#(did not help that the ocd brain started braining on the way)

[monicfever]

how do u think ben poindexter would act as a partner of a reader with mental problems? (it can be any type, depression, bpd, ocd) Do you think the relationship would be too chaotic considering that normally the reader is his "anchor" and not the other way around?

ben poindexter with a partner who struggles with mental health. 𝜗𝜚 headcanon’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

includes ᝰ .ᐟ depressed!reader ,, anxiety!reader ,, anger issues!reader ,, ocd!reader ,, bpd!reader ,, bipolar!reader ,, psychopathic!reader ,, did!reader ,, adhd!reader

⏜︵ DEPRESSION . 𐂯

at first, he doesn't get it — but he feels it.

dex is someone who thrives on structure, discipline, and clarity. depression doesn’t fit into that mold, so at first he might react with frustration or confusion. he won’t understand why you can’t get out of bed or respond to messages, but he feels something’s wrong — and it stirs this deep, primal panic in him. he doesn’t like things he can’t fix.

hypervigilance kicks in hard. he starts watching you closely. if you’re sleeping more, eating less, avoiding eye contact — he notices every shift. it’s not even intentional at first, his brain is just wired that way. but eventually it becomes obsessive. he might track your routine without realizing it's intrusive. he just wants to understand how to help.

he becomes weirdly tender. ben is used to people leaving. the thought of losing you, especially when you're already emotionally distant, triggers all his abandonment issues. so suddenly he's doing small things — cleaning the apartment, bringing you your favourite things, sitting silently beside you.

he’s not great at boundaries. if you're pushing him away during depressive episodes he doesn’t always respect that space. he thinks “giving up” is betrayal — because that’s what was done to him, so he’ll push back. he might force interaction ("you need to eat something") thinking he’s helping, when really he’s not reading the room.

the guilt eats him alive. when he does snap (because let’s be real, he’s not emotionally consistent), he regrets it almost instantly. he’s not emotionally equipped to handle the weight of his trauma plus yours, and that makes him feel like a failure. it cycles into self-hatred: why can't I be what they need?

quiet protector mode. he becomes obsessed with shielding you from things that could “make it worse.” he’ll walk on eggshells around you when he thinks you’re fragile. if someone at work talks badly about you? they’re getting a very polite, very terrifying conversation in a back alley. he might not say "i love you" often but he'll absolutely threaten your ex behind the scenes.

tries to become your "routine." his brain thrives on predictability, so he tries to be yours. he brings coffee at the same time. texts you reminders. suggests daily walks, just five minutes. he’s not always gentle, but he’s steady in his own way.

there are days you can’t shower, can’t talk, can’t stop crying. you half expect him to walk out, slam the door, say this is too much. but he doesn’t. he sits on the floor beside the bed, back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling. you’re not a burden, he says once, so quietly you almost miss it.

he’s not the best at emotional language. he fumbles with words like “hope” or “healing.” but he’ll run a thumb over your knuckles when your hands are shaking. he’ll wrap you in his jacket when you won’t stop shivering. sometimes, when he’s sure you're asleep, he’ll whisper things like i need you to stay.

he takes your symptoms personally sometimes. he’s not perfect. if you ignore his texts, cancel plans too many times, part of him spirals — they don’t want me anymore. it’s not fair, but it’s real. he needs reassurance almost as badly as you do. when you’re both struggling at once, it can get stormy fast.

he doesn’t try to fix you. not once does he say just be happy. instead, he asks what do you need right now? even if the answer is nothing. even if it’s silence. he stops trying to “cure” your sadness and starts just existing with it. with you.

would it be chaotic? yes. very. especially if you’re the one who usually grounds him. the imbalance can create friction, confusion, emotional dysregulation on both sides. but dex craves connection, even when he’s awful at it. if anything your depression might force him to slow down, listen, and care in a way he’s never had to before.

⏜︵ ANXIETY. 𐂯

he doesn’t flinch at panic.

your hands start to shake. your breath shortens. maybe your chest is tight, and your brain's telling you the world is about to end. ben doesn’t panic with you. he doesn’t say calm down. he just kneels in front of you, steady eyes, quiet voice. you’re okay. i’ve got you.

he becomes your external voice of reason. doesn’t dismiss your spirals — but he challenges them. no, they’re not mad at you. you didn’t mess it up. you’re not a failure. he says it like it’s fact, because in his eyes, it is. when your brain lies to you, he’s the wall it can’t push through.

he knows routine calms you. he sticks to rituals. texting you good morning. calling at the same time every night. keeping your favourite tea stocked. it’s not that he’s overly romantic — he just understands that consistency is comfort. he’ll give you that stability with military precision.

crowds? overstimulation? he handles it.

big, chaotic spaces stress you out? he’ll put himself between you and the crowd without you asking. hand on your back. eyes scanning constantly. it’s second nature to him. he doesn’t just keep you safe — he makes you feel safe.

sometimes he forgets how intense he can seem. his tone gets sharp. his jaw clenches when he’s trying to be patient. sometimes that accidentally triggers your anxiety. when it happens, he pulls back fast.

he talks you down with brutal honesty. if you're catastrophizing, he'll look you dead in the eye and say, that's not going to happen. not to be dismissive — but because he needs you to feel grounded. sometimes it works. sometimes it doesn’t. but you always believe that he believes it.

he memorizes your cues. fidgeting, pacing, biting your nails, avoiding eye contact — he notices all of it. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but if he sees you spiraling, he’ll distract you fast. a question. a joke. a hand on your thigh. anything to stop the freefall.

your emotions don’t scare him. not when they’re loud, messy or irrational. he’s lived with his own intensity his whole life — he understands what it’s like to feel too much, too fast.

you apologize for everything. for “ruining” things. for “needing too much.” it hits him hard every time. don’t say that, he says, voice tight.

grounding you becomes instinct. he doesn’t even think about it anymore. when you're shaking, he grabs your hand. when you start zoning out, he says your name. when you forget how to breathe, he mirrors his breath with yours. it’s like muscle memory — his way of pulling you back to earth.

⏜︵ OCD. 𐂯

he recognizes it instantly.

before you even tell him, he knows. the checking, the tapping, the washing, the mental loops — it’s all painfully familiar. he doesn’t look at you like you’re weird. he looks at you like, shit. you too?

when you confess your rituals — the embarrassing ones, the intrusive thoughts. you expect disgust. or at least confusion. instead, he just nods.

sometimes your compulsions trigger his and vice versa. you need things clean, he needs things exactly placed. you wash your hands too much, he lines up the soap bottles by size. one of you starts, and the other spirals. it can get tense. sometimes you end up snapping at each other.

he doesn’t try to fix you but he does monitor you. he clocks every behavior shift. every time you do a compulsion more than usual. he won’t call you out right away, but later, when you’re both quiet, he’ll say i noticed you checked the lock nine times instead of five. not judgmental — just observant. it’s his way of keeping you safe. of loving you in his own controlled way.

you share intrusive thoughts. sometimes, in the dark, you tell him the things your brain says. the violent flashes. the terrifying urges. things you’ve never told anyone because you thought they made you dangerous. but ben? just says, i have them too.

hyperfixation nights. you both get caught in loops, cleaning, organizing, researching some obscure fact for hours. sometimes you’re side by side on the floor at 2am, surrounded by half-sorted junk, too deep in it to stop. you don’t talk. you don’t have to. there’s a strange comfort in the mutual obsession.

he’s gentle with your rituals — to a point. he’ll flip the light switch six times if it calms you. he’ll check the stove, touch the doorknob, run through the “safety” list with you before bed.

meltdown territory is dangerous. if you’re both overwhelmed at the same time it can get bad. yelling. pacing. doors slammed. not because you’re mad at each other, but because your brains are both screaming for control.

you yell. over nothing. over a shirt being out of place, over a phrase that felt “wrong,” over rituals that weren’t “done right.” he yells back. both of you so desperate to maintain control in the only space you feel safe.

when you spiral, he mirrors — and it kills him. you start pacing. your brain floods. he feels it like static under his skin. he doesn’t know how to help, so he does what he knows: control. “you need to sit down.” / “do the thing again, it’ll feel better.”

sometimes he feeds into the loop without meaning to — trying to soothe you, even when it reinforces the compulsion.

⏜︵ BPD. 𐂯

lovebombing is the default setting. he doesn’t fall in love slowly, neither do you. it’s intense. it’s fast. texting 24/7. staying up all night. he says things like i think i need you to breathe. you believe him. you build an entire future in your heads before the first fight even happens.

then — the splitting. he says something wrong. he looks at you weird. you don’t answer a message fast enough. suddenly, you hate him. he’s cold. distant. cruel. but at the same time? you’re sobbing. checking your phone. hoping he texts.

he's the same. one second: you're perfect. next: you're just like everyone else who left. it's a war. every day. between i can’t lose you and you’ve already destroyed me.

the abandonment fear rules everything. didn’t text back in 10 minutes? you spiral. he goes quiet for a day? you’re convinced he’s done with you. but when you pull away, even slightly? he’s showing up at your door, eyes bloodshot, voice shaking.

fights escalate fast. it starts small — a tone, a word. then suddenly you’re screaming. throwing things. saying things you don’t mean but feel in that moment. he yells back. sometimes punches walls. sometimes storms out. neither of you can stay gone.

impulsive affection. tattoos. gifts. kissing him mid-argument. climbing into his lap after saying you hated him. he matches it. hand gripping your jaw like he can’t decide whether to kiss you or strangle you.

you both need constant reassurance. “do you love me?” / “are you mad at me?” / “are you gonna leave?” he asks as much as you do. maybe more.

you trigger each other constantly. you both fear rejection. both fear being “too much.” sometimes you self-destruct first — just to beat him to it. he does the same thing. it’s exhausting.

the threat of leaving hangs over everything. “maybe you’d be better off without me.” / “i’m just gonna ruin you.” you both say it. neither of you go.

even when you’re halfway out the door. even when your bags are packed. something always pulls you back — a shaky voicemail. a familiar song. or just the unbearable silence that feels like dying.

the mood shifts are violent. he kisses your forehead and tells you you’re perfect — then suddenly he’s pacing, snapping, calling you clingy.

you both test each other all the time. ignoring texts just to see if he’ll double message, picking a fight just to feel close again. threatening to leave, not because you want to — but because you need him to say “don’t.” and he does the same. “go then.”

you spiral at the same time. when you’re upset, he’s upset. when he’s triggered, you are too. there’s no one to pull the other out — just two people drowning in each other’s panic. he says “why do you always do this?”you scream “why don’t you care enough?”

you call him cold. manipulative. broken. he tells you you’re crazy. too much. impossible. and then you’re both sobbing, curled up in the hallway, whispering “i didn’t mean it.”

jealousy is brutal. he looks at someone too long — you’re spiraling. you talk to someone else — he shuts down completely. neither of you know how to handle the fear of being replaced.

silence is a weapon — and a punishment. when he shuts down, it feels like abandonment. when you go quiet, it’s because you want him to beg you to stay. neither of you know how to ask for love directly, so you withhold it.

you destroy each other and then bandage the wounds.

⏜︵ BIPOLAR. 𐂯

he lives for your manic highs.

when you’re manic, you’re everything he craves — fast, fearless, chaotic, alive. you talk a mile a minute. you touch him constantly. you pull him into ideas, into danger, into motion. he’s addicted to it.

follows you everywhere like a shadow, wild-eyed, smiling like this is what love’s supposed to feel like. you make him feel chosen. he forgets you’re burning out until the crash hits.

the lows devastate him. when the mania fades, and you’re quiet, distant, numb — he doesn’t know what to do. he takes it personally even when he shouldn’t.

you stop laughing at his jokes, and he thinks they don’t love me anymore. you sleep all day, and he thinks i broke them. he doesn’t mean to make it about himself — he’s just scared. he’s never good at stillness.

starts tracking your patterns. notices when your speech speeds up, when you don’t sleep, when your ideas start getting bigger and riskier.

he notices when you go flat. start pulling away. lose your appetite. he won’t always say something, but he’s watching. when he does speak up, it’s never “are you okay?” it’s “you’re going fast again. is it time to slow down?”

sometimes you love him for it. sometimes you hate him for it. he always takes the blow.

when you're manic, he tries to keep up — but he gets lost in you. you start a hundred projects. rearrange furniture at 2am. plan road trips you’ll never take. he says yes to all of it. not because he agrees — because he wants to ride the wave with you. you’re radiant. unstoppable.

but deep down, he’s waiting for the moment it turns. and when it does, he breaks with you.

he struggles with your depression. doesn't understand how you go from lighting up a room to barely getting out of bed. he wants to help. he needs to help. but he doesn’t know how. brings coffee. puts on your favourite movie. sits at the edge of the bed and quietly says, “you were laughing last monday. i miss that.” it’s not a guilt trip. it’s a confession.

you spend too much money. say the wrong thing to the wrong person. disappear for hours without answering. it freaks him out. not because he doesn’t understand — because he does. he’s impulsive too. he’s self-destructive. he knows what it’s like to lose control. when you spiral it scares the hell out of him.

he loves your fire — but fears your collapse. when you’re loud, wild, electric — he worships it. when you’re low, unreachable, quiet — he feels helpless. the duality confuses him. hurts him.

he's bad at stability but he's loyal, he’ll never be the calm, steady type who knows exactly what to say. but he won’t leave. not when you cry. not when you break. he’ll stay in the mess. in the flatline.

the moment you start rising again? he’ll be the first one to hold your face and whisper, “there you are.”

sometimes your mania and his instability clash — hard. you’re too fast. he’s too reactive. you say something impulsive. he takes it as rejection. he lashes out. you spiral harder. fights get nuclear. you both say things you regret.

the manic episodes sometimes turns on both of you. he’s always in love with it at first. your energy is infectious. you’re glowing. talking fast, touching him constantly, laughing in that way that makes him feel like the only person alive. you pull him into impulsive ideas — road trips, tattoos, new furniture, wild sex, quitting your job. at first? he’s high on you.

but then you stop sleeping. you stop eating. you snap at him for “slowing you down.” you disappear for hours, come back wired and shaking. he tries to intervene — gently at first. “baby, you haven’t stopped in two days.”

you scream at him. accuse him of controlling you. “you’re scaring me.” he whispers, and you laugh. then the crash hits. you cry for hours, inconsolable, paranoid, terrified.

the depressive episode where you push him out. you haven’t moved from bed in two days. he brings you water. you don’t drink it. he tries to touch you — you flinch. your eyes are hollow. voice flat. you say things like “you should leave. i’m not good for you.” it rips him apart. you try to be cruel — not because you mean it, but because you want to test the bond. his hands shake. his voice cracks. he stays. sits on the floor by your bed. you fall asleep with your hand in his hair, barely holding on. he holds back twice as hard.

you try to leave during manic spirals. pack a bag in the middle of the night, tell him you’re going to “start over.” he panics. full-on panic mode. “don’t do this. you don’t know what you’re doing right now.” you’re wild-eyed, stubborn, glowing like fire. “i’m fine. i’ve never felt better.” he knows it’s not true — the fire is burning too hot. you’re not sleeping. not thinking straight. not safe. he tries to grab your hand and you rip away. “you’re trying to control me. you’re just like everyone else.” he lets you go. but not far. he tracks your location. texts every hour. waits for the moment you crash. hopes for it to be soon.

⏜︵ PSYCHOPATHIC. 𐂯

at first, ben doesn’t realize. he’s completely pulled in by your intensity, your control, the way you look at the world like you’ve already figured it out. he mistakes it for strength.

but slowly, the edges start to show. the way you fake empathy like it’s a language you learned, not something you feel. how you manipulate people with surgical precision just to see what happens. it both unnerves and fascinates him—like watching someone dissect a soul with a smile.

if you’re violent, it does something to him. he’s terrified and completely obsessed. you don’t lash out like him — you hurt people on purpose, with a clear head. you don’t spiral, you choose.

you’re not his anchor in the traditional sense. you don’t ground him — you pull him further. not with softness, but with gravity. you become his obsession, not his comfort. he craves your attention like it’s oxygen, even when he knows it might kill him.

arguments aren’t loud. they’re cold, calculated, full of psychological traps. you know how to cut deep without raising your voice. when he loses control, you don’t flinch. you just watch, and it drives him mad — because you’re not afraid of him, not moved by him. he needs to matter to you.

if you threatened to leave or humiliate him, he could absolutely snap. he might hurt you — not because he wants to, but because his emotions run so violently high he can’t stop them. when it’s over he’ll break down in front of you, begging, bleeding, apologizing like a child caught in a nightmare.

your lack of emotional response becomes addicting to him. you’re the only one who doesn’t recoil when he shows his worst. you don’t comfort him, but you don’t abandon him either. you stay. and in his mind, that’s love, even if it’s not.

if you manipulate him, he lets you. he wants so badly to be important to you that he’ll twist himself into whatever shape you want. kill for you. lie for you. destroy himself and everyone else if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that.

ben doesn’t know how to love in a healthy way, and you don’t love in the traditional sense at all — so what you have isn’t so much a relationship as it is a collision. you don’t comfort him, you study him. he mistakes that focus for affection.

when you compliment him, it’s rare — but when you do, it’s calculated. it hits him like a drug. he spirals, obsessed with earning another one. he starts doing things not because they’re right, but because he thinks it’ll make you look at him the way you did that one time.

you encourage the worst in him — not with words, but with your presence. you never tell him not to hurt someone. you just let him make that choice. and when he does, you don’t flinch. you clean the blood off his hands like it’s nothing. and he falls harder.

ben’s jealousy is absolutely feral when it comes to you. he knows you don’t feel attachment the same way he does, and it kills him. every interaction you have with someone else, no matter how meaningless, twists something deep in his chest. he wants to be your one exception — the one person who means something to you.

he constantly tries to pull real emotions out of you. he wants to see you feel something, anything for him. he pushes buttons, breaks things, starts fights — just to provoke some proof that he matters. and if you so much as raise your voice or look a little too long? he clings to that moment like it's sacred.

when he’s spiraling, you don’t try to calm him. you just watch. sometimes that makes him worse — there’s no comfort, no softness, just those cold eyes and that quiet mind. other times it grounds him. you don’t lie. you don’t pretend to care. you just are. and that’s more honest than anything he’s ever had.

he fantasizes about being the only one who truly gets you. the one person you’d kill for, spare for, stay for. he clings to any sign that he’s different to you — more than a pawn, more than a means to an end. he’s desperate to matter.

⏜︵ D.I.D. 𐂯

at first he’s confused. he’s never known anyone with did. he doesn’t understand how one body can hold more than one person, and it messes with his sense of control. he doesn’t like not knowing who he’s waking up next to — at least in the beginning.

but he’s also weirdly respectful. once he realizes the alters are real people, not just “parts,” he starts remembering names, patterns, even small preferences. he’ll write down what snacks each alter likes, what topics to avoid, what calms them down. he treats each one with a kind of soldier-level precision. like, “okay, this is your protocol. i’ve got it.”

he actually feels safer once he gets used to them. he’s so used to his mind being a minefield, and now he’s with someone who’s honest about the chaos. he likes that. he likes that nothing’s hidden, even if it’s messy. he doesn’t have to pretend to be normal around them, because they get it.

he totally has favourites but lies about it. he'll act like he doesn't, but the way he lights up when a certain alter fronts? obvious.

if you have them he's intensely protective of the littles. he doesn’t care how old the body is — if a young alter fronts, he’s instantly softer. he’ll crouch down, lower his voice, offer his jacket if they’re cold. if anyone dares to look at them weird in public, he goes full murder-eyes.

arguments can get intense. especially if an alter doesn’t trust him, or if someone fronts who isn’t aware of his darker side. there might be yelling, slamming doors, confusion. but ben hates leaving things unresolved. he’ll sit outside their door for hours, forehead pressed to the wood, talking through it.

sometimes he does spiral. especially if he thinks he’s hurting them. and that’s the part where it gets complicated — because they’re usually his anchor, his reason to stay human. and when he sees them struggling he doesn’t know how to help. he panics.

it becomes a give and take. sometimes he grounds them. sometimes they ground him.

you prank him sometimes. switch mid-convo and pretend you don't know who he is. act like it’s the first time you’re meeting. he falls for it once, never again. but he plays along anyway. “oh, hey, i’m ben. i kill people for the government. wanna get lunch?”

sometimes, after a bad day, he’ll crawl into bed, wrap himself around you, and whisper, “don’t care who you are right now. just need you. s’that okay?”

⏜︵ ANGER ISSUES. 𐂯

okay first of all, dex is into it. not in a weird fetish-y way, but he’s drawn to fire. always has been. so when you snap? raise your voice? throw something across the room because you feel too much and can’t hold it in? he doesn’t flinch. he relates.

sometimes it’s explosive. you scream, he screams back. neither of you back down. neighbours hate you. walls have been punched. vases broken.

he doesn’t try to “fix” you. that’s important. ben knows what it’s like to be treated like a problem. so when you’re angry, he lets you be. sits with you through the fire. sometimes you’re pacing, yelling, cussing out the world — and he’s just there. arms crossed.

when he’s angry, you’re the only one who can talk him down. you just mirror his fire. you don’t try to quiet him, you match him. “you wanna break something? cool. let’s go smash plates in the backyard.” and you do. and it’s cathartic. you scream together until your voices crack.

but then there are soft moments too. you’ll lash out at the world, storm into the bedroom, slam the door — and he knocks gently before coming in anyway. he’s holding your favourite hoodie. or snacks. or just his stupid face. “done? or you wanna go another round?”

he keeps your triggers memorized like a hit list. people who talk down to you? gone. someone makes a snide comment in public and you start to boil? his hand’s already on the small of your back. grounding. “not worth it, baby. let’s go.” he deals with it later.

there’s this comfort in knowing you’re both made of sharp edges. he’ll cup your face after a rough episode, look you dead in the eye, and say, “you’re not crazy. you’re just loud. i like loud.”

if you feel guilty afterward he doesn’t let you spiral. “you think i love you less because you lost it for a minute? get over yourself.” (and then he holds you like the world’s ending.)

you don’t want to hurt him — but sometimes it happens before you can stop it. something small goes wrong, you’re already on edge, and dex says one wrong thing? you explode. words sharp enough to cut, your tone goes nuclear. the second it’s out you hate yourself for it.

dex goes stone cold silent. still. unreadable. it’s the same expression he wears right before he kills someone. and that scares the hell out of you. not because you think he’ll hurt you — but because you know what it means when he shuts down. he doesn't raise his voice back — at first. he just stands there, lets you say what you’re gonna say, and waits. sometimes you storm out. sometimes you break down crying two seconds later. sometimes you both just sit in the wreckage for a while.

when he finally does speak, it’s low and controlled. “you can be mad at the world, but don’t take that shit out on me.” he’s right. and that kills you.

if you snap at him specifically too many times he’ll encourage therapy. not in a pushy, judgmental way — just, “you need help for this. we both do. i’ll go with you if you want.” and sometimes he does. sits in the waiting room with his legs bouncing and a death grip on his phone, waiting to hear how it went.

unfortunately he’s not the best at not taking your words to heart sometimes, and your anger mixed with his bpd can push him into his own episodes.

⏜︵ ADHD. 𐂯

let’s be honest, you drive him kinda crazy. the clutter drives his ocd insane. you leave a cup out and he’s twitching. you abandon five different projects around the apartment and he’s pacing like he’s trying not to commit a crime.

silently starts cleaning. aggressively. like wiping down surfaces at 2am with murder in his eyes. "i'm not mad at you. i just need this fork to not be facing that way."

at first it causes friction. you feel judged, he feels overwhelmed. you don’t mean to be messy — it’s just how your brain works. and he doesn’t mean to be controlling — it’s how his brain survives. it takes a few fights, a lot of deep talks, and one shared therapist before you both find a rhythm.

eventually, he creates “safe zones.” like: “this drawer? chaos zone. do whatever you want in there. but the bathroom counter is sacred. do not mess with my system.” and you’re like, “deal. but i get one chair to pile my stuff on. non-negotiable.”

he builds you routines to help you function. not in a patronizing way — more like, i know how your brain forgets things. let me make it easier.

you stim with his hand. absentmindedly running your fingers over his knuckles or nails when you’re anxious. he pretends it annoys him, but if you stop, he’ll nudge you, “you good? keep doing the thing.”

whiteboards, timers, little checklists. he even sets your meds next to your phone so you can’t miss them. “you don’t need to say thank you. just take them.”

your impulsivity stresses him out but also fascinates him. you buy random shit on a whim, change plans last minute, jump into conversations without thinking. and ben’s like: “…you terrify me. but also i’ve never been bored since i met you.”

he gets flustered when you stim by fidgeting with his perfectly organized things. like twisting his pens, re-stacking his books, tapping your foot against his desk. he’ll groan, drag a hand down his face, and give you a fidget toy.

you learn to compromise too. you try harder to put stuff back where it belongs, especially the things he’s sensitive about. not because he makes you — because you love him, and you see how much it costs him to exist in disorder.

sometimes you have really hard days — executive dysfunction, sensory overload, total burnout. you end up on the floor in a pile of blankets and regret. dex lies down next to you. hands you a snack.

he’s never annoyed by your forgetfulness. just quietly compensates. always has your meds ready. always keeps water nearby. always says, “yes, i heard that story before. tell me again anyway.”

he becomes your executive function. you forget appointments, lose your keys, double-book your day? he’s already fixed it. didn’t even tell you. you’re like, “wait, wasn’t i supposed to—”and he stops you before you can finish. “handled it.” he doesn’t want credit. he just wants you to breathe.

your hyperfixations become his hobbies. you’re into puzzles this week? cool, he’s suddenly better at them than you and weirdly smug about it. laser-focused. you’re into baking? you catch him at 2am measuring flour like he’s assembling a rifle.

you help him too. when his rituals become obsessive, when he’s cleaning the counter for the fifth time in ten minutes and whispering under his breath — you come up behind him, gently take the rag from his hand and guide him to sit with you.

you make his world less sterile. it’s not all white walls and symmetrical furniture anymore. there’s colour. life. movement. and yeah, it’s messy. but so is love.

★ a / n : if anyone feels poorly represented lmk and i can take this down :)

started 4.24.2025. finished 4.24.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[unrestrainedbalderdash]

Think it's absolute bollocks that the baskets at the local ASDA are before gates where it then says "no entry" so you can't go back and get a basket if you forget

[underwhelmingalchemist]

I wonder a lot if I have OCD, but every time I try to learn more about it for extended periods of time, the compulsions kick into overdrive. Whether or not that gives me my answer is unknown, as I have yet to be able to sit down and learn about it without having to stop after ten minutes because it becomes unbearable.

[inthedarknessofnight]

Steve Harrington has OCD. There are days when he can barely hear his own thoughts. Days when he can't focus on anything else but whatever is triggering him. Days when he just wants to crawl out of his own skin.

No one around him gets it. Like, really gets it. He loves having everyone over at his place, loves filling the empty house with joy and laughter he never experienced as a child. But over and over again, he feels like he can't really be present in the moment. Because he gets stuck in a never-ending loop of mental checklists, pinpointing every single item that will need to be cleaned or put back in its place after they leave. Crumbs all over the couch. Henderson touching everything in his general vicinity with greasy, pizza-stained fingers. People walking straight into the house after swimming in the pool. Rug on the bathroom floor always wrinkled and askew. Tiny specs all over the kitchen that only he seems to notice. He knows they're little things. Unimportant, right? A little mess can't hurt you? He knows... He just wishes his brain would get it, too.

And it doesn't just impact him, either. His incessant bitching sets others around him on edge. That's probably the worst part of it all. Nancy used to get so annoyed with him whenever he'd ask her to not sit on his bed in her 'outside clothes'. He's pretty sure Robin hates cooking with him because of all the rules he has in the kitchen, but she usually just sighs and rolls her eyes. Dustin deliberately misunderstands his requests or, better yet, pretends he doesn't hear him at all.

Not Eddie, though. Because Eddie notices. The way Steve seems unfocused at times, like he's somewhere far away. The way his eyes tend to dart around the room. The way his posture changes when someone unknowingly does something that triggers him. He makes little mental notes of all the triggers and makes sure to remember them. So he starts taking off his shoes at the door, placing them on the rack. He cleans up after the kids, quickly wiping the kitchen counter and floor as Steve's busy walking everyone out of the house. He straightens the bathroom rugs. He wipes the floor after taking a shower at Steve's, so that there isn't a single droplet of water to be found anywhere outside the shower cabin. He changes his clothes before lounging around on Steve's bed. It takes Steve some time to notice everything Eddie's been doing to help out with his triggers.

It's a little after midnight, and Steve has finally managed to kick the little dipshits out of the house. He walks back into the kitchen where he is met with the sight of Eddie crouched down, a whisk broom and dustpan in hand. Something clicks then, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait... How long have you been doing this?"

Eddie freezes then and glances up quickly, looking every bit like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Oh, sorry, it's just- I noticed the stuff on the kitchen floor makes you kinda uncomfortable, so I thought I'd help out a bit," Eddie says softly, like he's scared he's done something wrong. Steve feels something warm spread around in his chest, followed by a familiar burning sensation behind his eyes.

"And the rugs? Was that also you?" Steve's voice is shaking now. But he can no longer prevent it. He's about to have a full-on breakdown in front of Eddie Munson.

Of course, Eddie, the perceptive bastard that he is, has already picked up on what's about to happen. He quickly sets the tools aside and straightens up, taking a few strides towards Steve, ducking his head to catch Steve's downcast gaze. To make sure he's okay.

"Hey, Steve, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have overstepped. I'm so sorry," says Eddie, gently placing his hands on Steve's shoulders to offer a reassuring touch. There are now silent tears rolling down Steve's cheeks, but he brings himself to meet Eddie's gaze nevertheless.

"No, no, Eddie, you didn't. It's just- How did you know?" Steve asks, somewhat hesitantly.

"Because," Eddie moves his hands up to cup Steve's face, looking at Steve like he's trying to see straight into his soul, "because I see you, Steve Harrington."

[maryland-officially]

I have OCD.

Once I find something that brings be comfort and joy, I encase myself in it. Comfort, joy, must have. Must keep. This helps. This will help.

I get obsessive, easily. This applies to many things.

It's not just when something is of comfort or joy. It's even more so when something resolves some - especially the majority - of a negative emotion surrounding something. This can be fear, depression, a queasy, uncomfortable feeling.... many things.

For example, I 'have OCD about germs.' A fear of germs was instilled in me by my second grade teacher. It was the perfect environment for an obsession + compulsion to develop.

The teacher had always made sure that we wiped our desks with Clorox wipes after every assignment. Multiple times per day, maybe per hour - it was in elementary school, so I can't say per period.

We had to use hand sanitizer every time that we touched something, before and after getting a worksheet, everytime that we'd leave our desks for something, when starting a new activity - more often than we'd wipe our desks.

Often when we did this, she'd talk about the importance of 'staying away from germs', and how even though we're wiping desks, we're still in 'so much danger', seeing as there's still the '0.01% of germs', since they always say 99.9% of germs die. (Learning that this is a lie and it is less than 99.9% of germs killed was not fun.)

Being wary of germs became normal, it was okay. I understood it - I feared the germs, which, that's normal for a child! I wasn't really that scared. It was just an underlying thought.

But, the thing is, this very same teacher, didn't believe in washing hands. She believed it was a waste of time, and said that there would be hand sanitizer outside of the bathrooms waiting for us to use, and that it was unnecessary to wash our hands - it 'took too long'.

This was abnormal. It was strange. It didn't make sense. Germs are bad. Hand sanitizer doesn't kill all of them. Hand sanitizer is just a gel, it doesn't clean off your hands. It's just a gel. It's a coating, really. Wash your hands. It's better. It's cleaner. They aren't washing their hands. Wash your hands more. They need to be clean. Clean. Clean. No germs. They aren't clean enough. They feel unclean. They need to be clean. You're using the same sink as they did to rinse off their hands -- what if they don't use soap? Or not enough of it? Wash them. Different sink. Grab a towel, don't touch the handle. It's unclean. There are germs. So many people touch that. Don't touch it. It's dangerous. People die from that, you know. Don't.

Needless to say I did not follow that rule - uhm, I in fact did washed my hands. This is an obsession. I obsessed over my hands being clean. ...I still do. I still don't trust tables, I still feel uncomfortable touching sink handles, I still wash my hands every time I get anywhere near a sink because just in case.

The compulsion, of course, was watching them.

The thing is, haha, this didn't help me. OCD isn't just this.

OCD makes you obsess so much it's harmful. My skin cracks because of it. My dermatologist said that I needed to use lotion after every time I washed my hands to re-hydrate them, because all the hand sanitizer - that I had started to bring with me, and use so much more often - and hand washing had dried them out so much.

...Sometimes I obsess over things that aren't like this. Things that bring me comfort.

Movies. TV shows. Grades. Friends.

It's like a hyperfixation or special interest, kind of. But less talked about, I guess.

When I say I obsess over my friends I mean that literally, by the way. If I seem like I'm distancing myself it's because I am. I get scared that I'll obsess.

It happens. It's not like, a yandere thing. It's not a 'crush'. It's more like when I get too close to a friend and they are too much of a comfort for me, my brain goes haywire and thinks 'comfort needed. happy needed. if person = comfort, then must surround myself with person.' I think my brain thinks it'll bring me more joy.

It doesn't.

It gets to a point where I value one person over my own life, I've had moments where I've ignored everything except for a person.

...but that's more extreme cases. please don't be worried, I'm in therapy now. I don't know. I'm sorry. I just feel like I have to say this.

[kneecapsbelong2me]

Hello! Ok so you don't have to do this if you don't want to but I thought it'd be really cute if you did a oneshot where Natasha and Wanda (or it could be Natasha and Maria no preference) help a fellow Avenger (reader) who has ocd (like intrusive thoughts and having to squeeze eyes shut hard and doing things in a certain rhythm, not cleaning ocd). And the reader stopped taking her meds. Could you do fem reader please if you're comfortable! Thank you! Much love! xoxo 🧡

Loud

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x OCD!fem!Reader (ambiguous relationship)

Summary: when you stop taking your meds, your intrusive thoughts return with a vengeance. Natasha and Wanda notice.

Word Count: ~800

Content Warnings: violent intrusive thoughts (murder, blood), OCD

A/N: sorry this took so long, anon! I don't have OCD, but I have dealt with intrusive thoughts so I tried my best.

Translations: зайчик: bunny; рыбка: little fish; солнышко: sunshine

———————————————————————

Wanda was the first to notice something was wrong. Your thoughts sounded like screamed gibberish instead of their typical cadence and anxiety radiated from you in waves as if it was flowing from your pores.

She didn’t know what was happening, and it scared her. Unsure of what to do, she confided in Nat.

“I’m worried about her, Tasha. Her thoughts have been so loud and messy, and I don’t know what to do. Just being near her makes me start feeling antsy.”

Natasha had also clocked your unrest. For the past month, the number of pills in the bottle on your dresser had remained constant, and Natasha was willing to bet that had something to do with the changes in your behavior.

“I’m concerned too, Wanda. Let’s talk to her the next time we see her, okay?”

“Okay,” Wanda smiled slightly. “Thank you for helping me with this.”

“Of course, зайчик, I want to make sure our girl is okay.”

They waited, but you didn’t come out of your room for days. Finally, at the 72 hour mark, Natasha and Wanda made their way to your room. They were going to help you, and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

You couldn’t pinpoint when your thoughts had gotten bad again. Maybe it had started after you stopped taking your meds, but they had made you feel different.

What if you just kill them all. It wouldn’t be hard.

You squeezed your eyes shut as if that would stop the thoughts, rocking back and forth. Three counts forward, three counts back. You tapped your fingers on your leg. Ring, middle, pointer. Ring, middle pointer.

Images flashed in your mind. Your hand wrapped around Natasha’s throat. Blood dripping from the knife you drove into Steve’s heart.

On your next rock backwards, you accidentally hit your head on the wall as you tried to shake yourself free. Pain reverberated through your skull, and you couldn’t help but think you deserved it.

And those were just the thoughts that escaped to your consciousness. There were so many more beneath the surface, trying to claw their way and pierce through your brain.

You shivered, your skin crawling as more thoughts popped into your mind. Your rocking became more frantic as your breaths got shallower and shallower.

The click of your bedroom door unlocking tugged your mind back into your body. You squeezed your eyes tighter, and your finger tapping sped up.

“Рыбка?” Natasha’s voice filtered in like sunlight through a stained-glass window, muddled but warm.

“Солнышко,” Wanda’s voice was much clearer. She was speaking directly into your head, you realized. “Your thoughts are so loud.”

Oh no. Wanda was going to find out how horrible your thoughts were. Terror gripped you as you realized what she would see. There was no way she’d ever look at you the same way again.

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” Wanda smiled softly. She had crouched down, and you could sense how badly she wanted to reach out to touch you.

You shook your head, too caught up in your hyperventilation.

Natasha sat on the floor next to you, careful not to touch you or get in the way of your rocking. “Try breathing out for longer than you breathe in,” she murmured. You did as she said, some of the terror leaving you. “You’re safe. Everyone is safe.”

You tried to focus on her words, blocking out everything else until your senses were filled with Natasha and Wanda.

“These thoughts do not make you a bad person, солнышко. The fact that they scare you proves that you’re a good person,” Wanda’s voice washed over you like a wave of calm.

Your breathing evened out a little more, your fingers tapping slower. Ring. Middle. Pointer. Fighting every muscle in your body, you forced your eyes open to look at them.

Guilt wracked your body as you took in their concerned faces. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Natasha spoke gently, but firmly. “Hey, look at me. Please?”

You did as she asked, having to slow your rocking to avoid getting dizzy.

“Is it okay if I touch you right now?”

You nodded, and Natasha pressed her shoulder into yours. The contact was soothing. She was warm against you. Warm and alive.

“Would it help if we just talk for a while?” Wanda sat and leaned into your other side.

You nodded again, words unformed on your tongue.

“Okay. Let me tell you what Steve did the other day.”

Natasha launched into a story and you focused all your energy on her words. You could feel Wanda pushing your anxieties down, and for the first time since you’d stopped your meds, you felt calm.

You laid your head on Wanda’s shoulder. She hummed softly and carded her fingers through your hair. Your eyes fluttered shut, but this time they rested.

You knew they would want to talk about this at some point, but for now you were content to sit in between them and rest.

[chronicbeans]

Platonic Alastor x Maladaptive Daydreamer Reader

Hehe not me self-projecting again! Anyways, these are kinda based on my own experiences, but I'm trying to make them more generalized.

TW: Maladaptive daydreaming, escapism, dissociation, mentions of depression and anxiety, brief mentions of compulsive behavior/OCD, invasion of privacy, manipulation, peer pressure, yandere-ish behavior (I believe he defaults to those behaviors, no matter the type of relationship), mention of cannibalism (this is Alastor we're talking about...), Alastor is a shitty toxic friend in this

• He's absolutely fascinated by the way your mind works. Even before he knows what is going on, or begins to get close to you, he can tell you are an interesting person. The way you look so distant, like your mind is checked out and flying to far off places without you, is something he hasn't seen before. He wants to pick and prod at your brain to see what's going on.

• He doesn't want to do so the easy way, though. No. Instead, he wants to drag out this process for as long as possible, and make sure you twist and squirm all the while. He loves to make people uncomfortable, after all! That's his specialty, in his opinion, besides his radio show.

• He'll start off with introductions, of course, which is probably when he first got interested in you. That dreamy look isn't so easy to see from a distance, after all. The second he looked into your eyes while shaking your hand, though, it became obvious. How hadn't he seen it before? If he saw this look when he first entered, he would've talked to you first out of the crew at the Hazbin Hotel. Well, besides Charlie... But, that's just because she owns the place.

•The uncomfortable prodding starts in an instant. One of his first questions after getting your name is not "What made you want to come to the hotel?" or "What can you provide to help the hotel?" It's more like "How did you die?", "What are your major vices?", and "What sin have you committed to be brought to Hell?" He wants to test the waters. See what he can get away with without completely scaring you off. If you run away and avoid him, it'd be harder to learn what he wants, and make you uncomfortable while doing so.

• Regardless of whether or not you answer, you are probably a little put off from him. Not enough to completely avoid him, since you can see how some of those questions might help him help the hotel, but enough to be uncomfortable... Which, in his opinion, is perfect!

• He's great at hiding, so if you start noticing him mentioning things you thought were private, you really shouldn't be surprised. He can, quite literally, hide in the shadows at times. He quickly takes notes of your little habits, including ones you might be embarrassed about.

• He may watch you pacing around your room, mumbling to yourself as if you are playing pretend all alone. Or, maybe, he's hiding over your shoulder while you're writing down some elaborate storyline. Perhaps he's watching you in plain sight, seeing you make a bunch of odd facial expressions at seemingly nothing. He may not know why you do this, but he wants to. He would've suspected some sort of substance use, considering it's Hell. Lots of people do so. However, he's never seen you near anything that would cause such behavior. So, that's off his list, for now.

• So, step 2 of his plan begins! As his good ol' pals Husk and Niffty to try befriending you! Or, at the very least, get information from you that you aren't comfortable telling him. Then, have them report back to him with their findings. Of course, Husk seems agitated by the request, but obliges. Niffty seems more than happy to do as he asks, though. A happy worker is a good worker, so he has more hope in Niffty getting the big story than Husk.

• Surprisingly, though, he's proven wrong. The most Niffty got was your fashion sense, favorite types of stories, and that you are very "quiet". Yes, the fashion and types of stories were new to him... But what he seems important, the reason you act so oddly, isn't there. Husk, however, was able to get a lot more out of you, somehow.

• Husk mentions you talking to him, one night, after he saw you skipping oddly down the hall and pass the bar where he was cleaning the glasses before closing it for the night. You seemed extremely embarrassed to have been seen, mentioning that you thought he was asleep already. He then just, politely asked a few questions...? And got answers? How?

• Alastor immediately demands answers, only for Husk to reply "I don't know how to describe it like they did! Most I understood is that they daydream too much. Seems like it's a constant thing going on. They like to pace and prance while doing so, sometimes, but don't like getting caught."

• Now it begins to make more sense... the writing, the talks about stories with Niffty, the prancing and pacing... and most importantly, that dreamy, distant look you have. He can even see why you'd make odd expressions. You're reacting to your own thoughts... He doesn't understand it. He's never heard of anything like this before, especially during his time as a human, but he can tell one thing for certain: You must be his friend, now. Whether you like it or not.

• You are so different from everyone else he's met, you see, and he loves things that go against the norm. Now, while you may or may not be considered normal or not too different by others, you're different and abnormal to him. You somehow succeed in both being polite, smart, and funny to mess around with, while also barely being able to pay attention to the world around you. He's always thought that those two things were mutually exclusive. How can you learn when you can't stop being in your own head? How can someone be polite and not listen? The funny part, though... He can kind of see that. He finds surprising you be sneaking up behind you and tapping your shoulder funny every now and again. Nevertheless, you are going to be his friend.

• Soon enough, you notice his behavior changing, a bit. Less following you around, less vaguely threatening words, and more... quiet. It's eerie, coming from him. However, you also notice him trying to talk to you about stories and books he's heard and read. Even things he's heard during his human life, such as Creole folktales and other stories he's heard in New Orleans, Louisiana back in the 1920s-1930s. It's a bit like a completely different side to him you never expected to see, and never really wanted to, but you aren't really complaining. It's better than him deciding to terrorize you for fun and him asking invasive questions...

• A little more time passes and he decides to ask about small habits, disguising them as him just now noticing those habits, when he's probably noticed them while spying on you months prior. Nothing too extreme. Mostly just your expressions, how it seems like your attention is somewhere else... Nothing like your pacing, prancing, or acting. He wants to establish that he knows about these tiny little things, and now that you're more comfortable with him, you're much more likely to answer. That way, once he moves onto the bigger, more personal questions, you'll already have been eased into feeling comfortable with it.

• Eventually, you get to the point where you feel comfortable calling him a friend. He's already considered you one since that conversation with Husk, but it's a start. Now, he's gotten the lovely privilege of being able to know more about what's going on in that lovely little brain of yours... well, "little" brain is definitely an understatement. From how you describe your imagination, he'd be led to believe your mind must be as vast as the Library of Alexandria.

• Vast worlds, complicated plotlines, complex characters... you talk of odd tales you've created, all in your brain. Ones you've had in your mind for years, some you came up with on a whim, and others, still, that are still being developed. Stories that have been being created over the span of real life years, ones you started then dropped... All of which are being held in your head, with only a miniscule fraction of it being written onto paper. He's truly impressed, genuinely respecting your odd talent, as he sees it. You've perfected the craft of creativity, while he's perfected the art of talking to an audience. Even better, is that he got to learn whether or not his theory of you taking inspiration from stories you've heard was right. Which explains his sudden mentions of stories he's heard in life.

• Now... if only you'd let him tell some of your stories on his radio show! If you wouldn't like that, then he'd probably ask you to write something for his show. That way, it isn't as personal to you, and you wouldn't even need to be credited if you're embarrassed by it! He could just say a random listener sent it in, and he thought it'd be great to read, to show his appreciation for his adoring fans. The world simply must hear the greatness of your mind, dear, and he is not going to stop annoying politely asking you to write something until you do.

• Another thing he might try is to see if he can figure out why you partake in this little habit of yours. He's never heard of it, though he has asked some sinners and demons if they have. Be it Charlie, Angel Dust, some of the other overlords, or a friend of his we haven't seen or heard of, before. More modern sinners keep mentioning a thing called Maladaptive Daydreaming, describing it as a symptom of other mental health diagnoses... but that's the problem. That fits you, you've mentioned that you know of that and it fits you... but that's also just a symptom. Well, a few argue that it may be its own thing, but it is not an official diagnosis yet. So, for now, he wants to figure out why you do it.

• Is it depression? Anxiety? Do you really want to escape from something, and you're doing so by hopping into that little dream land of yours? Is it some sort of compulsion? You seem to not really be able to control it that well, after all, and others have mentioned links to OCD, as well as other disorders that can cause compulsions. Is it sheer, absolute, chronic boredom? Speak to him, dear! What is it? Do you even know? If not, he'll assume it's the boredom option... for now.

• He's obsessed with you, really. You're his friend, and he's very obsessive over them, in his own way. He is as far away from normal when it comes to showing real affection for others, which wouldn't be bad, if it weren't for the fact that a main part of it is him being absolutely suffocating when he's around. That, and he can be terrifying... He's the Radio Demon, after all! It's just worse for you than his other friends, though, because you are different. Being different is a really important thing for him, really, alongside being polite, smart, and funny. Not required, unlike the last three traits, but it makes you more likely to be his friend. You hit the lottery by achieving being all four, but it must be the worst lottery prize in the world.

• He holds the thought that you should just be friends with him. Now, you don't have to be... but, he'd prefer it. If you really want outside friends, sure! You just can't be friends with his other friends. He claims they'd "taint" you with how violent they can be. Plus, since he's friends with other cannibals, some of which do serve sinner and demon meat to others without telling them, he genuinely does worry about your safety and wellbeing if you met those specific friends of his. For your friends, he wants to meet them. He needs to in order to deem them worthy of being your friend, and to make sure it's not someone he knows and is friends with. You deserve perfection, and who knows perfection better than Alastor, yes? After all, he can see that you're perfect. That is more than enough evidence, dear.

• You're one of the few people who he doesn't mind having your attention not on him. Part of your charm, in his opinion, is your lack of attention. All he asks is that you tell him about a story of yours. What is going on in your head that's so important? Oh, a great war between this and that? A psychological horror? Cities beneath the sea? Tell him about it. He finds it fun! Especially if he can see any possible inspiration from events or other stories. He likes to hear your voice almost as much as he likes to hear his own, which you'll realize is more of a compliment than it might sound like, once you truly get to know him.

[shadebloopnik]

This is gonna sound SOOO off or smthn but

Was the Perfect Family Harmony planned to be a weapon against the Bergens?

Long post ahead bc brain is rotting

Ok so as we know, the Perfect Family Harmony is smthn that's so powerful that its capable of shattering diamonds. Not just that but its one of the only thing capable of doing so(according to Floyd it was the only thing but giving the benefit of the doubt)

So we know its strong, and we saw it blasting off Velvet and Veneer off their platforms when they performed it, and they weren't even the targets, they were blasted away by just the shockwave that came with using it.

"Its that powerful."

Ok, so its definitely powerful enough to be used as a weapon right? Yeah it was relatively safe enough to use in front of a crowd, else they wouldn't have tried to do it during a concert, but that could just be when those harmonizing aren't targeting anything.

If it could shatter diamonds, how easily could it break cages? What would it do if it was used to target a Bergen? A whole Kingdom of Bergens?

Lets also go back to that concert, to that time John was obsessed with them getting it right. They were in the Troll tree, in Bergentown, a place where any of them could die during Trollstice. The Bergens were a huge threat, something that trolls, at their size, couldn't fight back against normally so they had to run instead right?

But what if they COULD fight back? What if they had a weapon so powerful that it might finally be able to free them? To defeat the monsters that tortured their kind for centuries?

What if John Dory found a way to help make sure nothing would threaten his brothers' safety ever again?

Like, it'd make John Dory's obsession make SOOO MUCH MORE SENSE

Like yea he clearly has OCD and anxiety and some bossiness and that definitely added to it all, but imagine if it was more than that?

Look at him during that performance. He was in deep. He had a wild look in his eyes, a sort of deranged obsession to have everything be perfect no matter what. It wasn't healthy, it was scary, maybe even downright terrifying for his brothers who had to be subjected to it.

But you know what else he looked like?

Terrified

Man was scared out of his mind. His anxiety and stress levels were through the roof. He probably was one wrong tune away from hyperventilating.

What if it was bc it was so much more than the fans? What if he put the salvation of the entire troll-kind on his shoulders?

One wrong step meant they were nothing.

One wrong step meant disappointing the fans.

One wrong step meant letting down the kingdom.

One wrong step meant another troll getting eaten.

Thats why when they failed, John blew up. He took all of that self-hatred of failing to use that weapon to defeat the bergens and poured it all onto his brothers.

"I know we can reach the Perfect Family Harmony."

"What if we don't want to."

John Dory, blind to how and WHY his brothers didn't want to follow his lead, felt betrayed.

To him, all he's ever done was to ensure their safety, everything was for the greater good. He'd done everything he could, his goals slowly twisting him into a crazed obsession. To hear his brothers say they didn't want to help anymore might've struck a cord too much. If you'd noticed he actually looked really sad and hurt when they started bringing up how much they hated being in the band, but it slowly twisted to anger instead. Kind of in a like, "I tried doing everything for these shts and THIS is how they repay me???" way. He was so stressed and stuck in his own head with his failures that he just couldn't see what his brothers were trying to say.

So in a fit of impulsive rage, he left. To him it probably was like that rlly childish way of saying "Yea im leaving, good luck dealing with the Bergens while im goneee." You know? Like how kids runaway from home when they get angry or upset over every little thing but come back when they realize how stupid that was?

"Im not allowed to change."

And he DID come back. Who knows how long, but he did. Imagine how he must've felt seeing their empty pod in an empty tree, with the knowledge that he could've done something about it. The Perfect Family Harmony could've saved them. They could've used it to break the cage, to fight the Bergens. Hell, it could've been powerful enough to wipe out all the Bergens if they do so wished.

"Im the oldest, I have to be the leader."

He and his brothers were the only ones who'd ever gotten close to getting it right.

"Why do you think I moved into the middle of nowhere? So I didn't have to be in charge of anyone."

The village was counting on them. Counting on him. He let them down. He failed.

"Freeing the village Four little brothers is a lot of responsibility."

They could've gotten it. If only John did it right. If only John did it differently.

If only John Dory was Perfect

[alabasterwasps]

These would be like. My own hcs. Some are based in text and some are just, idk man vibes.

Jay has agoraphobia, autism, adhd, on and off trichotillomania, on and off depression, and i think throughout the series he develops paranoia and a checking type ocd. Most of his issues regarding socialization I think comes from how he was raised mixed with his autism. After his seizure he develops tremors. I think his aggression is purely something developed from the operator. You don’t even see it until late in the series after he’s been attacked by it several times, at which point he’s seemingly running on autopilot. I think he also has an issue with sleep paralysis and insomnia.

Alex has adhd, various forms of ocd including checking ocd, contamination ocd, and existential ocd. I *could* see him having bipolar disorder or at least some sort of spurred on manic episodes triggered by things. I think he’s a maladaptive day dreamer, has excoriation, and various forms of intrusive thoughts. I think he has on and off again depression and throughout the series the paranoia and physical effects of the operator worsen like 90% of his issues. Oh and I think he’s colorblind.

Tim has DID as well as FCD and is subject to delirium, I think he has compulsive tics. I thing of course he’s struggled with depression, a seizing disorder, intrusive thoughts, and hallucinations (what is caused by the operator and what is underlying conditions… i couldn’t tell you. I think he was born with the seizing disorder, the operator just worsened it… though of course in turn the meds helped him keep it away. and he developed DID due to the various forms of trauma he went through as a child). I think he’d develop a hoarding disorder, but it’s interrupted by bouts where he just throws everything away and starts fresh.

Brian has autism. I thing he struggled with perfectionism growing up and was one of the “gifted kids” who had all A’s, who hit highschool and struggled. Once he was able to adjust to learning in ways he understood he got much better, but he still struggles with the “not enough” mentality. I think he needed things to chew on or fidget with to focus. I digress. Post death I think he struggles with brain damage (mainly in his right frontal lobe) that caused a slew of issues. Dyscalculia, speech and vision issues. He struggles to form pictures and words in his head, can’t really drive anymore. He can’t really comprehend abstract thought which makes the Ark frustrating. He also develops seizures. I also think Brian is mildly colorblind. I do think post death he had a several month spat of religious psychosis.

They all developed tinnitus and issues hearing.

[repulsiveliquidation]

When I’m with you, there is no one else because I get heaven to myself.

Leah Williamson x Reader blurb. If you recognize the lyric of the title, tell me! I was inspired when I heard the song come on on the plane and pulled my iPad out to write it!

It’s not formatted how i like because im doing this on my iPad and Apple is an asshole. Okay it is because my OCD cannot handle it.

“Leah?”

“Yes love?”

You walk into the room, plopping yourself on the couch beside Leah who was watching some film.

“Why do you love me?”

Leah is taken aback with this question, looking at you like you’ve got two heads.

“There are many reasons, my girl.”

“Yeah, what are they?”

Leah thinks for a second, pondering on the correct things she wants to say. There were your eyes. They were so radiant and enticing. There was your hair, so soft and it always smelled like roses. There was your skin, smooth and a canvas for her art and devotion to you. There were your lips, strawberry flavored and always gave the best kisses. There was your body, every curve and valley she had memorized and knew at the back of her hand. There was your smile, a smile that Leah would give her right leg to make sure you always could smile that way.

But there also was your brain, so smart yet so witty and stubborn sometimes. There was your heart, the kindest Leah ever did see; a heart willing to do their utmost best for its loved ones. There was your soul, old but gold. There was your personality, bubbly but shy, reserved yet still somehow outgoing. It also loved dogs more than you did Leah, she sometimes thought.

“Have you got time? We’re going to be here all afternoon,” Leah grins, taking your hand and pulling you to sit in her lap. You settle, legs thrown over her legs with your chest pressed to hers.

“I love your eyes. they’re so radiant and enticing, i could get lost in them; i do get lost in them.” As she says this she tilts your head to look at her, her blue eyes piercing into yours.

“I love your hair. It’s so soft and always smells so good, I love burying my face in it when we cuddle before bed, it somehow lulls me to sleep.” She drags her fingers through it, untangling a few little knots.

“I love your skin, it’s so smooth and supple. I love leaving marks all over so everyone knows you’ve got someone to come home to.” She caresses her palms down your arms, kissing your shoulder.

“I love your lips. You always have that strawberry chapstick on, it fucking drives me crazy when i can still taste it on my lips when we’ve stopped kissing.” She leans in for a kiss, pecking your lips softly. She smiles, muttering “See, strawberry.” You giggle, tucking your face in her neck softly mumbling for her to continue.

“I love your body,” she starts, hands grasping your hips and thumbs rubbing your waist. “I love every mark, scar, dip, fold, valley, crevice, all of it. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve had the privilege of laying my eyes on and i am so thankful that you love me the way you do.”

She keeps going, rubbing your back and smiling to herself softly when she feels her neck get a little wet.

“Then, we’ve got your smile. Oh hell, your smile can make any bad day go away. Seeing your toothy grin when you’re excited makes me ready to fight anyone that dares take it off your face.”

“Your brain’s next, so sarcastic but so fucking smart. You’re stubborn and it doesn’t help that I am too. But that brain has gotten me out of situations where I didn’t think i would ever survive. You’ve been with me through injury, loss, pain, rejection. I could not have handled all that if it weren’t for you.”

“Your heart is the kindest I have ever seen. You would give someone you knew for about 20 seconds the shirt off your back if they asked. But you love so hard and so raw that anyone that has ever experienced even a sliver would be so lucky. And i get to love it and have it love me all day every day so I must have won the love lottery.” You giggle wetly, snuggling into her lap more.

“Don’t stop please, Leah,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw.

She nods, “You’ve got an old soul, it’s old but gold and that’s the best kind. Compliments my youthful one.”

“You’ve got a special personality, so bubbly with the right people but shy until you get to know them. You’re reserved in serious situations but so outgoing when we’re alone or with friends and family. And the fact that you love dogs sometimes i feel more than me annoys me but seeing you with Bella always makes my heart clench, darling.”

“The way you love my family is what let me know that I wanted to marry you. You know how much it means to me and seeing you get along with them sealed the deal for me. Thank you for loving me for who I am, darling. It’s all I could have ever asked for.”

You both sit there together and just take in Leah’s words, you finally pull away, wiping away tears.

“You really mean all that you said?”

“Every word, my girl.”

“I love you, Leah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you too, baby. When I’m with you, there’s no one else in the world, because I’ve got heaven all to myself.”

[skyfallscotland]

I don’t know if this is weird, but I don’t have many friends and I am weird, admittedly so…yolo, but this is just a diary post really of all the things on my mind right now.

• The response on ink & mistletoe was really lovely and I’m especially grateful for it while I’m still having a rough time.

• I really wanted to write more this week because I wanted to finish off ink & mistletoe and Truth & Talon before Onyx Storm comes out, but I have a migraine again and I’ve just been so exhausted it’s not happening, which sucks.

• I did start a new book though—my first of 2025—Just For the Summer by Abby Jimenez. One of my resolutions for the new year is to read more actual books, so I’m off to a start at least. One thing that wigged me out though, it’s first person past-tense? What the fuck is that, why are we doing that? My brain does not like.

• Speaking of Onyx Storm, should I start posting my theories now as I write them, or just save it for one big post a few days before?

• I’m still incredibly bothered by not only the continuing trend of oh surprise another special edition with content not available to you! But also mostly the response from other people to it, mostly Americans, because no one else is saying “no one’s making you buy them all” or “having choices is a good thing” because uhh *checks notes* we don’t? We just pay twice the amount of money you do for made-in-a-sweatshop, falling apart crap with less features.

• Also, just as an aside so you all are ready, I’m fairly certain there’s a special edition of Iron Flame coming…probably with bonus content. Someone asked if she was going to do one because it just had plain edges and she replied with a winking face. I’m going to say in Feb/March, and with dragon edges to match OS & the original FW print run. Call me Cassandra, idk.

• My (undiagnosed, I guess) OCD is getting worse, so if anyone has any tips or tricks for that throw them my way because seeing a psychiatrist in this town is not only the price of a small car, but almost impossible. Everyone’s books are closed, because we’re all a fucking mess apparently idk. They did say they had someone who might find me and my eclectic collection of mental illnesses “interesting” though, so I at least get to send my referral through 🙃

• Lastly, I am once again calling for people to stop drowning. If you come to Australia, please understand how rips work. If you’re not a strong swimmer, don’t swim anywhere there aren’t lifeguards. You are not as safe as you think you are, I promise you. Almost every day there’s been another drowning death that’s been entirely preventable and it’s infuriating, half the time there are kids involved. Don’t put your kids at risk for fuck’s sake. View the below if you’re curious (or coming here). I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t spot them from front on, most people can’t unless they grew up on the beach, but again, if you can’t that’s why you shouldn’t swim anywhere help can’t get to you. 31 people drowned in four weeks is madness when there are over 600 patrolled beaches in this country. And people worry about the wildlife, good lord.

[macgyvermedical]

hi! i have a hard time writing things i haven't directly experienced or deeply understood (think mental illnesses, for example), so i'm wondering if you could either help me or point me in the right direction regarding schizophrenia i am AuDHD and very likely also have OCD, and have heard there is a lot of common ground regarding symptoms for these and schizophrenia.

if i look online, i only find articles and other formal/clinical/academic takes on this disorder, and it doesn't help me get an actual feel for it. i'm trying to understand how it feels, how someone thinks and navigates day-to-day and so on, and i don't really know where to start :( thank you for your time, even if you end up not answering :)

Hi!

For this I'm talking a lot about my own experiences of things. If you want more in the way of experiences, I recommend the schizophrenia subreddit. It's actually pretty wholesome, although they tend to not like it when writers specifically come to ask questions, just because they used to get so many of them. It's totally fine to lurk though!

I find that if you go online and see the clinical stuff, the vast majority of the info that is helpful to writers is going to be about hallucinations and delusions. Which are the things we have good tools (like antipsychotics and CBTp) to manage. I feel like there are a zillion case studies out there about different interesting hallucinations or delusions that you can sink your teeth into.

The stuff that kind of doesn't get talked about as much at the "personal" level are the things we don't have good tools to treat. Things like difficulty with language fluency and difficulties keeping up in conversations, difficulties with executive dysfunction, and disruptions to personal relationships and occupations.

For example, with the language fluency piece, I get thoughts that "take up" the space I'm trying to use to say a thing. This sometimes results in a pause while I try to get back the rest of a sentence or recall a word. I also almost always have to put together sentences in my head before I say them out loud, which helps keep my sentences a little more fluent. If I don't, I sometimes feel like I "downshift" my brain during sentences, where it takes everything I have to keep what I'm saying making sense. I'm told not everyone has to do this.

For the executive dysfunction piece, I have trouble predicting other people's behavior, planning and adapting when situations change unexpectedly, doing more than one task at the same time, and problem solving under time pressure. While these frequently aren't the same problems with executive function that someone with, say, ADHD has, they are still executive dysfunctions. They are also often the problems that are most consistently disabling in schizophrenia.

Disruptions to personal and occupational life is something I have too. For example, I've had 6 jobs in 2 years and am currently unemployed. Before I had significant symptoms, I completed college and graduate school, and held a job I did well in for several years. I couldn't figure out why I kept quitting these jobs because I just couldn't handle them once I finished training. I am also very lucky to have a wife who knew I had schizophrenia before I did, so our relationship wasn't as strained as it could have been. But I could absolutely see it putting a whole new kind of strain on a spouse if they didn't see it coming, decide to stick it out, and prioritize their own health in the process of supporting a person with schizophrenia.

[beemovieerotica]

warning for talking about OCD related paranoia, please don't feel pressured to respond to or even read this if that might bother you.

I just rly want an opinion on this from someone else who has ocd, and I literally dont know anyone who might understand and wouldn't treat me like I'm crazy. The new administration has affected my ocd so badly. I'm so stressed every day about the possibility of any information that I've put online, publically or "privately," over the course of my whole life being dug up and used to incriminate me somehow. Such as anything expressing views the administration disagrees with. Which has been a worry of mine for a while but it has ramped up with all that's going on recently. And the thing is I know that that's not entirely outside of the realm of possibility, but I dont know how likely it is. I dont know where reasonable concern starts and ocd begins. And I get like literally paralyzed with stress over this. Have you experienced anything like this and if so what did you do about it? Thank you if you read this.

yes 100%, I think a lot of fear of what's going on can be compounded by OCD beyond what is helpful to protect one's self.

I'm not going to provide reassurances here because that's one of the big no-no's of talking to someone with OCD: it turns into a cycle of us seeking reassurance from others in a way that can escalate our behavior and place an undue burden on others. And it ultimately doesn't work.

on my own end, I need to put hard limits on how much reading the news I do, otherwise it can literally go on for hours as I keep searching out tiny bits of new information that will supposedly help calm me down. but the relief doesn't ever happen. I just get mentally fatigued and shut down, and that's not the same thing as relief. at a certain point I have to just do a hard pivot. completely change scenery, change tasks, do something new to get my brain off that path.

I think limiting fear spirals related to current events would be the first step in reducing overall anxiety, since that goes hand in hand with upticks in OCD behavior.

I've been able to exposure-therapy myself slowly on this blog, but I can't say that will work with everyone. I show my face, people know my first name, etc - it's something I'm able to afford to do as an adult and it's helped me overcome some of the fears of ever being known, and of having my political stances be connected to me.

there are other more tangible ways to dip into free and open expression - consider writing a letter to a public official, getting out and supporting queer events in-person, or even just dropping a $10 donation for a cause - something that puts you in a community or attaches your name to a community that needs help, little by little.

I think there may be a pivot point where that fear can be channeled into action, like a "fuck it, I'm doing this" attitude. and you can feel *good* defying your OCD when it comes with that realization of, "hey, I like these people. I like being in this space." some of the wildest things I ever did in my life were a "fuck you" to OCD, powering through the warning sirens in my head and I ended up with experiences and friends I never thought I'd ever have. I think this is one of those times where really crucial communities are being born out of this intense hardship and stress, and we all need each other. OCD thrives in isolation, and you've gotta have a support network to help you live your best life despite it.

[rifualk]

On Mental Health and Cosmic Embarrassment

I don't usually make a post in the aftermath of one of my spirals, so I bet most people see some of the vent posts I make, and assume I am just off my meds or something. I am on them but I might not be on the right ones. This is a thing that happens to me sometimes. I have psychotic episodes, where it feels like the things I am saying are completely inconsequential and I genuinely believe no one cares what I'm saying or, worst of all, that it cannot scare anyone that cares about me. I get too tired to fight my intrusive thoughts and I just ride them out. Most of my thoughts are not ones I enjoy having. I have trouble parsing what is real sometimes. For most of my life, out of a kind of primal shame and terror of being perceived or judged, I beat myself into believing that I just roleplayed as a crazy person online because I wanted attention for it, but it finally clicked for me at some point in my 20s that I was, and am, genuinely very mentally ill, maybe in ways that make me not-entirely-functional in the culture I inhabit. Also, I want attention for it.

Life is very embarrassing. I think embarrassment, shame, et al. is probably the most cosmic feeling of them all, because being embarrassed, for me anyway, leads invariably to my OCD extrapolating the embarrassment, no matter how slight, into its natural extreme, becoming a full-blown existential meltdown and often manifesting in some self-punishment. Or a lot of self-punishment. Instead of saying "everyone wants attention, it's not a big deal", my brain will overwhelm me with shame and make me vow to be quieter about the whole thing next time. Good emotions are meant to be expressed, I tell myself, and Bad ones are not. I think it's very unhealthy for people to not express their negative emotions openly. Or maybe I'm psychotic. I mean, I am psychotic. But maybe right now, too.

Ultimately this feeling peaks with the realization - again - that I'm a eukaryote. I live on a spinning ball of stardust in the aftermath of what had to have been a colossal disaster and waste of time. But it happened, and so now there's a bunch of stuff floating around, and some of that stuff started moving for reasons I don't personally understand and the implications of which scare me. And the moving stuff that moved faster got to stay moving longer. And so a chain reaction escalated, and eventually there were very large moving things whose survival adaptations had evolved in such a way that they could conceptualize and communicate complex information about the world around them, but they were also able to conceptualize themselves. This gave them a lot of grief. They wanted very badly for there to be an answer to why they were able to do that. Surely it served some purpose. But we never found one, and here we are.

I don't have a god to turn to. I have tried - earnestly, sincerely, and desperately - to reach out; I never hear back. I don't want to be an atheist, it's heartbreaking. Honestly. I want someone to be up there, or out there. Knowing there isn't, is just... cruel. It's horrifying and it wrenches my heart. Look at us, look how much we're suffering, where the fuck did you go, what the fuck is your problem? Help us!

In spite of everything, I am still not sure what I believe.

Don't you ever just cry about the world? Like, broadly? Don't you ever just have to take off your glasses and wipe the brine from them because you caught a glimpse of what people, as a species, could be capable of? And I get angry at myself, too. What am I doing about it? What even can I do? I can barely hold down a job. I am barely an adult. I am often mired in this feeling. It permeates everything. I'm living in a tragedy - not just my own, but millions and millions of others'. This is a nightmare. It's a nightmare and I'm an embarrassment, and my brain doesn't work right, and I'm living in a terrible reality that is shared by everyone, and yet somehow equally isolating and alienating to all of us. Does it have to be that way? Aren't we all lonely?

When I am spiraling I really do think that the end is near, either for me, or for everyone, or for both. To be fair, my confidence about humanity's future is not promising even when I am at my most sane. But in this kind of emotional place, the stakes are too high for me to care that what I say might come off as upsetting. It is completely overwhelming. I see my life up to this point, and I see how long I've been alive and realize I'm very Not Normal and I look and sound different than everyone around me and I'm an embarrassment. It's embarrassing to exist. It's embarrassing to be transgender, too. It's really, really embarrassing to be mentally ill and fully aware of it all the time. It's shameful. I am ashamed of how my family likely sees me. How my peers see me. I'm just a walking disaster. I feel like this bars me from leading a happy life or finding some success in art - It doesn't seem like you're allowed to be quite this much of a problem and "get away with it", does it? There's a bit of social sanitizing at work there - you are only allowed to be a certain level of messed up and if you pass that you're sort of a pariah. I don't think I've ever done anything pariah-worthy, but I can only see things from the inside of my own head, and there's a lot of unwanted noise in here.

I painted this when I lived in Oregon. I don't know how. I could not do art like this again if asked.

I'm not in a good place, generally-speaking. It could be worse - and it was for a long time- but it's still just not great. The main reason is that I am very homesick. I grew attached to the Pacific Northwest in a way I've never really grown attached to any other place. It had a quality that exists nowhere else. It resonated with me immediately and I knew right away from the moment I first set foot there that it was my home. I grew to be a part of it, and it's the only place I felt I somewhat-belonged... I have been away from Oregon for 2 whole years as of next month. I feel like I'm a fish out of water, or a sapling in the wrong soil. I can't and won't say that the place I live currently is a bad place, but it isn't my place, and the disconnect has been maybe the nastiest shock to my system in all my life. Finding the place I loved, and living for over 12 years there, only to be wrenched away from it so suddenly, left a shock on me that I think has yet to surface in my work. I'm excited to see what form it takes when it does. Location is very important to my mental wellbeing, more than I think it is for most people. Maybe I am a plant. It's also very important for my art. I've struggled to find inspiration since I moved here. That said, I've had the very precious opportunity to just work on myself - on my transition, as well as my personal issues. I think I'm getting better, gradually, in some way. I have a job now, at least. So it's not entirely bad. I even grew sunflowers last summer.

Around this time I got banned from twitter, but I don't feel any shame about the reason why because I believe in my message. But it forced me to be a lot less active online for a long time. It also made me lose a lot of support. That's been something I've grappled with a lot these last 2 years - that people really don't like people like me, for reasons that are mostly not our fault. I will likely always be something of an outsider for being who I am now, but I was one before anyway. It's still worth it. I like the person I'm becoming. I feel like only recently did I allow myself to feel this self-love. I was too embarrassed of myself. It took a lot of patience and a lot of de-tangling my self-worth from a lot of trauma. So it's likely I would have needed to go through all of this regardless of where I was.

I still slip up. It's an uphill climb and it's slippery. I like to be transparent about these things. It's a relief - feeling like I need to hide things is my default state and it's lovely to just let go of stuff so I don't need to keep it in my head all the time. I have a lot of hangups still. I get discouraged about my art still - I fear I'll never build myself back up to where I was before, and that there will never be a time when I can really pay the bills with it. Or worse-still, that it just isn't special enough to last. That it isn't remarkable enough to survive after I'm gone. But I think a lot of people who make stuff feel that way, and it's not our fault. There's some relief in that. I'm happy to have even a few people that care about me and my work, and something I've been trying really hard to remember in recent years is to take time to appreciate them. I'm not actually alone. I have a lot of people that love me. I'm not an outsider. I'm very lucky to know the people I do, and I hold a deep regret for all the connections I've let go of because I was just too sick. Deep down I really do wish I could love everyone. I have no ill will towards anyone, not really.

I still don't know what I'm doing. I am just doing my best, I think. I'm really, really tired. I don't want to get any older. I'm scared of the passage of time. My memory is so bad, it feels like time is taken from me without me realizing. I am 33 years old. I do not have 33 years worth of memories. There are huge leaps. Gaps where suddenly I was just older and in more pain. Being adrift in time like this is horrific - one day I will blink, and the present moment may be completely forgotten. It can't go this fast. It just can't. Something has to be wrong. I don't want to die, I don't want to miss out on so much life or be unable to remember it. I don't want to find myself on my deathbed someday way sooner than I think and be unable to string together any kind of coherent thread from my memories. What is it all for? It has to mean something right? Why am I doing anything?

I think I finally understand that love is why. I don't know much more than that. Love is real, and it's the answer. If you find love, don't take it for granted, ever. No love is perfect. Take it with all its flaws. You don't have time to bargain with it. Love like you'll never love again, love like it's your last day alive, love like it will keep you alive forever, because it will. Every year closer to death you get, you will feel the regret of all the times you did not follow your heart. Life is short. I'm finding this out entirely too late. It goes by so fast, and what you have at the end are people and memories of being loved. To be loved is to live forever. It's the thing that connects us to everything else. It's the source and the answer to everything. It makes more sense the older I get. It used to sound cheesy, but I believe it with more sincerity every day.

I'll be okay, okay

I once promised someone that I would stop self-harming. They are no longer in my life, but I kept the promise anyway. There are no new scars on my arms, or bruises on my head or face. I'm keeping this promise for myself, now.

[awfullybigwardrobe44]

Let me tell you, God has a way of getting His way.

Tonight I found a series of heated and unkind messages I had sent to someone who was trying to help me. I was furious. ERP doesn’t make sense. It seems counterintuitive at best and like straight-up stupidity at worst. I am facing great danger! Why shouldn’t I solve the problem?

The first pic shows you where I was before I started ERP. I was dead-set on never doing it, because I thought it was ignoring problems that were going to send me to hell.

In July of 2024, I went through intense medication withdrawal, and I considered asking my parents to take me to the hospital because my OCD was so bad. I did probably 4 straight of compulsions, starting at about 7 am, after having done nearly an entire day’s worth of compulsions the day before. The morning that was so bad, I would write down something on my phone (I obsessively write down things on my phone to analyze thoughts and “reason” with myself), tell myself I was ok, set the phone down, and pick it up less than 10 seconds later to do more.

I was, in every sense of the word, hysterical.

And finally, I don’t know how it came about, but I told myself, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m saved.”

And I accepted it. Not that I’m not saved, but that I didn’t know. And that I wasn’t going to try to solve it anymore. And I sobbed in bed for about 30 minutes.

I decided, in an effort to NOT go to the hospital and regain some degree of sanity, that I would put off compulsions for one week. After a week, I would reexamine this problem and hopefully be able to function and get somewhere with it.

But soon thereafter, I decided to go full-throttle with the ERP. It was what everyone had been telling me to do. It was what everyone in my support group was telling me had healed them. They had found peace and rest and a better relationship with God through it for the first time in their lives.

And it was the one thing I hadn’t tried yet.

It’s been 6 months, and I haven’t looked back. Oh, I have failed in ERP many times. But I am fighting.

I can witness my thought patterns changing. It is so bizarre. I’m learning how fickle my brain is in terms of what will comfort and reassure me and what won’t. I’m learning that sometimes my brain is just PRIMED for doubt.

I’ve found rest I desperately needed. Not in perfect assurance of salvation, but in the decision to not figure it all out and to instead let God reveal it to me when He sees fit.

My mindset for ERP all along was that I’d do it to heal my brain so that after I’ve come to a better place mentally, God can finally send me an answer about whether or not I’m saved, and I’ll finally be able to receive it and understand.

For those curious, I have experienced a degree of assurance. It’s a weak one so far, but it’s this vague sense of “I don’t know—but I think that I might actually be ok.” And I got there without making sure every box was checked, every spiritual problem solved, and every doubt accounted for—something that was formerly impossible.

Something in me, most likely the OCD, still doubts it. I worry I’m being deceived or that I have an unwarranted sense of security/assurance. I pray God wont let me be deceived.

I can’t say that ERP has healed me yet (or, more realistically, that God has healed me through ERP).

But what I can say is this: I said I’d never do this, and yet here I am. I think God knew I’d never do it unless I was left with no other option.

And I think it might be working.

[omniseurs-blog]

PSA/rant - severe mental illness, able mindedness, sanity, memory, etc.

Can't wait for people to start popularizing the term able-minded and realizing that their sanity, intelligence, ability to properly apply logic to things, ability to tell what is going on at any given moment, memorize things, learn in an appropriate amount of time, speak without clanging or swerving so far off track that they themselves are confused, IS a privilege.

I'm absolutely certain people will read that, not be able to internalize it, and lash out with anger, so let me explain

People with neurological conditions and severe mental illnesses, autism, seizures, Alzheimer's, dementia, Downs, psychotic spectrum disorders, narcolepsy, maladaptive daydreaming, OCD, psychological mutism, PTSD, and so much more that effects the brains ability to interact with daily life in severe ways can't do the things you view as absolutely basic, more basic than brushing your teeth and wiping your ass.

Your emotional regulation, your simple conversations, your remembering what you did 2 seconds ago, your ability to fall or stay asleep, your knowing what you're seeing/hearing/feeling/tasting/smelling is real, your thought process making sense to yourself or when put into words, your ability to get RESTFUL sleep

To you, 2+2 always equals 4, to me, sometimes 2+2 means duality of man or grand conspiracy of two spies tracking me and my brother, and the best answer to that is infinity or 2, or anything in between, beyond, or behind. It's nonsensical to people who didn't know the context of what my brain connected it to, if I said that in public, people's reaction would not be an attempt to understand or help me come back to reality, it would be avoidance or calling the police/911. There's no reality where my brain and the connections it forms would be a help, outside of spirituality and places where my condition would worsen instead of improve.

Would you be able to wipe your ass if you were convinced you already wiped your ass? Would you be able to shower if you couldn't tell if the stranger in your shower was real or if the sound of the running shower was real or not? Would you be able to buy yourself food if you couldn't remember no matter how many times you saw the amount in your bank if you had money or not? Would you be able to go outside if you felt you KNEW there was a murderer outside waiting to kill you? Would you talk to people if you were convinced every single one of our words brings genuine, real, bad luck?

If you would, you're lying to yourself, or at the very least, you wipe your ass multiple times just to be sure, and in which case, you're probably a little bit of a perfectionist or clean freak.