#<- and all this is why my therapist says i have adhd. what does she know maybe it's just the orv brainrot ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[lee-hakhyun]

i actually came over here to link this specific post that i saw on twitter;

https://twitter.com/vapolunes/status/1658101956131315712?s=46&t=Cde4OpD2xlZu6xnf8K2qSQ

it actually made me hit the pause button, in that writers are so often readers themselves; but this post postulates that hsy is trying to work this from the angle of an author as she so often has, which also leads me to this other post from someone else;

https://twitter.com/orvbookclub/status/1658942059850665984?s=46&t=Cde4OpD2xlZu6xnf8K2qSQ

and. think about it this way; lee hakhyun adores kim dokja like a reader, so it could be speculated. so he. he sees it from that angle, right? he’s come to love kim dokja as a reader, holding his thoughts and his struggles close to his heart. han sooyoung has loved kim dokja as both a character (being close to him, fostering a friendship that way) and as an author (writing for the reader, writing for ONE reader).

but i suspect, maybe. if hsy tries to force an ending by reducing the people in lhh’s turn to mere characters, it’s not going to get her the ending she wants. but lhh would be coming into this from a different perspective from hsy, wouldn’t he?

and. going back to yjh’s cameo in world after the fall’s revision, the protagonist being saved by a character from a different story entirely. ‘there are some things you cannot accomplish alone’. sometimes you need outside help. sometimes you need a different perspective.

and lee hakhyun has the perspective of a reader, is getting first-hand experience with the perspective of a character, and… is an author with radically different writing preferences in comparison to han sooyoung. and his writing might not be crowd-attractors like hers is, HOWEVER

1) there’s still something genuine in his narration. something very loveable and distinct, untried as it is, enough that he has a reader that loves his writing and was upset that orv wasn’t quite the same. still writing from the heart, when you think about what he’s been etching into the snow garden

2) ‘ways of survival’, the story that kept kim dokja alive, was never a crowd-attractor. it was the opposite of a crowd-attractor, in fact. it could be argued, of course, that han sooyoung was specifically writing to please ONE reader, but. think about some of the paragraphs in wos that get mentioned, the ones that catch kdj’s attention. ‘the you reading this will survive.’ yoo joonghyuk declaring that he won’t give up until he reaches the end of the scenarios… so ‘you’ shouldn’t either. when aiming to reach just one reader rather than a mass of people, doesn’t it sound like she’s speaking from the heart? desperately begging kim dokja to stay alive, she puts her heart into it - which i think is why it was able to touch his heart so much, up until he grew older.

but does hsy have that perspective now? and have kdj’s tastes remained the same or has it perhaps changed with him as a person at the end of the scenarios? all things i feel will be explored in time. in any case, lhh is having to write in the middle of the scenarios with all the desperation of a guy who’s trying to survive and is grieving over all the deaths going on all at once, so he is being as genuine as it gets while he’s writing this ‘side’ story. he isn’t really in the position to fake it out otherwise. it could be argued that the story kdj is now reading is a ‘sequel’, but… it’s not just a sequel to orv, but a sequel, or continuation, of star writer. worlds colliding into something new.

on that note, i feel like kdj, had he been in the right headspace/time for it, would have been a loyal reader of lee hakhyun’s previous works. he’s probably becoming a fan of star writer right now, since he’s watching lee hakhyun’s story loyally.

but i suspect, maybe. if hsy tries to force an ending by reducing the people in lhh’s turn to mere characters, it’s not going to get her the ending she wants. but lhh would be coming into this from a different perspective from hsy, wouldn’t he?

yeah. lhh sacrificed himself for his readers. i haven't talked much about this yet, but one of his readers died in front of him (this is how we found out the readers become kdj kkomas). and after that, he's been really intent on keeping everyone in his group alive,,

i did type this out before but i think i deleted it so i'm saying it again, but hsy was seeing yjh as a 'concept' rather than a character. she didn't see yjh in the same way lhh did and he definitely has different perspectives, just look at how he dealt with geumho

wos is a story for one reader, and orv is a story designed to catch as many readers as possible. but both stories are for kim dokja, fragments or otherwise

i am really happy more people are getting interested in lhh, he's clicked with me so hard i changed my url to his name. his sacrifice hit me HARD. i am using humor and constant theorycrafting to cope.

i would be happy if star writer were to continue after orv's final chapter. i'd probably continue translation too (though put in a private doc if the chapters were paid)

[hjvi]

𝙉𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙜𝙞𝙖 PART 2 part one (optional)

Pairing: Bf!Chris x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the breakup, Chris reaches out to Y/N's therapist, desperate to understand what she's been sharing post-split, hoping to find a way to fix things before it’s too late.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Heartbreak. Angst.

Word Count: 8k

CHRIS POV

The sunlight streams through the blinds, forcing its way into the room and pulling me from a restless sleep. For a split second, I feel the warmth of it on my face and instinctively reach my arm across the bed.

“Good morning,” I mutter softly, my voice thick with sleep.

But the bed is cold. My hand grazes nothing but empty sheets, and reality hits me all over again. She’s not here. She hasn’t been here for weeks.

The hollow ache in my chest flares up again, as it does every morning, but I push it down, swallowing the lump in my throat. I throw the covers off and sit on the edge of the bed, my hands in my lap as I stare at the floor. For a moment, I just sit there, unmoving, as the weight of it all presses down on me.

I eventually force myself to stand, dragging my feet as I make my way to the bathroom. The mirror above the sink catches my eye, and I hesitate for a second before looking into it.

The reflection staring back at me doesn’t even look like me anymore. My eyes are sunken, dark circles heavy beneath them from the countless nights I’ve spent tossing and turning. My hair sticks out in every direction, unkempt and messy, like I haven’t cared enough to fix it. My skin is pale, almost lifeless. I look like a ghost of the person I used to be.

I grab my toothbrush and start brushing my teeth, the minty taste sharp on my tongue. I stare into the mirror as I do it, unable to look away from the version of myself staring back at me. The movements are automatic, robotic, like I’m just going through the motions because I have to.

Rinsing my mouth, I splash some cold water on my face, hoping it’ll wake me up or at least make me feel something. The water is icy, shocking against my skin, but it doesn’t help. I dry my face with a towel, toss it onto the counter, and take a deep breath.

I head back to my room, pulling on the first clothes I can find—a hoodie and some sweats. I don’t even care if they match. What’s the point? No one’s going to see me anyway.

The stairs creak as I make my way down to the kitchen. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge. I grab a glass from the cupboard, fill it with water, and lean against the counter as I drink. The cool liquid soothes my dry throat, but it doesn’t do anything for the heaviness in my chest.

The sound of footsteps pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance up to see Nick and Matt walking into the kitchen. Great.

They exchange a quick look before Nick speaks up. “Chris, you can’t keep going on like this.”

I don’t respond, staring down at the glass in my hands.

“You need to figure something out. This can’t keep going forever,” Nick continues, his voice firmer this time.

“If you love her, why did it end?”

That question cuts through me like a knife, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My grip tightens on the glass, and I feel the lump in my throat growing, making it harder to hold everything in.

The pause that follows is deafening.

“Chris, I’ve never seen you like this,” Nick says, his voice softer now, like he’s trying to reach me. “Please talk to us. We’re only here to help you.”

I shake my head, barely processing his words. It’s too much. Talking about it means reliving it, and I don’t think I can do that.

Matt steps forward, his tone more encouraging. “Well, you need to talk to someone—anyone. Maybe a therapist.”

The word therapist hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve only been to therapy once, back when our parents practically dragged me there after I was first diagnosed with ADHD. I hated it. Sitting in that office, spilling my guts to a stranger who pretended to care—it felt fake, forced. Like I was just paying someone to nod and tell me I’d be okay.

I glance at Matt, shaking my head again, but his words stick with me.

Therapy.

I set the glass down on the counter, my mind drifting to her—Y/N. She used to go to therapy all the time for her anxiety. I remember the night she opened up to me about it. We were sitting on her bed, the room dimly lit by the string lights she had hanging along the walls. Her voice was shaky, and she kept fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie as she told me about the things she struggled with—the intrusive thoughts, the overwhelming panic that came out of nowhere.

I remember holding her, my arms wrapped tightly around her as I whispered that I’d always be there for her. That I’d help her through it.

And she believed me.

She started going to therapy less and less after that. She told me that being with me made her feel safe, like she didn’t need it anymore. Like I was enough.

But now…now I’ve become the source of her pain.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the memory, but it’s no use. Her face is burned into my mind, the sound of her laughter echoing in my ears like a ghost.

An idea suddenly hits me, sparking something in the back of my mind.

She must’ve gone back to therapy after that night. After the things I said, after I ruined everything, there’s no way she didn’t go back.

A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips—something I haven’t felt in weeks. If I can figure out who her therapist is, maybe I can get some answers. Maybe I can convince them to give me something—anything—to help me figure out what’s going on inside her head.

I know it’s a long shot. I know it’s probably not even allowed. But at this point, I don’t care.

This might be my only chance to fix things. To make things right. To get her back.

And I’m willing to do whatever it takes.

I slam the car door shut and storm into the house, my mind racing a hundred miles an hour. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I don’t even know if it’s from the frustration, the anxiety, or the sheer desperation clawing at my insides. My hands are shaking—I don’t know if it’s from the cold air outside or from the weight of what I just found out.

I need to find something. Anything.

I rush up the stairs, skipping two at a time, barely able to breathe as I push my bedroom door open. The room is dark, only the dim glow of my lamp spilling light over the mess I’ve been living in. Clothes are piled up in the corner, my bed is still unmade from this morning, and the air is heavy—like it hasn’t been touched by fresh air in days.

I don’t even hesitate before I start tearing through everything. I yank open my drawers, throwing out crumpled-up receipts, random guitar picks, and old Polaroids I don’t have the heart to look at right now. My hands move frantically, shoving aside hoodies and sneakers as I dig through the mess, my breathing uneven.

Then, I stop.

A hoodie—her hoodie.

Ralph Lauren, navy blue, the one I used to steal from her even though it was already oversized on her tiny frame. My fingers graze over the soft fabric, and I swear I can still smell her on it. Vanilla, mixed with the faintest hint of lavender shampoo.

My throat tightens.

I set it aside gently, like it’s something fragile, before continuing my search. I check under my bed, my closet, the nightstand. My hands skim over the remnants of us—the lip gloss she left behind, the hair ties, the tiny silver ring she used to wear on her thumb before she started playing with it too much and lost it between my sheets.

She never asked for them back.

A sharp pain twists in my stomach, and I have to sit down on the edge of my bed. My hands press against my knees as I stare at the floor, my thoughts spiraling.

She never asked for any of it back because she doesn’t want to see me.

She doesn’t even want to be reminded of me.

I imagine her in her room, sitting on her bed, maybe curled up with her knees to her chest like she always did when she was anxious. I can see her phone on her nightstand, face down, waiting for a notification that never came. Waiting for an apology that never left my lips.

I clench my jaw, squeezing my eyes shut. Why didn’t I call?

I should’ve said something. Anything. Even if it was just to tell her I was sorry.

My fingers dig into the fabric of my sweatpants as I try to breathe through the guilt.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it.

A small orange bottle, half-hidden underneath a pile of clothes.

I reach for it, my hands trembling as I pick it up. The label is worn, slightly smudged, but the name is still visible—Y/N L/N. My eyes scan the rest of the text, and my stomach drops when I see the words printed in bold letters:

Prescribed by Dr. Callahan.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I turn the bottle in my hands, my thumb tracing over the edges of the label. She hasn’t been here in weeks. If this is still in my room, that means she hasn’t been taking her medication.

Has she been okay without it?

The thought makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.

I exhale sharply, standing up so fast the room spins for a second. I grab my phone from my nightstand, my fingers typing the number on the bottle into my phone.

I hit call.

It rings.

My leg bounces as I wait, my free hand gripping the bottle like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.

Voicemail.

I grit my teeth, but then I notice something—Dr. Callahan’s website.

I pull it up, my eyes scanning the screen so fast that the words blur together. The address is listed at the bottom. My heart stutters in my chest as I read it over and over.

I don’t think. I just move.

I grab my keys and rush out the door.

The waiting room is too bright, too clean, too quiet. The sound of the receptionist typing on her keyboard is the only noise filling the space, and it’s driving me insane.

I shift uncomfortably in the chair, my foot tapping against the floor. My hands are clenched into fists in my lap, and I’m pretty sure my knuckles are turning white.

The door to the office finally opens, and Dr. Callahan steps out. She’s a woman in her late forties, dressed in a blazer, with a calm but unreadable expression. She looks at me, then at the receptionist, and back at me.

“Christopher?” she says, her voice even.

I stand up so fast the chair scrapes against the floor. “Yeah.”

She glances at the receptionist before nodding for me to follow her. I do, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The office is small but warm, the walls lined with bookshelves and framed diplomas. There’s a couch, a chair, a desk—everything you’d expect in a therapist’s office.

She sits behind her desk and gestures for me to sit. I do, leaning forward, elbows on my knees.

“I don’t usually take walk-ins,” she says, folding her hands together.

“I know,” I blurt out. “I just—I needed to talk to you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “About?”

“Y/N.”

Her face doesn’t change, but I swear I see a flicker of something behind her eyes.

“I can’t discuss—”

“I know. I know, you can’t tell me anything confidential,” I interrupt, my voice shaking. “But I just—I need to know. Is she okay?”

She exhales, tilting her head slightly. “Chris, I understand that you’re worried, but I can’t disclose any details about my patients.”

I swallow hard, gripping my knees. “Please. I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” My voice breaks slightly, and I hate myself for it.

Dr. Callahan studies me for a long moment before sighing, leaning back in her chair.

“What I can tell you,” she says carefully, “is that you should return her medication.”

I stare at her, my stomach twisting. “So… she’s okay to see me?”

Dr. Callahan’s expression doesn’t change. “No. Do not go yourself. Maybe leave it at her door.”

I clench my jaw. “Why?”

She exhales again, standing up and grabbing her coat. “Because she’s not ready to see you right now. You really hurt her, Chris. That’s all I’m going to say.”

The words hit me harder than I expect them to. My throat feels tight, my chest aching like someone’s squeezing it.

I nod slowly, standing up.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

She doesn’t respond, just watches me as I turn and leave the office.

When I get home, I’m exhausted.

I drop my keys on the counter and run a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. The conversation replays in my head, over and over, until I can’t take it anymore.

I grab my phone.

I dial her number.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Voicemail.

I call again.

And again.

And again.

Thirty times.

Nothing.

I grip the phone tightly before finally pressing the voicemail button.

“Hey… it’s me,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I—uh, I have your medication. I just wanted to—” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I just wanted to see you. Just for a second. Please call me back.”

I hang up, staring at the screen.

The silence is unbearable.

I can’t stop thinking about her, about what Dr. Callahan said.

I’ve hurt her. Badly.

The thought of her sitting alone, trying to get through each day without her medication, without me, makes my stomach churn. She’s struggling, and it’s because of me.

I hear voices upstairs.

Nick’s laugh echoes faintly down the hallway, followed by the sound of Matt’s voice, a little louder, more animated. I know exactly where they are—Matt’s room. They’re probably streaming or recording, trying to keep the channel alive while I’ve been... well, absent.

I climb the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reach the top, I pause for a second outside Matt’s door. I can hear them laughing, joking with each other like they always do, but there’s something in their tone that feels... forced.

I push the door open without knocking.

The room is lit by a neon blue light strip that lines the walls, casting an eerie glow over everything. Matt is sitting in his gaming chair, his headset on, while Nick is sprawled out on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

They both look up the second I step inside.

“Chris?” Matt says, pulling off his headset. His eyes widen when he gets a good look at me.

I probably look like shit. My hair’s a mess from running my hands through it so many times, my hoodie is wrinkled, and my eyes feel swollen from the lack of sleep.

Nick sits up straighter, his brow furrowing. “Dude, you good?”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, stepping further into the room. I can hear the faint chatter of the Twitch stream coming from Matt’s computer. A quick glance at the screen shows the chat scrolling rapidly, the viewers probably wondering what’s going on.

Matt looks from me to Nick and back again before turning to his setup. “Uh, guys, hang on a second,” he says into the mic. “We’ve got a little... interruption here.”

“Don’t stop,” I say quickly, my voice hoarse. “I don’t care if the camera sees me.”

Nick and Matt exchange a look, their worry written all over their faces.

“You sure?” Matt asks carefully.

I nod, collapsing into the chair next to him. My legs feel like jelly, and the moment I sit down, it’s like all the exhaustion hits me at once.

Matt adjusts the camera angle slightly, so I’m in the frame now. The chat immediately explodes with messages.

“Yo, it’s Chris!” “Where have you been???” “Are you okay???” “Chris, we miss you!”

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “So, uh, I know you’re all wondering what happened to Chris and why we haven’t been uploading with him...”

Nick’s elbow jabs into Matt’s side so fast it makes me flinch. “Shut up, dude,” Nick hisses, his voice low enough that the mic probably didn’t pick it up.

I glance at the screen, trying to focus on the chat, but the words start to blur together. My chest tightens, and I feel the familiar sting of tears welling up in my eyes.

I swallow hard, leaning closer to the mic. “Hey, guys,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

The chat goes wild again.

“Chris!!!” “Where have you been???” “Are you crying???”

I force a shaky smile, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here lately,” I say. My voice cracks, and I quickly clear my throat. “I miss you guys more than ever, and I hope to see you all normally again very soon. I just haven’t been feeling my best.”

The words come out heavier than I expect. They’re for the fans, sure, but deep down, I know who I’m really talking to.

Her.

I glance at the screen again, trying to focus, but the tears keep blurring my vision. My hands grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white.

“Guys, if you can hear me,” I say, forcing a small laugh to mask the emotion in my voice, “let me know.”

Matt glances at me, his concern obvious, but he doesn’t say anything.

Nick shifts uncomfortably on the bed, his eyes darting between me and the screen.

I lean back in the chair, running a hand through my hair. My heart is pounding in my chest, and my mind is racing. What if she’s watching? What if she sees this?

The thought is almost too much to handle.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket.

I freeze.

For a second, I think I’m imagining it. But then it buzzes again.

I pull it out slowly, my hands trembling as I unlock the screen.

My breath catches in my throat.

It’s her.

Come over.

Nothing else.

My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I can’t move. My eyes stay glued to the screen, rereading the message over and over again.

Nick and Matt are both staring at me now, their faces a mix of confusion and concern.

“I... I gotta go,” I say abruptly, standing up so fast the chair nearly tips over.

“Chris, wait—” Matt starts, but I’m already out the door.

I fly down the stairs two steps at a time, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest. The phone is still clutched in my hand, the words "Come over" seared into my brain like a lifeline.

I don’t stop moving. My thoughts are a chaotic mess, but one thing is crystal clear—I need to see her. I need to see her now.

In the corner of the living room, there’s a small duffel bag stuffed with her things—things I couldn’t bring myself to give back. A hoodie she left the last time she slept over. A scrunchie she pulled from her wrist and tossed on my nightstand. A few bracelets, tangled together in a messy knot. I grab the bag and toss it over my shoulder,my hands shaking so much I almost couldn’t manage the zipper.

Her scent lingers faintly on the hoodie, and it hits me like a gut punch. My chest tightens as I pause for a second, staring down at the bag. What if this is the last time? What if she’s only calling me over to finally cut all ties?

I shake the thought away and slip on my sneakers, not even bothering to tie them properly. The laces drag across the floor as I grab my keys and practically sprint out the door.

The night air is cold and biting as I get into my car, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. The drive to her house is a blur. The streets, the headlights, the soft hum of the engine—all of it fades into the background.

The only thing I can focus on is her.

Her voice, soft but firm, echoing in my head: "Come over."

I don’t know what to expect when I get there. Is she angry? Sad? Does she want closure, or does she want to talk? The possibilities swirl around in my head, each one more nerve-wracking than the last.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white, and I couldn’t stop glancing at my phone on the passenger seat, just to make sure I hadn’t imagined the text. The world outside blurred together—the glow of streetlights, the faint hum of other cars, the dark silhouettes of houses passing by. It was all background noise to the storm of emotions inside me.

As I turn onto her street, my palms grow clammy, and I swipe them against my hoodie. Her house comes into view, and my stomach twists into knots. The porch light is on, casting a soft glow over the front steps, but the windows are dark.

I sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel and staring at her front door. My breath came in shallow gasps, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. My phone buzzed faintly in the passenger seat, but I didn’t look at it. The only thing I could focus on was the faint light spilling from her living room window.

What do I say? What if she slams the door in my face? What if she doesn’t even open it?

She’s inside. The thought sent a jolt through me, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I glanced at the bag sitting in the passenger seat, its weight feeling impossibly heavy. Her things. Pieces of her that I’d clung to for far too long, desperate to hold onto anything that reminded me of her.

I grabbed the bag and stepped out of the car, the cool night air biting at my skin. My breath formed small clouds in the crisp winter air as I made my way to her front door, each step feeling heavier than the last. The strap of the bag dug into my shoulder, but I barely noticed it. My entire focus was on the door in front of me—the barrier between us that I was so desperate to cross.

I stopped in front of the door, my hand hovering over the doorbell. My fingers trembled as I hesitated, the fear of what might happen next threatening to overwhelm me. What if she slams the door in my face? What if she doesn’t even open it? What if this is the last time I’ll ever be this close to her?

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to press the button. The faint chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet night, and I stepped back, my heart racing as I waited. The seconds stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity.

The walk to her front door feels like it takes hours. Every step is heavier than the last, my heart pounding harder with each one. I can feel the chill of the night air seeping through my hoodie, but my palms are still sweaty, my fingers gripping the strap of the bag like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

When I reach the door, I pause, staring at it like it’s some kind of unbreakable barrier. My hand hovers over the doorbell, my breath shaky.

This is it.

I press the doorbell, the sound echoing faintly inside.

For a few agonizing seconds, nothing happens. The silence is deafening, and I feel my heart sink. Maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she’s upstairs, ignoring me, deciding I’m not worth the trouble.

But then, I hear it—the soft sound of footsteps approaching the door.

The knot in my stomach tightens as the lock clicks, and the door creaks open just a sliver.

And there she is.

She looks... different. Tired, maybe. Her eyes are slightly puffy, like she’s been crying, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that swallows her frame, and her bare feet peek out from beneath the hem of her sweatpants.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.

God, I missed her.

“Hey,” I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t say anything. Her gaze flickers to the bag slung over my shoulder, and her lips press into a thin line.

“I, uh...” I clear my throat, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I brought your stuff. I figured you might want it back.”

Her eyes soften just a little, but her expression is guarded.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

I set the bag down gently on the porch, my hands lingering on the strap for a second before I straighten up.

The knot in my stomach tightens as the lock clicks, and the door creaks open just a sliver.

And there she is.

She looks... different. Tired, maybe. Her eyes are slightly puffy, like she’s been crying, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. Loose strands frame her face, wild and untamed, as if she’s been running her fingers through them all night. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that swallows her frame, the sleeves falling past her wrists, and her bare feet peek out from beneath the hem of her sweatpants, toes curling slightly against the hardwood floor.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.

God, I missed her.

My throat goes dry. It’s like my brain short-circuits at the sight of her, my body forgetting how to function for a beat too long.

“Hey,” I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t say anything. Her gaze flickers to the bag slung over my shoulder, and her lips press into a thin line. There’s hesitation there, a wall built between us, but I see the cracks in it—the way her fingers tighten on the edge of the doorframe, the way her chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

“I, uh...” I clear my throat, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of myself. “I brought your stuff. I figured you might want it back.”

Her eyes soften just a little, but her expression is guarded, like she doesn’t know whether to let me in or push me away.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

I set the bag down gently on the porch, my hands lingering on the strap for a second longer than necessary before I straighten up. There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to explain, but the words knot in my throat, tangled with all the emotions I haven’t been able to process. I swallow roughly and turn to leave, but then—

A tap on my shoulder. Gentle, hesitant.

“Chris,” she says, barely above a whisper. “You can come in... if you want.”

Her voice wavers slightly, but the invitation is there. A lifeline I never expected.

I nod, stepping inside carefully, like the floor beneath me might give out at any second. The second I cross the threshold, nostalgia slams into me so hard it almost knocks the breath from my lungs. The familiar scent of her home—vanilla candles mixed with the faintest trace of her perfume—wraps around me like a ghost, pulling me under. My chest tightens as my eyes flicker around the space, absorbing every detail.

She leads me to her room, her fingers gripping the bag tightly as if it’s the only thing keeping her steady. When we step inside, I notice everything at once—the unmade bed, the pile of clothes on the chair, the half-empty water bottles on the nightstand. It looks... wrecked. Torn apart. A reflection of how she’s been feeling, how she’s been surviving without me.

My stomach twists at the realization.

I sit beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. She places the bag in front of her, hands trembling slightly as she unzips it. She doesn’t say anything at first, just starts pulling out her things one by one, setting them on the bed between us. Her face is unreadable, emotionless, but I see the way her fingers hesitate over certain items, how her breath catches when she picks up something tied to a memory.

Then she freezes.

A small, plastic box sits in her palm. Plan B. Her fingers tremble as she lifts it, her other hand brushing over the familiar silver foil of a condom wrapper.

Her expression shifts. Confusion. Realization. A flicker of something deeper, something more painful.

I feel my throat close up.

Shit. I hadn’t meant to put those in there. I wasn’t thinking—I had just shoved everything into the bag, desperate to get out of my house, desperate to see her. But now, sitting here, watching the way she looks at me, I realize what I’ve done. What this means.

The weight of it crashes down on both of us at the same time.

Me returning these things wasn’t just about giving her stuff back. It was a silent message. A quiet, unspoken truth that neither of us wanted to face.

This was me saying we’d never be that close again. That I’d never hold her against me like she was my entire world. That I’d never press my lips to her skin, whispering promises into the crook of her neck. That I’d never watch her breath hitch, her stomach hollowing out as she lost herself in me.

The morning she was hungover and wanted me to make love to her—it was the moment I broke. The moment I left. And now, this moment? It was the silent echo of that pain.

She inhales sharply, her eyes darting to mine.

“Chris...” she starts, voice unsure, awkward. “I—I’m sorry for... you know... that night. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Her voice is small, fragile, and it shatters something inside me.

I shake my head, cutting her off before she can keep talking. Before she can say something that might break me even more.

“No,” I say, my voice thick, heavy with emotion. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for that. That’s not... that’s not what this is about.”

She blinks at me, confused, but I don’t stop. The words pour out of me, messy and desperate and raw.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, my chest tightening. “For everything. For the way I handled things. For walking away when all I wanted to do was stay. I love you so much, and I don’t know why I did that. I was just—I was upset. I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. That you thought I was too much, too clingy, because I know I can’t stop. I don’t know how to stop when it comes to you.”

Her lips part, her breath shaky, but I don’t let her interrupt. I can’t. If I stop now, I’ll never say it.

“It took everything out of me to not make love to you that morning,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Everything. Because it wasn’t just about that—it was about us. About how much I love you, about how much I need you. And now, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know where we stand, I just—I can’t do this, I can’t live with the thought of never being able to touch you again—”

My voice catches, and I choke back a sob, my hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly my knuckles turn white. The emotions are too much, overwhelming, consuming.

But before I can finish—

She moves.

Her hands cup my face, fingers threading into my hair, and then—

Her lips crash into mine.

It’s not soft or hesitant. It’s desperate, full of every unsaid word, every sleepless night, every moment of longing that has torn through us like an open wound. She kisses me like she needs me to breathe, like I’m the only thing keeping her alive, and God, do I feel the same way.

Her lips are warm, soft yet demanding, moving against mine in a rhythm we lost but are now rediscovering. I groan into her mouth, my hands finding her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. There’s no air, no space, nothing between us except months of aching desire and the overwhelming need to feel her against me again.

Her tongue flicks against mine, and the taste of her—sweet and intoxicating, like vanilla and something uniquely hers—makes my head spin. My hands roam over the familiar curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, relearning her body like a map I had once memorized but was forced to forget.

I need her. Now.

Without breaking the kiss, I grip the back of her thighs and lift her effortlessly, pressing her against the wall. She gasps into my mouth, her fingers tugging at my hair as her legs wrap around my waist. My body presses against hers, every inch of me molding into her as if we were never meant to be apart.

I barely register the feeling of air brushing between us as I pull back just long enough to look at her. Her eyes—those big, beautiful doe eyes—stare into mine, wide and filled with so much emotion it nearly knocks the breath out of me.

I devour her.

My lips trail from her mouth to her jaw, down to the sensitive spot on her neck I know makes her shudder. I hear her breath hitch, feel her heartbeat hammering against my chest, and I smirk against her skin, pressing another lingering kiss right there, just to hear that soft whimper again.

I can't get enough of her.

With one swift motion, I pull us away from the wall and toss her onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. She looks up at me with wide, hazy eyes, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

God, she’s beautiful.

I strip my shirt off in one quick motion, and her gaze follows the movement, her lips parting slightly as she watches. Her fingers reach out, featherlight, and trail down my chest, hesitating over the bruises from the fights I’ve been in, before tracing straight down to my v-line. The soft touch sends a shiver down my spine, my stomach tensing under her fingertips.

I cage her beneath me, hands on either side of her head, our faces so close I can feel her breath on my lips.

“I missed you,” I murmur against her lips, punctuating my words with soft kisses along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone. My voice raw, filled with every ounce of longing I’ve held inside. “I love you so much. You have no idea.”

She shudders at my touch, her fingers threading deeper into my hair as she whispers, “Me too.”

Her hands slide up my arms, over my shoulders, threading into my hair as she pulls me down, our lips brushing once more. “I do,” she whispers against my mouth. “Because I missed you just as much.”

Her eyes flicker up to mine, full of longing, and I can’t hold back anymore. I cage her beneath me, my arms bracing on either side of her head as I hover just above her lips.

“I love you,” I whisper, brushing my nose against hers. “I love you so much.”

Her breath hitches, her fingers sliding up my arms, tracing the curves of my biceps. “I love you too.”

I trail kisses down her throat, moving lower, pressing my lips to the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. My hands slip under it, fingers grazing the bare skin of her waist, feeling the way she trembles beneath me. I slowly lift the material, kissing each new inch of exposed skin as I go—her sternum, her ribs, the delicate dip of her stomach. I can see her breathing unevenly, her stomach hollowing in and out as I press a lingering kiss right above her navel.

Her sweatpants are loose around her hips, and I hook my fingers into the waistband, pausing just long enough to look up at her. “Is this okay?”

She nods, but it’s the way she looks at me—her eyes locked onto mine, so vulnerable yet so trusting—that makes my heart nearly stop.

I tug them down slowly, letting my fingers brush against her thighs, and as I do, I catch sight of a small birthmark on her inner thigh. My lips curve into a soft smile, and I lean down, pressing the gentlest kiss right against it. Her breath catches, her fingers clenching into the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, my voice low, reverent. “So, so beautiful.”

Her lips part slightly, her chest rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths. I play with the delicate bow on the waistband of her panties, twirling it between my fingers, the gesture light and teasing. A memory flashes in my mind—her doing the same with the drawstrings of my hoodie the night everything fell apart. My throat tightens.

She watches me closely, her gaze never wavering, her eyes holding an intensity that makes my whole body burn.

I let my thoughts spill out, my voice raw, unfiltered. “I’m gonna give you exactly what you wanted that night.”

Her breath stutters, her fingers reaching up to thread through my hair as I tease my lips over the sensitive skin of her waist. I let my hands explore her gently, my fingertips tracing over the curves of her hips, lingering at the edge of her panties as I drag my mouth across her skin. She whimpers softly, her legs shifting beneath me, and I smirk against her stomach.

“Patience,” I murmur, pressing another soft kiss to her ribs. “I missed you, let me take my time.”

She lets out a soft, frustrated sigh, her fingers tugging slightly at my hair, but I don’t give in just yet. I kiss lower, my lips teasing along the waistband, my breath warm against her skin. Her breathing grows more erratic, her hands clenching at the sheets as she bites down on her lip.

Then I see it—a dark patch on the fabric of her panties. My smirk deepens as I drag my fingers over the damp spot, watching the way her thighs tense at the teasing touch. My lips ghost over her hipbone, pressing soft, lingering kisses before moving inward, tracing along the delicate lace trim.

I press a kiss right against the soaked fabric, feeling her entire body tremble beneath me. Her back arches slightly, a small whimper slipping past her lips. I hum against her, the vibrations making her shudder even more. My fingers toy with the waistband, pulling at it ever so slightly before letting it snap back teasingly.

“You’re so sensitive,” I murmur, my lips trailing back up to her ribs. “So needy.”

She lets out a strangled whine, her fingers gripping my hair tighter. I chuckle softly, running my nose along the crease of her thigh, pressing another open-mouthed kiss to the birthmark I adored. I flick my tongue out, just barely grazing the skin before pulling away again.

She gasps, her head tilting back, frustration written all over her face as her chest rises and falls with every heavy breath.

I lift my head, locking eyes with her, watching the way her pupils are blown wide with need. “Tell me what you want,” I whisper, teasing the bow on her waistband once more.

"I want you Chris, nothing but you."

I tuck my head into the crook of her neck, nuzzling her gently.

I feel her smile against my skin, and my heart swells.

Y/NS POV

His fingers were buried to the knuckle inside your cunt, brushing against a spot he knew better than you did yourself. You rode down against his palm, looping your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to whine against his throat as he pumped his fingers inside of you.

“Cum on my fingers, baby.” He murmured against your hair, hand tightening its hold on your hip as he moved his fingers within you. “Let me take care of you.”

Your brows furrowed together, hips stuttering in their movement against his palm. You could hear the soft rumble of laughter in his chest as he helped you regain your pace, muttering something incoherent as your whines turned into keens, your lips parted against his throat as you clutched onto the back of his shirt for purchase.

“Good girl.”

That was all it took for you to come undone, crying out his name against his neck as your cunt spasmed around his fingers. He pressed kisses to your forehead as you rode his fingers through your orgasm, his thumb never stopping its circling of your clit until you whined through breathless words for a moment to breathe.

You could audibly hear the sound of your arousal as he removed his fingers from your cunt, both digits coated in a thin veneer of your cum. He looked at you, smiling wickedly as he pressed the fingers to your lips. You quickly opened your mouth, tasting yourself as he pushed his fingers into your mouth, nearly touching the back of your throat in the process. You noticed his breath deepening, pupils blown as he watched you suck his fingers clean.

“Missed that mouth.” He hushed out, words breathless as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth. You leaned up then, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your lips to his. His tongue sought yours, the kiss full of hunger and need, teeth clashing, and moans swallowed. You could feel his hard cock straining against his sweatpants, each shift of your hips on his lap causing him to all but whine into the kiss.

His hands moved to the waistband of your panties, trying his damnedest to tug them off you as you straddled him, only for him to pull away with a frustrated, “Help me take these off of you before I rip them off.”

You laughed, lifting yourself as your hands moved over his, removing your underwear, items of clothing falling to the floor with a soft thud. Your hand curled gently around his cock, lazily pumping it as you returned to kissing him.

He moaned into your mouth, brows furrowing together as your thumb swiped over his tip. It wasn’t long until his touch on your hips grew needy, thumbs pushing into your hip bones in a silent plea for you to get on with it already. You’d half a mind to make him wait, but you needed him just as badly as he needed you. With a short lift of your hips, you guided him to your entrance, sinking onto his thick cock seconds later.

The stretch had you whining against his lips, slick sounds pooling from between your thighs as you slowly rocked down against him, each movement of your hips bumping your clit against his lower stomach. You could feel his thighs tensing beneath you, muscles flexing in tandem with each canter upward of his hips, pushing him deeper within you.

His hands guided your hips, breaths coming out as short grunts whenever you’d squeeze around him. You could feel his cock dragging inside of you, brushing against that spot that had your thighs twitching under his hold. He trailed his lips from yours to your jaw, breath hitching against your skin in between open-mouthed kisses to your throat.

It was slow, passionate - everything you’d missed in the months he’d been absent. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading through the back of his hair as you rode him. He kissed down your throat and onto your chest, free hand moving up to cup your breast. You tightened your hold on him, head falling back as he bent his legs, planting his feet against the mattress as he fucked himself up into you.

The new angle and urgency had your cunt squeezing around him, legs giving out beneath you as he continued fucking you. He let out a breathless laugh, hands moving to your hips, essentially pushing you forward to rest against his chest as he rutted up into you, each thrust of his cock brushing against your g-spot in an almost blinding sense of pleasure.

Your hands blindly grasped at his shoulders for purchase, uttering pleas for him, words soon turning into incomprehensible sobs as the pleasure left you unable to do anything other than whine out his name against his chest. You could feel your cunt fluttering around him with each thrust of his hips, the movement causing you to rock forward, clit brushing against his lower stomach.

“You hear that?” He grunted out lowly, grasp on your hips tightening to an almost painful degree. “Hear how desperate you sound for me?”

With a strangled cry of his name, you came undone, cunt spasming around his cock as he pumped into you. You went limp against him, eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you through your orgasm, whispering words of praise against the shell of your ear as he chased his release inside of you.

“So fucking good.“ He grunted, words followed by a sharp thrust upward, tip pushing against your cervix as he flooded you full of his cum. You whined against his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. As he caught his breath he lifted his hand, gently cupping your jaw to tilt your head back, eyes searching yours to ensure you were alright.

“‘M okay.” You whispered, voice barely audible. He nodded, sighing out a lungful of air as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. You rested back against him then, shifting your hips slightly to make yourself comfortable - or as comfortable as you could be with him still nestled inside of your cunt.

“Just-“ He started, wrapping his arms around you to ensure you stayed put. “Just stay there, I’ll carry you to the shower later.”

A faint laugh left you as you allowed him to hold you close, knowing neither of you had the strength to move from the bed anytime soon. You’d have to call the front desk and get clean sheets once you did, but for now, you were content resting against him, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat echoing within his chest.

“I love you.” You whispered, moving your head to press a kiss over his heart, earning you an affectionate hum as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I love you too, doll.”

A/N: Hey everyone! I just wanted to apologize for the delay with Part 2—I've been dealing with some heavy writer's block lately. On top of that, I'm working on multiple fics and writing requests, so it’s been a bit overwhelming. Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking with me! I’ve never written from Chris’s pov before, so any constructive criticism is more than welcome! I really appreciate you all taking the time to read my work! 💖

tags - @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

[copperbadge]

I've been putting off asking this, because I didn't want to fuck with anyone's process, and I know it can be hard to talk about therapy or hard to do it if you've talked about it, but like...people who are in therapy and feel you're deriving benefit from it, what do you do in it? Not generic stuff like "work on my problems", specifically what do you say and do? What do they do? What is the benefit you feel you get?

The problem I'm having is that it feels like how Catholic friends have talked to me about going to confession as kids before they fully understood how it worked, making stuff up to confess because they hadn't done much to warrant confession. I keep trying to come up with things therapy could help with, stuff to bring to the meetings, and not finding much. My therapist is fine, it's not that she's unhelpful; she does the stuff a therapist is supposed to do, like validating or active listening, but I don't really need validation and I don't feel any benefit from just talking about stuff. I think my access to catharsis is very narrow if it's present at all.

I tried bringing therapy types of problems to her, interpersonal stuff, but most of those I don't really have a say in solving, and the ones that I can influence I generally have already worked on. It feels like roughly 99% of my problems could be solved with money (admittedly more money than I have or probably ever will) and the other 1% aren't...solvable. Like there isn't much a therapist can do about the AC being off for the next three weeks in my building.

But my only other experience of this is when I was a kid and didn't get a say in it, and that generally felt like an obscure form of punishment. And I know people do get something out of it! It's not me trying to take a passive aggressive swipe at therapy. I'm just perplexed as to what I'm meant to be doing to make it useful. I feel like I'm missing the point, but also like maybe I'm just not someone the point was meant for.

I'm not trying to call myself the picture of mental health or anything but like, you can't talk-therapy ADHD into submission, and the other issues aren't under my control. I tried floating the idea of improving my emotional regulation but I suspect this is as good as it gets, because there doesn't seem to be any kind of process or system for fixing that. I don't especially anticipate it or feel better or worse about things after, I just log off the call and get on with fixing dinner. It's a non event other than the copay and an hour spent on Zoom. Which I can spare, I don't mind the money or the time, it's just....why am I doing it?

So, what do you do? Because if I get answers about stuff I'm not doing then I can try that, and if I get answers about stuff I've tried, maybe this just isn't for me. Wouldn't be the first time and won't be the last that I'm not quite built for something that other people find valuable. Although admittedly usually it's a tv show or a video game and not mental health treatment.

[calware]

post about me. i added pictures to keep it interesting

i've had a problem for most of my life that i'm currently visualizing as a gray dorito poking into me. it's frustrating, inconvenient, difficult to deal with, and overall makes everything suck a little. many people have told me that this problem is most likely adhd, such as my therapist in high school who said it was "textbook." unfortunately, she was just a therapist, not a psychiatrist, and therefore wasn't actually qualified to diagnose me with anything. this was in 2021 when there were no child psychiatrists in my area accepting new patients (thanks, covid), so instead my doctor gave me a few adhd meds at differing doses to see if any of them stuck (i had literally no reaction to Any of them) and the whole thing went nowhere

so, is the problem actually adhd? i'm an adult now and could pay several hundred dollars (of my parent's money) to get a proper test, but it would make no difference as my issues would not be solved by adhd medication (maybe. i'm worried i somehow messed it up) or any form of accommodations. i don't want to ask my parents to pay for something that likely won't have much impact (and my mom wouldn't be fully convinced anyway. both parents are pretty sure there's nothing wrong with me). i want to know, but the time and money don't justify it. so the best solution i have is to keep going, keep learning which lifestyle changes to make and how to "work smarter". i'll be okay. and i say that with sincerity

whoops, forgot my glasses here. this is another gray dorito-shaped problem, only this one is much smaller. i rarely notice it, and when i do, it's superficial. it's only gotten genuinely bad twice in my life. it's my paranoia, obsessiveness, and, on occasion, compulsions that follow those obsessions. now, i know what you're thinking, which is that it kind of sounds like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. frankly, from my understanding, my issue is so negligible that it doesn't qualify as OCD. like i said, it barely affects me. it still bothers me that it's there, though. i do my best to deal with it, letting my thoughts pass as they come to me and not trying not to give into/breaking out of compulsions, but i just don't want it there at all

this is another thing i could see a therapist about, but does a problem this small really justify the time and expenses of seeing a professional? not in my case (not for me, at least. don't apply this to your own problems if you genuinely want to seek professional help)

i have a goal to have enough disposable income later in life to justify paying a scientist to pick through my brain for my own amusement. because, despite no substantial foreseeable improvements to my mental health after getting a psych evaluation, i still find the idea to be really exciting. i have a strong desire to understand how my mind works, how my brain ticks, why i am the person i am. that's how i know that if i ever played sburb, id have the heart aspect (that's right. you thought that this was just a personal post on my homestuck blog that had nothing to do with homestuck. do you really think i would do that? make off-topic posts solely about me on a homestuck blog? look, i even remembered to draw my glasses this time and i made them homestuck glasses. because i care about you guys) and i am vain and self-centered enough to desperately want someone with a phd to talk about me for an hour. and no, i don't need a therapist to tell me why that is, i already figured that one out allllll on my own

[nyxcharliechaos]

so me and @lemonking00 decided to make a tier list...but it's what neurodivergency/mental illness the cast of Hazbin/Helluva have

Explanations/are they medicated?/extra details or thoughts below because this will be a long post if I don't

ADHD- Millie: unmedicated, she just doesn't like it

Vox: medicated but OH BOY DOES HE FORGET, man will go 3 days without it before remembering then he's medicated for 4 days and they he's out of his ADHD medication! and it's ALWAYS when the pharmacy runs out and won't have it in for a few days

Bee: unmedicated she doesn't care she's just having fun

Clara: she's just here because LK said Odette was autistic and we wanted an ADHD/Autism sibling dynamic, I was going to skip them because we don't know much about either, she's properly medicated, Carmilla makes sure she takes her medication

Autism- Vaggie: we're all in agreement on this right?

Alastor: I know he's a sociopath but we've been joking he's autistic for a bit lol

Lucifer: his special interest is clearly ducks, yes he's canonically depressed but the autism is winnning

Sir Pentious: ok so everyone I know agrees with his so, mans got that autistic rizz

Vortex: ...ngl we just wanted him to be the ASD to Bee's ADHD being the ADHD/autism couple dynamic

Millie's dad: as stated by LK "he just seems autistic" and then explained farmers give off autistic energy, LK's the autistic redneck friend so I'll trust him on that

Lute: ...I have no explanation she just seems autistic, and like a homophobic homosexual

Zestial: so initially we put him in the group therapist tier but the autism won so we moved him

Odette: explanation for why she's here above

AuDHD (written as AUDI relating to a series of inside jokes but long story short half our friend group is AuDHD and one of said friends used to have an AUDI)- -Blitz special interest in horses, bad at emotions, he's not medicated, he should be on several medications, he's not on any of them

Charlie: ok hear me out, we all agree on the ADHD yes, but her dads got that tism ok, she would to. she is medicated, and Vaggie reminds her, but it's a gamble whether or not she'll take her medication even with a reminder

Cherri Bomb: ...bombs and just look at here that's my explanation for why she's here, no she's not medicated, there's other drugs, no it's not the same thing she doesn't care

Velvette: she's better about taking her medication than Vox is but she still forgets, always seems to run out around the same time as Vox...when they don't have the medication...being Valentino during that is great/j the two will lock the doors and make him deal with their unmedicated asses till the pharmacy has the medication again

Fizz: I don't think I need to explain why he's here, he's not medicated, he doesn't like the feeling and he likes himself better unmedicated, and Ozzie loves him either way so fuck getting his ADHD medication

Adam: simple explanation, ADHD and Autism is hereditary, so it had to come from somewhere and in the words of LK "it wasn't Eve, idk how but she's neurotypical", Adam doesn't believe people when they tell him he's AuDHD, so no he's not medicated

Emily: I'm not explaining myself, she is medicated and does take her ADHD medication on the daily, Sera will remind her and if she forgets after that Sera will just give her the medication

Depression- (depresso expresso because funny) Stolas: literally cannon, and while also Autistic unlike Lucifer the Autism is not winning

Octavia: I would be too if my family was that much of a mess

Barbie Wire: just fucking, look, no I'm not explaining this

Sera: (just makes gesture like, look at this bitch)

Twamatised- (referencing a joke in Gravity Falls) neither of these need explanations fucking look at the two that are here!

OCD- Moxxie: we actually added this catagory for him, he's just got those vibes

Niffty: I swear I remeber reading something on an old ZP era sketch dump saying she had slight OCD, I might be misremembering, probably, but got those vibes

Group Therapist- (fun fact this was initially a Husk only category but a lot more characters belonged in it then we thought) Husk: (points to episode 4) and yes depresso expresso as well but, I made this category for him so

Razzle & Dazzle, Fat Nuggets, Keekee, and the Egg Bois: all are here for similar reasons they're (basically) pets that bring joy and improve peoples mental states

Ozzie: I don't think I need to explain this one, since it's basically cannon

Rosie: ok so all the overlord are autistic (minus Vox), but they go to the category that takes priority and she's seen being a person you go to for advice so, this is just cannon

Carmilla: quote from LK "mom", that's why she's here, again all overlords are autistic (except Vox)

NDP- (narcissistic personality disorder) Verosika: we actually added this category for her so

Striker: ok this one's debatable but he definitely has a personality disorder of some sort

Valentino (KYS) was added just for Val to tell him to die

BITCH was added for reasons obvious if you look at the characters, no headcannons here we just wanted to call out these characters for being bitches

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for writing a negative review of my ex-therapist years after I last met with her?

So I (20s, NB) was taken to a therapist from ages 12-18 for “anger issues” (which I’ve since realized are primarily autistic/adhd meltdowns and/or sensory overload issues). About five years after I stopped attending, my parents informed me that they had discussed prior ADHD testing with her, only for her to tell them not to share my likelihood of having it with me so I wouldn’t “use it as an excuse.” Looking back on it, no effort was made to actually accommodate this knowledge, and in all honesty, a lot of my ADHD traits were treated as character flaws, and instead of getting help, I wound up with a deep-rooted sense of self-loathing that never seemed to go away until I chose to stop attending therapy.

This particular bit is complicated slightly by the fact that, about a year or so into my “treatment”, my parents began seeing her for couples therapy; my personal research seems to indicate that taking patients’ loved ones on as fellow patients is largely up to individual therapist discretion, so I’m not sure this particular facet is inherently damning, but it does leave a chance that the conversation about my ADHD happened during one of THEIR meetings, which is concerning to say the least. All of this on top of turning sessions meant to help me into “family therapy”, regularly belittling my younger sister and calling her names (for the crime of being, like, twelve and uncomfortable/stressed) when she attended sessions, and just straight up insulting me (calling me “lazy” etc) for things that are common signs of neurodivergency. It’s to a point that everyone I’ve discussed my therapy experiences with has been utterly appalled.

My father still attends monthly therapy with her—though he admits it’s primarily to vent—but the things he occasionally passes along are…concerning, to say the least. (She’s speculated that I’m autistic despite not having seen me for years—which, while almost certainly correct, raises some questions about why this never came up while I was actively her patient—and implied that my mother is feigning suicidality despite not having seen HER for years…) I feel pretty weird not saying anything, all things considered, and tbh my dad has no interest in changing therapists l, so I’ve been contemplating leaving some sort of review somewhere in hopes of saving someone else the stress.

But on the other hand…it’s been a LONG time since my last appointment, and I’m going entirely off of memories and second-hand info. If I’m remembering things wrong, or misinterpreting second-hand information, or even if my therapist has just changed her methods, it could potentially cause problems, right? So I’m kind of torn about it.

What are these acronyms?

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia

I hope this question isn't too personal and please don't answer if it is. You have mentioned getting help for your adhd with medication. What medication has helped you or made the biggest difference?

I was diagnosed with adhd a year ago and was put on Elvanse but it hasn't helped and just makes me incredibly anxious and unable to focus.

I'm trying to research what other medication I could try but my doctor isn't being very helpful because according to them "adhd isn't a disability".

I'd love to be able to get some reprieve from this condition, it's destroying my life, so if you're willing to share info on what's helped you it would be hugely appreciated.

Thank you

Hiya anon,

(Medical chat and thoughts under the Read More and as I'm not a doctor and have no idea what I'm doing or talking about, I'm putting the rest under a thingo).

Unfortunately, while meds helped me work a bit better (although you know, I'm burnt out, and I'm writing the least I've written since I started writing, so actually I'm not sure that starting 'too many stories at the same time' is actually 'a bit better' than how it was before), mostly ADHD does run rampant over my life. I can't work conventional work hours, I forget important things, I have massive issues with executive dysfunction, and I zone in and out of conversations more often than I'd like.

I take Vyvanse, which - sounding from what you're taking - is probably the same thing. *googles quickly* Yep, it is.

ADHD meds are hard. It's definitely worth trying different ones, if you can, as well as different dosages (for example, a higher dose of Elvanse might work better for you, a lower dose might). There's also quick acting / fast release ADHD meds. And there's atypical meds like Atomoxetine (also known as Strattera) which some people find really good fortune with.

Finally, if you have no luck with any ADHD meds, it might be important to do a differential diagnosis with other conditions that might mimic ADHD symptoms (of which there are many mental illnesses that do this), because in those cases, you may find that the medication treatments for them help you WAY more.

Recently someone I know who has been on lithium all her life found out she was massively misdiagnosed, and actually had something else. Lithium doesn't suit almost any other condition, except for what she was diagnosed with, which explains why she never improved at all on it and actually got worse. She thought there was something wrong with her, the reality was that there was something wrong with her diagnosis. I'm not saying this is the case with you! BUT, when none of the meds work, and they all give you the opposite of what they're supposed to be doing, it is definitely worth chasing up other diagnoses. If you go to get an ADHD assessment, often those people don't look at the other potential culprits for the same symptoms, esp if they're ADHD specialists. (This is the same for just about any mental health or disorder - sometimes if you get a hammer than can only hit ADHD nails, it's going to miss the other nails.)

But yeah, it's very likely not the case for you anon, but after this other person's experience, I'd feel remiss if I don't point out that if - after a long time of trying / exhausting med options - you find you have no joy, sometimes it's because you're in the wrong 'family' of meds for what you have going on.

(I am not a doctor, just relating anecdotal stuff.)

I don't know if you'll have more luck asking your doc for specific meds. Unfortunately in Australia, ADHD is also not considered a disability, despite the fact that it is clearly disabling for hundreds of thousands of people here. I'm really sorry you're having to deal with those attitudes too, anon.

And finally, no ADHD med is perfect. It might help some things, and hinder others. But it definitely shouldn't be making things worse. It might be worth taking a bit of a holiday from the meds (if your doctor / therapist agrees) and mood tracking for a while before starting back on them, to see how bad of a difference it is.

There are unfortunately not a ton of meds specifically for ADHD. Most are variations of a similar kind of med (stimulants), and everyone has different experiences based off their chemical make-up and what they need. My sister gets really intense emotional blunting on Vyvanse, I get more emotional. We're related, and we still have pretty big differences with med responses on the same meds.

I wish I could be more help! My own life is a complete mess for the most part, I wouldn't say I'm someone who has this all figured out at all. I should be on a higher dose, but unfortunately I have other health stuff going on which means I can't be, so I'm just going to have to put up with a fair amount of disabling ADHD forever.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi cas, now I'm gonna rant a bit because there's no one I can talk to rn. I'm already gonna say sorry because it's currently 2 am and English is not my main language.

I have so many problems and things to figure out rn, but idk how. First, the biggest thing, I want to see a psychologist so bad, but idk how to tell my parents. They are really not in a good phase, one of my brother barely talks with them, they're not very happy as a couple and they're constantly so tired bc of their work. I need to talk to someone who can actually help me, and not just giving me shit advices, like my friends telling me to try to change "my point of view".

I also think that I may have ADHD, because I made some research and I and I find myself in many of the symptoms. Obviously only online quizzes and random sites are not very accurate, so here why I want to see a phycologist.

Then I have a lot of anxiety and pressure from everyone, because I always was "a perfect daughter" and now they all expect no less from me, but I can't keep up with it. I hate how now everything I do is taken as normal, what "she does normally". Like today I received two grades, a 10- and a 9½, but when I told my mom she didn't say anything, and when I asked her if she was happy of my results, she said "yeah, it's your usual, maybe next time try to reach a full 10". Like,,, ma'am? I don't have a motherfucking lower grade than 8-. Eight minus. Everyone in my class has taken an insufficiency excpet me! Because I don't want to fail as a daughter and student.

And then every time I do anything slightly wrong, it seems like I do nothing all day. Like,, excuse if with my period cramps I didn't clean the stairs and forgot to do my homework, but ladies and gentlemen, I am in pure pain. Sorry if I didn't clean my room, but between trying to keep up with your expectations and not having a mental breakdown I don't have energy. Sorry if I keep eating without timetables, but my stupid brain want to kinda starve myself until I'm about to breakdown and start eating as comfort.

And next my motherfucking sexuality, I'm lesbian, and out to 2 person, both of my age. But idk how my friends (especially my best friends), my parents and my relatives are gonna react, because I'm motherfucking 13, I don't want to lose my relationship with all of them. Idk how to tell people, bc I don't open up so much with people, and surely not abt this. I accept myself so much, but I'm scared of what the people I love will say, because if I don't know you, then I don't give a shit abt what your homophobic brain thinks, but if like my mom tells me that I'm a disgrace and that being lesbian is a sin, idk how I'm gonna recover.

Oh, and next my religion. I live in a Catholic country, literally everyone here is catholic, especially my grandma. I figured out that in fact I'm very much not catholic, I'm probably atheist. But if Ik that my parent are probably not gonna give a shit abt it, my grandma and some more relatives are gonna be so angry w me. Like rn my grandma lives with us, because she broke her leg, and if I tell her, she's gonna make a motherfucking catholic speech everyday.

Sorry for the rant but I needed it. I also gonna have a shitful night because of the headache I have rn, and I didn't help it by writing all this. Thanks <3

Hi!

That sounds like a LOT to be dealing with, I'm so sorry. I hope you know you're allowed to vent to me any time <3

As far as going to a therapist, is there an acceptable reason to go to a therapist where you're from? Like I know you said your parents might not want you to go for the reasons you're describing but what if you lie? Like just to get them to take you to one. Because once you go, it's not like they'll know what you talk about, right?

I'm sending you love and I hope things get better.

Naming you evermore anon!

[funnierasafictive]

hi, this is the only place i feel like i can talk to about this even though i just discovered it, but i think i have DID, or some similar disorder. the majority of my alters, from what i know of them, are fictives. i've talked to my mom about this, which she does think is a possibility, but she still doesn't really know what's wrong with me. i tried to talk to my therapist as well, but she doubts i have it (i am a minor, and i feel like it's harder to tell if someone has a disorder when they're young. i got diagnosed with combined ADHD last year.) and we did watch a video about DID together, but i ended up having a breakdown around the middle of it (can't remember why). i'm so sorry for wasting your time.

Hello, Anon. I am sorry we have not gotten back to you. You were never wasting our time.

After reading all this, and understanding this ask is from September 8, I only hope that you are well.

I remember when we first found out about being a system. We were 16, and thought we just never grew out of having imaginary friends. We did not even know that DID existed! Haha.

I hope you have found some answers. If not, it is alright not to know. When it comes to systems, a lot of the time we do not know about it at first (especially if trauma is involved) because our mind wants to keep us safe.

We went through a similar thing; our doctor/s did not believe we had DID when we were a child, when we started bringing up the medical term for the disordered bits (Dissociative Identity Disorder). It took around maybe 4 years to finally get recognized as having it, and it funny enough took seeing a completely new doctor for ADHD. Long story.

For your last paragraph, there is indeed a pattern where when suddenly being given information about DID, the person tends to have a breakdown.

I remember when we talked about being a system to someone we were making friends with. On the same day of meeting them, they had a mental breakdown later in the conversation because they realized all the symptoms we talked about fit them. (Insert "discussion reminding people not to randomly tell an oblivious possible-system that they are a system. It will shock them and it is unhealthy." here.)

It is usually a shock for systems coming to terms with possibly having alters. Usually it is because their system did not want to reveal themselves yet, or it is simply just because your brain no longer feels safe. When systems have breakdowns during their system discovery, it is usually in response to how.. DID is your brain's coping mechanism, and the symptoms were meant to hide itself from you (or the host at the time), not just the world. Of course your brain feels wracked, exposed, scared.

System, or not, I hope you have found some coping mechanisms to deal with your symptoms in the present. We can never say if someone is a system--not because of some rule, but because we can not say for sure-- but what matters is you take care of yourself no matter what. Doing the research and exploring yourself is fine; just be safe.

[pain-is-too-tired]

Am I the only one who's kinda getting bored of the "haha Percy is blonde like Will, the you're not my type scene is gonna be so funny" or whatever?

Specifically because Walker looks nothing like how I imagine Will?

Like yeah, he's blonde. But not the blonde I see for Will? It's a darker tone. Plus He does not have lanky cat stretched out in sun vibes sorry y'all

That, and Nico never specified he meant looks when he said Percy wasn't his type.

Cause if we compare Will and Percy they're different in a lot of ways.

Will's a healer, Percy's a fighter.

Will is described as laid back and appearing a lot more harmless then he really is. Why Percy is constantly being described as frightening and even godlike. He's a whole storm why Will's a cat stretched out in the sun.

Both are stubborn,but Will is a lot better holding in his more extreme emotions. It takes a lot more for him to be loud when going back and forth with someone. He can sound annoyed but he hardly ever sounds angry.

That and Will can calm down others like Clarisse, why Percy ends up matching them in attitude at some point.

Like I said, Percy's a fighter which often leads to impatience as usually in a fight its so quickly placed. You have to strike first before your enemy gets you. His adhd is a lot more hyperactive.

Will on the other hand has to balance patience and speed. Rushing can be dangerous, but you also can't be too slow or else chances of your patient dieing grows. It applies to how he interacts with others too.

And I honestly think that might be why Nico clicked more to Will. Will just has more patience to get through to him. He gets upset but he keeps his cool. Literally,iirc, they were in LITERAL HELL before they had their first true out right fight.

Idk why it urks me so much now. It was funny at first but it feels it's been beaten to the ground.

I think a lot it is also I feel Will is way too often chopped down to Nico's "hot therapist boyfriend". That y'all literally think of Percy was blonde that's all was needed to be Nico's type again. Like that's all that makes Will his type.

Heck, think about the fact Percy hardly ever defenseless. If he doesn't have his sword he has his powers.

Nico's thoughts on Will why he was literally going on about him in boo is that despite his harmless figure. Despite being a healer and not a fighter. Will rushes in to battle, even volunteering to scout on a enemy right after DELEVERING A BABY AT 14.

I think Nico found Will a lot more welcoming because Percy is just too much like him in some ways.

Sure, they can outsmart opponents, they're not dumb or completely dependent on their weapons and abilities. But without them they're a bit more unsure of their next moves. We see that Nico,despite being on the verge of dieing, still instinctively relies on his abilities. Though we don't see a similar case with Percy, his abilities is what makes him great enough to go toe to toe with literally gods. Nico's connect to death related abilities radiating from him was enough to scare back monsters.

Both need someone who isn't as use to being able to depend on weapons or godly powers strong enough to topple armies. They need someone to keep them grounded.

It's why Will and Annabeth click so well with their respective boyfriends. Annabeth constantly coming up with plans, she has only really her wits and a small blade to get her the upper hand. AND SHE DOES SO. I'm sure if Percy was in a situation where he couldn't use any of his abilities and either without his sword or couldn't depend on it as well, she would easily think of a plan and keep him from over doing it.

Will,like Annabeth, doesn't have the same powerful aura that his boyfriend does that keeps others literally backing away.

But he still managed to walk past Gemini without being stopped. I refuse to believe that he can't handle himself in battle like TSATS tried to say.

Anyway, really excited to see baby Will in the show in a few years fhdh

[dailyrandomwriter]

Day 684

One of the banes and boons of having ADHD is not being able to compartmentalize stuff. When people often talk about ADHD, they talk about distractibility, but when they talk about distractibility it’s often about seeing something and then forgetting what you’re doing. Which can be a type of distractibility (such as seeing a squirrel run past you), but it’s not the only type of distractibility.

When I work, if someone comes to me with a problem, even if it’s outside my scope of work, unless I’m really, really stressed (and even then) I will take time out to help with that problem. A lot of my co-workers take that as me being very helpful, and while I do like being helpful, a large part of it is that I can’t leave things well enough alone. More often than not, I cannot compartmentalize what I see to say… I’ll either do it later, or it’s not my job.

Especially if it’s something I know, I can do, or I can find. 

It’s very strange, because it makes me great at my job. I know a lot of things as a result and I’m not afraid to go hunting, but it does eat into my time, but for the most part, I don’t mind.

And yet, I kind of wished I didn’t go digging today.

I book for an Autism assessment team, and a caseworker came to me with an information release form, trying to find out how her client fell through the cracks. Her client, who is now a teenager, had so many red flags as a child, she was trying to figure out why this person was never assessed.

The short answer had to do with where funding came from. Despite the fact the organization I work for has all sorts of programs for children, and has an internal referring process to allow for ease of access of services, the ASD assessment team was not one of those services. Part of the funding actually comes from our universal health care, which means that to see the team, a doctor has to be the one to refer, we cannot refer internally.

And that, should have been that.

But as I was requesting documents from our information department to pass along to the caseworker, I had thought. The caseworker had mentioned the doctor didn’t think autism was involved and hadn’t wanted to refer the client to the team, but when they were little they had a lot of red flags. So I wondered, did anyone from our end, write a letter of support advocating for an assessment. 

It really was a moot point after all these years, but curiosity compelled me and I asked, was there a letter of support in the file.

There was a letter, but it wasn’t to the assessment team, but to a different organization all together. And that confused me, until I saw the letterhead, which had a very old work logo, and then I looked at the year.

And then, against my better judgment, I did a quick Google search. 

The answer, which I wish I didn’t look for, was that this client didn’t get referred… because of timing and chance. As it turned out, that letter was written at least a week before my government announced the program that would give funding to assess children for autism, and the team was created a few months after that announcement. 

There was no assessment team back then, and because of the… often short notice that the government tends to give organizations like the one I work for, notice to get everything in order means that the therapist who wrote that probably had no idea this was going to be a thing we could do in the future. 

In fact, I have been with this team from the start and I remember we had to rustle up some names for the first month or so because it was so last notice for us to get going, we almost didn’t meet our numbers back then.

It’s a very bitter feeling to not only realize this was probably a situation of poor dumb luck, but to also remember the team didn’t always exist. That less than a decade ago, there were no hubs of assessment teams like the one I work for. 

[smolcrispy]

No one responded to my update so I will put it in a new post so hopefully I can get advice and thoughts since I really really need advice and thoughts from the plural community.

So, with my 'Alternate Versions of Myself' on my mind and after speaking to all of you with your thoughts. (Like the possibility I am a median system) I decided to speak to my therapist about this.

It was really hard for me to start the conversation and I had to write it down since I was too nervous and insecure to put it into words outloud. After she read it, I spoke to her about everything you all have said and my own personal thoughts. She seemed pretty endo-neutral (since she believes there isn't enough research to prove or disprove that other systems exist. Though, she does believe that everyone is a mix of parts and that some people will have different mixes in their brain than others.) but saw my own hesitance at labeling myself a system.

So, she said that she thinks it is most likely my undiagnosed ADHD that is causing the 'Alternate Versions of Myself" with random spikes of hyperfixations and such that might be just temporarily jumbling up my sense of identity. It doesn't explain why I use different pronouns during these times with no gender dysphoria when it is normally iffy about different pronouns but it does sound plausible to me. She says I should keep her up to date about how this continues since I recently started ADHD medications and to see whether or not this affects my 'Alternate Versions of Myself'.

What are all of your thoughts on this? Do you think she is right about this possibility or do you think I am being led astray? I really need advice and would really appreciate any!

[candyrain-collective]

what does not having amnesia feel like for u? can u remember the last days and weeks and months? also what was it like realizing u were a system vs these parts not just being personas or normal personality/identity variation? do u have any tips on bringing it up to a therapist without explicitly saying system/osdd/did?

going to split this answer into three parts since i'd like to go more in depth on all of them!

i don't have amnesia between *parts*, which means that i can remember what other members of my system did whenever they were fronting. like, say, if jane was fronting, and jane did some studying while she was fronting, when i front again i can remember the stuff that she studied and what she did besides that. however, i do have general amnesia, such as not being able to remember what happened a couple days ago or weeks ago or months ago. i can get broad strokes if i try really hard, but my memory is pretty shit in general. i don't know if that's a cdd thing or just my adhd, though. i also can't remember much if anything at all about longer periods of time in the past, such as large chunks of my childhood. i dont know if that's strictly a did thing or if that can happen in osdd as well, and i honestly don't care about the distinction too much, but that's just how i experience amnesia.

2. i actually had to get external help with realizing that i was a system, because at the time my symptoms first started, i was barely aware of what did actually is. it wasn't until months after i first started hearing voices/switching occasionally that i mentioned i had voices to a friend with osdd, and they were like. um. that's not normal. i had to do a lot more research into the disorder in order to figure out that was what was going on with me, and even afterwards i had a lot of self-doubt, because it was difficult for me to differentiate between personality shifts and actual switches (i later learned that most people do not have personality shifts at all, which. shocker. that's a sign).

3. the way i brought it up to my therapist was pretty much listing all the external symptoms that i had regarding dissociation and separate parts, using language such as but not limited to:

"sometimes i feel far away or like i am in the passenger seat of the brain, watching someone else pilot my body"

"sometimes it feels like my emotions have names or genders"

"sometimes i spontaneously stop feeling attached to identifying signifiers, like my name, personal style, or key traits"

"sometimes i don't feel human or like i am the age that i am"

"sometimes, my strong feelings are interrupted with sudden clarity, and i am apathetic to what i was upset/euphoric over."

"some days, i am significantly better at some tasks or skills than other days without a clear reason why."

i would not advise opening with hearing voices in your head, because that is a symptom that can easily be attributed to psychotic symptoms or another disorder like schizophrenia. if you feel that is an important thing to mention, mention it sometime after you mention the dissociation and the bodily disconnect.

the main symptom you have to look out for in yourself is absolutely dissociation. notice when you're feeling like your body isn't real, or that you're drifting away from reality, or that there is a barrier between you and the outside world. these are all indicators of dissociation. write down what you notice in yourself and describe it as clearly as you can.

i hope all of these answers help, and i wish you the best, anon.

[spencer-reids-adventures]

if and when you have the time and brain space I would love to see your take on emily trying to get an adhd diagnosis (preferably with jemily or just gen! bonus if reid can help her out a little)

Spencer shows up at Emily’s house to pick her up for a film festival, and she answers the door half dressed, eyes wide and frantic. Spencer can see into the living room, where here TV is on, the laptop is open on the coffee table, and two books and a kindle are laid out on the couch.

“I’m so sorry,” Emily groans. “I thought I had more time, and then I forgot where I put the shirt I wanted to wear, and then I got distracted by this video of a guy cleaning a really gross carpet, and—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer says calmly. “Even if we miss the first film, we can just catch the next one. That’s why it’s a film festival. No worries.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Emily mutters as she stalks back to her bedroom to finish getting dressed. “I can’t ever seem to get my shit together.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Spencer says. “Has it always been this way for you?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ve always been, you know…flaky.” She grimaces when she says the word, as though it tastes bad in her mouth. 

Spencer frowns. “Have you ever been tested for ADHD?”

Emily freezes with her sweater half on and stares at Spencer.

“Of course not,” she scoffs. “I did great in school, despite everything.”

“That doesn’t mean much. You could still have it. It would explain a lot.”

“I don’t need to make excuses for my behavior, Spence. I’m flaky, that’s just how I am. I’ll probably always be like this. I just have to deal with that.”

“Do you have a therapist?” 

“Yes.”

“Consider bringing it up to them,” Spencer says. “Just consider it. Okay?”

They eventually make it to the film festival, and Emily puts it out of her mind…until later that night, when it pops back into her consciousness. And despite her reluctance, she follows Spencer’s advice. She considers it.

A week later, she brings it up to her therapist and he agrees to do a screening with her. Before she knows it, she’s being referred to an outside clinic for ADHD testing.

She feels silly walking into the building. She’s a grown woman, not a hyperactive 10-year-old boy. If there is something wrong with her, it should have been caught earlier, when she was a child. She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t need this. She should leave—

There’s a chirp from her pocket and she pulls out her phone to check her texts. There’s one waiting, from Spencer.

Hope everything goes well today. I’m proud of you.

She sighs, puts the phone back into her pocket, and decides not to leave.

A few days later, she meets with someone at the clinic for a follow-up appointment where they tell her that they are, in fact, diagnosing her with ADHD. The clinician talks about what that means, and her next steps, and asks if she has any questions, but all Emily can do is try not to cry.

All of those things she’s struggled with, all the missed appointments, the lack of focus, being late all the time, all the shame and frustration and anger and disappointment…

How does she reconcile the fact that it wasn’t actually her fault? How is she supposed to accept that maybe she’s not a monster, a terrible person, a bad partner? Her whole paradigm has been shifted, and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.

She shows up on Spencer’s doorstep that night with a bottle of wine and tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Come in,” Spencer says immediately, as if he’d been expecting her. He walks her to the couch and gets her settled with a soft blanket and a box of tissues. He pours her a glass of wine and then snuggles up next to her on the couch with a glass of orange juice and his own soft blanket. 

“Sorry,” Emily mutters.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Spencer promises. “Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather not think about it right now?”

Emily shrugs. “It’s just so much,” she says. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I’m here for whatever you need, Em. But I need you to know that it’s going to be okay. I know it feels like a lot has changed, but you’re still you. And now you can get the help you’ve always needed. You know?”

“I know,” Emily whispers. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I An Asshole for Hating How My Sister Says "I Love You"?

My sister and I are very different people. She is outgoing and extroverted and social, I am quiet and introverted and honestly have a ton of trouble with social interactions.

My sister has ADHD, but she does not take any medications for it because of legitimate medical reasons. Because of ADHD and some other actions she does, I highly suspect that she struggles with RSD (Rejection Sensitive Disorder). She has not been diagnosed with that specific symptom, but she also doesn't go to any kind of therapist that COULD diagnose her with it. I just made a note of it in my mind so I can try to understand her actions and be empathetic.

However, there is one action she does that drives me up the wall and it's the way she says "I love you".

She will say "I love you" and I will, of course, respond back "I love you, too". Because I do! She is my sister. She is great and I couldn't ask for a better sister! But then she will follow it up with "You Promise?" And I will say "Yes".

Except, if my tone isn't EXACTLY perfect, it turns into a cycle of "are you sure?" Or"you didn't sound like you meant it" or "why did you say it like that" and the whole thing can last for like 10 minutes. It will turn into a whole analysis of my tone.

And I don't understand tones. I don't think I'm autistic, but tones really stump me. I miss sarcasm a lot, for one. And I'm a pretty monotone person. I feel like all of my tones sound the same? I'm certainly not very emotive. So I have no clue what she is talking about most of the time when she says "it didn't sound like I meant it".

Anyways, the conversation that follows "I love you" always irritates me or makes me feel bad. It irritates me because it is a continuous thing, happens almost EVERY TIME she says "I love you", and she is an incredibly loving person. We have this conversation two or three times a day. But it is exhausting to need to try to convince her that I love her every single time. And it makes me feel bad because it's like she just CAN'T believe that I love her. Like me expressing that I love her just isn't GOOD enough. It doesn't matter all the times I try to say I love her, it's just not good enough for her.

And when I have brought this up to her, she just starts sobbing and saying "I just like to hear you say it" over and over. And by that, I mean she just repeats that specific phrase over and over, she doesn't make any kind of comment on what I am actually trying to express to her. She just shakes her head and cries and says "I just like to hear you say it". Even when I try to calmly explain that it's hurting ME. It feels like she doesn't care how the conversation affects my self-esteem, only how it affects her self-esteem.

And I'm trying to be understanding, but am I the asshole for being irritated and hurt by this behavior? Should I be more understanding of her? Am I being overly judgemental?

What are these acronyms?

[brehaaorgana]

HEY Y'ALL IF YOU'VE EVER BEEN TOLD YOUR VOICE IS TOO QUIET OR YOU MUMBLE TOO MUCH, AND SO YOU'VE BEEN STRAINING YOUR VOICE TO BE LOUDER AND THIS HURTS YOUR THROAT, I WOULD LIKE YOU TO KNOW THERE'S A REASON WHY AND IT'S THAT YOU NEED TO BREATHE BETTER.

I just saw some random video clip of some girl saying she's used to her scratchy "projection" voice now because she was always scolded in school for not speaking up.

Having a quieter resting voice doesn't mean you can only project to be louder by straining your voice! And it doesn't mean you can only shout or whisper and nothing else.

And while I don't think anyone should like, belittle children for being quieter, if you have the ability to speak, then it's nice to be loud enough to actually be heard and to communicate with people better. Especially because not everyone you meet will be able to hear you if you are extremely quiet.

(Like personally, I have ADHD, and with that, sometimes I have auditory processing issues. My ability to hear volume is just fine! And I've never had any problem understanding people with a wide variety of accents in English! What I struggle with the most is when someone is very quiet or mumbly.)

If you feel like your speaking voice is a whisper because everything else is straining your voice, it's probably because you're projecting from the wrong place. I mean, look, I'm not a speech therapist. I am not an expert. My expertise is the deeply unscientific "loud cultures" and "former drama kid" type.

If you want to adjust your speaking volume:

Sit up. Place your hand over your stomach and below your ribs. Bellybutton area and slightly above. Observe what happens.

Inhale. Exhale. Notice whatever you did.

Okay good. Now: Inhale and make sure your stomach is expanding out as your lungs fill downwards, then out. Exhale — letting the expanded air leave, and your stomach fall.

Got it? You need to FEEL your diaphragm moving. Outwards inhale, inwards exhale. This is where all your volume comes from. You have to breathe correctly FIRST. Step one is just "breathe correctly."

Now, yelling from your throat/vocal cords will HURT because you are straining the wrong muscles to be loud. (Not scientific terms here). The loud muscle is your diaphragm. This is volume control. You don't actually have to talk loudly to practice this. You can just breathe in, then exhale as a "ha" movement. You don't need to add vocals, just exhale in the...shape of "ha." It will sound funny, but you can modulate how much air you're pushing out for quieter or louder exhales.

Then you can practice speaking slightly louder, which is also different from projected public speaking. You can add vocal sounds and say "hey!" Or "ha!" At different amounts of exhale. You feel this all in your stomach/chest ("say it from your chest"!) and NOT your throat or the back of your mouth/tonsils which will HURT. Don't tighten your throat. Relax your throat!! The diaphragm does the volume. Relax your mouth.

Don't end up in pain trying to be audible!!!!! You're not using half of the thing that makes up your voice, which is BREATHING and air control with your diaphragm!!! That's why it hurts!! Use your vocal chords AND diaphragm!!!