Tw Sui Ideation - Blog Posts

if i see one more person take the boat scene, which is just another of the many scenes that slaps us in the face with the fact that jace is suicidal at this point in the series, and use it as a "that's straight?" thing for a jimon post i'm gonna pull out my hair.

i see it everywhere and it disgusts me.

Man....

In college I used to be so good at debate

Now every time someone wants to "debate" on feminism or the state of the world I just want to kill my self in front of them

My cognitive function is just gone now

See, you may be talking about how I'm a useless piece of shit

But I've already killed myself ten different ways in my head.

TW suicidal and self harming

Blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood

Haha it isn't a word anymore and now it's funny. Anyways I'm such a loser I should just die. Uhh my fault I'm sorry.

I'm ◼️◼️◼️◼️ ◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️ or Aster ◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️ (haha lol lmao) Depending on who you ask.

She's pretty nice, right? Smart but complacent and unable to use it. Guts and blood. I wish I could open up my stomach to the air. I wish I could feel my life slipping away as my intestines slipped out, slowly at first, before they just all slap-plop onto the floor. Blood on the ground, tears on my face, love for me somewhere-nowhere. That's an oxymoron, if you didn't know.

Anyways. I'm suicidal (yo). I'm also full of vocal stims and mental instability and other unwellness. Not cool. (yo)

Honestly I'm boutta spill my shit all over my Tumbl r.

Chat, I’m leveling up in therapy. She sent me the suicide hotline number “just in case”

A constellation of scars (with a soldiers story to tell)

A constellation of scars, they tell the story Of a young soldier, beaten and battle weary The taunts, the jeers of those who seek validation The whispers, the rumours of those who see a threat

A collection of memories, they tell the story Of a bright young child, ready to find glory Studying hard for years to come To see their families proud faces When they hit number one

A tale of joy, fleeting yet forever Their mother, their sister, their brother, their father The times spent together with friends Now only a fantasy

The reality of life, an empty black hole The void in their chest where a heart once called home That absence of feeling that clings to their skin The guilt running through their veins that they cloak themselves in

The temptation of pain, just an itch at first Grows to be unbearable in the times it is worst The scabs on their skin that refuse to heal As they are peeled back again and again For that brief chance to feel

The tunnel of darkness continued to grow Would it ever end? They really didn’t know A call from the shadows in the form of a blade Said it brought peace and a moment of escape

The darkness swarmed in on them, promised to keep them safe In the midst of their pain, they didn’t realise it was a cage As the cuts grew in number on their arms, legs, chest and heart They still felt nothing when skin and blade were apart

As the darkness continued to swallow them whole Their loved ones were worried “Where did they go?” And so the acting began, strings of denies “I’m just tired.” They would say, weaving a web full of lies

The fragile strands tightened and coiled Constricting even them into being embroiled. “Maybe I really am just tired, or overreacting,” “Maybe it’s just for attention, to try and feel what I’m lacking.”

The coils wound tight, choking them slowly And though they didn’t realise it, they were succumbing And so the thoughts of death started creeping onto their head “I feel nothing even when cutting, I’m better off dead.”

An attempt was carried out, though they can barely remember a thing Except waking up in hospital, alive and breathing Their mother had found them, draped over the bathroom sink Wrists slit, bleeding out An ambulance was called There was still no feeling

A year had passed and there was still no sign of the end The web of lies had been broken, but the void in their chest remained Even while being smothered with affection There was still no feeling

The world kept rushing past, they stopped trying to keep up months ago But one day it seemed to halt For just a second There was feeling once more

They had been out with their friends Who hadn’t given up just yet On making them feel again Yet another attempt that was set to fail But it didn’t

It was a simple thing really A joke, a smile and then a tidal wave of laughter Seeing the joy that they thought was lost It caused something to stir

An echo of happiness, plucked from a heartstring It resonated through their body And the void seemed to shrink ever so slightly There was life in them yet

Five years passed and they were still no better That echo being the only thing keeping them tethered to this life Why am I not better yet? I should be happy, I should be healed

They began to notice the world The whispers, the rumours Began to notice How the scars littered their skin

Their body, an art piece For those who merely skimmed the surface, it was dangerous and all consuming So they avoided it Criticising the artist to deny their looming feelings of dread To ignore how deep the scars ran

But to those who saw through the critics’ remarks Those who looked deeper Who broke down the walls Who braved the aggression, the masks and the cruelty And saw what lay behind it all A damaged soul, trying to fix themselves with cut hands

The soul of a broken child who grew up too fast A child with a fragile glass heart Shattered to pieces by the harshness of life The expectations, the judgement, the reality It was shattered to protect the holder from the worst But they were still left with their constellation of scars

Those who saw the true meanings were sometimes driven to madness The weight of it too much for their aching shoulders Too weak to carry yet another burden But there were those who could. Those who saw and still stayed Those who showed them, the echo of a life Pulsing through them still

That constellation of scars, that collection of memories, they tell the story Of a brave young warrior, battling enemies even some of the most experienced had never encountered. How exhausted they were, how sick of fighting Who gave up trying to fight back those monsters Who had lost all faith

But who had life in them A pulse that refused to let go Clinging to them even as the darkness led them, Deeper and deeper into despair Echoing constantly, begging for them to hear A pulse that people helped them find

That brought them from their knees That told the young soldier, “Don’t loose hope yet, I’m still beating.” The young soldier hadn’t given up yet They would be victorious

Their constellation of scars, told of memories Good and bad, joyous and despairing The memories of their life past And would tell of the life to come

As the new scars were added, the jeers stayed the same, Unwavering in their goal to hurt

But still, they lived Though their scars never fully healed, their pain never fully erased The void never fully gone

There were good days Where their scars seemed non existent And there were bad days Which broke them all over again

But what was important Was that even if the light disappeared from the tunnel, Even if the dark seemed inescapable, They would always have the pulse in their chest Cheering them on, keeping them going Awaiting the victory only they can achieve. Steadily beating.

very heavy stuff today, but i need to get it off my chest

i dont exactly know how tumblr does the whole "read more" thing, so there's gonna be a spam of line breaks and after that read at your own risk. I dont even know what kinda TWs this would qualify under so consider this your "bad shit under here you've been warned"

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I am so fucking close to snapping i swear to neptune, allah, fucking buddha, any god that is fucking out there why do i have to be such a broken, useless piece of shit. fucking AAAAAAAAAAAAA im so fucking tired, so fucking tired of only existing to be beaten, used and abused then forgotten. Fuck my fucking life. It's never getting better, people keep fucking telling me that same platitude but i've been waiting two fucking decades for it to just magically "get better" and guess what IT FUCKING DOESNT. Im not even a real fucking person, im a goddamn *shard* of what used to be a person. im incapable of taking care of myself, incapable of ever "functioning" in modern society. all im ever going to be is someone's fucking retard burden to drag them down for the rest of my natural born fucking life. I look hideous, im completely disabled because of decades of constant mind-breaking trauma and will likely never recover, the country i live in is going to shit, im absolutely penniless with no hope of ever having an income. what fucking future is there. At this point im about ready to just give up, let go of the controls and let myself fade into nothing. There's two more fucking backup personalities in here maybe they wont be such fuckups. I was made to be a weapon, a survival-mode emergency shield and nothing more, i cant survive actual life. I cant even be someone's fucking malewife housecat and be pampered all day because i spun the orientation wheel and got "Dom-top". How the fuck does that work when i can barely get off the couch in the morning? when i have to be kept pretty much on fucking life support by someone else or ill literally drown in my own garbage. Maybe the bronchitis i had as an infant was meant to kill me and this is the world's way of correcting its mistake. Holy fuck here's to hoping i get hit by a meteor, like to charge reblog to fucking nail me like the dinosaurs.

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Vent over, here's a fish as a palate cleanser

That's What You Get (Yandere!Hawks x Pregnant!Reader)

SERIOUS WARNING: This is an extremely disturbing read with themes and topics that include: suicidal tendencies, cursing, verbal abuse, blood, self-harm, infantilism, forced pregnancy, purposeful miscarriage, descriptions of gore, physical abuse and mentions of rape.

Please read with caution as you have been warned of the heavy subjects present in this story.

You wondered to yourself what you did to deserve all of this.

What god had decided to push all their anger unto your poor, unfortunate soul with such mercilessness?

What events led you to meeting a red-winged devil pretending to be an angel?

A hot hand grabbed at your hand without warning, yanking it away from your mouth. A trail of bloodied saliva followed and you only then noticed the familiar taste of blood on your tongue.

"Can you fucking stop?" Dabi hissed, turquoise eyes glaring deep into your hazed ones. "Do you want Hawks to lose his shit again?"

Yes, is what you wanted to say. You wanted Hawks to watch as you bit into your fingers with little thought. You wanted him to see how numb you were from all his abuse. You wanted him to know that he did this.

He was the reason you were broken now.

You didn't answer his question or even bother to truly look at him, only bringing your other hand to your mouth and biting down.

Your nail cracked against your teeth and felt slight satisfaction when Dabi cursed again and had to grab both your hands to keep you from doing any further damage to yourself.

"God dammnit, Y/N!" He growled, grabbing the attention of nearby league members scattered about the hideout. "Can someone please take this stupid bitch? I am not babysitting that hero's fuck doll today!"

Entering the room with a long sigh, Mr. Compress switched places with the purple-skinned villain, a first aid kit in tow.

When Dabi exited from the room, a dry chuckle left you but disappeared just as quickly as it came.

That's how most feelings worked for you now. They'd come and go. You were never allowed to truly feel anything for longer than 10 seconds.

Compress eyed you disappointingly, "It's not funny, Y/N." He scolded as he began to wrap your fingers, "Hawks told you to take better care of yourself. The more you put yourself at risk, the harder this pregnancy will be in the long run.

You stilled at that, nausea rising to your throat at the painful memories of Hawks holding you down against the cold, tiled floor and his warm, smooth cum filling your bruised cunt to the brim despite your cries.

That was followed by many more nights painted the same way.

A month later, you found out you were pregnant after Hawks had tested your toilet water.

The bastard was happier than ever but that happiness went right out the window when he caught you attempting to throw yourself down a set of stairs later that day. You'd even looked him in the eyes as you'd started to fall.

It was too bad that he'd caught you. That fall definitely would've done the trick.

After numerous other attempts, the hero finally decided that while he was gone, someone had to be with you at all times for both you and the baby's parasite's protection.

"Done-" Compress finished wrapping the bandages around you fingers, "-Have you eaten lunch yet?"

No, you hadn't. You hadn't moved from your curled position on the couch since Hawks left way earlier that morning.

To please Compress, you ate a few bites of what he made you and sipped some of the soup Hawks had packed for you.

Soon, you were back in your corner of the couch, filling in the permanent dent that you’d made from sitting there for so long.

You shivered as you hugged yourself.

Despite wearing a sweater and leggings with thick socks, you always felt so cold. Even if you were sweating, you were still cold.

You wondered why that was.

And now that you were left alone with your thoughts, you began to wonder other things.

Was your family regretting giving you to Hawks?

How long had it been since you'd seen them?

Did they even care?

What would they think if you escaped now and showed up pregnant?

Would they even believe you if you told them what Hawks did?

They’d probably think you were a slut.

A good for nothing whore that would do anything to get money.

Your head felt like it was about to explode.

Everything felt so meaningless now.

Why did this happen to you? Why couldn't you get control of your life again?

You placed a hand on your stomach, feeling the small hump that would soon be bigger and heavier in just a few months.

And then you'd have to push it out while it tore your pussy apart. Then you'd have to heal for who knows how long, taking care of a screaming, shitting lump while Hawks goes out and lives however he pleases.

As he always has.

...

Were you really supposed to just sit here and accept that?

That's what Hawks wanted you to do.

But how the hell could you?

"Baby, I'm back!" Hawks beamed as he walked up to you, stealing a kiss to your cheek. His smiled faded slightly, however, when he saw your bandaged fingers, "Aw, (Y/N), were you biting your fingers again?"

You didn't answer. You never really did anymore, much to his annoyance.

He sighed deeply and turned to Compress, asking him about how you'd done throughout the day. His expression only soured further at the villain's words and he glanced down at you with unimpressed eyes.

"Alright, thank you guys again for watching her-" He picked you up bridal style, "We'll be back next week as discussed."

The flight home was eerily quiet. You could tell that Hawks was upset with you. But he couldn't be nearly as upset as you were. But you knew he never thought about how you felt.

Everything was always about him.

When you both got home to his condominium, he sat you on the couch, unwrapping and examining your damaged fingers.

His lips were downturned and his brows were furrowed. His golden eyes weren't as bright as they'd been previously.

He wasn't happy with you at all.

Good.

His face made you giddy for some reason and you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from twitching upwards. It was so great that you could almost laugh with genuine joy.

Hawks' snapped his eyes up to you with wide, unbelieving eyes.

Shit, you must've laughed without realizing it.

No, wait.

You were crying.

"Oh, (Y/N), it's alright.” He cooed, “I know you'll do better for me and the baby next time, right?" That was a threat and you felt your mood plunge at the mention of the baby parasite resting in you. "Right?"

"Yeah..." You mumbled robotically. You could give less shits about the baby.

Hawks wasn't happy with how you'd responded but shrugged it off with a mumble of 'pregnancy hormones' and started to make dinner.

Ever since he’d found out you were pregnant, he made you take it easy. No unnecessary movement, as he liked to phrase it.

“So…” Keigo started, washing some rice in a bowl, “you’ve got your first appointment coming up next week. How’d’ya feel?”

You touched your growing stomach underneath your loose t-shirt. Was it really time for that?

No, no this couldn’t be.

If Hawks made you wait too long, you won’t be able to get rid of it and then you’ll really be stuck.

Nausea came back full force and you retched aloud, stomach curling. You turned away from the table and threw up the little bit of lunch you’d had earlier.

Keigo was by your side in a flash, rubbing your back when you continued to retch and gag.

“The morning sickness is becoming more frequent now, huh?” He asked, “Here, rinse your mouth with some water.” His feathers brought over a small cup of water and a bowl for you to spit into.

After rinsing your mouth out, you glanced up at Keigo, something you hadn’t done in a long time and saw how he visibly brightened when you did so.

“Please, Kei… I don’t-I don’t want this.” You told him honestly, your voice heavy with misery.

He instantly frowned at that, lips turning downwards and eyes going sharp, “What did I tell you about talking like that, (Y/N)? What the hell is wrong with you?!” He snapped, feathers shaking.

You stared at him as if he weren’t there and shrugged, “I guess you won’t know until the baby’s dead.”

“You don’t mean that.” He seemed to be telling himself that because deep down… deep down he knew that you meant it. “(Y/N), you don’t mean that.”

You felt the corners of your mouth lift again, “I’m not going to my first appointment because there will be no baby. Hell, there weren’t even be a (Y/N) to take to the appointment.” Now you were really smiling, no more tears to give.

Hawks feathers shook more, a hopeless look graced his features as he brought a hand to his mouth, “(Y/N), I-“ He looked away from your wide smile and void eyes, he couldn’t stand to look at you anymore, “What is happening to you? A baby is supposed to make you happy! Why isn’t this working?”

He walked away without another word, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

A burning smell caught your attention and you stepped over your vomit puddle to turn off the chicken he was cooking on the stove.

You took the pan off the still hot burner and placed it on the back one.

If only a burn could kill you.

A glint in your peripheral vision caught your eye and you snapped your head towards the sink. Your eyes widened.

There, like the forbidden fruit, sat a large kitchen knife. You realized Keigo must’ve left it when he was arguing with you.

Now was your chance.

You gripped the knife in both your hands.

You hadn’t seen a knife in so long. Keigo had locked them up when you started ‘acting up’.

You lifted it above your head.

Deep breath in.

Hold it.

You swiftly brought the knife down into your stomach. It slid right in like butter and you surprisingly didn’t feel anything.

With a shaky breath, you looked down and stumbled awkwardly as you struggled to pull the knife back out.

Blood started to soak your t-shirt and stain it dark red. A metallic smell clung to the air and you raised the knife above your head again.

This was easier than you’d thought.

You brought the knife down at an angle and groaned, the pressure of your stab felt like a punch.

One more stab should do the trick.

“(Y/N), I got off the phone with your pediatrician,” Keigo started from the bedroom you both shared, “Turns out, you’re just going through a pregnancy depr- (Y/N)!” He screamed seeing the blood on the ground.

Feathers shot towards you and you smiled wildly as you were pinned to the ground.

Keigo turned you on your side and you let go of the knife, letting it stay in your stomach.

There was no need to do anything else. You’d gotten rid of it for good.

He sobbed loudly in your face, his eyes screaming with despair. He didn’t even recognize you anymore, just like how you hadn’t recognized him for a long time now.

His screams of why were only met with one answer.

“Because, that’s what you get.”

DEAR ALL SCAMMERS WHO POSE AS OLD RAGGEDY ASS SUGAR DADDIES GO KILL YOURSELVES I DON'T WANT A FUCKING MESSAGE OR A SINGLE FUCKING COMMENT FROM YOU GO FUCKING KILL YOUR WORTHLESS SELVES I'M A GODDAMN CHILD AND I'M TAKEN. GO FUCKING ROT IN THE JAIL CELL YOU DESERVE TO BE IN

anyways hi guys this DIRECTLY contradicts my fucking banner (positivity? haha not tonight!) but i want to not just crawl out of my skin. i want to rip it off! tear my organs to shreds! i want to KILL someone! i want to MAUL someone! tear someone to shreds! i want to rip my own body apart because the way i experience rage is so unique and i hate it! i hate it so fucking much and nobody UNDERSTANDS me. and nobody cares about me either! and god forbid my friends actually like. idk talk to me unless they need something. at least that's how it feels sometimes. I'M usually the one to reach out. do they hate me? am i too annoying and insane for all of them? probably! because fuck me i guess! might as well kill myself!

i'm not actually a suicide risk btw. this is hypothetical and overreacting.

*Trigger Warnings: Details and Descriptions of su*c*d* attempt, su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, drug use, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, PTSD symptoms, eating disorder, passive aggressive humor.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 7

12:06pm

So yeah, I tried to kill myself. Emphasis on “tried”. I packed up all my shit, so that you and Gem wouldn’t have to touch it or look at it. I took those pills, all of those pills, because I couldn’t and still can’t cut myself. And, I waited in an alley 2 blocks from your apartment in the biting cold for 3 hours, so I wouldn’t die in the apartment, your home.

That slap must hurt, doesn’t it?

Then… nothing.

Nothing happened happened that is. I waited 3 hours, watching Steven Universe to leave with my last chance at happiness and nothing fucking happened. “Oh well”, I thought.

So, I got up, walked back to the apartment, called an ambulance because I took a shit ton of medication that was going to do something other than k*ll me. Went to the hospital, told them not to call you for a few hours because I didn’t care to. The drugs kicked in and I was high out of my mind, couldn’t even walk by myself (HA! LOL), and then… there you were.

I only remember two bits from that conversation. 1.) That you got me food because I realized I hadn’t eaten in however long I was there. And 2.), That you were kicking me out, said I couldn’t come back, that first you felt guilt that switched to anger, that you're "shipping me back to my mom", that what would I think if Gem found me dead in my room, and what would it be like for you both to have to find a new place. And I said, “I’m sorry”.

And I still have more sorry's to give. I know that what I just said was hurtful and unfair and completely victimizing myself, even if it is my side of the story. I’m so sorry for that. Genuinely, I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry that me arriving came at a time, where you and Gem were struggling with new jobs and the eventual lawsuit possibility. I’m sorry that I was another person with damaged mental health added to your household, when you felt like you were the only one keeping everyone afloat. I’m sorry that I never just told you the truth, my truth. Of how I was feeling and how much I was struggling.

I’m sorry that things never went the way we expected. I’m sorry for not being there for you and Gem, the way you both were for me. I’m sorry that I “fed off the energy in the space” and “exacerbated what was already in the space”. I’m sorry for not seeing the obvious signs that you both needed space.

I’m so sorry for not being able to leave the house or eat without being told. I’m so sorry for not being able to find an out-patient program or a job fast enough. I’m so sorry for making you be my one and only protector and supporter.

I’m so sorry for becoming your and Gem’s suffering, instead of just my own.

I’m so sorry for putting myself in your hands when you weren’t prepared.

I’m so sorry for making you take responsibility for me.

I’m so sorry for sharing more with Gem than with you.

I’m so sorry for not making my choice to say, “Yes, I’ll come stay with you”, shown and worth it.

I’m… so sorry… for putting you and Gem through the trauma of me attempting su*c*d*, and the strain that must have caused.

I’m.

So.

Sorry…

For Everything.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 6

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d* attempt, su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 6

12:06pm

I’ve realized that I wasn’t broken or shattered when I came to you. I was cracked. Hundreds of jagged lines waiting to be smoothed over. But from Langone to those next 6 weeks, pieces were starting to fall faster than the cracks were sealed. The first hospitalization at Emory, moving to New York, our fights, my Granny passing, more fights, my birthday, to that last Monday that I saw the apartment, to the last time we were together. Everything in-between was beautiful and warm, and those specific moments were pain and suffering.

I thought I had reached my breaking. But the truth is, my breaking point was 100 times higher than I ever thought. My mask was too thick, right? So thick that as tears rolled down my face onto the floor and as “I’m sorry” rode along my shaky breaths, the splashes and shakes couldn’t be heard.

You know, it was the smallest thing that pitched me off the tallest cliff that is my breaking point. It was another of your fights, another “open conversation”. I bought my tickets to go see our cousin for Christmas, something that you not only suggested, but I informed you that I decided upon the week before. And, as I listened to you say it yet another slap to your face (this should be a new record at this point, what’s the count, 6?), as I felt the quivering of my anxiety claw at my lungs, as you brought up trying to buy my tickets as if it wasn’t the first time I was hearing it, as I felt a good moment fade… I knew I needed to leave.

To rid you of my presence, my two suitcases, of my laptop, of the heels I bought as my birthday present to myself that I returned because you suggested (another irresponsible spend), of the list I made you of all my favorite foods of me washing the dishes and cleaning the bathroom and staying home and watching the cats as you and Gem traveled on a trip that I was invited on first and of the packet that you and Gem promised you would help me with but didn’t and of me with my angstand my sorrowand my guiltand my anxietyand my depressionand me…

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, insomnia, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 5

12:06pm

I was hiding my anxiety, my depression, my rage, my insomnia under my mask that I guess was too thick. So thick that it shadowed the drips and drops of the truth, my truth, that I hoped would grow into waves large enough to show on your radar. That I was not okay. Not okay at all. But okay enough to manage, right?

My world was changing so fast and everything was too much, yet slow enough and just not enough that I could see my only motivation to even have a world, flickering in and out with every interaction. With every text left unsent. With every phone call unrung. 

I thought things were getting better, I thought I was getting better. But how could I with no therapist, no meds, no one to help me sift through that packet, no one to talk to? All I had was that packet, my laptop, and two older sisters that switched from laughter to comfort, to withdrawn to frustration. From me being there, to me wanting anything but anywhere…

The way you spoke, the way you acted, the way you looked, set me on edge. I felt like an intruder in your home, and during some of your “open conversations”, I felt like you thought so too. There were lines drawn in the sand, when you said you would always prioritize Gem over me, when there shouldn’t have been. There were so many contradictions, “We’re not roommates in college” vs. “I’m not your parent”, or better yet, “You’re an adult who can make their own decisions” vs. “You should at least inform me of what’s going on, so I can help you”, that should have been cut and dry. There were assumptions, so many assumptions, “I think you look for drama” vs. “I think you were trying to be insensitive”, that could have been questions. 

So many times, we had “open conversations” that were plainly and painfully, just one-sided. In which your claws were out, and I cried and apologized. Even the one time I found the strength to stand up for myself, I ended up saying “I’m sorry”, drowned in tears enough to last a lifetime.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 6 Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, hospitalizations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, bipolar depression, anxiety.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 4

12:06pm

My resolve sparked the shift. The shift from watching my pieces scatter from me sporadically to gluing them back together. By the time I landed, I knew there were expectations for me, whether they were from you or my friends, or even myself. Everything was still moving too fast, I really couldn’t keep up, but all I could think about was that I had to and that you two were there to help me.

But only half of that was true.

After I landed and we went to Langone (hospital), I think both of our expectations broke and we didn’t know what to do. I was in an unfamiliar place (New York City) with a deadline of January 1st to move out. I was losing myself throughout that entire time, and instead of finding hope, I found rejection immediately. Langone was the destination in my mind that would turn the tides. I would be able to heal and receive the treatment that I needed to kickstart the right kind of growth. I was ready to let go of my control of myself and release my inhibitions in the hope of something great… for me. 

But instead, I was rejected and I walked away with a packet of every out-patient facility in the NYC area.

Everything was too much. I was broken and was fighting myself to not to want to give up, for you and everyone else, and I decided to keep saving face and see it through. Then maybe, it would be for me too.

After Langone, you were upset, it was nowhere near the plan of me staying in the hospital for 2 weeks. I think that’s when I shied away from you and confided in Gem. I was upset too that Langone didn’t work out, but I was so tired, too tired, of trying to lift off the ground and take flight. I needed time to gain more energy, to repair my mask that was so close to completely breaking. Because if I wasn’t okay enough to manage, then all of your efforts and money would have been wasted. So, I did just that. I rested for almost a week, and felt strings lifting me to dance a song I didn’t know.

You guys did your best to pour into me. By telling me to journal again, to eat, drink water, to get outside. Despite all that was on each of your plates, you made sure I knew that you were there for me. But, how you specifically did it took much longer to understand.

I felt like I was an intruder in your home. A parasite taking what you had for a gain I had not identified or knew existed. I was trying to be so careful; not to do something wrong, to upset you, to make you question if bringing me there was a mistake…

You asked me to wash the dishes, I started washing them almost every time, so you wouldn’t have to ask again. You got upset that second week that I didn’t take out the trash and recycling on time, I made sure to take them out by the end of each day. You told me to clean the bathroom on the weekends, I put time aside to clean it on Sundays. You told me y’all like to spot clean throughout the week, as soon as I saw cat litter on the hallway floor, I was sweeping and moping the whole house.

You told me that I was irresponsible with money, that it was a slap to the face, even though it wasn’t with your money. I stopped buying things that was just for me, bought groceries for the household, and occasionally bought a coffee.

You told me that you expected me to go back to school in January, then when I said that I didn’t want to, you only said okay. I started looking at colleges and scholarships and made a list.

You told me that you didn’t have the space for me to regularly let you know the progress I was making, even though I was putting in all this effort for you, for you to keep seeing me alive and well. I stopped talking because there was nothing left of me to pull from and share.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, harassment, trauma, hospitalizations, breakdowns, triggers, depression, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 3

12:06pm

That incident with the driver triggered me, so badly to the point where for the next week, it was like I was back with Dad and with my step-dad. I couldn’t separate my past reality with my present one. And, 4 days in, I stopped going to classes. I missed 2 weeks by the time that I almost acted on my su*c*d*al ideations. I stopped myself though, and told my therapist. She suggested I go to an in-patient hospital down the road at Emory, and I took it. But, it made everything worse, and I regretted it.

I went without telling anyone, and I thought the school would handle all necessary communications with my teachers, like they said they would, but they didn’t. I was bitter and sad and angry and numb the moment I stepped out of the hospital after almost a week. Then, I spoke to you and the New York Plan started.

You were the first and only person that I told about the hospital. I thought you would be mad at me, at least I made myself believe that. But, you were the opposite, you were mad at Emory like I was, and after you told me what you went through to try to find me, I thought you were finally starting to understand why I didn’t like it at Emory. You were fiercely protective of me like you always have been, and I knew that my big sister had me.

But then, you called back later that day and said that I should fly out to New York the next day, and for the first time, you scared me. Everything was moving too fast all of a sudden, and me, being where I was, just out of the hospital and so ready to die, I was so ready to come to you, but the logical side of me pumped the brakes so hard and so fast.

Of course, I needed the support, I wanted the support, but there was no way that I could just up and leave, but also, leave and then what? We didn’t talk about that first. I had to think about my college trajectory, how things would change, what I would be risking, what and who I would leave behind. Everything was too much to work out to just leave the next day. I processed and understood that enough to take a pause, which in hindsight, I really commend myself for.

The next 2 weeks were awful. I was breaking down crying almost every night, trying to wrestle with the fact of leaving not just just Emory, but the life that I had staked everything and was failing to maintain. I was losing an already lost battle, but it was just catching up to me. When my professors told me that I either would need to leave or fail my classes, when my therapist was pushing for me to go, when my advisor told me leaving would save my full-ride scholarship. The world decided for me what would be next, and I watched my world shatter. It was heartbreaking and frustrating and so filled to the brim with grief that I was drowning, truly, when I already thought I was. But, there was you and there was Gem.

And even though I had a January deadline to meet and the pressure equaled my sorrow, I knew what to be done. So, I filed the medical leave, and jumped on the plane.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of verbal and emotional abuse, su*c*d*l thoughts, PTSD symptoms, self-deprecation, anxiety, and depression.* Monday, Nov. 7th, 2022 Part 2

4:37pm

Here’s what I would say to her:

“To Angel,

I would like to have an open conversation please… I’ve been holding in a lot of stress and anxiety surrounding you, that I just don’t know what to do with. I feel so stifled, and like I’m only able to say or do certain things to avoid any negative responses or retaliation from you. I haven’t appreciated the way that you have spoken to me lately, when you are bringing up issues that you that you want to address with me. It comes off as condescending and that there’s no consideration for me in the “conversation”. And while mentally, I know that you are not coming from an ill place, emotionally and how I respond physically, I can’t tell whether or not I should be guarded with you. Because I’m scared… of what and how you will say things. 

When you are trying to give me advice, you don’t ask for consent, or if I have any experience in the matter. When you’re trying to teach me, it’s very abrasive and as if I’m dumb to not have known it before. When you are telling me to fix something or reminding me or helping me, it never feels like just that. It’s as if I’m being scolded like a child, or that I need to meet your standards and expectations of me. I’m starting to react to you talking to me as if I’m on the watch for an ambush.

There are better ways to approach these “conversations” that will be easier for me to receive, but I hate feeling like I’m walking on eggshells with you. I have processing issues that affect my memory and I’m recovering from severe, disordered eating habits, and it’s going to take a lot longer than 3 weeks for me to learn all the ways you like for the house to be maintained. So, instead of speaking to me in such a brash manner, I would greatly appreciate and prefer if you could change how you bring up issues or topics with me. Especially so that it comes off in the way you intend.

I feel like you disregard how many times I have said that I feel that I have to make myself small in a way that is so far from what I mean. I don’t feel like my being here in this place and this new facet of our relationship has really cemented yet, but you have fallen into this pattern of interacting with me as if you know me so well. It’s not the same for me, not even close. I’ve not started feeling like myself again like I should, and while my days here have been lighter and easier to deal with, it’s only that and nothing more. 

You have no idea of how I am actually doing or feeling or thinking because I don’t feel comfortable sharing it with you, nor do you properly check-in with me. At least, without it being in comparison to yourself. I’m literally alive only because you want me to be, and yet, I feel like I’m being picked apart and belittled for not saying or doing things the way you would. It’s controlling and does not make me want to approach you for anything other than what you must know. 

Like, I feel like I am just now learning who you are, and that you don’t feel the same because you keep saying that “you know me so well”, but you don’t. Not with us only building a relationship 3 years ago because, remember, we grew up on opposite sides of the country! There’s so much you don’t know, and it doesn’t feel like you even notice that you don’t. Yet, you jump to speaking to me in ways that I don’t need or want at this time. 

I just need a gentler deliver that isn’t accented with a vicious tone to then be excused by saying you want to continue these “open conversations” when you’re finished, when it has NEVER FELT MORE ONE-SIDED.

And, if it feels like you have to change the way you communicate, in order to talk with me, then I’m really sorry to have asked for such a truly difficult task like this, but I really need this at this moment in time.”

Part 1

*Trigger Warnings: Mentions of emotional and verbal abuse, su*c*d*l thoughts, self-deprecating thoughts, anxiety, and depression.*

Monday, Nov. 7th, 2022

4:37pm

Dear Me,

I’m struggling so much to control my anxiety and stress since my birthday 2 days ago. Deadass, I am so confused to the point where I don’t know where to begin, but I know that I am feeling so depressed and tired and empty and numb and exhausted. Gem’s extreme levels of vulnerability and the amount of breakdowns she has, is triggering and makes me upset for her, but also myself, because I don’t know what to do with myself and I feel out of place. 

Then with Angel, the way she speaks to me just gets to me. It comes off as if she is SO upset with me each time, or is looking for something to berate me over. It’s as though she’s projecting her frustrations onto me, but then, painting it over by saying that she is trying to have an honest conversation or teaching/advising me. It makes me so anxious and sick to my stomach when she talks to me because it’s like she’s going to be aggressive or “attack me” every single time. 

There’s no question of how I’m doing, or a thought of what I’m going through. She just wants to release whatever she wants to without any pushback. She’s controlling the situation to her own benefit without any regard. It’s like she forgets that I’m fighting my hardest to stay alive afloat, and only telling me what’s wrong with me(?).  It reminds me of our dad and how he used to talk to me and how I used to feel. She’s trying to “help” me “learn” by “advising” me to do certain things. But, it’s all a nice way of saying that she’s controlling me. But, some things are true and things that I truly need to work on, yet the consistent way that she delivers them is so awful. I just feel helpless.

Part 2

*Trigger Warnings: Su*c*d*l thoughts, Self- Deprecation,depression.*

Tuesday, Nov. 1st, 2022

6:48pm

Dear Me,

I’m not really excited about my birthday this Saturday. I think that how I view my birthday directly reflects how I value myself. I convinced myself that I don’t matter as much or am worth much, so why celebrate? I don’t get to celebrate in any way that is enjoyable, if there’s a celebration at all, and the day I’m born doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things.

It’s a reminder of time passing and the stress of the unknown time to come. It’s like a checkpoint to see where I’m at and how much I’ve done in a short amount of time. I never expected that my life would go on for so long, which, inherently, is a good thing (apparently), but it scares me. 

I don’t think that I’m worth the effort, but I know that I would be upset otherwise.

So, let’s hope I feel better when the day comes…

hi my name is duchesstopaz and i’m a trauma survivor. there are so many things that i want to say, need to say… but no one who can understand if they don’t listen. i want to use my blog to just vent and get out all of this that needs an escape because it’s eating away at me. i am constantly evolving and changing and have grown so much over all of these years. i have a story to tell and this is one of the ways that i can share. so please watch as a 20 y/o shares way too much on the internet lol :). feel free to interact if you would like, feel free to give advice if you would like, but this is truly something purely for me that i would like to share.

He left me on opened for 40 minutes. Do i murder him or myself?

Hii ^~^ your art is very nice, 'specially your 2 weeks AU

I have a question if it's alright! How did Rudy end up in the ward? In canon, he doesn't tell his parents much about his current issues since he feels like a burden to them. I am wondering how your AU differs! What are the circumstances that led to Rudy being admitted?

Hi, thank you so much !!! ^_^

Tw for suicide and sh !!!

Basically, what happens is Rudy has a really bad breakdown that leads to him harming himself with the intention of dying (there are two drawings I have posted where he is sitting on the floor with a bloody nose , this is because he slams his face against the wall ^_^ )

he wanted to hide this from his parents but he pasted out from being so exhausted !!! So they found him on the floor lying in a pool of blood and they took him to the hospital

more vent below the cut, see warnings

The passive suicidal ideation that comes with having a physical disability is hard. I'm sure I'm not the only person who feels this way. I grew up with an ever-increasing pain tolerance due to my condition to the point where ripping nails from my nailbeds became Just One of My Habits, because it hurt less than my condition, and having my nailbed be deformed anyways before that habit formed certainly didn't help. I was the kid who always tried in sports, even if I was never athletic. I was the kid who got an A's, even when going to school was exhausting and painful and, to be honest, I was and still am really convinced that my inherent worth is attributed to what work I can produce. In all the jobs I've worked, I've done what I could, even if it wasn't...Enough. In moment like these, where my head is clouded with exhaustion and I lay in bed, in too much pain to do anything but tap my achey and tingly fingers on a keyboard as every movement sends sharp stinging pain up and down my entire arm region and drips down into my torso, and I have to get all my work done, but I can't. Think. I can't. Move. I feel like I'm an old cat, just waiting to die, except I'm a young adult human being who just wants the pain to be over. It'll never be over. This isn't to say I'm actively suicidal. I'm not- At least not anymore. Just living in a body that is in agony all the time gets hard. Really hard. And I start to wonder and think about how good I would feel if I could just slip into a sleep and not have to wake up to the pain, and the exhaustion, and the lack of limb functionality, and the fainting, and the falling, and the humiliation, and the shame- And I sometimes wish I could die, before everyone realizes how much of a disappointment I am because of this. I can't work up to the same par as everybody else can, even though I manage to get everything done up to a very good quality, it take some about 4x longer to do it compared to an able-bodied person. oinfdgionfdnndndnnnfvfn

This Morning: A Thread (TW: Suicidal ideation)

My brain: Ugh, not again

How and why am I still alive?

Because I just fell asleep, it's normal

I don't want to be here.

I don't want to be here.

I cannot unalive myself here. I need to wait until I can.

I need to study, get my degree, get a job, start living alone.

Only then will I be able to end it.

Alone, alone, alone.

Yes, only a few more years.

Let's start the day.

im having a flare up of back pain at school and im afraid to stand up because i know that as soon as my backpack touches my back that my vision will go black again, and a bolt of lightning will shoot up my spine again, and ill feel like im falling when im not again, and i already have a headache from the fluorescents again

and i cant go to the nurse again, because shell send me home again, and i cant get behind again, not with a history test tomorrow and a math cumulative thurday and a science quiz also on thursday

and im so fucking tired and i wish i hadnt gotten up this morning and i just want to go home and watch a movie with a heating pad on or just fall asleep forever

Hate how i'll be on my couch watching smth, and just get the thought 'jump no one will miss you' lmfao

Thank you to everyone who liked me and was my friend. Sadly, my depression is getting out of control, and I can't stand it any longer.

I don't know if I will be okay or not. I just want to feel happy again, but all there is waiting is despair. My medications aren't helping. I am desperately seeking happiness, only to find nothing.

If I don't make myself disappear permanently, I will be back.

stop y’all, i literally opened tumblr while on the school wifi and forgot they have certain things blocked and when i opened tumblr it showed the “this is usually your dashboard” SHIT AND I GOT SO SCAREDDDD

i love deep cvvts but i get scared to even go to deep styro, do you guys have any tips? i’ve gone to beans before but only twice like 3 years ago