Those words are straightforward and could not be more true.
These types of individuals will keep you stuck. Frozen in place while the world pretty much moves on without you. Slowly, you erode, eventually realizing that you have become fragments of who you once were.
You mourn that loss while they continue to bleed you for every ounce of mental and emotional resilience you have. You recognize the patterns becuase you've done that work on yourself in the past. You were aware enough to notice your own dysfunctional patterns then you set out to fix them.
That places you in an entirely different class from who they are as an individual. You can't help them get there. This may be sad, but this is reality. The work you have done on yourself is the reason they have latched onto you. They see you as a safe landing spot for the chaos within them that they refuse to dismantle.
They see you as the "catch-all" for giving them a free pass on everything that is unsettled within them.
You are not their mental and emotional dumping ground, however. There is a world of difference between holding space for someone and supporting someone who you know is actively working toward healing and taking accountability for their wounds, and giving endless time, space, and attention to someone who is only wanting to treat the symptoms of their dysfunction rather than tackling it at the root.
You'll know the difference based on how you feel during the process. If you notice yourself becoming more and more drained the more you try giving them support and parts of yourself begin to become unfamiliar, then you know that you're dealing with someone who is just there to feed on your energy rather than someone who ia actively improving themselves so that the connection is mutually beneficial.
It can be hard to distance yourself from individuals like this, especially if you have let them deeply into your life or if you live with them, but the only effective boundary you can set in a situation like this is that of physical distance.
CW: drug abuse, addiction, defiant whumpee, bad coping mechanism, stockholm syndrom(?)
PART 15 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 17
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Elliot woke to nothingness. Neither the stuffy trunk nor crack house bathroom had woken him up this kindly, yet he felt nothing: from his left pinky to his dry lips - just quietness. All the anger and fear that spurred him on during his stay were swept away.
Weird.
Tramadol 100 stood no chance against whatever lingered inside his veins, cushioning his body like wads of cotton. It felt pleasant, more than that, reliving. Like for the first time in this damned year, he found a chance to breathe free of pain.
If this was what constituted a junkie, Elliot might gladly be one.
Despite the calm soundscape surrounding him, he didn't dare to take a peek yet. After the weakness that Chris revealed, one could only suspect what else he liked to smash to pieces now.
The filthy concoction he stabbed Elliot with was incomparable to ordinary MR tablets. No, this was the good shit. The kind of stuff his doctors had withheld from him time and time again, the kind they give you before you get stuffed in a disheveled Honda, borrowed from the crazy grandpa down the street.
Maybe if he said pretty please, Chris would be so kind and give him another pinch.
Careful as a fawn, Elliot peeked through his lashes. Flat on his back like he had just been picked up and slapped down on the bed, he never felt freer, mainly thanks to the absence of any cuffs around his wrist. Chris probably failed to find the other one in this mess.
Only then did Elliot notice the smear of sticky blood across his arms - not his own, one might add, his fingernails cut short hastily to take his last weapon away. The cause of this involuntary nap watched him closely from the other side of the room.
Chris surely had no patience left after his little stunt, yet Elliot simply couldn't care less.
For someone who "fights like a bitch", the damage was undeniable. Elliot couldn't help but grin at the swollen teeth marks arching over Morris' chin up to his lips, how the blue eyes were stained red by more than just a few tears.
Sniffling like he got stood up at prom, Chris pressed a bag of frozen peas to his neck and dared to break the silence first: "Happy now?"
What a diva. Elliot swallowed, no venom left to spit.
"Quit whining. You had it coming."
Nobody had kissed him this way since high school, and for good reasons. Disgusting. Absentmindedly wiping over his mouth with a sleeve, Elliot was unsure about his next steps.
What was that guy thinking? His boyfriend…guilt does that to a lonely man, huh?
Since Amber, he never really thought of risking that humiliation again, but if he did, it would not be for Christoph Morris, never like that. Elliot surely had more fun making out with the wood-chip wallpaper than him any day of the week.
On the upside, though…
"Now we have to start over," his host moaned accusatory, throwing the peas aside to reveal three long and harsh gashes across his skin, "For fuck's sake, you were nearly done with it all! And don't blame me, you went ahead and ruined all our progress this time."
That man really couldn't stop regurgitating his own shit until it tasted like honey. "Again" was acid on Elliot's otherwise so comfortable skin; not another week in withdrawal, he would rather peel his flesh off the limbs piece by piece.
Wordlessly, he held his left hand in front of him - half of it limp as a glove - and clenched it into a fist.
Weak. Pathetic even. And without a single twinge of pain.
His rage was snuffed out and with it the fire, inside and out, gifting him the cure he searched for so long. The endless flare inside him was not just subdued, not better.
Gone.
Nothing that would last, surely, Elliot wasn't that naive. Yet, the fantasy of securing this state for as long as possible let a new spark bloom inside his mind.
Make him like me. And who knows, maybe I'll allow him the one or other trade-off we both profit from.
But for that to happen, the senseless pursuit of absolute sobriety had to die. If he was not allowed to leave, so be it! Morris better get used to caring like he claimed, then.
"I'm hungry," Elliot yawned and noticed Chris through his spread-out fingers, busy picking at the seams of the thawing plastic bag. Unable to stop his whining, he glared back, ashamed by how brutally his confession had opened him up for rejection.
"And?"
"You have anything sweet around here?" The plaque on Elliot's teeth tasted of cold ash and copper as his tongue ran over it.
"No," Chris spit, strategically keeping the smushed key lime pie on the kitchen table a secret, "No way. After what you did..."
What did I do?, Elliot wondered, a blur of fists and red splatter being the only memory of yet another brawl his brain managed to pull from the fog. Third time's the charm, it seems, at least when leaving a mark as a thank you for all of Elliot's.
A nice strike.
If inspected closer, one might have spotted Elliot rolling his eyes before swinging his legs out of the bed and standing up; as did Chris, skittishly guarding the door. Another race to the exit fell dead before it could ever start.
More than embarrassed, Morris felt queasy about his next step. Could he just pretend that nothing happened? Or find a new approach to how fussy Elliot acted?
Unbelievably, his guest dug placidly through the box of old clothes under the bed, before pulling out a pair of loose-fitting pants. The scabs on his hands and knees had crumbled away already. Despite the way this involuntary striptease made Chris tingle with excitement, he kept his guard up.
Nevertheless, Elliot hadn't wasted a thought on approaching the locked door behind them, too spellbound while buttoning up his shirt with both hands. Both. Sloppy execution and a shaky hold didn't stop the disks of horn from slipping into their designated place.
Be nice to him for a refill, apparently the only action he was able to take during this stalemate, and get out of here. Elliot felt no need to rush today.
Kneeling on the floor, still very invested in opening and closing his shirt as if trying to drive Chris insane, Elliot noticed another box beside him. Sleek and colorful, the packaging reminded him of a tile mosaic.
Azul.
Living on his own had a few disadvantages the lonely collection of board games made him painfully aware of. No wonder he's so desperate for company.
"Do you like it? It's not a card game, but you still need good strategy," Chris finally spoke up.
They had to pick up the pieces somewhere and a quick round may be helpful in raising the spirits. Oh, the fun they had together, before he...before the situation got out of control. "I thought about getting the sequel too, it's supposed to be even better."
"A board game sequel?"
"Yeah, it won a few awards."
A game night, seriously? For all the ones he stole from him and his parents. Even so, a rather small price to pay compared to whatever else this guy had on his mind an hour ago. A trade Elliot could be interested in.
"Looks fun enough," he shrugged, not yet ready to put on a happy face.
"Care for a round?"
Once more, Elliot simply shrugged.
In and out of the room, Chris quickly returned with a foil pan and two forks in hand. Be the bigger man, he reminded himself while swallowing so much more than the rejection, be forgiving. The soggy peace offering laid between them on the floor. If Elliot should stay with him, voluntary and well-behaved, his host had to accept certain needs.
"So, you feel better now?"
"Obviously," Elliot muttered without looking up from the game manual. Next to him, a fork was carefully dropped on the carpet, as if handling an animal ready to go berserk again any second. "It's a lot easier if you don't steal my meds."
Decent intentions aside, Elliot spoke the truth. Keeping up last week's plan would only make history repeat itself, a fact Chris wanted to avoid at all costs. Strength and patience had left him; both of them.
The room went dead quiet while they both dug chunks out of the pie. Chris dodged the crust any way he could, like shoveling for gold in the lime purée. For the first time since they reunited, no tension, no animosity from the past broke their peace. Be it for a different reason than Chris hoped for.
The small colorful tiles were passed out on cardboard circles in between them.
Elliot, lost in thought, only stared through his playmate. His face got some color back, Chris noticed, a rosy blush to his cheeks. So cute. In a blink, Elliot snapped back to the present and faced him, voice sharp:
"What you demanded from me-"
"I wouldn't say demanded," Chris murmured, "I-I just tried to show you-"
"It will never happen. You hear me?" Elliot fixed his gaze on him. Not once before had Morris seen the usually so cautious thing this serious, "Never."
A mangy dog had more composure than what he showed at Elliot's demand, frowning and glancing over from his side.
"Don't you like...with men?"
I can change that.
"That's none of your business," Elliot snarled. The nerve of this guy, what in the hell-
Make him like me. Fine, then. "I don't like it with anyone, especially you, of all people. And that's that."
"Hmm."
At this, Chris felt at a loss. Was this a test, a chance to show that he wasn't as brash as his confession painted him? A punishment even? Or a lie, though Amber had definitely complained more than once about being neglected this way.
One way or the other, he knew that he knew nothing and for Elliot's good mood to last, Chris needed to accept some compromises. For the moment.
Finally, Elliot picked up four yellow tiles, scattering the rest in the middle.
Guilt-Tripping (Words on DBT and how to treat your followers and yourself)
I saw something on here yesterday that incensed me enough to write this: it was an “oh woe is me” attention grab -- something I already wrote the damn book on at 15 -- but it is was a guilt-tripping attention grab.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with attention grabbing behavior, because that can look like exactly how any therapist would want: “Hey, I’m feeling lonely, can we hang out?”
Look at that communication! You need something, you ask for it! (I will say don’t ONLY say: “I feel lonely,” because that can be interpreted as blaming -- “I feel lonely and it’s your fault” -- what do you want out of being lonely? Not being lonely! Okay, how do you want that to happen? A movie? A private chat? Being specific is really, really important in communication, even if it feels silly to say “so, can we hang out?” too.) Anyway, that’s in the Personal Bill of Rights (here’s the exact copy I got in DBT):
These are reminders for the oft-abused and traumatized individual to repeat back as affirmations to help their self-worth. It’s not all you can do, but it’s helped me.
On there, you’ll see “I have the right to ask for what I want,” and it’s true! Communicate what you want and have it come true! Hell yeah!
This person was upset “no one ever remembers their birthday” so they made a new one, and “no one remembers that either.”
This isn’t constructive. It’s likely emotional manipulation. It’s venting, sure, but in putting it in a public space where other followers see it, it becomes toxic. What is the point of the message? Seems to my BPD-ass it’s “pay attention to me and love me because I feel lonely,” -- sound familiar? Nothing wrong with those feelings! But the execution is guilt-tripping, because now everyone who forgot this made-up/not-well-advertised event (seems a bit like the cognitive distortion “mind games” -- expecting others to read their mind and getting upset when they don’t pick up on something) is someone who ‘always’ forgets. What’s the implication? They’re bad friends? They can’t do anything right, because the main person got the message they can’t do anything right? Likely something like this. These people let this person down by forgetting, despite lack of communication on the main person’s part.
(Also, beware of black and white thinking, which is also evident in this post I’m purposefully not pasting here, meaning using “always” and “never” statements.)
Basically: invisible/silent expectation -> ‘you never remember’ -> guilt-tripping toxicity. If a person is unhappy they aren’t getting the validation they deserve, something every single person goes through, there are healthy ways to do that! Guilt-tripping is not one of them, and will earn an insta-block from me.
A lot of us do this behavior, and it doesn’t mean we’re monsters. We’ve been chronically unloved and OH GOD STILL?? NO ONE REMEMBERS?? and it’s hard to break out of. We’re all trying, but sometimes you’re at a different place than someone else and can’t handle their behaviors.
Until you find healthy ways to handle your emotions, PLEASE do not demonize those in your life for forgetting something. Give them a talk if they do something wrong, give individuals a "I feel hurt when xyz because it's important to me," in private if you have to. Remind them! Otherwise, you make people busy with life feel horrible because they’re busy with life... because you feel bad, and that's carrying on the cycle of hurt. Your feelings are your responsibility, and guilt-tripping puts the onus of your feelings on others. Here are examples of people who might forget things: people that are mentally ill, people that are chronically ill, people with children, people existing, people dealing with an unnamed global crisis, every single person.
I saw your yandere ryoma hoshi, and could I ask for hcs for what would happen to him and his s/o if they were survivors of the killing game? Please and thank you!
TW: Guilt-tripping
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Ryoma Hoshi;
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- Ryoma's over-protectiveness would reach new levels. He knows what he believes to be the truth, but if Shuichi is to be believed, they don't know what the truth really is. He'll have a harsh grip on their arm, eye always out for danger. Not only for his darling, but for everyone else who survived. He knows his darling would be heartbroken if they died, but his s/o's life still took far more priority.
- They'll continue to explore their new world, discovering the real truth of the Killing Game along the way. Ryoma will try to invest in a simple life with his love, refusing to let anything get to him. But things don't work out too well, in that way.
- He'll certainly be more unstable, giving his darling the cold shoulder if they anger him. They still never find out what was of their backstories, so Ryoma has no idea if his late girlfriend and her demise was real or fake. It will weigh on him heavily, which is why he'll try to push so hard for a kinder life with his current darling. It might not go so well, but he'll do his best.
- If his darling ever tries to run away, he'd break. After all that hell, they wanted to leave him!? It would shatter his heart. He would absolutely guilt-trip them into staying, and keep them close to his side for the rest of their lives.
- There's no telling if he'd stay close to the other survivors, it really depends on how things go for him.
I am thirteen years old and have just realized that my friend is incredibly toxic and not good for my well-being. Trouble is, I can’t find the courage to tell her that I don’t want to be friends, and I’m afraid she’ll try to guilt-trip me like she’s done in the past. How can I find the courage to let go?
Hey lovely,
I think it’s really good that you’ve had this realisation! That’s the first step, so well done!
You’re right that it can be really scary to talk to her about this. It does take a lot of courage, but I believe in you! What can really help is to prepare for different scenarios. You’re worried that she’ll try to guilt-trip you as she’s done so in the past. How could you respond if she were to do this? If you can think of this beforehand then it can be a little easier if it does happen.
You can also consider if there are ways that you can avoid her responding that way. For example, if you were to write it all down in a letter and hand this letter to her, would that help? Or perhaps sending it to her (through mail or email).
Is there something you can include when you talk to her (or write down in your letter) that would prevent her from trying to guilt-trip you, or that help you to stand your ground? For example, if you tell her beforehand that you won’t listen to her if she tries to turn this around and make it about you, then she might not do so and if she does you can repeat that you won’t listen to it. Or something like that!
Remember that you are your first priority. You are worthy of being in friendships that are good for your well-being, not the opposite. You do not owe her to stay in this friendship. You have every right to choose for yourself. We’ve got your back!
Sometimes what seems impossible, is just hard.Love Pauline
(Here is a preview of the upcoming chapter for a @bitchyfanfics on my patreon!)
The war between monsters and humans was a devastating one. It had dragged on for years, neither side giving an inch. Humans won some, monsters won others. In the end, the power of the humans’ soul and their determination proved to be stronger than the collective might of the monsters’ magic. Eventually they we were overpowered and pushed into defeat, forcing their surrender. It was after they had been forced to sign the peace treaty that the human’s viciousness, their sadistic nature, truly came to light. You see, humans wanted to make sure that they and their future generations would know of their glory, of their superiority, and how monsters would forever know their place. Monsters were weaker than humans, not deserving of their respect.
They were beneath the humans. They no longer had the same rights or recognitions. So why would humankind be forced to stare down upon their lesser, why should their lesser have access to the same limited resources that they, the victors, did? It made no sense to the generals.
So, combining the last of their magic, they drove the monsters to Mt. Ebott, sealing them away. No longer would they be forced to view them, forced to share or live with them.
However, we all know that the last laugh was on the humans themselves. Their stories faded, as did the evidence of the monsters existence. Those who once grew up with monsters, or fought across from them, slowly became fewer and fewer. Stories faded, their legends died. Admiration made way for speculation.
Monsters were a thing of fantasy for the humans.
But every monster knew this story, Grillby thought to himself as he looked out the windows of his café. It was a cold night, cold even for late December. He idly polished one of his many glasses as he stared out the windows, his pupil-less eyes following the snowflakes as they danced and wove through the night.
Why are you guilt tripping me, because i didn't buy you more than just a chocolate bar? Huh? Because i bought my friends chocolates also? Because your gift doesn't constitute half of my haul?
