I love you so much Dean. I will never begin to be able to repay my debt to you. I love you so. I’m so fortunate. I’m trying to type in tears. I’m so in love with you. Forever For serious
Being honest, I’ve been struggling a lot with my mental health in the last weeks. I thought it was due to the hormones and PCOS, despite me taking all the medicines needed that usually alleviate these symptoms, but it’s still lasting to this day and I am not able to exit this cycle. And I’ve been on constant antidepressant too these years, but lately the illness is resurfacing and paired with the dull feeling caused by the meds makes me feel bad and trapped. Still not to the point of having suicidal thoughts, but it’s getting worse day by day and I don’t know when or if it’ll start getting better.
Michael continued with his song until he heard the gentle and slow rhythmic breathing from James, indicating he was asleep, only then did he fall silent. He wasn’t sure if he fell asleep, he thought he did. He wasn’t used to sleeping and on nights when he did, he often had dreams which would sometimes confuse him for he wasn’t sure if they were dreams or if they had actually happened.
This dream was more like a nightmare. He recognised the place instantly, it was the Cage and it was trying to convince him that his waking world was nothing more than the Cage playing an awful trick on him. It was something the Cage would definitely do and had done in the past.
Michael woke up disorientated, unsure again what to call real and what to call fake, he clambered out of the bed where James stirred. It was early still; 6:50am. The dark haired man stumbled towards the only window in the room, placing his hands on the sill and looking out at the sunrise.
James let out a huff at the loss of warmth, reaching blindly for Michael. He opened his eyes when he realized his angelic boyfriend was gone, concerned. He usually stayed in bed until James was awake. “Mikey?” James was the only one who could call him that. Regulus would be able to, but he was polite and called the angel Michael. “Are you okay?” He had instantly forgotten his own nonsensical dream. Something about a rabbit.
Michael scrunched his eyes shut tight when he heard James call him Mikey. His siblings used to call him that. Used to. They don’t anymore, now it’s just Michael or Sir or your Honour, sometimes it was Brother. He decided that the Cage called him Mikey like it does now because Michael would sometimes wish for his siblings to call him that again, just occasionally. It wasn’t James calling him that. James wasn’t real.
“I’m… Fine.” His voice was quiet and cold, his teeth clenched together. He had to fight his instincts not to fight, he was a warrior, born for fighting, not for sitting back and letting the torture happen. But he couldn’t right now, he was still confused.
“Don’t call me that.” He hissed as he opened his eyes again, watching the sun slowly rise above the horizon. Could he even call it the sun or the horizon anymore? If it wasn’t real what could he call it? The Cage was the only thing that came to his mind. “I didn’t have a nightmare. I don’t get nightmares.” He was living a nightmare as far as he was concerned.
“ the unfortunate truth is, i think i’d forgive any flaw in a person if they loved me enough. ” - from Ven
.just more misc memes
There’s a grip on his throat that keeps him from saying anything right away. It was unfortunate, wasn’t it? How much someone could get away with, so long as there was always another person with just enough room in their hearts to accept them.
How many times had he, himself, wished that the people he loved wouldn’t have forgiven him…
Ventus didn’t mean to strum that chord within, that much he’s sure of. If Riku could help it, he would liked to have not made that connection either. But there it was. And it kept the smile from reaching his eyes when he looked over at Ventus.
Maybe in another lifetime, he would have been drawn to that kind of hapless warmth of Ventus, too. The kind that had so much to give, and asked for little in return. Or maybe it didn’t need to be another lifetime – since, technically, he’d been there with him all these years. Yeah. He thinks he gets it.
❝You’re worth more than that. ❞Don’t you see why they would love you so much to begin with? ❝Anyone who really loved you would know that.❞
It’s a shift of his weight and arms crossed over his chest. Riku doesn’t answer him right away, as if the weight of the words needed to settle and honestly they should. They neededto. He was deathly serious about what he said. He’s got a twist in his heart that way. He could love anyone and forgive any possible flaw if they loved him in return enough - maybe they wouldn’t even need to love him in return because he held fast on Terra for so many years and the man nearly struck himself and Aqua down even if it was against his own will.
Everything at the end of it all - everything before he fell asleep got so… messyand he really would be some kinda hypocrite if he started judging people on having unforgivable flaws. He’s seen the way Aqua and Terra look at him now. He knows the things he said back and the actions he took - he knows that he… hurtthem. He hurtthem deep and he knows they have to be worriedhe’ll do something foolishagain if it means protecting them.
And they’re absolutely right to think that way.
He would without a second thought.
“Isuppose we have a conflicting opinion in worththen.” He sounds thinking about how fast he was ready to throw his own life away at the end of it all. Thinking about how falling asleepfor a decade was nothis intention. “I am gratefulfor the people who love me, but Terra and Aqua know full well I’m still recovering from some of the things that happened before I fell asleep.”
[ REAL ] + “Neither one of us are going to be whole again, Brother.”
[REAL ] + Tell my muse a harsh reality
The words make his stomach turn. It’s not words he ever thought he’d hear come from his “brother’s” lips and there’s something about the way his darkness says the word “brother” that makes his skin crawl. Is that really what they are? They’re two halves of one whole. They are…counterparts. They are… others. They are … reflections. They are … mirrors. But are they siblings? Ventus honestly doesn’t know what to make of his other quite frankly, because they’ve been dancing this dance longer than he cares to admit and and longer than he can even remember.
His memory is still a mess. It’s clearer than it was but it’s mostly a mess. Everything in fragments and scattered together haphazardly, like shattered glass swept up in a pile but just left on the floor to collect dust and mourn what it was and what it never will be again.
That’s what they were.
A shattered glass.
Their pieces are so twisted and fragmented they could never fit together again even if they wanted them to. Even if they tried.
“You think I don’t know that?!”
The words snarl out of him faster than he even realizes they’ve been said. A sky colored gaze is narrowing down on the reflection of his mirror and how strange is it that his mirror looks nothing like him. How strange is it that his mirror looks more like another than he does him?
Certainly siblings but never twins. They were the opposite of everything the other wasn’t.
Ventus can feel his shoulders tense as his gaze fixes on his other and his nose wrinkles and his jaw clenches and then all in one swift moment the anger fades and balled fists release and the tension in his jaw disappears. Blues downcast and the blond focuses to the ground beneath his feet. Is this what Vanitas wanted? Is this what he came here for? To make him feel miserable?
His lips push forward as the corners of his mouth dip down and his shoulders slump.
“I know that.”He sounds in a puff of defeat. “I know, Vanitas you don’t need to remind me.” He’s letting himself sink to the ground until he sets with his arms laying slack over his legs and his gaze stays focused on the ground below. “I know what we are. I know what I amand I never asked for this. We’re both only living half lives. Even after all this time, we’re just the same as we were - broken.”
from ven; truth serum -> “Why do you care about me?”
My character is under a truth serum, ask them anything.
❝ … I don’t know, Ventus.❞A pause, the words come.❝Maybe I just… don’t want to be on that side of things. Where I see someone who feels like they’re on the outside looking in.❞
❝Maybe I get the feeling that you know what it’s like. To live with all these consequences… and never feeling like you have the mouth around these people to admit as much. I know I’m not easy to be around, but I just don’t want you to feel alone, too. ❞
With RIku he never quite knows how he’s supposed to feel. He always feels like he’s supposed to be someone that he isn’t and honestly he feels like that with mostpeople nowadays. Even Aqua and Terra in a sense. They’ve all changedbut he didn’t. The whole world changed around him and and then it did it again and again for an entire decade the world changed and he remained the same, frozen in sleep - suspended in time doing nothing but existing in one place until his heart would finally find it’s way back to him.
UntilSorawould find his way to him.
His heart existed within Sora, but that doesn’t mean they’re the same. They’renotand they never will be. So he really needs people to stop putting him in that box. He’s not Sora, and he needs people to see that. He needs people to look at him and see Ventusand not Soraand certainly not some poor boy who never grew up.
Henevergrew up and at this point he doesn’t know if he ever would. Riku thinks he knows what it’s like to live with consequences? Riku thinks he knows what it’s like to feel silenced? How does one look their loved ones in the eyes after sleeping for a decade and tell them “I had no intention of waking up.” ? How does one look their loved ones in the eyes and tell them “I tried to do what I asked you to do and wouldn’t.” ?
He thinks he can relate what it’s like to live withCONSQUENCES?!
His entire existence is nothing BUT consequences!
Consequences of TRUSTING. Consequences of BETRAYING. Consequences of being TORN APART.Consequences of SURVIVNG when he wasn’t SUPPOSED TO.
He’s a Guardian of Light and they look to him with sparkling eyes because he is a being made purely of it like he askedfor this. Like he consentedto being torn apart and sifted into two perfectly measured beings made of pure light and pure darkness.
His heart is not whole.His heart is not completely his own because he’s been leeching off of the selfless gift of a yet keyblade wielder for a little over a decade now. Leeching off Sora like a parasite. He doesn’t want him to be alone?He could never bealone. It was impossible. His heart has been torn in half. His darkness has been made his brother and he could look himself in the eye. He could never be alone because he always had the worst of himself as his company… and Sora too.
No matter where the keyblader went now, Ventus would feel him for part of Sora’s heart existed within his chest instead of the brunette’s. It was Sora himself who kept him alive.
So how could he EVERfeel alone? The sentiment was almost a slap in the face.
“Say.Thenwhat do you see when you look at me? I won’t judge you. When you look at me, whatdo you see, Riku? Whodo you see? Just be honest with me.”
Roy watched those gold eyes widen. Edward’s body was here, but his mind… it went back to the forest. He sent his son back into hell with one question.
One hand reached out for him as he shook his head, but stopped in midair. Would touch comfort him right now, and help bring him back to reality, or would he recoil from it? It largely depended where in particular his mind decided to take him, which memory it chose to replay. Based on what he asked for, Roy had an idea—and thus, he lowered his hand back to his side, and he watched as Edward returned to searching his pocket. It had to be the last time he held one of his gloves, when he donned one and used it.
He wasn’t close to the fire, but he still felt its heat. Obsidian eyes watched the flames dance in front of him, wide as they tried to reconcile with the fact that his hand wasn’t the one raised in the air. The snap, a sound that often signaled Death’s arrival, reverberated off the trees around him, and he held his breath. In taking up his mantle, was his son about to unwittingly claim his first life? Was he truly about to follow in his father’s footsteps a touch too closely for comfort?
Thankfully, he did not. A deep frown sat on Roy’s face, even as he saw his other glove and took it back. Quickly, he pocketed it and paid it no mind. As hard as it was to watch, it had to be even more difficult to experience. His discomfort hardly mattered in comparison.
“It’s all right.” Lowering his voice to something that hopefully came across as soothing, he tried to meet Edward’s gaze. No doubt that was about to be difficult. “I took the other glove off your hand after you…”“After you died.” He couldn’t say it. His mouth stopped working, his body freezingas the thought finished itself in his mind. All he could do was blink a couple of times before he spoke again. “After you were done with it. It’s somewhere downstairs by now. By the way, I’ll want to talk to you about that later. Talk, not yell. I’m not pissed if any part of you’s worried about that.”
Again, he made the conscious decision to keep his voice low, almost meek. Several elephants crowded the room, and that was just one of them that needed to be addressed. Whether or not either of them liked it, he needed to talk to Edward about the wall of fire he created with one of his father’s gloves. Roy had severalquestions to ask: how long had he known, was that the first time, was he ever planning on telling him, how much did he know… He let out a sigh, letting those questions go as well. They were for a later conversation.
Conversation, not interrogation. There wasn’t a pointin getting angry at Edward for using his alchemy to save their lives. No, he didn’t want him learning it in the first place, and he would make that clear, but, at the very least, he used it to protect rather than harm. He saved lives rather than taking them… like hedid.
“Like I nearly did when that bastard took you from me.”
If only Berthold Hawkeye lived a while longer. Edward would have made for a better Flame Alchemist.
“Yeah, let’s get you out of those clothes so you can eat.” That task became his primary focus over the next several minutes. It took more concentration than he cared to admit to help Edward change. His mind existed in a fog, and only occasionally was it able to find a way out. Then, another thought or five dragged him back in, or the fog moved, and he was lost all over again. Not to mention his body still ached all over as well, and his fingers were nowhere nearas nimble as usual. They weren’t moving like he wanted them to…
“Sorry I’m sluggish. Still a little groggy myself. But, I can still carry you downstairs.”
His leg was not regifted to him like he so had hoped. It’s been a couple of days and Grandma has him up on spare. Still - even with that she hardly wants him out of bed and he hasn’t been allowed to do much else than set in bed and read. He gets tired so easily. Sometimes even reading is a task. Den has hardly left his side this entire time, and she is always there at the foot of his bed whether he’s alone or not. She’s always there for a place for a hand to reach if he’s feeling unstable. There’s always there practically glued to his side and comes with a glance. She’s there and she’s hovering. Even if he’s not out of bed much. His chest feels strangebut then he supposes that comes with the territory when one has a bulletremoved from their chest.
Papa says they aren’t safe. Papa says they aren’t safe and are on edge constantly. He’s right though. They can’t be. That man - Colonel Cocksucker -he had more men with him then were with him when he shot him.The second time. That means some still had to be out there. That means there were men still out therehuntingfor them and what would happen if they went home?
Would they follow them? Were they waiting? Would they hurt Alphonse? Would they go to command? If they came here would they hurt Grandma? It’s too many questions racing around in his head and it’s hard to think as they do so. He can’t focus on the words on the page and thus his left hand closes the book in his lap.
He’s rolling his right shoulder, and it feels both awkward and light because it’s been some time since Grandma had to even take theplatingof his shoulder port from him but there was only so much the old woman could do when there was abulletfused to it. She had to recast most of the port by hand and readjust the support bolt that lived in his collar bone. She said she didn’t want to even attempt to reattach his arm until he’s healed properly and she wanted to give that wound a couple of weeks at the least. She wouldn’t even considerit no matter what he said.
The old woman would merely run her hand over his hair and take his hand. Quietly she’d look down at his hand in hers and give him a sad smile and she’d say. “Child, I brought you back from the dead twice. Don’t make me go through it again because you’re in a rush, Edward.”
And there would be nothing he could say to that. What do you say to that? Nothing. You say absolutely nothing and you just hang your head and respond with a quiet, “I’m sorry Grandma, I love you too.”
That was how most of their conversations went in these past two days. If they weren’tsafethen they needed tomove but theycouldn’tbecause he was worse for wear. In some ways he felt like he was almost worse off than he was with a bullet in his chest because at least then they were still moving.Moving or breathing - that was his choice right now and he couldn’t say he was pleased with eitherof them.
If those bastards found their way into Resembool, then it would be on their heads and the last thing he wanted to think about was a war being brought to this backwater city of sheepherders again. Ishval had been more than enough war for the rest of his lifetime. He supposed all he could do was simplytrustthose around him but it was driving him insane to set still.
“Edward dear…” The sound of his mother’s nickname echoes from the door as it creaks open to his shared upstairs room that is his usual abode with his brother when they’re out here for more routinemaintenance. “How are you feeling? I came to check up on you. Are you hungry?”
Grandma is waddling herself into the room and to his bedside. Den only lifts her head for a moment to see who is entering and quickly puts her head back down at the sight of her human. The old man stops, taking his hand in his for a moment to rub her thumbs against his hand as she looks to him with a sad smile and it makes him ponder for a moment just what happened when he was out. He knows he sleeps a lot these days but what happened when he was on that table… did Grandma know he died? Somehow he has no doubt that she does. Grandma just always seems to know things.
“Uh, a little. My head was startin’ ta hurt n’ I c’n’t focus very well so I stopped readin’. I was gittin’ a little dizzy. I think I could eat sum’hin’ small.”
Her hand is reaching up to stroke over his hair and he leans down a little for her. She places her hand against his forehead and lingers a moment.
“You feel a little warm, dear. Lay down and I’ll make you something to snack on in the meantime. I’ll make sure the pitcher is refilled so you have plenty of water. Please make sure you’re drinking plenty of fluids, Edward.”
“Yes Grandma.”
His hand is back in her grasp for a moment as she rubs her thumbs affectionately against it. He knows the signs and he knows the look on her face when he sees so he leans forward again ever so slightly so she can reach better and the old woman places a light kiss against his forehead.
“I love you, dear. I’ll be right back. Lay down until then. If you need something just send Den to come get me.”
There’s really nothing else to do for the moment except obey. The world was spinning too much anyway and he really didn’t feel much like setting up anymore, so the blond alchemist is slow to lower himself back down to help curb the feeling of the room spinning ‘round and ‘round.
Somehow his thoughts fall to his brother for a moment and really Alphonse has to be so worried…. That tin can is going to flip his lid when they get home.
“There’s this love story between Spike and Dru that is very sweet,” she (Juliet) explains. “It gets kinky as well, but it’s sweet. That balances out the evil that we do.”
Balance isn’t a word that suits Drusilla at all. When we first see her in Buffy’s second season she is sickly and weak and Spike has brought her to Sunnydale with hopes of making ‘all better’. Juliet plays the part in flowing glowns and with roving eyes as she teases dead birds and ties up her dolls.
“There is an element of what I call ‘touched’. Angel was obsessed with her, you see, so he killed her family and tortured her ruthlessly driving her to a convent for refuse. On the night she was to take her vows, he made her into a vampire. Now she has a sort of neurosis where she thinks of the daisies dying or her hair falling out. Spike rescues her from those moments.”
He does indeed. As evil as the couple may be, viewers are drawn into the deep love they have for each other. It is this ‘human’ side that makes them watchable week after week. They dance, they kiss, they play and yes, they do snack on a teenager now and again, but you can’t hold that against them. “When Spike and Dru are together we’re sort of gentle and sexual and it’s fun. Sometimes when you play a villain it’s very one-dimensional but with Dru I have a lot of other colours as well.”
-Interview with Juliet Landau by Cythia Boris, for Cult Times, circa1998ish.
Today my partner forgot to put the towels in the dryer for after my bath, so he had an hour long breakdown because he NEEDED to cut off his arm.. how’s your day going?
you know. i really appreciate writing advice & tips. but what i despise are those tiktok vids that are like “how to write a psychopath” / “how to write someone w anxiety” / etc. like, i get that giving the most basic info is maybe considered acceptable, but it also adds to a whole lot of stigmathatreal people with these mental illnesses have to deal with.
like, i just saw one about writing a psychopath & they only mentioned bad traits.
“master manipulator” “lack emotional intelligence” “no empathy or care for others” “thinks they’re better than others” blah blah blah
how about writing psychopath characters who are good people & not just a copy & paste master manipulator who abuses others. like, y'all know someone with a personality disorder can actually be a good person, right ???
same goes for the “representation” of bpd, did & many other mental disorders that can’t be cute-ified.
Ppl will be like “end the stigma around mental illness uwu” but still judge you if you’re unemployed or single or not completely self-sufficient or healthy or perfectly groomed or still live with parents and don’t see the hypocrisy in that whatsoever
My brain won’t shut up and as per usual I’m hiding everything underneath a cut because I feel like my feelings are a bother to people. And I get it. There’s going to be at least one of you who tries to tell me. “Your feelings aren’t a bother Kira!” Iknow that logically, but it does not stop my brain and my heart from feelingthat way.
So now here I am ready to explain my existence to you because my brain won’t let me write and it won’t let me draw either and today I feel like a failure of a human being because I can’t handle stress and worse I can’t even cry to cope. So here we are.
So all that personal shit I don’t talk about.
I almost lost my migraine prescription this week.
So context for those unaware: I have a lot of medical issues. I take a monthly preventive shot to contend to my migraines and I have for well over a couple years now. It doesn’t make them go away completely but it does make them less and I haven’t had to go to the ER recently because of them so I mean that’s a plus.
The downside to this is, while it helps control my migraines pretty well, if I fall off it, as I did a couple times last year because of pharmacy screw ups - I end up out of work for however long it takes to get back to me and in urgent care because I get migraines so bad that I get so dizzy I’m unable to stand. So I mean fuck driving at that point right?
So I almost lost it because I got a text message telling me that my prescription had been changed / canceled and I freaked out and called the hospital like it told me to and they told me they didn’t know what I was talking about and didn’t have a record, etc. I basically had to hold my breath for the lady who fills my script to call this week, thank god she did. That was a mini-heart attack.
As for work, I’m on burn out. My Lead worker / direct Boss told me in feb. that he was getting ready to retire Spring 2023 and he needed to make sure he was getting everything around so I could take over. Todayhe says “I dunno when I’ll retire, haven’t decided yet maybe if Chris (his boss my boss-boss) pisses me off. Rumor some how got around that he was planning on retiring and because it got back to him he pulled back all plans out of spite. I have no idea when he’s going to retire now.
For those of you who have listened to my work rants (for many years now) know how devastatingof a blow this is for me. There was a planand he reneged on me. So basically long story short when it comes to work -> I’m still stuck doing almost all the manager work but not getting paid for it. And Chris - my big boss - knowsit’s going on and does nothing about it. I’m burnt out. My boss, Terry, literally looked at me and was like “it’s chill day, just do whatever.” because he didn’t feel like working and knows I will keep busy all day on my own.
What the fuck.
So I’ve been fighting the depression side of my bipolar for a little more than a month and half now:
Look I am over 1400 entries solid into this app. It is accurate to the day. I haven’t missed a day since 2018. Things have not been good.I keep trying to claw my way out of it. I have using every tool I have in my tool box but nothing is helping. My SOS is busted. Nothing works.
the kick in the ass is this is from beforemy idiot physiatrist started taking my anti-convulsant away:
But it’s not “doing anything” he says. I have taken anti-seizure medication for four years to help mood control and this fucker who barely talks or sees me since Aug 2021 decides that all the doctors before him and in my 13 years of being diagnosed with this suddenly decides I don’t “experience mania” and “Are you sure it’s depression? I haven’t really seen you sad.” SO he decides to look at one of my two mood stabilizers (the other is an anti-psychotic) and just go “yeah it’s not working let’s get rid of it.” but knows nothingabout what I'm going through or dealing with - you know things that effect my mood - and just starts trying to take me down on it. He already triedto rip me off the other one that controls my mania and proceeded to throw me into a two week manic episode as a result.
“I think you were having a manic episode.” I wanted to scream.
ANYWAY.
So that’s all going on. Away from the medical and work bullshit.
Here’s the thing I don’t think I’ve ever been clear about, so me being me - who instantly feels like a disgrace of a human being and the scum of the earth when I think I’m not being clear and I think I’ve been misunderstood again ->
If I’ve never said this to you before I’m autistic. There is no such thing as High Functioning / Low Functioning so don’t ask me that or even say it to me. I’ll scream.
So to get that ableist bullshit out of the way ->
High Functioning + Impairment = I’m going to deny you care because I don’t see your disability as valid enough to give you consideration or accommodation. Low Functioning + Impairment = I’m going to deny you validity because I see your disability as so aggrieviously detrimental to methat I’m not only going to refuse to help you with it but I won’t acknowledge you as a fully functional human either.
Just don’t fucking say it to me.
So with that out of the way, I need you to know,sometimes I go nonverbal. Sometimes it’s partial. Sometimes It’s completely. Sometimes it’s text. Sometimes it’s verbal. Sometimes it’s both.
Sometimes I can only speak / type in few words and that’s it
Sometimes all you’re getting out of me is GIFs and Emojis.
I need you to bear with me for this. I need you to bear with me. Sometimes I simply cannottalk and I also need you all to know and realizefor me that talkingandwriting a post / story isnot mutually the same. When I am IC that is my muse writing, not me. I am simply conveying a story through a muse, I am not processing real world shit.
Guys, if you’re new around here or I haven’t said this to you before. I writetocope. It’s not the same.
And for the new people, the rest of my medical issues include: C-PTSD, Anxiety, Depression, Bipolar 2 rapid cycling, insomnia, chronic migraines
I take a lot of meds, and there is a small patch work system of people holding me together.
I am also a survivor of: Abuse, isolation (the act of being; not self imposed) , sexual assault, martial rape, gaslighting, and weaponized silence.
Do I owe you my life story? No. Do I feel like it helps me know someone as a person if I know a little of what they have going on? Absolutely. Doexpectpeople to tell me what they got going on? Nope. Absolutely not.
But I have been misunderstood and dismissed and passed over and talked over and ignored etc so many times I have become an information dumper and I do this because my brain is beggingto be seen clearly for once and to just have someone accept me even if they don’t get it.
Guys I have been in shut down all week day and I’m fighting so desperately to get out of his hole but here we are. With the ground breaking out from under us again. This isn’t a pity post, to clarify.
Nothing lights my brain on fire faster than pity. I will tell you right now my brain little instantly light to “I don’t want your fucking pity” just so you know it’s a trigger. This also isn’t a “tell me how strong I am” post because every time I’m told I’m strong my brain shuts down and stops working because the minute I hear the word ‘strong’ in relation to me my brain falls into that’s all you’re allowed to be mode and I shut down every emotional function and process I had currently active.
Guys I can’t grin and bear it anymore.
Can I get off this ride? This roller coaster is 0/10. Do not recommend. I’d like to stop now.
Okay this one will be a bit more serious and a bit more personal on my end. Let’s talk about nasty subjects and by that I mean death, torture, abuse, mental illness, etc. I mean dark themes.
We all know I don’t shy away from dark themes. I never have and I never will, but I need you all also to know that just because I write them, doesn’t mean I justify them. I have written two separate posts on both Edward and Kumo talking about this fact.
I have no doubt I’m racing towards Barnaby’s because he has some serious anger issues and Ven’s is only a moment away the more I get to writing him because he’s got some serious issues too.
It’s okay to write serious issues as long as they are treated and handled as nasty as they are. I do these posts so people know where I stand as a writer. Tackling issues like this brings them to light and helps me process, but they will never stop being horrible nasty despicable things and roleplay and fiction should never be used to justify them.
I have written my fair share of torturous plots and dark themes and I promise you the characters preforming these acts aren’t having a good time. I will punish these acts in my narrative over and over, again and again. I get that there are people out there who legit think these things are okay but it’s my job as a writer to say they aren’t.
I have roleplayed villains guys and those villains do nasty horrible things and even if they’re doing nasty horrible things that doesn’t mean, I as a writer agree with that shit. Mun does not equal Muse, and I get that. I just have been misunderstood in the past, so I make it fucking clear that I don’t agree with this shit.
So the personal part? My Ex-husband. I can write nasty people because I’ve lived with them. I can write horrible things because I’ve experienced them. I can mimic real life to reflect it in fiction. Abusive relationships? Been there. Isolation for nearly a decade? Done that. Possessive? Check. Obsessive? Done that too. Emotional and Physical neglect? Been there too.
My boundaries I enforce in my rules are there for personal reasons and I won’t force my muses to endure what I have if I don’t think they should need to. Dark Themes are fine if they are acknowledged for what they are and treated with the respect and care they deserve, acknowledged for the level of triggering content they could be for the parties involved, and not the entire theme and only that theme.
It’s okay to write dark themes guys. It’s not okay to laugh about them. It’s okay to write dark themes. It’s not okay to treat them lightly. Maybe it’s my autism taking shit too literal again, but if I’m going to write something nasty, I’m going to acknowledge it for what it is and I will never ever justify it. Be ready for more posts like the others in the future because I will never give any of my muses a free pass - no matter how much I love them.
And final note:Tag this shit correctly please. I see too many people rping dark themes and not tagging their shit correctly. Tagging systems are there to prevent accidently triggering another person and giving them a chance to prepare for what they’re about to read. Please tag your shit correctly.
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 keep thinking about the scene where the whole class gets down on killing. And Barry says he kills and like yeah he probably means his hitman stuff, but also like…
That scene was about how war is a socially acceptable way to kill, and suddenly they all feel bad because that was more morally grey. But they all felt bad because they didn’t realize that Barry had that history and they were suddenly confronted with the reality of the thing rather than, just, the hypothetical.
To them Barry is real and before the it was just an abstract.
Gene then goes on to say if you kill outside of war you are fucked though.
Anyway Barry’s killing in these scene could be drawn back into a metaphor for mental illness and everything is fine so long as you show the socially acceptable symptoms.
A very astute observation about that scene I hadn’t considered, thank you so much for sharing! I think a big part of the problem-and this probably isn’t an original thought-is that even if someone hasn’t experienced clinical depression, or doesn’t have an anxiety disorder, everybody knows what it’s like to be sad or scared. While with other less common symptoms (hallucinations, delusions, disorganized thinking, etc) there’s not really a neurotypical parallel. So the average person can’t relate and therefore finds them frightening or simply confusing. Which leads to those of us with illnesses that manifest in that way sharing less and less due to stigma. But anyway, I’ll stop rambling. Thank you for pointing this out OP!
Me when folks are only just now calling Barry fucked up after he starts showing psychotic symptoms and not while he was merely, you know, murdering people.
My psychiatrist: What things are you looking forward to that help combat your suicidal thoughts?
Me:
Psych: … Anything else?
Me: Not really. I know some people think it’s silly to care so much about them, but I figure if it keeps me around for one more day, that’s what matters.
Psych: That’s right. And I look forward to new shows, too. I’m glad you have that.
man dissociation fucking sucks ass!! whole chunks of my days are gone and i don’t remember what happened, having to record my conversations with clients so i refer back to them so i know what i need to complete bc i don’t remember what we talked about, my meet-up with friends all happen as i’m behind a wall of fog. shits so scary too wtf this feeling is so new to me, i couldn’t even describe it to my therapist properly. i hate this i hate this i hate this
Hey so why is it a thing that depressed people fall behind on hygiene? Whenever my mental health flops I go a week without showering and like… it would be easy to wash myself and I just… can’t, and I keep feeling terrible when the solution’s right there
