#it sounds so stupid but it’s fuckin debilitating
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.,…..,,,
#in the bathroom trying not to puke bc i am *checks notes* going to see 5sos in two days 🙃#wish i was joking#why the FUCK does my body act like this#holy shit#the anxiety is so bad i would actually rather not go#i feel so fucking unwell#and for What#bc i am?? going to a concert??? having fun???? seeing friends?????#i can’t do this bro#it’s got so fucking bad recently#and i have so much shit going on in the next few weeks#it sounds so stupid but it’s fuckin debilitating#and it’s just a vicious fukcin cycle#between the emetophobia and the anxiety that makes me feel sick 🙃#i don’t know how to deal with it anymore#i don’t think i can
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I WAS TAGGED BY @witchy--mama A LIL WHILE BACK
I DIDNT FORGET ABOUT THIS I SWEAR
JUST EVERY TIME I REMEMBERED I WAS ALREADY IN BED FGJFHG WHOOPS
Relationship status: I has girlfrien!
Somehow! Despite my Ridculously high levels of trust and commitment issues! :D And it has NOT yet fallen apart despite my Debilitating fear of intimacy! I am VERY grateful for how fuckin patient she is with me and I do NOT understand how on EARTH I managed to get her to like me, but I will take it!
Favorite Color: Pink and Red! both are Perfect uwu
Favorite Food: uhhhhhh...... logically thinkin about it, I think the only answers i CAN give are pasta, chicken nuggets, and salmon. not combined of course. well... actually no im ngl, that sounds like itd slap. just a load of buttery pasta with chopped up chicken nuggets and smoked salmon, covered in cheese. god thats the dream.....
Song Stuck In My Head: uhhhhh... i dont know im too dissociatey to have one. and as soon as i tried to figure it out, i was Gifted with "Neptune's Jewels" cus i was listening to night vale while curled up in bed.
Time: 11:47pm
Dream Trip: God I'd love to do a roadtrip across the US. maybe its not as romantic (i nthe anne of green gables use of the word, not the lovey dovey use) and stupid and silly as tv makes it look, but like,,, it sounds like a fuckin Riot.
other than that, im so DESPERATE to go back to new york, i had an AMAZING time when i went with uni, and itd be Wonderful to go without havin to follow rules of other people
Last Book Read: i have been unable to Actually focus on reading since uni (uni broke me, i miss books), and i cant listen to audio only format things without gettin distracted, so i cant do audio books. the last thing i read bits of was "The Beatrice Letters". actually, was probably the last thing i Fully read.
Last Book I Enjoyed Reading: see above. I feel in Love with the way lemony snicket expresses love in that book when i was a kid, and i still think it's the Height of romance.
Last Book I Hated Reading: if you think i can remember that far back you are SORELY mistaken
Favorite Thing To Cook/Bake: [cries in "cooking hurts me nowadays"]
Favorite Spare Time Craft: i.... am not sure what this means exactly?? but i do digital art when i have the spoons, im trying to learn guitar, i want to learn to write again and have begun to Dip my toes into "flatsound style" poetry, and i want to learn mini painting but i dont have great lighting in my room, so ive yet to finish any of them.
Niche Dislike: does this mean its something i hate no one else has heard of? or something that only i hate that everyone else seems to like? if its the former, then i dont know, cus i dont remember things like that. if its the latter, BOY could i come up with a LIST and a half, theres a Reason i labelled myself a hipster as a teenager. like,, off the top of my head, the beatles, beyonce (her music, not her as a person), star wars (one of the dullest things i was forced to watch), harry potter (not so controversial now, but as a kid and teen HOOO BOY people thought you were a freak for it), marvel and DC films. i know theres more, but i honestly prefer to Not think about things i hate.
Opinion On Circuses: the Aesthetics are my life, and im Exceptionally sad that i never got to run away and join the circus, and i am filled with Immense jealousy when i remember that thats Essentially what my mum did when she was in her 20s, why cant i go to italy and be a circus person, this is bs
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i am FAR too lazy to tag people, so if anyone else wants to do this, feel free babyyyyyyyyyy
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I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki
All Parts:
Part 4:
You’re paranoid.
Terribly, terribly paranoid, and even if you’re aware of it, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing you can do to quell the anxiety that wells up every time another person enters your space. Every time their skin nearly brushes yours, even accidentally, just for a split second.
It’s maddening. Nearly debilitating the way you’re flinching away from people. You can see your co-workers notice too, fellow nurses suddenly giving you odd looks every time you reject a high five. Even when you’re wearing your gloves. It’s just a panic reaction at this point- a fixation on trying to keep your quirk as least exhaustive an experience as it can be.
On one hand, you still really dislike Bakugou- nearly hate him for bringing it up to you- but, on the other hand, he did manage to figure it out. He somehow managed to figure out what you never could, and all in a matter of minutes from your relatively short interactions. It made you think that maybe he could be really smart- if he didn’t spend so much time killing his own brain-cells with every juvenile insult he spewed at you.
You wondered if that was just him, or he really did hate you that much. Surely he couldn’t be that much of a monster to other people, right? Right?
Wrong.
You remember Kirishima, how he apologized for Bakugou nearly the second he walked through the door. It hits you then that you’re definitely not the first person he’d seemed to mercilessly terrorize- you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.
Actually, on second thought, maybe it makes you feel worse. No, it definitely makes you feel worse. So much worse, in fact, that just the sight of his face nearly sends you into an irrational rage. Even now, weeks after the last time he’d personally ruined your day, you were still mad. Still angry. Still cursing every time you saw those red eyes on every billboard, newspaper, and billboard in town.
Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to look at those printed eyes anymore. Not when the real ones were right in front of you- scaring you shitless as you leave the hospital.
You had left the hospital from the back exit, tired and crabby from your late shift, grumbling as you stepped out into the alleyway. You’d hardly seen him, just the slightest glimpse of movement behind the tall dumpsters, before he’s practically in your face.
“Jesus!” You gasp, curling your arms around your stomach. Your legs feel like jelly. “Don’t do that! Scared me half to death!”
“Oh, chill the hell out, ya fuckin’ baby. You’re fine.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, falling into step next to you.
He looks worse for the wear, just like every other time you’ve seen him, exhaustion coloring his complexion something sickly. There’s an angry purple bruise covering his cheek, a few cuts, and even more bruising dotting his scarred knuckles. A tiny, vindictive part of you thinks it serves him right, but you keep it to yourself. You’re better than that.
You want to be nice to him, truly you do, but he’s made it pretty hard. Concerning you, Bakugou’s pretty much dug his grave at this point, and he only makes it worse with his next works.
“You need to do something for me.” He orders suddenly. “Now.”
“A-are you asking me? For help? Is that what this is?”
“What? No- obviously fucking not.” He sneers, nostrils flaring. “Why the hell would I go and do something like that. That’s stupid. Weak.”
“Oh. Okay. So then two seconds ago, when you were telling me that I ‘need’ to do something for you, what was that?” You squint your eyes at him, eyebrow twitching with annoyance. “That wasn’t you asking for help?”
“No. ‘s an order.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay- an order. Because you’re totally in a position to make those.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.” You spin on your heels, nearly crashing into his chest since he followed so closely behind you. Still, you figure the promixity is all the better for gesturing, so you don’t miss a beat, waving your hands emphatically. “My shift just ended, alright? That means I’m not on the clock, and you’re not a patient. I don’t have to suck it up and help you unless I want to. Understand?”
Bakugou seems to bristle at your tone, eyes narrowing as his lip curls. You just try to shrug it off. If he wants to be mad in the middle of the alley, fine- but you’ve had a long day and you’re going home. You spin around again, walking briskly into the street, and it takes him a few moments to catch up.
“I told you, Bakugou, I’m not helping you just because you tried to order me to.”
“I know.”
“Then what’re you doing?”
“Walking.”
It’s his tone; that same needling, challenging edge to it that has your blood boiling. If anyone else said that, you’d probably believe it. But he’s not just walking and Bakugou’s smirk makes that very clear.
“No. You’re following me.”
“Same fuckin’ direction. Sue me, leech.”
The street lamps cast spots that yellow out his already pale skin, and the longer you walk the more withered he looks. Bakugou seems utterly burnt out, and when you look really close, all his features are slumped. It’s a stark contrast to Dynamite’s turbo-charged public persona, and it makes you wonder why he’d even let you see him like this at all. You figure whatever it is must be making him pretty desperate.
Suddenly that same, sinking, sympathetic feeling has you letting up a bit. You slow your pace, catching his gaze as you internally curse your own soft heart.
“Okay. Fine. What’s up. What can I help you with?”
Bakugou squints his eyes, almost like he doesn’t believe you. You think that’s a little fair- most times, even you can hardly believe all that you’re capable of forgiving.
“Sleep.” He finally says, bitten out tightly under his breath.
“You want me to help you sleep?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“Not obvious.”
“Would be if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”
“If that’s supposed to be a dig- save it.” You roll your eyes, trying to tamper down the irritation. “I did notice. That you look tired. Just didn’t mention it out of kindness, so don’t think you can start bringing my skills into question.”
You turn down another side street, and Bakugou follows. There’s less light so you miss the way his eyes scan the lurking shadows; intense and immediate, like a habit he can’t help himself from indulging in.
“You really live around here?” He suddenly asks, voice low and gruff.
“Yep. In the apartment complexes just up there.” You point off into the distance. “Why-”
“And your shift always end this late?”
“Yes?”
“God,” He laughs something disbelieving under his breath, rolling his eyes at you. “I was fuckin’ right. You really are the stupidest goddamn person walking the planet.”
“That’s- Do you ever think about your words? Seriously!” You huff, curling your fists. You hope it’ll quell your sudden urge to hit him. “Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you should say it! And who the hell are you to judge anyway-”
“You’re fuckin’ asking to be attacked. That’s stupid. ”
“By who?”
“Weirdos, idiot.”
“You’re the weirdo! You’re the one following me home right now!”
“I’m not following you-”
“Really? You’re not? Because right now, the way you’re walking? Maybe all of two steps behind me? On a dark street? At night? Sort of seems like creepy following is exactly what you’re doing!”
“I told you, you need to do something for me. Not leaving till you do.” He grumbles, digging a bruised knuckle into his temples. “And keep it the fuck down. Your screaming sounds like a dying animal.”
“My-” You seethe for a moment, hardly able to stand his attitude. Then you take a breath because you prided yourself on being a kind person, and kind people do not kill national heroes- even when they’re being asses. “You know, it is almost unbelievable how bad you are at asking for help.”
“Told ya, already. ‘m not fuckin’ asking for help.”
“Then why are you even here bothering me? Go bother someone else!”
“If fuckin’ anyone else could do anythin’, believe me, I’d go to them instead.”
“God, do you even understand how rude that is?” You ask him incredulously, hand grasping at the door to your apartment building. “No, seriously, are you even aware of what you sound like to other people?”
“Not my fuckin’ problem that other people are sensitive.”
Your eyes bulge at that, mouth nearly dropping in disbelief. You couldn’t believe him. You just couldn’t believe that a single person could possibly go through life with that callous of a mentality. It was insanity. Pure insanity.
“So, leech, you gonna put me to fuckin’ sleep or not?”
Just kidding- that was insanity. That sentence alone was proof of just how ridiculous your life had gotten since he’d crash landed into it.
Bakugou seems to realize his words simultaneously, his cheeks flushing red under the outdoor lights. You almost laugh, but then he’s glaring, eyes sternly set and murderous. For a moment, you really believe he was gonna blow you up right where you were standing.
“Say a goddamn word. Do it. I fuckin’ dare you. Leech.” He sneers. “Try me.”
“At this hour? No, uh, no thanks.”
Bakugou does seem to relax at your joke, albeit begrudgingly. He drops his shoulders, rolling his eyes, and clears his throat. “Now, seriously, you gonna fuckin’ do it or not?”
A part of you wants to say no- to hold your gift over his head, to lord it just out of reach until he figures out how to not insult you with every breath. Then you think of your job, of all the civilians who come in swearing up and down that Dynamite was a hero. And you believe them, truly, but you think that Bakugou has a long way to go. An especially long way.
But, even so, your fingers are itching again in your gloves. There’s that urge coursing through your veins, your thoughts a constant loop of heal, help, save and so it’s decided. Quickly. Almost like it was never even a question in the first place- and, knowing yourself, you suppose it never really was.
“Fine. I will. On one condition.”
“Condition? When the fuck did I say it was a negotiation. It’s not.”
“It is and I’ll tell you why.” You spin to face him completely, jumping back when you find him much closer than expected. Your retreat till your back hits the door, but you feel no less cramped than before. “You need me. You do. Don’t bother denying it because you wouldn’t be here otherwise. And the funny thing is, I would’ve done it! Would’ve done it entirely free of charge if you just asked nicely, and-”
“Will you get to the fuckin’ point already?”
“See! That! That’s why there’s a condition! Because you’re needlessly rude! All the time from what I’ve seen. And that’s got to change. Especially if you’re gonna ask for my help more than just this one time.”
“God- how many fuckin’ times do I need to make this clear to you? Hah?” Bakugou growls, leaning in even more. You can see it in his wild eyes- he’s trying to scare you, crowding you against the door. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you- You don’t make the fuckin’ rules here.”
“In this I do.” You swallow nervously, trying not to let your intimidation show. “So you’re gonna listen. My condition is this- if you want me to help you, then you have to learn to play nice. That means no names, no insults, no threats, no complaints, and no attitude. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
Bakugou swears under his breath, eyes blazing as he holds his stare. Truthfully, it makes you nervous, but you’re not one to back down. At least, not when there’s no threat of job loss involved. So you just squint back at him, jutting your jaw out in defiance. There’s a tense few seconds of silence, his eyes searching, but then he backs off. Nostrils flaring like a bull, Bakugou relents.
“Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Jesus.” He swears, hand curling into a fist at his side. “If you’re gonna be such a bitc-”
“I said, no names, Bakugou.”
He just rolls his eyes, face so very pinched, and you briefly wonder if he’s going to explode. There’s anger as he suddenly shoves you away from the door, yanking it open and letting himself into the building. Then he’s stomping through the lobby, and you’re hardly able to catch up by the time Bakugou stops in front of the elevator.
“What fuckin’ floor, leech?”
“Once again, I said no names. None. Especially not that one.” You tell him sternly, trying to keep your voice down. “And you didn’t agree. You’re not following me and I’m not helping you unless you agree.”
If possible, you think Bakugou’s expression grows even more irritated, his eyes widening as he sets his jaw. Another few seconds pass, and when he sees you won’t relent, Bakugou nods. It’s tight and strained, stunted like the acquiescence physically pains him.
“God, you’re lucky I’m nice.” You tell him, nearly stabbing the elevator button as you press it. “Really lucky.”
“And you’re lucky I don’t have enough energy to beat the shit out of you right now.”
“No threats, Bakugou. You agreed.” You say easily, stepping into the elevator as it opens.
“Had to. Because your fuckin’ terms are bullshit.”
“Hey, no complaints. You agreed to that too.”
You think you hear something strangled leave his mouth, but it’s swallowed up by the sound of the elevator ascending.
Now that you’re standing in better lighting, you can see Bakugou’s face clearly. He looked bad before, but he looks worse now. There wasn’t just one bruise on his face, there was multiple- his jaw colored burgundy and his nose and lip split open. There was no blood, but there wasn’t a lot of scabbing either. It was new. These injuries were new.
You think back to that first visit- when he told you he never really got hurt. You wonder what’s been going so wrong for him lately. It seemed like all he’d done since you’d met him was get hurt.
“Stop fuckin’ staring.”
“I-I’m not. Not like that.” You say. “I’m assessing. You’re gonna need a butterfly bandage, on your nose- skin moves too much. And a cold compress for your jaw. Maybe some disinfectant on your lip. Probably should get your knuckles wrapped too and-”
“Jesus, I fuckin’ get it.”
You roll your eyes, ready to retort, but then the elevator dings. You walk out into the hallway, Bakugou trailing behind you like a shadow. It’s not until you’re at your door, twisting your key into the lock, that you pause.
You’re about to enter your apartment, with Bakugou of all people. A guy you’re not even sure can tolerate you. And yet you’re doing it- because he needs help. Because he looks like walking death and you’ve got a first aid kit under your bathroom sink. Because he’s pretty much proved himself to be an irredeemable asshole, but yet you still can’t bring yourself to leave him out in the cold.
Because you’re an empath, and that, by default, makes you an idiot.
You turn the key. Bakugou, to his credit, looks a little uneasy, but then you’re waving him through the door, and pushing it shut behind him.
“So, you wait here.” You gesture towards your couch, moving aside a few pillows to make him room to sit. “I’m gonna go get all that stuff I talked about.”
“So, what, you’re just like playing fuckin’ nice nurse again, now?”
“Bakugou. No attitude please- I am nice, okay? All the time. Or, at least when others are nice to me.” You say, levelling him with an unimpressed look. “And even if they’re not, I still don’t like seeing them hurt. Not if I can do something about it.”
“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”
“No, but you need it. And since you’re too stubborn to ask for it, I’m just gonna have to force it on you.”
“Do you even fuckin’ hear yourself?” Bakugou prickles, voice rising. “Acting like a goddamn savior. Like you’re so fuckin’ good and holy. It’s bullshit.”
“It’s not.” You say flatly. Then you’re pivoting on your heels, leaving him behind and you grab the first aid kit. You open the bathroom door, calling over your shoulder. “And if you have such a problem with it, then leave. Nobody is keeping you here.”
You hear Bakugou swear again, so angry and seething that you almost believe he’ll take you up on your offer; but then you hear footsteps across the floor, the creaking of your couch.
You reach under your sink, pulling out the kit and a few extra rags for a compress. When you look in the mirror there’s exhaustion lacing your features, your eyes worn and dark with bags. The sight makes a part of you want to forget it all- makes you want to surrender to the ache in your bones and tell him to leave; but that’s just a small part. The larger part is telling you that you’re not spent until you’re unconscious, and that right now, Bakugou looks a whole lot worse than you feel. It’s telling you to hurry up and help him and you agree.
When you walk back out, supplies in hand, Bakugou’s slumped on your couch. He’s got his head tilted over the back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other thrown over his eyes. He shifts at the sound of your approach, dropping his hand and as blinks blearily. You think his eyes look a little duller than before- less like raging wildfire and more like smothered embers. If you didn’t know any better it would look like begruding acceptance- but this was Bakugou, and you knew better.
“So,” You start, setting all of your things down on the couch next to him. “You wanna go to sleep now? Or wait until after I fix up pretty much the entirety of your face?”
He looks at you unsurely, eyebrows creasing.
“Wait, actually- how are you planning to get home?” You continue, hands on your hips. “Where do you even live? Around here? Close? Because you were out in like, 10 minutes, maybe, the last time I touched you, so it’s gotta be close. You live close right? Because-”
“God, cool it with the fuckin’ word vomit. Shit’s annoying. Shut up.” He grumbles. “I’m sleeping here.”
“Who decided? You?”
“Yeah. Obviously.”
“Bakugou.” You balk, striding closer to the back of your couch. You lean over him, forcing him meet your eyes. “This is what I’m talking about! With the learning to play nice thing! I would’ve let you stay here, I would’ve, had you asked. You can’t just bulldoze your way into my house and refuse to leave!”
“Yeah? ‘n just what the fuck are you gonna do about it if I do?” He scoffs, curling his lip as he snarls. “Nothing. Because you’re so fuckin’ nice, right?”
“Don’t say it like that. It’s not a bad trait and I won’t have you insulting it. I’m not embarrassed of who I am.” You try to work through your frustration, centering yourself with a deep breath. “Look, bottom line is, ask next time. Or I’m not helping you until you do.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
You try to shrug off his petulant response, taking another calming breath as you shuck off your gloves. You replace them with latex ones from the kit, pulling the material over your fingers as you grab the antiseptic wipes. You decide to start around the cut on his nose. It’s the largest and widest, spanning over the entirety of his bridge and into his right cheek. It’s a nasty thing, deep and red, all exposed nerves beneath a thin scab and you can tell it hurts him. Bakugou fights to keep from wincing, eyes scrunching slightly as you wipe the remnants of dirt and oil from his skin.
“This from another villan?” You ask calmly, finding an easy peace in performing familiar tasks. “One today?”
“Cuts are from today. Bruises were yesterday.”
Blinking down at him, you’re a little surprised by how easy his answer was. You expected him to fight, to be difficult just because he could, but Bakugou wasn’t doing that. He was lying relatively and still and sated under your fingertips, the only sign of any tension are his minutely pinched eyebrows. Briefly, you check your gloves- for a moment there you were sure you’d accidentally touched him.
“Oh. Okay.” You reply, taking a small butterfly bandage from your kit. You press it over the cut with gentle pressure. “How’s the other guy look?”
“Fuckin’ terrible. Beat ‘em to hell.”
“I’m sure you did.” You snort, moving on to clean the cut on his lip. “Hey, you wanna know something?”
Bakugou peeks a red eye open, studying your face above him. He nods.
“I actually end up treating a lot of your victims, you know.”
“Criminals. Not victims.”
“Mhm. Sure. Well, either way, they’re always covered in burns. Mostly minor, but sometimes pretty nasty ones.” You try to keep your voice light, even and steady as you dab at his lip. “Honestly, at this point, I’m pretty sure you’re entirely responsible for the hospital’s chronic burn-cream shortage.”
Bakugou does seem to smile at that, exhaling through his nose as his eyes flutter briefly. “Wouldn’t be fuckin’ short if people just stopped tryin’ to pull stupid shit all the time. ‘s not my fault they’re so fuckin’ bad at running away.”
“Bakugou.” You balk, unable to keep the laugh from bubbling out your lips. “You can’t say that!’
“Why the fuck not? Hah? It’s true.”
“Because! You’re supposed to be playing nice, remember?”
“Yeah. To you.” He mumbles, voice rough and raspy. “Because you fuckin’ schemed your way into forcing me. They didn’t.”
“Okay- First, I’m like, pretty sure schemed and forced are the same thing, so we definitely don’t need to say them both. It’s just overkill. Second, that’s a borderline insult, so I’m gonna need you to watch your mouth. And third,” You cradle his jaw in your fingers, turning it to the side. “How the hell did you manage to get a bruise behind your ear?”
“I don’t know- probably the same way you somehow managed to become a nurse; even with such shitty fuckin’ bedside manner. You suck, leech.”
Your jaw drops.
“Bakugou!”
He cracks his eyes open, something small and pleased settling at the corner of his mouth. There’s almost as much venom in his voice as before but his eyes are softer now. They’re kinder, crinkling just slightly at the edges.
He’s joking. You realize. He doesn’t actually mean it. Not this time.
“You dick.” You reprimand, flicking his hairline lightly. “You absolute dick.”
His eyes just seem to grow a little brighter at that, just for a second, and then he’s shutting them again. There’s still a smirk on his face though- one you’d swear you’d slap off if he wasn’t actually being somewhat pleasant right now. For once in his life, it seemed.
“Alright,” You announce, rounding the couch quickly. “Your knuckles look just as bad so give ‘em.”
“No thanks.”
“It wasn’t really a suggestion.”
“I don’t need anymore of your pity help, leech.”
“It’s not pity. Not even a little bit.” You sigh. “Look, I know you’re not gonna understand this, but I seriously cannot chill the hell out without at least trying to take care of people. My quirk makes my fingers literally itch when I see injuries. They itch and they don’t stop itching until I do something about it. Helping people, healing people, is hard-wired into me- it’s as much something I do for me as it is something I do for others.”
Bakugou’s eyes widen at that. He sits a little straighter, fists clenching as he presses them into the cushions. A few beats pass and then he’s grumbling, throwing himself back as he thrusts both of his injured knuckles forward.
“God, you’re so fucking irritating.” He gripes. “If you’re gonna be such a weirdo about it, then get the hell to it already.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead kneeling next to your coffee table and settling on the ground. You take his hands in yours, bending all his fingers to make sure nothing is broken. When nothing is, you look up at Bakugou, planning to tell him the good news, but he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and he blinks, once, twice, before averting his eyes quickly. You think that maybe he blushes too, but he turns his head so sharply you’re almost convinced you imagined it.
You just try to shrug it off, focusing your attention back on his hands. You notice how warm they are again, nearly feverish and strangely unblemished. When you start rubbing bruise cream over knuckles, kneading the joints between your fingers, Bakugou sighs slumps back into the couch. He closes his eyes once more.
“Are you falling asleep?”
“No. Can’t. Fuckin’ told ya already.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me why.” You set his hands back on the couch, moving instead to unravel a bandage. “Not that I won’t help you, but have you tried any other remedies? Melatonin? Or lavender? Maybe chamomile? Any of those?”
“Mhm. Falling asleep isn’t the problem.”
“Then what is?”
He opens his eyes, squinting at you from above. “None of your fuckin’ business.”
“Bakugou, I’m trying to help here.”
“I don’t want-”
“Yeah. I know. You don’t want it. Or you don’t want to rely on it. I get it. But you wouldn’t have even came here if you didn’t absolutely need it, right?” You insist, grabbing his hands into yours again. “God, you know, I’ve had toddlers who were more cooperative than you. Why’re you so difficult?”
“I’m not fuckin’ difficult.”
“No. You’re difficult. Very difficult.”
“And you’re fuckin’ annoying. Do me a favor and go back to being nice.”
“Nope. Sorry. Pretty sure you didn’t like me then either.” You start wrapping the bandage around his knuckles, taking extra care to apply the right pressure. “And I was only nice to you because I was working, you know. I’m only actually nice to the people who deserve it.”
Bakugou rolls his eyes at that.
You finish wrapping the bandage, securing it into place with a bit of medical adhesive. All things considered, Bakugou looks better than before. Or at least, better than the death incarnate he’d been portraying himself as.
“All done.” You smile, turning away to start packing up your supplies.
“Finally. Took ya fuckin’ long enough.”
“God, you are literally devoid of manners, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. ‘s part of not bein’ an absolute bitch.”
You gawk, spinning around to face him. Bakugou’s relaxed into your couch, arms laid across the back leisurely as he smiles. There’s that same softness to his eyes from before, the crinkling just at the edges.
“Wow.” You scoff, smiling sarcastically. “You really think you’re so funny don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Yeah. Because you’re fuckin’ brainless.”
“Brainless? Me? Swear to god, you only know, like, three words and all of them are probably swears!”
Bakugou just shrugs, looking abnormally pleased. Content even. You figure that’s probably right for someone like him- only happy when everyone around him is devolving into chaos.
“Actually, you know what, I think I’m done yelling for the night.” You say, shucking your gloves off. You wiggle your fingers at him, a smirk plastered across your face. “I think it’s time you’re euthanized, don’t you?”
Bakugou just blinks, minutely shrinking away from you.
“Because you said you wanted me to put you to sleep, right? To put you down. Like a dog.” You continue, nearing him, coming close even as his lip curls up. Bakugou is glaring fully now, fists clenched, and you stop just a few inches out of his reach. “Or, you know, in ruder terms- not a dog, but a bitch.”
Bakugou snarls, lunging at you as you duck away. He’s fast but you’re faster, vaulting behind your couch to create some distance. There’s fire in his eyes, blazing and hot in his irises, but it isn’t scary. If you look close enough, you’re almost sure it’s just warmth. That same rare amusement from earlier.
“You leech. Swear to fuck I’ll make you regret that. Say your goddamn prayers!”
“Touch me and you’ll fall asleep!” You tease. “Or I’ll use my quirk and see into your brain. So I guess it’s more of a ‘pick your poison’ for you, really.”
“It’ll be the same for you.” Bakugou growls, hands grasping the back of the couch as he leans in towards you. “Open casket or closed, it’s still gonna be your fuckin’ funeral.”
“Really?”
“Really. Leech.”
“No thanks.”
“What the fuck do you mean ‘no thanks’,” Bakugou mimics your voice, his features twisting. “I’m killing you. You’re dead. You don’t get a choice.”
“No, I really think I do.”
“And just what the fuck makes you so goddamn confident?”
“This. You not attacking me.” You smile easily, voice daring as you stare right back at him. “If you really wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Isn’t that right, Dynamite?”
The name sends Bakugou recoiling, shrinking backwards and scoffing in outright shock. You watch him stumble, legs hitting your coffee table and nearly causing him to fold. He recovers quickly though, albeit with his cheeks flushing wildly.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Nah. Thanks for the offer though.” You smile brightly, before throwing your arms above your head and yawning widely. “As fun as that was, I’m pretty tired. You ready to fall asleep, yet?”
“Jesus fuck, yes. That’s the entire goddamn reason I’m even here. Idiot.”
“No name calling. You agreed.”
“I didn’t agree to shit.”
“You did.” You affirm. “Now, c’mon, like last time, hold your hand out.”
With surprisingly little dramatics or resistance, Bakugou listens. He thrusts one of his bandaged hands forward as he sits on the couch again. When you touch his fingers, you feel that faint warmth again. Like fire and embers coursing through your bloodstream. It’s uncomfortable, a relentless sensation that has you cringing. You briefly wonder what it would be like to always live with it. Like Bakugou seems to.
His eyes flutter shut just like last time, and you can see the way he staggers. It’s like the fight leaves him entirely, and then he’s falling boneless into the couch. You can hardly place a pillow onto the cushions before he’s driving his head into it.
“Jesus,” You mutter in disbelief. “How long has it been since you slept? You look dead.”
“Weeks.” Bakugou mumbles.
“Since the last time?”
“Mhm.”
If his words alone didn’t confirm the severity of his sleeplessness for you, his response time did. Bakugou answered quickly, without fight, like he’d been wanting to spill for the entire night. And, you suppose, maybe he did; or was trying to. In hindsight, you begin to realize a lot of his screaming could just as easily have read as cries for help- not that you’d ever tell him that. You’d probably have to prepare a will if you ever tried telling him that.
“You want a blanket?” You ask a little unsurely, not exactly confident in your approach to this entirely different Bakugou. “All you’re getting is the couch, but I could probably scrounge up a few blankets.”
Bakugou doesn’t respond. All you hear in response are tiny little snores and slow breathing.
You find it reminds you of the last time- the way you’re reaching into a cupboard and grabbing out a blanket for him. Except this time, it’s a little bit different. Somehow you’re settling the blanket over him with a little bit of genuine kindness instead of begrudging sympathy.
After all, you can’t help but feel a little bit of pity- no one would ever fall asleep that fast unless they really needed it. Especially not in a stranger’s house.
--/--
enjoy my lovelies :))
taglist: @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai
#bakugou katsuki#katsuki bakugou#bakugou#bakugo#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#bakugou fic#bakugou series#bnha fic#bnha bakugou#mha bakugou#mha fic#bakugou katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki x y/n
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Going Angst Week Day 2: Obsession
Ao3: Here
WC: 1689
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The scenery behind the door was very... unique Quizz would say.
“You know, if I wanted space I would just remove a wall. A room suspended in the endless void is a little... extra, don’t you think?” They asked nobody.
There was a singular platform suspended in an endless inky void of space with a singular pathway to the door. Nothing sat upon it but a desk- complete with a fancy looking double-monitor setup and roomy drawers underneath. It looked sleek, modern, tempting.
Quizz didn’t know why the single point of focus in an otherwise liminal room was so enticing, but hey! The feeling in their chest hadn’t led them astray. Yet.
With a shrug they began walking, their saunter turning into a slow but steady glide as they negated gravity. “Well, only one way to go. Down it is!!”
The monitors lit up with a strange logo- a devilishly smiling face with red shades and blue flames for hair. Okay... that looked really cool, but... why was it lighting up? They tapped the space key and a password entry blinked before them.
“I can’t even remember my name, what makes this place think I’ll remember a fuckin’ password right off the bat? Sheesh!!” He pulled the chair out and took a seat, realizing it didn’t need adjusting and was hella comfortable.
Alright... he could work with this.
With a too-wide grin he began trying to unlock the machine.
-----
It turned out he could not, in fact, work with this.
Quizz had his cheek pressed against the desk, growling lowly at the password box as it flashed tauntingly at him. It really didn’t help that the damn thing cackled at him with every wrong entry.
“Stupid computer. Stupid amnesia. Stupid Quizz... stupid stupid stupid.” He pried his face off the desk in despair and slammed his forehead on it a few times. “The fact that nothing seems to hurt me makes me think I’m just having an awful dream.” Another slam. “But with my terrible luck I’m in purgatory or something.” Slam.
“Why is this so damn hard... Always gettin’ myself into so much trouble- way more than it’s worth!! Gods mom was ri-...” Quizz paused and thought. “.... she was... who? Who was... right?? ACK!” They grabbed their forehead, talons accidentally scratching the fuck out of their face in the rush. “I-I... why do things keep. Leaving me?”
They took a moment to calm, thinking about it- thinking about the trouble they were in; lost and alone with apparently only a locked computer for company. “Please, I... don’t want to forget her. I just want to... know...” The pain in their head subsided as the thing in their chest thrummed violently. “Who was she to me again??” They had to remember, feelings of both nostalgia and love rushed over them, followed by a single, near debilitating shudder of regret and the gut-wrenching feeling of failure.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t enough... I couldn’t be there for you all...’
Quizz gasped loudly. “I... someone said I get into trouble... it was familiar, but not angry. Exasperated... and then I... I left them. How did I leave?” Their heard vibrated strangely again. “I don’t think I left them willingly. But who were... they?”
A happy, yet tired family sits at a table. A single chair remains empty yet another day; a small plate covered in frogs sits on a placemat in front of it. There’s three other people, smiling yet tired. Pizza steams fresh in the center with two figures talking excitedly about something else. They’re all smaller besides one more in focus than the others. They look... older? The image clears a bit more and reveals a stout woman with slightly greying hair and blank eyes...
Something clicks into place.
"Mom!!! I remember mom- I think... but who are the others? Kids, at least maybe? Ah, what was her name- I can... Her favorite color was peach!!” They readied themself for pain again, but none came. “ Ah, so the initial memory sucks when I remember it!! Noted! Thanks brain, I hate it!!!” They tapped their forehead and stood in front of the desk, arms crossed. “Now, brain, my dear friend- can please you do me a favor and, oh... I don’t know... fuckin’ LET ME UNLOCK THIS FUCKIN’ DESKTOP?? Please???”
The monitor snickered softly at them again after a moment of absolute silence.
“ALRIGHT SMARTASS!!!” Quizz slammed their fist hard on the keyboard, hearing something click softly underneath. “There’s literally no need to get sassy with me! So what do you say, help me out here, bud? Please???” They pleaded with the computer, but got a loud raspberry in return. “Cool. Just fuckin’ great.” Another smack to the keyboard made something inside the desk click again, the sound of some sort of mechanism unwinding. After a moment, a drawer (one he was SURE was locked) glided open gracefully.
Quizz perked up, ignoring the fact they were about ten seconds from slashing the monitor in half with their new claws. “Alright! Now that’s the shit I’m talkin’ about! That’s the shit I’m fuckin’ about!!!” They turned and saluted the blank space surrounding him. “Thanks, weird void room. Thanks weird asshole computer!! I totally appreciate the help you gave me!!”
‘Ah, sarcasm. Never fails to lighten the mood.’
With nimble fingers the amnesiac started shuffling through the drawer. It had several very... interesting items inside- weirdly shaped pens, a neat collapsable cane he was gonna inspect later, but the best of all was a pair of dope-ass red shades that they absolutely donned immediately- a feeling of pride and rightness filling them as they put them on.
They made it to the bottom of the drawer when their chest thrummed violently. A lone binder, locked tightly, sat at the bottom. They grasped their chest with one hand and the book with the other, admiring the intricate silver swirls and black glittering stars covering it. Quizz placed it on the desk, noticing a small, strangely glittering key hanging off of a chain attached to it.
The room seemed to whisper directly into his mind.
‘Open it. Inside. Open... learn about... read... learn...’
With a shaking hand, they unlocked it and read.
They read.
And read.
Memories coming to the forefront and fading away just as soon. Their eyes scanned words that would pixelate and blur as soon as they glanced at them. Names and places, numbers and facts- blurred away from his sight.
‘No. This is not how it should be.’
A growl bubbled up in his chest as he kept reading. Names were all universally destroyed, photos for the most part blurred out. But categories- favorite places and things... birthdays and personality types- all of those were categorized neatly and nicely.
Some pages had just a few, and those names were less obscured- some even with profile pictures fully visible.
Those pages made his chest rumble happily. He couldn’t understand why.
But there were three specific pages that stood out. Just looking at them... it made his blood itch, his chest scream in longing.
He needed to finish them. If he didn’t... he didn’t know what he would do.
He poured over the pages over and over and over again.
They all had information filled for the most part, more categories were finished than any other page had been, but things like the person’s name and appearance, as well as the photos were unhelpfully blurred out.
They snarled at the thought of not knowing what it meant.
“Can’t make anything easy for me, huh?”
One was a page that was rather childish. Observations were written but he could barely understand them- the letters scrambling before his eyes. But he noticed something- it seemed the entry was cut short; the only clear thing besides crayon drawings of frogs said ‘entry cut short, just like their time with us.’
The second page was filled with pressed flowers- all different types of lilies and snapdragons. Everything was written with a glittery peach gel pen. They ran a claw over the script and felt a tear fall from their eyes. The writing made them feel something deep and painful- the same pain they’d felt a short while ago.
Their eyes scanned the page, noticing a single clear data entry.
Favorite Color: Peach
“This was... is this my mom?”
Upon saying that, the page become more readable- some smaller things filling out and the photo less ‘thumb over the camera’ and more ‘they moved while I took this’.
If this was information on people they knew then...
Quizz yelled as their chest spiked in pain, something overcoming their willpower.
If this book was filled with things about the people they loved, then they will... they are going to... uncover all of it- collect all the information and find them. They’ll collect everyone interesting they meet- ask them... get answers, know things, know all things to... to -
Protect.
Love.
Learn.
Know. Know them.
After feeling cold pins and needles consume their form, Quizz flipped back to the third and last page that had gathered their interest.
The very first page in the book.
Their claw ran over the scrawling handwriting- admiring how the writer crossed their sevens with lines, how they looped their letters and underlined things for emphasis. They felt nostalgic and hollow.
This page had every single category filled, but the descriptions were blackened out; like they’d spilled ink all over the page. They looked it up and down but couldn’t find a single clue about who page one would have been.
With a sigh they grinned and noticed something peculiar on the inner cover- right next to the bio. There was a single note, a single clue.
Password: Page 5′s best friend.
Now that... that tickled Quizz’s fancy. Page 5... that would be the childish froggie page? Yes it was.
Quizz felt the buzzing in their chest become steady, violent yet subdued. It was telling them this was the right direction- that attaining that information would fill a hunger they didn’t know they had.
Interesting, this was going to just be... delightful.
#dantes vibe corner#my fics#dp oc#dp#danny phantom#phanfic#dp quizz#quizz#long post#going angst week 2021#this one is more mild but the next one is gonna fuckin HURT
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when i think about the roots of my perfectionism... part of it is paying intense attention to detail as a way of avoiding the mistakes that come with inattention (this is most obvious in the way i take tests, or do math problems, basically the areas i used to make frequent “lazy” mistakes as a kid. i’d go over every math problem 3x before turning a test in, checking for not dropping signs, writing out every step fully to make it clear and easy to check and re-check, etc.) this is how i see it most often explained as to why adhd leads to perfectionism. other parts of my perfectionism, when it comes to things like music and art... i’d say are the usual amounts of perfectionism you’d see in an artist, nothing to pathologize.
but the most debilitating way my perfectionism manifests is when i pour way too much into assignments and projects that should be easy/that everyone tells me to “bullshit.” usually things in the humanities, like writing assignments, film assignments, outlining/other facilitated reading assignments, worksheets with short answer questions, presentations or projects with art components that are meant to be easy and boost your grade/look good... and i realized that the motivation behind it isn’t necessarily achieving perfection, but achieving a level of depth that makes the assignment/project actually worth doing to me—essentially, triggering hyperfocus by making it something genuinely intellectually engaging. for example, in gov last year, i couldn’t make myself do the short daily assignments where you’d simply read an article and write a surface level, short, informal response. i just couldn’t make myself. it was intended to be busy/easy work, and in class i just...wouldn’t do it. it was only when i went home, and took a good hour to actually engage with the article and write an in-depth response that i could even make myself begin the task. otherwise, it was impossible. (and then of course id fall behind and it would pile up, etc.)
and this was how i approached nearly every assignment. i physically could not do it if it didn’t interest me, so i had to go to extremes on my own to shift the goal posts and make it into a task that would spark that genuine interest, and then i would have fewer problems sustaining the effort unless it was just, unavoidably repetitive or something like that. in fact, i’d often get super super into it, to the point of totall overkill. and it worked for a while!
in middle school, when i had literally no homework, i could spend hours outlining my entire science textbook in-depth and following whatever tangents of interest would arise until i’d learned the material to the point of overkill (which id then be bullied for lmao). but in high school, the more work that piled up the less sustainable this approach became. and as i started missing more and more deadlines and giving up on timeliness entirely, eventually deadlines couldn’t trigger hyperfocus either. it’s really interesting to me when i analyze these behaviors through a lens of what i now believe to be adhd, because it explains so much why my efforts in school were always so inconsistent. why i could dedicate sooo much time to things that genuinely interested me to the point of being labeled an overachiever (even though that didn’t feel accurate to my motivations), but i never was able to just sit down and memorize my times tables. (like, literally, i memorized my multiplication tables by accident eventually. i didnt know my 7 times tables until like sophomore year.)
and the reason why my struggles with attention were never obvious at all? because for the longest time (until high school broke me entirely lol), i was just genuinely interested in most things, and most (not all) teachers would let me draw or read to stay focused because i was a good student. god i just think about how different pre-calculus and physics were in junior year. i loved physics and it was intellectually rigorous and my teacher loved me, and didn’t mind my zoning out or doodling (or even straight up sleeping) in class because i was smart and got good grades. but my precalc teacher hated me, because everything in that class was rote memorization and repetition, and i just couldn’t do it. not for lack of trying! i told her: “point me to the proofs, and i’ll go home and be able to learn it! i just can’t memorize it, i can’t stay focused”...but then it turned out we were learning things that, although super easy and boring to execute, the proofs for were incredibly complex and would often require calculus to comrehend. and here i was, frustrated, because WHY THE FUCK THEN ARE WE LEARNING ALL THIS BEFORE TAKING CALCULUS IF YOU NEED CALCULUS TO ACTUALLY FUCKIN UNDERSTAND IT?? anyways, that was the first class i ever got a b in because i just couldn’t. and my teacher ended up thinking my inattention was contempt when really i just could barely keep it together. i’d never before had a class, believe it or not, where i couldn’t use my normal “perfectionistic” coping mechanisms to trigger hyperfocus. ever. at all. the class wasn’t demanding and it was an “easy a” and i felt so stupid for not being able to just do what everyone else was doing! and, to make matters worse, almost every day for months she’d call me out for drawing or not having homework in front of the whole class (rsd hell), until eventually she gave up on me.
i could probably go on and on about how these behaviors made school impossible for me by my senior year. but what matters is that now i understand it differently through an adhd lense... and i think it makes much more sense? the way i would explain it concisely would be: in school i relied on raising my personal standards to make boring assignments more intellectually rigorous and trigger hyperfocus. of course this method eventually failed and then i was left paralyzed unable to do anything, yet still with the same perfectionistic mindset. my standards are all or nothing at all, because my attention is all or nothing. at least, that’s my current theory lmao. this might all sound like deranged ramblings to anyone else... originally this post was not supposed to be long but it’s mostly just a way for me to document myself so? yeahh lol
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feeling incredibly worthless and stupid seeing that my ex who ive recently been talking to again is talking to some girl he used to mess with again, and shes really pretty, some model chick and i feel so.. bland, ugly, and not worth waiting for. we were long distance and i was hoping us talking again was a hopeful sign we could fix things. then he tells me hes moving down south, closer to me.. thinking this is our chance only to find out the girl wants to move to the same state.. im so stupid
darling, you are not stupid. i’m sorry to speak poorly of someone you care about, but this man is an asshole. what kind of a person would do what he’s doing to you? it sounds like he’s trying to two-time you so he can get away with having something with you and the other girl, and that is such a sleazy, disgusting move.
you do not need this man. you do not need ANY man. believe me when i tell you that i understand the overwhelming, debilitating ache of just wanting to be loved, wanting to be wanted, wanting someone to choose you and just want to be with you as much as you want to be with them. i also know the excruciating pain of that person picking another girl who seems prettier and better than you in every way. i have had that life experience, 0/10 do not recommend.
but that means that you can trust me when i tell you that no matter how much it hurts, you don’t need him, nor do you need to be validated by him. you deserve the kind of person who would never even think about cheating on you or talking to two exes at the same time. you deserve somebody who makes you feel good about yourself, like you’re a fucking queen and he’s lucky to have you, not somebody who makes you wait and hope that he’ll return your texts. you don’t need that bullshit in your life.
you do not need a man to give you worth. you don’t need to be chosen by a man to have worth. you are a whole and complete and valuable fucking human being all by yourself.
a fulfilling romantic relationship can be a great part of your life, but it should never be what your worthiness depends upon. you do not need a relationship or a man to be complete. you are not less valuable when you are single. you are not pathetic for standing on your own.
it’s okay to cry and hurt, i’m not telling you that you have to be a strong, fearless bitch 100% of the time, i’m just asking you to please try not to compare yourself to another woman and feel worthless in comparison because some fuckin loser is messing around with her. this guy being an asshole has NOTHING to do with you and EVERYTHING to do with him.
motherfucking Beyonce got cheated on, do you think that happened because she wasn’t beautiful or smart or valuable enough?? people cheat because they have insecurities or shitty morals, not because their partner isn’t good enough. if this man sees no problem with stringing you along while getting with another woman, he belongs in the fuckin trash.
sweetheart, i want you to cry your eyes out, eat some ice cream, talk to a friend, and get up tomorrow, delete that bastard from your phone, and move on in a life where you prioritize yourself and you take care of yourself and you don’t accept less than what you deserve. and you deserve a whole hell of a lot.
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as you all know, the only venting i ever post on here is reblogged subtle depression feels *sparkle emoji* or an explosion of all the shit that’s happened to me like every three months because i cannot take Any More under a read more
the three month deadline has come now
triggers below, check the tags please
this year has unabashedly been the worst year of my life.
and that sounds dramatic, and i know i could have it worse, and maybe i’m being selfish because literally all the things that have happened this year have been all inner turmoils and i’ve literally had years where my family went through financial struggles + death and stuff and even that doesn’t compare to the emotional toll i’ve went through this year but it’s just. bad. it’s so bad.
i don’t know how or why but my depression seemed to just fucking turn itself up 8 notches after january hit to the point where i had to tell my dad that i needed medical help lmao... and i got my first diagnosis, my first perscription.. and it didn’t work, so they upped the dosage, and that didn’t work, so now i’m on a new medicine which has a starting dosage of 150mg, and my doctor told me if this one didn’t work she’s going to refer me to a psychiatrist, and i must have looked so broken and on the verge of tears when she said this because she immediately had to reassure me that this wasn’t a failure on my own part, which logically makes sense right, but at the same time it’s just so?? fucking disheartening?? after months of my upper dosage not working i just cold turkeyed them until my next appointment which probably wasn’t the Best Thing because shortly following that i realized that i wanted to k*ll mys*lf more in a two week period than i’d have ever in my entire life, and i thought that suicide idealization was an issue i struggled with since forever, but boy howdy was i wrong because these past couple of weeks have been sooooooo fuckin bad lmao. like i struggle opening my medicine because sometimes i dump like all of it out and just. look at it. in my hand. i never actually do it because i’m way too scared of having a seizure or my dad doing something stupid if i were dead but what if. what if what if what if. it’s more of an intrusive thought than me planning on it, but. what if. my new medication has a specific warning that it’s dangerous for overdoses which is. genuinely kind of scary. what if.
i realized that i don’t have anyone friendwise irl anymore over the course of this school year. to save you and myself the retelling of the most bullshit high school drama i’ve ever been apart of, i realized that all my friends in my Group (tm) couldn’t care any less about me than they already do. i’ve always adored them and loved them with all of my being, and yeah i am not endowed to their appreciation back i guess, but watching them slowly and gradually ditch me and exclude me and ignore me and go out of their way to show me that they don’t care about my existence has been the biggest fucking emotional blow. people outside of this group told me that they were awful people and bad for me and so incredibly toxic and guess what? i defended them and now the fact that i was wrong makes me want to tear my fucking guts out. i spent three whole years with these group of people only for them to decide in the past six months that i’m not worth it. i feel so fucking empty. one of those people was supposed to be my best friend of nine years. and i still fucking love him despite all of that, y’know? i love all of them even though they have made me sob every night over the latter course of a school year and feel unsafe in a club that i was once prominent in and that’s so bullshit and so unfair but it’s fine it’s whatever. and like, i should have seen it coming, because the build up was them treating me so fucking badly. it’s an ongoing joke that despite being rank 1 in my class, i’m.. an idiot? like it’s a joke that haha i’m short and haha i’m stupid and haha i can’t interact with people and i have debilitating anxiety and i make mistakes all the time and i’m the ditzy lesbian of our friend group, even when i express that i hate being called stupid but they just insist that they’re joking with me and that i’m too sensitive. i can count on one hand the amount of times they picked at me for my eating habits even though at least one of them knew i have a pretty bad ED. they picked and picked and picked at me and then when we have our first fight they all immediately fucking drop me, and i still love them and i still try to fix everything but suddenly i’m not worth the effort anymore. it’s draining. i’m so, so tired.
outside of the toxic group(tm), anyone that was close to me as i friend (or otherwise) i ended up pushing away or drifting away from or fucking up the relationship on my own, and even if it’s ‘Okay’ on objective terms, to know that i fucked up something that was once really really nice and now i can’t even feel comfortable opening up a message first because i know i’ll get left on read or, even worse, have to read a one-sided, hardly caring/pitying conversation makes me just not want to bother at all. it’s so hard to reach out to the few people i know do kinda sorta care for me, but the fact that i’ve been absent for this long? it makes the few relationships i have strained and forced so i can’t even bring myself to put myself out there knowing that it’s only going to make me feel worse
working makes me?? so miserable ????? i worked at pizza hut up until the beginning of june and while i was good at it and i had friends there, i didn’t get paid enough so i had to quit. i started a new job. i fucking hate it. i actively dread going there. people refuse to train me or are incredibly fucking disrespectful/unfriendly to me if i ask for help or just don’t know how to do something. i feel bad ranting about it because every single person i’ve asked for advice from just says that i’ll get used to it or it’s in my head, which.... regardless of whether or not it is, making me feel like it’s my fault or that i’m being crazy makes me feel sooo fucking sick and like i’m actually insane. i heard it enough from my friends this year. i’m so tired of being blamed for things happening that, while they might be worsened by the anxiety in my head, it isn’t JUST THAT. sometimes things are just BAD but they’re not because I’M making them seem bad, they genuinely just are!!!! not everything is in my head !!!!! things can be upsetting with it being solely because i’m fucking anxious every moment of every fucking day !!!!! regardless i need money so i can’t quit but goddammit i hate every minute i’m not at my house.
all in all, i just feel so, so fucking alone. i have friends on here, and i’m so thankful for them - i’m so grateful to every lovely message i’ve gotten on anon and i’m so thankful for my buds on discord and i’m so thankful for streams and my stream team and i’m so thankful for people who follow me for musicals or art and actively talk to me about them - but it’s just.. here. when i log off and step back from my computer, i’m just immediately fucking alone again. if i were to disappear one day, no one would know what happened to me or where i went, and eventually no one would even care, given that anyone even noticed my absence to begin with. i’m so replaceable. i’m literally just another fucking face on here. another cutesy musical blog ran by a very, very fucking dysfunction kid
anytime i’m shown any shred of kindness, i just. start sobbing. like i cannot even interact like a person, or hell, like the person i was a year ago. this girl i’d been talking to momentarily told me that for as much as i’m there for other people, i need someone that i can jsut lean on and have care about me, and like. i cried. so much. when was the last time i had that? when was the last time i just had someone, anyone just to be here for me? and again, not saying it in a way like i deserve that or am entitled to that, but god fucking damnit i haven’t just rant on and on or spilled my feelings to someone without worrying that they’d get upset with me or deflect it back onto themselves in so, so long. i just want someone to listen. i just want someone to care.
and it’s who i try to be, all the time. the person that cares, the person that listens, and that just might be part of the problem. i say this all the time, and it’s a mantra and probably one of the main highlighted points that comes with my depression: i put so, so much out, so much energy and love and time, and i get almost nothing back. and it takes suuuuch a fucking toll. in such, it causes me to retreat and suddenly just cut people off or distance myself because i’m scared of letting myself get hurt again because the emotional turmoil i go through genuinely, genuinely almost fucking kills me every time. when that whole thing happened with my friend group, i went days without eating and just. wouldn’t talk. wouldn’t do anything other than school. because school is my safety, i can always rely on school, school will always be there - so i threw myself in school and overworked myself and overmaxed my credit hours and like. if i didn’t have that, if i didn’t have my classes, i really don’t know if i’d be here right now. and it sounds dramatic and i’m sorry, i hate it too, but it’s just the fucking truth.
but - yeah again, i’m the person that’s always there. that’s why i never fucking rant like this on here. i don’t want to be triggering, and i don’t want to cause people distress, and i want people who are having a hard time to see my blog and maybe feel a little bit better and feel happy and have fun. but in the end, this is the only place i have to scream out into the void because i genuinely don’t have a space to do that in real life anymore. nothing. there’s nothing else.
i’ve always said that when i go to college, i’m just going to do a hard-reset and change up everything. reinvent myself. but sometimes i really don’t see myself getting out of this year alive, or at the very least in one piece. i’m already fucked in so many regards. i’m predestined to be an alcoholic. my brain is actively trying to fucking detonate itself. i’ve never been in love, and sometimes i worry that i never will be. i cry and cry and cry out, but i can’t get help. my solutions to problems is just working until i forget or sleeping until i forget or just finding an alternate way to fucking forget. everything that i’m looking forward to is so incredibly temporary or so short lived or so pathetically small in the grand scheme of things. i have to stay alive to see my AP scores on july 5th. i have to stay alive because i promised my friends i’d stream on this day. i have to stay alive because i promised addie i’d go see this show with her in september. but it’s not for me. it’s never for fucking me. i couldn’t care less.
i’m not going to ever kill myself because i’m too scared of the pain or the symptoms that i’ll feel right up to it. but otherwise, i really don’t know why else i’m obligated to stay here.
#suicide mention#ed mention#self harm mention#depression mention#overdose mention#read more#irrelevant#garbage.txt#this was more for my own personal catharsis(?) than anything else#i ended up sobbing in the subway parking lot today and i just.#needed to summarize 2019 for myself#get it all out there#because i feel like i never get to talk to the full extent of how bad i feel at any given moment#i'm always the happy go lucky wacky lesbian#and even after this if you're a person who knows me irl you know i'll be acting the exact same way i always do#it's just who i am at this point#a stupid fucking facade#i'm sorry for new followers i promise i don't always do this#this is the first in like forever#my content is primarily musicals and memes tee hee#i'll probably delete this later#or archive#please don't feel super obligated to reply to this#it's not why i wrote it#it was just to vent because yknow#like i said#don't really have any other way to do that these days#long post#longpost#sorry if parts of this don't make sense i'm not proofreading it for my own sanity
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Try and remember the last thing you learned.
What was it? I can’t remember myself. Maybe it was to always save documents on Microsoft word, I’m talking, every fucking five minutes, because laptops LOVE to overheat and die after you’ve just written thousands of words. That’s a loss avoidance technique in the simplest, clearest way.
Every single time I use my brain in any other area of life I’m for sure exercising a loss avoidance technique of some different, more complex kind, too. It’s all I’ve ever done, all I’ve ever known since I stepped out of childhood. Debilitating loss, and attempts to avoid it. That’s the last thing I learned, that’s what I keep learning over and over again.
God, those little green ellipses just appeared after that last sentence, the ones that gleefully tell you you’re really stupid, and you’ve used grammar incorrectly, and this stupid computer is so much more advanced and clever than you. Fuck off man. ‘Over and over again,’ that’s what I said, and that’s what I meant. I just right-clicked it and it says ‘CONSIDER USING CONCISE LANGUAGE: REPEATEDLY’. HAHAHAHAH. You’re trying to patronise me, computer. I used ‘over and over again’ for DRAMATIC EFFECT. DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT DRAMATIC EFFECT. OR ARE YOU ALL ABOUT THE CLARITY? FUCK CLARITY BITCH. I’M ALL ABOUT DRAMA. IT’S NECESSARY. YOU LEARN SOMETHING FROM ME, COMPUTER. YOU’VE NOTHING TO TEACH ME. YOUR MAKER IS DEAD ANYWAY AINT HE? STEVE JOBS, IS THAT WHO MADE YOU? WELL HE DIED BITCH. MY FATHER IS STILL ALIVE AND KICKING AND SMOKING SKUNK WHILE YOURS ROTS IN THE GROUND.
TELL ME AGAIN I’M USING GRAMMAR WRONG.
SEE WHAT HAPPENS.
So I just made a tumblr, at the grand old pathetic age of 22, yes 22, not 16, because I don’t know why. I’m really bored. And I’ve got a huge task to do for a new marketing job that is way too hard for me and my restricted knowledge, but I’m pretending it isn’t. Truthfully I’m so out of my depth I replied to the email from the company with three kisses instead of ‘regards,’ because I was half asleep. Truthfully, I hate anything that requires me to replace the word ‘use’ with ‘utilize’ just for show.Truthfully I don’t know where to start. Truthfully I’m more prosperous right now than I have been in six years, and it feels like I’m waking up, but truthfully… I don’t know if I can cope.
When I first got really ill, I would often have that kate bush song stuck in my head. The one that goes ‘I know you’ve got a lot of life in you yet,’… Yeah. Cliché, embarrassing, melodramatic, maudlin and just fuckin cringe, but I suppose I was subliminally singing it to myself. Yeah. I’m embarrassing. I’ll always be embarrassing.
But yknow Im so tired now. One of the most tiring things about OCD is not actually trying to fight off irrational thoughts. It’s trying to fight off the rational ones, because the idea of abiding by them makes me feel sick and unable to function.
Your idea of rationality is completely irrational to me.
‘It’s okay to eat a sandwich when your hand smells like cigarettes. You don’t need to shower in hot water, use shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, hot water, then cold water, then wash your hands in the sink with that soap that kills 99.9 percent of bacteria, then use hand gel, then wait for your hands to dry as all the towels are too dirty and smell of smoke, then use three pairs of latex gloves, and even then eat the sandwich with a knife and fork. You’re being irrational.’
I’m being irrational? No, you’re being reckless, and if I eat that sandwich though it smells like cigarettes, it’s the equivalent to eating a cigarette, and I will be infertile. I used to live like you. I used to live by your ‘rationality’. It makes me sick that I did.
Anyway, I’m always hungry. OCD rarely lets me eat. Always a pain in my stomach. So that makes me tired too.
‘I know you’ve got a lot of life in you yet’ sounds more daunting than comforting these days.
I’m trying to remember the last thing I learned, that wasn’t about loss, or avoidance of loss. It’s quite hard. The last thing I learned was that my hair actually looks way better when I brush it, I suppose. I just wish I had the time and the energy to do so.
X
B
P.S. Just found out a young couple heading out for a Halloween party were found dead in the woodlands of Hertfordshire this evening. So there’s another thing I learned. People are still dying.
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