This is from the Fluff Starters post I reblogged. Sorry this took so long, I really enjoyed writing it though and Iâm definitely up for doing more of these if people want to send me some. I was asked for âI might have slept with your robe when you were gone.â paired with âYou are very endearing when you are half-asleepâ and they also asked for it to be Moxiety.
TW: Major character death, planes, some slight panic
âI miss you.â The words trailed off into a childlike whine that pierced Virgil's heart. He rubbed a hand against his chest absently as he manoeuvred the busy airport, the weight of the headphones covering his ears blocking out any sound but Patton's voice reverberating from the speakers.
âI know Pat, I miss you too.â A small child stumbles into Virgil's way and stops, halting his steady progress. A shot of adrenaline starts his hands shaking. He can see the gate he needs to get to. It's so close. He moves to step around the kid but a business woman shoves past him, her suitcase running over his foot. He gets a glare for his troubles. The burn of shame and embarrassment works it's way over his face and he goes the other way around the child. It stumbles as he moves past it and a small hand lands on his thigh, smearing Cheeto dust into his black skinny jeans. Virgil freezes and the kid takes the opportunity to use his leg to hoist themself back to their feet. The touch is unwelcome and heavy with responsibility. He doesn't move and the kid giggles, gripping onto him with a second hand. He gasps shakily, unable to step away. After an eternity, the father takes his child back with muttered apologies. Virgil summons a polite smile and walks swiftly, not running, towards where he will board his metal death trap. The entire encounter took seconds.
âYou ok?â Patton's worried tone is offset by a breathy yawn. It's 4am for him but he's still talking Virgil through the crowds of people. The love he has for Patton swells and steals his next heart-beat. âYou sound... not not-anxious.â He slurs his way through the words.
âI'm fine; you're very endearing when you're half-asleep.â Virgil murmurs, hiding his grin in his hoodie, lest passer-bys think he's weird. Patton humphs down the phone and he snickers, knowing exactly what Tired Patton is trying to express his displeasure with. âJust a clingy small human.â He clarifies. âDamn parents can't keep a hold of their tiny hell-spawn. I'm slightly sticky but otherwise unharmed.â
Patton grumbles wordlessly, promising vengeance on the offspring of jet-lagged parents everywhere. âEven emotionally?â There's a definite warning in his tone and Virgil is slightly scared that Patton's gonna end up tracking down this kid and psychologically traumatising him.
âI'm... good.â Virgil says, searching for words to convey just how non-hurt he is. âSeriously Pat, it's all good. I'm boarding the flight in a few minutes, I'll see you in a few hours, what could be better?â
âYou...â A yawn obliterates half of Patton's words. â... here.â
âI'll be there soon.â Virgil promises. âMake sure you get Thomas to take you to the airport, I don't want you driving when you're sleep deprived.â
Patton hums in agreement, and there's a few minutes when Virgil's sure his boyfriend has finally succumbed to sleep. He curls up near a window, treasuring the rhythmic slow breaths. He's missed the small things so much. Waking up next to Patton and spending a few moments listening to the steady aliveness of him before forcing himself out of bed to make breakfast had always been one of the highlights of his day.
The quiet illusion is broken by the sound of Patton stirring and stretching. â... you smell so good.â He murmurs and the crackle of fabric shifting is loud in the beat of silence that follows.
âWhat?â
âWha- oh, uh, shoot, um.â There's a thump that sounds suspiciously like someone falling off a bed. âUhh, hi Virgil! How long have you been there?â
Virgil can't help it, He's cackling into his knees in the middle of a crowd. People are probably staring but he can't find it in himself to care at this moment in time. âWhat the fuck, Pat?â He snorts, not really expecting a coherent answer. If anyone was gonna sleep-drunkenly compliment his smell, it was always gonna be Pat. The guy first met him by walking up to him and telling him he liked how he'd matched his eyeshadow to his shoelaces. Â Â
âI, um, might have slept with your robe when you were gone.â Patton informs him shyly.
âPatton...â He breathes, blown away that anyone could notice the lack of him that much.
âNot, um, every night.â Patton is quick to defensively inform him. âJust when I really missed you.â A beat. âIt would have lost it's smell too quickly otherwise.â He adds quietly. Silence falls. âVirgil... say something? Please?â Virgil says the first thing that comes to mind.
âI love you Pat. So much.â People start to move around him and he glances up to see an open gate. âOh crap, I've gotta go, I'll see you soon, ok? I love you.â
âLove you too, Vee.â Patton whispers and it sounds like a promise. A choice. A benediction. He ends the call and goes to take to the skies.
The next day, Patton wakes, not to his alarm, set especially early so Virgil wouldn't be waiting alone in the airport, but to Thomas calling him. He answers groggily, âWhat's up? Are we going early?â He pulls the curtain aside to see Joan pulling up to his driveway, Thomas in the passenger seat of their car. Patton dresses quickly, excited to be getting there even earlier to see his boyfriend. Thomas was so smart, what would they have done if Virgil's flight was early and they couldn't get there in time? He runs out to the car and sees Thomas' expression.
âWhat happened?â
âWhat was Virgil's flight number?â Thomas counters. He rattles it off, having memorised the digits from checking the website the day before so many times, to watch for delays that would stress Virgil out. Thomas' face pales.
âWhat happened?â Patton hisses.
âThe plane... the engine, it, there was a fault, it just.â Thomas struggles to find the words and eventually waves his hands and makes a sad explosion noise. Patton goes blank.
âWhich hospital is he at? Take me there.â Thomas looks at him, achingly sad.
âPatton...â
Itâs completely normal! Not only Thomas doing it sparks some creativity in us, but itâs also a nice way to get to understand yourself better and thats great! I have my own sides too and a lot of people do, itâs not weird at all!
Not at all! I have as well, you can check them out here! Iâm not very good at art so I canât draw them but I have came up with their personalities and all that and it was really fun, and helped me kind of put names to the different âvoicesâ in my head as they say. Thereâs nothing wrong or weird about it at all.
Iâve been mentally working on mine for a bit now. They arenât completely mapped out (though given that they are meant to be representations of aspects of me, an eternally changing and growing human being, they may never be âdoneâ) but thinking about them is fun.
Tbh I had sides before I saw Sander Sides, it's actually a really good coping technique. There's really popular Tumblr posts about giving your anxiety a personality but it really helps to analyse your other thoughts too. I realised that one of my sides was a perfectionist and thoughts that came from them on my work-life balance were likely to be biased and not helpful at all. It really helped me to get into a better state of mind by seeing who each thought came from and their individual goals, which might not fit with my goals as the main personality.
My therapist was actually really impressed when I told him about it and said it was a fantastic technique with a lot of self insight. So yeah, it's not at all weird and can actually be really useful.
Virgil was pleasantly surprised to wake with the rare sensation of peace and contentment slowing the beat of his heart and keeping his breathing relaxed and even. His eyes strayed to the calendar pinned above his desk and a small smile graced his lips. It was his birthday. While all the sides were physiologically 29 just like Thomas, Virgil had officially formed on this day when Thomas was 8 years old. Were he a real person, Virgil would be 21 and now legally allowed to get drunk. He briefly considered the sensation of drunkenness and decided he didnât care for it. Alcohol made you do stupid things and say stupid things and sometimes it made you overly emotional and just, no thanks. Virgil will stick to grape Gatorade in a wine glass while sitting fully clothed in a bubble bath. Heâd probably be doing that tonight, after movie night of course. It was his own little birthday treat to himself.
@randomslasher look at how well my datemate wrote your prompt! Everyone look at how amazing they are, I don't know how they did this in four days, it's so good :D
Ok, so I've never seen Wander Over Yonder but a fandom I was in used to always make animatics with the I'm the Bad Guy song and I can just imagine Deceit singing it to try and convince the others he's a villain and them being all, "so your way of showing us how evil you are is to sing a catchy tune? ... yeah I don't think you're actually that evil after all"
NEW VIDEO: âCrofters - The MUSICALâ đ We announce some exciting news in the only way that seemed fitting! Hope you enjoy!! https://youtu.be/njdGXAcdTeg
NEW VIDEO: âCrofters - The MUSICALâ đ We announce some exciting news in the only way that seemed fitting! Hope you enjoy!! https://youtu.be/njdGXAcdTeg
NEW VIDEO: âCrofters - The MUSICALâ đ We announce some exciting news in the only way that seemed fitting! Hope you enjoy!! https://youtu.be/njdGXAcdTeg
Summary: Wow, it feels like ages since Iâve posted any writing. This is a vent fic I wrote ages ago when I was in a bit of a dark place based on some previous experiences. I wouldnât read it unless youâre definitely comfortable with descriptions of depression. If you recognise any of the feelings in this, please seek help, I promise it will get better. :) On Ao3 here
Patton struggles with his mood dipping for what feels like the hundredth time and gets some unexpected support.
Triggers: Graphic descriptions of depression, suicidal ideation, elements of self-harm, dissociation, let me know if you want anything else tagged.
Patton knows he's suffered from depression for a long time now, well, he didn't know what to call it until a couple of years ago, but looking back he can see the patterns, recognise the symptoms. After a couple of rounds of therapy, he likes to think he can predict the rise and fall of his mood over the months, put some strategies in place when he thinks it's gonna get tough. But the truth is, it always takes him by surprise.
He'd been optimistic, it had been a couple of months since his last drop and he'd just finished a round of counselling with the free service his uni offered. They'd mainly talked about coping methods to put in place for the future as he'd been feeling pretty good during the sessions, by the time he got off the waiting list and into counselling, the period of low mood he'd been in was over. Which is why it was so disappointing when less than a week later, he started to feel the familiar drop in his stomach, the fog closing in. It felt like a physical void inside him, sucking up anything that ever had any meaning. After the lecture he was in finished, he left without waiting for Logan or Virgil, half worried, half in denial. It could just be a natural mood swing. It's happened before where he's just felt sad and overreacted, thinking it was a mood dip. This doesn't feel anything like sadness though. It's like he forgets what it's like to be depressed every time the darkness lifts but as soon as it comes back again, he's hit with a sick familiarity. He's spent so long here,it's a prison that he keeps thinking he's escaped just to find that each time, he'd only been looking at the outside through a wire fence.
Snow buried the outside of his flat, the bleakness matching his mood. Lectures were cancelled tomorrow and Patton couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. Going outside would probably be a good thing for him but it just took up so much energy. The very thought of it made him sick, even though he rationally knew he'd feel better after doing it. He locked his door with a sense of finality and a sigh. The feeling of listlessness had followed him home, which wasn't a good sign. He made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up, knowing lying around in his own mess would only make things worse and he should clean while he still could, but it was quickly abandoned in favour of sitting blankly in front of the TV. He wasn't watching it but the noise cut through the oppressive silence of his mind. His phone chimed with messages. He read them without unlocking it, not wanting the pressure to respond that came with the app showing everyone what he'd seen. His friends were worried. He couldn't find it in him to care and he knew that should scare him. Logan called him and he watched the phone vibrate, feeling dead inside. Roman phoned just a few seconds later and he shoved his phone down the side of the sofa to stop the annoying noise. They were probably only doing it out of social obligation anyway. Patton knew that thought wasn't true, but he didn't bother to correct it. Right now he didn't feel that they should want him as a friend anyway. He's only ever gonna drag them down. They'll be glad to leave him behind.
His thoughts turned to the future. Logan becomes an astrophysicist, Roman gets his big break into acting, Virgil writes for a living. What will Patton do? He'll probably finish his degree, maybe he gets a job that doesn't bore him completely, but nothing seems interesting to him so that won't happen. So he gets a boring job, he won't drag anyone into his issues by having a significant other, so he lives alone. Trudging onwards towards an inevitable death with slow steps that don't seem to matter. Patton's exhausted just thinking about it. Looking forwards, the long path seems unending and it takes enough energy to just exist without continuing to walk that road. It takes so much energy to just exist. He wishes it could all just stop. Nothingness fills his head and crowds his brain, and he wants to join it. To just stop. Death seems like a blessing. He's not worried for his own safety though. His motivation is sucked away quickly enough that he'd never get the energy to do anything to himself. He just wishes the end would come quicker.
He turns off the TV, the mindless talking of the hosts, the energy they're wasting, the way they don't even need to think about measuring out their motivation, it all suddenly annoys him. He craves the blankness of sleep, wants it to last. He could totally go for a nice coma about now, days of nothing, of rest, it sounds so freeing. His self-preservation needles him to make an attempt at contacting his friends before going to bed but the idea of messaging someone, forcing them into helping when they probably don't want to, probably don't have the spare energy themselves, being that selfish is something he can't do. His tumblr is practically dead, he only got it because Virgil has one and never posts anything so he has next to no followers. It's disquieting how easy it is to throw a quick self-deprecating post into the void, knowing it was likely no-one would see it, and those that did had no pressure to respond to it in any way. Patton sleeps and doesn't dream. The overpowering black is soothing.
When he wakes the next day, his body is several times heavier. It takes all he has to pry his leaden eyelids open. He gets up once but the overwhelming pointlessness of everything presses at him and he only manages to keep it together enough to get a cup of coffee before returning to bed. He walks the line of utter boredom and overexertion (never an easy task when you don't have the motivation for an attention span or have the energy to do anything interesting) by playing his old DS until the battery runs out. The charger is downstairs so he lies there for another hour, staring at the ceiling, without the will to think, his mind blank. Eventually, the stench of his own sweat drives him out of bed, and he slowly changes out of his pyjamas, taking breaks when the weight of everything hits him too hard. Half an hour later, he's lying on his sofa instead, mechanically beating the computer at Mario-Kart on easy mode, again and again and again.
Patton's back starts to ache after a while so he stands, before realising he has nowhere he wants to walk to. He hasn't cared to eat, so he enters the kitchen, but can't lift his hand to open the fridge, so he gives up. He goes upstairs but everything there seems pointless so he goes back to his sofa and just stands. Staring down his DS, too bored of all the games to pick it up, but nothing else remotely appealing to him. He goes to look out the window. Snow has piled heavily around the trees in the courtyard, and a solitary lamp-post illuminates the dark evening with a putrid yellow glow. It's so still, quiet, at peace. Suddenly all he wants to do is go outside, and he's so eager to feel something other than numbness that he just grabs his house-keys and pushes up the window, swinging himself over the ledge. He's on the ground floor so the drop doesn't hurt but he gasps at the feeling of ice between his toes. Stepping forwards, he jerkily steps over to the tree that had called to him. Desperately following his impulsive instincts, he drops to the ground and curls over, digging himself into the snow. Cold claws at his body, leeching at his warmth but it's better than his sickness leeching at everything he is. He kinda wants to stay here forever. Frozen like Snow White, except never having to wake up from his slumber. No prince will come for him, and that's how he wants it.
âPatton?â Oh shoot. He launches to his feet, he doesn't know what he was thinking, no-one can see him like this. âWhat... is that a t-shirt, c'mon, you're gonna freeze!â A black parka is settled around his shoulders and firm hands tow him back to the open window. He follows the purple hoodie mutely. They stop just outside and he stares at his friend, who seems to be waiting for something. Virgil sighs, and moves behind him, gently wrapping his arms around his waist and lifting him up. âOk, Pat, Â lift your foot up, work with me here, I'm not gonna drop you.â Slowly, he follows Virgil's patient direction and ends up on the inside of his house. A feeling of comfort and familiarity, followed quickly by the sensation of being trapped overcomes him. He spends most of his time in here, unable to leave, unable to care enough to fight it, unable to breathe in the stale air. Virgil hoists himself inside with ease and shuts the window.
He leads Patton back towards his sofa and he sinks back into it, his little escapade having lasted less than ten minutes. Virgil kneels to brush the snow from his bare feet and wraps a blanket around them, and then another goes across his lap. He lets the other do what he want, wondering when he can get back to Animal Crossing. He'd nearly paid off his mortgage before he suddenly lost all interest in it a few hours ago. He supposes he should be freaking out about the conversation that's about to happen but the train of thought keeps slipping away from his grasp.
âPatton. Look at me.â Virgil says. Unsure of when his eyes had drifted to the ceiling, Patton tries his best to focus on Virgil's face. He gets distracted by the eye-shadow, getting caught up in a spot that's not blended as well as usual. It must be good enough because Virgil starts talking again. âCan you talk to me about what happened out there?â A strand of curiosity snags in Patton's brain and he follows it.
âHow'd you find me?â he asks, enunciating carefully around his heavy tongue and unwilling lips.
âI live opposite you, remember? I've been keeping an eye out. I saw your tumblr post.â The curiosity slips loose, unknotting and fading away. Patton sinks back into numbness, fog obscuring his thoughts. It's a struggle to follow the conversation, tuning out Virgil's questions before he asks them, forgetting his own replies before he says them. He floats, untethered.
Virgil wraps a hand around his, and the skin contact shocks him into reality. âPatton.â he says, moving his lips carefully to emphasise the sounds. âAre you dissociating?â Patton considers this carefully, and realises that, yes, that does sound like what's happening to him. The fog starts to surround him again so he nods slowly before it can get him. He fades out of the next question and comes back to Virgil's palm on his cheek. âIs this helping?â Virgil asks. âOr is it overwhelming?â A laugh sticks in Patton's throat that Virgil should think his touch is overwhelming compared to the void that drowns him. He's faintly aware of being glad for Virgil's help, he may not think he deserves it but he'll take whatever he can at this point. He leans into the touch and Virgil pulls him firmly into a hug, getting as many points of contact as possible, trying desperately to ground him with touch.
Murmurs echo in his ear, asking for five things he can see, five things he can hear, five he can touch, smell, taste. Virgil pauses after each one to give him a chance to answer, before gently pointing out a few examples he can focus on. It takes several cycles through the questions but Patton starts to answer for himself eventually. Shakily, he gathers together what scraps of himself he can and builds himself back into something resembling a human. He raises barricades against the great ocean of darkness surrounding him and is surprised when they hold. There's a few leaks but that's only to be expected. He forges iron in his heart and it sits, heavy and metallic, unyielding and wrong, in his chest as he sits up. Patton wasn't made to be a survivor, he wanted to be a giver, but he's having to slowly remake himself to defend against the horrors of his own brain and if that means losing some of the gentle, giving nature he used to be so proud of then he has to pay that price. Patton knows he can't recover without prioritising his own mental health and putting himself first, but it still feels selfish and cruel to him and the way he's brutally forced to choose between changing his personality and losing his sanity hurts. He digs his nails into his palms and sits up.
âHey Virge.â he says quietly, making eye-contact just to prove to himself he can. âThanks for the help... sorry I freaked out so much.â
âDon't.â Virgil growls. âDon't apologise. It's not your fault, you did your best to reach out for us.â He runs a hand down Patton's arm tentatively, as if reassuring himself he's still there. âSeriously, Pat, is there anything I can do that will help?â Patton feels tears sting his eyes, but doesn't bother blinking them back. He knows he can't cry when it's got it's tendrils in his skull.
âI... I don't think so. I've always just pushed through it by myself before. I mean, I've had therapy but never during the really bad times, y'know? I- I just cling onto existence until it passes. Nothing seems to make it go away until one day, it just leaves and I'm left wondering why it was ever so difficult to get out the house.â he laughs to himself. âBut if you can think of something, I'll try anything once.â
âAt least you've got that to look forward to? I mean, it's always got better before?â Virgil says, reaching out a hand to touch him again but Patton jerks away violently.
âI hate it.â he hisses. âI know it's ungrateful and I know there are other people who have it much longer than a few months but I just wish I could stay in the middle instead of constantly see-sawing. Either I forget to do all my strategies when I'm well so it takes me by surprise or I'm paranoid and watching for the next dip all the time and I can't relax and enjoy being healthy. The worst part is, thanks to the times when everything is good, I know exactly who I'd be without mental health issues and I like him. He's strong and confident and rational and I can never be him for long without it coming to trip me up at some point. It always comes back.â Patton deflates, he's broken Being Friends With Virgil Sanders Rule 1: Do not under any circumstances, yell at the anxious boi. âSorry- sorry, I didn't mean to- I just, it always comes back. And it never gets any easier.â He looks up and Virgil's watching him with an odd look on his face.
âYou remind me of me last year, before I figured out all my strategies and got my meds.â he says sympathetically. âI was so anxious all the time and it was awful. It felt like I was broken in the worst way and my brain was just screaming at me all the time and I couldn't stop it.â he gripped Patton's hand lightly. âIt does get better I promise, I know you can't see it right now, but I bet you're already doing better than you did last year or the year before that. And look,â he smiles crookedly. âyou're actually talking to me about it. You never open up about how this feels. Progress!â he gestures dramatically, trying to imitate Roman or something. Patton automatically plasters on a smile, but he can't hold it for more than a second, his jaw too heavy, and Virgil sees through it anyway. He rests his head against Patton's shoulder so Patton doesn't have to deal with the pressure of eye contact. âTalk to me, please. Tell me how it feels when it's getting bad.â So Patton talks.
âI can physically feel it in my head and my heart. Like a gremlin or some sort of weed, digging it's roots into my brain and sucking out the soul of anything I touch. Motivation and energy to do stuff just drains away like there's a void inside me that can't be filled. My body literally feels weighted down and I don't move as easily as usual. I just can't care about anything, it's like nothing has meaning anymore, and not just the good stuff. Everyone always says that depression takes away your happiness and you're down all the time, and, yeah, that's true. But you're not down because you're sad, you're down because you're numb and can't feel a goddamn thing. You don't have the burn of anger, the spark of inspiration, the glow of sadness, there's nothing there. Sometimes it's addictive, the nothingness and you just want to fade into it, sometimes you're so desperate to feel anything, you, well, you go outside in a blizzard in a t-shirt. It's exhausting, trying to act human all the time when you feel anything but, and eventually, those claws, the tendrils from the void? You forget where you end and they begin. You know, I never thought I'd live til 18? I was convinced I'd end up gone long before then, that I'd be too absorbed into the void to care about my life and end up walking under a bus or something. It was such a shock when I actually got there, I didn't know how to feel. I'm not used to the idea yet, it still feels like I'm living on borrowed time a year and a half later. Usually, I manage to turn it into a good thing, like hey, I wasn't expecting this extra time, let's make the most of it. But lately...â Patton turns to Virgil, tears burning behind his eyes. âWhat if I've let it in too many times? It's been years of this back and forth. What if it's just part of me now? Is this just who I am? What if it's just going to follow me throughout all of the extra time I have?â
Virgil shook his head slowly. âI can't answer those questions for you, Pat. But I'm always here to help you find out for yourself, and trust me, if it is a part of you? You're learning how to handle it all the time, it will get easier, especially now you're reaching out. We'll get you some more help in the morning, ok?â Patton hums in response, knowing that that's probably a wise idea but not able to do anything about it by himself. Virgil waits a few seconds for a more elaborate response but soon recognises that Patton isn't up to talking anymore. He reaches down into his backpack, which Patton can now see is filled with fidget toys, the adult colouring book Patton always steals, several of Patton's favourite chocolate bars, and many other distractions. Virgil catches him looking and blushes, pulling out a black plastic lump with a wire trailing out of it, and passing the bag over. âThought you might- um, need...â he trails off and looks away. âI care about you, ok?â Virgil blurts out aggressively. âWhatever, just... there.â He plugs in his contraption and constellations light up Patton's living room ceiling. âLogan got this for me last year.â he explains. âHe used to take me star-gazing on the roof to calm down but then it got to winter and it was too cold. I thought you might enjoy it too. Look, there's Cassiopeia...â Patton takes Virgil's hand as he relates all of Logan's stories, adding some colourful commentary of his own and perhaps using worse language than he suspects Logan did when he told them to Virgil. He focuses on the comforting low voice, the soft fabric of the well-washed hoodie, the stars gently circling above his head, and lets Virgil ground him. He knows the thing in his head will be just as bad in the morning, but he's starting to think he can deal with that now that Virgil's here to hold him up until he can stand by himself. The lock on his tear-ducts loosens slightly and a single tear slips out. He doesn't wipe it away.
AN: Just a reminder that if any of this resonates, you should probably talk to someone. Feel free to shoot me a message if you want, but due to time-zones and a busy life it may be some time before I respond. Thereâs also the anxietys-room blog. Good luck :)
I thought it was time for an update on how Anxietyâs Room is shaping up as a blog. For those of you who donât know, itâs a place where asks from those in anxietyâs room can be published and the aim is connect them with people who have the emotional capacity to help.
We currently have 9 mods, 2 from GMT, 4 from EDT and 3 from CST. I have 5 more potential mods who have expressed interest and Iâm slowly working through interviewing them (my lifeâs been a little busy recently, Iâm really sorry if youâve been waiting a while, I have a free weekend so I should be able to get all of you added soon.) Weâre getting a couple of asks for help a day and Iâm confident we can answer them within a short amount of time, at least one of our mods should be around when the ask is sent with all of them monitoring this blog.
The thing we really need though, is publicity and support. The two are linked obviously, the more people see this blog, the higher the chances that one of them will be able to help. Iâve noticed support coming in for our last few asks has really dipped and Iâd love it if we could get a few more people chiming in. It doesnât have to be big life-changing advice, just some words of support is enough to make people feel heard and acknowledged. You donât even have to follow this blog, we tag all our asks with âanxietyâs roomâ so you can search for that. This is in no way intended to make our followers feel guilty for not helping, if you are not able to or donât want to then thatâs absolutely fine. But if youâre torn about commenting on a post, please know that it will be massively appreciated by all of us here as well as by the person in need. And if you canât think of anything to say on any of our posts, then a reblog here would really boost our publicity.
Thank you for reading this, I hope you have a lovely day. :)
For those of you who follow me for my fanfics... Iâm sorry for the wait, this is what Iâve been doing instead. I do have several writing projects Iâm working on but preparing for my new job and sorting out Anxietyâs Room has taken priority. Iâve got a vent fic that I wrote and expected to never publish bc it was a bit personal and quite dark but I might edit out all the bits relevant to my situation and post it to encourage myself to get some stuff written. Or I could try and get a quick Requiem snippet out. Either way, by Monday evening I want something published.
Hi! Concerning the Ainxietyâs-Room account, is there any age limit that you would like the mods to be?
I would prefer mods to be over 18, and definitely want them to be over 16, but thereâs not a hard and fast limit because a) thereâs no real way for me to check your age and b) while age is a major factor in emotional maturity, itâs not the only one so it may not make sense to have a cut-off point like that. In the end, you know yourself better than I do and if viewing and posting asks that could be distressing sounds like something you can handle, then I have to trust that. I do ask each mod to keep me updated on any issues including their own mental health so I can discuss options that would help them, including that of taking a break from the blog and coming back later, so there is a support network in place that a younger person might need. In short, if you think youâre mature enough, I have to trust that and thereâs support if it falls through.
