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Branch leans back in his seat as he goes over the map. I wonder how they managed to keep such a large kingdom above the water?

It was in the middle of his eleventh day of travel when he finally caught sight of the mountains, and they were a sight to behold as he stopped the Beetle to get a good look at the massive tower of nature.

They had a heavy russet tone that just continued to climb higher and higher until finally changing tune and switching into lighter texture, it almost looked like snow.

He was amazed by it and that was the only one in which he can somewhat see the top. The rest towers above the first one, they almost seem to reach the heavens, as the sight continues to climb upwards and past the milky white clouds.

He had long decided to bring a notebook to chart all the new things he might learn in case he can ever use it in the future. For the last time, you are not gonna have another honey rose, you know eating too many of those is bad for you.

Remember how I had to carry you everywhere in the bunker?! He was alone. He leaped out the Beetle and immediately followed the sound of his distressed friend humming.

In fact, Branch notices, as he continues to run forward to her, it was the only sound other than the leaves that break under his feet and the stem that creaks as he uses his hair to leap himself forward.

When he finally catches up he sees, or what he assumes, a large creature that was almost twice as big as a pod, its main body consisted of a cerulean shell that engulfed its body so much that all that was seen was its legs and head.

There were also vines surrounding the creature, it even had some draping across its shell. But what caught Branch eyes was its own eyes, or rather his lack of eyes as all he saw of the face was a mouth and tangled up in the vines a few feet away was Gear.

Then a few vines hoisted itself up, as if they were being held up by strings, and suddenly shot in his direction. Branch luckily just managed to push himself to the side as the vines viciously attacked the now empty spot Branch was previously in.

The vines must act like its eyes and ears since it has none upon its face, this must be how it catches its food.

Branch looks back to Gear, who was now looking at him. He gently smiles at her before putting a finger to his lips.

Gear nodded her head and settled down, she trusted her partner to help her out of this mess. He mushes a few of them together until he has five solid clumps of dirt.

Then he carefully picks up the pieces with his hair and flung it as far as he can in the opposite directions. The vines began to track the sound and follow it, they were a lot more vines that followed the dirt than there was before, which was what he had planned.

He then uses his hair once more to grab Gear, who now only had one vine tying her up rather than the multiple ones and grabbed her from its surprised, or what he guessed was surprised, hold and proceeded to run as fast as he could as he swiftly flew through his previous path.

He could hear some of the vines closing in on him. Their hisses seemed to be drawing nearer no matter how fast he swung or ran they always seemed to be coming closer.

He needed a plan, but what could he even do. Then a thought came to mind a very risky, but possible, thought.

He looked down at Gear, who had now moved into his arms as he needed to have full use of his hair, and gave her a squeeze as he swung down in front of a plant and leaned his body against it.

He took a deep breath and waited. He could hear the hisses of the vines as it continued to move closer and closer until finally, he saw it.

There was no exit if he made a sound, no matter which way he went or how fast he ran, the vines would catch him faster, he holds Gear tightly almost as to shield her from their none existent eyes.

The vines surrounding the duo had also finally retreated back until finally, they were alone. Both of them stayed silent until Branch worked up the nerve to walk, not run especially not now, back to the Beetle.

Gear was still held tightly to his chest as his eyes began to dart back and forth as if to see if the vines or any other creature would try to make itself known.

When they reached the Beetle Branch carefully got into the car, Gear also carefully flew inside his hair, and drove slowly through the uprooted path, to which he can now assume were other unlucky victims that made its presence unfortunately known.

He kept driving and driving until he finally stopped when the only available light was the moon in the sky, neither one of them made a sound throughout the entire trip.

Gear then flew her way down to his chest and also began looking at them; neither one made a sound as they slowly fell asleep. The Shell Constrictor, yes he has terrible names but Gear seems to agree on its accuracy no matter how bad the name, was temporarily wiped away from his thoughts when they see something blue.

They had finally reached the lake where the Techno trolls lived, except for one small detail. Branch stopped his Beetle on the shore of the not-lake and just stared, not in wonder like the mountains, but horror.

Gear nervously hovers next to him as Branch walks to where the water reached the sand. He watches listlessly as the water gently caresses his feet as it continues to move in and out, to and fro, back from its starting point and forth to towards his feet.

What was I thinking! Boy was I fucking stupid! The King thinking I was so independent that he send me on a suicide mission in the hopes of having aids!

Well, guess what?! Gear was fluttering around trying to find anything that could help. Until she stopped and zoomed into the pack, almost ripping the ties Branch made for it, and dug deeper inside, passing the crispy succulent honey roses, until she finally found the treasure she was looking for.

She flowed out of the sack holding it and quickly and carefully draped it around his shoulder and a part of his head. It was the same cloak that Grandma had shown long ago, she told him that his father had crafted and gifted this treasure to someone special.

It was the same cloak that he clenched tightly to when they had finally escaped from the bergens. He desperately clung onto the cloth and began to listen and count his breathing to calm down.

He quickly walked out of it loose pull and went back to the Beetle, to which Gear quietly followed, and leaned to the side of the car and slid down until he had touched the sandy bottom.

Gear silently made her way to his pack before dragging over a berry to him as she landed on his knee. Branch looked at her then smiled as he patted her head.

After their meal they continued to watch the waves, then he had an idea as he dusted the sand from his cloak. What if you are presented with something that goes against your confirmation bias?

What if some of them are actually compassionate, empathic people who are a joy to work with? And your professors, and colleagues, and supervisors.

And so you place more scrutiny on anyone from said population. So when a clinician or aspiring clinician meets someone with BPD who does indeed match the stereotype—lashing out in anger, abusive, manipulative, etc—that one person represents all people with this disorder.

If these people actually did have BPD, they were likely treatment-resistant and in denial that they suffered from mental health issues.

Untreated BPD clients who refuse treatment can but not always be manipulative or abusive or difficult. Many neurotypicals simply choose to be that way.

And there are some that do but are willing to pursue treatment so they can manage their anger without hurting anyone else because they genuinely do not want to cause harm.

They may lash out because they never learned how to express their needs—often times these clients had neglectful parents and had to act out to get their attention.

Or they may have an extremely hard time containing or feeling like they have to contain their extreme emotions, and they may act out as a result.

They often feel horrid when they realize what they have done and want to improve their emotion regulation. While there is never an excuse for harmful behavior even if it is due to BPD , I have seen many people with BPD who took ownership of their actions.

Many clinicians without a DBT background lack genuine understanding of this disorder and how to treat its symptoms effectively. And this is a very complicated disorder, as we all know.

A huge part of my recovery is the introspection that helped me understand why I am the way I am. Why do I split? Why am I so emotionally reactive?

Why am I so desperately afraid of abandonment? My illness seemed far less scary and far less overwhelming once I understood its origins and etiology.

Since there are few resources on BPD for people with the disorder, our community here on Tumblr had to create them. We shared our collective knowledge and provided a safe place for people like us to continue the process of self-discovery.

Since I was diagnosed and got patched into this community, the blogs, articles, journals, etc written by BPD sufferers have absolutely skyrocketed in number.

And if other people without BPD including clinicians looked at these resources and increased their understanding of BPD, perhaps they would in turn be more open-minded about this disorder.

BPD is hard to treat. We might split on you or lash out at you with no warning. We are far more likely to make progress when treated with DBT.

A major reason even well-meaning clinicians keep us at bay is because they are afraid to work with clients who are chronically in crisis. What do you do when nothing you do can help your client?

And your client continues to be suicidal or self-harm? The idea of not being able to help a client and losing a client to suicide is something most clinicians fear.

And clients with BPD have a chronic illness with ingrained cognitive and emotional patterns that have been present most of their lives.

Even when they seem to be doing well, they can very suddenly relapse with little to no warning. Clinicians may feel guilty or unsure of themselves or ashamed or helpless or even angry with the client for not getting better.

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He looked down at Gear, who had now moved into his arms as he needed to have full use of his hair, and gave her a squeeze as he swung down in front of a plant and leaned his body against it.

He took a deep breath and waited. He could hear the hisses of the vines as it continued to move closer and closer until finally, he saw it. There was no exit if he made a sound, no matter which way he went or how fast he ran, the vines would catch him faster, he holds Gear tightly almost as to shield her from their none existent eyes.

The vines surrounding the duo had also finally retreated back until finally, they were alone. Both of them stayed silent until Branch worked up the nerve to walk, not run especially not now, back to the Beetle.

Gear was still held tightly to his chest as his eyes began to dart back and forth as if to see if the vines or any other creature would try to make itself known.

When they reached the Beetle Branch carefully got into the car, Gear also carefully flew inside his hair, and drove slowly through the uprooted path, to which he can now assume were other unlucky victims that made its presence unfortunately known.

He kept driving and driving until he finally stopped when the only available light was the moon in the sky, neither one of them made a sound throughout the entire trip.

Gear then flew her way down to his chest and also began looking at them; neither one made a sound as they slowly fell asleep.

The Shell Constrictor, yes he has terrible names but Gear seems to agree on its accuracy no matter how bad the name, was temporarily wiped away from his thoughts when they see something blue.

They had finally reached the lake where the Techno trolls lived, except for one small detail. Branch stopped his Beetle on the shore of the not-lake and just stared, not in wonder like the mountains, but horror.

Gear nervously hovers next to him as Branch walks to where the water reached the sand. He watches listlessly as the water gently caresses his feet as it continues to move in and out, to and fro, back from its starting point and forth to towards his feet.

What was I thinking! Boy was I fucking stupid! The King thinking I was so independent that he send me on a suicide mission in the hopes of having aids!

Well, guess what?! Gear was fluttering around trying to find anything that could help. Until she stopped and zoomed into the pack, almost ripping the ties Branch made for it, and dug deeper inside, passing the crispy succulent honey roses, until she finally found the treasure she was looking for.

She flowed out of the sack holding it and quickly and carefully draped it around his shoulder and a part of his head. It was the same cloak that Grandma had shown long ago, she told him that his father had crafted and gifted this treasure to someone special.

It was the same cloak that he clenched tightly to when they had finally escaped from the bergens. He desperately clung onto the cloth and began to listen and count his breathing to calm down.

He quickly walked out of it loose pull and went back to the Beetle, to which Gear quietly followed, and leaned to the side of the car and slid down until he had touched the sandy bottom.

Gear silently made her way to his pack before dragging over a berry to him as she landed on his knee. Branch looked at her then smiled as he patted her head.

After their meal they continued to watch the waves, then he had an idea as he dusted the sand from his cloak.

He placed it on and it covers the whole skin with just his face showing, which he can pass it off as the shadows from the hood.

The wheels had moved inside the car and a propeller had popped out from the back. He took a deep breath, clutched his cloak once more and steeled his eyes in determination as he began his drive across the waters.

Thus began their trip across the not-lake as their now boat soared through the cerulean waters. There is a whole lot of water, fishes, weird rocks and nothing, absolutely nothing.

Even Gear had woken up at this point and tried flying around the area also in hopes of finding anything that resembled or left clues of the elusive Techno trolls.

But still nothing. Branch let out a frustrated sigh as he stopped his boat near one of the bright green rock structures.

He had come across more of those on the fifth hour upon the seemingly endless waters. Instead, he decided to take a closer look at it, he wasted enough time searching and decided he needed a break before his body decides, or worse Gear, needs one for him.

He placed his hand upon the rock when he felt it. He stared for a bit before looking at Gear, who was floating along with water, and called out to her.

When she placed her feet on there she instantly took it off in shock, but then placed it back down, cautiously. She looked to Branch and nodded. He then realizes that the weird rock structure was only the tip of the iceberg as the rest of its structure just went further down under, passing the brightly colored fishes swimming underneath, into the water depths.

He lifts his head back up and lightly knocks it on the rock structure. On one hand, the Techno trolls have to be a highly advanced species to have an underwater nation and still be thriving.

They must have all sorts of machinery that are helping them breathe underwater and be thriving underneath. It actually made Branch a little excited, not even the mechanics at the village are up to par with what these trolls can do.

But on the other hand, this means he has to dive down, to who knows how many feet down, into the still very unknown waters and hope that he would find civilization first before any of the predators of the deep have the taste for this troll and firefly.

Branch looked towards Gear and she dropped her wings when she realized what they were about to do. She fluttered back to him sadly and glumly settled into his hair.

He scratched her ear in apology. So with that Branch once again triple checked the boat, making sure everything was safe and secured, then sat back down pushed a few buttons then slowly turned the knob, and as he turned the knob a clear dome had made his way from the back of the shell until it finally settled at the front.

But he made sure this was up to snuff before he left, after all, it never hurts to be prepared for anything and Branch will damn try to be prepared for anything.

He passed by a few fishes, one of them have what looks like a stereo for a mouth, tried his best not to be in front of underwater caves, who knows might come out of it, went through the most strangest of underwater plant life, there were plants growing out of the rocks, until finally after the third hour he spotted a bright neon green light in the distance down below.

He saw more of the weird brightly colored rocks that changed colored with each different beat. He could see the green light now that shifted into blue as it emitted from some of the strange rocks.

But most of all he saw in the center a giant green heart that was made up of smaller green hearts and being held up by two pillars of rocks with plant life growing out of them.

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Greenery Press , Listen to this article. Originally posted by lilpieceofmyworld. The ableist comments my co-workers, colleagues, professors, even fellow neurodivergent people have made about BPD are taking quite a toll on me.

I was hoping by now I would be used to it—I hear these comments all the time. But it still hurts me deeply and makes me question myself and whether I really should be a therapist if I truly am some kind of monster.

I dread going to work on days when I know I will run into my ableist colleagues. I gently defend us but often I am met with resistance.

Thought I would share a little with you all: 1. New clinicians are literally taught to hate and fear people with BPD. I learned in my AP Psychology class in high school that I was to avoid borderlines at all costs because they are out to destroy the lives of the people around them.

This is taught in classes and even in my job orientation for a residential program. Confirmation bias.

And with new clinicians being taught to fear and hate clients with BPD, they go in expecting that such clients will indeed be difficult or manipulative.

We are hypervigilant for signs that people hate us; they are hypervigilant for signs that we should be hated because they have been taught to be on their guard, and, well, afraid.

Priming clouds your perception. We are extremely attuned to the emotions of other people. Clinicians who already are biased against us give off signals we pick up on, whether they realize it or not.

So if someone dislikes us—even if they think they are hiding it—how do you think we will respond? We can be rude right back, and this can balloon into anger.

And really, whether you have BPD or not, how do you react when someone is rude to you? Maybe you will be up front about it—maybe you will call the other person out.

Or maybe you will become passive aggressive and give off the same social cues they do. Either way, the clinicians are eliciting the very interaction they expect to have from us… and they have no idea.

Do you see the vicious cycle here? Your BPD client is now angry with you and treating you poorly. So their anger might seem to have come from out of the blue.

You succumb to confirmation bias. What if you are presented with something that goes against your confirmation bias? What if some of them are actually compassionate, empathic people who are a joy to work with?

And your professors, and colleagues, and supervisors. And so you place more scrutiny on anyone from said population.

So when a clinician or aspiring clinician meets someone with BPD who does indeed match the stereotype—lashing out in anger, abusive, manipulative, etc—that one person represents all people with this disorder.

If these people actually did have BPD, they were likely treatment-resistant and in denial that they suffered from mental health issues.

Untreated BPD clients who refuse treatment can but not always be manipulative or abusive or difficult.

Many neurotypicals simply choose to be that way.