#i can't even function anymore i'm in constant stress

[blooming-violets]

Can I add on to the Suicidal Peter thing? I feel like that would cause so much stress for reader? Like her hair would be going gray and maybe she faints from exhaustion because she's staying up all night making sure Peter wouldn't try to off himself again? Would he notice that she's extra clingy because she's that nervous of him being alone with his thoughts and whatnot? Maybe she wouldn't tell him because she doesn't want him to feel any more guilt that he already has? Sorry if that was alot, just thinking about how that would be for his girlfriend

Trigger Warnings: This is all about suicidal ideation, self harm, and losing yourself to take care of someone who is suicidal. Includes panic attacks, severe weight loss from lack of eating due to anxiety, mentions of blood and cutting, attempted suicide on top of a building. It's a suicide/depression/self harm/broken lovers fic. Be careful if those topics are difficult for you<3

Reminder: This is a depiction of an extremely toxic relationship. It is not cute or healthy or something to strive for. Just, like, as an fyi. Don't do it. Stop. Not healthy. No. Not even for Peter Parker. Don't do it. Stop it right now. Never get on a ledge for a man wtf are you doing.

I think she would be in a state of constant hyper vigilance and high anxiety. He would take over all her thoughts until she can't function anymore. Never eating. Not able to work. Doesn't even want to take a shower because she's afraid of having him out of her sight. Not wanting to sleep.

God forbid she wakes up in middle of the night and he's not in bed, she'd be thrown straight into a panic attack. There's been times when he's woken up to go to the bathroom and returned back to find her hyperventilating on the floor.

Peter dried his wet hands on his boxers as he turned off the sink. His eyes were squinted closed, still half asleep, and he shuffled out of the bathroom. He had no idea what time it was and he didn't care to turn on any bright lights to find the clock. He rubbed his fingers through his shaggy hair and let out a quiet yawn, fumbling with their bedroom door handle to push himself back inside.

A dull flurry of tingles ran up his spine as his hand grasped the knob.

Spider-senses. They weren't super intense or threatening but they let him know that someone was crouched behind the door. He knew it was her and not a threat. His senses always felt dulled down when she was around. His ears perked up to listen to her quiet, muffled sobs.

Peter frowned and gently opened the door so not to accidentally hit her with it.

She was curled up against the wall. Her eyes were wild, the whites flashing back and forth as they scanned the dark room. Tears spilled silently down her face and her body racked with heavy pants. Her teeth bit down on the sleeve of her shirt to keep her cries muffled.

"Baby, what happened?" He asked, quickly kneeling down in front of her. Five minutes ago she was sound asleep beside him.

He scanned her for any external injuries but came up with nothing. He placed his hands against each of her cheeks to get her to look at him. His thumbs brushed the tears from under her eyes.

"You-" she gasped, eyes wide, like she was forcing them to focus on him. "You...you...here...you're here."

Peter nodded. A weight of guilt dropped in his stomach as he realized what she was implying.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm here. I'm always here. Just went to the bathroom. 's okay. Are you hurt?"

Her chest heaved with each quickened breath but her shoulders stopped shaking the longer she took him in. Her mouthed moved like she was trying speak but no words ever came out. Only more sobs.

He flicked out his wrist to shoot a web against the light switch, tugging it on, so she could see him better.

"See?" He spoke softly, trying to soothe her the best he was able. "Look at me. I'm here."

Fresh tears welled in her eyes and spilled down over his hands. Peter sighed sadly, sliding an arm under her legs and the other behind her back to scoop her up into his arms. He carried her back to the bed. She cradled into his lap and he pressed the side of her ear against his chest so she could hear his heart. He was alive. There was physical proof she could hear.

"I'm here," he continued to reassure her. "I'm not going anywhere."

They both doubted that statement but neither of them dared to challenge it.

He slipped his hand under her shirt to gently scratch her back, humming softly against the side of her head.

Slowly, her breathing regulated. He felt her body melt against him. Her eyes closed.

"Are you okay?" He whispered.

She gave a soft nod, mumbling as sleep started to grip her once more, "Nightmare. Nothin' to worry 'bout."

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, feeling her drift off, and knew the nightmare she was talking about wasn't one that happened during sleep.

Some days are better than others. Some days he seems almost normal and she finds herself able to breathe a little easier. But she can never allow herself to fully relax. Relaxing means getting sloppy. Relaxing means she might miss the signs.

The dark circles overtake her eyes. Caking on makeup can only do so much. They still poke through until she eventually just gives up trying to cover them. The whites of her eyes have become a permanent state of bloodshot.

She's losing weight. At first people compliment her for it. They don't know why it's happening. All they see is a loss of weight and think it's purposeful and think they need to praise her for it like it's some great accomplishment. Soon it becomes a clear problem. Food doesn't want to stay down. Her stomach was too filled with anxiety to make room for anything else.

Her friends no longer text her. She never responded anyway. She can't go out. That would be the perfect time for Peter to lose it.

She struggles to keep working. Her job is suffering as a result of her mental state. Too many sick days taken. She's days away from being fired but she doesn't care. All she cares about is Peter. Nothing else matters. Keeping him safe becomes her obsession.

The lack of sleep makes her dizzy.

Peter stared at the television. He couldn't focus on what was playing. His mind was...elsewhere. He dug his nails against the skin of his thumb. It pissed him off that he cut them short earlier in the day. They weren't long enough to scrape against his skin with the force he wanted. He wanted blood. He wanted pain. His nails were giving him nothing but a mild annoyance.

He couldn't get up to find anything sharper when she was curled up beside him. She watched him like a hawk. If he moved, she moved.

His gaze landed on the steak knife thrown against his empty dinner plate still laying out on the coffee table in front of them. Once he caught sight of it, he couldn't see anything else.

He couldn't see that her plate was still full of food beside it, untouched. He couldn't see her eyes glazing out of focus as she stared at the television, equally unable to pay attention to what was in front of her as they "watch" their show. He couldn't see her shaking hands from lack of sleep or proper nutrition. He couldn't see the gauntness to her cheeks or the red tint in her eyes.

All he could see was that knife.

He imagined dragging it across his skin. Slicing it open. Spilling his blood. He imagined cutting it across his palm to mimic the color of Ben's blood on his hands. George's blood. Gwen's blood. He imagined stabbing it into his neck. So fast that she couldn't stop him. In and out. Real quick. Over and done just like that.

"Do you need more water?"

Peter's eyes snapped up to attention as she broke his trance.

"What?" He mumbled.

She nodded to his empty glass of water, "Want me to get you more? You looked like you were staring at it? Thirsty?"

He gave a slow nod, lost in thought. Good. Let her get up. Let her move away. He could grab the knife while she wasn't looking.

She reached for the glass and stood up. He was too focused on the blade to notice how she stopped to sway unsteadily on her feet before walking off to the kitchen.

He heard the glass crash a second before her body hit the floor.

He was up and leaping over the couch a heartbeat after, the knife immediately fading from his mind.

"Babe," he gasped, reaching her in seconds. He gently slapped a hand over her cheek. "Hey! Wake up! Baby, wake up!"

Peter fumbled for the cell phone in his pocket, ready to call an ambulance, when she groaned. He dropped it beside him to tend to her instead.

Her eyes blinked open, hazy and confused, "Wha-"

"It's okay," he breathed through the rising panic. "Try not to move. You fainted. Hit your head."

Oh god, her eyes. Had they always been that sunken in? When did her face start to look so skeletal? He couldn't remember. When had she changed? Was that...

He ran a hand over her hair.

...grey hair?

Sporadic grey strands slipped through his fingers. She looked sickly. She wasn't right.

She lifted an arm to rub her eyes with a muffled moan. A trickle of blood ran down the back of her arm where she had landed on the shattered glass. It painted a trail of red down her skin. His eyes widened at the sight, unable to look away. He tunnel visioned. His sight blackened around the edges as he stared.

Blood. Her blood.

His head twitched. He hurt her. He did this. He made her get up because he wanted that knife. He didn't even more water. He wasn't even thirsty. She was up because of him. She was...broken...fallen...Gwen fell...she broke...he broke them all...dead...all of them...blood...so much blood...always blood...

Her hands were pressed to the side of his head. She was sitting up now. He hadn't even seen her move. Was he-

Crying.

Hot tears streamed down his face. He was sobbing. Gasping. He couldn't remember starting that. Time was slipping through his fingers. He was losing bits and pieces. What year was it? How old was he?

He was sixteen, holding Ben's body.

No, no, no.

Eighteen, Gwen in his arms. Shattered. No.

Twenty...six? eight? Had he turned thirty yet?

Fuck, he couldn't remember.

"It's okay, Peter." She was soothing him. "It's okay. I'm fine. I'm okay. Breathe, Pete. Deep breaths. Stay with me."

He was supposed to be the one taking care of her. What was he doing? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop crying?

She was running her fingers through his hair, pressing her forehead against his, kissing away his tears.

He clung to the front of her shirt, tugging her closer, he couldn't get her close enough. He needed to feel her. He needed to breathe her in, touch her, fuse her through his skin until she melted straight into him forever.

She wasn't dead. It was just a cut. A cut.

She clutched onto his head, pressing his face against her breasts, holding him close. This was the wrong way around. He should be holding her. He was failing. Nothing was working right. Everything was backwards. Everything was wrong. He didn't remember who he was anymore.

"I got you, Peter. I'm okay. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

She cupped his jaw in her palms to lift his head to hers. She placed soft kisses against his lips. It made his head spin. He wanted her closer but he was afraid if he reached for her, she would crumble away into a fading memory like the rest of them.

As she kissed him, his hand reached out besides him instead, fingers finding a shard of glass and silently slipping into his pocket.

For later.

Just in case.

Peter's stopped being Spider-Man because she asked him to. She's afraid to have him out of her sight. Spider-Man is too dangerous for someone who's suicidal. He can't be trusted. She struggles to breathe when he's not around.

They spend most of their time on the couch "watching" tv. She makes him shower with her. She stays up to watch him sleep, now. When she does doze off, any small movement or sound will jerk her straight awake. Her eyes only ever look for him. She can't see anything else.

At what point does she become an enabler to his behavior? There's being a caregiver and then there's letting someone ruin your life. He's not getting external help because he has her. They're eating each other alive. Sucking the life out of each other. Soon, there will be nothing left to leach off of.

By continuing down this path, it's only a matter of time before she hit rock bottom beside him.

I think that might be the only thing that pushes Peter out of the hole. Because he loves her. He's broken and depressed and a neglectful boyfriend but he does love her. Either they both end up dead or they end up alive. There's only two options here with them because neither of them will ever leave the other. Drag each other down straight to death or lift each other to something brighter.

It had been about an hour since he last saw her. That was unusual. The past five months, she had been his shadow. Attached at his hip. Never out of his sight for more than a minute or two. He dragged himself off the floor where he had been laying. He had bent down to reach for the remote that had fallen off the couch and ended up on the floor without the willpower to get back up. He had just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, letting time pass.

Except too much time had passed because she wasn't here.

Peter sat up, feeling a bit dizzy from the change of pressure in his head, and called out her name. When she didn't answer, he called her again, louder this time. Still nothing.

That worried him.

He jumped to his feet and focused his hearing to listen for her. She wasn't in the apartment. He didn't have to search. He just knew.

His heart began racing. His skin was exploding in tingles. Goosebumps. Anxiety swirled in his stomach. Colors intensified. His hearing dialed up to its full extent. His senses kicked into overdrive.

Trouble.

He hadn't felt his Spider-senses in months. They overwhelmed him and caused him to stumble back against the couch. He had gone so long without feeling anything. Suddenly, there was everything.

He gave a few rapid blinked, trying to focus his eyes and gain back control of his body.

He had to find her.

Peter stumbled out their apartment door, barefoot and sweating profusely, looking wildly up and down the empty hall. He yelled out her name once more. He knew she wouldn't answer but it burst out of him with a longing desperation anyway. He hadn't been away from her for this long in months. He couldn't breathe.

When had she left? Why hadn't he heard her open the door? How far gone had he let himself get that he wouldn't notice her walking out?

He forced his breath to steady as he paused, taking a deep breath, and letting those familiar senses work like they used to.

The roof.

He had to get to the roof.

She was up there. If anyone ever tried to ask how he knew, he wouldn't be able to tell them. He just knew. That's how his senses worked. They told his body where to move and how fast to go and where to be. They told him of danger.

And they were telling him that needed to be on the roof as fast as he could move.

Peter took the stairs two at a time, leaping over railings, and throwing himself up the three flights until he burst through the roof door.

It was snowing outside. When had it become winter? How long had it been since he looked out a fucking window?

His bare feet slipped on a patch of ice but he quickly righted the fall and lunged forward.

She was here. Standing on the raised edge of the building roof. Her hair whipped around her head from the freezing wind. She was in her slippers and pajamas. He hadn't even remembered what she had been wearing until this moment. It was like she had become invisible to him. Always there, always needed, but never truly seen.

He saw her now.

She had gotten so skinny. Almost skeletal. Her body stood on unsteady legs, the wind thrashing her around like she was nothing, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Instinctively, he arm shot out to shoot a web at her back, but nothing came. He had taken off the damn web shooters forever ago. They were lost on some dust filled, cluttered dresser under a pile of clothes. Somewhere completely useless to him.

He shouted her name, pain laced heavily in his voice, running towards her. If she fell before he could catch her, he would throw himself straight off this roof after her.

She turned to look at him.

Jesus, she looked like an entirely different person. Her eyes were dead. Her body might still be hanging on but the life inside of her was gone.

"Dont!" He a broken scream ripped from his throat. "Don't you fucking dare!"

She took a step back, her slipper sliding against the ice, heels hovering over the edge.

"I can't," she whispered, voice getting lost in the howling wind.

Maybe it wasn't the wind. Maybe his own horrified cries.

"I can't do it anymore." She took another shuffled inch back and teetered dangerously on the edge. "I'm sorry."

He reached her the second she stepped off. His hand latched onto her wrist at the last possible moment before it disappeared from view. The weight of her falling body lurched him foreword and he braced himself against the ledge, sticking his feet to the frozen ground as an anchor. He reached his other hand over to scrunch up the front of her shirt, using both her arm and shirt to drag her back up to him.

She didn't fight him. Didn't move. Didn't react.

He dragged her limp body over the hump of the ledge wall and tumbled her into his arms. He fell to the ground, collecting her in his lap, clinging her protectively against him in an iron clad death grip. He chest was heaving. Tears spilled hot down his red, windswept cheeks and blurred his vision. He was struggling to breath. He couldn't catch his breath.

Everything was her. All he could feel. All he could see. He held her close, frantically running his hands over her body, over her face, feeling her, making sure she was really here. It was her. She was here. In his arms. She was alive. She was breathing.

She looked so defeated. Broken. Gone.

"Why?" His voice cracked. "How could you-how-"

Why not?

He had.

She had learned from the best.

It hit him all at once. Clarity. Realization. Everything fell into place the second she stepped off that ledge.

His entire life flashed before his eyes when she fell.

This life they were living...this life was not sustainable. It was his fault.

He had brought them here. He dug the hole and led her straight down to the bottom after him because he was afraid of being alone. He brought her down to his level because he was selfish. Needy. Weak. Afraid. She didn't belong here. He didn't either. If he had his web shooters on like he always used to, he would have reached her before she even knew he was there. He had given up everything in his life. Family, friends, Spider-Man, her.

He given up on everything and almost lost it all.

He had dug this hole for them.

Only he could help them out.

a/n: HI! Of course you can add to it! It makes me so happy that anyone gives a shit to actually contribute and join in on the story telling. I am just very slow at replying sometimes, esp during the days that I work, but I will always get there!

I dipped a toe into exploring the role of caregiver in Nicest Thing too and what it can potentially do to a person. Because I think it can really eat someone alive to be on constant high alert until there is nothing left of them except a shell of who they once were. At some point, you're going to have to chose between losing yourself or potentially losing Peter. He has to be the one to help himself. No one can force someone to get help, they have to make that choice themselves, which is the sad reality of loving someone who's going through shit. And I say that as someone who gone through a lot of shit in their life and had to have people put my ass on suicide watch. Being a caregiver of someone suicidal is a lot of thankless, hard work. If someone doesn't want help, they'll find ways to weasel around everything you to hit them with, until they're ready to do it themselves. So, keep yourself sane and healthy.

I'd like to think that after this, he helps them both. He helps her by getting better himself. Since she followed him into the hole, I think she would follow him out. Slowly. But seeing him put in the effort would give her the strength to do it herself.

Go listen to Don't Try Suicide by Queen and don't fucking kill yourself, okay? Great? Great! xoxo Katie

#andrew garfield #tasm #the amazing spiderman #peter parker #tasm peter parker #tasm peter #tasm x reader #tasm fic #tasm angst #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #peter parker angst #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter fic #tasm peter angst #tasm peter parker x reader

[pendragaryen]

Merry christmas, my dear friends, mutuals and followers and all the best wishes for the upcoming new year! 🧡🫶🏻🧡🫶🏻🧡🫶🏻🧡

The last bit of 2022 and the whole of 2023 have not been very kind to my family - and so I'm standing here today, looking back at the past 13 months and finding myself almost back and stuck in the emotional state that I had been in after the separation from my long time boyfriend/life partner in 2009... That was a very dark time. I was trying to live and breathe with a constant black hole in my chest and soul for a couple of years then... I felt so empty and lost. I had a very similar feeling for the span of a couple of months after I had been kicked out of my job in 2017. But nothing, and I mean it, nothing has the rug under my feet pulled away and made me hit rock bottom like the cancer illness of my sister, the death of my grandma and now the fact that my mum is diagnosed with a tumor in her spine, all in the span of just 13 months... Please, we all need some rest in my family so desperately. But now we're all very anxious bc of the surgery my mum has to go through at the 12th of january. It's a difficult surgery. No-one knows for sure at this point what kind of a tumor it is. It causes her legs getting more and more numb and if they don't do anything, the risk of her ending up using a wheelchair rather sooner than later seems very likely. If the tumor should be malignant (please, god, no, NO!) the consequences would be even worse bc it could've spread already... But the fact that the doctors pushed for a fast surgery likely speaks for the possibility that the tumor is benign and seated in just one place... Well you see, this really keeps me busy... We all hope desperately that she will get better after the surgery, and not worse... We have plans! We want to travel together again! To the Netherlands next! Or to Danmark!

Don't get me wrong, there HAD been good things that happened in the last year, not at least the fact that my sister is now considered as cured. We're all so relieved and thankful, I have no words for it! But then... the death of our grandma... and now the tumor and surgery of my mother... I feel like i'm trapped in a constant state of emotional stress, like standing in the dark and screaming into the void with nobody being able to hear me... I can't even begin to imagine how my sister must've felt or how my mum is feeling now. Sometimes I think I'm too empathetic, the way I suffer with and for my beloved ones... that can't be healthy. I'm so tired.

Sorry to bother you with all this. I'm not around here that often anymore. Sadly I have to say I lost joy in many things I once loved or loved to do over the course of the last years. I'm unmotivated most of the time. But now... I have to function, I have to be there for my mum. It'll take half a year at least for her to recover from her surgery (if everything goes well - fingers crossed please!!!) and so I have to be strong - and I WILL be strong! For her! For my family! I hope my sister will support me then... The relationship of her and our mom is a little difficult... Sadly. But she's working on it..

I said I lost the joy in many things I loved once, but one thing I'll never get tired of is, on the rare occasions I visit this site, to read you all at our weekly BFSN, to see the 100 fam still being so creative and devoted, so that our favorite show never really gets forgotten. Thank you so much for that! And please keep tagging me in things! I read you, look at your photos, and I smile, even though I may not answer. This little corner of our fandom is so dear to me, it's almost a little like homecoming when I log in here. A comfort place.

Thank you all for your kind, empathetic, couraging, and motivational words at the last BFSN. I appreciate each and every one of it.

I hope the year has been kind to y'all and that these christmas holidays and the new year will be filled with tons of health, luck and love for you and all of us! Here's to a well deserved rest for us all!

And may we meet again. Here and in words. Maybe one day in person? Who knows?

Always.

Anne

@sunflowerkru: @togetherkru @carrieeve @ninappon @roguetwelve @bellamyblake @jeanie205 @geekyogicheese @natassakar @heartbellamy @okmcintyre @immortalpramheda @igotbellarkeforthat @infp-with-all-the-feelings @isweartobreathe @kizo2703 @travllingbunny @bookwormforalways @lee-em-dee @julibernardo @broashwhat @its-tea-time-darling @delicatebluebirdruins (and each and everyone else I maybe forgot, please excuse me)

#christmas 2023 #christmas #the 100 fandom #new year #christmas wishes #new year wishes #sunflowerkru #bellarke fandom #bellarke fam #my edit #cancer #surgery #depression #anxiety #wishes #photos #advent #candles #decor #decorations #aesthetics #x-mas #the 100 fam

[c0pernicus]

I feel like I never really see people talk about just how bad the long term effects of prolonged abuse, or C-PTSD can really be in people, especially young people, and I wish it was talked about more.

I pretty much never talk about my own experiences for safety reasons, because I would always receive a whole mess if I did choose to try and tell others what I went through, and maybe that's what has made my experience with C-PTSD so bad, but its genuinely so debilitating.

The burn out, the exhaustion, the body aches and horrible sleep schedules and inability to maintain a job because my emotions and brain had really never recovered even years- half a decade- after everything stopped. The digestive issues, the memory problems, the entire lack of a sense of identity and self. The lack of want to put effort into my identity and self.

I feel like I'm chronically searching for someone that's supposed to be me. Constantly, I'm stuck now trying to validate a sense of self I no longer possess. Old passions, old hobbies, old things I liked and enjoyed- It feels like I've been stripped down to bone and nothing sticks anymore. If I have an interest it's very fleeting and I usually will drop it once I find I start to enjoy it, as if its been so heavily ingrained in my brain that peace and happiness and to just enjoy things isn't something I'm allowed. I've become incapable of thinking anything even neutral about myself at this point. I don't believe nearly anything anyone else says to me, and I feel very passive towards others in general if I'm not terrified of them instead. I lack friends and connections, and I constantly hide away from others.

I'm constantly frozen. I can't function on even a basic level if someone else is present in my home; I have to be doing what they're doing, or engaged in some way with what they're doing (Watching, observing, next to them at the very least and quietly doing something unobtrusive) or I can't do anything at all. If I am left alone I'm riddled with anxiety and my mood plummets, my intrusive thoughts are constant and like a horrible movie montage I can't turn off. Trying to lay down and sleep is no better, for years I've been stuck having to just occupy my brain until I pass out.

It's a constant ghost I just can't seem to exorcise from myself. No amount of trying to forgive or forget or let go or move on or accept has made a pebbles difference in the mountain I'm stuck under. I forget everything and anything except for what caused all of this; my wife and friend constantly cut me off to tell me that they've already heard what I'm telling from before from my own mouth, and they I know there are times where they let me continue like it's the first time I've ever told them the fact or the story and I'm simply none-the-wiser. I can't remember things I've done, things I need to do, events or recent days even. I feel stupid and airheaded on the best days, and I know it shows to others because they've told me before.

Work is hard because of the anxiety, the agoraphobia, the memory problems, the health problems. I'm sick constantly; I can't eat or retain food, I have the flu, I've caught Covid for the 8th time despite trying to be good about cleanliness when I leave the house and return. I can't eat a lot of food without being in pain, with it going right through me or sitting like a rock in my stomach for several days. My joints ache more often, my muscles are sore, my traps are solid to a concerning degree from the daily stress of just living with it all. I can't remember the last time my eyes weren't sunken in and purple-blue.

Therapists have only wanted to slap me with a diagnosis and an array of medications- none of which have worked. I've been told it's depression, it's anxiety, it's PTSD, it's bi-polar, it's BPD, it's psychotic depression, it's schizoaffective, it's DID. The DID one threw me for a loop, I'm not going to lie, but the rest were believable enough. I don't look at my medical charts anymore, so I don't know what I have or haven't been branded with by now. The meds and talk therapy never help, I never feel release, I don't believe words anymore- especially from strangers. The meds make the brain fog worse, or I feel numb, or people don't like the person I've become, or my self harming gets much worse, or I just want to kill myself enough to really try to.

Stress tips me over the edge so easily. The hallucinations suck and I resent them. They're a one way ticket to being unemployed and unfunctional for potentially months at a time, and it's humiliating after the fact as well. The last time I had a bad episode I believed there was a man living in my closet, and I couldn't go inside of it. I would hear him moving around inside, he'd yell and get so angry if you opened the door. I've thankfully forgotten the name I gave him; it was something stupid for sure.

I've become a miserable ghost, and I don't see any light at the end of the long tunnel. There is no way back to my body. I'm just lost and wandering and witnessing but never participating. It hurts the most to think of how I was before too many things piled up; the passion and the drive and the creativity. Always making something, always doing something, there was always some project or plan or thing I was doing that I felt pride for. I didn't care if I was weird to others, because I was confident in myself.

I just lay down now, when I can. I do my dishes and my laundry, I try to shower when it doesn't make me nauseous to. I take care of my cats and I work jobs infrequently. I sit with my parents disappointment in who I've become like it's an old friend, and we share coffee and reveries.

I exist, begrudgingly. That is the only thing I try to take pride in now.

#yodeling alpha #idk why i wrote this but maybe its something I can put down for a little while at least

[blubushie]

How did you get over addiction

Through suffering.

It depends on what addiction you're talking about. I've had two: nail-biting and alcohol abuse.

On nail-biting: honestly, it was willpower. I was ashamed of my hands. Around January of this year it got particularly bad and I decided that I didn't want my hands to look like this anymore and so I forced myself to stop biting. Any time I got the urge to bite I'd redirect to something else--I'd smoke, I'd chew gum, I'd keep my hands busy and away from my mouth and my mouth busy as well. I still nibble the skin around my nails rarely, but I'm no longer biting the nails themselves and the skin nibbling isn't noticeable at all. My nails have grown out and while the beds are permanently damaged from 17 years of nail-biting so they'll never reach full strength, I was recently compliment on them (by people who'd never seen my nails before!) and it made my world.

On alcohol: I haven't gotten over this addiction. I still relapse. I've relapsed a total of three times now. However the reason I continue to relapse is because I also continue to drink. I enjoy drinking. It's a bad cycle and one that I have to look at critically. For alcohol, it's not so much as ceasing to drink. This helps some people--some people need full abstinence because that's the only way to ensure they don't relapse--but it doesn't work for me. Full abstinence only makes me want to drink more, which then results in binge-drinking when I finally have access to alcohol.

I only relapse when something is going on in my life. Usually when my depression gets particularly bad and I end up turning to alcohol to cope. In the time I was a full-fledged alcoholic (Apr 2020 to Aug 2020), I was a functional one. People wouldn't look at me and think I'm an alcoholic. It was at the end of the day when I was alone that I would overindulge and get drunk. And unlike nail-biting, I can't redirect my longing for alcohol. It's always there at the back-brain somewhere (this is probably due to me never quitting alcohol completely). It's more just a matter of ignoring it to the best of my ability.

My first relapse was in winter of 2022 and what got me out of it was a heart-to-heart with god. Sounds cheesy but it worked. I weaned myself off my physical dependence and made a rule that for the next few months I would only drink with supervision and whoever I was drinking with would cut me off after a certain point. This worked and eventually I was able to drink responsibly without supervision without overindulging. Withdrawals were fucking hell.

Second relapse was July of this year. I got some bad news that hit me like a brick, withdrew from everyone, and turned to alcohol while I got my shit together. I wasn't so heavily drinking that I had severe withdrawals but I did have the shakes for a few days. I came out of the relapse because I had shit to do that I couldn't do as an alcoholic, even a functional one. I needed my head on straight.

Third relapse was August of this year (honestly it was only part 2 of the second one, brought on by constant stress) and that one I came out of also by force of will. I stopped drinking, my dad helped me lock up all the booze in the house and in Matilda, and I went through terrible withdrawals for about four days. I'm still drinking but I'm now on an agreement with someone near and dear to me plus my father that I'm only allowed to drink and get pissed on the weekends and I can't drink at all during the week except a single beer a day, but I haven't even been drinking that daily beer. It's been working well for me and has made a good reward system for my abstinence during the weekdays.

But in the case of nail-biting and the first time I stopped being an alcoholic, the thing that spurred me to finally get my shit together was shame. I'd always been ashamed of my hands but something happened one day, I'm not sure what--I think I was high as balls and spent too much time looking at my hands--and I came to the conclusion that I didn't want to be like this anymore. So I forced myself to stop. And there were relapses. But I got there eventually.

With the alcoholism, it was external shame. I can handle sympathy. I hate pity. I had a broken heart, I'd lost Wiluna and my girlfriend, I stopped being a stockman and through that lost the job I'd loved most, I'd left behind the Akuna and got a new job as a commercial roo shooter. I rang my mum one morning and spilt my life out to her and the fact that it was only 9am and I'd already had four beers and there was a long gap of silence and the first thing she said after all that was "Honey, you have a drinking problem."

And I felt shame. Shame that I let myself reach that point, shame that my mum heard me slurring like that, shame that she had to be the one to wake me up to what I was doing to myself, shame about how I must've tarnished my name over the past few months to everyone who'd had the misfortune of meeting me. And like the nail-biting that came earlier this year, I immediately decided that I didn't want my mum to be ashamed of me. So I got my shit together, quit cold turkey despite being fully aware of how it could possibly kill me, and I walked out into the bush.

And I came back sober and with a new name, so it all worked out on my end.

#blu whos #blu a fuse

[pancakeke]

Did you get diagnosed with adhd as an adult? I ask because I'm an adult woman of color that can get up and go to work and can kind of interact with people around me, so I feel like I'll never get it

I got diagnosed when I was 29 but looking back I should have been diagnosed when I was in middle school lol. When I sought out a doctor I was technically functioning at my job and home but I was doing piss poor work and was stressed out beyond my limit 100% of the time.

I have a really hard time talking to doctors because I get anxious and forget what I want to highlight a lot so it may be helpful for you as well to list out your struggles and how they are negatively impacting your life. then you have a point by point list your doctor can use to help with diagnosis

for examples, a bunch of stuff I listed:

Work:

I forget to follow up on problem orders constantly, creating larger problems for myself later

I have to keep ridiculous amounts of notes to keep myself on track, but then the amount of notes becomes overwhelming and they become impossible to use

I question my memory at all times which keeps me in a high level of stress and anxiety

After dealing with some extra temporary responsibilities I hit a wall and have not been able to bounce back and do my normal duties very well anymore. Even my boss has noticed that I have had a hard time keeping up and talked to me about it. Nothing has permanently changed with my work, the problem is something with me.

home/personal life

I volunteer to help people with plans often but very quickly forget my responsibilities and only remember when reminded at the the last minute, putting myself in the position where I have to work until 2 or 3am to prepare for what we're doing

often I feel very creative and have the intention to work on home improvement or personal projects but either cant force myself to initiate a plan or after starting a plan I can't focus enough to get remotely close to completing it

along with the above, when actually starting a project it's generally on impulse and as soon as the impulse dies down I cant force myself to continue no matter how hard I try

I create constant messes and always feel disorganized no matter how hard I try to maintain an acceptable living space

I buy things on impulse for personal projects but then can't bring myself to work on the projects, meaning I often waste money on impulse buys that never go anywhere

I have a difficult time remembering to pay bills

General

forgetfulness causes me to accidentally procrastinate almost constantly, always putting me in a position where I have to rush while fueled by anxiety to get anything accomplished.

I basically rely on anxiety to push me to complete anything. if I'm not afraid of failure or causing problems it's almost like tasks don't exist

there isn't a day where one or more of the above things causes me problems.

kind of overboard but you get the idea. take some time over a week or two and note every time your ADHD symptoms affect your quality of life, and also add to your notes that all these things are negatively impacting you on a daily basis (if its true, which I don't doubt it is). If you share any of these problems with me feel free to tell your doctor you know someone diagnosed with ADHD who had the same problems to emphasize that you don't just have generalized anxiety.

My doctor made a copy of my notes to keep on file which I greatly appreciated. I've had a LOT of problems with doctors in the past not taking me seriously for physical problems I had so I'm like extra aware and suspicious of how doctors behave now.

I was genuinely surprised at how serious my doctor took all my issues. She didn't dismiss anything and agreed this sounded like ADHD. I'm white and can't talk to the issue of being POC and trying to get taken seriously by medical professionals but my generic advice is: don't be afraid to fire a doctor who doesn't seem to listen to you or is dismissive of your struggles. You don't even need to tell them they're fired, you can just cancel your next appt right after you make it and then ghost them. I went through 5 doctors (and hundreds of dollars....) getting a physical problem diagnosed once. I seriously wish I'd jumped ship on two of these guys sooner and stopped wasting my time and money on morons who had no investment in my health.

Also if possible, talk to local people you know or check out support groups (there are a lot of various ones on FB. also there may be forums out there for this kind of thing) for POC who struggle with finding doctors who actually listen to them. There may be recs you can use.

One more little bit of advice, if you're more comfortable with video chat than going to see a doctor in person you can do telehealth visits to speak with psychs about mental health issues and even get a diagnosis. It's what I did at first because it was easier to fit into my schedule. The only caveat is they can't prescribe you any medications for controlled substances (like adderall) without seeing you in person at least once. So if they do diagnose you with ADHD you'll have to go see them in person one time to get a prescription.

I always rant when I get asks for advice aaaa but I hope this helps at least somewhat!! If you have any other questions or want to talk feel free to send another ask or DM me!!

#ask #adhd

[iturmom]

i'm not in a situation where i can be healthy. i'm in a situation that i don't think i can survive. i'm living in constant fear and terror. it doesn't help that i cannot get my needs met and there is no platform for me to ask for my needs in a way that suits me. my friend showed me like this reddit donation masterpost but it's just not something i can feasibly do now. especially since to satisfy any of my needs at all i have to wait. for like an hour. often i need to fucking walk all the way to the hospital just to use the bathroom because it's an emergency and there's a line for like an hour to get inside. with 50lbs on my back in the hot sun. god i'm so fucking tired i napped on the dirt outside this morning and i've always kinda wanted to do that it was kinda nice but in such a hopeless situation. when i woke up i had to use the bathroom. i was hungry. i haven't even showered in two days and i've described all the backbreaking physical labor i've been forced to do. the sun. the sweating. everything is impossible here and it's impossible for me to deal with because i have intense trauma and if i can't meet my needs i just have to accept that it's because i deserve it it's easier that way.

i'm in a completely miserable situation. i'm not safe. i'm not healthy. i'm not well. i need too much and you all cannot do it. i hate to be a burden. i hate to need help because there's never any help available. i have been pleading my case. i don't deserve this. but i'm all alone and there's not much help and i'm falling apart. i want to be a source of happiness for people but all i can offer is misery. because i'm drowning. i can't fucking do anything i can't function like this they're breaking me.

i don't think i can just cut out tumblr like it's so pathetic but i can't this is the only contact i get with the outside world. i want friends. i want to meet people and talk to people. share things i didn't share much but i try. i want to spread joy but i want too much. i can't give anything. i'm damaged goods. i'm fucked. that's why i'm serious when i suggest anyone unfollow me for their mental health i'm not okay. these things are silly an unfollow just means their not on your dadh anymore. it's for your own good i don't give a shit about that i want real friends 😞 i want people around bc they like me not bc pity or bc obligation. i hate thinking about stuff like this. i look at my follows bc i'm trying to gauge who's sick of my shit. i'm sick of it but i'm so sick mentally and it's agitated by this needless extra stress. extreme stress

and i'm pitiful. i am. and my future is bleak. my present is bleak. it's torture. i'm living in hell.

i don't know. anything. i'm sorry i brought this shit to tumblr but i mean if i had just hidden this from tumblr i probably would have just stopped using tumblr. or i'd have had a breakdown anyway maybe it was inevitable.

also i'm so fucking trapped in my own hell i can't see anything else and everything is confusing. the world is burning. and i can only see my own hell. i'm only focused on my own problems because they are huge and constant and life draining. a lot of people vent on tumblr but when i get really desperate i just hope that i can cry out my needs and something might happen. i'm too desperate. tho.

it's too much. i'm sorry. 😭

#i've been sobbing for like 5 hours i had a public meltdown that's the fun thing about being homeless every meltdown is public. 😭 #i can't live like this this is evil this is torture but there's literally nothing for me there's nothing. fuck.

[soullikethesea]

There's this weird dichotomy.

I'm crying in bed because I just can't anymore. I can't deal with these constant high levels of anxiety. It's too much. It feels traumatizing to go through it, even when I can breathe and "observe" and know I'm not in physical danger. That doesn't seem to help. It feels horrible enough that I can't take it, especially because it's already been about 6 weeks of this.

Then on the other side of the coin, there's how I'm functioning. I've managed to cook a bit more, get chores done, see friends, exercise. I'm going to say that probably counts as functioning just fine. I know I can do that, it's just a big struggle, but I CAN do it.

I wish I had T's support. I tried to reach out, but I haven't heard from her since our session Tuesday. I wish she could have supported us a bit more during this time. I needed a bit more than this, even when I can barely tolerate getting any suggestions. It hurts.

So yeah, I'll go on. I'll put one foot in front of the other and try to make the best of things. Objectively, many things are good. It's mostly the insecurity about the future that I can't seem to cope with. I wonder if it is potentially an autism thing. I thrive on clarity, structure, routine. I can barely manage to hold that up for myself, so things like school have helped me a lot with outside-imposed "safety".

When I focus in and do what my T would say, which is to name what physical sensations I feel, it is mostly fear in my chest and throat. When the intensity goes up, I mostly feel it in my jaw and ears. I start hearing tinnitus. It's like the world is caving in on top of me. I try to hold my hand and calm "the part". No luck so far. Distraction helps for short bursts of time, but it mostly keeps me on my toes, it doesn't help with the underlying stress response. I try to look around and repeat to myself how things are OK now - also doesn't seem to make a dent.

Not sure what else to try. If I try to "just accept it", I kind of meltdown over how bad the sensory experience of the fear feels.

[firelord-frowny]

some thoughts about the uhhhh possibility of starting adhd meds.

im reading all these descriptions of positive experiences people have had with adhd meds and it's all this stuff about how, all of a sudden, they gained the ability to just DECIDE to do things. they could get up and make their bed and cook breakfast and do a lil workout before going to their job instead of waking up and then just, idk, picking at a fucking loose thread in their bed sheets for an hour and a half before rushing to throw on some clothes and then forget to pee before hurrying to work.

people talk about all the goals that had always been out of their reach that they're now accomplishing. they get their masters degree. they land their dream job. they eat better and exercise.

and like...

as much as i loathe ~altering my brain chemistry~ as a concept if only because i honestly do love myself the way i am and my only issue is that i can't seem to function in this particular culture/era/society,

the thought of finally being able to ACTUALLY FINISH my artistic goals THRILLS me. i have dozens of unfinished violin covers/arrangements sitting in my soundtrap account. dozens of unfinished transcriptions handwritten on staff paper that i can't even find anymore. i've been meaning to learn the entirety of vivaldi's four seasons for like 12 fucking years. been meaning to record versions of La Folia. Been meaning to finish like 5 screenplays. been meaning to put together some kind of ~chapbook~ featuring my creative nonfiction and my photography artsy lil iphone pics. the method book i've been writing is off to SUCH a fantastic start but i just CAN'T get myself to COMMIT to working on it on any kind of schedule. I've been meaning to audition for grad school. i KNOW now that i AM good enough to stand a chance at getting into Eastman or NEC or Stony Brook, and i know i could be all but GUARANTEED admission into Peabody... but I know I need some coaching before I'll truly be prepared for those auditions, but i just cannot seem to get myself MOVING in terms of searching for a teacher who's qualified and willing to help me. i wanna turn myself into the Number One Choice when anyone in the area is looking for a session violinist. I wanna develop art/music/etc projects that I could pitch for various ~artists in residence~ programs like the ones hosted by the national parks service. i KNOW i could create something worthy of Denali or Crater Lake or Kings Canyon.

BUT I CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN'T!!!! I can't think straight! I can't draw a straight line between any two points in time or space! even a fucking lightning bolt, with all its fractals and leaders and jagged little tendrils is more streamlined and less chaotic than I am. every idea i ever have scatters like oriental cockroaches in a damp basement the minute any light whatsoever shines on them. every intention i ever commit to sublimates into a broken promise before i ever have the chance to lift one finger in its honor.

my entire life is an attic full of failed inventions. a cemetery of stillborn brainchildren.

and yet somehow the idea of being able to actually accomplish all or even just some of these things kinda scares the shit out of me.

like, what am i gonna DO all day when i'm finally able to focus on a task?

i've spent so much of my life in a constant state of being stressed from feeling overworked and overwhelmed during a time where the decisions about how I spent my days weren't up to me. and i couldn't cope with even a quarter of the amount of Responsibilities that everyone else seemed to be able to cope with. and i was so fucking miserable, i honestly, truly, felt like i didn't even want to be alive.

and now i'm terrified of the prospect of being busy again, because business strangled the life out of me in high school and college.

i don't wanna Do Tasks because I don't wanna risk the possibility of going back to being that overwhelmed, miserable person. and i KNOW that one of the benefits of meds is - or at least is supposed to be - gaining the ability to focus in such a way that i'm not so easily overwhelmed anymore.

but i cannot imagine what that's like. i CANNOT IMAGINE what it's like to wake up every day - or at least most days - and decide to spend 6+ hours on any particular task at all, and then actually do it. and then, if i DO do it, to still feel content and at ease by the time I'm done.

what am i gonna do all day??? am i gonna still know how to enjoy having ~down time~? am i gonna wish that i had more downtime? am i gonna resent the fact that i can't dedicate as much time as i feel like to just doing things that make me happy???

wtf is gonna happen to me? what's that LIKE???

literally, what do people do all day at their jobs?? how does being, say, a department head in a youth music program, use up 6+ hours of your day? what do you DO after you get to work? how is there SO MUCH to do that you actually have to keep Doing Things until it's time to go home??

what does an architect do for 8 hours a day?? what does a sports utility store manager do for 8 hours a day? what does a dog trainer do for 8 hours a day??? are they actually, literally just training dogs nonstop?? or are there other responsibilities, too? how is there even enough time in the world to do anything for 8 hours a day?

and its STOOPID that i don't get it, bc like... i went to SCHOOL and did TASKS for more than eight hours a day! my day in high school was TWELVE HOURS. 10 if you don't count the commute back and forth. my longest days in college began at 10am-ish and went until 10pmish. so CLEARLY there are things that can occupy all that time, even if there are a couple hours worth of lulls dispersed throughout.

but like woooooooooooooooow.

im legit so afraid of being busy. :(

[imblocking-you]

Being an academic achiever is not for the weak bro like I wouldn't say our curriculum is difficult or are the tasks that hard or the deadlines crunching, I'm only abover average as well. But like my body gets so sick often, losing sleep, delaying periods for months, hair falling off, and the mental state? The time management? Drives me nuts. I hate groupworks. I fucking hate groupworks like I try to work well with people, what I don't understand is why they can't extend a hand even just a little bit more, give that bit more effort so life could be easier for the both of us. It wouldn't hurt to try to go that bit further, do more than just what you're supposed to do like this is supposed to b fun TT now im shouldering all the stress and when i go radio silent everyone does the same thing?? It's groupwork yall can function w/o me j bc i get good grades doesnt mean im good at anything and everything, i have too many flaws. And like my body is giving up i cant respond bro djhekm

Sjsjsjk if u can give then why shouldn't you right? I gave my all so why...I'm genuinely so sad that this is how I end up, I don't feel happy anymore, rarely am I ever happy anymore. I don't want to keep sacrificing what little I have left, I don't think I'm the right person for this. I know others can do this job much better than me and it's an easy task to them. I wonder, if i can overcome so many things then why not this one? It has been haunting me for so long, a constant problem. I'm so scrosjsjsns

#// maple #idk #rants #fuck groupworks #fuck group projects #love this tag btw seeing so many people going thru the same thing 😭 yall when will we be set free why are they like this pls

[stripper-repellent]

Vent time and if you don't know, now you do.

I was in the psychiatric hospital for 2 weeks at the end of June because I could not function anymore in day to day life. I was having constant panic attacks, and when I say constant I mean it literally. As soon as one would end, another would start. To the point that I was having chest pains and I had convinced myself I had given myself stressed induced heart failure and I was going to die. I couldn't think rationally, couldn't go anywhere without freaking out, and even home wasn't a safe space for me to relax. They had no triggers and would start anywhere at any time and seemingly last for hours. I've only been out of the hospital a month, but God it's been so hard. I still feel it just underneath the surface. The medicating has been helping slowly but surely, but holy shit dude. I feel like im having to relearn how to live my life. I can't do things I used to enjoy, scary movies and things freak me out when they used to be my favorite. I'll get glimpses of my acid trip that triggered this all and start to spiral again. I've been isolating because I'm terrified of going out and possibly having an episode. I miss my friends, but was glad when plans went wrong and they couldn't come visit anymore because I was so anxious about having people in my house for that long and wanting to go out the whole weekend, and if I would be okay. Im so frustrated with how slow my progress is moving and how this has changed me into a completely different person than I was just 2 months ago. But in the bright side, im much more aware of how to communicate my emotions and what is going on with my body, im finally medicated and seeing a psychiatrist, im starting to feel happy again when I used to think that was an emotion I would never feel again, I have my relationship back when I was sure I had destroyed it with my constant mood swings. Im frustrated but I'm really trying to cut myself some slack, because it's only been 1 month of adjusting. 1 month of completely changing my day to day life to fit this new normal. I just really needed to get that off of my chest, speak it into the void or whateva. Nobody uses this app anymore really anyways. Thanks for listening

#personal #mental illness

[codeadventure1997]

Dawn of the final week.

I've been a part of the flatiron school fullstack software engineering program since early february. It's hard to believe how far I've come, from barely knowing how to program a calculator that works in the console with python to writing fullstack applications in react and rails with full crud functionality and front to backend communication.

As I work on my final project, I'd like to reminisce on the program as a whole and give my thoughts on each phase.

Phase 1, we were learning vanilla javascript and would simulate a backend with JSON server. This phase was me putting my feet in the water and learning what I would have to later in the program. This was the only phase I had to retake the coding challenge, and at the time it was almost overwhelming. The constant cycle of learn, code, learn, code, was very new to me. I passed the retake of the code challenge and completed my first project. This phase was probably the second hardest, because I was acclimating to the program and needed time to get used to the fast and constant pace of it.

Phase 2, we had finished with vanilla JS and immediately threw ourselves headfirst into react JS. Although it was just as fast paced as phase 1, I found that react was a lot easier to grasp than vanilla JS because of how much more efficient and organized it was. The second code challenge was by far the easiest, I had felt unstoppable. My project had been developed with no major hitches, in my head I had crushed react and would continue to crush the rest of the program. Little did I knew i was due for a humbling in phase 3.

Phase 3 had us switch gears completely. We were no longer working on the frontend, we were learning Ruby, SQL, and Sinatra. Pivoting from the now familiar land of javascript and frontend to the completely new backend world with new languages was the hardest transition by far. Up until the code challenge I had to continue studying. I remember the panic attacks from the stress I was putting myself under. I was worried I wouldn't do well on the code challenge and that I would waste the money I spent getting into the program. Literally the night before the code challenge, something clicked in my head. It all started to make sense and I ended up doing great on the code challenge. The project went well too, I got even more experience with the way the backend and the frontend communicate. I worked on the backend as much as I could on that project because I knew how much it would help me in phase 4.

Phase 4, we piggy-backed off of sinatra into Rails. As far as the learning and code challenge went, This was a close #2 for the easiest of the phases. Rails just makes a backend so simple yet it is so robust, I don't feel like I am trading simplicity with configuration control at all with it, sort of a best of both worlds relationship with Rails. As I said, this phase would have been the easiest if not for, the project. During this project I ended up having to do a lot of troubleshooting between the front and backend. While it was stressful at the time, it was a great learning experience. All of that troubleshooting helped tremendously in phase 5.

Phase 5 is just 3 weeks of project basically. Working on my first project completely on my own has been an absolute treat. I feel like all the stress I've been through has well prepared me for this. I've been experimenting with new things in this project, and I feel comfortable enough with the frontend and the backend to do so confidently. My troubleshooting skills have gotten much better now, I'm not scared to write code anymore. I am still working on my final project but I am super proud of what I've done. I've gone from a man who couldn't do more than basic math and console logs to a man that I feel would be a genuine asset to a team.

As I complete my final project I have been looking forward to the opportunities I've worked to get. I can't wait to see my hard work pay off and I'll be sure to keep yall in the loop!

Till next time,

A software engineer

#flatiron school #coding #retrospective #coding bootcamp #blog

[sarcasticlilkid]

if god up there really exist, please help me pass this freaking exam tomorrow. amen. 

#i'm so done #i can't even function anymore i'm in constant stress #i feel sick most of the time and my heart keeps beating like i'm runing a freaking marathon #i just wanna drop out and go to nursing school rn but i have done like 2/3 of exams that i must do do get a degree #to* #but after degree i need masters degree for being a teacher and i don't believe that i can do it #i mean if i don't pass this tomorrow is over tbh #ugh #personal #i just need to rant somewhere #what was i thinking when i aplied to slovene and comparative literature studies? like wtf mojca

[beingdreeyore]

I just packed a suitcase. Which is ridiculous. I don't even fly out until Friday. I'm that person who looks at the clock and goes "oh! I have to be at the airport in 45 minutes, I should grab some things." I'm not the person who packs 6 days before my flight.

I think it shows where my head is at. In my brain, I'm done. I know I have five days this week. Fly out Friday. 18 sleeps in my own bed (!!!!!) and then back here. January weekends will be the first weekend at home, flying back to work the next two weekends (6 days each week... each with 2 x 24 hour shifts... sob), then at home for the fourth weekend, back at work in this little town for five days, and then home for good. It's so close now. I mean, it's so very far away, but for the first time it feels achievable. It feels like this nightmare might end. Less than 25 working days to go including the weekend shifts.

It hasn't all been awful, but so many things went wrong in so many aspects of my life. I came here without him, healed things with him, and then lost him forever. The injury that has caused is something I was in no way prepared for. Which is ridiculous when you think how much practice we have had at "breaking up" this year. I still think about him so much more than I should, so much so that I'm embarrassed with myself at how ridiculous it is. I still get that ache when I think of him, which is often.

Work has been so challenging. I've learned so much but sacrificed so much sleep. I've aged so much. When I got here people mistakenly thought I was in my 20s - they'd tell me how young I looked. Now people guess my age. 4.5 months has aged me a decade...

I've put on weight. I can't dance here. I've tried, but it's just not for me. We danced for hours at the Christmas party on Friday night and I think it's the happiest I've been since I arrived here. I miss my dance teacher and all her wisdom and support. I miss the way she has confronted my preconceived notions and taught me so much about myself. She is the most inspiring woman I know and I miss the magic she sprinkles on my life.

I've drifted from friends because I don't want to talk about how awful things are here or admit to how much I'm still grieving losing him, but I can't quite relate to the things they want to complain about. I pull away. Again, I'm embarrassed at myself for having all these emotions for someone who has those same emotions for someone else. I'm disappointed at not being able to push my own things aside in order to offer my friends more.

The Actor is trying to push his way back into my life (on his terms. Always on his terms) and there is a part of me that wonders if its worth fighting him any longer. If that's the best there is, if that's the closest someone will ever come to loving me, then maybe I should just make peace with it... I still have an affection for him that is hard to describe, but I don't love him anymore. I'm not in love with him. Perhaps that's why I'm suddenly so appealing to him? For now I tell him no, but I feel my loneliness want to tell him yes. Would a weekend in LA really be so bad...?

I worry about my drinking. I worry about my dysregulation. I feel my stress wanting to explode out of me at work and on one hand it's reasonable. They expect too much. But on the other hand, that doesn't make it okay. I need to be better and to learn to function well regardless of how stressful it might be. I've disappointed myself so much since I got here.

My shoulder injury is no closer to healed despite 4.5 months of patient and persistent physiotherapy. I'm told this is life now. It hurts to brush my hair because my shoulder hates moving at that angle. Which is a problem given my hair is now over halfway down my back and so thick that it demands constant attention. I went to the gym and did a bench press with just the bar - no weights on it - and couldn't lift my arm for 3 days.

My migraines are back with a vengeance and occurring more frequently than ever before. I haven't had them like this since intern year. My body is telling me clearly: this life doesn't suit me. I'm hearing the message but at a loss with how to change it in the next 1.5 months. I messaged someone at the old job yesterday and said that I wanted to come back. I can't do this anymore. Or, I can, but I don't want to. I don't understand why a job expects this much of me. I'm too old and too tired to work 24 hour shifts. She told me she would make a phone call on Monday. There was a (very quiet) resignation in my old team and it's suddenly the most appealing it's ever been to go back.

And now my bag is packed.

I have zero plans for when I'm home beyond changing the Christmas tree decorations (I decided I hate them) and sleeping in my own bed. I want my guitar. I want to lie on my couch and stare out those big windows at my tree. I want to walk laps of the park near my house any time I get stressed or sad. I want to see my dance friends several times a week. It's still going to be so hard being there and knowing he doesn't want to see me or talk to me, but as much as that will hurt it will still be better than being here.

It hasn't all been bad here. It's a beautiful part of the country and it's reminded me why smaller towns are a great place to set up roots and have a family. But I don't have a family. There's just me. So it's not enough for me at this stage of my life. The sunsets and storms are magical, but they aren't enough to cancel out the dysfunction of the hospital. There's a large part of me that feels so at home in towns like this, but not this one. This one isn't my home. And right now I need home. There's a little town a few hours away where the psychiatry registrars are all happy and I already emailed about a vacancy they have for the part of next year when I've been told I have to do the intern role in the city. I'm stuck, but I want to be unstuck. I'm trying to get out of this mess.

So my bag is packed stupidly ahead of time. This week will drag on, I know, but between finishing study and assessments for the term I'm hoping it won't feel too painful. Painful in terms of effort, yes, but not clock-watching. It's been an adventure, but not the adventure I expected and not one I need to have again. I'm telling myself that a few years from now I'll look back on all of this and laugh at how much life derailed in such a short time, but for now, 25 working days to go... Finally on the home stretch.

[jjmaybanksblog]

Sunshine- JJ Maybank

( not my gif!)

hi girl 💕 i was hoping you’d be interested in doing another jj x reader? Where JJ finds her hidden, having a panic attack and it takes a little bit to calm her down? 52, 84, 92, 125 , 152 were the numbers I picked but if there’s too many or you can’t make them all work, you can pick whichever. 💜

Word count: 1,552 

Summary: JJ finds you having a panic attack and is right by your side to help you calm down.

Prompts:

52. “Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

84. “Take your medicine.”

92. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

125. “Don’t do anything stupid, I’m gonna help you.”

152. “It happened again.”

17 years. 17 years of constant arguments between your parents that ended with screaming and cussing. 17 years of flinching everytime a door slammed. 17 years of wondering if it would end with violence or a drunk mother and/or father. 

There was one person who stayed by your side those entire 17 years, your best friend JJ Maybank. JJ was your neighbor since you two were in diapers, becoming his best friend after he asked you if you would like to go to the local playground to go collect bugs for his insect tank. He was always there for you no matter what the issue was, whether it be a boy who broke your heart, your parents arguing, hell even if you had cramps he would be over in a minute with snacks and medicine for the pain.

JJ knew you more than you knew yourself; he knew when you were stressed, he knew when you haven't eaten, he knew if you needed to leave a situation, he always knew if you didn't take your medication. He was always on top of you with your medication for your anxiety. Everyday at 3 p.m. and he wasn't with you, he would call or text you to make sure you took the pills.

He was the reason you were still alive and functioning, the reason you were still smiling even with everything you were facing. He was there right by your side holding your hand when you went to your first therapy session. He was there for you when you had your first panic attack. JJ was the ray of sunshine in the tunnel of darkness that suffocated you.

It was 5 in the morning when you first heard the shouts of your parents. Their screams echoed through the halls, slamming against the sound of the closed bathroom door. You sat in the bathtub, knees pulled up to your chest as you rested your head on your arms. You rocked back and forth softly trying to catch your breath as it felt like the walls were closing in.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you clamped your hands over your ears as you heard a harsh slapping sound and a broken cry escape your mother's lips. The feeling of a cement block slowly felt like it was pushing on your chest, making it feel like your throat closed up with each breath you took. "It's okay, I'm okay." You quietly repeated to yourself, trying to trick yourself into believing it.

You opened your eyes, quickly shutting them again when you saw black splotches in the air; like when you rub your eyes too hard and you see the white spots in the back of your mind. You were too focused on trying to calm yourself down, you didn't notice the door slamming twice signaling that both your parents left you alone in the house. 

JJ was out in his backyard hearing the whole thing, eyes trained on your house praying that you were okay. As soon as he saw your parents storm out the front door he hopped over his fence and ran straight  into your house. Panic was written on his face as he checked every room in the house, not seeing any sign of you. He checked your bedroom to see messed up sheets and your prescription medication on your night stand. 

He ran to the bathroom directly across the hall to hear your broken whimpers coming from inside. He didn't want to burst into the room, knowing that would only make your panic attack worse. He gently knocked on the door, feeling panicked when you didn't answer in any way. He opened the door to see an empty bathroom, but he quickly realized you were sitting in the bathtub. Pulling the curtain back, his heart shattered seeing you in such a distressed state.

You popped your head up at the sound of the curtain moving, afraid your parents found you there. You instantly felt a wave of relief rush through your body, but you still felt like you were frozen in fear. "I feel like I can't breathe." You stuttered, still feeling the crushing weight on your chest. He quickly got down on his knees to become face to face with you. He slowly reached his hand out and held onto your shoulders, waiting for you to allow him to hug you. 

You turned your body towards him and that's when he knew he could hug you. He wrapped his arm around your waist, the other holding the back of your head; entangling itself in your hair. Tucking your face into the crook of your neck, you felt as if you could slowly start to breathe again. "It happened again." You mumbled, attempting to stop your body from shaking. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before slowly pulling back. 

“Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore." He pressed his forehead against yours, placing your hand on his chest, right on top of his heart. "Follow my breathing, okay? In… out… in… out… there we go, sunshine." You repeated his actions, feeling your lungs inhale the air properly. The heavy weight was no longer on your chest, leaving a small aching feeling.

“Don’t do anything stupid, I’m gonna help you," he said, "I'll be right back." You swallowed harshly, realizing how dry your mouth had gotten. You wiped away the stray tears with the back of your hand and blew your nose with toilet paper before JJ came back with your pill bottle and a glass of water.

“Take your medicine.” He instructed, passing you a pill into your hand. You sighed loudly before looking up at JJ. He gave you a look you knew all too well. It was the 'Please take this before I have to forcefully cram it down your throat' look that he's been giving you since you first got the prescription. You tossed the pill into your mouth, quickly chugging the glass of water. You fanned yourself with your hands, body feeling hot from feeling so claustrophobic.

"Hot?" He asked, sitting on the lid of the toilet. You nodded your head, running your hand through your hair to push it out of your face. "You trust me?" He asked you as he stood up. You nodded your head, "of course." "Okay, just sit there but scoot forwards." You obeyed him as scooted towards the front of the tub, your eyelids feeling heavy. 

JJ slowly turned the faucet on and plugged the tub, allowing it to begin to fill with cold water. You instantly relaxed at the cool touch, softly grinning as you saw JJ take his shoes off before stepping into the tub behind you. You reached forward and shut the water off once it reached up to your thighs. JJ rested against the back wall, allowing you to lay yourself between his legs, your back pressed against his chest. His arms reached around your front as he looped his fingers on top of yours. Your body shivered as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." He started softly singing, earning a soft giggle from you. "You make me happy when skies are gray." You sang with him, letting the feeling of happiness overcome your emotions. "You never know dear, how much I love you." You tilted your head back against his chest, fluttering your eyes shut as he pecked your forehead. "Please don't take my sunshine away." 

You could feel your heartbeat find a steady pace once again as you surrounded yourself in JJ's touch. He rested his cheek on the top of your head, smiling to himself as he heard you sigh in relief. "You okay princess?" He whispered into your ear, triggering a patch of goosebumps to appear on your arms. 

"Is it okay if I go get us some dry clothes?" You nodded your head as JJ carefully exited the tub, grabbing a towel to dry his lower half off. You stretched your body out in the tub, letting the cool water splash against your torso. JJ went to your closet, immediately taking his extra clothes he leaves there for nights like this one. He picked out shorts and a shirt for you to sleep in, hoping it would be comfortable enough for you. 

He walked back towards the bathroom, passing you a towel and your dry clothes. You two faced away from each other as you both quickly changed out of your clothes. You giggled as JJ almost fell over trying to put his shorts on, hearing him grunt in annoyance at his action. 

Being too lazy to put your clothes in the washer, you left your clothes in the bathtub along with JJ's. You led him to your room, closing the door before you threw yourself onto your bed. JJ turned the bedroom lights off before joining you in bed, carefully tucking the sheets around your body. You faced him, your eyes slowly shutting as JJ held the side of your face, his thumb delicately skimming your cheek. 

"Goodnight, sunshine." You mumbled, angling your head to kiss the palm of his hand. He smiled at you with an adoring look in his eyes, "goodnight, princess."

#jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #john b #john b imagine #john b obx #john b routledge #rafe outer banks #jj outer banks #jj x y/n #jj x you #jj x reader #jj maybank #obx jj #rudy obx #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow imagine #rudy pankow #rudy x reader #john b smut #john b x reader #chase stokes x reader #chase stokes #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe smut

[trans-tyrell-wellick]

eps3.2legacy.so from the eyes of an autistic person

Overall this episode was interesting, but I'm not going to be talking about the episode as a whole. It's been a while since I first watched the episode at this point or even rewatched it for that matter but I've been wanting to make this post for a little while now. And bear with me, I've never done a post like this and I tend to ramble a lot. I'm also not that great at times with articulating my thoughts so I apologise ahead of time if this feels disorganized or jumbled and doesn't make sense.

The scene in particular I wanna talk about is the interrogation scene with Tyrell and Mr. Williams. And holy shit was it stressful. I know it was supposed to be considering the circumstances but to someone with sensory issues and anxiety... That was literal pain for me. Especially the constant noises from the kettle getting constantly louder and louder to add intensity to the scene. That was pure hell. Another thing that got me was Mr. Williams' constant "don't look away, look at me" comments.

And he does it a total of three times but it was enough for even me to be absolutely done with this guy. I know it was his job and he did it incredibly well because he got what he wanted but still. Coming from a household where I am often times scolded for not making eye contact with people when they're talking to me was so uncomfortable to the point where I couldn't even look at this guy's face anymore. Now like I said earlier, did a good job and he accomplished what he was there for. But from an autistic viewpoint, it was horrible. Which brings me to my next point in this post.

Autistic Tyrell Wellick.

At this point it's probably no secret that I headcanon Tyrell as autistic whether it's projecting purposes or not. In this scene he repetitively shows signs of distress and several times repeats "this is enough".

I know it was meant more along the lines of Tyrell not wanting to admit the truth but that scene always seems to resonate with me on how I feel when I'm getting overstimulated. I don't wanna talk and no matter how many times the statement or question is repeated it will only make how I feel worse.

I probably would've let this scene slide if it weren't for the fact that he also shows signs of pain without physically being hurt. He constantly gives pained expressions, looks away, even slams his hands on the table at one point, and keeps telling Mr. Williams that it's enough. This is usually how my sensory issues show through when they're bugging me a bit too much in certain moments.

To see a character have issues like this other than Elliot surprised me. Way before I got into the fandom I had heard about how Elliot acted and I would be a liar if I said I didn't originally start watching it because I was desperate for autistic coded characters, even if they weren't canonically autistic. Elliot was gonna be that rep for me and he still is.

But then I saw Tyrell doing a lot of the same things I do whether it was in 3x03 or in other episodes. I related to Tyrell in certain aspects just as much as I did Elliot. Autism is a spectrum and in the case of these two they are definitely different and fit into this. Often times I'm a lot like Elliot when I can't or don't want to mask but more often than not I'm overlooked because of how much I mask. I see that aspect of myself in Tyrell.

I'm starting to get a little off topic but I want to address that I had that headcanon before I got to season 3 but that episode solidified my headcanon. But to attempt and circle back to my main point I'd like to say that I feel Tyrell exhibits a lot of autistic traits but he often gets overlooked because he seemingly can "function well" in most social situations. And to have 3x03 to include such an intense scene like that was definitely painful but it means a lot. I know it sounds stupid, but it does in its own odd way.

In no way am I saying Tyrell is canonically autistic nor am I saying you should headcanon this, I just wanted to share my take on him. In a world where society seems to think you're a burden for being any kind of different, I think it's good that people like me find solace in characters they can relate to.

This has been stuck in my head ever since I first thought of it and the only way to positively help was to slap it into a Tumblr post and hope it made sense. And if you made it this far, thank you so much for putting up with my bullshit 😂

#autism hc #actuallyautistic #my gif #mr robot #tyrell wellick #autistic tyrell wellick #eps3.2legacy.so #mr robot 3x03 #ableism mention

[thereisamonkeyinyou]

The tragedy of losing your own sense of self

Foto+Quote Source: Ravenous Butterflies (fb)

So, I've lost my sense of self for way too long. It's actually been so long, that it started to hurt, physically. Might even be that I never truly got to build this sense of self due to all the trauma and occurrences in my life and surroundings and my constant awareness of me being different but still trying to finally become "normal" if I just learn and adapt enough.

I've only had to function for most of my life, that is what I'm good at and it's also what is killing me at the same time. Because "functioning" is not a character trait, it's nothing I can tell people about myself when asked, it's nothing I AM or feel. It's expected that people just function. And especially in those times in which I really just couldn't function, all I was (functioning) was lost and gone, which feels like a real existential crisis and triggers every moment of not-functioning even more.

I'm starting to consciously give myself the freedom to be and to let go off burdens and egos of the past. My own ego and the egos of those that came my way and left their marks.. to let go off expectations and "do's and don'ts".

The only thing I truly resent is nobody telling me that life is this constant battle of ambivalence and a battle to always keep seeing the good and the worth.. It's a decision. I don't know if it is like that for everyone. I figured I need to decide to be happy first, in order to become so. I need to decide to be free, in order to be able to take what I need to become free. There's little to nothing given to oneself just like that. Especially not the gift of being your own true self. Which seems like the absolute minimum in my humble opinion..

I wasn't aware of being a people-pleaser until I realised the reactions and stress it gives me when I don't/can't or won't please the people around me. In my youth I was a rebell, I'm 24 and there is nothing left of it, I have been broken. Mutiple times. And I'll get up again, mutiple times more. It's just that with each time, I'm different than before, experiences change people, it just happens uncontrollably..

It's so exhausting, especially if one's energy is measured. Thinking of the things I could have already achieved within myself, if there wouldn't have been people showing me in every possible way that there's a way I need to be (for them!), which I'm now slowly working my way out of and into my own flow.

I'm not even able to enjoy posting online anymore, because of possible negative reactions, which boggle my mind. Need to stop this and will do so now, step by step with each day 🙏

#autistic #late diagnosis #autism #mental health #mental #mental healing #healing #trauma #expectations #ableism #low functioning #high functioning #no functioning #decide to be #deep thoughts #deeptalk #my own story #actually autistic #innerself #sense of self #be yourself #insecurities #anxiety