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#tw self hate
an-he-donia · 7 months
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You don't understand how hard it is. You don't understand, how much energy I have to put in simple activities. You don't understand, that I'm losing myself every fucking day.
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justabaddreamm · 3 months
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Guys look! They’re so cute!! Which one should I use first?! 🩷
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bitchy-bi-trash · 11 months
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I feel so ugly, so repulsive that when I let someone even touch me, i feel disgusted for them, it's like I made them commit a sin.
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acta2sanctorum · 1 month
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Do you guys have blades recommendations? I'm using small ones rn and i feel like they're too small to do deep cuts. I'm thinking of using razor blades again, or trying box cutters....what should I do?
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toulouseradiosilence · 5 months
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you know, sometimes I think nobody really likes me
I dont blame them I’m weird I’m loud and obnoxious. I get why
I don’t get why some people even try with me
im so…idk.
I come back from school and I just want to bang my head against the wall until it bleeds
Because I just say and do the stupidest and weirdest things
Like why???
I have friends and I shouldn’t ruin it with my stupidness
I get why they don’t want to be alone with me
I get why they ignore me
and I get why they think I’m weird
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I present to you the best logical solution for when the treacherous thoughts whirls around you once more: You can list out all your F/O’s positive qualities, list yours, and compare the two to get an accurate reading for how worthy you are!
It makes sense! It’s easy!
… Right?
You lay out a paper in front of you, getting hold of your favorite utensil and beginning to scribble down your F/O’s name as a torrent of words and compliments follows. It starts out with the trickle of simple phrases like “determined, pretty, hard worker” before you’re smiling towards your paper, structured words tangling into your own croons and praises. Maybe you even laugh awkwardly as you reread what ends up looking like a gush written by a giggling schoolgirl. God, you’re so lucky to just breathe close to your F/O, not to mention have this bond with them…
Now, to write about yourself!
…Your words stutter to a stop.
Physical beauty? No— well, maybe… but no. Look at your F/O! They’re awe-inspiring and you’re simply not. All your mind could sputter out was “average at best.”
Selflessness? No, you can’t flatter yourself too much! Imagine how selfish it would be to just flaunt how chivalrous and selfless you are… No, you can’t be selfless.
Intelligence? Perhaps. But still, you blunder and fall. No. Smart people wouldn’t do that. How dare you try to call yourself smart?
Personality—? Don’t even try. You're too loud and too quiet and too annoying and too reclusive… You’re too little! Too much! Look at how perfect your F/O can be, and then look at yourself.
Sighing, you set your utensil down and lay your head down on the desk, facing away from the cursed paper.
What was even the point?
***
Golden sunlight bids you good morning. You nuzzle further into the downy softness beneath you, gasping when the emotions and memories flood back. When did you ever… lay down…?
You shake your head, sitting up in bed and finding a folded piece of paper. Through bleary eyes, perhaps only after fetching your glasses or a better light source, you find your name scribbled down just how it looked last night… yet now your F/O’s handwriting flows after it.
Words like “gorgeous” and “amazing” seem fanciful at first— Are you sure this isn’t a dream? However, your loved one’s words meander through the page and into sweet sentences highlighting every part of you your F/O has met and hopes to meet. Their letters dance on the page. It’s easy to tell how lovestruck they were — where they were chuckling at the memories you made together and where they had pounced back onto the paper, bursting with ideas everytime they thought their well of praises had dried.
Your F/O loves you. Maybe you don’t see it yet, maybe the insecurities are telling you otherwise. Regardless, they couldn’t fathom a single reason as to why they’d abandon you. Your F/O is happy to show you just how deep their love for you runs until the day comes you’re sure of your worth.
If you can’t see it for yourself, let them be your eyes.
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joltik-guy · 3 months
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How you talk about yourself can hurt others who share traits with you.
Oh boo fucking hoo- You all know I am only talking about myself.
I am allowed to fucking hate myself okay?
Don't try and guilt trip me for it.
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beat those desperate wings || stanford pines x reader
a/n: cross-posted to ao3, a hurt/comfort thing that got way out of hand, but i just wanted to have ford comfort me after a rough week. major tw for self harm and anxiety/dissociation and some self hatred. also reader is referred to with he/they pronouns.
- - - 💌 - - -
The bathroom flickered with an unforgivingly bright off yellow light. The shower was running but the lone figure in the room hadn't even stepped into the water.
Instead they stood in front of the sink, a gleaming object held tight in their shaking hands.
To ☐☐☐☐, the air felt too heavy. ☐☐☐☐ felt like a piece of roadkill, rotting in the uncaring sun. His chest constricted, and despite his breaths, as short as they were, his lungs ached for more. His head spun and the bathroom's light started to burn into his retinas.
'Why do you have to be like this? You think Ford likes being around someone as broken as you. You think he wouldn't want to be around someone easier to love?'
His hand moves the object to his arm. Uncertainty stayed his hand.
'You won't even face him. Hiding in the bathroom like a coward.'
He knows Ford would hate to see him like this, but he can't bring himself to leave the small room either.
'I should talk to him. He'd understand. Wouldn't he?'
'And burden him with your disgusting mind?'
'I can't.'
'I can't do it.'
. . . . . .
He was just being overly paranoid. At least, that's what Stan said.
Stan, who had just retired to his room to sleep. Something Ford should really have been doing then himself. He tried, he tossed and turned but the night just didn't feel right to him. A wordless sort of anxiety was keeping him up.
So next thing he knew he was going over some recent additions to his new journal of which he'd been using during his on and off sea voyages with his twin. But even then there's a feeling. A knot in his stomach that keeps him from fully focusing on his work. And that's when Stan finds him, telling him the aforementioned words along with some lighthearted jabs at his workhorse nature betrayed by his look of brotherly concern.
And then he thinks back to his recent encounter with his dear, ☐☐☐☐. The two of them had been in a timid relationship for some months now, just slowly inching to being closer. (Usually with Stan affectionately teasing the two to 'just kiss already'.) He couldn't get the brief talk out of his mind. ☐☐☐☐ had looked... off, for a lack of a better word. They looked tired, almost... sad in a way. Yet any questioning by Ford would result in them simply saying they hadn't gotten enough sleep. The scientist didn't believe them entirely, but he didn't want to push them for answers and then said they'd go take a shower.
And come to think of it, ☐☐☐☐ had been in there for quite a while.
No, its was just paranoia. Just paranoia. Just paranoia...
And yet before he knows it his feet have brought him to the bathroom door, the sounds of rushing water just beyond.
Surely it wouldn't hurt to knock and make sure he was alright? But would it be insulting, would ☐☐☐☐ think Ford to be treating him like a child? And yet ☐☐☐☐ usually wouldn't take this long to shower?
Then a sound. Barely heard above the shower's wooshing, but enough to halt the scientist's train of thought.
The sound of a hiss of breath combined with a soft yelp. Almost a pained whine.
And just like that, the idea that something (or someone) could've hurt ☐☐☐☐ was all it took for Ford to reach a decision, and he's twisting open the doorknob.
He barely notes the fact that the door opens easily. It was never locked.
His mind comes entirely to a screeching halt at the sight. Whatever words he had for ☐☐☐☐ had died in his throat, and the other male gives a startled sound as he holds himself close to cover what Ford had already seen.
The all to painfully familiar scent of copper hangs in the air as it accompanies the crimson flowing from ☐☐☐☐'s arms and staining the ivory sink.
Oh gods, he wants to be sick. The sight was oh so very wrong and yet he knew it was real.
And all at once he forces himself to snap to the moment. The shower was still running and ☐☐☐☐ was looking at him like a cornered animal and was still losing blood and he needed to be clinical about this. Forcing away the mix of emotions rising in him like the tide, threatening to drown him, he focuses on the task at hand.
He reaches out to take their arm but ☐☐☐☐ flinches away. A pang hits Ford in the chest at this and he tries to soften his expression.
"☐☐☐☐ please..." The scientist speaks softly, and while he knows he could try to forcibly treat his beloved's wounds he couldn't bring himself to act while he was looking so frightened. "...I'm not angry with you, please let me look at your wounds." These words seem to do the trick, ☐☐☐☐ slowly relaxes their shoulders, allowing Stanford to check on their arms.
He can't help a small gasp when he sees the wounds up close.
Along with several fresh cuts were also older wounds of varying level of scarring, and for a moment the guilt freezes him on the spot before he shakes it away. (I can't think about that I can't think about how I should've noticed this before can't think about how this is my fault have to focus have to help them.)
Time seems to both drag and fly by as the older male quietly dresses his boyfriend's wounds. ☐☐☐☐, for his part, was intent on counting the cracks in the bathroom tiles, face heated up in shame, occasionally wincing from the disinfectant as he sat on the floor.
He doesn't even realize Ford had finished bandaging the cuts until the white noise of the running shower was suddenly halted. He looked up to meet Ford's pained expression. Now, without the shower on the silence was more apparent than ever before.
"☐☐☐☐, I don't - why... why didn't you tell me...?" It seemed whatever calm he managed to maintain was starting to be lost as he struggled to find the words to make the situation better.
"Ford I... I never wanted you to know. I didn't want you to have to deal with how broken I am..." The last part was spoken under his breath, but the words still hit Ford like a ton of bricks, and he instinctively takes his dearest's hands in his.
"☐☐☐☐, don't say that about yourself!" He takes a deep breath before continuing, trying to keep his own emotions steady. "Listen to me, you are not broken. Whatever pain you're dealing with- whatever pain is making you do this to yourself..." He trails off as he glances at their now bandaged arms.
"Stars, I'm so sorry you've suffered from this. I should have been there, I should have done something, I..." Ford was cut off from his guilt ridden near spiral when he felt ☐☐☐☐'s hand at his cheek.
"You don't have to apologize to me, Ford. You couldn't have known." The words were meant to be comforting but Stanford only felt the pit in his heart deepen. A brief silence passes until it's broken by Ford's question.
"How long?" 'How long have you been suffering? How long have I been blind to it all?'
"It doesn't matter."
"Love, the skin on your arms is incredibly thin. All it would have taken is a single wrong cut to end up with a cut blood vessel. What if I hadn't been here in time, you could've..." The full reality of what happened seemed to finally hit him and Ford could only choke on his words.
"But I'm okay! I'm here... I'm right here." ☐☐☐☐ knew Ford would spiral into safe blame and was intent on nipping that in the bud. Ever so gently he took his mate's head in his hands, bringing him closer until the two were nuzzling their heads together. He then feels Ford's arms wrap around his midsection. Grip tight, as if afraid the Earth itself would swallow up ☐☐☐☐ at any moment and for a few moments the older male's shoulders shake, along with shaky breathing at one almost sob.
"☐☐☐☐... how can I help you?" He finally asks, his voice tense and shaky.
"I don't know... it's my brain. My brain is just bro-"
"Don't." The single word was sharp as a knife, and Ford had to amend, "Just... please don't say that about yourself again..." ☐☐☐☐ looks like they want to say more but can't find the words.
"My starlight, you know I'm not angry with you, right?" He cautiously asks. ☐☐☐☐ simply continued to stare at the floor, and so Ford gently tilts his head to meet their eyes.
"I'm not angry with you. I have, and always will, love you. Even if you see yourself as broken, I will always and forever see you as the beautiful being of stardust that you are." Tears are running down ☐☐☐☐'s face and Ford feels on the verge of crying himself but he forces himself to continue.
"Even if your mind tells you otherwise, I'll be here to remind you that you deserve happiness. And if you ever feel like you need to hurt yourself again, please please reach out for me. Please let me help you."
"I'll try..." ☐☐☐☐ simply says, a tiredness beginning to fill their voice as they rest their head on Ford's chest.
Seeing his beloved on the verge of sleep, he slowly picks them up and carries them, bridal style to their room. As he gently tucks them under the covers, he briefly considers locking up any sharp objects around the Shack when a soft voice interrupts his thoughts.
"Ford, can you... stay with me...?" ☐☐☐☐ is looking up at him, expression one of lingering anxiety. "I mean, if you don't want to I won't make yo-"
But before they can finish their sentence Ford is already crawling into the spacious bed to join him and act as big spoon. Not that he ever needed a reason to want to cuddle his beloved, but after the events of the night, he was silently grateful to stay with ☐☐☐☐ as well.
The next morning, Stan would find the two of them sleeping in each other's arms.
(Naturally, he chuckles to himself and snaps a picture to share with the niblings, who had been betting over whether or not ☐☐☐☐ and Ford were an item.
Mabel got 20$ that day.)
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cicadas-in-the-winter · 4 months
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hi guys im a terrible human being!~ Wow~
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margaretkart · 10 months
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Scars on my body,
I want you forever,
Even when we're not together,
Scars on my body, I can look at you whenever..
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touch0fecstasy · 9 months
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hey hi I desperately need to project, is there a way you could write something like autistic ashton that starts unmasking around the boys bc he's more comfortable around them but then after hanging out or doing whatever he's just overthinking everything and beating himself up over being "too autistic" 🧍
sorry it took so long!!! yes i can :)
Anxiety
word count: 827
warnings: anxiety, a snippet of self hatred, talk of unmasking
<3 enjoy!
He really shouldn’t be so worried about this. It isn’t that big of a deal, or, it shouldn’t be. All of the guys knew he was autistic, they were fully accepting, and yet he’s still beating himself up for it. The big question is, why? He had to chalk it up to just pure anxiety, because there was no way that there was a logical reason for this. 
Now that he was home, he was overthinking every single behavior, word, and move he had made or spoken while he was hanging out with the guys. Luke had asked him about a drum part he’d been working on fixing and he’d gone through explaining every single piece of his drum set, and Michael had complimented the crystal around his neck and he’d spent forty five minutes talking about the different kinds. 
To be entirely fair, they knew those were two of his biggest special interests, so he shouldn’t feel bad for talking so much about them, especially when he was prompted to do so, but he did anyway. For twenty five years, Ashton had masked his autism, and was just learning how to undo that. He’d been diagnosed later in life, just after he turned twenty four, but he still didn’t know how to completely drop the persona he’d been living in for two and a half decades. That kind of change is really hard, and he was terrified he would become too much for the people he loved the most, his band. 
He didn’t want them to think that he was a bother, or suddenly a lot to handle, or anything of the sort, so when he was unmasking around them, he only showed a part or two about him. He still kept up some of the masking, trying his hardest to read between the lines of neurotypical questions, desperately trying to hide the fact that he couldn’t read their tones at any point in time. 
But today, he’d continued to speak for so long, he’d stimmed much more than he had previously allowed himself to, and he was so much louder than normal. He hadn’t seen the look on his bandmates faces after they all said goodbye and he walked away, but he was sure that they wore matching expressions of disgust. 
If he had actually taken the time to study them, he would’ve seen the bright smiles on each of them. They were so happy to see more of the authentic Ashton, and wished he would let them in on more. But they also knew that they had to be very careful with him, as he was not only a naturally anxious person, but he was still learning to unmask himself, and trying to push that could be detrimental to his journey.
But Ashton was sitting at home, absolutely miserable, unaware of all of these things. He jumped when his phone rang, relaxing slightly when he saw it was only Calum calling. However, he tensed right back up when he thought about why Calum might be calling.
Was he being kicked out of the band? Did they hate him, or want him to go back to acting the way he did before he got his diagnosis? Or worse, if there even was worse?
He picked up the phone, unable to hide the shake in his voice. 
“H-Hello?”
Calum’s smile faded a bit at the anxious tone, hoping Ashton wasn’t spiraling.
He was, but Calum didn’t have to know that. Not right now. 
“Hey Ash! How are you, man?” 
Ashton relaxed once more when Calum’s tone, cheery and friendly, wafted into the phone. It couldn’t be bad news if he sounded so happy about it, right?
“I’m fine, did you need something?” 
Calum coughed slightly on the other end before speaking. 
“Yeah, actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 
No. Nonononononono…
He took a deep breath before replying. 
“Okay, what is it?”
“You know that thing you’ve been doing since you got diagnosed? What’s it called again? Un- no, it’s not uncovering..” 
Ashton’s smile dropped. 
“Unmasking?” 
Calum sounded like he perked up again.
“Yes! That! I was talking with Luke and Michael about it, after we saw you today. We just wanted to tell you that we’ve seen the way your personality has changed, well, not changed, but you’ve become more yourself, if that makes sense. We’re really happy for you, and just wanted you to know that you will always have our full support.”
Ashton was in shock. 
“You mean, you don’t hate me?” 
Calum let out a laugh, but it was more of a shocked laugh than anything else. 
“God, no. We love you, we always will. We just want you to be happy, and we’ve seen how much happier you look. You seem healthy.” 
As they wrapped up and hung up the call, Ashton’s smile matched the ones he hadn’t seen on the rest of the band’s faces earlier that day. 
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an-he-donia · 7 months
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Rule #2
Don't open up to anyone too much.
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justabaddreamm · 5 months
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TW BLEEDING CUT
What are your cut songs? Mine is doorway by black dresses.
My trigger this time was my father screaming at me for being autistic and not understanding every little thing that will piss him off. I hate it. I’m just going to avoid everything that has to do with him. Next time I mess up with him, I’ll cut a heart into me. 🩷
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p0is0n-is-th3-cur3 · 6 months
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trigger warning: sh, suicide, negative self thoughts or whatever it’s called, blood
oooo a bit of my fic
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blairdrawzstuff · 8 months
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I will probably never vent on Tumblr unless it's something that really means a lot to me. I try to be a happy person/creature on here and try to share positivity! I really struggle with self love and appreciation, I truly hate myself and some times hate being alive. And it's not anything big that happens! It's the smallest thing that hurt me sm.. if you guys want stories on why I've felt this way I'm ok to share! But just remember to try your best to love yourself<33
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vinitia · 5 days
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tw self harm and all that great stuff
Oh, and there really remains hardly anything to control the inevitable outburst, as I have sworn off and have a very strong resolve to not cut and starve myself anymore, what really remains is just hurling insults and shaming myself and self-pity, topped with resignation and numbness so deep, I have seldom found anything close to it in any narration I have interacted with ever.
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