul-deep.

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You dont fully realise and accept that your biggest fear is being abandoned until you convince yourself that its fine to rationalize staying in an unhealthy relationship, for the sake of having a relationship at all...with a real human person.

It's kinda fucked up being used to ignoring the knowing you're less than second best to everyone. To sort of just accept that you're forgettable.

But is crying over it acceptance? I feel like the biggest sort of idiot for not being able to just function and be okay with being mediocre at best, and not even enough of anything to even be a laughing stock.

Fuck, if nothing else, at least I get to be a prime example of pitiful and pathetic.

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The demons are back again. They watch me sleep and they laugh and run rings around me when I wake. Always just out of view, hiding in corners and under the bed. When I close my eyes, theirs open. They squeeze up and budge eachother, each getting one eye in all over my walls. They poke me in the eye so it stuns me, the little light goes round and around and around in my head like im waiting to load. Waiting to be a whole person, waiting to die, waiting to be corporeal enough to be seen, to be able to breathe and walk and talk and do more than eat in the hope that it will make me feel.

I just want to feel better and my arms itch so bad. The nice one said if I get rid of the itch the blood will make me smile. She reminded me that last time it made me feel better. She said she isnt Laura, but I'm not sure. But Laura wouldnt want me to feel better, she would tell me the truth. That I'm bad. So maybe I should scratch my arms? Not much just a little, just a little below the skin. I remember how it feels... like those slowed down videos of flowers growing from the ground, like letting out a long held breath, and its always so red and it reminds me that I'm here, that I'm not dead.

I wish I could just disappear. I just want it all to go away. I wish I could suck the tears back up into my eyes. I wish someone would just see me, all of me, and know me and love me and not leave me and make it all better.

I wish I could bleed it all out, cut myself open right in the middle and let it all spill out into the bin.

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We all wish I wasnt here, I know.

I know I'm being selfish for holding on.

It must be tiring for you to pretend you care all the time, and I'm sorry.

Im sorry I need you to love me when I hate you so much. I need you to love me even though I really want your life to be miserable.

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If there was a God, he'd let me disappear. If there was a God, he'd look at me funny and ask why I'm still trying. I was a mistake after all, I wasnt meant to be, I was an idea that was never meant to come to fruition. The only mistake really, so its easy enough to ignore me. His real creations make mistakes all the time, and I fit in that category. Under war and famine and global warming and smells people dont like and maybe capitalism. But I'm so small, so im easier to ignore. Im dust really.

If God was real he'd let the demons get me because really theyre doing him a favour. But the devil doesnt want me either, I'm just fun to fuck with.

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I wish I could tell you how much I blame you for, but youre a fucking cunting shitbag and you wont say sorry and you'll leave me.

I'd rather you hurt me more. Just dont fucking leave me. But if I tell you how much I need you to stay you'll think I'm pathetic and leave.

What reason do you have to stay? I have nothing to offer. So you dont need to apologise. Please stay. Please dont leave me.

Im sorry im so fat, im sorry im so stupid, im sorry im so broken, im sorry so im so ugly, im so sorry im so useless, im sorry im not white, im sorry I dont enjoy sex, im sorry your sexual desire repulses me, im sorry for not being funny, im sorry for everything, im really sorry, please dont leave me.

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Because I don't love you

Youre probably right, you probably do love me more.

My chest hurts too much when I think of you, It must be heart burn.

You're right that I'm too good at keeping my temper from you, I dont even do that for myself.

I probably only think youre a very nice person, I hear Jesus was nice too, like you, its probably why so many people wanna be like him.

But really the biggest reason in your favour....I really fucking hate you.

I hate that I cant block you out of my head. I hate how youre always fucking ignoring me. I hate that you lie to me all the fucking time. I hate that its somehow my fault you didnt tell me you were married for the first 6months. I hate you even more that it took you even longer to tell me your real name. I hate that I let you into every part of me and even after that I was blamed for crying even though you knew. You fucking knew why.

So even if my head and my heart and my soul and every tear I cry for you and every bruise I pound into my thighs... even though they all say I love you. You say I dont, and you're right because I dont love you

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I'm fine

I wish I could decide for sure whether I'm fighting or giving up. I wish I didn't hate how I look to the point that I make myself physically sick. I wish people would stop trying to be polite to save my feelings, I already know they're out the door, they just wont close the fucking door so I'm left here wondering if they'll come back, but they never fucking do.

Why does everyone always leave me?

What am I doing wrong? I try to talk more, ask more questions, or talk less. I try to be just the right amount of involved and give the right amount of space, to not over crowd but not abandon. What am I doing wrong?

Maybe I should have let her into the door first that time? Maybe if I hadnt told them I got there early? Maybe I should have just said I'm fine. Maybe I shouldnt have made a big deal of the fact he never says sorry. Im sorry. I need him.

I'm so fucking ugly. Noone wants an ugly friend, but I dont mind not being in pictures. I just want to not be alone.

They forgot my birthday. I saw them two days before and they mentioned it, then they forgot.

I should have been more careful with my phone. I shouldn't have looked so untrusting. I shouldn't have panicked. I should have said its fine. I should have gone home. I should never have left. I should have stayed in bed. Then they wouldn't have forgotten me. Then he would have forgiven me. Then she wouldn't be angry at me. Then she wouldn't resent me. Then I wouldn't have broken everything. I wouldn't have wasted everyone's time in hospital. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying. Its stupid, its nothing. I'm fine.

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you got me. I was like I'll just read a little, and now I have to stop and read it all right from the start. I cant know what his birthday surprise is until I know everything before that. damn you! I've been avoiding snamoine cause im trying to open my fanfic range. look what you've done... 😂😭

In honour of Severus’ birthday, as well as @happy-snape-week, we would like to offer an excerpt from an old, written work of ours. 

This piece (part of a chapter, rather) will eventually be revised, so please bear in mind that the writing is far from stellar; it was written roughly five years ago. We still thought it suitable to share on this special day…and what it means to us.  

Excerpt from Chapter 59: Starting Anew from Unquestionable Love: The Prequel

“I hope you don’t have plans tomorrow.”

“Plans?”

Severus glanced up from his latest venture in finding a new combination for one of his tonics. The cauldron was already simmering, and as the Potions Master sliced herbs in perfectly equal cuts at his work bench, Hermione approached him and leaned against the table, eying him eagerly.

“Tomorrow’s your birthday, you know.”

Severus’s face slumped. “Lucky me,” he droned, a bit ruffled that the bright witch remembered the date; he would be perfectly fine to pass by his birthday without mention, but it seemed Hermione had other ideas in mind. “Do I need the reminder?” he added, throwing the herbs into the potion with more flair than he had meant.

“Oh, please, don’t be so dramatic. You’re not dying. You’re turning thirty-nine, you old sod.”

Severus arched an eyebrow. “‘Is all’? And how old are you?”

Hermione reached across the small, wooden table and pinched one of his cheeks, earning an appropriate growl of annoyance for her efforts; that only made Hermione laugh harder, seeing him blush endearingly and quickly return to his work without a fleeting word to cut her down. He attempted to keep slicing, but Hermione’s unwavering stare was proving an unnerving distraction, as was the all-knowing smile she wore.

Severus finally slammed down his knife and caved his shoulders, defeated. “All right, what is it? What am I to endure tomorrow on your behalf?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Hermione skipped around the table and drew onto her tip toes for a long, drawn out kiss, pulling away to find Severus just as befuddled as before. She snickered and rubbed her thumb along his bottom lip.

“Be ready to leave early tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say, silly.”

Severus’s eyes gleamed down at her. “I’m always up early, so that isn’t a problem.”

“Good!”

“Hermione, please tell me what's—”

“Oh, no you don’t. It’s a surprise.”

Severus angled his neck until their noses practically touched. “I don’t like surprises.”

“I know,” she giggled wholeheartedly, unreactive to his eminent threat. “Which is all the more reason for it.”

“Insufferable.”

“Snarky sod.” She gingerly reached her arms up his chest and folded them loosely around his neck. “How did you celebrate past birthdays?” She was almost afraid to ask, suspecting his special day was probably lonesome and dreadful, without much thought or company, but curiosity got the better of her.

Severus wrapped his arms around the curve of her back before answering, in a solemn voice, “I didn’t celebrate. And it’s just as well. You reach a certain age in which birthdays aren’t worth noting anymore.”

“Rubbish,” she pouted, unable to help herself. She extended onto her toes again for another heartfelt kiss. “Not anymore,” she whispered, her supple lips gently pressing his. “We’re going to celebrate it properly from now on.”

“Hermione—”

“Whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t I get a say in the matter?”

“No.”

“It is my birthday, after all.”

“And I don’t intend to let you forget it.”

Severus sighed, aggrieved. “Can I ask you one thing?”

“Depends.” She shot him a sly, lively grin that almost brought a smile of his own to the surface.

“It isn’t… It’s not anything over-the-top, is it?”

Hermione caught the nervous twitch beneath his quiet reserve; it was subtle, yet captivating. She placed her hands on his shoulders and stared deep into his eyes.

“No, I promise, it’s nothing too overdone.”

That seemed to alleviate some of the man’s lingering apprehensions. “All right…” he breathed some relief.

Hermione had never seen anyone so set against having any sort of celebration before that it nearly rattled her senses. “And it’ll just be you and me,” she added as another measure of certitude. That fact also appeared to aid his face in de-stressing.

“All right, then.”

“You sure?” Hermione reared back. He still looked put out for some unknown reason, even with the tension having lifted.

“Yes, it - it’s fine.”

“Wow, you really don’t like surprises at all, do you?”

“No,” he grumbled, causing her to laugh softly, “and I really wish you’d tell me what the bloody hell’s going on.”

“Nice try, you. Moping won’t get you my secret.”

Ignoring his deep growl of a retort, Hermione gave him another quick kiss and filed out of the room. I hope he doesn’t think this all a bit much? Hermione considered as she climbed the stairs. What were the nerves all about?

Keep reading

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Omg

When you find a Severus Snape fanfiction where he get’s a happy ending:

@happy-snape-week

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I have all the love and time for this

Next time antis are being, well, antis, show them this:

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My last one. RIP smoker me

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I wish I wasnt too much of a coward to break up with my bf. It's just he's the only person who chose to love me. That means something even if I dont like him

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I wish I was conceived a second later. Then I would be one second different. One second is a lot

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I wish my paranoia didnt allow me to believe in demons