Sorry guys for not drawing anything in a while and I won’t be able to any time soon I’ll explain in the tags if ur interested

Hope you’re all well <3

worried abt my best friend

September Sky Chapter Eight, Part 4

She didn't say anything, and placed her hand right over my heart. I could smell her shampoo. The sweet smell of watermelon candy.

I gritted my teeth and prepared for the question that always plays as a follow-up. Why? Everyone wants to know why, and to be perfectly honest, I don't really have a real answer, or reason. I don't know why I decided that cutting my skin open was some kind of medicine or came to learn razor blades to be comforting and home.

But the question never came. We just laid there, lost in are own thoughts. And I'm not sure, but that may have been worse. I couldn't even guess what she was thinking, which meant that, in my mind, she could only be calculating her escape. I'd been prepared for that moment since that very first drink. I knew someday she'd realize I am way to fucked up and unhealthy to be good in any relationship. The room felt heavy and the air itself seemed to weigh everything down, tightly. It was almost claustrophobic. Silence is a powerful force. I wasn't sure I could take it.

"I was really kind of a stupid kid," I finally said, feeling the strong need to break the silence. It wasn't so much that it was awkward, more like it was suffocating. I really did not want to face yet another anxiety attack. So I broke the silence.

"Huh?" Addison asked and looked at me. Her face seemed lost at thought. I swear I could see a panic in her eyes. A panic that screamed this wasn't worth it. That I was way too much trouble then initially thought. And still, I wouldn't blame her.

"I said I was kind of a stupid kid," repeating my words into the dimly lit room's airspace.

"I wouldn't say stupid. I mean, it seems more troubling then stupid. I just can't understand it. Why someone does it." Her voice was soft, and quiet. It was comforting, and in her tone she created a safe place where this could be talked about as it was, just a bad moment in my history. She could've been a therapist. She would've probably excelled at it.

"I wish I knew. I don't remember how I got the idea that cutting my skin open was a smart and healthy way to cope with depression. I wish could remember," I said. I'd said that whole line before. It was burned into my brain like all the other instant response I had stashed.

"You don't still do it, do you?"

"No. It's been years."

"Good."

The room went silent again. Outside, a car alarm shouted it's annoying sounds out into the night time air. Eventually, it's owner clicked it off. The silence was deafening.

"I was a pretty trouble kid in high school," I said, once again breaking up the silence. "My parents divorced and I watched my family completely implode." My parents divorce did have a major effect on me, but my troubles were started well before my dad walked out on my mom. My brain never worked properly and I spent most of my adolescence in a series of depression. I even got my 'free grippy sock vacation' during this time. I just never stuck around long enough or even followed through which might have saved me a lot of trouble coming in the future. But I was depressed teenager. Who ever heard of such a rarity?

"And it wasn't like I could talk to a friend. I really didn't have any."

"There wasn't anybody?" Addison asked.

"No, not really. The town I grew up in is a very rural farmland type of place. Being a goth kid in high school there was like signing a death warrant. I was picked on every single day by quite a few different kids. I was an easy target. They may be pieces of shit, but let's face it, I make an easy target. I was a guy wearing eye liner and eye shadow, black lipstick. All my clothes were black, and my pants always looked so big."

Addison was giving me her full attention now, and it felt weird. I ever liked being center stage, even during the days of Crazy Chris, or worse yet, in the many bands Chad and I would attempt at starting up. I think there were three or four times we had a full band set up and we'd go to practise and I'd find I couldn't sing. Stage fright, performance anxiety, whatever. I suffered it.

"I'd get the shit kicked out me on a pretty regular schedule. And it wasn't like I could go to the teachers. That may be what the world says to do, but when you're fifteen you know that it isn't a good idea. And I stand by that it isn't a good idea, and usually only makes things a million times worse.. So I took my beatings and the constant namecalling. I think I've been called a faggot in three different languages." I stopped to take a breath. The words were coming out in long sentences. And fast. I had to stop to remind myself to breathe. And to sse if Addison still looked like it mattered. Her face said it did.

"My self-esteem was destroyed. And one day I just got it in my head to cut myself. I don't know ther reason, but the first time the razor cut, it was shallow and only beaded up with blood. I think that was my favorite part of the self-harm era."

"What? Bleeding?" Even as she scrunched her nose up at the very thought of someone enjoying to see themselves blood.

"Kind of, yeah. I liked watching blood leave trails down my arms. For some reason, it made everything else not matter as much. Like any addiction, I enjoyed it at first, but by then end of it, I'm just lucky it didn't kill me." I sighed. Not a sad sigh. Like an "this is almost finished" kind of way.

Anyway I had a long tumblr break because on Saturday I had a massive panic attack at like 2am and my brain convinced itself that I was absolutely getting fired on Monday (I did not, actually what I did get was a glowing 90 day review and also more responsibilities now that I’m a full team member) and thus I should do something dramatic like Die About It or something, and I’ve been noticing some mental health bad habits creeping into my online time, and decided to two-birds it and uninstall tumblr from my phone and avoid my other social media outside of brief daily checks until my brain stopped screaming.

I also realized that my cycle had made my dysphoria rocket up to about 110% and that engaging with the side of tumblr that seems dedicated to misgendering and deliberately triggering dysphoria was, in fact, probably a bad combination, so uninstalling tumblr completely removes temptation to engage until I’m in a better mental state.

For a little while I thought I might need a ✨ grippy sock vacation ✨ but as it turns out what I needed to do was exactly what I did: chug nyquil until I forcibly put myself to sleep and make it through some Big Events like my pre-T appointment and my review etc without the background noise to racket my anxiety and depression bad habits back up to an 11.

I’m back now that I’ve got my head on right again and have decided to sidestep the danger zone rather than jump headlong into doomspiraling while contemplating very stupid drastic last-night decisions.

literally screaming for him to wake up and see me and appreciate me for everything I’ve done for us since coming back home to him after the break(up) because he is losing me, I’m getting tired of fighting. And still he is apathetic at best.

Currently in financial ruin for this “man” ama.

Idc if this isn’t want tumblr is for- I literally have lost my entire family due to my decision to come home and try to make it work with him again after what he did to me, they don’t respect me and are keeping their distance. So I have no family of my own blood (just my little fam who adopted me as their own for giving their dad another chance) and exactly 1 friend who lives on the other side of the country. I have no one and nothing currently (other than a sick ass LDR stash necklace dupe on the way 🙌🏻) so forgive my old ass for being a MySpace kid who hated fb and went offline during the tumblr era, I’m just gonna rant here when I need because NOBODY knows me here.

It’s been 8 years since I attempted last, but each and every day lead me further down that path again and my depression sinks deeper and deeper and gets darker and more unholy by the day 😪 I’m too sunny and too bubbly to feel this way god I hate feeling this way. It would be so easy too and then 🤫 all quiet, no more pain physical or metaphysical or even emotional god that would be a dream. I can’t even buy my dad a Father’s Day or birthday gift (both back to back this month) because I threw my whole paycheck on the house we share that he’s refused to pay for (or even work for like physically Have a job for) in almost 2 years.

Where tf did my self respect go?? Why can’t I be the baddie I try to uplift other women to be when they’re down? Why am such a pushover who let’s him get away with murder??

My whole life is falling apart and all I can think is that no one is coming to save me this time. All I have is me and my own back, and even I hate me. I wish so badly I could be someone else, literally ANYONE else, and so I wish even harder for the silence. That eerie quiet to be only pierced by occasional muffled wails that I let out behind my hand clamped over my mouth through gritted teeth with the vent turned as high as it can go where no one can hear me slowly lose every single part of me that made me human, or even just me.

Maybe a nice grippy sock vacation WOULD be just the ticket to getting my mental back on track. At least it would be quieter there, in my head and in my bubble. For now my only comfort are racing nightmare anxious thoughts that play on a loop every minute or every hour of every day, I can’t seem to quieter them or stop a panic attack anymore. I don’t even know how to breathe on my own any more. I am 36 and no better off than living on my own for the first time at 16 again, and all I want to do is d*e, sometimes. Or kill the pathological people pleaser I give all of my energy to being. It’s time to go scorched earth on this Mf but it still won’t make him see me, or love me; or appreciate me for being a GD DISABLED WOMAN HE HAS LET FINANCIALLY SUPPORT HIM FOR 2 YEARS NOW. It’s gaslight gate-keep and hypocrisy 24/7 on my life so maybe it’s time to girlboss my way tf out of it and ghost every living soul I know, pack up my fur babies and flee this hell hole I’ve let my life become again. This Mf couldn’t even bother TO DO A THING for my birthday this year but cry about how he couldn’t afford a gift for me. Not try to earn some cash to even go on a date, just whine about not having the funds and then having the audacity to pass out on me early and let me agonize over every single thing I’ve fucked up in my life lately by diving deep down a cold lane with him again.

Nothing feels real anymore. I don’t even feel like a person. I’m so numb yet so soft and emotional and unstably sad all of the time but all I do is avoid it. Sitting in this pain might kill me, I can’t risk that.

Thought I had a handle on life. But like always when things start going to well, the rug got pulled out from under me. It's my own fault. I know it is. I've always managed to fuck up every thing in my life with out fail. Idk why i do it to myself. Probably something a therapist could figure out. But I'm broke as a joke. And now I don't even have a car. No we don't have public transportation either. Taxis are outrageous. $65 to go 3 miles. So now I have 16 hours to find a new car for less then $1000. Or miss the next 2 days of work and have about $1400. But I might lose my job, but I have a chance at a better paying job, but I really, really like my job where I'm at. But I don't really have Lot of time to spend with my son. I don't have enough time to most days. Only 30 mins 4 days a week and all day Friday and Saturday and all morning Sunday and then he either sees him dad or is at the baby sitter. But I get off work at off hours and he gets off work the same time so he picks him up from the sitter and sleeps at night at his house. And I get up and was working myday job doordashing when I can, or running errands. He goes to school in the afternoon. He's only 3. But he goes for 3 hours. I would always pick him up from school. I work at 4. That's all I get. I miss him most days. I just bought a bigger bed so we can both fit and snuggle if he has a bad dream. Kinda hard to snuggle on a twin. But hey! We have our own place! It's a 2 bedroom in section 8. But the neighbors are quiet. And I can walk through every inch of this place and honestly say all of its mine. Not a single stick of furniture belongs to anyone but me. Even the very small amount of decorations. But I hand picked every single one I do have. Even made a few! Sorry this really started with me feeling really lonely. Now I know that it doesn't matter. Either I get a car tomorrow and I keep my job, or I lose it and get better options but it'll mean alot more work. I'd say I'll have the self discipline to keep the new job. Sorry again. Think kinda turned into a life dump. I cried 3 times while typing this. Sorry if anything is miss spelled. If I go back and to read this I'll just end up erasing it instead. But I kinda want thins to just exist somewhere other then just on my heart. And if I trie to talk to my friends about this then just kinda brush it off like ya that sucks, here's a story about something way worse that happened in my life that's gonna make u feel really stupid for being upset about this shit. And I know they don't mean to make me feel that way but it's still happens. And I don't trust therapists. I don't trust anyone who could forcibly make me have a grippy sock vacation but I don't want one. I can't. If I stop for any reason right now it would set me so far back idk if I could make it back. I forced my way up the mountain to where I am now, and I can't alow myself to slide back. Not again. I have to control my adhd. I have to. I can't keep allowing myself to fuck up good thing, and valling victim to bad choices. I need a damn saying. Something that reminds me to keep my shit together. I'd get it tattooed on my arm first chance I could afford it.

I feel better now. I know this will never be read by anyone. I know that. But that's ok. I just wanted to feel like I finally told someone. And for just once that didn't stop half way through to tell me a much sadder story and that they know how I feel. No they don't. They never do. But hey thanks for listening. Thank you for just listening. I feel pretty numb now so I'm going to bed now. Maybe the world will be better tomorrow. Maybe it won't. Can't wait to find out if it's going to be a step up or 6 steps back with a muddy uphill climb in the rain.

#adventuresofdepression #lifedump

#ifeelbetternow #feelfreetodothesame

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 01x16

Shadow

“Did he whisper about Honda Days? Save big money by buying a Honda” “Moral of the story: Buy an iPod - the battery lasts longer” “That must be really delayed effect on those shrooms” “That is NOT the moment to fumble your keys” “I like the level of paranoia, but that’s just being a woman in Chicago” “I vaguely remember this episode.” “Look at the brand new uniforms.” “I read the newspaper as MAN SLUT KILLER” “Why is Sam wearing a white undershirt? It looks hideous” “That is a really well-pressed collar for a fkn work uniform” laughed at the boob joke

“WHACK job” “gonna whack it” then laughed at his stupid joke

“So Dean is into the astrology stuff, eh? It’s important.” “I guess they have to know lunar cycles, too. Haha they’re tracking cycles” Spouse wants everyone to know that the look Dean makes at 7.19 is very important “I think they did this for the girlies” “I forgot about the astrology blood” “I was thinking that symbol might have been on Pink Floyd because they play guitar in that transition”

Spouse talked about Dean’s face for about 2 minutes (paused) at 7 mins 19secs of this episode.

Then 

Spouse liked the female bartender and forgot about Dean’s face

“Anything in common? They both have security systems; that wasn’t as common back then” “Speak of the devil. They missed opportunities with that kind of stuff.” “That’s a very frilly top” “Mass-a-choooooo-sets” “are you sorry, Meg?” “There are red flags everywhere. Why are you still talking to her Sam?” “Let’s kill him! Then lets hook up.” “5 5 5” “Scouts honor” “Sometimes people run into each other, dude. I’ve run into people all over the world.” “That’s a good joke, Dean” “I’m going to think with my Downstairs Brain” “Nooooo with an upward inflection. That’s a lie” “that’s fkn great dude” “Doesn’t some lady yell at Sam for being a pervert?” Laughed

“Nobody really says pervert anymore, at least, in our group” “Sam should have said not to kink-shame but only if it was being done consensually” “This one always trips me up, because Meg is the vessel. This one is a good one.” “Mannequins” 🎶FaceTime with blood🎶

“Sam is really creeping on how well she blows out candles. I’m talking about the pervert in the closet.” “breathe harder why don’t ya” “bro you’re just standing there. Take a picture; it’ll last longer” “don’t we see daddy in this episode? “Did Dean recently dye his hair? It seems darker.” “Ok we need to analyze this - Dean cleans a gun. Sam isn’t even cleaning the gun; he’s just looking at them. Just load ‘em and look at ‘em.”

“What is Dean putting on his wrist?” “papaya cactus - sounds kinda like what she’s saying”

“Wtf kind of choreography was that? Sam has a pistol, ran over, and great. Dean doesn’t make any sense, but whatever. They swapped guns, but why didn’t Dean raise the shotgun first? Why did they do that? Someone just said it looked good on TV and that was that.” “They had Sam turned up louder probably because he whispers so much so they had to overcompensate” 🎶she’s talking about sex🎶 not really lol

“Why are they always making Dean out to be the stupid one?” “She ain’t fkn around with a belt buckle like that” 🎶the boys are back in town🎶

“Splat” “That’s funny. Idk why” 🎶grippy socks vacation🎶 this is referencing the one I took about a year ago that we’ve been joking about

“Cunt” to John Winchester

“Look at that teary eyed bitch. Why????” “What do they call John’s type of jacket?” “John whispers more than Sam does” “You say you don’t have to worry about us but you just got baited to catch John in town?” “Sam still says yes sir? WTF?” “He just picked some random-ass motel room to creep on them and to say “Fuck it I gotta go again?””

🎶going to get fucked🎶

“Burning phosphorus or what? That’s supposed to a road flare but holy shit dude” “Bright enough to be a white phosphorus bomb” “It’s so much weirder without the music. Just imagine you look out the window and all you hear is the line and heavy breathing” “you’re beat to hell” said in a gruff man voice

“Is this Wolverine Dean?” “How do they not have scars all over their faces? Especially after all the shit Dean’s had happen to him?” Telling Spouse that fan artists give the Winchesters scars, tattoos, and smokes

“Spouse doesn’t think that the Winchesters don’t really smoke or do drugs since they have to be on max alert all the time” I pointed out that they drink all the time “yeah then idk” “SWIRL MARKS”

july 30, 2023 9:38 pm

it’s been a week and a day. that seems to be some kind of personal best here. i impress even myself.

i trimmed my hair. took more off than i wanted to and now my hair is shorter than where i liked it. maybe now it’ll grow. were you those extra inches i cut off to help me grow? it’s hard to tell. in this moment i like the length but ask me tomorrow and i might have a meltodwn and try and put extensions in. the bad kind.

i mean this all in the literal and metaphorical sense. they say, if you know you know. funny how my worth, and worth of women around the globe collectively feel that it’s tied to our hair. to reiterate: yes, the hair.

but enough about hair. here’s some updates because i fell off the face of the earth. aside from hair trimming, of course.

things compounded in such a way on friday that my brain was such a bad place, i checked myself into the CSU. look it up if you don’t know. the words still get stuck in my throat even thinking about it. stayed the night and finally let some of the pressure that’s been cooking inside of me all summer — and the last four years — out. in a safe, objective space that was truly there to help and benefit me.

now, obviously i’m not all whole and healed now. no where close. but it was enough to gain some much needed clarity again.

for clarity’s sake, it should be noted that you weren’t the only reason but i’d say a good and solid 60/40 split. kinda like how my psyche felt after all that. it was too much. you being my neighbor and way too fucking close for comfort and unable to escape the energetic force fields mixing as well as the same thing at home. yeah. i fucking cracked in half.

but without that crack, i don’t think i would’ve made certain decisions upon arriving home yesterday. things finally feel tangible to leave and i have mostly solid exit strategies in place that i feel confident in. so much of it out of my control, i’m trying not to spiral or self sabotage those things. so far so good.

my sleep is more fucked now than ever, but good news: haven’t dreamt of you in a hot second. universe, please don’t do me dirty tonight. k thanks.

so that’s my update. hair cuts and grippy sock vacations. luckily it wasn’t my bangs. if it was my bangs, well — i guess i should start digging my grave now.

i hate you a little less in this moment and feel a softness and tenderness i haven’t in a while. i’m not a place where i can (and don’t want to) come near that really with a ten foot pole. but i feel it creeping in. maybe i can keep it at bay.

i’m once again putting three thousand miles of space between us. i need more of that clarity from before. when i get back, i’ll have a definitive plan and can really start the healing. no more duct tape on these wounds, no thank you! i think i’ve debrided them enough to clean with saline and wrap up properly. it’s time. it’s fucking time.

anyway.

there’s that.

Okay finally getting around to updating y'all about everything. CW for depression.

So I've been out for a bit. Life has been rough for me lately. First, my brother in law, then depression and OCD took over. I've been on a grippy sock vacation twice since last posting, but I'm doing a lot better.

I've been in IOP after I flunked most of my second semester of junior year with a concussion. It's been getting better for me. It's hard, but I don't want my family to go through my brother in law again.

I have been drawing some, so I'll be posting more in the upcoming days. I do plan on doing Art Fight as well and will be making an official post soon. I'll also be posting more about my website, as I've updated it a lot!

I also just got back from Pride! It was super fun and I might post pictures tomorrow when I wake up. It was super fun and my mom was soooo supportive!

It's my birthday tomorrow and this time last year I was planning my bestfriends funeral.

All I've been doing is crying. Screaming. Crying and screaming.

It hurts.

I don't want to make it til tomorrow.

I don't want to celebrate this day ever again.

I might be in for another grippy socks vacation.

I can't do this without you.

Please don't take your life.

Finally got the nerve to just get rid of Facebook and I’ll go back and delete the whole profile later but like… went in and it had one final fuck me on it.

A big old post of people from my high school saying whether they were or were not popular. A lot of people in the band or other not sport extracurricular expressing that being popular there was like being a loser.

I knew these people. I was there. I was in their same organizations even. I ate lunch with them. When they’d let me. I was there to see how much others were ostracized from their circles. I saw how they treated me: someone in their circles who didn’t quite match. I have psychological issues and anger and resentment to this day I have trouble dealing with because of the shit these fucks would do.

No they didn’t lay hands on me. They even called me friend. I was publicly ridiculed regularly. I was othered in every interaction. I was ignored even when I was IN THEIR FUCKING GROUPS. I wanted nothing more than to feel friendship and whatever scrap I got I fed on cuz these people had to be somewhat in my boat too right they’re also in band they’re also in drama they’re also smart kids blah blah blah.

They were not the same. They were bullies and popular kids who’s idea of what that meant meant oh we can’t be that if we’re in the band. If we’re in drama. If we’re the smart kids. And then theyd abuse kids like me every day. I saw being popular and being a loser. I was the loser. I lost a part of me every day.

This is a long rant and I don’t know if there’s a point on all this. I’m honestly better off now and I don’t have many more people I could honestly call friend than I did back then. It got better in a way I didn’t think it would.

But there’s no less a piece of that scared and angry and crying 15 year old who wants nothing more than to tell all of them to go to hell. To tell them what awful fucks they all are. That my brother might still be alive if it weren’t for them making his life hell so that he had to switch campuses and drive to school at the ass crack of dawn instead of with me and my mom most days. At least we could’ve been with him when it happened. That if it weren’t for them I’d have questioned who I was so much sooner and so much safer than nearly chemically castrating myself and performing at home conversion therapy on myself. That if it weren’t for them maybe my dad wouldn’t be the abject horror of a shell of a decent man turned into just a blind drunk conspiracy theorist who used to be a smart man who loved and could change. Or that maybe even if he was still I’d have a place to live without him. That if it weren’t for them maybe I wouldn’t have spent two to three years of my life in a massive depressive spiral ending in a weeks long grippy sock vacation that almost turned into mandated care in a hellish mockery of a therapy clinic. That maybe I’d have a spouse or partner right now I could have and hold. That maybe I could’ve got the hell out of this place. That maybe I wouldn’t desperately want to go back to the mental health ward again and maybe just maybe get better but I can’t because I’m so trapped in this town that I need a degree to chase to get out.

And I have to look inside at that screaming crying whimpering teenaged me and tell that scared confused kid who couldn’t understand why the other boys didn’t like him and weren’t like him that he’s right. That I’m sorry I couldn’t do it for him then. That I’m doing my damnedest now. And that as much as I want to tell em all to go to hell… I can’t. Because I have to get free and it’s not safe. Because in the end I’m the only one who’ll hear it. Because in the end they all moved on with their lives and didn’t see that they were the popular bullies all those Disney movies were about and that folks like me were left to suffer and that I was almost the fifth of their “friends” to kill themselves. They have families and nice lives and don’t deserve them and they have happiness they never earned. And that I have to be free of them and all of that and never look back if I want the happiness and good living that I do deserve and that I have earned.

Maybe there’s a point in this somewhere maybe not. Probably not. Im in a car with family trying not to show the turmoil I’m having while we go to have lunch with my aunt an hour and a half away and typing out all of that emotion here instead. Maybe there’s an analogy for how the upper middle class and liberals treat those who are worse off and more progressive or something like that but really I don’t care if there is today. Today I’m giving a sobbing and screaming 15 year old a safe place to scream into the void and be loved that I deserved so long ago now.

Does your work offer disability pay? Like I think you need to go for a grippy sock vacation. But I know being in poverty it can make the anxiety worse

They might? but I don't know if I qualify since I'm no longer receiving SSDI and thus "not disabled on paper"

I'm. Just like. Going back and forth wondering if I should even bother, if I should just reduce my hours instead of quitting altogether, but if I need to be in the hospital obviously that would complicate my job...

I just. Ha. It all circles back to the fact I was raised to believe my feelings didn't matter :) just earlier i was trying to have a serious talk with my mom again about boundaries and respect but "im just defiant and I choose to make things harder for myself on purpose so I have an excuse to give up" :)))))

Part of me honestly just. Wants to check myself onto the hospital without even telling her and let her freak out and think I'm dead for a while

September Sky Chapter Eight, Part Five

"My personality is super addictive, and soon I had a collection of razor blades and long sleeve shirts I wore everywhere. I didn't want people to see them. I still don't want people to even see the scars. It was never for attention.. I didn't want to hear it from anybody. My family, or the few people that didn't treat me like a pariah." I continued on with the story of my self-mutilation. Not once did Addison break contact. She watched me as I spoke. I wanted to tell her I loved her, right then and there, but that wasn't part of the story. And getting this out was more important than my need to declare love.

Addison kept her face blank the whole time. I guess I kind of preferred that. I didn't want to see the reactions of one of the worst points of my entire life.

"Eventually, it cultimated to the scars on my wrists. I failed, but I did succeed in the first of many grippy sock vacations."

"Grippy sock vacations?" Addison's voice scared me a little bit. She'd been quiet for so long. I just wasn't prepared.

"Asylum. I call it the ward."

"So you tried to kill yourself?" Her words came out in a lazy trail. The kind inflection that loses steam half-way threough the words.

"Yea, I did. Everything sucked. At least according to my fucked up teenage pysche. I had no real friends, my parents split, I was trapped in a place where there was no way I could ever fit in. I fucking hate farms."

"I can't imagine that feeling."

"Don't even try. I hope you never have to feel that way about anything. I hope nobody on this planet has to feel that way." There was always remnants of the past, and the day I attempted suicide. left a major mark on me, even years later. I became somewhat of an advocate to help anybody else. I always wondered if I had even had just one person, i might not have down a razor blade down the road.

"So I got sent to the ward. I was there for a little over month. I got my first of many diagnosises. We started off small with MDD, major depressive disorder, and generalized anxiety disorder. Way wrong."

"So did the ward help? I mean with the self-mutilation thing? Was that the list time?" Her eyes were beautiful and sad, and I felt like I had just gotten a stray cat to let me pet it. As I told ehr the story, her face moved and expressed itself again. It was off a switch had been flipped to on inside her head. Now she was just plain old curious.

"The ward itself? Not really. It was more the people in there. The doctors who actually gave a shit. It was the last time I did the self-harm thing for a long time, but I did find myself sucked back into a few years ago, but that relapse didn't stick." I said. The story was told. And I swear, I could feel the heavy weight carried by that dark period, I felt it crumble off. It was a strange feeling. The only other person I've really talked to about this stuff was my therapist, and that was only because it's part of my history, and therefore part of my present and my future.

"There has to be some interesting people." She stated, just asking questions without making it seem like I was being interviewed. I've said it once, I'll probably say it a million more times. She could've made a great therapist.

I laughed. "Yeah, there were. You see some real crazies in those places. Well, at least the one I went to. It wasn't really the classiest of places."

"Crazies?" She said, accusingly but quickly lost the seriousness when she giggled.

"Yeah. I'm one of them so I can call them that." I laughed.

"Oh, really? That's how that works?" She smiled up at me, and it was like watching the moment of the big bang's explosion, just slowed down to appreciate the beauty in it all. Again, I loved her. I wanted desperatly to tell her I loved her, and I just wouldn't do it. I couldn't. I didn't even really know what we really were, when I thought about it. I hadn't really thought about it either. This whole thing seemed so easy and gradual and right, that I never paid attention to the time.

"Yes. Yes it is."

It was silent again for a few moments. Somewhere outside, someone shouted something. There was no response.

"It's hard to believe," she whispered.

"What is?" I asked, slightly confused.

"I mean, if you didn't have the evidence. I just can't picture you like that,"she spoke as though she was lost in her thoughts. "It's too different from how you are since I've known you."

"I'm pretty sure that's a good thing."

"It is, very much so. Still, it's kind of sad." "Nope. Not sad. No use being depressed over an act of depression."

"It is sad. It's not a happy thing."

"Why can't it be? Instead of looking at the action, look at the results. I stopped. That's a pretty happy thing, I think. I don't want to think of that period as this awful dark place. I mean, it is, don't get me wrong. But I look at where I am after the beating, and I've always managed to get back on my feet and just get ready for the next round. I may be quiet. I may be antisocial. I may be extremely introverted, but that doesn't mean I'm just taking punches. I made it through that. I can make it through this." I said, not realizing I had said so many words. And as soon as I realized, that feeling of insecurity came over me. I talked to long, or I rambled. The thoughts made their ugly heads known and were impossible to ignore. Anxiety crept it's way in to join the party.

"I actually kind of like that. It's a good philosophy."

"It's something."

She pointed at her lips and I bent down and kissed them, and then flicked off the light and curled up beside me. I lay awake for a while, waiting for my meds to kick in. And eventually they did, weighing down my lids as I drifted into a quiet and dreamless sleep.

* * * *

I don’t know why everything has gotten so heavy. It’s like I’m okay as long as I’m being productive but as soon as I stop I’m just engulfed by it. My mind turns into this dark and twisted place. I’m reminded that I’m worthless, nothing but a fuck up and there’s no point to my continued existence. I don’t know how I got to this point or even where it’s coming from because my life is not a bad. My partner is so supportive and loving, I have amazing fur babies, a good job. I’ve built a family that loves me for me but for some reason I still want to unalive myself at times. My partner wants me to take a grippy sock vacation but I don’t feel like that is feasible. I don’t know how to literally put my life on pause to go hang out in a pysc ward. I don’t know what I would gain from being there other than being sure I’m safe. I know I was literally the lift of a hand away from ending it all a few days ago but I’m not sure I would let it get to that place again. I didn’t know how to tell him I wasn’t okay then because at the time my brain was convinced he didn’t care. I found myself laying on the bathroom floor hoping he would come in and find me and then I laid in the shower again hoping he would come check on me but he didn’t. My depression almost won. I sat on the bathroom floor in my towel with 3 months worth of pills in my lap but couldn’t bring myself to take them. Every part of me just kept screaming do it. You might as well. do it. I just kept hoping he would come in and stop me. Hoping that he would find me like that and hospital would no longer be optional because I don’t know how to make that choice. I’m glad I’m still here but at the same time I don’t feel like I have a reason to be. I feel like a constant failure but I’m the same breath I know I’m not. I know rationally that I am none of those things. I don’t know what I’m suppose to do and it’s not fair of me to put it on him. I need more help than I have but I can’t let myself get it. I don’t want to die but I’m not sure how to keep living.

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 07x17 The Born-Again Identity

“It’s like a buttercup for your butthole - the fudge pop” “Were they trying to get themselves canceled with all these dick jokes?” “Is this about magicians? That guy looks like he’s from Vegas” “I’ve been there. It’s rough” “Maybe the drugs aren’t illegal” laughter “what the fuck” “I used to hate Lucifer so much, but he’s growing on me” “Oh yeah” “like 12 days. Oh close enough” “what the fuck” then laughter

“A locked floor? Does that exist?” “What’s up with the psych wards always being shitholes?” “Imagine trying to eavesdrop on this conversation as a doctor. Dean’d get locked up too” “ice summit beer” “I think they were talking about coors light. The mountains are blue so you know it’s cold’ “She likes a man who can swallow” “Why would he want to kill Sam, though?” “Or is he just trying to get him to say yes or something?” “I don’t know what’s going on” “Goddammit. I’m eating cheese over here” “oh hello” “All red heads in psych wards are trouble” “wouldn’t that be what’s weird about him?” “Way to scare the hottest chick in the psych ward off, Sam” “grippy socks vacation” “He should have seen that coming” ASS

“Oh my” “The fuck is going on? We haven’t seen him in like a year” “Hello. I’m the blue-eyed devil” “hmmm” “I don’t think my eyes are even that blue” “yeah little susie” laughter

“This is fkn awesome” “I feel like I was way more annoyed with Lucifer the first time around” “You do get sick of Lucifer after a while” “Why is he lighting firecrackers? Why not use the little popping things” “I feel like they wanted the one thing but had the other thing and just went with it” “I’m super confused” “Cas is dead? Did they reuse Misha?” “what the fuck” “oh sure. That’s where I go to find naked men” “Does anybody feel like a bad person?” “That’s what they all say” She’s got really pretty hair for being in the psych ward

“I’m waiting for her to show off those knee-high grippy socks” “kinda fucked” “Does Dean not recognize Cas?” “This dude”

Dude, Dean recognizes Cas, but Cas doesn’t recognize Dean

“I’m starting to get that from his eyes”

“Shot for Cassiano” “Pucker up buttercup” “He told Cas to sit tight so the angel is the buttercup. Dean is the fudge pop” “Don’t get cocky. That’s how you lose your knife” “What’s the big reveal here?” “Her voice is so cool” “kay” “Don’t yank too hard. You might stab yourself” “Oh he’s not gone” “She’s a different flavor” “Do we ever see what Cas sees?” “These are some rubber boat shoes dude” “She must be wearing some shit of her brother’s? Isn’t it a bracelet?” “This is really funny for 2 psych ward patients to talk about this. Like trust me, It’s a ghost” 🎶weed smoking psych ward🎶

Laughter

Laughter “he’s just like that in real life, too” “being locked up does that to people” “This is some real psych ward shit right there” laughter

“You with me bro?” “He’s five/six days in now? He’s not with anybody” “That’s about how far you get without starting to see that rats and shadow things” “Fkn public school man” “double dipping fudge pop” laughter

“That was a good line. I didn’t pick up on that” “Is the tree topper actually a top?” Dean kept Cas’s coat in every car they switched

“Oopsie” “I mean if it’s dusty, you can whip it out and make a sandstorm. Then you can watch Lucifer dance in a sandstorm” “that’s cool lookin’” “Is he choking down Lucifer or something?” laughter “what the hell” “not really” “what”