We don’t talk enough about the shame and guilt and disappointment attached to ADHD and other disorders affecting executive function.

The shame of living in messy spaces and not being able to just sweep the fucking floor like everyone else. And not brushing your teeth or hair for days or weeks and eventually having to spend thousands at the dentist and get a buzz cut.

The shame of always running late due to time blindness. And this extending to being late with deadlines at work or school, when in reality you had to take sick days because your brain wouldn’t let you get out of bed.

The shame of having sensory meltdowns because the world is too much, but being seen as having adult temper tantrums.

The guilt of knowing that you have so much you need to do, but you just can’t, no matter how hard you fucking try.

The guilt of knowing you can’t be a typical ‘good friend’ because you’re often inconsistent and even unreliable.

The guilt of knowing the food you’re about to buy is probably going to gather mold at the back of the fridge before getting thrown out; but you have to buy it anyway or you won’t eat.

The disappointment in yourself when you’ve been hyper-sexual for a week and now feel used and dirty and full of regret.

The disappointment you see in the eyes of the people you love when they see you curled up on the couch instead of following through on your plans, or doing the work you need to do, or doing your chores; but not knowing that you’re screaming inside to just do something, anything.

The disappointment of finally feeling like yourself, enjoying new hobbies, and functioning well again; then falling back into executive dysfunction and depression without any warning.

The shame, guilt, and disappointment of being afraid to share this with neurotypical people out of fear they might just say:

“Stop being so lazy” or “stop making excuses” or “but I saw you last week and you were fine”

As a result of silencing these conversations, we continue the vicious cycle and perpetuate our feelings of utter worthlessness; we suffer and we isolate and sometimes we even give up.

We don’t talk about this enough.

@guiltburdened

Who's afraid of Big Bad Ross? That was one of the snide things said to him during the election....hulk hunter, monster....

At this point, he was numb to it. It was an endless war with nobody by his side. And despite everything, he weathered it all.

But Ross didn't have satisfaction....

Looking at Bucky...it was hard to believe the former Winter Soldier was older than him. Ross was much younger, but time had used him as a chew toy. The scars across his face being a constant reminder that nothing was given to you for free.

" Barnes, you were still vulnerable to your programming from the Red's. If a guy like Zemo could activate it, anyone could. "

It sounded like an excuse, but he was tired of people only seeing him as a freak. Ross was all alone....unlike Sam or Bucky....he had nobody. Even Betty wouldn't look at him.

The last time he ever saw her was when she told him she wished he was in the ground instead of her mother. Those words a knife that kept cutting year after year.

"......I know I screwed up. I can give you any excuse in the book and it doesn't change anything. But that's why I wanted to talk to you and Sam."

Ross passed Bucky a file.

@guiltburdened asked: ❛ that  sounds  dangerous  ….   i’m  in .   ❜(thunderbolts! Bucky for you <33)

shoulders tensed as the gruff voice passed her ears, it took years of training to not startle at the ghost. brows pinched, her head cocked over her shoulder to eye the man behind her.

When Maria told her she’d gotten them a toy to try out in the bedroom, Natasha couldn’t have said she was expecting that. But the redhead had to admit, it was pretty useful for them. Their legs intertwined together, the spy moaned loudly as she bounced against her lover, taking their dildo deeper in her ass.

“Shit, this feels so good…”

Sometimes, it’s better that nightmares plague the night. Without them my dreams would be nothing but Her. The way her voice lilts through the air, the way her hand feels in mine. Small and delicate, I’m afraid my brutish hands would crush her. Even now, as I lull into sleep, I can see the gentle way her eyes glow in the sun.

But the sun always rises, and with it comes guilt. I will never hold her hands again, or hear my name slip from her lips. A bitter torture, but I don’t deserve her. As sleep turns to wakefulness, my mood sours. I will never love again, I decide, She owns my heart and I’ve buried it never to be found again.