#(i also do not get refils for my anxiety medication until i have an appointment with my new doctor) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

Text

Hey friendly reminder that I honestly do not want anyone to follow me unless they actually WANT to which means they are free to unfollow, refollow, leave and come back and leave again or WHATEVER as many times as they want, for any reason whatsoever. Including if my posting styles of the moment get to be too much for them or are not to their liking, etc?

BUT I have been seeing a surge in comments in notes and stuff on various posts of mine about the length of my posts or the rambling of my posts and like....I know? This is not new information to me? But I post the way I post at any given time based on the resources I have at any given time and the fact that its often a matter of I can post a long rambling post or I can make no post at all.

Like, I really truly do not like going into specifics about my situation more than necessary or when not necessary, because like, my situation is boring to me, I don’t particularly care to dwell on it any more than I have to. But the fact of the matter is its still a thing that exists so here goes: yes I have physical issues like near constant migraines and pain and also vertigo, and yes I have neurodivergencies like C-PTSD and ADHD and yes I have circumstances that include near constant stress from eternally being in the negatives, financially, as well as being almost constantly hungry from a lack of money and limited options for eating due to the physical constraints of my jaw as well as being consistently sleep deprived because there’s only so much sleep you can get when there’s no such thing as a physically comfortable sleeping arrangement for you currently, all while existing in a constant limbo of I literally have NO idea when any of this will change for me because haha fun fact WE LIVE IN A PANDEMIC.

My point is like......all of these are things I’m not shy about, but they don’t exist as bullet points in a checklist of identity or circumstantial traits, they all exist at all times as points of fact that influence and inform and interact with each other.

So my financial situation and limbo of not being able to move forward with my surgery because of the chaos of the health care industry during a pandemic directly informs both the way stress impacts my mental health issues, but also my ability to treat my mental health issues by way of medication, nutrition, rest.....ie, almost every cent I make via work, etc, goes right back out the door to keeping up my insurance premiums of $850 a month, because even though my surgery is paid for, there’s still elements like hospital stay fees, anesthesia, etc, that won’t be paid until the day of surgery itself, and which I will not be able to pay without my insurance remaining current and active. Which means that I had to prioritize an insurance package that would net me THOSE benefits, which means I had to sacrifice parts of insurance that are no longer in that package, but which previously made things like my medications, refill appointments and therapy more affordable for me.

Which means that I have to prioritize my medication and therapy etc and maintain my therapy and PTSD, depression and anxiety meds as the most important to upkeep, while my ADHD meds are pretty much priced out of accessibility for me at the moment. Like, the specifics of my metabolism and various trial and error with different meds over the years and the way my body rapidly adapts to various meds and plateaus to a point where they cease to have any real impact on me means the only ADHD medication that’s consistently effective for me is Vyvanse, which there isn’t a viable generic form of that I can take, meaning a monthly refill of it is $350 without insurance, which I flat out can not ever afford anymore, which means its been roughly two months since I last popped an ADHD pill.

So yeah, that directly impacts things like my ability to self-edit, make a point briefly, or refrain from circling back to the same point several times over and over because I literally forget that I made it.

Now of course ADHD medication is not the be-all and end-all and its not like there aren’t various other life-hacks and coping strategies for working around ADHD even without it, after all, I didn’t even get diagnosed until I was 26. But these various other adaptations rely on things like good nutrition (which I can not regularly afford, or even consume....most leafy green vegetables for example, or fruits other than berries, are literally nonstarters for me because I don’t have enough leverage with my one-sided jaw to CHEW them in the first place, and the ingredients for making smoothies regularly are again, expensive). So nutrition as a hack for ADHD management is pretty much out - I’m too busy prioritizing eating anything I can, whenever I can afford to. Other adaptations involve getting lots of rest: something that again, physically isn’t all that viable for me these days, even leaving aside the effects of constant stress on attempts at getting meaningful rest, along with the constant stress and constraints of trying to work as much as humanly possible in my circumstances, in order to keep bringing in income to go to insurance, rent, and food and meds. Then there’s also the stabilizing effects exercise and physical activity can have on the brain and various neurodivergencies like mine, but the migraines and vertigo make most forms of exercise a nonstarter for me, with most of the rest invalidated by the fact that I’m pretty much always hungry, tired, and in chronic pain.

Now let’s examine work and the viability of obtaining more sources of income to help with all this. Well, my options are limited there too due to the ecosystem of factors in play. I’ve been trying for awhile to find even a part time job in my area I can do, but the problems are even though I can make myself mobile and active through my pain issues and migraines, and am even good at gritting and bearing it and acting like I’m smiling and laughing and happy even while in excruciating pain (yay, perks of childhood abuse making a career in retail viable even while practically dead on my feet, lololol)......there’s the simple physiological limitation that I just can’t stay upright RELIABLY for more than a couple hours at a time. Eventually, dizziness knocks me on my ass. Downside of a jaw that’s constantly hanging with all its weight from one side of your face, fucking with your ability to even stand up straight, not to mention causing inner ear and equilibrium problems at random whenever you open or close your mouth in the wrong way (or mere approximation of ANY kind of way).

So, standing upright at any kind of customer service or retail job is one issue. Stocking stuff, that sort of thing.....not really an option when you’re likely to drop all of it at any given moment. But then there’s bracing myself at cash registers, something like a job at Starbucks or hell there’s a Jamba Juice nearby, that’d also get me an employee discount for smoothies I can drink regularly. Course, there’s the whirring of blenders and such, which pair great with constant migraines. Etc. Etc.

BUT. I’m a well-rounded person with lots of skills....which lead to things like my freelance graphic design business as a book cover designer, as well as various writing endeavors, etc. And all of these are things that I DO do, currently. They’re how I make my income as is. There’s absolutely more jobs out there, but the fact is as a freelancer, FINDING additional jobs is a time consuming and spoon consuming process, that is additionally impacted by factors like ADHD, so not only does looking for work require time that’s not already being spent working, it also requires the management and expenditure of mental resources that I have to prioritize FIRST towards applying them to what work I already DO have, given the absence of ADHD medication and minimal coping or regulatory habits allowing for me to be all that productive WITHOUT said meds.

Not to mention the strain sitting in front of a computer all day for work in venues like graphic design, etc, puts on migraines, so there’s only so many hours I can devote daily or in one sitting to doing things like cover work. Much of my writing time is spent not actually writing, but me just dictating into notes on my phone and then copying and pasting all that into the appropriate formats for fiction, nonfiction and just random posts. Of course here then I have to prioritize applying my mental resources to first making sure the stuff I write to make money gets edited or properly pared down to size and isn’t repeating the same shit over and over and over, then doing the same to stuff I write fic wise as one of my few escapes from Real Life BS so I can at least point to having SOME kind of life (as this has been my daily existence for years, and uh.....people having things they like or like to do, as much as is humanly feasible, only becomes MORE of a necessity the more stress involved in their day to day life, not less).

Meaning by the time I even get to posting, like.....as much as it may look like I do a lot of it, the speed at which I write when I have any kinds of spoons to apply to posting or composing thoughts at ALL means I actually pour out a lot in a little span of time.....BUT that’s not like, a Skill so much as its a Fact. Its just the way I am and it comes with its downsides as well as its upsides....Im good at banging out a lot in a short amount of time, but ONLY when I just....let it go, versus try and regulate it all or squeeze it out bit by bit. I’m a sprint poster these days rather than a marathoner, even if the length of my thoughts makes it LOOK like the latter.....the reality is for me it tends to be all or nothing, its whatever I can get on the page BEFORE I lose my breath or train of thought. So that’s why it looks the way it does, because that was the only form it was coming out at the specific time and space when I had the energy and brainpower TO get it out, and going back in hindsight and editing it for clarity or brevity AFTER I gasp it all out requires energy and breath I do not have PAST that point, so it becomes a simple equation of well do I want a post to exist here at all or not at all.....and I err on the side of posting. This isn’t a defense because there’s nothing to defend, mind you, I’m simply explaining my way through my thought process, approach to things, and realities of my day to day existence for you to do with whatever you want. Its just a perspective you may not have had before. Whatever.

Of course, even this doesn’t exist in a void. Something that’s always a factor in my awareness when posting is like......I’m lucky enough to have a large enough following that cares enough about what I have to say for whatever reasons or puts enough value in what I have to say or the things I write and create, that I’ve been able to supplement my financial needs when absolutely necessary at times, by way of donation posts. I try not to lean on them more than necessary because I am keenly aware that they are a gift from people, many of whom I do not know and will likely never meet, and as such, not something I have any form of expectation for. I make donation posts when and where I do not in the anticipation of getting them met, but simply for a lack of any other options whatsoever. I’m limited in the work I can do, and the time and energy I can devote to finding more of that same work. There’s not a ton of other career paths I can pursue even from behind a computer due to my lack of a college degree, and the fact that even when I’m qualified skill or knowledge wise, I lack the specific credentials for verifying that I possess those skills or knowledge in a way employers are inclined to recognize and/or validate. Going BACK to school to get said credentials is an expenditure of time, finances, and other resources I do not have to spare at the moment or any time soon, especially not in the name of shoring up a lack of all that in the present term.

I dropped out of college freshman year after my gaybashing and rape. I never went back to it for a variety of reasons that were only half about resources and half about intent. My family is not a presence in my life and hasn’t really been in any significant way since I was eighteen, so college in the first place was something I had to be entirely self-sufficient about....I was only able to afford to go the year that I did go by way of academic scholarships that were dependent on grades I couldn’t keep up in the wake of what happened to me, and that I couldn’t exactly ever get back without a foundation to build upon, like high school and my initial academic career. Then in the half that was about intent, I eventually moved into pursuing my actual interests like writing, graphic design and acting. One of the things I’ve always loved about those is that output and portfolio nets you more than credentials most of the time....they ARE your credentials. I was actually pretty damn successful as an actor for years, not in the way that leads to being someone that people would recognize, but in the way that leads to being able to support yourself doing what you love. All the skillsets that I have but could not back up with things like a diploma were still useful to me as an actor in a way that they’re not in terms of getting things like tutoring or teaching jobs.....I speak multiple languages but I’m self taught, I have a black belt in karate, I’m a classically trained pianist, I know a whole lot of shit about random shit that I just learned because I wanted to, and all of that got me the kind of work that I was looking for and meant I COULD work and make a living off those things for years throughout my twenty....work that I would not have been able to get if I had been back sitting in a classroom instead. The primary currency of my years as an actor were life experiences and I had those in spades, and I was very good at what I did, if I do say so myself, and the reasons I never advanced further career wise tended to have less to do with whether or not I booked the roles I auditioned for and whether I got the auditions at all......

I’m getting a bit off topic here but I’m just saying there’s definitely a convo to be had at some point, about the roles and opportunities I turned down because I wasn’t willing to sleep with someone or put up with their advancements in order to do so. Something that’s a dime a dozen in Hollywood and the thing is.....I was a sex worker, for years, before I moved to Hollywood and started working as an actor. But there’s a distinct difference between the way people talk about, interact with and perceive someone who’s gotten roles because of sex, advanced up a corporate ladder because of sex...versus, gotten paid because of sex. I didn’t turn down offers of roles for sex because of my hang-ups about sex but rather other peoples’......I had a problem with various parts of the industry that would have thought nothing about me getting a role because a producer wanted to sleep with me, but would have turned up their nose at me because I slept with someone to get money for groceries before. Basically I’m just saying the specific bullshit Hollywood has not just about sex but predatory behavior got in the way of my career advancement because there were some games I just wasn’t willing to play....which hails from the very life experiences that oftentimes made me so good as an actor in the first place.

Which brings me back again to my main point......none of this exists in a vaccuum. Being the sum of our life experiences and variables means being the SUM of that, at ALL times, both in large and small ways. We are never just a LIST of identity traits or experiences. They all constantly loop back around and feed into each other and inform where we are at every second of every day and where we GO in each second, what we DO with our days and the choices we make.

Which is where so much of my discontent with fandoms, on social media in general, with PEOPLE in my day to day life comes from: this desire people have to compartmentalize, to ZERO IN on specific factors or variables or instances and act like it even CAN be divorced from all other influences. Its not that you can’t FOCUS on one thing at a time, its just even when you do that, that doesn’t like....snap all existing connections that thing has to everything outside of your area of focus.

As an example, my attitudes on being a survivor and various kinds of fiction get me a ton of pushback from various corners, and its all geared around the same premise: don’t like, don’t read. Put a wall up between you and it. Focus on just what you’re doing and forget what everyone else is doing.

But it doesn’t work like that. It CAN’T work like that. And this commitment people have to pretending it does just because that pretense has been working for them, THAT, I’d argue, is the true wedge in fandom spaces.

Everything about me is connected to something else. I’m a childhood abuse and incest csa survivor. When my therapist asks me to picture a moment from my childhood when I felt safe or protected, I got nothing. I don’t have that resource. I don’t know what that feeling is meant to feel like, because I never felt it. And that connects directly into the fact that when I was gaybashed in college, after they dumped me in a fucking park, bleeding and covered in writing, I didn’t even think about going to the hospital, the police, let alone calling anyone like my parents, I just picked myself up and walked back to my dorm, cleaned myself off as best I could, and went to class next Monday morning. That’s fucked up, I shouldn’t have had to, but its what I did, and there’s no divorcing that from any of the contexts of WHY that’s what I did, and why I didn’t think there was any other logical recourse or option for me then. Just like all of that also links back to growing up in the closet and entering high school the same month Matthew Shepherd was attacked, and then when he ultimately died two months later, and watching everybody’s reactions to that informed the fact that I did not remotely feel safe in the aftermath of my attack, disclosing what happened to people around me, or just like I didn’t take it on face value that even if they said appropriately sensitive things to me to my face didn’t mean that like when I was a freshman in high school and everyone was reacting to that, they wouldn’t revert to callous jokes about fags the second they felt a little less out of the spotlight or in the right company for those jokes.

And all of that directly links into my feelings not just when people write rape and gaybashing scenes that make no attempt at any kind of catharsis but rather only appear to exist for the fetishization, the glamorization, the VALIDATION of the idea that in the right context, those kinds of scenes can be hot to the right audience rather than demoralizing to the figure who’s pain and humaniliation is required for everyone else’s entertainment....but it also additionally plays into the reactions and attitudes I have when people look at me going “wow, really don’t like the lens you’re using here or the environment you’re creating around an experience that is never anything BUT painful and traumatic for someone who lived it, like I did” and choose to respond to that by saying things that amount to “well you’re basically just like conservative southern assholes who hate free speech when you say stuff like this,” cuz y’know.....that’s describing my literal oppressors. That’s lumping me in with the actual literal kind of people who are the SOURCE of my trauma there, all because you felt butthurt and defensive about how I said I wasn’t comfortable with the kinds of jokes and output you were making about scenes that aren’t that far divorced from my own personal reality, and that I shouldn’t HAVE to divorce from my own experiences just to exist within certain fandom spaces.

And just like the fact that being an incest survivor is directly relevant to the fact that my stepmother always made an effort to keep me at a distance because not wanting to admit to what happened to me and how it played into our family entanglements was directly linked back to the fact that she and my aunt were both incest survivors who never got the opportunities to deal with what happened to them, which in turn directly plays into the fact that ultimately my aunt ended up taking her own life a few years ago, which also very much informs my attitude towards people interacting with incest ships as something cutesy and uwu, as my aunt was literally the only person in my family I ever WAS close to or comfortable with. And there’s no divorcing any of that into nice neat little compartments that make it easier for anyone on the outside looking in to just peek through ONE window to see what they might see, and try and act like it doesn’t matter what’s in any of those other boxes because it has nothing to do with the only one they want to concern themselves with.

And my lack of resources and emotional state post gay-bashing led directly into my sex work for various reasons, which led in various ways to better things for me in some respects, while compounding certain traumas of mine in other respects, and there’s no divorcing any of that from the rest either. There’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was good’ even though some of it was and there’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was bad’ even though some of it really was. And a lot of the attitudes of some of the rich assholes who paid me for sex and viewed me as a plaything they could do anything to directly informs my resistance to letting powerful assholes in Hollywood hold roles over my head in exchange for sex, even though the latter could have advanced my career in huge ways and led to me being a lot more financially stable and self-sufficient by the time my physical issues emerged due to the jaw joint on one side of my head eroding through and snapping completely just like that in turn was a long-building repercussion of not just my gaybashing, but my decision to never go to the hospital and get checked out after it.

None of this can be cut away from the rest and trimmed into neat little pieces that don’t color outside the lines or impact anything else. Just like my gaybashing itself can’t be divorced from my white privilege, and the fact that it played into the fact that I survived that night in the first place. Something I say not in some weird white guilt kinda way like people try and project onto others for even acknowledging white privilege, like no its not like I fucking wish I died to prove some kind of weird point, what I’m talking about is just the simple basic AWARENESS that multiple and even contradictory factors exist in even the most extreme of situations. And its never anything BUT self-serving to pretend that you can frame it as otherwise.

And so when I talk about being a survivor, just like with all the rest of this, I’m not talking about some arbitrary status of survivorhood that exists in a specific point in time and is only relevant to some singular event I survived, its applicable to everything about my life big and small. I’m a survivor every single day I’ve survived, every day I wake up and keep moving forward despite the pain and stress and lingering trauma of what was done to me one night sixteen years ago, I’m surviving what they did every bit as much as I survived it that night and in the morning after as I dragged myself back to my room. Just like my status as an abuse survivor stemming from childhood directly informs everything about not just my coping mechanisms but my entire freaking worldview as someone who grew up throughout childhood learning to view the world through a lens in which he was simultaneously not safe due to the presence of victimizers in his own home, while at the same time still having certain protections that others don’t have in life in general due to not just again my white privilege but my male privilege, my cis privilege.

And that’s what makes it so laughable and so offensive when people act like I’m defining myself by being a survivor as some kind of singular identity trait whenever I raise it as something of relevance in fandom discussions that have EVERYTHING to do with stances of abuse apologism and homophobic ideas that directly play into why I was so unsafe in certain parts and times of my life, because who the fuck is anyone else to tell me how my experiences as a survivor and how they shaped me are or are not relevant to ideas pertaining to those very things, when brought front and center and face to face with me in various fandoms due to the insistence of fandoms at large on KEEPING these things front and center in almost ALL fandom discussions? Like, the hilarious irony of people who have so wholly centered certain types of ship and content in terms of their own personal fandom identities that they can’t help but feel personally attacked when someone so much as says “I don’t like the ideas you’re broadcasting alongside your choice to amplify and signal boost this kind of content because you’re not JUST signalboosting the content itself, but these specific perceptions of it and ideas in support of and in apology for it.”....like, turning around and saying IM too defined by my views stemming from my existence as a survivor. The call is coming from inside the house, lolol.

Again, none of this can be divorced from the rest. It can be focused on one piece at a time, but its connections to everything else that informs it in various RELEVANT ways, can not be made IRRELEVANT just because you don’t like the picture that forms when you’re forced to look at the WHOLE picture instead of just willfully condensing the frame to just the part you like or want to talk about.

And to bring it all home, looping back up to what I opened with:

Do you know how often I hear people say shit about the length of my posts or the rambling nature or in various ways act INCONVENIENCED by various things about how they have to interact with my posts when that interaction itself is still completely voluntary?

Taking in everything I said in this post, the way it all interconnects and informs other things, I’d like to ask anyone who has ever objected to some post somewhere or derided one because of something as ultimately nonconsequential as the length of it, something where its literally just like....scroll a few more seconds......do you apply the same energy and scrutiny to posts that cross your dash that are filled with various things like racism, transphobia, rape or pedophilia fetishization or abuse apologism, or do you let that slide by without acknowledgment before looking at a post that makes you sigh because of how fucking LONG it was and think...this, THIS is what I’m gonna choose to speak up about?

Because that’s ultimately what this is all about. Here’s the kicker with everything I said....my life could be better, I want it to be better, from the biggest aspects of it and pain issues to stuff just like.....the fandom communities I immerse myself in for my own attempts at having something to counterbalance real life stress. But at the end of the day, there’s no my life sucks or my life rocks....its still just...my life. And it has its good as well as its bad, and that ultimately hails from my choices, and the fact that like....even while there are choices I literally CAN’T make, I can be comfortable with the ones I DO make.

And so like......would my life be easier in some respects now if I’d gone back to school and gotten a diploma and had more job opportunities available to me? Yeah, for sure. But that awareness doesn’t mean I regret my choice NOT to go back to school when I DID have more opportunities for that, because the acting career I had at those times instead was the choice I made, with intent, and its one I’m still glad for making. Those experiences still matter, still meant something and still mean something to me.

And do I wish that I’d coped with what happened to me in college in different, healthier ways that would have given me more tools for how I interact with my trauma and who I became after that, rather than how I did? Yeah, sometimes, for sure. But not without losing my awareness that the choices I did make at the time were not made in a vacuum, and can not be edited in hindsight....there were reasons I made them, reasons that were informed by everything that had happened to me previously and stemmed from a lot of things I still didn’t have control over and as such always placed a cap on the range of choices that were available to me back then, because there’s a difference between choices that exist in theory versus choices that exist as something that might viably be chosen at a particular place and time.

The world is big and complicated. Life is big and complicated. WE are big and complicated. And nothing about understanding any of that is IMO benefited by putting most of our effort into SHRINKING our worldviews, constructing artificial frames that don’t just focus us in on specific aspects of it for finite periods but attempt to then treat that as its own individual thing utterly disconnected from anything else that might be going on OUTSIDE that picture frame.

So if you’ve read this far and you’ve taken anything away from this big long rambling post that could be a lot shorter, could be a lot less rambling, but could also just not have been posted at all and I’d rather have it exist in this form than let everything in it go unsaid.....

My request would be that your takeaway be this: to look at your choices in regards to some specific finite interaction in even just one of your fandoms, and see what happens when you open the frame back up. If you widen the scope. If you let other things into the picture. Are you still comfortable with the choices you make or don’t make in light of THAT image, are they any different from the ones you made or would have made when keeping things as small and contained in your awareness as possible, just because that was easier for you to conceptualize, easier to navigate around, just....less COMPLICATED?

Because things aren’t made less complicated just by the mere fact of WANTING them to be.

And if your choices are more born of what you’d say or do IF the world were as finite or as limited as its sometimes easier to pretend it is......is that really the approach you want to go with and the reasoning you want to stand by?

And similarly, if there are choices you make and that in ORDER for you to feel comfortable making them, you feel a need to tighten your focus or shrink your worldview around one specific element or area and leave out all the rest and only then are you truly comfortable with doing or saying something, like......

Its important to remember that this isn’t the only option you have for making yourself more comfortable with things you say or do or think, or even just have in the past.

The other perfectly viable option exists: you can simply....make different choices.

#this is a post #im not entirely sure how else to describe it #just that it is not necessarily the post that it looks like beneath the cut that it looks like above the cut #so all I've got is: this has been a post #make of it what you will #lololol #its....whatever #ANYWHO

11 notes · View notes

yikesharringrove · 5 years ago

Note

Hello! i don’t think i’ve given you any of my weird headcanons in a hot minute so here’s a new favorite! Steve with ADHD, at first nobody notices it, he gets along well enough as a young kid people just think he has an active imagination, when in real it y he just can’t pay attention. He’s in 5th grade when his teacher pulls him out of class and tells him he needs to start paying attention, Steve almost starts crying as he tries to explain to her that he just can’t, that it doesn’t work (pt.1)

(pt.2) so the teacher tells him to stay back after class that day, he totally forgets and almost ends up leaving just further probing her suspicions. She asks him to extol in what he means, he doesn’t know what to say, says that too many things are happening for him to pay attention in class, and that sometimes if he hears another teacher he’ll end up listening to that, or if he can look out a window he’ll get distracted, and she already knows what’s going on, calls his parents for a meeting

(pt.3) So his mom comes in, his dad “could make it” but that works out for steve because his mom actually gets him tested, and his test comes back positive so he has to take meds now and sure his grades aren’t the best but they are so much better and he can actually sit in class and focus, but randomly in his sophomore year tommy finds the pills and makes fun of him and he gets so embarrassed that he just stops taking them, and his grades drop bad and he can’t focus and he feels like shit

(pt.4) he goes around like that for a while feeling lost and distracted but refusing to take his meds and be lame, he only starts taking them again after nancy breaks up with him because he needs to focus on something that isn’t the break up, but they aren’t working well which is to be expected he hasn’t taken them in more then a year, so he ends up totally freaking out and that’s how billy finds him, sitting on the bathroom floor with the WORST headache he’s ever had and he takes pity on him

(pt.5) billy and steve were kind of friends after the fight they had talked and worked things out, not super close but enough to not be so weird around each other anymore, so billy takes him home and makes sure he gets new meds and makes sure he keeps taking them and on days when he can tell steve is space and distracted and clearly forgot he’ll drive to his house and make him take them, and steve will bitch and moan but he actually loves that someone cares enough to make sure he’s ok

(optional pt.6) billy realizing he really likes steve when steve is talking about a special interest and getting super happy and he just can’t help but feel in love with him (is this totally based off my expletive with adhd? yes it is! is this the exact way my hug said she realized she love me? yes it is 🥰)

Hi! I have another one of your AMAZING headcanons in my drafts still, I’m working on it I’m sorry I’m the slowest writer ever.

So, I think I’ve said this, but ADHD makes A LOT of sense for Steve. I don’t have ADHD, so I’m sorry if this is in accurate, I did some research, didn’t want this to be like, bad.

Also, I put him on Ritalin for timing purposes and bc it can cause panic attacks. 🤷‍♀️ and his favorite animals are giraffes, goats and lobsters, 3 of my favorite animals.

Read on ao3

When Steve was little, he could never focus on something for longer than ten minutes.

He would be running through the house, leaving toys on the ground when he remembered a game he could play in another room. His nannies would roll their eyes, picking up after him.

When he got to school, it was more of the same. He would get distracted by every bird that he could see outside. He would be in the middle of class, the teacher would say something about giraffes and his mind would race about animals, would think about every country in Africa he could name, would think about whether or not Lithuania was in Africa.

His grades would slip, tests were a nightmare when he got caught up watching a bee buzzing near the window, only to realize he had answered three questions and only had eleven minutes left.

He was always a poor student, until fifth grade.

Mrs. Wilson had called him up after class, had noticed him zoning out and was about to chide him when she noticed the tears in his eyes.

“I just, I don’t know what happens, sometimes, my thoughts go too fast for my own brain and I can’t focus.” He was sniffling across from her.

“Steve, I’m going to have a chat with your parents. You’re not in trouble, but I think we can help you.” She smiled as she pat his shoulder, letting himself get collected before going to his next class.

She called his parents in at the end of the day, his mother sitting in the seat next to Steve, the principal joining them.

“I’ve noticed some trends in Steve’s school work and his presence in class. We think it may be in his best interest to test him for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. We feel that pinpointing the problem for him may be more helpful moving forward.

Mrs. Harrington agreed, waved her hand in a way that said she was bored of the conversation. Steve spent the whole next Saturday going through various tests, was wrung dry by the end of the day, but left with a clear diagnosis.

He began taking a low does of Ritalin, began focusing in class. His grades skyrocketed, getting the very first B+ he had ever gotten on his English essay.

He was okay until sophomore year.

He was an okay student, could focus in class, but not necessarily retain or understand the information.

But then Tommy found the pills, had laughed at him and called him retarded, the word that had haunted him his whole life, spat at him by the father that didn’t care about him.

So he flushed the pills, never refilled his prescription.

His grades slipped immediately. He wasn’t able to focus in class, had gone back to the days of staring out the window and getting confused about why it was called a square root.

He was constantly moving, would bounce his leg, would tap his pencil, would sometimes take the hall pass and just walk.

He knows taking his meds would fix the problem, but he had Nancy know, didn’t want her to know this weakness of his, this shameful secret.

But then he didn’t have Nancy, and his thoughts were racing, jumping from Nancy to demodog to Barb to Billy to his dad to Nancy to demodog to Barb to Billy to his dad to Nancy to-

He broke down February of senior year.

Graduation was soon as Steve’s grades were ass. He needed to focus on something that wasn’t Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad. So he filled his old prescription, took the same does he had two years ago and went to school.

When he was first put on the meds, he was told panic attacks and anxiety could be a side effect. He had never experienced that before, but now, now he lived in constant anxiety, and with his Ritalin, he was a mess.

He had locked himself in the bathroom above the gym, the one nobody uses. He was on the floor, trying to ground himself against the wall, trying to think of anything other than Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad, Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad, Nancy, demodog, demodog, demodog, demodog-

“Pretty Boy?”

Billy was in front of him, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Steve.

“B-Billy?”

“You okay? You’re kinda, kinda losin’ it.”

“I, I went off my meds for a, a few years, and I put myself back on them, and it’s, I, I know it’s lame, but they usually help and now-” he sobbed as Billy pulled him into his chest, soothing him softly.

“What meds?”

“Ritalin. It’s for, for ADHD.” Billy huffed a laugh.

“I fuckin’ knew it. The way you talk a mile a damn minute.” Steve’s heart sank. “And it’s not lame. Some peoples’ brains are just, wired different.”

Steve was starting to calm down, the anxiety shoving over into a raging headache. He groaned into Billy’s shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Head hurts.”

“Want me to take you home.” Steve just nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. Billy drove him home, sat with him while Steve called his doctor, made an appointment for next weekend.

Steve had gotten a new medication, adjusted to his current state. The new meds were like magic, allowing Steve to focus when he needed, wouldn’t let him fall into hyperfocus on something that wasn’t productive. He finished senior year on a good note, with okay-enough grades to score his diploma.

He spent the summer at Scoops, working alongside Robin.

Billy came in every day. Would sit with him on Steve’s break. On the days Steve seemed more spaced, he would marrow his eyes, would say you didn’t take your meds today, would drive to Steve’s house to get them for him, would make sure he took them, would take drinks out of Steve’s hands at parties, would make sure he wouldn’t do anything to interfere with them, would dread the days he would find Steve nauseous from the meds.

Bonus:

Steve realized he was in love with Billy when he found out Billy starting keeping a small store of Steve’s meds in his car, would update them periodically to make sure they were safe, effective.

Billy realized he was in love with Steve when he was talking about every animal he could name. He showed Billy the small library of books he had bought for himself about animals, could explain the difference between kingdom, class, phylum, and genus. Was throwing out Latin names for his favorite animals, giraffa camelopardalis, capra aegagrus hircus, nephropidae. Billy couldn’t help himself, had just leaned over and kissed him, left Steve giggling as they made out.

#yikes writes #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #harringrove #steve has adhd

155 notes · View notes

theoships · 3 years ago

Text

Look yall i've had a rough day so it's oversharing personal bullshit rant time

Can't get it to do read more on mobile so just imagine it's here

Today i've had to scramble to call my doctor because the pharmacy didn't get my refills and now I don't have my anxiety meds. On top of that I have my usual debilitating pms so i'm in a lot of pain, and this is added anxiety for me because said debilitating pms is a potentially serious medical problem and I won't find out if it's serious for another 2 weeks when I have an ultrasound appointment. Anyways. Also, one of my professors thought it would be a ~fun surprise~ to give us a paper due on sunday and not tell us about it until this morning.

Right now what's keeping me sane while I wait for my pain meds to kick in is imagining risotto holding me and taking care of me and it's very much helping, nothing more soothing than being held in the big strong arms of your favorite capo

#theo #sorry for venting #just...#fuckin thursday #don't be worried i'm ok #i've got therapy tomorrow it's all good

1 note · View note

laws-yellow-submarine · 4 years ago

Text

Forgive me a moment but I need to vent so uhhh scroll on if you'd like or read my ramblings, I don't care either way lol

So like, I posted last week about how I was FINALLY having the appointment to get ADHD meds prescribed, and I was nervous but I was also super excited, and then the appointment just...never happened. Totally wiped from the system, not a word from anyone.

Well I called the office the next day at like 11:30 am and got their voicemail, figured ok no big deal probably on lunch this is easier anyway cause I can just say everything I need to (I have major phone anxiety so I honestly prefer leaving voicemails cause I can't be interrupted and lose track of my thoughts, and it puts it back in their court to contact me). I figured I'd get a call back that afternoon, or maybe the next day.

It's been a week. I haven't heard from anyone.

Now granted I haven't tried calling a second time, mostly because I'm so goddamned frustrated by this entire situation, after months of already trying to get in to see someone about medication (and if you've been here a while you KNOW I've talked in the past about how many hoops I've already had to go through for no reason). Plus there's no reason if they were being professional that they shouldn't have called me back! I was more than willing to give the benefit of the doubt that it was a weird fluke, but now? Not so much.

But that's not even the worst part! The anxiety meds that my current NP pushed for, that I don't personally think I need (or even WANT because anxiety meds have never worked for me) have completely run out, and my automatic refills aren't working! The pharmacy said "we'll contact them for you!" and then nothing! I'm currently in lala land because I had to go off these meds I didn't want a month and a half after starting them!

AND my boyfriend is now getting pissed off at me for not "just making one phone call" because he's under the impression that'll fix everything, not even taking into account that I'm stressed, frustrated, overwhelmed, and going through antidepressant withdrawal, and I've expressed that I don't feel capable of "just making one phone call" right now, and considering all the other goddamn issues I've had with this place, I'm not convinced just calling again will do anything other than make me EVEN MORE FRUSTRATED!

He wants me to just keep pushing through and trying to reach them, at this point I'd prefer to just walk away from it and wait until I'm on different insurance (cause I HAVE to switch by June 18th) and finding a competent therapist, especially since it sure seems like I'd have to start all over anyway...

Oh and to top it all off, I was complaining to my mom about the appointment and she flat out told me she went to this place as a teenager and had similar issues, and the patient records she has to look through for her job that come from them haven't improved her opinion on how they operate, so it's not even like this place has a good reputation and I'm just having bad luck, this is the NORM! Like, yes I want/need to medicate my ADHD, but you can't tell me that at this point I'd get them to do it before my insurance ran out anyway...

Anyway this is probably not coherent and I apologize but my boyfriend made some passive aggressive bullshit comment to me about it all and I just had to scream because otherwise I would lose it. Thanks y'all

#leyna speaks #vent post #tw medication #just in case #I'm going through it y'all lol

5 notes · View notes

cheesecakeandpuddin · 3 years ago

Text

I canceled the appointment I had for August to see a psychologist that specializes in Autism Spectrum diagnoses for adults. It was going to cost more than $1,000. I guess at the time when I made the appointment, I thought we'd have that money. We just don't. It really sucks. It feels like there were possibly answers or progress within reach. But not anymore. I spoke with a few people who are on the spectrum or who have family that are diagnosed autistic. Everyone kind of concurred that unless it was for specific work accommodations, it might not actually be "worth it" to seek any diagnosis. At first I thought I didn't need any work accommodations. But the more I think about it, the more I realize just how desperately I do need small chunks of time of just silence and not interacting with people. Like, maybe just 15 minutes of quiet. Those are my best recharges during a work day, when I can find a quiet room to sit in for ten minutes and no one interrupts. It's almost impossible to ask of a NYC public school - a quiet place for people to go and recharge. But that is really what we need, students and adults alike.

I think I probably have a sensory processing disorder that leads to a whole host of other problems that look like other things - for example, the other night when I was cooking and I started to get too hot, and then hair was sticking to my neck, and crumbs were stuck to the bottom of my feet, and then construction was happening outside - I am not happy to admit this, but I quite literally threw a tantrum in the middle of my kitchen - clenching my fists as tightly as I could, gritting my teeth, trying not to physically react. I wanted to explode out of my skin. I wanted to punch a hole through a wall. I wanted to scream and cry. I screamed into a pillow. I didn't feel better until I showered and my skin didn't feel sticky. I think so many of these sensory issues lead to other problems - anxiety, perhaps at anticipating or enduring uncomfortable sensory experiences. Depression, realizing this is not the normal experience for everyone and it is very uncomfortable and practically invisible. Social anxiety, as I can't listen to what you're saying very well if there is music playing in the background, and I have to ask people far too often, "what was that?" A complete lack of executive functioning skills as I become distracted by every sound and smell and touch.

Maybe it isn't autism. Maybe it's crippling sensory overload.

Either way, I will just keep guessing and keep self-treating as well as I can. I'm lucky to have access to what I do - the Calm meditation app has meant the world to me this last year. It's $65/year. Not everyone can afford that. Stuff like that should be free. We lie and tell people the resources are out there and then they try to find them and they are not, they are not free and they are not easily accessible, and you better believe you're going to fill out a shitload of paperwork and jump through a thousand hoops before you can get even hope to get help. And I guess it stands true. What am I looking for in any sort of official diagnosis? Is it validation? Is there something so wrong with wanting to feel validated? To know that there is an explanation for why I have always struggled.

My psychiatrist, who is treating me for anxiety and depression since 2019, checks in with me about once a month before refilling my medications. I asked her about misophonia (literally - hatred of sound) - a condition that is also not often officially diagnosed. I was pretty surprised when she said she had never even heard the term. Misophonia is a strong reaction to specific sounds, such as pencil tapping or gum chewing. People with misophonia can become irritated, enraged or even panicked when they hear their trigger sounds. Hell if that doesn't sound like me.

I'm not entirely sure where to go from here. I'm finding a lot of success in just giving myself permission to avoid situations that I know are going to stress me out. If I am getting uncomfortable somewhere, I don't worry if people are going to be offended if I leave. I just leave. Obviously that's not going to fly at work. It's going to be an adjustment after working from home all last year. But I keep telling myself I have made it this far. I will figure out what works.

#mental health #sensory processing disorder #sensory overload #neurodiversity #neurodivergent #mental health awareness #misophonia

1 note · View note

dadzawa-adopt-dabi · 5 years ago

Text

secret baby ch13

(im so sorry for the wait! thank you for the patience! i really didnt mean to leave anything this long without a update.)

The hospital always brings back bad memories. Memories of being stuck lying to the nurses as they ask him where bruises and burns come from. He remembers a specialist being hired to heal his old scars from training and how frustrated the nurse had been when Dabi had told him the lie of the month. It's different now, he knows that and reminds himself to relax. Kiyoko will pick up on his distress and start fussing if he lets himself stew too long. The past is the past and while he can’t change it he can ensure Kiyoko won’t fear hospitals or grow up like he did.

“Dabi urameshi?” the receptionist calls for him and he raises his hand. He can’t follow after her right away but does his best to be quick when putting Kiyoko back in her brightly colored stroller and shoving her toy back into the diaper bag hanging off the handle. Kiyoko whimpers at the loss of her toy but since Dabi can’t run around after it when she decides to throw it he trades it for a pacifier.

Everyone else has a significant other with them in the waiting room. This visit isn’t for Kiyoko and Dabi hadn’t wanted to ask his babysitter to watch her again this early in the morning. It's just a checkup, his heat should be coming soon and he needs his scent patches refilled. Just a quick visit but it makes him feel lonely, knowing everyone else has someone else to rely on and that enji has wrecked something as simple as a checkup for him.

“Thank you for waiting” he mumbles and pushes Kiyoko through the door the receptionist is still holding open. Hawks and his ridiculous habit of holding open the club door or his apartment door spring to mind. Particularly his habit of bowing with a mischievous grin on his face as he did so. He must be feeling really sentimental today, every little thing seems to be tripping him up. Maybe it’s just the stress.

“It’s not a problem.” Maybe it's just Dabi but the smile on her face and the chirp in her voice feel strained. It’s not like he can help that he’s dealing with a baby on his own or that hero’s are all pieces of shit.

He needs more sleep if he’s going to be this irritable. He would give anything for just one night without waking up from nightmares. Kiyoko mostly sleeps throughout the night thankfully so he hasn’t had to calm her down as well as himself as he checks locks and searches the house for a flare of red. He steps into the room his receptionist gestures to and checks to make sure Kiyoko hasn’t lost her pacifier yet.

“Hello, I'll be your doctor for today, I understand that you're looking at a general checkup as well as a prescription?” she doesn't peer at Kiyoko in her stroller, Dabi having slammed the hood on it down when she walked into the room.

“For heats and for scent blockers.” it's going to be a little bit of a stretch to afford both prescriptions but he still has his ‘maid’ business going. He had resisted calling it a maid service at first, preferring home cleaning or something similar. But it really was just a maid service.

“Oh you won’t need suppressants for awhile” she let out a small laugh but stopped when Dabi didn’t join her. Her face quickly morphing into something more troubled. “Your file said that you gave birth to a healthy little girl about 6 months ago right?”

Dabi mirrors her frown and nods. That’s why the suppressants were so important right now. Every 8 months most omega’s went into heat. Some of course went through it more often and others less but Dabi’s had always been hard to track. Coming and going as they pleased with no pattern.

“Your body won’t enter heat for a while. Has no one explained this to you yet?” she questions gently while trying to get Dabi to hold eye contact with her.

“Not really I guess. I’ve never had a regular cycle and I wasn’t allowed birth control when I lived with my parents.” he stares at the shadow of Kiyoko in her stroller. If he had been on birth control he wouldn’t have had her. He doesn't regret becoming pregnant or running away with her but he wishes he had been on birth control all the same. He’s heard it could make his heats less painful but enji had believed he would start sleeping around and Rei hadn’t stood up for him.

“Birth control can help with that. It can also make heats less intense or painful if you experience either of those symptoms.” she sat down at her desk in the corner and swiveled her chair so she was facing him. “For now unless you have someone you feel comfortable leaving your baby with you won’t have to worry about it.”

“I have a babysitter I usually leave her with. Her other father isn’t in the picture and neither are my parents.” He feels like he should know this already, should know enough about his body to not request medication he won’t need at the very least.

“Your babysitter won't count. They would have to be family or like family in order for your insticts to calm down and for your cycle to restart.” a little plastic block on her waist goes off and after quickly checking it she shuts it off and puts it in a drawer.

“Wasn’t that important?” Dabi raises an eyebrow slightly amused.

“This is more important right now.” she waves it off. Like she truly believes that whatever caused her beeper to go off can wait. “Suppressants are more expensive than most people realize and you don’t need them right now.”

“Because I had Kiyoko?” His voice comes out quiet and unsure. He never had these kinds of talks about suppressants or children with his mother. By the time he had realized he needed someone to talk to it they hadn’t been getting along. He had been angry and bitter that she was still with enji. Then he had started going out and soon enough he was pregnant.

“Well yes and no. Omega’s have their own built in heat suppressant system. It's still mostly a mystery as to how our bodies do it but until you have some form of packbonds your body won’t send you into heat. Sometimes if a young omega frequently takes care of younger siblings or relatives their cycles will become irregular due to their ‘inner omega’ as we will call it, deciding that they are a primary caretaker and putting heats on the backburner. There is a bit of a tradeoff the longer you go without one and that is just that the first heat when you do go through it will be more intense than normal. Something that can be balanced out with birth control.”

Dabi spends an hour and a half asking any question he can think of to the doctor, eventually she gives him some websites to visit and has to end the appointment. She has other patients to see still and Dabi has taken up enough of her time. He leaves with the prescription for scent blocker pills and less frustration than he started out the appointment with. She also prescribed him soem light sleeping medication to help him sleep through the night. Kiyoko has almost always slept through the night and being such a light sleeper he has no worries about not waking up if she needs him.

At least now he won’t have to worry about going into heat on top of everything else. Now he just has to wait for Giran to give him a call and keep his own business afloat in the meantime. He just needed a little help, he can still raise Kiyoko on his own.

Dabi doesn't get his first job from giran right away like he half expects. He spends the first few days on edge until he realizes that it won’t do any good to stress out over. Focusing on Kiyoko helps him push the constant anxiety away. His home cleaning business eats up whatever time Kiyoko doesn't. He’s determined not to raise Kiyoko completely on crime. There is no telling how often he would get a job from Giran or if he will always be paid as fast as the last time. The biggest change Dabi can make right away is being pickier with his clients, dropping anyone who has been judgemental and anyone that has ever given him the creeps. Kiyoko no longer has to stay with his sitter, he is able to take her with him again, and it takes a lot of his tension away from him. He hadn't known exactly how much denying his instincts to keep her close had been weighing on him until he could obey them. His remaining clients are mostly people who just don’t have time to do the work themselves or the elderly are left. Combined with being able to actually sleep through the night he feels almost like he did when he was spending nights with Hawks. He feels almost like everything will turn out okay. It's strange after the months of worry and stress but Dabi embraces the change as best as can.

Kiyoko distracts him from his thoughts by reaching for her favorite toy that is just out of her reach where she is lying on a tummy time mat. She’s also taken to knocking anything she doesn't like away from her. Making a mess with food and toys constantly. She’s still on formula for the most part but he was given the okay at her 6th month checkup to let her start trying solid food.

“Yay! Good girl Kiyoko! You're getting so big!” Dabi cheers his daughter on as he eats his lunch while she turns herself over, still trying to reach the toy. Her wings flutter quickly and help her finish turning over. Dabi has the sinking feeling that she will eventually be able to fly with them.

Kiyoko fakes a small cry at Dabi, wanting to be off the mat and be held instead. Being on the tummy - time mat makes her upset because it puts her dad being out of her sight. There’s no tears in her eyes when Dabi gives in and picks her up a few minutes later. It's hard to leave her on the mat when she cries.

“Crying for just any old reason? Uncle Natsou would call you a faker. Uncle Shouto would probably just pick you up when I wasn’t looking.” He was still doing his best to include his family in her life even if she might never meet them. Talking about his siblings and referring to them as “Uncle” or “Aunt”.

The sound of coins jingling comes from his phone while Dabi is in the middle of bringing his fork back up to his mouth. It’s a notification sound he set for giran’s texts, the only person in his contacts that has a set ringtone. All other notifications come through set to a default tone. He flips his phone open and sets aside his food for the moment, appetite lost.

‘I'm Sorry to have your first job be on short notice but i need a message delivered to the manager of the auto dealership at the following location as soon as you can get there. Tonight preferably. Stop by the cafe to pick up the message.’ There is a large dollar amount at the end of the text. Dabi does a double take at the amount, that’s more than he was supposed to be getting paid per job. Another text is quick to follow, providing an explanation for the extra pay. ‘for the extra trouble Sugar. Let me know when it gets done.’

Dabi winces at the pet name again but sends a simple ‘K’ back to Giran. The less he says the better. He texts his babysitter for the first time in over 2 weeks. Then starts going through his anxiety induced ritual of pacing the apartment and applying his scent blocker while he waits for her response.

His sitter texts back when Kiyoko only has about five more minutes on the mat. He decides that's just enough time for him to check the windows and locks one last time. With everything secure he picks Kiyoko up and starts purring as he grabs her go bag, walking her down the hall.

“Dabi? It’s early, what do you want a babysitter for at this hour?” his babysitter grouches as they open the door still in their pajamas. It's actually almost noon but Dabi ignores both the time and her rudeness. He needs to stay on her good side so she will continue watching Kiyoko.

“I had something come up and I can't take Kiyoko with me.” He adjusts her bag as they think about it. “I know I usually give you more of a notice but i really have to go. I’ll pay you time and a half.” he tempts. Normally he would never offer but with the extra ay from Giran he can manage it this once.

“Do you know how long you are going to be gone?” they ask with a sigh as they hold out their hand for Kiyoko’s bag.

“I’m not sure but I’ll text you when i know more. I’ll be back by her bedtime at the very least.” Dabi gives Kiyoko a kiss on the head goodbye before handing her over. He waits until he’s a block away before he texts Giran that he is on his way.

@ruelukas22 @mostladylikeladythateverladied @xxsnowchildxx @i-like-to-shruggy

#dabi is touya #dabihawks #Dabi #keigo takami #secretbabyfic #omegaverse #omegadabi #alphakeigo

31 notes · View notes

lissy-strata · 5 years ago

Text

HOW I GOT MY PHONE CALL ANXIETY UNDER CONTROL

AN APPROACH THAT WON’T WORK FOR EVERYONE BUT IT’S PROBABLY WORTH A SHOT ANYWAY

1.Take an improv class. (hear me out) The idea is to develop some quick-thinking skills for when the conversation goes off-script. Doesn’t have to be a class- play improv games with friends or do your own MSTs on movies.

2. Write a loose script. Practice a few times. Chances are the person you’re calling also has a script. You can pretend you’re acting with a partner!

Examples:

“Hi, my name is X and I’m having trouble with X...”

“Hi, my name is X and I’m calling because of Reason...”

“Hello, I need This Thing, is this the right number to call?”

“Hi, my name is X and I’m calling on behalf of Y Organization...”

3. Give yourself a pep talk beforehand. Get into character if it helps. Remember that the person on the other end is just as scared of you as you are of them. And if you live in a small town and are making appointments or refilling prescriptions, chances are these people already know you and aren’t judging you.

4. Employees at big call centers and the like probably aren’t going to remember you after the call unless you’re a huge asshole to them.

5. Just don’t be a huge asshole. Be polite.

6. If you have a job where you get cold-called by vendors a lot, salespeople want a solid yes or no. A polite “maybe” just means they have to put you on a list of people to touch base with again.

7. When you need to say no to vendors- again, be polite. I’m at least able to blame school district policies or our district librarian when I decline sample boxes or have to say I can’t order from them. Phrases like “I’m sorry, we have already used our budget for something else” or “My boss says no” or “This products isn’t a good fit for us” and other variations can come in handy.

8. It’s okay if you need to repeat all the directions at the end. I have to do that because of my ADHD to make sure I understand all the steps and I’ve found that people are usually okay if you need to say, “Can I just repeat that all back to you to make sure I’ve understood?” (They think ‘finally, a customer who’s actively listening to directions!’)

9. Wait until after the call to fall to pieces. Maybe have a piece of candy or a cute video ready to go. Your call.

10. Not gonna lie, medication helps A TON. (Which sucks more if you’re unable to get meds for whatever reason.) And for me, treating it like a performance in my mind also helps. And the more I do this, the better I get at my “Functioning Adult” character.

Again, this is what worked for me, specifically. This is in no way meant to work for everyone, but I hope it’ll at least be some help to somebody.

#ADHD #anxiety #depression #just some thoughts I was having #as I procrastinate on a phone call I need to make #It's just about my library card but still

80 notes · View notes

caerwynherondale · 5 years ago

Text

Don’t Let Go of Me

Caerwyn sat on the sill of Louis’s bedroom, the wind blowing through it with the sea in the distance. A cigarette was perched between her fingers, the end of it burning slightly as smoke drifted outside, her legs swinging and causing her heels to hit softly against the wall. Anxiety thrumming through her system had the small Gryffinder returning the bud to her lips, giving it a drag before she sighed out the smoke from her lungs, trying to ease herself down from the ledge she was currently balancing upon. She was wound so tightly at the moment she felt as though she might burst despite all of the reassurances she had gotten over the past hour that everything would be alright, it would turn out fine, and that she wasn’t going anywhere no matter what. In just a little bit, her parents were due to be visiting Shell Cottage for the first time. It had been discussed quietly among the adults in her life, whispered voices filtering down from the kitchen after her folks had shown up at Rose’s begging to know where their daughter was. Apparently it was the only place they could think of to go, and with the address in hand from so many letters sent over the year between the pair of girls, it hadn’t been hard for them to find. They were Muggles, so without invitation, they hadn’t been able to get close to the door until Ron had gone out to ask if they needed help with something. After that, well, it had been decided that they would be invited to Shell Cottage, to see where their daughter was staying at the very least, even if she insisted that she didn’t want to see them.

There had been a stipulation though. In order to receive the address, they had to agree to bring Caerwyn’s things along, including her cat. The small Gryffindor had written a list for them. She wanted her trunk, her school things, her wand, the shoe box from the drawers beneath her bed, her paint set, and Manson. There had been a few other things thrown in, but unfortunately ‘Carnegie, ‘my hair back’ and ‘to go fuck yourselves’ were probably asking a little much. To be honest, Caerwyn would have been happy with just her cat, wand, and paints. She could live without her clothes or anything else really, so long as she had the three most important things. Maybe, if she was lucky, they would bring her little brother, but it was unlikely considering this was an unknown situation for them and they wouldn’t want to expose Carnegie to any kind of potential dangers. Rose’s mum had spoken to them as calmly as she could over the phone, reassuring them that no, they didn’t need to get the police involved and yes, Caerwyn was doing just fine aside from trying to deal with the physical and emotional turmoil of having been in the facility. Somehow, the woman had been able to convince Mr. and Mrs. Herondale that there was no need to seek out legal assistance as of yet, that it would just scare the poor girl and they should talk things over first at least.

The small Welshling finished off the fag and pressed the end of it against the wood of the sill, squashing it out before she turned her head to look over at Rose and Albus who had been allowed out of their respective groundings for a few hours to give her support. They had both been in some serious trouble when they’d gotten home the night after saving her, but neither one seemed to regret it. Caerwyn reached a hand out towards Albus, seeking another cig. She’d already had two so far, which was double her usual intake regularly, but she was feeling particularly stressed at the moment. Her parents were coming and the appointment at St. Mungo’s hadn’t gone nearly as well as she had hoped. They had said she would be able to recover well enough physically, but that the potions she had suggested weren’t exactly something they could just simply try on her. They were experimental, developed years ago by a young healer to treat her husband’s ailment while she searched for some kind of cure. Vic hadn’t even heard of them, and when Caerwyn had brought them up in the appointment, she had gotten confused looks until they had found someone with more information. She had been poked and prodded and told they would look into it but that for now, she was better off staying on her current medication. Vic had promised she would dig deeper herself to make sure things were being done, fully aware that Caerwyn’s medicine was limited. All she had was the one bottle Rose had found, four pills left inside of it. Four chances to leave the house without going blind and no refills. Fleur was writing them every day, checking in for more news but so far, nothing.

To make matters worse, Caerwyn had barely seen Louis since they had spoken that first night on the porch. He seemed to spend a lot of time out on the beach or in the shed or just… not around her. She knew things were difficult for him right now, they were for her as well, but she had hoped at least, he could have at least showed his dumbass freckled face today. Caerwyn, while able to walk mostly on her own now, was still struggling with the stairs and had kind of taken over Louis’s room for the time being. He was sleeping upstairs or out on the couch that was too short for him no matter how many times she had mentioned he could have his bed back. Caerwyn’s sleep was still awful, raged with nightmares that had her waking at all hours screaming bloody murder to the point where Fleur would come lay with her, rubbing her back while Caerwyn clung onto her, begging her not to leave. Dark circles had begun to form under the blonde’s eyes, unable to get a good night’s rest with Caerwyn crying out. Last night, Fleur had given up on sleeping in her own bed entirely, climbing in with Caerwyn at bedtime and staying with her through the night terrors, gentle hands there to dry tears as she shushed away the demons that plagued the little Gryffindor’s mind every time she closed her eyes. It was at the point that she had finally given in and gotten some Dreamless Sleep potion that would hopefully help them all get some decent rest without Caerwyn hollering.

Just as the next cigarette hit Caerwyn’s hand, the doorbell rang, causing the room’s occupants to jump followed by Theodore’s booming barking. The anxiety around them was tense enough to cut through with a knife. The fag dropped, unlit, to the floor as Caerwyn slid off the window sill. Her bare feet stumbled a bit, legs still uncertain at times, over to the door to listen. The front door was opened and she could make out Bill’s voice, and then… oh god. That was her Da, she’d know him anywhere. A loud meowing overwhelmed the words of humans as well as the barking dog and Caerwyn felt her heart leap into her throat. They had brought him…

“He’s friendly. Ah, look, it’s your buddy Theodore.” Bill joked in the living room as he held the dog back by his collar, away from the blond pair of muggles who looked extremely uncomfortable at the moment. Theodore gave another bark and then backed away, obviously able to smell the cat he knew well enough to stay away from. Manson’s howling increased, the noise of claws on plastic echoing down the hallway. “Let’s let this little bloke out then before he shouts the gutters off the roof.”

“I don’t think...”

Caerwyn heard the click of the cage as her mother tried to speak up. Four paws thudded heavy against the floor and then Manson was off and running, following his nose but also his memory of this house in general. He knew this place, he had been here before and the smell of it was familiar. He also knew exactly which room he needed to go to if he wanted to find the one person he’d been looking for for over a month at this point. He had howled for her at first, running from room to room, sleeping on her bed, pacing in front of the door as if she would walk back in at any moment. Manson had calmed slightly, still sleeping on Caerwyn’s bed, but he had become more… morose. He didn’t eat as much and he didn’t even bat at Carnegie when he had shot him accidentally with the tiny working hose on his toy firetruck.

“Baby.” Caerwyn cooed, pulling the door open wider to let him in. The cat released a pitiful meowl as he entered, rising up on his hind legs until Caerwyn was bending down, lifting him safely into her arms and flopping down on the bed, having trouble balancing her kitty and standing at the same time. Manson continued to mewl as though he had a thousand stories to tell, sniffing Caerwyn over, rubbing his cheeks against her anywhere he could reach, needing to remark her as his own. She cradled him in her lap, bent over and hugging the furry beast to her chest, breathing him in and calming considerably as he began to purr. Manson was better than any cigarette.

“Winnie! Winnie! She’s here, I heard her. Oh god… Winnie! Let go of me, I demand to see my daughter.”

Caerwyn flinched at the sound of her mother’s voice, hugging her cat tighter even as she turned her face to find Rose, fear flickering in her eyes. What if they took her anyway?

10 notes · View notes

ladyofpurple · 5 years ago

Text

here it is: the post Literally no one was waiting for. i'd put it under a read more thing but i'm on mobile and can't be assed to get out of bed so fuck it. we air our dirty laundry on main for the world to see like men.

so waaay back in february or something, i started seeing a psychologist again. i'd been seeing a psychologist for a while last year, but she had a private practice and got too expensive over time, so i had to stop. now, however, i finally got a referral to the public mental health offices in my county. which is nice, because norway has this neat thing that means when you go to the doctor, public health care facilities, refill prescriptions for medications you have to take daily, etc, the money you spend on those things gets recorded and after you've spent like $260, you get a free card that gets logged into your medical records and you don't have to pay for any of those things for the rest of the year.

anyway, i mentioned a couple of years back that i finally got put on antidepressants for the first time. they helped a lot, but then i just... stopped taking them. there wasn't a reason, really. i just forgot to take them one week when i was stuck in bed with a headcold, and then it was hard to get back in the habit again. i tried to get back on them off and on for a long time, but i'd inevitably just forget again. until, like, i wanna say november/early december last year? i started taking them again. there were still some slip-ups every now and then, but for the most part i took them almost every day. any gaps were no longer than two, maybe three days at the most, and those gaps were maybe once a month or so on average. averages aren't really useful in this context, but i hope you get the idea.

anyway, i finally convinced my doctor that, no, seriously, i really need to see a psychologist, i've always needed to see psychologists my whole life, seeing psychologists help me, i can't afford a private psychologist so i need a public one, and after a lot of begging and insisting on my end and a lot of hemming and hawing on her end she finally agreed to refer me. except she forgot to actually send the email she'd been typing in front of me, and then she quit, so there was a lot of confusion and time spent sorting things out until i got my first appointment.

i didn't like my psychologist at first. she was way older than i'm usually comfortable with (that's a personal me-problem that i know is irrational, and i'm not gonna go into the why but yes i'm working on it), and very blunt in an exasperated sort of way. she made me angry sometimes. she made me feel like i wasn't trying hard enough. but she helped me get shit done, so i guess she was doing something right.

in june she called in a psychiatrist to help adjust my medications, so i started taking zoloft in addition to the other medication (remeron, aka mirtazapine) that i was already taking. the mirtazapine was helping with my depression, but my anxiety was still pretty bad. the zoloft helped.

by my second appointment with my psychologist, she asked me whether i could have adhd, or if there was a history of it in my family. now, i have a lot of family with adhd (how closely related we are by blood is a bit of a mystery to me, my family tree is more like an overgrown hedge and who knows who fits where), and my grandma used to joke that the women in our family "all have a little bit of that adhd brain in us", but as far as i knew, nobody in my immediate, direct bloodline had such a diagnosis. i had my suspicions about myself, of course — i knew that not every focus or attention related problem necessarily has a specific attention disorder source, but i also knew that what i was experiencing couldn't be "normal," in the sense that if i walked into a room with 100 people in it, 86 of those people wouldn't necessarily look at a list of my symptoms and go "oh same hat." i've had add on my about me for a while now. maybe that was silly of me; i hadn't been diagnosed with it, and what i knew about the specifics of it were picked up piecemeal off the internet. you know, that super-reliable place where everyone is honest and factual all the time?

anyway, this began the process of investigating the merits of such a potential diagnosis. research was begun. questionnaires were taken. my mom was invited to one of my sessions, in which she revealed that, oh yeah, bee tee dubs, she's always suspected i have adhd. did she mention that she has also apparently always suspected ocd and that i'm autistic? no? whoops, well, she has now.

end of june i was referred to the neuropsychologist devision of the public health care place. over the course of a little over 6 weeks i went in for 2 interviews, in which i answered several questionnaires, talked about my life and childhood and traumas and what my mom had told me about her pregnancy and labor, every possible symptom i'd ever had, and was sent home with even *more* questionnaries. in addition to these, i went in for two rounds of "testing," in which i was tested on my memory, pattern recognition, reaction time, impulse control, and probably a dozen other things. i was nervous. it was exhausting. i wanted answers but was terrified of what those answers would be.

end of august, my mom came with me for the big reveal. and guess what? she was right. primary diagnosis: adhd, special emphasis on the attention deficit part. bonus diagnosis: asperger syndrome. surprise! i'm autistic, i guess.

it was hard to come to terms with. which sounds really silly, since i wouldn't have even been taking those tests if i didn't think the outcome was a possibility. and it's not like the diagnoses were surprising either. the adhd part was easier to accept, mostly because i already felt pretty confident i had it. but the asperger diagnosis was harder. having to unlearn all those ingrained ableist stereotypes and social stigmas is hard, especially when you had some you didn't even realize were there. it's very surreal to think a thought and be like "no, wait, i do that. that joke is about me." it's a very surreal and slightly upsetting experience to realize how biased you are as general rule, but especially about a facet of your own identity you weren't aware of. and the feeling of everything and nothing changing all at once. i've always been like this. a doctor telling me i have two cognitive/developmental disabilities isn't an event that magically gave me these disabilities. my brain has always worked like this. the only difference between me now and me a year ago is that i have an official, medical reason for Why now.

that's another thing: coming to terms with the idea of being "developmentally disabled." it's not like i'm suddenly a different person — i have to constantly remind myself that my brain has always been like this. but having a piece of paper confirming that i am legally entitled to special allowances in the workplace or at school because i have not one, but two "disabilities" is absolutely buckwild to me.

it makes me reevaluate my life and my past. how many situations did i make worse because i did not have the capacity or knowledge about how my own brain works to self-reflect? was i high-functioning in the past because life was simpler? was it because i subconsciously had a better handle on what works for me and what doesn't, and somewhere along the way i lost that? or was it simply because i didn't have the option to be anything other than high-functioning? it's confusing.

i also lost my spot at college. i can still reapply next year if i want, but at least now i know why i was failing out lmao

anyway, by my birthday in september we started the process of adjusting my medication again. upping my zoloft, getting me off remeron, and as of 6 weeks ago or so, beginning ritalin.

it was a rocky start, but i'm up to 60mg now. two pills in the morning, one in the afternoon. i have a goddamn alarm for 8am every day, even weekends. my sleeping is still wonky, but at least im genuinely tired by 8pm every night. the psychiatrist still wants me to try melatonin for a month (even though i told her multiple times it has never worked for me, and my problem has never been "i'm not sleepy enough"), so i'm on a whopping 2mg of melatonin for the next 30 days. norwegians are fucking WEIRD about melatonin, don't even get me started.

a slightly unexpected side-effect (on my end) of these medication changes: remeron made me gain weight. like, a lot of weight. and i was constantly hungry all the time, overeating to ridiculous amounts. why did nobody ever tell me that weight gain and metabolism changes are a side-effect of anti-depressants? i was more active this summer than i'd been in, like, three years and i just got fatter. which was incomvenient because i kept outgrowing my clothes. anyway, a side effect of ritalin is a loss of appetite and general weight loss. the combination of regularly taking ritalin and dropping remeron entirely? i eat a fraction of what i used to before, i've almost entirely stopped snacking, and i've lost 15 lbs in less than a month. i've already noticed my face is slightly slimmer now. maybe by christmas i'll be able to fit into my old tshirts again.

anyway, my psychologist quit, so i have a new one now. i've only seen her a few times, but she's veeeery different from my old one. i can't decide if i like her or not.

in the middle of all this, i've been going to the social security office as well to kind of get some of my own money, possibly help me get a job at some point in the future. my caseworker is super nice. if she's over 30 i'd be shocked. i relate to her really well, she's very helpful and understanding, and she's very patient with me and my bullshit. she's the kind of person where if we met at a party or something we could probably hang out.

anyway, she's helped me get out of the house sometimes. she introduced me to this youth club volunteer group thing called the fountain house, designed for young people who've dealt with or are currently dealing with mental illnesses and such. i hung out there yesterday and the day before and did some basic office work. it's nice. and then there's a work placement place that can either give you a job on site in one of their four departments, or help you get a job at an actual business elsewhere with more support and leniency than you might get if they just hired you off the street. i'd start in their second hand store. they clean and restore all donations they recieve, and they're super fucking cheap. i treated myself to my literal lifelong dream of owning a vintage typewriter (!!!!!) yesterday, because it's almost christmas and goddammit, i've been doing so much shit the past couple of months i deserve it. do i have space for it? not really. do i have a plan on what to use it for? no. was it heavy and miserable trekking through the snow and rain yesterday back and forth? was it worth the backache in the morning? fuck yeah it was.

a fucking lot of things are happening all at once. diagnoses, medications, lifestyle changes, work placement, social clubs, dealing with bureaucracies on all sides just so i can feel like a person again, not to mention juggling hobbies like writing and drawing and maintaining my irl friendships. i'm getting as many balls rolling as i can while i have the opportunity and mental/emotional capacity to, but i'm worried i'll burn out again. i'm stabilizing and slowly building my life back up, but jesus christ it would suck if this stupid house of cards collapsed again. but i'm tentatively optimistic. who knows, maybe it's not to late to course-correct my mistakes.

so long story short, that's why i've barely been active on tumblr for months. that's why i haven't been writing, drawing, or reading fic. it's coming along, but it's slow.

i guess the most important thing is that it's coming along at all.

#the tmi nobody asked for and will probably never read — you're welcome #Lady of Purple's slice of life #mental illness #medication #adhd #autism #personal

17 notes · View notes

regular-lord-reckoner · 5 years ago

Text

i was doing pretty okay for a few days there despite the world being even more on fire than it usually is, but yesterday i just started feeling really down and overwhelmed by everything.

on the one hand, i’m glad that to some degree at least this whole virus situation is being taken seriously and there are least some things being done to try to prevent the spread, but on the other i’m seeing a lot of people getting laid off from work or who just aren’t able to make money doing what they normally do because now everyone’s strapped for cash and it feels like any day the whole thing’s just gonna topple over

and on the one hand it’s like...okay, good. the system sucks, it’s needed to change, something was gonna have to give but on the other it shouldn’t have been something like this where people are going to get hurt and potentially even die.

for myself personally, my work has decided to remain open which on the one hand is good because i still need to make money, but on the other hand they are just...absolutely dropping the ball.

i think so far the only measure they’ve put in place that’s actually good is i think i’d heard something about having either front desk or switchboard call some of these patients ahead of time like, “hey, it looks like your visit is just a refill for medication, your provider will go ahead and refill that and we can spare you a trip coming in to the office”, but i dunno how widespread that is or if it was just a one time thing or if it’s still been going on.

a lot of patients i think are just going ahead and cancelling their appointments which is good, appreciate that, but then there are some who are still showing up for shit that really could have waited.

and the bright idea now is to have front desk do a questionnaire thing with every single fucking patient that comes in basically just going over a checklist of shit that is supposed to help determine whether or not they can still stay for their visit or if they need to immediately leave and just give us a call to figure out what to do from there.

so tomorrow i’m going to have to do that since it’s my day to go in and do front desk for one of the providers and like...yeah, i see way, way less patients there than regular front desk, but it still sucks that it’s like, “you, front desk person, you get to be exposed to people who could very well be sick but didn’t have better sense to stay home and you have to decide if this person is okay to stay, hope you don’t get yelled at!!”

i already get shit from these patients over other shit (i don’t remember if i posted about it or not, but i had a dude get mad at ME because he was 30 minutes late for his visit and i said we might have to reschedule, but that i would check with the doctor to see if it was okay...dude stood there and gave me attitude and went on about how the way we run things is all wrong....all because again, mind you, HE was late for HIS appointment. and he thought i should just squeeze him in before people who were on time for their appointments because y’know...that’s fair!!) so i can’t imagine how much fun it’s going to be or the back and forth i’m gonna get into with people over whether or not a cough they’ve had warrants their visit being cancelled.

but hey, it’s cool because they gave me a face mask so...i should be fine, i guess. it’s not like when i come down with shit it really wipes me the fuck out because i’m already disabled, but no that’s cool. we definitely need to keep our specialty office up and running and use medical supplies we might be needing down the road all so money can keep pouring in!!!

especially in this day and age where things like office visits over skype or just regular phone are possible. obviously it’s not going to catch every single patient because i know not everyone has access, but here again...we’re a specialty office. we’re not a hospital, we’re not a regular doctor’s office. i could see at least running in a limited capacity for those patients that do have serious shit going on and really do need to be seen, like fine we’ll work that out, but people coming in for shit that can at least wait a few more weeks just...sucks.

we also do infusions at one office and the nurse that runs that whole thing tried to tell my manager like, “hey, according to the cdc we really shouldn’t have more than 10 people at a time back here” and my manager honest to god said, “that only applies to social situations!!!”

oh!!! well fuck me, then, i didn’t realize the virus could tell the goddamn difference, wow!!!

also...it’s not at ALL like we have patients who come in for this one thing but who have compromised immune systems or who have cancer or COPD or anything else like...fuck ‘em!! we’ll make sure you sit in the waiting room while we have our already overworked front desk people doing questionnaire after questionnaire with every person that comes in and stands close to you, good luck!!

to make things even BETTER one of the MAs showed up to work the other day sick!!! like...coughing a lot, feeling cruddy sick!!!

but oh no, she doesn’t have any more pto so rather than like...i dunno, either have someone donate some of their own pto at least for the day or rest of the week or even send her home with a laptop and some basic task she could do from home she stayed!!!

sure do hope there isn’t a boom of fucking people who end up getting it (if that’s what she has, i hope to god it was just sinuses or even the regular flu) because it’s gonna look reeeeeeal bad if they trace it back and are like, “so you guys knew this employee was sick and works in a medical office around vulnerable patients and you just...let her stay?”

neat!!!

again, like...i know i should just be grateful my work is still open and i’m still able to have some income, especially since i already mostly work from home, but it’s just so frustrating to see how badly they’re handling this and how the number one priority is making money but then again...why am i fucking surprised? that’s capitalism, babey!!!!

on top of that, i also finally heard back from my tax guy what that whole situation is gonna be and hoooo boy.

i get...14 some odd dollars for one (probably state) and 75 some odd dollars for the other (federal, i’m assuming)

i’m getting...less than $100 in tax return this year.................

bro

on the one hand like...my biggest fear was that i was going to end up owing money and wouldn’t be getting shit, but on the other i guess i had just...hope maybe i’d still manage to get something??

i know with my work situation being what it was (and with the government being what it is right now) it wasn’t going to be stellar, i wasn’t expecting $1,000 or anything but uh...i was hoping maybe for a few hundreds?? was hoping i could put a dent in some of these bills?? but uh...that’s fine.

the frustration of that is compounded by the fact that i’m pretty sure a big part of why it’s that way is because A. my last job was only a 10 month contract so i was SOL for two months and B. to try to cover for that i started back at this job but in a limited capacity so i wasn’t getting enough hours to really compensate and in the process of trying to get hired full time here they kept me on work contract for MONTHS to the point where i thought i’d just have to give up and find something else entirely.

i had tried when i did finally start full time to set my tax deduction on my checks up so that i was taking out more than enough to try to compensate, but by that point it was so late in the year i guess it didn’t really do a whole lot other than keep me out of the negative so...that’s fine, i guess.

ultimately i should have known, but i guess with everything else i had just gotten my hopes up that i’d at least have a nice check headed my way and i’m not trying to sneeze at what i am getting because i do still appreciate it i just...was really looking forward to dropping a chunk of that money on some of the shit hanging over my head but okay

at least at this point one of my credit card bills should be easy to pay off because i’m pretty sure the bts concert i was gonna go to in may is gonna be cancelled at this rate, so i’ll be getting that money back. obviously that’a a real first world problem compared to everything else going on, but it was something i was really looking forward to, one of those “just hang on until this if shit gets rough” kind of deals but with how shit’s been going i don’t feel very optimistic about it. it’s in mid-may and i’m already seeing stuff from other events being pushed to fall so like...neato. it was also kind of like...hey, this time last year you were in the hospital and about to go septic and then had months of bullshit to deal with after that and your personal life got really rough and shit was just BAD, so here’s something special for getting through all of that and now it’s probably not gonna happen and there’s no telling when it will because that’s not an easy thing to reschedule at the last minute so that’s...cool. i completely understand why and i’m not mad about it, i just can’t help but feel disappointed.

i dunno. i feel like in the past year i’ve really tried to work on myself in terms of not letting myself fall into these horrible depressive episodes and let my anxiety just completely overrun everything and for the most part i’ve been fairly successful although i know i still need to finally make that leap of actually getting into therapy and really getting into the hard work, but the past few days it’s becoming harder and harder to maintain that and there’s a big part of me that just wants to be like, “dude, what’s the point, the world’s ending, who cares if you’re sad and you haven’t fixed your shit yet, it’s not going to matter for you or for anybody, it’s all pointless” so like...that sucks.

i’m hoping it’s just something i need to go through for a little bit and if i try my best i can come out of it with my head up but for months now i’ve felt one of those really bad depressive episodes breathing down my neck just...waiting for an excuse to take me down and i guess with everything going on i just don’t feel like i have the strength to fight it the way i’ve been trying to.

i won’t give up, though. not yet anyway. all of this is frustrating, but there’s still a lot i have to be grateful for so i’m going to try my best to just focus on those things, hold on to them, and hope that there’s good news just on the horizon and that better days really are on the way.

i know still that turning over a new year doesn’t really mean shit and time is fake, but i hope anyway that since this is only the third month out of the year that there’s still time for things to get better. i hope by even thinking that i’m not ensuring that things will in fact get much, much worse but i guess we’ll just have to see.

in any case, even though i’m dreading going to work tomorrow i guess it’ll be nice to get out of the house. it’s weird, because normally i don’t mind spending a lot of time at home. i work from home and i don’t have any friends that live close by so i tend to just kind of stay put unless i’m going to the store for something or going to pick up food, but the fact that now it’s like...hey, you need to stay put it’s getting to me a little bit. if i’m not feeling better by this weekend i might if nothing else just...go for a drive.

i won’t go anywhere and interact with anyone or make any stops, i’ll just...get out of the house for a minute before i sink even further into whatever this is. idk.

if you’ve read all this mess i thank you, i know it sucks to read someone else’s whining while you’ve got problems of your own and shit’s bad just in general, so i appreciate it and i hope that wherever you are and whatever your situation that you’re doing as best as you can be and hanging in there.

#just a ramblin'#you know this style

2 notes · View notes

terselylove · 6 years ago

Text

Maybe You’ll Never Be The Same After An Abusive Relationship And Maybe That’s Okay

Hiding my favorite benzodiazepines – Xanax and Klonopin – in lipstick tubes and vitamin bottles, the false calm they’d bestow upon me and then the fog. How hard it was to stay away from single-edge razor blades and sharper things. The constant hunger. The trash always in need to be taken out, full to the brim with empty glass bottles of one thing or another. Our dog sensing the hurricane brewing in the pit of my stomach, licking my hands, my legs, my face, knowing the imminent deluge was a dangerous thing; more anxious than me, maybe. Never sleeping before 3 in the morning and always waking up before 8. My makeup scattered across thebathroom counter, my hair on the walls in the shower, my eyebrows in need of plucking, how I no longer cared to make everything perfect for him. The ends of neon colored straws dipped in white in my cosmetics bag, in the silverware drawer, at the bottom of my purse. Condoms we didn’t use hidden in his glove compartment. The way my body folded in on itself when he touched me. Cursing the building we lived in when the shower wasn’t burning enough. Wanting to throw myself into the pyre. Wondering where I had gone. Mourning who I was.

These are the things I remember most from the final year of our relationship.

They say your body knows things before you do. It’s the way that we explain away the fact that our bodies understand love before our brains do – love at first sight if you believe in that kind of thing. It’s also the way we perceive danger, a reptilian inheritance, the way our bodies warn us against would be predators.

I remember the first time my body tried to tell me something.

During our relationship, he only ever touched me as a prelude to sex, or during, never after, and never just to be affectionate. I can’t think of a time he ever grabbed my hand, kissed me for no reason, held me by the waist, caressed my arm, or ran his fingers through my hair. I was always starved for touch, always starved for love, for anything, really.

I think it was a Saturday afternoon, we had plans with friends later that day, but we were already drinking some tequila concoction my father had taught me how to make. In retrospect, I was drinking far more than anyone ever should, back then, and using alcohol as a coping mechanism to ignore my misery and keep playing my role in the life I’d subjected myself to – dutiful, loyal, faithful, pretty, devoted, forgiving, girlfriend.

The kind that woke up earlier on weekends to have his breakfast ready by the time he got out of bed. The kind that washed the stains out of his shirts without him having to ask. The kind who sat uncomfortably on the couch in a tight top and skinny jeans because he hated seeing her in sweats; hair always blown out and makeup done. The kind who tried to perfect a recipe for some dish or another until it was to his liking. The kind who wrote his business proposals, made his appointments, and refilled his prescriptions. The one who bit her tongue in half and swallowed it to avoid being cut into ribbons by his anger. The one who was never allowed to be herself. The one who took his shit and still got on her knees when he said when.

There I was, sundress and bare feet padding around the kitchen, pretending this was love, refilling his drink and pouring more liquor into mine. I walked over to hand it to him, and when he reached out with two fingers to trace along my cleavage, I flinched and jerked back, not in surprise, but in the kind of way your body reacts to something it is terrified of. In that fleeting second, my body rejected everything that was him. I realized what I had been in denial about for so long. One small graze of his fingertips did more than any years of cheating, emotional and mental abuse, gaslighting, manipulation, and putting me down ever did. I didn’t know who the man I’d given so much of myself to over the last few years was. I never had. All I knew, in that moment, all I wanted so badly to ignore, was that whoever he was, there wasn’t a single bone in his body that was good. Not only was I trying to push back the fear I felt, but I was swallowing my disgust.

When he asked what was wrong, I told him I was just jumpy from late nights and a lack of sleep and kissed him on the cheek. I had known in my very core for a long time what my mind was just then allowing itself to accept as fact. I was still trying to dismiss the truth. I was still hoping it was I who had reality skewed. I wanted to be wrong because I didn’t know if being right said more about me or more about him. I wanted to be wrong because even the revelation I had that not only was this a bad man but that I didn’t love him anymore, wasn’t going to be enough to make me leave.

I stayed for a year after seeing him for who he was and recognizing what he was doing to me. Opening your eyes isn’t enough, neither is reaching your threshold of pain. I’ve been asked why I put up with so much, why I allowed so much to happen, but abusive relationships are as hard to leave as any other. Harder, even. You always think, That would never be me. I’m out the minute this or that is done or said to me. You couldn’t possibly know what it’s like until you’re there. It’s different for everybody: it can be for financial reasons, the fear that they may do worse if you leave, because you share kids, or a million other possibilities of reasons. But the two common underlying things in any case are that you have been brainwashed into believing that you don’t deserve any better and that this is as good as it gets, and that you keep hoping the person you fell for and that they made you believe they were, in the beginning, is still inside there somewhere. I knew I hated him, I knew he got off to my pain, and I knew whatever I had blinded myself into believing was love wasn’t love, but I also knew I wasn’t going to leave. It wouldn’t be that simple for me.

I crushed up a Xanax and lined it up next a line of coke at 3 in the afternoon, cut the end of a straw, and told myself I could do this.

And so began a cycle of bad habits and a spiraling into one of the darkest eras of my life.

We headed out for a pub crawl with some friends a bit later that day. That entire evening, my whole aim was to just numb myself. I kept trying to shove my thoughts into a shoebox in the back of a closet deep in my mind. Truthfully, Ignorance is bliss had been my motto already for quite some time, but it wasn’t going to work for much longer. I remember going into the bathroom stall with his friend’s girlfriend, feeling thankful when she produced a bag of the white substance from her purse, and thinking, Maybe I won’t feel anything when he fucks me later.

He did – fuck me. I felt nothing but my mind retreating, my body folding in on itself, me somewhere outside my own flesh. I had never felt cold like that before and I never once felt warm again after. For the first time in our relationship, I appreciated the fact that he never looked at me or held me after. I felt anger, rage, disgust, hate – as much toward myself as him.

I didn’t sleep at all those late hours and that early morning. I suddenly understood the cause of my unexplainable stomach issues, why I would break out in hives often for no reason, why no medications were helping my anxiety, why I couldn’t fall asleep, why I couldn’t stay asleep, why I was constantly exhausted. For a long time, my body and I had been living in a state of hypervigilance.

On any given day, I was nervous about what mood I would find him in. Which one of his personalities was taking a sip of the coffee I had prepared for him that morning?

It was a labor to even have a conversation with him sometimes because I had to be careful in molding it and skirting around subjects that were sensitive or that we disagreed on. He was adept at making me feel intellectually inferior to him, whether I didn’t share his belief or point of view on something, or just to make himself feel bigger. He would sometimes quiz me on certain topics, eager to find something to educate me, lecture, or correct me on. Then there were times when he became angry when I expressed an opinion that differed from his. I remember him leaving me at a restaurant once and making me walk in the rain because as a feminist, according to him, I didn’t need him to pick me up from the front of the building, in fact, he said that I didn’t need a ride at all. Once, discussing politics after the bar, he threw his drink down in the kitchen and left the apartment. I, the blind fool that I was, ran after him to the parking garage, and he refused to come back home until, in his words, I would “agree to shut the fuck up.”

It wasn’t just that, I couldn’t express my feelings, either. He would go into rages, cut me apart with his anger, or punish me in some way if I ever expressed how I felt, especially when it regarded him or our relationship. He would make me believe that my feelings weren’t valid. He would make me feel like I felt how I felt because I was mentally imbalanced. He would insist that I was either thriving on the drama, or that I was insane. Somehow, when I was the one who had a right to be angry or a right to be hurt, he would come out the end of it being the offended one, and I would be the one doing the apologizing.

If he did or said something to hurt me, then I was too sensitive. If he lied to me about something and I uncovered that lie, I was the problem for not trusting him in the first place or for sabotaging his attempt at protecting me from the truth. If he cheated on me, I was to blame – I had put on weight, I had been making him feel suffocated, I had been acting “too depressed”, I pushed him to it in some way, or I had put it out into the universe by not wholeheartedly trusting him.

When his tactics were less effective and I stood more of my ground, or when I challenged him more, he would threaten me with breaking up or suggest that we should take a break. It always worked because he had this way of making me feel like I should be thanking him for being with me. He made me believe I was lucky for having him. I believed every single label he ever put on me: crazy, dumbass, fat, weak, insecure, needy, too emotional, too sensitive, irrational, psycho, idiot, bitch, ungrateful, not good enough. He said as much as he thought he was the only person in the world that could ever put up with me. I was so broken down mentally that I actually felt grateful to him for loving me. Not that I love you were words he used often. No, I only ever heard that when he wanted something, when he had been caught cheating again, or when he wanted to reel me back in.

When I made him mad, stood up for myself, wrote something about my past or something that painted him in a bad light, saw people he didn’t want me to see, spent some time away from him and enjoyed it, he would give me the silent treatment. He’d suggest I go stay at my parents’ and I wouldn’t hear from him for days. When I tried desperately to get into contact with him, he would accuse me of being unhinged and suffocating and obsessed with him.

It was one of his favorite things to do, to make me feel like I was crazy. He took things I had trusted him with and used them as ammo. He would use my struggles with mental health to back up his theories about why I was acting the way I was, or thinking the way I was, or feeling the way I was, or to make me believe I was inherently irrational. I think he actually enjoyed making me feel insane and making me doubt reality. I was afraid of being alone sometimes. Things would move around the apartment from their original place, or something I swore I put somewhere would end up being somewhere else, and I constantly would get phone calls from blocked numbers. Looking back, I am positive it was him doing both things.

He would accuse me of doing or saying things I never did, so vehemently that I doubted my own sanity. On mornings after a night of drinking, he’d accuse me of having blacked out or embarrassing him in some way, when I was sure I hadn’t done either. He made the people in our world believe that I was the problem, while he painted himself as a sweet, charming, devoted guy who could tolerate this crazy girl with emotional issues. It was a lie I believed, too.

I was lucky, I thought. Who would want someone sad and unstable and not beautiful? This was the narrative he insidiously fed me.

He constantly commented on my fluctuation in weight, pushing me to lose pounds, and even went as far as making me feel guilty when I ate certain things and telling me what I should and shouldn’t eat. I dropped weight to the point where it didn’t look good on me, so I decided to put a bit more back on, I was still at my fittest, but he wasn’t happy with it, he told me I had looked better months prior and I could drop it again.

See, he liked me better smaller – physically, mentally, and emotionally.

He wanted to have 100% of me. He wanted all of me without giving me any of him, and while making me feel like he didn’t need any of me. The truth is, he couldn’t function without that control and power he had over me, my heart, my time, my body, my mind.

I didn’t recognize his behavior and actions as abuse, not only because it’s common for the victim not to until they’ve gotten away from that situation, but because I had previously been in a relationship where the abuse was more physical, so in my mind, what he was doing to me wasn’t abuse. I didn’t even register that anything was being done to me.

An old friend and ex-lover I had been confiding in about certain aspects of my relationship bluntly asked me at one point if he had ever hit me. I said that he hadn’t, not really, no. All he had done was slam me against the wall and then punched said wall. Did that even count? I had been through worse – it was how I excused a lot of what I put up with. It was why I was blind to the fact that he was being mentally, verbally, and emotionally abusive. It was how I overlooked the times he did become physically violent. He had thrown things, he had slammed doors hard enough to rattle the walls, he had broken things, he had punched walls, he had manhandled me, he had pushed me, he had put his hands on me hard enough to leave faint marks behind, and I had seen his eyes go completely black, witnessing him physically and internally restraining himself from acting out towards me. That was violent behavior. He may have never hit me across the face, kicked me, punched me, or pulled my hair – he may have had enough control to never strike me – but the damage he did to my psyche left me as black and blue as if he had done any of those things.

Coming out of an abusive relationship you realize the biggest thing you were robbed of was not your dignity, your time, or your heart, but yourself – who you were and all the things that made you so uniquely and extraordinarily you. You lose yourself like following footprints in the sand, looking up, then down again, to find everything wiped by the tide like nothing was ever there. You may come close to some resemblance of your former self, but you never again revert to the person you were before. No amount of time, healing, or therapy, leads you back to who you were. You are irrevocably changed.

I have insecurities I never had before about who I am as a person, the way I see things, and my appearance. I was left with a rollercoaster of a battle with body image issues. I used to be this exuberant and confident girl who believed in her power and beauty, and who went after what and who she wanted. I doubt myself now, and become paralyzed by the fear that I am not good enough. I don’t see the best in people anymore, and that used to be one of my favorite things about myself. Now, I doubt the good that I do see, I become skeptical of it, I am mistrusting, I wait for the other shoe to drop. I am all too comfortable becoming physically intimate with someone, but sabotage any possibilities of emotionally connecting with anyone. I am jaded.

These are all things that I’m working on, and I know I’ll overcome them all one day, but there will always be a part of me that is tender that won’t let me forget; I’ll always have an inner voice inside me telling me to be careful. The thing that makes me saddest of all is knowing I don’t have it in me anymore to be as giving and generous as I once was. I can’t love again and give my all.

Maybe that’s okay. Maybe my all should always be given to myself and only myself. Maybe only then I can reconnect with even a few of the broken little pieces of who I used to be.

2 notes · View notes