as for me it manifests in rage

anonymous asked:

what is splitting?

Splitting is defined as a rapid change of emotions, but that’s not very specific. Despite the fact that splitting is an almost universal symptom for BPD individuals nobody really has put out the best description for it. I remember being very confused when I first heard of it and even more confused when my google searches came up without any real answer to what exactly splitting is. Truly the best way to define splitting is to describe it, but it tends to manifest itself in many ways, so I’ll do my best to cover them all.

Rage Split: A sudden anger that courses through the body sometimes without warning. Your chest will tighten and your vision may tunnel. A burning, aching feeling usually blossoms in my rib cage, like my heart is trying to break out and attack. Generally the primary emotion felt is anger. I become downright infuriated at someone or something for what could be no reason at all. This kind of split usually causes me to act impulsively, say things, I shouldn’t say, and lash out violently. It’s almost like catharsis in that it’s a release of emotions, or just this one overwhelming emotion. Sometimes I can’t really remember what I did or said during the split and looking back the memory is usually a blur.

Preparation Split: This is a split that usually isn’t acted on. Usually a scenario is imagined in the head of what somebody might say to you and how you’d respond. You start to gear up for this situation as if it’s actually going to happen. You begin to hate this person in question, despite the fact that what they ‘did/said’ was purely in your head. Then when the time comes and nothing happens you feel almost disappointed. Most importantly however the feelings of imagined anger and betrayal linger.

Isolation split: This is a split brought on by an extreme fear of abandonment and usually blindsides you unexpectedly out of nowhere. You could be at home, in school, at work, or even with friends and have the overwhelming feeling that everybody hates you. Not only that, but you have the desire to prove yourself wrong so you do the most rational (or in this case irrational) thing you can think of in an effort to get somebody to notice you: you cut yourself off. Now, for some borderlines this is just straight up cutting people out of your life aggressively and for no reason and then wondering why nobody is checking up on them. For others this might be withdrawing casually from social groups and conversations, desperately hoping for somebody to notice and ask if their okay. In both cases the borderline is either noticed, which brings on a sort of euphoria, or is unnoticed and will rage split on themselves (self harm, suicide attempts, risky behaviors, etc). 

Those are the main ones that I come across, but here are some little ones!

Sadness split: A sudden feeling that the world had gone cold and empty and that nothing will bring you joy, ever. This could be mistaken as a symptom for depression, but usually these little splits resolve themselves within a matter of days or even hours.

Apathy split: The borderline no longer feels any emotion whatsoever. For borderlines this is a little bit of heaven that quickly turns into hell. We’re so used to experiencing everything at once that we don’t know how to cope with this new numbness, so we try to force ourselves into experiencing something. This may include self harm, dangerous/illegal activities, etc.

Silent split: Like a rage split in that it is anger fueled, but normally the impulsive behaviors are controlled. This is more common in quiet borderlines.

Euphoria split: This is a sudden ‘Everything is good and wonderful! Nothing will ever make me sad again!’ kind of emotion that results from getting the desired attention we crave. Borderlines will then become so wrapped up in this feeling that they neglect their real responsibilities, convinced that they will be okay and not having the permanence to remember the consequences of their actions.

Okay, I think that just about covers it. Just ask if you have any more questions!

Meltdown vs Shutdown

In autistic people, meltdowns and shutdowns may occur. Here’s what they are, how to identify them, and what to do if someone you know is experiencing one.

A meltdown is a period of explosive anger/sadness/rage/fear which may manifest itself through screaming, crying, yelling, and can occasionally include violent outbursts. In younger children, meltdowns are often confused with tantrums. A tantrum is a tactic used by children to achieve a goal, such as getting a toy they want from the store. A meltdown is not a power play, it is an intense emotional point at which the person can no longer cope with what is happening around them. Meltdowns can occur at ANY AGE. This is an important distinction from tantrums, which tend to subside around ages 5-6. For me, meltdowns are triggered when I feel misunderstood, or feel that something in the environment is unfair or illogical.
Signs that an autistic person is having a meltdown include:
- arguing
- screaming/yelling
- crying
- retreating to a space they feel safer in
- if the person is angry during a meltdown, they may insult the people around them
- curling up into a ball/ fetal position
- going under blankets/ a dark quiet place
- sometimes the person may hit/ kick/ scratch anyone who tries to go near them
- if the person had a goal in mind which was impeded by others, they might perseverate and continue attempting to achieve that goal

What you should and shouldn’t do during a meltdown:
- Allow the person go where they want to/ stay where they want to, unless the place they’re going/ staying presents an immediate safety threat
- do not try to rationalize with them or continue any previous argument
- bring them a blanket and a water bottle with water in it
- if the person has a comfort object bring it to them and let them have it
- do not physically restrain or interact with the person unless they CLEARLY indicate a desire for physical touch
- only touch or restrain the person if they are in immediate danger and you need to get them away from the situation
- stay with the person until the meltdown is over (this may be 15 minutes to 3+ hours so you might want something to occupy yourself while you wait for them to calm down)
- however if the person tells you to go away, respect them and leave the room. However you should stay in the general area in case they become self destructive or violent
- tell the person that you love and care for them and that you will be with them/ there for them until the meltdown passes

A period of intense emotional/ sensory distress which manifests itself through a period of mental paralyzation. Someone experiencing a shutdown may become partially or entirely unresponsive to outside stimuli or interaction. Internally, the person may be experiencing extreme turmoil and anxiety, so it is important not to ask the person questions, which will make them more anxious and overwhelmed.
Signs that an autistic person is having a shutdown:
- staring blankly into space/ at one specific thing with fixed, unmoving eyes
- a stiff, rigid, unmoving posture
- lack of verbal communication

- breathing may be shallow and rapid or suppressed and slow, could be abnormally loud or abnormally quiet
- lack of response to outside stimuli ex. waving hands in front of their face (please don’t do that), speaking to them, asking them what’s wrong
- sensitivity to loud noise and bright lights (person may cover their eyes or ears)

During a shutdown, here is what you can do to help:
- you can quietly and calmly ask the person if they are having a shutdown. The person might not be able to respond, but if they don’t then it’s safe to assume that they are indeed having a shutdown.
- if the person normally likes physical affection and touch, you can hold them/ hug them/ stroke them/ physically comfort them
- if the person normally dislikes physical affection and touch, don’t touch them
- if the person has a comfort object and you have access to it, bring it to them (if the comfort object is more than 10- 15 minutes away from you then it’s probably not worth getting because it might not arrive in time to help)
- bring the person a water bottle with water in it
- stop talking about/ discussing any emotionally stressful topics
- if the situation is immediately dangerous, seeing as the person may be unable to move, remove them from the situation as soon as physically possible. You can do this by carrying the person or any other safe method.
- try to remove any sources of sensory information. If the room is bright, turn off the majority of the lights. If the room is loud, make it quiet. If the room is too cold or too hot, make it comfortable. In the case of cold, you can do this by covering the person in a non-itchy, soft blanket.
- reassure the person that you are there for them. Walk them through what you’re doing as you do it. For example, if you’re going to get the person water, tell them. If you’re going to get them out of the situation, tell them. If you’re going to turn off bright lights, tell them. Remember, even if we can’t communicate, we can still hear. It’s comforting to know what’s going on around us.

I think that’s just about it, if anyone has anything to add please let me know. I hope that everyone finds this helpful!

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Two)

Notes from Mod Bonnie 

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? 
  • Links to past installments:  (One


“May I help you with that, Jenny?”

Jenny didn’t answer; she didn’t even bother to raise her eyes as she arranged the tea, bannocks, butter, and preserves between us on the study table.  I wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t said more than two words to me since we’d entered the house, nor had she allowed me any opportunity to walk about and reminisce. The sounds of whispers and laughter had echoed through the hall even from the first moment of entry, but my sister-in-law had left me no opportunity to investigate the other occupants of the house—would I know any of them, I wondered? She’d marched me into the study in a way that offered no room for protest and bade me sit while she went to fetch the tea (the best teapot, I noticed; not the one used for family). 

No, I wasn’t at all surprised, at this point, given my reception in the dooryard, not by any any of it  — only hurt. 

Talk to me, Jenny….just TALK to me… 

She didn’t speak, but I did catch her watching me with a laser-sharp focus as I lifted a bannock and took a small bite, not from hunger, just for something to do; and I could have sworn those eyes flared with — surprise? confirmation? 

Whatever it had been, the next moment, it was gone, hidden once more behind a mask of boiling control, intent upon this soulless hospitality. So intently, pointedly was Jenny focused, in fact, that she didn’t even notice when the study door opened behind her. 

She was younger than Bree, but not much; perhaps sixteen or seventeen. I certainly had never laid eyes on her, but I knew her at once. That dark, curly hair; those warm, honey-brown eyes! Even in that brief instant in which our eyes met, I felt such a strong rush of affection, the lump in my throat made it hard to smile at her; but smile I did. My niece. 

And to my astonishment — not to mention, relief that someone in this house might not despise me—she smiled back; warmly, not taking those bright, questioning eyes off me, even as she gave a cursory knock and said. “Mam? D’ye need–?”

Jenny bolted like a startled deer, that frigid calm vanished in a second. In one fluid motion, she turned to the door and lunged into my line of sight, barking, “Out, Janet!” No, not into my line of sight: into her daughter’s….to keep me from view. “Out,” she snapped again. 

A very unladylike curse from the daughter, a “NOW!” from the mother, and the thunk of the heavy door snapping closed, trapping me inside once more. Stunned, I managed a nervous laugh, to stammer in the direction of Jenny’s back that the girl was more than welcome to come in and share our tea. While eager to meet this young Janet Murray, I was still more desperate for another person’s presence, ANY person, to ease the tension in the room.

…and exactly one blink later, I realized in panic that Jenny had whirled to face me, that she had said something at the exact same moment, and that her EYES —

I should have been able to match her; Claire Beauchamp was not of the wilting violet genus; but Jesus H Roosevelt CHRIST, that look had me absolutely terrified as I asked her to repeat herself. 

“I said…” Each word was slow and distinct; a hammer blow nailing me to the pillory. “Where. have. you. been?”

My thoughts, my explanations, they turned to vapor under her gaze, and I could do little more than gape up at her from my seat. 

“You’re clearly no’ deid, as we were told.“ She was blazing, a snake coiled to strike.  “And you’re no’ a fetch.”

I didn’t know what a fetch was, but it didn’t seem like something one would want to be.“No,” I confirmed, carefully, waiting. “I’m not.”

“Then, where in God’s name have ye been these twenty years, Claire?”

“Abroad,” I answered at once, relieved, recovering my composure enough to scrabble at the story I’d rehearsed on my long ride from Inverness. “I’ve been abroad,” I said, more confidently. “Working as an apothecary in the Colonies.”

She gave a soft, vicious laugh and turned her eyes upward for a moment. Then, she struck. “Had a *pleasant* life, have ye?”

The bite was bad enough, those fangs; but they had poison in them, too, coursing through my body, a promise of slow, creeping pain. 

“Jenny,” I murmured gently, rallying myself into calm as I set down my teacup. This wouldn’t be easy. “I do understand how this must seem; but please, listen—

“No, you’ll listen to me.” She was absolutely lethal with quiet fury, and didn’t blink once as she spoke in a low, rapid hiss. “Many’s the thing that’s been whispered of ye, before and after the ‘45. That ye were a spy that brought the English down upon us—that ye caused the great famine—that ye were a filthy witch or a hoor or both — ” 

I tried to interrupt but she silenced me with a shaking finger and a basilisk glare. “But of all things, of ALL things, Claire, I would have gone to my grave swearing that ye loved my brother more than life itself.”

“I did.” RAGE had boiled instantly up in me and the accusation. “I DO.”

Love doesna do what ye did to Jamie,” she spat, disgust manifested in every pore. “LOVE doesna allow a man to think the very heart of him has died — doesna let him go on living as an empty shell for near twenty years.”

No, it bloody well doesn’t, Jenny. 

The strain of this tug-o-war of emotion was too much for my heart my physical, frantically-beating heart. From bewilderment to terror to fury, I felt exhaustion and stress in every muscle and bone, the fatigue in every pumping of that poisoned blood   and now, shame

If only I’d looked. If I’d looked sooner…not expecting to find him alive, but to honor his memory. Damn me to hell for it, I should have LOOKED.

I wanted to shrivel up and fade from existence, but Jenny would not have it. “Ye didna see him come back from Culloden, Claire,” she was saying, practically towering over me in my seat. “Ye werena here to drag him back from the brink.”

I couldn’t be—” 

“—But long after the wounds healed, the GRIEF kept Jamie near to death,” she seethed. “The pain ye caused him, Claire?—the agony of needing YOU, only you, and knowing ye gone forever? It was there on his face, in his bones—every day since—” she leveled a finger at me, “—since ye LEFT him.” 

“I did NOT leave him.” I was on my feet, wanting to wrap my hands around her throat. “Jamie was dead. For twenty years, I’ve thought him dead and in his grave, so you can shut your damned mouth about matters of which you don’t know one bloody 

“Oh, I think I ken the way of things just fine,” she sneered, not shrinking back one bit before me. “Ye kent well the disaster to come  dinna deny it, for ye told me to plant the damn potatoes, did ye not? You KNEW—and so ye arranged a better life, a life less destitute than the one we ” 

Jamie SENT me away, Jenny.”

 My teeth were gritted hard, the war between indignant rage and tearing guilt wracking through me. “I begged him to let me die with him that day — BEGGED him; but he wouldn’t allow it, said it was his duty to die, and that I had to go on without him, had to go far away. And it KILLED me, Jenny.”

I could smell my own sweat, could smell the salt and tang and fear in it as I tried to hold myself together, to say, “If Jamie’s been a shell for twenty years, well, so have I.” 

She said nothing, but faced me down with the same fury. 

“Every single day, I have grieved and I have wished — have cursed the Bonnie  fucking Prince Charlie and his fucking war that slaughtered my husband and left me to go on without him ”  

“Only he wasna slaughtered. Jamie survived, and his own WIFE didna even bother to come back to check if— “

“He MEANT to die,” I shouted, hoarse and desperate, hoping volume would drown out the shame screaming in my ears. “Jamie MEANT to let himself be killed! He didn’t leave me any room for doubt on that point; you know precisely how he is.” 

I was shaking uncontrollably. “I stayed away for twenty years because that was how I could bear it; the only way I could BEAR to keep on living. But as soon as I learned that he’d survived, I came. I gave up EVERYTHING to come find him, because Jamie was is everything to me.” I shook my head, seething. “And to have you stand here and accuse me—” 

“Did ye think I was dead, Claire?”

Her voice had gone suddenly light; conversational, as though she had merely asked if I’d like more jam. With a shock, I found that I recognized that practiced, calculated calm, those razor-sharp meanings cloaked so expertly in cordial tones. Colum MacKenzie, manifested here in the niece who had never met him; the spitting rage of the past minutes subsumed in something deeper; something far more lethal roiling beneath the skin. A wildcat prowling. 

At my silence, she smiled a cat-smile, shrugged, and looked around the room, her hands palm-up as if in mild curiosity. “And what of Ian? Did ye assume he’d died also? Along wi’ your wee nieces and nephews? Your wee Fergus? Remember them?” 

“Of course I do,” I whispered, that avalanche of shame continuing to crash all around me. 

She nodded, considering, almost amiably. “I dinna recall getting any letters or messages betwixt folk letting us know that ye might be thinking of us.” Her voice went hard with every word, each syllable distinct as her emotions started to break through that MacKenzie wall. “Nothing from ye, not even to ask had we yet starved to death in the famine you kent was coming.”

“Jenny…” My control broke and I was weeping before her. “Oh, Jenny…”

And as I stared pleadingly into her face, her own dam shattered, and I was utterly run through to find that the emotion pent up behind it was not merely rage it was grief, too. 

“Did ye think ye meant nothing to us, Claire? To me?”


There came a terrible, stricken sound in her throat as she tried to speak through the torrent, as she stared up at me with tears in her eyes as her face contorted. 

“Even if Jamie… had been gone—If the Lord had seen fit to—to take him on that accursed field…. “ She took a step toward me, not in threat, this time. “…did it truly never cross your mind that there would be joy in us knowing that you at least had lived?”

“Oh, Jenny.” I crossed the distance between us and clutched her tight, holding her so hard I thought she would snap; but she held me, too, her head pressed tight into my shoulder, the both of us falling apart together.  “Jenny…Jenny…I’m so sorry…”

God as my witness, I had mourned for her; for Ian, the children, for dear Fergus. They had been my family, and knowing the pain and hunger and grief they would face in the years after Culloden, without Jamie to watch over them — For Jamie, I’d had to live with only grief; for those remaining at Lallybroch, I’d borne twenty years of fear. 

I’m so sorry….I can’t— It’s—” I kissed and touched her hair as we swayed, as I grappled for how to explain—how to give some kind of acceptable reason for why I hadn’t been able to get word—  “It’s so much more complicated than you—”

I almost fell on my backside as I flew backward, my shoulders screaming with the sudden, violent assault as Jenny pushed me away with both hands, eyes once again wide with disbelieving fury as she repeated the word. “Complicated?” 

No, that’s not —” I silently cursed myself. “Please, just let me — ” 

“How dare you,” she whispered, shaking her head, the tenuous bridge that had sprung up between us now plummeting back down into the gorge below. “How. dare. you.” 

“Jenny,” I pleaded as she turned her back to me, her entire frame shaking. “Jenny, listen —” 

“I’ve heard enough.” 

I reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, to beg her; but then lowered it again, and squared my shoulders: face this, Beauchamp. 

“I love your brother with my entire heart, Jenny Murray. I left because he made me do so; and I came as soon as I learned he had survived.” A deep breath; a whiff of pine through the window giving me a sort of bracing strength. “There was a good reason that I couldn’t come — couldn’t write to you — and I will do anything, everything to explain why, in time. I swear it to you.”


“But first…please….I have to see Jamie.”


“I know he’s been working as a printer, in Edinburgh. All I ask is for you to confirm that he’s still there, and —” 

“He’s marrit, Claire.”

My first week as an active-duty battlefield nurse, I was assigned overnight duty in the convalescent ward. 

There were still emergency surgeries and intensive cases from the recent battle going on, leaving me the only one that could be spared to watch over those who needed no urgent treatment; those who were still mortally wounded—but for whom nothing more needed to be, or could be done. Determined to perform my duties well, I’d walked between the columns of beds in that wretched, foul-smelling tent, changing bandages by lantern-light, giving water to those that could swallow, and comfort where I could. 

There was one man Robertson, his name had been….He’d received horrific burns over a vast percentage of his body, and his moans of pain and panic were the heartbeat of that long night. Nothing I did, nothing I offered, nothing I said could soothe him —he just kept moaning, groaning, crying and whimpering like an animal…and staring up at me with one wild eye through his bandages. I’d been so chilled by that sight, by that man—who became not a patient to me, but a haunting. 

I’d avoided him, eventually, stopped going to his bedside, even when his groans were at their most agonized—and the shame of that….It was like being pursued by wild dogs. I’d busied myself with other patients; busied myself with re-rolling bandages; busied myself with absolutely anything to keep from focusing on those anguished, pitiful moans; anything to keep out of that brown, pleading stare. 

And there came a time in the night when his moans tapered —and then ceased entirely, with one…final….whimper….and even then, I didn’t go to him. I spent more than an hour telling myself that Mr. Robertson had fallen asleep at last, and wasn’t it a relief that the poor man had found some solace in somnolence at last. 

I’d known —I’d KNOWN that he was dead—and yet I was too afraid to acknowledge it, to go to his bedside and confirm. 

I’d cowered, refusing to face the agonizing truth

knowing that once I learned it, the truth—

not my fantasy, not my coping mechanism, but the TRUTH—

I couldn’t ever be the same.

Nothing could ever be the same. 

“When?” My voice was a husk. A form.“To whom?”

“Does it matter?”

I was silent.

“He’s got a wife,” Jenny said, quiet, but slowly, carefully, so I wouldn’t miss a single word. “A home. A new life.” 

The fabric of my skirt was rough and comfortless in my grasping hands. 

“…And two wee lassies that love their Da.” 


Something within me popped—a thread, maybe, one of many clumsy things that had been holding my heart together. I’d come back so blithely sure of myself; brimming with the anticipation of bringing Jamie news of that one child of his blood—To give him hope — to give him JOY. 

Not just two children….two daughters

What would news of another girl—one he’d never met—never would meet—even one conceived of the deepest love — mean in comparison to that? To having held his own little girls in his arms? 

It would mean something…but not enough. 

“Is he happy?” 

My words were a choked bark of a thing; hurt and anger and longing as I hauled on those threads, forcing them to hold. 

Jenny didn’t answer. 

I was standing. I needed to know. “Is. He. Happy?”

If somehow this new life of his wasn’t blessed —If even despite the girls, the marriage was damaged, maybe —

“Aye,” Jenny said at last, meeting my eye with frank hardness. “Happiest I’ve ever seen him.” 

Happier even than with you.

And just like that, the raw seams of my heart—so crude, so fragile, those threads—split open, the remnants fluttering into the shadows.

“You should be on your way,” Jenny was saying, “without delay, before you’re recognized and word travels.” She didn’t want me under her roof even for one night. It was written in every bone and muscle of her as she moved to the door.  “I’ll be off to have Mary pack up food for your journey.”

“Please, might I — ” started to beg, then shut my mouth. 

She turned, tight-lipped, impatient. “What is it ye need? A fresh horse?”

“Only paper. A quill.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not.” 

I held out my hands in surrender. “I’ll go, Jenny,” I whispered. “I’m going, at once, as you say. I swear it. I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.” My entire body hunched before her, pleading. “But for mercy’s sake, let me leave him my last words.” 

She stared; but something stirred in her eyes. 

“He won’t know where I’m bound,” I swore, panting with the effort to hold back the tears. “I’ll be long gone before he reads it. Please. Please, Jenny.”

I stared at the blank parchment for a very long time.

I made plans I let my mind run rampant, schemes for how I would reach him, how I would FIND him in Edinburgh. Jenny didn’t bloody need to know. Jamie would WANT to see me! No matter what his sister  He had loved me first  He would want — he was 


even than with you.

I wept

…letting all the heartbreak wash out of me onto that page, 

drop by drop, 

my fingers wrenching in my hair,

until the page was damp with grief.

No future here. 

Not for you. 

Not with him. 

And a long time after that, I wiped my eyes. 

I wrapped something tight and impenetrable around my heart

Then wrote what needed to be said, what I needed him to know. 

My hand did not shake. I did not let a single tear blur the ink.

I would be strong for Jamie. 

He had been strong for me. 

I would not take anything away from him.

About a week prior

“Uncle, please, please, PLEASE can I stay?”

“Ian, for the last time,” he said over his shoulder, paying the tavernmaid for the stores and nodding his thanks, “your Mam will up and geld me if I harbor her wee fugitive; and fond as I undoubtedly am of ye, lad, I’m no’ yet willing to lose my parts over it.” 

“But we dinna have to keep it secret-like!” Young Ian insisted, bouncing on his toes like a toadling. “Ye can write to her! Tell her you’re taking me on as apprentice in the print shop! She’ll be fashed that I left, aye, right enough—but she canna object o’ermuch to me learning such a valuable trade, not wi’ her own brother watching over me!”

Not for the first time, that day, Jamie wavered.

Ian saw it and redoubled his pleading. “Come onnnnnn, Uncle Jamie, PLEASE?” 

There were two important reasons that his whole being screamed at him to grant Ian’s wish, to let the boy stay on….but both were selfish; deeply so; and if he truly loved this lad, the nephew who was like a son—the only son he’d know, henceforth— it was his duty to show him the ways of honorable men. 

…even as joyless as honor tended to be. 

He jerked his head toward the door. “Get out to the stableyard, Ian. It’s past time we were off.” 

“Uncllllllllle!” the boy groaned, running both hands through his hair, distraught. “Ye can tell Mam ye gave me a good beating for it before taking me on! Hell, ye can GIVE me the beating, and I willna make a yip!”

Jamie repressed the twitching corners of his mouth, keeping up his show of stern reproach. “On wi’ ye. It’s time to get ye home.”

  • BB Roommate: So all the characters in my D&D group have some kind of rule that governs them in combat. My Barbarian has weird rage issues that manifest oddly in combat so he has a 1/3 chance of attacking the enemy for super effect, 1/3 chance of being useless, and 1/3 chance of his attacking his own party for super effect.
  • Me: lol so he as a 2/3 chance of fucking shit up for his own team?
  • BB Roommate: I named him Caboose.
  • Me: *dawning realization* That... is... perfect actually?

When we are angered, we fight.
Eyes seeped in aether and blinded by rage,
There may be sorrow but there is always violence.
Such terrifying faces I have seen and yet…I cannot look away. Deep within me They stir, yearning to be released. To follow their Brood in this destruction.
Yet there are whispers told of ancient legends unknown to us.
That the hatred we find stirs deeper than the pits of hell.
It manifests and drives us mad. With one goal in mind: Calamity to rain down upon us.

being borderline is so hard. i started the day being stressed out. then in class, i was bored. then i felt anxiety. i got home and i felt rage, and i think that was the only thing i really felt all day. it was the closest thing i felt to happy. then i felt guilt for my rage and then i felt numbness and now i’m just… trying to get the tears to fall. i’m so exhausted from trying to follow my emotions. there are just so many things hurting me lately and they’re manifesting in ways i don’t even understand. i don’t think my body even knows how to react so it’s going through every emotion until it finds a way to handle it but no emotion is making me feel better.

“On the sabbath we skipped church and you sat on the couch taking swills of holy water from a vodka bottle. You said God didn’t care for the container and I shouldn’t either.

It took three Sundays but I found faith in your sweaty hands that would clasp me like a prayer between palms kneeled before the alter after a bottle of communion and a promise confession would clear my name. Afterwards you swore the wine shades staining my skin were the Devil’s struggle from you gracing my skin with the hands of God. And I believed you.

After four months His name no longer burned you in blasphemy and sacrilege would slip my lips after an inhale of burnt bible paper and a swallow of sin sticky on my cheek. I repented to the toilet bowl while you chainsmoked luckies out the bathroom window and didn’t question your lack of prayer over dry toast and oatmeal.

One year in and the rip in my best church dress is nothing compared to the Devil’s wrath manifesting in your rage and lingering in lamb’s blood stains on my Wednesday stockings. I am crucified.

In two years I am able to walk into a church and taste blood as wine on my tongue rather than my own as condemnation. They say forgiveness is close to godliness so I bow my head to forgive the sins that dragged me past each level of my own personal hell. I ask to forgive even the wolf in sheep’s clothing that ripped each commandment from my rib and promised me atonement for each mortal sin. But for playing the Devil’s advocate, and each moment as the wolf’s fool, and every equivocate I let slip my judgement,”

—  please god help me to forgive myself.
Bite Me (Part I)

Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean (no pairings as of yet!)

Warnings: Minor character deaths, violence, the occasional swear word

Overview: You were raised in the hunter life. You fell out of it. It wasn’t your choice to get pulled back in.

Word Count: 1,436

A/N: This is my first ever fanfic. It’s a slow burn all around thanks to my inability to write without sounding like the opening of a biography. Thank you @wheresthekillswitch for giving me the baby push that I needed to put this out there. Received well or not, I’m four chapters in and have no plans to stop. These words, like everything else I write, are for me. Feel free to join me in the adventure.

What overloaded my senses the most was the drastic change from warmth to a harsh cold. Goosebumps were immediate in forming on my skin. 

Had the power gone out again?

My arm extended towards the foot of my bed, searching for the soft fabric of my blanket. My fingers were met with a scratchy sheet right about the time that the smell of mildew and…was that sour meat?… hit my nose.

My brain kicked in.

This wasn’t my bed.

This isn’t my room.

Unsurprisingly, this wasn’t the first time I had been in a situation like this. What was surprising is that I couldn’t remember how I had gotten here.

“I think she’s awake.”

The voice made me freeze in place and I stilled the shivers that had been slowly increasing in magnitude, cursing myself for not wearing socks to bed with a knife tucked into the side. That’s what my uncle had trained me do. In the five years that he had been gone, I had let the habit slowly slip. I had let myself start to believe that I was safe. Like an idiot.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I would love to hear more about your NaLu son, I adore when they have a son

hoooo boy nonny. Are you ready? cus I sure as FUCK am

Igneel Dragneel

  • aka, Elly
    • because Elly could not believe his parents actually named him fucking Igneel Dragneel
      • he understands it’s after his deceased grandpa dragon but ffs his name is ‘Igneel Dragon-Igneel’ wtf mom
  • Elly is the first born, and as such, has decided it is his job to protect his little baby sisters from the gross men of the world. 
    • it is the world that needs protection from his baby sisters
    • they are literal fucking demons okay like imagine Natsu as a tween with Lucy’s cunning and intelligence
      • it is
      • bad
  • His hair has a pink tinge in the sun but mostly looks like a reddy blond. He usually keeps it short and with either one or both sides shaved. He has his father’s eyes and his mother’s nose
    • He has three ear piercings all in his left ear
    • His guild mark stamp is between his shoulder blades and is gold
  • Elly realizes he is gay when he is six and his best-friend-five-ever is talking about how cute Dreyar is and Elly wholeheartedly agrees. The two spend their recess planning the joint marriage to this poor boy, Azure Redfox in a pretty white dress and Elly in a pretty white suit and Dreyar in a black suit.
    • its basically that shitty ‘x has two hands’ meme but schoolyard love version
  • Elly can be very set in his ideas
    • see; his little sisters can do no wrong
      • like objectively he is aware that if something explodes within a ten mile radius it’s probably Luna, but he is always very confident there was a good reason for it
      • the reason was that a random dude stole her coffee from the basically-starbucks shop and she called a firey storm of righteous fury from the sky and blew him to shit
    • if he decides you’re a good person you could kill a man in front of him and he’d help you hide the body
    • alternatively, if he decides he doesn’t like you, you better buckle the FUCK in for one hell of a bumpy ride to change that idea
  • The boy has Natsu’s hatred of change and it drives his mother up the wall
  • He also has Lucy’s imagination and zero tolerance for bullshit attitude
  • Elly LOVES spicy food but he can also only take three bites before it gets to much and he needs to chug the milk gallon
  • Elly has a stuffed dragon he calls Mr. Scales and he will cut a bitch if they look at him the wrong way. 
    • so what if a wing has had to be sown on five separate times and it’s faded and black glass eyes are so scratched they’re grey it is his friend and he has aged like fine wine 
  • The easiest way to get Elly to do something is to tell him not to do it and give him no reason as to why not
    • If you explain to him he is likely to see the logic or at least respect you more for treating him like a fucking human but if you say ‘bcus I said so’ you can bet your ass he’s gonna climb to the top of the bell tower from the outside and fucking hit the lunch gong at 11:16 and fuck everyone’s internal clock up
    • This also manifests as a lot of spite and apathetic rage (how?? who knows) at homophobes
      • He’s usually lowkey bcus it was never made a big deal of in his family and you don’t see normal boys being extra straight and also while he gets crushes as easily as Lucy he cares for a real relationship about as much as Natsu
        • Mitsu: Hey, Gail was checking out your ass today
        • Elly: Oh that’s nice
        • Tatsu: Yesterday you literally said if you had a womb you’d carry his children
        • Elly: Yeah but have you seen  Ulijha’s eyes today?? Take me now please you green haired knight of muscle
        • Mitsu and Tatsu in synchronization: why are you like this
      • However he will deck out in all leather assless chaps and pride flags if he thinks for a hot second you have a problem with gay people
        • Lucy helps him bcus she’s so proud of her little boy standing up to bigots and she doesn’ for a second doubt his ability to punch out a motherfucker if someone tried to make it physical 
        • But he will do it in a way where the person is unsure if it’s just ironic timing or if Elly is being a Bitter Bitch and being passive aggressive
  • Elly gets irritated easily over minor things but that goes as quickly as it comes. Now if you really piss him off you won’t know until he snaps and then cuts you out of his life. Boy can hold a grudge. 
    • He may have inherited many things from his parents but forgiveness to the point of being a flaw is not one of them. 
    • There will be consequences if you’ve fucked up
    • Very, very, cold and painful consequences
  • Elly decides he wants to be a dragon slayer like his father, but fire always seemed so volatile to him and brash
    • he was always entranced with the winter and snow and Uncle Gray’s creation and manipulation of ice
    • Natsu is. Betrayed
      • how dare his own flesh and blood prefer to be like that Dick-sicle than his own father???
      • Lucy has to remind him that it was Natsu’s idea to make Gray the godfather of his children
      • Natsu asks how that has any relevance
        • Elly perfected his ‘do you see the shit I have to put up with?’ at a very early age due to his mother’s conversations with his father and mimicking her facial expressions
    • When Elly is twelve he asks if Gray can help train him alongside Natsu so he could practice both skills. 
  • Elly takes to ice like Luna to fire. His rate of learning and mastering dragon slayer techniques skyrockets, and over the years he also manages to combine lighting and ice dragon slayer magic, and shadow and ice dragon slayer techniques. 
    • Oh how the next generation builds on the work of their parents
  • Gray brings his son Tenkiame to the training session
    • Elly has known Tenten since he was born, but watching the nine month older boy train Awakens Things. 
    • Elly works even harder to train and get stronger to impress Tenkiame. He may also be a tad bit competitive and legit just wants to surpass him, but it’s mainly trying to get his attention and impress him. 
      • The first time he performs a successful Roar of the Ice Dragon he accidentally pins Tenkiame to the guild wall. 
      • Tenkiame doesn’t stop complain-bragging about it to everyone for a week
        • Elly is a flustered and mortified mess. 
    • As the years pass the crush fades but never fully goes away, but the boys grow to be inseparable. 
    • Tenkiame makes the first move and kisses him and Elly runs away for a month as he tries to process his emotions and the major change in his world
      • He runs away to Natsu’s old cottage and Lucy rolls her eyes but leaves her dumb seventeen-year-old son alone
    • He comes back with his tail between his legs and has a long and painfully awkward conversation with Tenkiame bcus even tho he’s Lucy’s son he is also Natsu’s and the boy does not use words to explain his emotions well
      • Tenkiame, however, can translate dumb dragon and listens patiently. 
        • Tenkiame has inherited his mother’s steadfast determination of ‘wait and the boy will come to you if you wear him down enough’
  • For most missions the group is Elly, Tenkiame, Azure and her fellow triplets; Aegen and Admirl. 
    • yes the triplets are named after shades of blue starting with A
    • Levy is a fucking linguist nerd what are you expecting here
  • Elly also goes on family missions with his sisters and it usually costs the guild a shit ton and a ver sincerely written letter of apology to whatever own they half destroyed
    • those trips are his favourite
      • bcus the boy will Kill for his sisters and they are his closest friends
        • Their favourite thing to say is ‘you’re like family to me’, and the other responding in the flattest voice ‘we are family numb nuts’
        • Tatsu: Mitsu, when you show me such devotion I can’t help but feel as though you truly are my sister
        • Mitsu: We’re twins dipshit. We shared our mother’s womb.
        • Mitsu: Also it’s a donut please chill for minute of your life
        • Elly: Did someone ask a Dragneel to chill?
        • Mitsu and Tatsu: No one asked you go and be gross in your boyfriend’s lap
        • Elly :(
        • Luna, without any emotion: oh my, whatever could be so delightful as a chilled Dragneel child. 
        • Elly: :D
        • Elly: You know, Lulu, if I were to have any siblings I feel in my soul that you would truly be my favourite sister

This got super long I’m sorry. It’s developed into a major shit post please take this before it get’s worse

somebodylost-chan  asked:

I want to ask about rage disorders? I can't just grasp the feeling of being perpetually angry.


It’s not so much perpetually angry, but I feel raw and emotional and the best way to get anyone to leave you alone is to start yelling and slamming things. I get ragey when I feel isolated from help and surrounded by people demanding things from me. I don’t know if that is typical, but it is more of a fear response that translates to aggression. Heightened senses, loss of control of movements, uncontrollable shouting.


I don’t have a rage disorder, but I have rage episodes due to my BPD. I absolutely agree with it being a fear response. I get extremely angry when I get uncomfortable, and for me that manifests in being snappy, shouting, and just this feeling of anger bubbling up inside of me.


I have rage episodes due to my PTSD and I experience perpetual underlying anger. You can imagine it like a warm ball in your stomach and when you get stressed or feel cornered your skin feels too tight and you start snapping at people and/or destroying things because you can’t help yourself (also agree with the fact that starting to yell/slam things is a fast way to get people away from you). I don’t know how it feels for other humans but when you feel okay the ‘anger/warm ball’ is like an energy source that helps you get through the day until something sets you off.

Anon 217

For me, the overwhelming anger that came with PTSD was set off any time events were out of my control. My control = safe. Out of control = threat = anger because I couldn’t take control (usually because someone was blocking me or placing themselves in authority). This made me a terrible employee.


Mine kinda goes along the: that warm tight feeling in your stomach you get when you’re angry and want to lash out, but at anything, at complete random. Snappy and stormy. But if it’s something I’m predisposed to get angry at then its REALLY angry. Like need for physical violence or just letting my mouth spill every terrible thing i can think of to get the person to repent or back off. Anything to make that disgusting feeling in your stomach go away


I get this when I’m manic sometimes, PARTICULARLY if it’s “that time of the month”. I think it’s also related to anxiety a bit (which spikes around that time as well) but I have to remind myself to not verbally murder anyone who annoys me. I don’t get it as much when I’m depressed though.

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People think Type 1 Diabetes isn't a Big Deal

Anyone who thinks type 1 Diabetes is not a big deal has clearly never looked at what going through a hypo alone can do:

Adrenergic manifestations

  • Shakiness, anxiety, nervousness
  • Palpitations, tachycardia
  • sweating
  • Pallor, coldness, clamminess
  • Dilated pupils


Glucagon manifestations

  • Hunger, Borborygums
  • Nausea, vomiting, abdominal discomfort
  • Headache


Neuroglycopenic manifestations

  • Abnormal Thinking, Impaired judgement
  • Nonspecific dysphoria, moodiness, depression, crying, exaggerated concerns,
  • Feeling of numbness (paresthesia)
  • Negativism, irritibility, belligerence, combativeness, rage
  • Personality change, emotional liablilty
  • Fatigue, weakness, apathy, lethargy, daydreaming, sleep
  • Confusion, amnesia, lightheadedness or dizziness, derilium
  • Starting, “Glassy Look”, blurred vision, double vision
  • Flashes of light in the field of vision.
  • Automatic behavior, (automatism)
  • Difficulty speaking, slurred speech
  • Ataxia, incoordination
  • Focal or general motor deficit, paralysis, hemiparesis
  • Paresthesia, headache

And trust me when I say we get the majority of those all in one hypo, different for different people and different each time.

Until It’s Gone - Ch.9

Overview: Both brothers had loved and lost her. One night, Sam gets a phone call that changes everything.

Characters: Sam, Dean, Reader

Warnings: mild language, lots of angst, beginnings of a panic attack, violence with a coffee mug, general torn feelings

Word Count: 1,883

A/N: This is the ninth chapter in my second spn fanfic series. Only one chapter is left after this one… it makes my heart hurt. Thanks goes out to my betas, fangirls, and constant supports for this fic: @wheresthekillswitch & @hannahindie

Feedback is always loved and appreciated! (yes, even yelling, Athina ;)

Read (Ch.1) (Ch.2) (Ch.3) (Ch.4) (Ch.5) (Ch.6) (Ch.7) (Ch.8)

My tags are way down below. Let me know if you want to be added to anything that I write :)


Dean finally broke the silence, “Why do you want to talk to me, Y/N?”

You took a deep breath and searched for the strength you used to carry. “Because it took me awhile to find the right words,” you said, proud that your voice didn’t waver, “and now that I have them, I want you to hear them.”

Dean nodded and walked all of the way into the kitchen, leaning back against the counter across from you, “The floor is yours, sweetheart.”


All the words that you’d wanted to say for the past few months seemed to disappear as you looked at Dean. After you’d left, you’d avoided him at all costs; spending time with Sam at your place instead of the bunker, avoiding the bars Dean frequented, not texting, not talking, not seeing.

The first time you’d actually seen him since everything happened was in that alcove across from the coffee shop, and the sight of him standing in the pouring rain, trying to hide his concern and failing at repressing his anger… It was like the breath was knocked out of you.  And in the time you’d spent with him since, you still found yourself struggling to fill your lungs, almost as if Dean was sucking the oxygen straight from them. He had destroyed you the day you left the bunker, the day you left him, and with each passing moment in his presence you had to relive that pain. The wounds had never healed, and the scabs that had formed were immediately scraped off the second you’d laid eyes on him.

Keep reading


Black hounds are the guardians of the cemetery, the keepers of the gates and the denizens of the cross roads. Their flesh is desiccated and rotted, and the carry with them the stench of death and decay. The necromancer makes good use of them as servitors, to guard their items, ward off intruders or haunt those who’d oppose them.
Let only the initiated attempt this, should the novice not bring harm to themselves. Sources: Folklore of Cornwall (Tony, 2003), Mythology: Timeless Stories of Gods and Heroes (Hamilton, 1942), Dictionary of Northern Mythology (Simek, 1993), The Practice of Magical Evocation (Bardon, 1991), Fourth Book of Agrippa (1559), De Nigromancia (Bacon, 1988), Forbidden Rites (Kieckhefer, 1997), Crowley Goetia (Crowley, 1904)

Having abstained for three days from bathing and eating (to protect the magus from the hounds), with the third landing on the new moon; the necromancer will be ready to conjure the black hounds.
Let it be noted that once this spell is complete the first time, this abstinence will no longer be necessary, the hound will be bound to your service and thus can not harm you so long as you wield the blade (see below).

In a red pigment, and using a brush made of human hair, the magus writes these names on one side of a blade:
and upon the other side:
TE LIGO CANEM NIGRUM (I bind you, black hound)

Having done this, the magus takes a bone like the femur of a large beast or man, the magus writes:
ET REGNUM MORTUS VINCENT (may the kingdom of death come forth).

Having consecrated these items with their incantations and nine times having drawn the equal armed cross over the tools (an old sign, signifying the crossroads, made with the voorish sign in the left hand), they will be ready for the conjuration.

Taking these things ash of hound, war water and chalk down to a natural portal (being Crossroads, Cemeteries and Mausoleums), the necromancer can begin the summoning, but only should the time be between 12 AM and 4 PM, and no sun be seen.

A circle of of nine steps in diameter is drawn upon the floor, and within it they cast the Tridecagon.
To the west is drawn a circle of Five steps, and within it a triangle, with a point facing east. On the outer borders of the triangle, these names are written (clockwise): FENRIR+GWYLLGI+CERBERUS+ (with the + being located on each vertex, and the names on the sides).

Within the triangle, the magus pours ash of hound, hydrates it with war water (aligned with MARS, planetary ruler of war), and animates it with blood (Iron in the blood to further push a mars alignment and to symbolically give life to the hounds).

Retiring back to the Tridecagon, the necromancer takes good care to raise the circle well, that the hounds do not cause some great harm upon the self.

Taking up the bone scepter, the magus cries out thirteen times the first conjuration to the east:
“I summon, conjure and evoke thee O’ raging hounds of the underworld, and adjure thee to come quickly,
by the names of thy exalted and divine sires,
by whom you were conceived in the cold darkness of death and to whom you are bound to serve: FENRIR+GWYLLGI+CERBERUS+
to come forth and manifest thyself, To pact with me and obey my commands!

The magus sets the sceptre down in the middle of the circle, and walks around it thrice clockwise and finishing in the west, facing out.
The magus prays the second conjuration thrice:

“I conjure and adjure you,
dreadful hounds,
by the servitude you owe to the names of your sires,
from who’s seed you were born in the cold expanses of death with ne'er a tit to suck.
Come now savage and starved wolves on thy rotted paws and ancient bones,
rise from the ashes and blood of resurrection and up from the gaping maws of the earth.”

And when this is done, the magus crosses to the east and recites it thrice more. The magus will turn west again to see one, or perhaps even a pack of black hounds, in or around the circle of evocation.

The necromancer raises their blade and plunges it into the earth, just beyond the circle and asks:

“Would you, O’ Cŵn Annwn,
Speak, listen and obey,
And swear that
They who possess this blade
And know thy name,
May conjure you up from the gates of death?”

And the beast will take the blade by the handle and say:

“I swear on this blade
My servitude unto you
Who knows my name __
And holds this blade
If you swear
Your essence
To nourish me at every call
We have a deal”

And the magus must say:

“I swear”

And the hounds will dissipate. And should you strike the blade into the ground with the scepter as a hammer and call it’s name with every strike, so long as the sun has gone, they will come to you, and you will soon endure some great pains or heavy lethargy.

To treat this, cast the circles again, and after having written the name of the beast on a white cloth and wrapping it round the blade’s handle, the magus pours ash of hound, war water and then gives sacrifice of a old white hare into the evoking circle, whist saying: “__ , take this spirit to satiate your hunger, and drink deeply of it’s milk, that when you come to me, it shall be without harm”. The magus then ties the sullied cloth to the handle, to serve as a reminder of your payment.

Best of luck

Heavy Metal Astrology: Aries, Leo And Scorpio | The Trinity Of Passion

Now that Scorpio season has rolled around once more, I feel like this is the perfect time to focus on a topic very near and dear to the Scorpion, and that is the concept of passion. We all express it in different ways depending upon our astrological makeup. We all have a driving force. But how do we define passion from an astrological standpoint? Well, I have formed an astrological theory as to the bond between the signs of Aries, Leo and Scorpio. I am calling it “The Trinity Of Passion”. Each of these signs, from my perspective, represents a different aspect of passionate expression, and I am going to attempt to illustrate this as best I can based upon my own astrological knowledge.

For this, make sure to count the ascendant and planets through Mars only, as the rest do not have a direct effect on your personality.


Pictured Above: Heidi Shepherd of the Butcher Babies (Aries Sun), Maria Brink of In This Moment (Aries Moon), Tuomas Holopainen Of Nightwish (Aries Rising)

The sign of Aries is traditionally ruled by the planet Mars, the most extroverted planet in the chart. It represents our passion and drive. Aries represents the daytime and more extroverted version of Scorpio energy. The Aries method of passionate expression stems from their strong self-knowledge and need to express this to the world. While it is true that this sign has the biggest pull towards selfishness, a high-functioning Arian wants to help instill a strong sense of self in those around them. Having Aries in your more masculine planets, such as the sun and Mars for example, will make this person incredibly self-driven and this energy will be more extroverted. Having Aries in your more feminine planets, such as the moon and Venus for example, will still make this person have a selfish desire nature, but the energy will be more introverted and less in your face. Aries people are driven by the passion of self


Pictured Above: Tarja Turunen (Leo Sun), Amy Lee of Evanescence (Leo Moon), Charlotte Wessels of Delain (Leo Rising)

The sign of Leo is traditionally ruled by the brightest object in our solar system, the sun, the object which all of the other planets elliptically revolve around. I see this sign as the intermediary between Aries and Scorpio. It is the light that these two signs feed off of. The way a Leo portrays themself is very similar. A lot of them truly do believe that everything revolves around them, but it isn’t always from a selfish point of view. They are the sun, the giver of light, and ultimately that is what a high-functioning Leo is meant to do. They want to be that ball of light, love, energy and confidence so that others who are not as confident as they are, are able to see and feel that in themselves. Even though it may not always come across in such a way, their intentions are always pure. Having Leo in your more masculine planets, such as the sun and Mars for example, will make this person incredibly and brazenly confident and this energy will be more extroverted. Having Leo in your more feminine planets, such as the moon and Venus for example, will take those qualities and introvert them, often manifesting in more creative ways. Leo people are driven by the passion of the heart


Pictured Above: Oliver Sykes of Bring Me The Horizon (Scorpio Sun), Taylor Momsen of The Pretty Reckless (Scorpio Moon), Jacoby Shaddix of Papa Roach (Scorpio Rising)

Traditionally, Scorpio was ruled by the planet Mars, but in more modern times, ruled by the outer dwarf planet Pluto. So, for this reason, Scorpio energy represents the nighttime and more introverted version of Aries energy. The planet Pluto introverts this very masculine planet. These people are not raging wildfires, but rather keep their passions and desires hidden. The reason why it is so difficult for anyone to look a Scorpio in the eye is because of their intensity. But where does this intensity originate? It originates in the fact that their passionate natures brood, seethe and stir within them at such a deep and profound level. Scorpio may be a water sign, but make no mistake, they are fiery. This fire is purely on reserve for those they feel can handle it. Having Scorpio in your more masculine planets, such as the sun and Mars for example, will instill within these people a dark, brooding nature that has a strong pull towards the dark side. Since this is the only introverted sign of the bunch, it will greatly extrovert this already feminine energy. Having Scorpio in your more feminine planets, such as the moon and Venus for example, will double the level of introversion and make them much more secretive. Scorpio people are driven by the passion of the occult, in other words, what cannot be seen.

Alex Standall Bipolar Headcannon

Ok y’all here we go. This should explain my URL. 

Coming from someone who has bipolar disorder, I firmly believe that Alex has some form of bipolar disorder. Lemme explain.

-The car scene. One facet of mania is driving too fast. Now, in this scene he drives too fast in the beginning just to scare Clay, and everyone else was in on it. However, when they told him to stop, he didn’t, and he started to scare them. This is so so so common for people who have bipolar disorder. Driving fast, regardless of what other people in the car say, is definitely something I’ve done while manic.

-The pool thing. Now this one is a little less obvious, but I still think this action, represents a greater mood disturbance in Alex. Whether it’s manic of depression, it’s hard to say. But either way, no one told him to do this. It was an impulsive decision he made on his own accord, and impulsivity is a huge symptom of bipolar disorder. 

-The fight. So I don’t know about you, but I feel like that fight was sort of out of place. Then I was thinking about it, and it totally makes sense with the bipolar headcannon of Alex. Because one thing bipolar can do is give you a lot of energy. That’s what mania is. And sometimes that energy is channeled into anger the manifests itself in fits of rage. That fight was a prime example of that. Not only that, but it was another impulsive action that lead to harmful consequences. 

-The suicide attempt. This one is kind of obvious, but as you may know, the depressive side of bipolar can often lead to suicidal thoughts. Throughout the show, Alex seems pretty manic like I described before. But towards the end of the show, it seems to me that he becomes subdued. There are signs that I won’t go into that allude to him being suicidal. And that would make sense because most manic periods last either months or weeks and it had been a few months. 

All in all, I could argue that there are multiple mental illnesses represented in this show and that’s why I love it. Although they don’t outright say it, there’s clearly issues with alcoholism and depression, and it can be argued that there are also issues such as autism, bipolar, borderline personality disorder, etc. 

Glitched: Part 3 - A Storm is Coming

Author’s Note: A reminder that this is a dark, angsty horror story centered mainly on Anti torturing Jack as well as the egos. There is nothing remotely happy or positive about this fanfiction I’m writing. This chapter is rather intense, is quite dark (especially near the end), and there is a bit of bloodshed. There WILL be feels. You have been warned…..Enjoy!

Listen to this while reading it

Darkness – that’s all he saw now. Nothing but pure black.

Shadows caressed and coiled around his weak and crippling body, chilling him to the bone and draining any hope he had left. This darkness was poisoning him just as bad as that unstable monstrosity’s words. The YouTuber was always known as a cheerful soul filled with so much positive energy, always being there for the community and getting them to have about as much fun as him. It was easy for him to be happy and think positive.

But not now – not after everything he’d heard, everything he’d seen.

Keep reading

Today I dealt with financial issues, debates of what to do with those financial issues, and the bursar. Because that’s what happens when your exiting martial arts president decides that you’re the only one among the organization that won’t drive it into the ground if given power. Not that you’ll be good at it…buuuut least you won’t cause things to explode.

I think most people can relate to how frustrating any of these things are and agree that she secretly had it out for me.

So at first I wanted to post something funny on my own tumblr about the frustrations of writers. But in this state of mind, I actually got pretty depressed after reading a few.

Then my friend suggested I enable @blackkatmagic. Because enabling others is an exercise of sharing pain and joy. 8D So, I wanted to make fun of Kakashi and the inevitabilities that come with him shacking up with the manifestation of rage, fire, hatred, and mother hens~ (Namely, that whatever Kakashi had to deal with in that cute comic with him, Tenzou, and the cat? Hohoho~ SO MUCH WORSE CAUSE OF SHEER NUMBERS,)

Uuuhhh…thing is? This friend who is encouraging me is the same friend whose favorite is Kakashi? And she has made it clear that she will beat me with my own shinai if I start picking on him again. (OxO)

Soooooooo, instead…?














(No seriously, good luck because that many kids and having a love life…But that reminds me.)





That’s all I wanted to say. 

Originally posted by gothamfox

(Edited because got a bit ahead of myself, dissonance between tumblr discussion and fic.)

To Build a Home

for @tyrannosaurusjess

When the dawn returned, everything changed. It was expected, of course, but it was the incremental changes that surprised Ignis the most. Lestallum surged with people once more, almost overnight. They hadn’t come to its safety in the days of endless night but when the sun returned they flooded the city. The sizzle of anak meat filled the air again. There was laughter. From what Prompto told to him, they smiled easily, as well. It was as if they had forgotten the demons and the terrors, the horrors which wrenched them from their homes, and the suffering that had displaced loved ones. They had forgotten who had sacrificed and how great that sacrifice had been.

From a logical standpoint, Ignis understood it. The logical mind, to overcome trauma, would do almost anything to shield itself. It would push towards willful ignorance if it needed to. It would try to overcompensate. It would try to forget. In the end, mental walls of this ilk tended to tumble down over time. The mind protected itself but it was neither iron nor steel; it was not built for such compartmentalization. For many of them they would deal with what they had seen and experienced in the future. For now, they blithely filled the city to bursting. It became stifling. It was painful. He wanted out. He needed out.

“Gladio, this city…I can’t stay here any longer. “

The former shield soothed his ravaged soul with claimant touches. He felt selfish wanting to leave when there was still so much left to be done. But when he told Gladio that he needed to leave Lestallum he hadn’t asked why. Ignis hadn’t needed to say that seeing others get on with their lives with such apparent ease awoke some primal anger in him, a rage that not even his blindness had evoked. He hadn’t tried to talk him out of going, or suggested that there was work to be done. He’d simply acquiesced.

“Okay, Iggy, okay.”

Gladio moved them into a dilapidated house west of Lestallum, a day’s ride from the city. There was little left of it, ravaged by the long darkness, but Gladio rebuilt it. He’d never known him to be good with construction or building things, but then Gladio always been good with his hands and the older man had an affinity for surprising Ignis, even after all these years, with alarming frequency.

It took ages to complete the house, between hunts that Gladio took to support the endeavor and his own inability to help. He did what he could, of course, learning by touch the difference between hex bolts, and machine screws, educating himself with their dimension and their depth. But in the end, it was mostly Gladio who had built their home, affixing shudders of cornflower blue, if Prompto were to be believed, around every window. It was Gladio who installed countertops of rough granite in the kitchen so Ignis could better feel his way about. It was Gladio who made something real, not Ignis.

The night it was finished, Ignis stood on the wrap around porch, slowly tracking his way across the length of it. Everything was smooth polished wood, heated from the noon of the day, warm under his touch. Deliberate and heavy footfalls followed behind, ready to aid if need called for it, but having learned that Ignis’ blindness didn’t hobble him as much as necessitate the need for time. He needed to acclimatize to his surroundings.

Ignis paused, thinking. The house was beautiful. Truly, from what he’d noticed every nook and every cranny had been lovingly designed. Everything was made for their comfort, consideration of things he might want or need, sweetly crafted. It made him feel profoundly humble and very much enamored of a man he was already very much in love with.

“You still love me,” Ignis stated, surprised and awed.

“With everything I’ve got,” he responded. “You just getting ‘round to understanding that now?”

Ignis shook his head. “You built me a house. But it missed my understanding that you’d built us a home, long before that. If not for you…”

“…it’s the same for me.”

Perhaps it was. Ignis would never know what squalls of emotions raged beneath the surface of Gladio’s skin. It was impossible to know the inner-workings of a person, no matter how much you loved them and how willing they were to share those feelings. No matter his intent or Gladio’s there would still be parts of him which were hidden and private. It was as it should be. Still, Ignis knew the inexhaustibility of Gladio’s devotion manifested in what he could do and what he could prove. It was what had made him a good shield. It was why he’d built the house.

“Then, come to me.”

That night they christened many of the rooms with slow passion. They took each other apart, piece by piece, only to rebuild the bond with whispered words and true devotion. They built a foundation upon which the rest of their lives would be built. They would love each other until one or both of their hearts stopped beating. They would annoy and cajole. They would tease and demand. Some days would be difficult because each of them were difficult men. But they would overcome it, for the groundwork of their lives were as strong and unyielding as the beech and ash of the eaves they made love beneath. They would continue, allowing a little of the light Noctis had so generously given them through the blue shutters Gladio chose because they’d reminded him of Noct’s eyes. They would survive. But better still, they would love.