Y…yes. Yeah, I guess I do have friends, don’t I.

…Wh-what?! No! I’m not crying, you’re crying! Don’t look at me! Go away!

anonymous asked:

I can relate to a lot of the bpd symptoms and I've been self diagnosed for a while but I don't want to say anything. it might seem fake

whenever I feel similarly, I think: there’s going to be plenty of people in life that will try to invalidate my experiences so the least I could do is stick up + believe in myself as much as I possibly can!!

plus, don’t forget that doubting you’re mentally ill is one of the traits from bpd! if you’d like, I could link you to an interactive version of the DSM-5 if you haven’t checked that out yet?

Man idk because like people are yelling about s*langelo like “even if it’s not perfect and feels super fake and rushed it’s still good! It’s the only queer representation in YA!!!”
And I’m over here, thinking about the steady build up, growth, and realization of the relationship between Adam “canon bisexual” Parrish and Ronan “positive representation of both trauma and queerness” Lynch like “yeah ok”

can anyone else just, feel their episodes coming on ?? like any form tbh because i can just, feel mine coming,, it makes me feel rlly fake because like “ah what if my mind is just, well today you need to be paranoid out the ass because that hasn’t happened in a few weeks so, make with it” and it’s just, made, up ?? but im not and that makes me even more scared because what if i am ? subconsciously making this up and I don’t know it and christ I can’t i can’t that could be true that could be true because i could just being doing this for attention that i don’t even know i want i don’t want attention but what if i do and therefore im making this up but im not making this up but someone has to be and that someone is me it has to be me because it’s in my head but im not making this up but I could be maybe it’s another part of me or something inside of me but how do I know im not making THAT up its i aAaaaaaaqasdafdq a w a a d f r

anonymous asked:

It's bpd awareness month and I feel so invalid. I never got a diagnosis or anything. I feel so fcking fake. Sorry I just had to get that off my chest. (btw all of you on here are so beautiful!♡)

I know what you mean, I’m self diagnosed as well and I totally understand feeling fake but you have to trust yourself!
You’re totally valid love!
~ k

anonymous asked:

for science - marichat angst

fake married au

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (you are here!)

In sickness and in health, Marinette reminded herself firmly, staring at the green swirls of glow-in-the-dark stars on her dorm room ceiling. In joy and in sorrow; at three P.M. and at three A.M..

The oxymoronic mess of guilty cat slumped artfully over her desk and chair sighed for the fifth time that hour, which was also the twelfth time since he’d crawled in her window just as she was finishing up tomorrow’s presentation two hours ago.

“Look,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “I’m not expecting you to stop liking Ladybug just because we put our names on a piece of paper and submitted it to the government.”

Because she was pretty damn sure that this was about that one unthinking comment she’d made in response to Chat’s flirtations earlier today.

Don’t you have a pretty little wife waiting for you at home?

If she could duct-tape past-Ladybug’s mouth shut, she would.

She sort of knew that Chat was the kind of person to value things like wedding vows and fidelity, no matter how forced the circumstances surrounding those vows had been, and she should have thought about that before opening her big, dumb mouth, but she didn’t.

And here he was.

“I swore to you—”

“—because of circumstances—”

“—that I would remain faithful to you—”

“—we aren’t even technically in a relationship—”

“—no matter what.”

Marinette sat up on her elbows to better glare at him.

Chat met her with a heartbreakingly earnest look and said, “And I keep my promises, Marinette.”

‘Marinette.’ Not 'Princess.’

Marinette was the one sighing then, flopping back onto the bed and, after a moment’s thought, lifting up the corner of her quilt.

When Chat made no move to join her, she scooted as far over as she could in her tiny twin bed and lifted the quilt a bit higher.

“In,” she commanded.

Chat got in.

“It’s too late for angst,” Marinette mumbled, wrapping her arms and quilt both around the sad kitty.

Mmmm, warm.

Chat had more body heat than she did, and hugging him felt like hugging someone who’d just been standing out in the sun. Marinette wrapped both of her legs around one of his and tucked her face against his collarbone, wondering idly if she could induce him to more sleepovers as her hot water bottle.

Chat breathed a laugh into her hair, hugging her with all his nice warmth in return. “Okay.”