send me ( CONFESSION!! ) .

_{^{and i’ll randomly generate a number for my character to confess:}} 

1. _{^{to murdering someone}}
   
2. _{^{to having feelings for your character}}
   
3. _{^{to being suicidal / having attempted suicide}}
   
4. _{^{to being an addict}}
   
5. _{^{to hating your character}}
   
6. _{^{to being afraid of _____}}
   
7. _{^{to having been in jail}}
   
8. _{^{to having been involved in a hit and run}}
   
9. _{^{to being a virgin}}
   
10. _{^{to being cheating on your character / or their significant other}}
    
11. _{^{to dropping out of high school / college / quitting their job}}
    
12. _{^{to having hallucinations}}
    
13. _{^{to having a ‘guilty pleasure’}}
    
14. _{^{to being a sexuality other than they’re portrayed}}
    
15. _{^{to being previously in a pornographic film}}
    
16. _{^{to having a serious illness}}
    
17. _{^{to having been in love with your muse through childhood}}
    
18. _{^{to having gotten married, and annulling the marriage over a week in vegas}}
    
19. _{^{to not believing in whatever religion they were raised as}}
    
20. _{^{to a childhood trauma}}
    
21. _{^{to being institutionalized}}
    
22. _{^{to being ‘obsessed’ with something}}
    
23. _{^{to having been a homewrecker}}
    
24. _{^{to having ruined someones life}}
    

snlfunnyboys:

I know that people are starting to calm down with the whole situation surrounding John Mulaney, which is good, but I just wanted to get this off my chest.

The way that people reacted to the news about John Mulaney going to rehab, getting divorced from his wife, and dating someone new really speaks volumes to the taboo that surrounds recovering addicts and the unhealthy way we view celebrities. 

John Mulaney has been pretty open about the fact that he is a recovering addict. He has joked about it plenty of times in the past, and nobody seemed to find anything wrong with that. But after he relapsed, I’ve heard tons of people saying things like “I can never look at John Mulaney the same again!” or “How can someone who seems so smart and funny actually be so fucked up??” and many other things in that vein, and it’s just really upsetting. Addiction is a disease, its not something that can be easily overcome. Relapsing doesn’t mean the person is weak or no longer deserves respect.

The fact that people have reacted so negatively to the news that John is going through a divorce and that he has started to date someone new really shows why parasocial relationships are bad for everyone. There is nothing wrong with divorce, and there is nothing wrong with seeing new people, but so many fans are acting like John has done something horrible, when in reality all he did was make a decision that his fans didn’t want him to make. We need to remember that no matter how big of a fan you are of someone, you still don’t know them personally, and they are going to do things that you personally don’t want, understand, or agree with, and you just need to accept that. 

Overall, I just wish people would understand two things about this situation: 

1. Addicts are human beings, they deserve respect, and there is nothing about being an addict that makes them any lesser then others.
2. Celebrities are normal people just like the rest of us, their personal lives are really none of our business, and you can be a fan of someone without feeling like you are entitled to knowing everything about them. 

funnytwittertweets:

Reminds me of the time when I was a kid I went around telling everyone that my mum was addicted to coke

Like she actually was addicted but to Coke the drink, not cocaine

One thing that is really annoying me about this Amber Heard/Johnny Depp trial is that people seem to use addiction as an argument as to why either Johnny or Amber must be evil. I’m sorry that addicts are easy targets, but someone having an addiction doesn’t make them evil. Sometimes evil people become addicts, but bringing up someone’s alcoholism or drug use when you want to bring them down isn’t the hot insult you think it is. Addiction is a dark and painful place to be in

TW: vent, mild gore, smoking, addiction

“It’s easier to self destruct when you’re getting encouraged”

Something I never got around to finish

Okay,

so I wanted to just talk for a minute. You don’t need to like it, or even read it. I just wanted to introduce myself.

Hi, I’m Evan. I’m 15 years old, and I was born November 16th 2005. I am a transgender male who lives in a toxic household. I enjoy, books, movies, and art.

I’m extremely emotional, and have a hard time showing that due to past trauma. I am not a good person, not even close, but lucky for me the world isn’t just black and white like that. I try my best and I like to think that I succeed sometimes. I strive to be gentle, kind, understanding, funny and genuine. I hope I come off as such.

I’m tall for my age with dark auburn hair and sea green eyes. I don’t speak much, it’s a speech impediment. I have a very bad stutter and I slur most of my words due to a brain injury I sustained when I was small.

I don’t have many friends, and most of the people I call “friends” know nothing about me. They think they do, but they sadly don’t. I’m not an easy person to know and understand.

Most people I’ve met don’t understand my scars, or how I could purposefully do that to myself. It’s the first thing they ask about. The scar from the right side of my top lip, across the bridge of my nose, or the scar from the left corner of my mouth to my collar bone. The track marks on my arms from my addiction. Or the slash from the back of my neck to my left eyebrow. They ask and they don’t like the answer.

Or even worse, some people are only interested in me for my scars.

They think there is some bold, brave story behind them. About how they happened while I was protecting someone.

When in reality, it was all me. Multiple failed attempts to feel something. Situations where I never learned, never grew, and never moved on.

I’ll end this here.

Hi, I’m Evan and I’m pretty fucked up.

Health Post (not content)

Hey all! Here’s a general update on my health.

CW I will be discussing health issues, possible malpractice, drug addiction, blood mention, pregnancy, and derealization.

Let’s start with the more “concerning” of the two. Certain symptoms are reminiscent of Cholestasis in my liver which, if severe enough, means I’ll have to deliver my child a month early. Along with that it’s caused manic itching and made me scratch until bleeding. It was rather alarming to look down and see I’d unconsciously mutilated my legs. Oops. ;;

Second point requires some backstory. About 6 years ago I was put on a “non-addictive” sleep aid as a treatment for my insomnia. The problem with this is that I’ve been taking this medicine daily for SIX YEARS, UNINTERRUPTED. There was hardly any dose changes from the medium dose I took, despite my weight fluctuating. Well, when you’re pregnant, your OB will want to reduce the amount of medication you’re on so baby isn’t also effected by it.

Despite this medicine being “non addictive”, I used to go into seizures and fainting spells when I would be abruptly taken off of it. Basically, it’s addictive and it being non addictive is only a sometimes thing depending on who it is.

The past few nights I decided to listen to the good ol doc and quit my medicine as he requested. The first day was fine, albeit, I slept restlessly and had episodes of derealization. It’s nothing too bad and the drug would be out of my system soon, yeah?

Wrong. Day two I woke up after not remembering going to sleep. My husband had just come home and greeted me cheerfully and I literally sat there. I didn’t know who he was, nor that I was married. Even more jarring, I did not know I was pregnant and looking down to see I’m VERY VISIBLY PREGNANT caused me to lock up so bad I went non-verbal. This continued for three hours. Three hours of waking up trembling, crying when he got too close, and being unable to speak. I thought towards the end that I had finally had the stroke my doctors warned might be in my future. Finally I was able to remember everything up until that point.

Now for those of you who are saying “So what? Just post the fic on time” I’d like to clarify that if I couldn’t remember my spouse and kept having lapses in memory, I certainly could not remember much about Genshin Impact (a game I recently got into.) I know a lot of you have common sense to not ask that question but just in case, I’d like to cover my bases. This isn’t targeting anyone btw I just made this comment to clarify I couldn’t remember something as important as if Zhongli was Geo or Pyro. Or that Cryo meant ice. I thought Anemo was a misspelling of anime for a minute and that was probably the funniest thing that happened.

Following up, I’ll be getting both blood work for problem A and a CT scan/MRI for problem B. Let’s hope for the best. ^^

Trigger Warning: suicide; self-harm; drug addiction/overdose; domestic violence; body dysmorphia

What I am about to share with you is the story of how I attempted to take my life….how close I came….and exactly what came out of it. Please be advised I do mention the above topics. If any of these topics are triggering, please do not continue. 

I am always open to provide an ear, advice, or a virtual hug. 

I love you all, please enjoy. 

I have struggled with mental illness most of my life. Being raised in a house-hold of poor coping mechanisms, substance abuse and domestic violence didn’t necessarily set me up for success; or assist in the seriousness of my illness either. However, what it did do was help set me up for a series of obstacles I would inevitably be blessed to face and overcome…as well as provide me with copious tools in my life tool-belt that I can apply to a wide variety of situations.

At a young age I was molested by my father’s best friend. Additionally I have been a victim of domestic violence, rape, as well as navigating through a family plagued by alcoholism. My family as a unit has faced seemingly impossible situations that have forever shattered the fragile glass that holds the family unit at such high regard and protects it from the ugliness of broken individuals who are bonded by blood gone sour, yet desperately grasping at their instinctual loyalty and love. 

Most children in these types of homes, who have gone through these types of traumas/crises would find solace in school with their friends. For me? School was equally as unbearable due to my weight. I was the fat girl….

I paint for you a picture of an extremely broken, vulnerable, self loathing young woman. A young woman who held no self respect and acted as a carpet to those around her. She suffered from panic attacks, anxiety, mood swings…..she cut to take the pain away. Her search for an outlet to the pain was tiresome as she would literally jump through hoops just to drag a sharp edge across her skin…..razors, scissors, knives…..paper clips…..broken bobby pins….

The above description was my foundation - those were the values I had of myself to walk into adulthood with. I could not cope, I hated who I was as a person, and I was so desperate to find a place where I was loved that I made a three year poor series of choices that eventually lead to rape, addiction, an abusive relationship, witness to severe animal abuse, and financial devastation. 

July of 2017 was the end of the insanity that had become my life. I made the decision to move back home to a chaos I was used to and knew how to work through rather chaos I was unfamiliar with and had no clue how to handle…

July of 2017 I became suicidal and checked myself into a hospital. The sudden haul of the chaos became unbearable. I was broken. I was battered. I was hopeless. 

August of 2017 I am released from the hospital and I am prospering. I have a fantastic job making fantastic money. I am happier than I have ever been. Life is finally good. I am making good choices…I am on cloud nine. 

November of 2017 my mother’s dachshund gets out of the front door and begins to run towards the highway. My mother and I chased him a mile and a half down the busy main road we live off of. I am in heels because I was about to go and buy a car, and she was in shoes that weren’t tied and flopping off of her feet….I trip, fall, and break my foot. I am now out of work until January of 2018. 

December of 2017 I am sinking deeper into my depression. There has been yet another drastic change in my life and I have no income. I have a car I need to pay, I can’t work due to the severity of my injury…and I am being targeted by my family. Four people in a house. Four people who need their space from each other or else situations become volatile quickly. At this point I feel as though I am absolutely nothing. I am unimportant, and with everything I have endured in my life….and with everything that I have failed at….I would be better off dead. I am an ugly….fat…worthless nothing. 

January 3, 2018 I wake up in the critical care unit. I am restrained to the table with leather restraints and there are tubes in my throat. I look around and begin to panic. A nurse comes in and lets me know that my mother and brother had just left - they were with me all night…My aunt was in the waiting room….she came to take their place. The nurse removed my tubes and more nurses came in to take off my restraints and help to get me more comfortable…..My aunt came in…..

“How are you?”
“I’m………I woke up.”
“Yes you did.” she began to cry
“I woke up…..but I wanted to die…”

At 11:30 p.m. on January 2, 2018 I ingested over 250 pills. My cocktail consisted on a variety of psychiatric medications as well as benzos. I barricaded myself in my bedroom with my dog and my cat and cuddled them as I swallowed each bottle of medication. I did not leave a note. I sent one simple text message to my best friend simply saying I love you at an inconspicuous time of night as to not be suspicious and actively began consuming medication I knew would kill me in an attempt to end my life. I was doing it. I was finally about to escape all of my pain and no longer have to worry about life. I didn’t have to keep running from this black cloud that has plagued me for so long. 

In the last moments I remember before I closed my eyes as I laid in my dirty bedroom I could not bring myself to clean, unshowered from my crippling depression, I did think about my loved ones - human and fur. I thought about them barging into my bedroom to find me dead….I thought about the pain they would endure knowing I died under their roof, partially due to them and their abuse. I thought about leaving my brother behind as well as my biological family I had just gotten in contact with and my new nieces and nephews……….I thought about not seeing my dog and cat again for a very long time. But, I also thought about every bad thing that has ever happened to me….and every bad decision I have ever made. I even thought about conversations I had with people over a decade ago and what I would have said different….I thought about silly things I did as a kid and asked myself why I did them. My entire life flashed before my eyes as I simultaneously remained mindful of the moment I was in. It is as if I was existing in two bodies at that time. I cried until I felt the medication begin to make me sleepy…..I looked at my dog and my cat and hugged them….I apologized to them….I told them I loved them and I nuzzled up to them….it was time. 

It wasn’t until I finally saw my mother later that day that I heard the rest of the story. I have no memory of what happened from the time I blacked out from the overdose to when I woke up in the CCU. 

My dog Kaleb began to scream from my bedroom and furiously scratched at my door. his screaming and scratching woke my mother up from her bedroom across the hall…she said she knew something was wrong and attempted to get into my bedroom. My door was barricaded so she couldn’t get in. I apparently came to the bedroom door to move the chest that was in front and met her at the door. She said my eyes were closed - they never opened. I slurred my words and told her to leave me alone and attempted to continue to walk towards her. She said I couldn’t stand straight and was practically falling down. 

“I screamed for your father and told him there was something wrong. I ran into your room and found your empty bottles. I knew you were overdosing and I screamed that you were overdosing. Your father came up the stairs  and began to scream. Moments later your brother came home and as soon as he came in the door he ran upstairs because he heard us pleading with you. You were combative. You wanted no one to touch you. Anthony helped me get you dressed and down into the car. I began to drive you to the hospital and Anthony was going to meet me there after he got changed and grabbed a few things for us…..but you began to drift in and out….I couldn’t keep you awake.”

My mother pulled over into an apartment complex and called 911. She let them know that I was overdosing in a suicide attempt and that she needed an ambulance. Moments later the police arrived as the first responders. They put me on oxygen and rubbed my chest hard in an attempt to keep me conscious. My eyes still never opened….but I would “come to” and try to get up and out of the car….swinging blindly at the police. The ambulance then arrived and the EMTs attempted to get me into the ambulance. My mother told me that I continued to kick/bite/punch. Four EMTs attempted to hold me down and treat me in the back of the ambulance…

“When they got you into the ER they asked me what you took and I only knew the one medication…they started to do all of these tests and started to pump your stomach. You just kept hitting and hitting and hitting. They tried to restrain you and you broke out of the soft restraints so then they switched to the leather and sedated you……but then you really started to go down hill. You weren’t breathing properly and you lost your gag reflex……that is when they decided to induce you and they put you into a coma. The doctor told me that you probably weren’t going to make it….and I dropped.”

My mother and my brother sat in the critical care unit with me that entire night….they prayed over me…..my brother held my hand and rubbed my arm as he cried and begged for me not to leave him. They asked me why I had done this and blamed themselves. They questioned where things went wrong and what they could have done to make things go right. They were waiting for me to die….they left once the clock hit 8 a.m. and my aunt came to take their place so they could get some sleep…

I woke up. 

The first thing I thought of when I woke up was I woke up….and I was angry. I failed yet again and now needed to face my family as well as the consequences of my actions. Physically I was exhausted - my lung had collapsed, my pancreas was inflamed, I was withdrawing, and I was recovering from a medically induced coma as well as a ventilator. Emotionally I was broken - I had just attempted to end my life and I failed. 

I spent a week in the psychiatric ward once I was released from the medical hospital for my attempt. After that I began an intensive therapy program and started on a daily regime of medication that ultimately helped me remain stable and that I couldn’t overdose on again. 

My mother and brother have PTSD from this experience….they claim they forgive me, but the damage that I have done is damage I can only apologize for…I can never repair this. This will never go away. I have a permanent scar on my lung from when I aspirated and it collapsed…and I must say….I have suffered an extreme personality change which my doctor associates with the overdose and the effects on my brain and its chemistry.

It is now July of 2018…and I am battling cancer. It has been seven months since my attempt…and in seven months I have gone from wanting to end my life…..and attempting to end my life…to now having a value for my life and actually fighting for it…in seven months.

All of the problems that I had before my suicide attempt are still here. Every mistake, every consequence for every action….I still live at home in a toxic environment…..nothing about my situation has changed in the slightest….but what has changed is my perspective. 

Life is a series of peaks and valleys…the peaks are life’s highest points and are addictive…the valleys are life’s lowest points and can be deadly. Our mission is to navigate through these peaks and valleys as if they were equal. We are to be thankful for the valleys and treat them as important as the peaks….for we can only celebrate lavishly if we have survived the deepest of hardships. You cannot have good without bad…and you cannot have bad without good - they are uniquely one.

lilithvetrova:

adventures-in-poor-planning:

“oh homeless people are just gonna use your money to buy drugs” and? and?? the government uses my tax money to buy bombs and cops, you think I care if someone in a shitty situation uses money I gave them to feel marginally less shitty? fuck off!

I’m looking at a lot of replies to this and some people really don’t get what this is like.

For context; I’m a recovering poly addict (somebody who was addicted to multiple different substances). For those who are nosy, it was alcohol and opioids.

I was also *technically* homeless for a period. I was lucky to be able to couch surf but there was definitely days where I had no idea where I was going to stay, and constantly had to rely of the kindness of others. I was on welfare at the time, but not much.

I was trying to get sober while couch surfing and holy fucking shit, it’s hard, I don’t think anyone understands how hard it is. I was fortunate to be able to lay on a warm couch and have withdrawals and even then, it was hard. That added stress of knowing that I was going to have to move on to the next kind person in my life was an extra layer to add onto how fucking sick I was. A lot of people don’t understand the physical aspect of drug use. My first night I spent violently shaking and clinging to a toilet bowl, wondering if I was dying.

I cannot even begin to fathom what it is like for those living on the street going through withdrawls. Hungry, cold, sleeping in a tent or on a cardboard box or on the god damn ground. I do not blame a single person for using money I give to avoid that. That is not a situation where it is reasonable to ask people to get sober. It’s just not.

Support homeless addicts, unconditionally, or don’t bother pretending like you care about them. Take the niciesties out the fucking door. If your criteria for helping homeless people includes “sobriety” then you don’t actually care.

bathenafan14 on ao3 why do you always write athena as angry at bobby whenever you do a bobby relapses one shot? or make bobby this super angry person when he loses his sobriety? the way you kinda villanize bobby losing his sobriety, it just doesn’t sit right with me, do better

I require ✨ the biscuits ✨