#Been taking my meds as prescribed and have been on the edge of a panic attack for nearly 2 weeks now

[beast-of-the-void]

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[galactic-magick]

Mental Health Needs: Julian Bashir x Reader

Summary: Julian gives you assurance as you adjust to anxiety and depression medication.

Words: 600+

Author’s Notes: This is a very self indulgent fic haha. I recently started meds irl and the first week I felt like absolute shit so this is based on that. Thankfully I’m feeling much better now though and my panic attacks have almost completely stopped :)

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There’s certainly benefits to the chief medical officer being your boyfriend.

You can ask him any question, and he’s always happy to answer. You’ve asked him many times if he finds the questions annoying, but he always assures you he enjoys explaining biological processes to you, and helping you in any way he can. He loves his work, and he loves you, so the two pair quite nicely.

But for some reason, you’re still hesitant to ask him about your latest problem.

The trouble is, you’ve been struggling with anxiety and depression your entire life, and you finally agreed to try medication for it. You’ve resisted it for years, telling yourself “you don’t need it” and trying to cope with the symptoms on your own. But Julian finally convinced you to give it a try, after witnessing multiple of your panic attacks and depressive episodes. He couldn’t bear to see you suffer so badly anymore, and honestly you didn’t want to feel like that anymore either.

Yet the problem is far from solved. The side effects of the medication have been making you feel terrible. You feel super sick all the time, and all you want to do is sleep. You don’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him it’s not working, but you can’t keep going like this.

You enter the Infirmary, relieved to see that no one else besides Julian is in there currently. He’s logging some things into the computer when he sees you.

“Oh hello darling, come to visit me at work?” he grins at you.

“Actually I’m here for medical reasons,”

His smile fades and his eyes widen, rushing over to you with a tricorder, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, “I’ve just been feeling so awful since I’ve been on these meds. I’m tired all the time no matter how much I sleep and take naps and I just feel like a zombie. I’m also nauseous and have no appetite at all, literally nothing the replicator can make appeals to me-”

He pulls you into a tight hug, cutting you off as your face squishes into him, “Oh, honey,”

“Well what do I do?” you mumble.

He brings you over to one of the beds and sits down on the edge with you. “Well first of all, unfortunately, those side effects are very normal. It takes at least a week or two for your body to adjust to the drug and take full therapeutic effect,”

“I guess so, but are the positives in the long run really going to outweigh how I feel right now?”

“For many people yes, they usually do. But if for whatever reason these side effects are still not going away after a while, I can prescribe you a different medication and we can keep trying different ones until we find one that works for you. A lot of people need to go through trial and error to find the right one,”

“Really?”

“Yes, darling. It’s really no trouble. Mental health is just as important as physical health, we’ve known that for centuries now. We’ll do everything we can until you feel better,”

You smile, “Thank you, Julian. But what about all my duties to next couple weeks? I’ve felt so sick I’ve barely gotten my job done-”

“I’ve already told Commander Sisko that you should be relieved from duty if you feel it necessary,”

“But-”

“No buts. Doctor’s orders,” he kisses your forehead. “Now, how about you go back to your quarters and rest. I have a couple more appointments today but after that I’ll come join you,”

“Okay,” you nod, wrapping your arms around him one more time.

“One benefit to you being more sleepy is you’ll be more cuddly,” he smirks.

“Julian!” you nudge him teasingly. “If you wanted more cuddles you didn’t have to give me drugs that are basically sedating me, you could’ve just asked,”

“You’re hilarious,” he laughs. “Now shoo, I’ll see you soon.”

-

Requests Status: I am currently not taking requests right now because finals are coming up for me, I’m just writing a couple short fics while I’m on Thanksgiving break. Once my semester is done and I’m on winter break I’ll probably start taking Star Trek requests though! Stay tuned :)

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

destiel, 2.4k, mild hurt/comfort, happy ending. for @wormstacheangel who wanted a fic with anemic!Cas <3

"Cas?"

Dean hears a flump from the direction of the bedroom right as he finishes shaving his left cheek. It takes him about five seconds from there to dashing out of the bathroom, sink hastily turned off and half of his neck still covered in white, wearing an expression of worry that doesn't quite go with the foam beard.

Cas seems to hold the same opinion because his face splits in a wide grin the moment Dean enters the room.

A grin almost distracting enough for Dean to not notice that Cas is back on the bed, and suddenly wearing a blanket.

Almost.

"Goddammit, Cas." He sighs, huffing as panic slips away to make room for exasperation. He walks up to the bed, sets about righting the blanket around Cas.

Cas lets him.

"I should've known -"

"- Dean, I forgot -"

"- you were going to ditch your meds the first night after I stop bugging you 'bout them." Dean mutters, ignoring Cas completely as he makes weak attempts at protesting when Dean tucks one corner of his blanket all the way round at the other side, effectively turning him into what he mentally likes to call a Cas-burrito.

He doesn't like to call it anything at the moment though, cause right now, it's just proof of how Cas doesn’t listen.

Friggin' ex-angel of the lord, billions of years old, with libraries worth of stories and history in his head — but taking his meds when they're supposed to be taken, he forgets.

"It wasn't on purpose." Cas insists in a small voice, and Dean shoots an annoyed look at him before stepping back, finally finished with the blanket routine.

If you could call it that.

Well, Dean does call it that.

Because it happened often enough times after Cas's return from the Empty, human as the day Dean was born, to prompt both a title, and a reason to investigate why in the first place.

And not a lot of road to cover from typing in Cas's symptoms in a search engine — headaches, spells of dizziness, fatigue and feeling cold in general (things Cas had dictated to Sam who was typing, while Dean seethed from the next chair at not having been priorly informed of most of those things that warrant being informed about) — to ending up at the conclusion of a few billion (but actually just the first four) results, just minutes after.

Cas had anemia.

(The doctor Dean took him to the very next day, and Sam's completed research on the Novaks' medical history by the time they got back, confirmed it.)

Now, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, that was practically a relief — especially since their next place to look would've been old, tired books of curses, and the meekest of those would've been several times more worrying than the awfullest case of anemia one could possibly get - and Cas's, thankfully, wasn't even that bad.

However, curses are reversible. Or at least, equally as destroyable as their curse-rs are — who, usually, tend to be pretty destroyable when it comes to Sam and Dean.

Mineral deficiencies, on the other hand, are neither.

So supplements it is, as the doctor said and then prescribed — or so it should have been anyways, except for how the love of Dean's life was a giant baby when it came to taking pills.

"Sure it wasn't." Dean rolls his eyes, continuing in his exaggerated 'Cas' voice. "You just forgot."

Cas squint-frowns at Dean with all the ferociousness of a tired, cold and anemic four-weeks-old human, and Dean perches next to him on the edge of their bed with a sigh, the exasperation wearing off too.

(If he hadn't already wrapped them up, this would've been about the time Dean would've taken Cas's hands in his own.)

"Cas," He says, softer now.

Truth be told, Dean can't imagine what it must be like to go from being a - a being, that can heal itself and everything else, to a human who gets shivery and lightheaded cause of things inside of him he can't even control.

It's got to be terrifying, and obviously awful, and Dean's proud of Cas for the way he's been handling all of it — but dammit he's supposed to do the things that make it easier.

Just like he's supposed to let Dean take care of him.

"Dean," Cas replies, looking sideways at him with most of the stubbornness melted from his expression as well. "I'm a little cold but it's okay. I'm fine." He says, like he can still tell exactly what Dean needs to hear.

What he needs Cas to be.

There's a pause and Dean looks down at his hands. He can't help his next question, it's been on his mind for some time.

"What about the first time you were human?"

Cas noticeably withdraws into himself on hearing him, and Dean feels immediately a pang of guilt. It may have gotten easier to read him since he became human, but an accidental display of emotion was still a novelty. (Being difficult to read was apparently more of a Cas trait than an angel feature.)

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't you, uh," Dean pauses. "Shouldn't you also have been anemic then?"

Cas turns away from him, slow enough that Dean knows he's not taken offense, deliberate enough that he's thinking.

He finally answers, facing the wall ten feet away instead of Dean.

"I guess I was."

"But," Dean frowns. "I thought you had no idea you had anemia until last week."

"Dean, I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me until last week." Cas returns, his tone steady. "And back when I was human for the first time, I didn't either, because I'd never known what healthy felt like before, so I had no idea if I was or wasn't it. Of course I knew in an objective sense, say, the ideal temperature of the human body, but the ordinary amount of chilly one should feel on the streets in winter, or how hard or easy falling asleep is supposed to be, I couldn't have told you."

"Oh."

"And I still wouldn't have been able to," Cas turns back to him. "Had you not been the one to point it out."

Dean scoffs.

All he'd done was ask why Cas had been shivering in the middle of the day. That was it. Honestly, how could he not have seen it sooner?

"So you just," Dean lets out, afraid of the answer. "You just thought the cold spells and the, uh," he falters. "The being tired all the time — you thought that was part of being human?"

Cas smiles wryly. "It is for a lot of people."

"But —"

"And it was, Dean, anemia or not, for a lot of the people I lived with back then."

Dean's stomach bottoms out. He knows Cas is right. Six years ago, he'd been living on the streets, living in a bus. Dean remembers him — homeless, cold, sleeping on the floor of a Gas 'N Sip in his only set of clothes, Cas. And he knows he's responsible for it — knows he deserves to be hated for it, and it messes with him everyday that Cas doesn't — but did Cas really not even know what Dean had done to him? What Dean had — and Jesus, he detests himself — made him go through?

"You really thought all of us were going through that," Dean blinks. "And none of us was saying a thing?"

Cas doesn't look away this time and Dean goes on.

"I mean, I know you put humanity on a pedestal it doesn't deserve, and you think we're all capable of things you're capable of, but Cas, I can't believe you associated being human with being cold and tired, and —" Dean scrubs his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Cas! How could I have let you go out there on your own when you — h-how did I not see it, and — and you should never have had to deal with it all alone, I should've —"

"Dean."

It's not until Cas interrupts him that he realizes he's been rambling. Ranting, really, because it's not fair that Cas only got to see the worst of humanity, and it's not fair that Cas was so used to feeling awful that he just figured everyone felt that way all the time. That Cas was all alone at a time Dean should've been there for him, should've been at his side, been there to make sure he was warm, and make sure he ate spinach and seafood and whatever the hell else is rich in iron — hell, Dean should've looked it up sooner — and Dean should've been able to tell that Cas was sick, even if Cas couldn't, because that's his job.

He hasn't felt this way in a while — this particularly familiar fear of failing Cas, and losing Cas, entwined horribly, returning to him; seeping back in through his skin, and settling on his bones like the vast sediments of guilt and loss he's been carrying for most of his life.

Cas is supposed to be okay, and Dean's supposed to make sure he is.

But so far as upto here, turns out Dean's just been failing in more ways than he'd even known.

"Dean," Cas repeats, pulling him out of his reverie with determination in his voice, and a hand on Dean's left arm, his blanket now hanging off of one shoulder.

Dean immediately reaches to make it right but Cas holds him right where he is. Physically and not-drowning-in-his-own-head wise, and he's the only one who can do that.

"You're not listening to me."

Shit, Cas had been speaking this entire time, hadn't he? "Sorry, I was -" Dean looks Cas in the face to apologize, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, cause thank god, Cas isn't that pale. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Cas smiles, and it's not lopsided anymore, it's just Cas.

(Dean wonders if he should try to mirror it.)

"I was just saying that now I know that that's not the only part of being human."

"What do you mean?"

"The pain and the suffering, Dean. That's not all." Cas says. "There's also love, and kindness, and worry of the non-lifethreatening kind that dissipates with a smile, and warmth."

Dean stares at him.

"And sure," Cas shrugs. "I knew those things before too — I've read books, I've watched you and Sam — but now I've felt them as humans do, for the very first time, so it's a different kind of knowing."

Cas takes Dean's hand in his, and Dean's the one who squeezes.

"I believe the human expression is 'knowing it in my bones'."

Dean lets out a strained laugh in spite of himself. "Dunno, man. I don't think that's exactly what that means."

"But I do know it in my bones." Cas says simply, and Dean's heart does that thing where it feels too big for his chest. How Cas could go through so much, and still be so full of kindness and good, is one of the mysteries of life Dean's never going to solve — but it doesn't stop him from falling a little bit harder every time it happens.

"You should've gotten to know it the last time too, Cas." Dean tells him, sighing again. "I'm just — I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, you are now." Cas tilts his head. "And I prefer the things I'm learning this time over the last time anyway, and I believe it's you who's always taught me that the present is what matters the most. I'm just glad you're here this time."

"And I'm not going anywhere." Dean squeezes their hands tighter, and Cas's smile grows. God, he deserves the world and he keeps settling for Dean, doesn't he — and Dean hates it, and loves it, and couldn't live without it. He puts his other hand on Cas's face, gloving his cheek. Cas leans closer.

"I love you."

Dean's throat constricts. "You're too good to me."

"I think that's the point."

Dean can't help but smile, and he really can't help the tears.

"I'm okay." Cas says, once more. "Are you?"

There's only one answer, and nothing to fight this time.

Dean closes the gap.

"I love you too."

It's not their first kiss, nor is it the first time they've ever said it — but it feels more significant than anything's felt before. It's more them, too — not sickly-sweet or angry and fighting, just them, coming around to the end of a hard talk, falling into each other's arms with an ease they reserve for each other only, and sinking into each other, slow and perfectly synced, like they're made for it.

When they pull back, a moment later, Dean leans his forehead against Cas's and licks his lips. Breathes.

"There's so much more to being human," he hears himself saying. "Than you'd ever find out just living here in the bunker with us."

"Dean," it's Cas's turn to sigh. "I've already found everything I need."

Dean's cheeks heat up. "I thought it was never too late to learn."

"It isn't." Cas leans back, hands falling back to his sides from where they were wrapped around Dean's neck. "But sometimes, practising old things is more important."

Dean immediately dissolves into laughter. "Yeah, no, great going. Call me old before you go to town practising on me."

Cas ignores him save a twinkle in his eyes. "And some things, I'd like us to learn together."

Dean grins.

"And some things," Cas concludes, with a wide smile. "Aren't taught anywhere else in the world."

"Yeah?"

Cas shrugs.

"Why so?"

"Well, rumor has it the teacher's afraid of flying."

Dean freezes for a moment, silent, and then snorts — because yeah, that's funny, Ha Ha, but okay, if Cas is fit enough to make jokes, then he's fit enough to take his meds now, and Dean tells him that gleefully, resulting in Cas's grin immediately turning upside down as he tries to scoot away from Dean, except Dean's kinda expecting it so he's prepared to launch himself on the bed if he has to — and he does have to, cause Dean might love him for his heart, and his courage, and his kindness, but remember how Cas is just a baby in a trenchcoat?

Yeah.

(And that is just a regular morning in the Winchester household.)

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 17

Prompt: truth serum (alternate prompt 1)

Read on AO3

Unpleasant Truths

Anakin opens his mouth to say something but is immediately interrupted.

"Nope," Obi-Wan says with a swift shake of the head that makes a tendril of hair fall into his face. "Not a word, Anakin."

"Oh come on, Master."

"Not. A. Word."

"Do we have anything better to do?"

"Well, no," Obi-Wan says, and then cringes. Anakin has a feeling that wasn't the answer he wanted to give.

Anakin and Obi-Wan sit in adjacent beds of the med bay aboard The Resolute. There was only one private exam room left for them to take up, so they opted to share. While they aren't particularly hurt-- no more than any usual battle-- they were captured and exposed to a particularly potent truth serum. Nobody is really sure what to do with them. Least of all, one another. Anakin supposes his former master figured the lesser evil was to lock them in a room together-- no secrets accidentally being revealed to those without clearance.

However, they don't know how long this serum is supposed to last. They're waiting for Kix to come back with bloodwork.

"How will we know when it's worn off if we don't ask questions?" Anakin suggests. Obi-Wan doesn't look in the least bit amused.

"Because I know you. You're going to ask about things that amuse you or that you want to be nosy about," he raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that right?"

The knight swallows hard, the truth on the tip of his tongue. Of course, he is powerless in preventing it from slipping.

"Yes," he mutters.

"So no talking. We will wait for labs."

"You're no fun," Anakin lays back on the bed and points over at him. "And you know I'm telling the truth about that."

They sit in the prescribed silence for an hour or so before the door opens and Kix comes strolling in with a datapad and a set of IVs.

"Hello generals, how are we doing?"

"Not ideal," Obi-Wan says.

"Bored," Anakin chimes in. Kix looks a tad caught off guard-- maybe not used to them answering so truthfully about their condition. His brown eyes flicker between them before he decides to just give them the report.

"So the good news is the serum appears to be non-lethal. We just have to wait for it to filter out of your systems."

"I assume there is bad news then?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Well... the problem is, it embeds itself into the brain and spinal fluid. I have no way of knowing how long it will be in effect without doing an unnecessarily invasive procedure."

"Well that's..." Obi-Wan trails off, glancing at Anakin. "disappointing."

"Do you have a guess on how long, Kix?"

He seems to wager this in his head. "Six hours? More or less."

Great. There goes my afternoon.

Kix excuses himself, promises to return if they learn anymore. As soon as he's out the door, Obi-Wan lays back, letting his head fall against the pillow, and lets out an exacerbated sigh. Anakin can feel him in the beginnings of meditation, the Force around them drawing into his presence and making it shine like a beacon. And then it releases, and Obi-Wan groans again.

"What's wrong?"

"This blasted drug is muddying up the Force. I can't concentrate."

"Oh no, you might have to spend the next six hours actually conscious," Anakin rolls his eyes.

"Meditating passes the time."

"Talking passes the time."

"Anakin," he sighs.

"Oh yes, what a tragedy to spend time with me."

The Jedi Master looks at him now, his eyebrows knit together. "I like spending time with you, Anakin. Do you think I don't?"

"Well... yeah."

"What could make you think that?"

He bites on his tongue, knowing fully well it won't help a thing. "You... dismiss me. Or seem annoyed by me. Or... I don't know... treat me like I'm still a little kid."

The truth falls heavy between them, and suddenly Anakin wishes they'd stuck to the code of silence. Obi-Wan's face shifts into something that he can only categorize as devastation. Even though it's true that he feels that sometimes his master wants nothing to do with him, he never wanted him to know that.

"Anakin... I'm sorry," he says softly, his eyes trained intensely on him. "I didn't realize..."

"Obi-Wan, don't apologize. I guess... I wanted what you and Qui-Gon had." He remembers fondly the brief memories of a young padawan Obi-Wan and his master. The little looks they had that meant more than they seemed. The inside jokes and synergy when they fought alongside one another. Anakin thinks he and Obi-Wan have some of that. They are two parts of a deadly machine on the battlefield, and they share their own little jokes but sometimes there's just this disconnect. Like he trusts him with his life, but not with the secret of his wife. He doesn't think it's supposed to be this way.

But surprisingly, Obi-Wan stiffens at his comment. Anakin wonders if the serum also makes his body language more readable because he's never seen his master so expressive. "What Qui-Gon and I... Anakin when you told me you thought I didn't like spending time with you, it made me worried that I had grown to be too much like Qui-Gon."

"What do you mean?"

He stares off into space a moment. Obviously fighting against the serum, which only makes Anakin more worried about his answer. Never has he ever heard a bad word about Master Jinn, so he isn't sure what it could have been.

"Qui-Gon and I... had a rocky relationship. He didn't want another padawan, but Yoda was quite insistent. He took me, it was a long time before he accepted me."

"Then... how did you become his padawan?"

"I... well to make a long story short I was willing to detonate a bomb that would kill me but save the agricorps settlement, and I suppose he took that as reassurance I wouldn't let him down," Obi-Wan presses his lips together. "Too bad he was wrong about that."

Now Anakin is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his master with confusion. "What do you mean he was wrong?"

"Well, I did leave the order shortly after, which thoroughly shattered his expectations."

"Wait, what?" There is just... so much to unpack in the few things he just revealed. But Obi-Wan looks at him with a face that pleas him to stop. So Anakin relaxes, holding in the urge to ask more questions. "Will you tell me about this when we aren't under truth serum?"

"Yes," he answers. Definitively. Without hesitation. So Anakin nods and sits back on the bed, his head still whirring with questions.

"Can I... ask why you felt Qui-Gon didn't like you? I always thought-- I don't know, that you guys were a team."

He crosses his arms over his chest, focusing on an invisible spot on the ceiling. "We had different ideas of how to do things. That's why Yoda wanted us together. I was an angry and headstrong youngling, and he was a rebel the council needed to find a way to reel in."

Anakin scoffs. "You? Angry?"

A small smile appears on his face. "I packed a nasty right hook in my initiate days. So when I was faced with a Master who disregarded the rules, I assumed the role of the logical rule follower."

"And then you never gave up that role."

"I had punk for a padawan, what else was I to do?"

Anakin looks down at his lap, a small smile on his face.

"Is this why you don't talk about your padawan years very often?"

"The memory of Qui-Gon is... painful. As are many of the experiences I had as a child," he winces.

Well, this is depressing, Anakin thinks, wishing he could ask more but he knows it would be wrong to do so. The mystery of Obi-Wan's past has suddenly been blown right open and he isn't quite sure what to make of it. Left the order? Denied by Qui-Gon? In his head, he had this image of his tiny master, fresh-faced and spouting off Jedi Code at every chance.

"Why does nobody ever talk about that stuff?" Anakin asks, wondering how he's gone over a decade as a Jedi without hearing a word about his master's unusual apprenticeship.

"It wasn't widely known. The council and a few others," Obi-wan stares at him, sadness in his eyes. "But there is no honor in tainting the reputation of the dead."

"But you..." Anakin lets out a shaky breath. "I talked about him all the time. And you never told me?"

"Qui-Gon... was your hero. He saved you, and I- I didn't want that to change for you," he pauses, his face paler now. "Anakin, he wasn't a bad man. He was great Jedi, deeply caring for others and a fantastic master-- I have no doubt had he lived, you two would have made a powerful... and troublesome pair."

Anakin isn't sure what to say about it. He is ashamed of the number of times he was mad at his master and wished a different reality for himself. He doesn't even know the entire extent of whatever Obi-Wan is referring to, but somehow he just... knows.

He's heard rumors before. The story of the Jedi Master who gave up his padawan to train a new initiate he thought was promising. The padawans considered it a horror story to tell when they snuck out of their rooms at night to walk the darkened halls. It took Anakin longer than he's willing to admit to realize the story was about him and Master Jinn's dismissal of Obi-Wan. The way Anakin remembered it was he declared Obi-Wan ready to be a knight and that he would then be free to take Anakin.

Apparently, that wasn't the case. He didn't understand the gravity of the gesture then, and never really thought about it too hard after.

But now... now he thinks about that story again-- that apparently Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had issues in the past-- and maybe there was a lot more there than he even knows.

"When this is over, will you tell me everything, Master?"

"No," he says. No hesitation or waver in his voice.

"No?"

"There are some things I can't tell you."

"But why?"

To Anakin's surprise, he chuckles. "I am allowed my secrets, just as you are allowed yours."

This, of course, sends Anakin into a bit of internal panic. Is he just assuming I also have secrets or... does he know?

"I guess... that's fair."

"When this is over we will rest, and then I will tell you some things about my apprenticeship. And you may ask whatever questions you have then."

He supposes that's good enough. The nice thing about truth serum is he knows Obi-Wan isn't making empty promises. They leave things there for a while, Anakin falling asleep for a bit, and when he awakes, it's Obi-Wan who is surprisingly dozing off. Five hours pass. Anakin has moved to the end of Obi-Wan's bed to lay diagonally across it on his stomach, and Obi-Wan sits cross-legged against the headboard.

"Have you ever been in love, Master?" Anakin asks, looking up expecting a slap to the back of the head for such a question, but instead Obi-Wan smiles a little bit.

"Would it surprise you if I said yes?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, it is."

Anakin blinks. He had his suspicions, but to hear it aloud...

"The Duchess?"

"Yes."

"And others?"

"A few."

"A few?"

He chuckles.

"To love is not prohibited, it is to put such love ahead of one's duty."

He's never thought about it like that.

"Have you been in love, Anakin?"

"Yes," he says. I'm in love, he thinks to himself.

Obi-Wan hesitates a moment, looking down at him with uncertainty that Anakin thinks he knows the source of. He supposes it's only fair, he's dug into his past relentlessly the past few hours but... his wife isn't just his past, she's his present. His future. Though a part of him wants to tell Obi-Wan about her more than anything, a part of him also knows that his knowing will put him in a horrible position with the council. The secret will undoubtedly come out, and he will be expelled from the Order or be forced to give her up. And nothing can make him give Padmé up.

"Padmé?"

Anakin looks at him. The neutrality of his face just makes him more nervous. He looks his former master dead in the eye.

"Padmé and I... are only close friends, Master."

Obi-Wan nods. Anakin hides his stress by burying his face in the comforter.

Well... looks like the serum has worn off.

Anakin decides to wait another half an hour before he lets Obi-Wan know that, though. Just to be safe.

[builder051]

Won't be your victim

Powers/No Powers. Bucky vs Depression storyline. TW for food mentions. (Reminder that I don't take food recs, but do occasionally venture there on my own.)

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We play games of love to avoid the depression We been here before and I won't be your victim

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Steve pours the rest of the pancake batter into the pan, wondering why he's bothered with the double batch. He'd gone right along with the usual recipe, even though things haven't been usual for a while. He sighs and drums the spatula gently against the edge of the stove, then goes in to flip the sizzling cake. It's too pale at the center, probably still full of raw batter.

Steve knows he's blown it; turning the pancake back over will only result in burnt edges. But it doesn't matter, though. It's not like anyone's going to eat this one anyway.

Bucky sits curled on the couch in the living room, periodically glancing up at the black television screen and, presumably, his own reflection. He doesn't look well. He hasn't for a few days, his face especially pale with dark shadows rimming his eyes. He hasn't been sleeping. Just lying there, breathing quietly while Steve rests overnight, then coming downstairs in the morning to take up space in stony silence until evening sets in again and he can feign tiredness so as to return to the bed.

When Steve first realized what was going on, he took a day off work to observe, then a second to encourage Bucky to do otherwise. When that didn't work, he called Bucky's psychiatrist.

"He won't do anything," he explained to Dr. Maximoff. "He's not sleeping either.

"He's maxed out on practically everything," the docter had said. "I can prescribe something for sleep, but you'll have to be careful with it. It's a controlled substance. you can't let him get ahold of it on his own."

"Don't worry; I keep everything locked up..."

Steve still hasn't brought himself to pick up the Ambien from the pharmacy. He keep's imaging Bucky in front of the linen clset where the meds are kept, lying on his face and foaming at the mouth, this time too deeply unconscious to spit whatever he's taken back up. Even though Steve doesn't tell him what's what, Bucky has an uncanny knack for being able to pry the lids off the most lethal of substances. Dealing with Bucky's mood is better than dealing with that.

Steve's startled back to the present when the scent of smoke rises to his nostrils. He quickly digs the spatula under the ruin of a pancake, now showing one side burned to a crisp.

Steve swears under his breath. Now the pale, almost certainly raw side is on the griddle again, creating a most unappetizing batter gusher between two smoky brown-black sides.

He glances over his shoulder as he lets the disaster languish in the pan. "You, uh, want a pancake, Buck?" Steve flips the burnt cake again, then pulls a plate from the cabinet so the seared bits won't soil the other pancakes already waiting. "I promise I won't give you this one." He's sure the odor of the char is apparent all through the house.

Bucky sits up a little and pauses, then slowly shakes his head. His mouth opens a sliver, but no sound comes out.

Steve's heart sinks a bit, and he realizes he's no longer hungry either. "Ok..." he sighs. He flips the crispy burned pancake into the garbage disposal, then covers the rest in plastic wrap.

"You want me to come sit? Watch TV?" Steve's grasping at straws now. Saturday is supposed to be their together time, and now Bucky's acting as if he couldn't care less. Steve's sure it's just the depression talking, but the shrug Bucky offers in response feels a little too much like a personal offense.

Steve turns around to grasp the edges of the sink. He drags in a slow breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out, trying not to make a sound and alert Bucky to his frustration.

"Steve, I..." Bucky's sitting all the way up now. His voice holds a cryptic note, something desperate or apologetic or perhaps both.

"I know you're in a mood," Steve says into the broken silence. "And I'm sorry, I haven't been able to, you know, do anything about it."

"Not your job," Bucky mutters. He pulls his arm across his chest and twitches his stump shoulder. The gesture is clear, even if he can't make it properly.

"Well, it's my job to help you." Steve lets go of the sink and turns to face Bucky, though there's still half the downstairs between them. "All I can say is that I love you. I care about you. I want you to... feel better."

"So do I," Bucky huffs. "D'you think I don't?"

"Of course not." Steve feels sick to his stomach. He peels up a corner of the plastic wrap and tears off the side of a pancake, then jams it into his mouth. He chews twice, then swallows, hoping the carb load will absorb the sour taste growing at the back of his throat.

"You sure you don't want one of these?" Steve asks. "They're good for feeling better."

"Glad it helped you." Bucky's tone is hollow. Not rude exactly, but cold.

Steve removes the pancake pan from the still-warm burner and puts the kettle on the stove instead. He'll warm Bucky up into personhood, something he probably should've done days ago.

"Give that just a minute to boil," Steve says. Then he slowly enters the living room and pulls the afghan off the back of the sofa. "Here." He unfolds the blanket and holds it open, ready to spread it over Bucky's curled form.

Bucky maneuvers himself into a tighter ball, ready to accept the blanket, but shying away from Steve's hands. It's another hearty disappointment that Steve tries not to show on his face. Their relationship isn't new; they have no need to avoid each other's touch. Hypersensitivity is a thing, and Steve knows it, but this doesn't feel like it. The look on Bucky's face when he approaches isn't uncontrolled panic. It's just frustration. Unhappiness. Disdain.

"Alright. There you go." Steve pretends he doesn't notice Bucky's uncomfortable shiver and tucks the blanket up around his shoulders. "That ok?"

Bucky gives a curt nod.

"Ok." The kettle in the kitchen begins to whistle, and Steve turns his attention to preparing the tea he knows neither of them will drink. Once the leaves have steeped enough, he carries the mugs to the coffee table and sits on the opposite end of the couch, careful so as not let so much as a stray movement of his elbow brush against Bucky's swaddled feet.

"Buck, I..." Steve picks up his mug, which is hot enough to turn his palms red. "I love you. I want to be with you."

"Mm."

Steve looks sideways out of the corner of his eye just enough to see Bucky's minute nod. He lets out the tiniest breath of relief, then adjusts the mug in his hands to see if they've yet burned to a crisp.

[trashmcuths-a]

where have you been, josie?' ha, well, ever since switching antidepressents, i have not been feeling all that great. in the last week or so, my mental health has taken a real nose dive. This is a real shitshow, my friends. I literally have to take my as-needed ativan multiple times a day to keep myself from tipping completely over the edge. i had to take off work today, because i cannot pull it together enough to act like a human for an hour and a half. so yeah!!!!!! i'm hoping when i can get a new prescriber and am on meds that actually work, i can be productive. honeslty, i think the last couple months have been so bad, because these meds are not what i need and have severly limited my functioning. tmi but whatever! i love you guys! now i'm gonna go back to vacilating between extreme irritablity, debilitating depression, and panic attack-inducing anxiety.

[angstmatsuscenarios]

This request was inspired by your fanfic I Want to Be Okay. Choromatsu became addicted to the meds that were prescribed to help him with his anxiety.

Ooooh poor Choro….

This prompt is based loosely on the events of that fic, an alternate timeline if you want to consider it as such. I wasn’t comfortable making it too extreme so this is set sometime before it becomes a major problem. Hope you like this!

Please don’t hesitate to let me know if anything is depicted incorrectly.

WARNING for mentions of medication dependency and possible signs of addiction under the cut:

It was the middle of the night. The Matsuno household was quiet, everyone having fallen asleep a couple of hours ago. The sextuplets were tucked snuggly into their futon, dozing away peacefully.

All but one of them.

Choromatsu lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wringing his hands. All around him he could hear his brothers breathing softly, some of them snoring, a sign that none of them were aware he’d yet to drift off.

It had been like that for the last several nights. The last several weeks, if he were being perfectly honest with himself.

Why can’t I sleep? I’d been doing so good…what happened?

It was true. Months ago, Choromatsu had spent his nights tossing and turning, unable to shut off the never-ending stream of anxious thoughts that never failed to rob him of sleep. Those thoughts didn’t only bother him at night, either. They invaded his mind throughout the day, creeping in any time his mind was idle, stealing away any sense of peace he might have had and making him miserable. It reached a point where he was having panic attacks, and he’d finally been forced to admit he was dealing with something he couldn’t handle on his own.

He finally went to a doctor, and was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. It had been both terrifying and a relief to finally have a name for what had been going on with him. The doctor had also given him a prescription for a medication to help him manage it, which he’d finally started taking with reluctance. The dosage was reasonable–one pill every day, and an additional one if he felt like his anxiety was spiking for any reason. Ever since he finally started taking steps to control his mental state, he’d been feeling better, and sleeping much easier.

Except for now. Now, he felt as if he’d fallen backwards, landing back where he’d started months ago. He hated it.

He’d felt like this for the past several weeks, and not just where sleeping was concerned. Lately, it seemed as if his anxiety was getting worse again, for no reason. His thoughts would stray, wandering into unwanted territory–thoughts that he was wasting his life away, that he should have a job by now, that’d he never find success as he so desperately wanted. His heart would skip a beat, his breath hitching in his throat, and before he knew it he’d be reaching for his bottle of medication, just to pop an extra pill and quell these awful feelings for awhile.

He’d been taking more pills than usual lately. Before, he’d stuck to one a day, and it had been enough. Now, taking only one to get him through the entire day seemed like a joke.

Choromatsu thought about his pills now, sitting in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He thought about getting up and taking one, right now. That had become his routine lately, the only thing that could help him fall asleep.

No, I shouldn’t…I’ll run out fast, and what if they don’t give me more? I need them…

He kept wringing his hands, twisting them around and around, still unable to close his eyes. He wanted so badly to sleep, to just pop another pill and be done with it. But he didn’t want to risk his prescription running out. If it did, what would he do then? He had to have them to get by. Not having them wasn’t an option for him.

The thought of not having them anymore made his heart skip a beat, his chest tightening suddenly.

The pills beckoned to him again.

No. I can’t…

But I want to sleep…

His heart pounded. It was suddenly getting harder to breathe, and he tugged at his pajama top, feeling inexplicably stifled. Was he having an anxiety attack?!

I need my pills…

No, I can’t…!

But…!!

I can’t keep doing this…!

Choromatsu gasped, sitting bolt upright in bed. His heart raced, his palms breaking out in a cold sweat as he gripped his blanket. Suddenly the thought of not taking his pills was unbearable. He needed them, now.

Quickly he crawled out of bed, trying not to disturb the others as he did so. Once he’d tiptoed out of their room he sprinted down the hall toward the bathroom, his panic increasing with each step. 

He flipped the switch, flooding the small bathroom with light, and flung open the door to the medicine cabinet with reckless abandon. His urgency multiplied as he rifled through the pill bottles with trembling hands, searching for his medication.

Where are they, where are they?! I NEED them..!!

Finally he located them, somehow shoved behind a couple bottles of aspirin. He grabbed them, relief flooding through his system, only for panic to seize him once more. Oh no! He was running low! His supply was supposed to last him to the end of the month, but he only had enough here to last him maybe another week if he was sparing. How had this happened?! He couldn’t last without them…!

Choromatsu tried not to think about that as he slammed the medicine cabinet shut again and struggled frantically to twist off the cap of the pill bottle. Once he took one, he’d be fine again. He’d be okay. He’d be the way he was supposed to be.

Come on, come ON! Open already…!

At last the cap popped off, and he hastily shook a pill into his hand. He then grabbed a paper cup from the edge of the sink to fill with water, but as he did so he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Hesitantly, he glanced up, making himself look at his reflection.

He didn’t like what he saw. He saw himself, but not the version of himself he was happy with. He could see bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, the paleness of his skin, quiver of his hands, the silent desperation in his eyes. The bottle of pills he held tight in his grip. 

He swallowed hard and blinked, watching his reflection blink back at him. 

What’s…what’s going on with me?

He suddenly flashed back to that day months ago, when he’d first been given these pills. He remembered how he didn’t want to take them at first, because he’d been terrified something bad would happen. That he’d become dependent on them, addicted. But as time wore on he’d stopped thinking so much about that, taking his medication every day. Then taking them more often, when his thoughts began to spiral…because it was just so easy to, as if they were a cure-all, an escape from all his problems. It had been that simple to rely on them once he’d started taking them, rely so much that sometimes it felt like the only thing anchoring him.

Oh no. 

The pill bottle slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor. Luckily he’d already put the cap back on so none of them spilled out, but he didn’t even notice that. His thoughts were racing too much for that to matter.

Has it happened to me? Have I become so dependent on my pills that stopped even thinking about it?

Am…am I addicted to them?

The thought that his own worst fear might now have come true was a lot to take in, and suddenly he found himself slumping to the floor, on his knees, his arms wrapped around himself. His breaths were shallow, tears pooling in his eyes.

I…I am, aren’t I? I let them take control of me, just so anxiety wouldn’t…oh no, oh no…

His breath caught in his throat, and a few tears rolled down his cheeks…and suddenly he was crying, burying his face in his hands, shoulders quaking with sobs. 

This was it. This had been his fear, his nightmare. He didn’t want to rely on medication to make him okay, but that’s what was happening. He didn’t want this, didn’t want to be this way…

He needed help.

“Choro…?”

Choromatsu looked up, tears blurring his vision, to find Osomatsu suddenly standing in the doorway. He knelt next to Choromatsu, his expression concerned and alarmed all at once.

“Choro, what’s wrong? I heard you crying…are you sick?” Osomatsu asked quietly. His gaze wandered to the pill bottle on the floor next to Choromatsu, and his worry heightened. “What’s going on, were you having an anxiety attack…?”

“O-Osomatsu…I…I think…” Choromatsu blubbered, then dissolved into a round of fresh tears as he suddenly clung to his brother, tightly clutching Osomatsu’s pajama top as he bawled. “I th-think I have a problem…I think I’m g-getting too dependent on my m-meds…I…” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more, but Osomatsu was quick to catch on. He wrapped his arms securely around Choromatsu and pulled him closer, a safe and comfortable embrace that Choromatsu definitely needed.

“It’s okay, Choro,” Osomatsu murmured reassuringly, lightly petting Choromatsu’s hair. “It’s okay…it’ll be okay. I promise.”

“B-but…this is what I was afraid of,” Choromatsu said, sniffling, his face pressed against his brother’s shoulder.

“I know…I was afraid, too,” Osomatsu confessed softly, still holding Choromatsu close. “But look, you can tell you have a problem. That’s a good thing, right? It means you’re aware, and it’s not too late to get help.”

Choromatsu inhaled a deep, shuddery breath. “C-can you help me, Oso…”

“Of course,” Osomatsu stated firmly. “I’ll help, however I can. And so will everyone else. You won’t have to go through this alone, Choro. We all have your back, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Being okay sounded a long way off to Choromatsu, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he just clung to Osomatsu, who simply let him and whispered kind reassurances to him. Eventually Choromatsu cried himself out to the point of exhaustion, and Osomatsu had to help him walk back to their room and tuck him into bed. Osomatsu even put an arm around him as he climbed into bed beside him, making Choromatsu feel safe and protected.

He was still scared. He didn’t know what would happen next, or how he’d get through this. He was sure it was going to be hard. But it was a great comfort to know he wouldn’t have to do it alone. And even if he had, he would’ve done it anyway, because he didn’t want to reach a point of no return. 

All he wanted was to be himself again. All he wanted was to be okay.

[illnessandinjury]

I’m just gonna vent a little down below. feel free to ignore; TW for panic attacks, PTSD, slight self harm and suicide mention, etc.

so in november of 2018, the scariest thing in my life happened too me. i won’t go into much detail, as i’ve talked about it here before. i had a psychosis episode and hallucinated the scariest shit. told the paramedic to kill me, told him to call the cops to kill me. went to the ER, came down from the episode, was fine for a while.

i still had nightmares, but PTSD can be funny. it took till october of 2019 for the real illness to take it’s form. it’s diagnosed, btw, i’m not just saying i have PTSD because i think i do; it’s actually in my records. not self-diagnose shaming or anything, but it’s not the case for me.

in october i stopped functioning all together. i had panic attacks all the time. i was constantly dissociating. i couldn’t even normally visit with my mother when she came up from florida. i was so out of my mind with fear and dissociation. i ended up going to the ER, because i wasn’t eating, i kept calling off work, i. could. not. function.

the doctor prescribed me xanax... and everything stopped. the panic attacks, the dissociation, the fear, the flashbacks. it wasn’t even a high dose, but it got me through. i ate again. i worked again.

my psychiatrist took me off of it though. prescribed me vistiril of all things; aka, an antihistamine. AN ANTIHISTAMINE. BASICALLY BENEDRYL FOR PANIC ATTACKS WITH PSYCHOSIS SYMPTOMS. WHAT.

so i did things my own way. i found a dealer. i bought xanax illegally; i’m still on the same small dose i was on when i first got prescribed. i didn’t have any withdrawal when i was taken off of it or anything, but it all came back. the sleepless nights, the panic attacks, the disassociation. i lost 15 pounds in two weeks.

i said i would wait until my other meds kicked in - my zoloft and seroquel. don’t get me wrong - they work amazingly, but not for what i need. my zoloft helps my depression amazingly, and my seroquel helps even out my moods and puts me to sleep at night. but it doesn’t even TOUCH my anxiety. maybe takes the edge off, but i feel that all too sickeningly and familiar feeling of my consciousness floating away from my body; and suddenly my hands aren’t my own. they’re too big and they’re not mine. they don’t feel like mine. i feel like i’m looking at myself from above, like i’m not even in my body. it’s called depersonalization; it’s a form of dissociation.

so i continued my xanax. still at the same small dose. only take it when i feel myself start to panic, or if i feel myself floating off. with the mix of all three drugs; i’ve never felt better in my life. i got a new job; went from working 20 hours a week to 40+. i’m on my way to buying a house. i’ve never been this stable.

but the thing is; my dealer won’t have xanax forever. i have enough for a while though, probably another two or three months. i’m fine for now. but i know when i run out, and can’t buy anymore, and if i don’t get a prescription - i know im going back to the psych ward. i know i will.

don’t get me wrong - i know the dangers of benzos. i know they can be addicting, i know they can be fatal in the situation of an overdose or when mixed with alcohol. again, i take a tiny dose compared to most people prescribed, and i never EVER drink on it. i’m careful. i know addiction can sneak up, but i don’t know how i can become addicted to something i know i need. hell, you can withdrawal from anything; although i know benzo withdrawal is awful and can be hell.

i just don’t know what i can tell my psychiatrist. no matter how many times i tell her that i’m living in hell every day, that i have to call off of work just so i don’t have a panic attack right there on the floor, how i can’t even bring myself to eat when it gets real bad. i’ve told her everything. what else can i say? that if things go on i’ll resort back to self harm? or that i’ll kill myself? because honestly if i have to go without them, and deal with the everyday panic attacks and dissociating - i fucking might. i just don’t know what else to tell her. i’ve tried everything she’s given me. i’ve followed the steps from my therapist. but i’m sorry - breathing exercises aren’t going to help me when i start hallucinating. talking about what happened to me isn’t going to take away the fear of the fact that i literally thought i was dying. an ANTIHISTAMINE isn’t going to help me forget the way my husband’s face melted into one of pure horror when i screamed in his face that i was going to die and leave him behind in that moment. it’s not going to take away the fact that i hit my head into the wall as hard as i could over and over and over again because i thought it would make the hallucinations go away.

it replayed in my head all the time. the flashbacks. it’s awful. his fucking face, his yelling at me, him trying to comfort me as i thought about jumping from the fucking window.

i don’t want to go back to how i felt. i want to continue feeling like this. normal, and put together. last night i forgot to take my dose and it came back. i had a nightmare and when i woke up, i wasn’t in my body again. time started to slow and i felt the black edged come into my vision to make way for the hallucinations again. i was so fucking scared.

i can’t just keep going on trying different meds that don’t work when i already have the meds that DO work. i’m not popping them for fucking fun. i don’t feel high when i’m on them or anything. i just feel.... normal. i’m not scared.

i just don’t know what the fuck to do. i see my therapist and psychiatrist soon but i don’t know what to tell them. it’s like they never take me seriously. they hear what i say. i don’t know if they think i’m playing it up for laughs or what - but in actuality if anything, i’m down playing it. do i have to lower my walls and just break down in their office?? like i want to? like i keep myself from doing every time? what. am. i. supposed. to. do.

[kat-yia]

Can't sleep, gotta rant

So the other day I went to the eye doctor, a new one for starters that I already did not want to go to for reasons I will explain shortly.

So it is the new year and my vision is starting to be a bit strange...

I had an eye twitch that lasted a week and then all the sudden my prescription is noticeably different...my -3.25 contacts and glasses make everything blurry or that I have to correct it with readers (which I tried, but ultimately gave me a headache). So I decided a few days ago since I had a break in my busy schedule to call this eye clinic (which I originally was going to nickname Asshole Eye Care, but not everyone was an asshole, so I'll name it IWLN Eye Hut)

IWLN (incompetent with last names)

was somewhere I had been previously at a younger age but with someone else for their appointment. Since my insurance is no longer covered at my favorite eye place, I decided I would go give IWLN a try.

So I get to Eye Hut Extreme and walk inside. This place is huge. If I didn't have my weaker glasses on and had a worse script I would have thought I walked into an ant colony.

I had to go to the front desk to be redirected to another desk down the hall where I awkwardly waited to be checked it. I sat for a few minutes as I was waiting for a response for an insurance question I needed from my mom.

I then went to check in, filled put normal paperwork bs and was told to sit down. Well... I had been early but a few minutes to by and I hear one of the opticians on the phone with the insurance.

Here's what I sent my mom:

"And they are having fun with the insurance"

"It's the last name issue again"

Sure enough, I wasn't being shown as covered on insurance at all. I stood there for a few minutes showing the fact that I logged in and clearly have insurance as it says on my account. Blah blah blah. Whoever typed my last name in decided to switch the third and fourth letters (super common and annoying mistake, btw) so then insurance was called using that name. So we get it all figured out and they put my chart back to be pulled.

Few minutes later a woman comes put and calls my name, takes me back to expo marker room 4 and does various tests on my eyes and writes an extensive medical history in my file as well as what is going on with my eyes.

Well the machine that takes measurements of your eye while you look at a balloon on a road was not working correct so when she was trying to test what lines I could read, none of them were measuring out to be readable. So there I sat in the dark room staring at lines of letters I couldn't read all the while starting to panic because I couldn't read them.

She eventually gave up, went and told the eye doctor all the problems with the machines and that my eyes = No good so she came back and dilated my eyes. Then I got moved to the room where the eye doctor tests your eyes and was told to sit tight and wait for my eye to dilate a bit more. So I did. Fun part comes next.

SO. In walks Dr. BABY FACE. I am blind at this point. No contacts. No glasses. Eyes dilated. He outstretched his hand, I took it, shook it. He doesn't bother to introduce the other person who came in with him, which made me on edge. Anyway, Baby face shines many bright lights into my big dark circles to tell me that my eyes are really dry.

And I'm like, "Makes sense, ok"

I wear contacts a lot and switch between brands but am also on medications that make my eyes dry...which he pointed out. As if I can control the fact besides using eye drops which I have been, but he tells me in a way as if I should go off my anxiety medicine because it's what is making my eyes dry.

WELL HONEY. IF I WENT OFF MY ANXIETY MEDS I WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO WALK IN HERW NOW WOULD I?

'Scuse me baby face.

I take this all in stride, Baby Face knows best and he proceeds to tell me verbally three times that I am to use artificial tears and prescribed eye drops 3 times a day. I really enjoyed hearing the instructions over and over again because then:

He starts telling me that he is writing the instructions down and points to where he is writing and says, "Where I am writing, I abbreviated the prescription because you'll know what it means"

Okay, I'm like, "Yeah I can't see a thing you're writing."

He turns an exclaims that I need readers. Have you followed along with this to note that he has never checked my prescription to know how far I can see? Because he hasn't nor did he look at the notes written in my file. Without contacts or glasses I could not see what he was writing and I have tried readers without and it makes it worse...because I'm near-sighted. Everything was also very bright because my eyes were dilated.

I severely do not like him but have to return on Friday and will be on my best behavior.

[kyidyl]

Anxiety/Life update

AKA: Kyidyl pretends Tumblr is Livejournal.

Today was a bad anxiety day. I think it was a confluence of things. I had an appointment with my new gp (primary care doc.) on Monday, brought a print out of my chart from my US dr. that included my adhd and panic disorder/anxiety dx. Found out that they straight up don’t prescribe Xanax in the UK, full stop, so I can’t have a refill on it. She put the idea in my head that I might already be addicted to it, even tho I didn’t think I was before considering her words (I don’t take it every day, and often will go several days in a row without it.) I think she might be right now but I have no idea what it feels like to be addicted to something. I do know that mentally I don’t feel prepared to leave my apartment and accomplish things without it, and I think that’s a sign she could be right. Either way, it’s immaterial because I have like 10 pills left or so and I’m not getting more so addicted or not there’s nothing I can do. She did, however, put me on Zoloft - which is apparently what they use here to treat anxiety (idk what they use in the states other than benzos, because that’s all I’d ever been given.). So it takes a couple weeks to have that build up in my system and I started on Monday so what I’m hoping to do is ramp that up while ramping the Xanax down and hopefully meet somewhere in the middle.

BUT. One of the side effects, and according to the pharmacist - who is, herself, on Zoloft - it’s temporary, is diarrhea. Now, you should skip to the next paragraph if this kinda thing grosses you out. Anyway, having the shits is a huuuuuge trigger for me and is essentially like what kicked my anxiety into high gear back in June so I’m glad she told me about it so now if/when it happens I know that a, it’s temporary and b, it’s because of the meds not my intestines being fools. But I’ve been worrying about it and my panic attacks come with INTENSE abdominal cramps so you know, self fulfilling prophecy and all.

The other thing is that I started feeling pretty homesick today. Now, if I had to pick two things that I consider to be most core to the causes of my anxiety it’s a, feeling like I don’t have a home and b, feeling like I’m physically sick (I’ve had life threatening illnesses before so like I tend to catastrophize minor illness.). I have made myself literally sick due to homesickness before. Both of which are centered around the fact that I’m a control freak who thrives on information and logic and since surprise illness is a lack of information for me and homesickness is a lack of logic...I think you can see the problem. So basically right now the things that I find to be the most difficult to deal with are happening at once and I woke up this morning feeling jittery; like I had electricity dancing under my skin.

I kept my appointment with my councilor anyway, and rode in not one but two Ubers in traffic (cars and lines tend to be bad places for me because they make me feel trapped.). It sucked but I did it anyway so I try to keep that in mind but it’s still been a hard day. Then the fire alarm went off (it’s been doing that on and off all day in some of the neighboring apartments, but it went off in the whole building today.) so I just had to like leave...no prep at all. No mentally preparing myself, no nothing. Luckily it was over quick, but like I was already on edge and it was just another thing.

On the upshot, AC: Oddessy comes out tomorrow. :D At least...in the us it does, I guess I should check the uk release date or make sure I can get it unlocked for me to download on my Xbox account...

...also there’s people outside the pub down the street singing Adele to each other and honestly I kinda love this city.

[pixiestickers]

I don't usually go into all the details of my life like I used to on social media, but I’m going to start keeping a withdrawal journal here bc this is the site I frequent the most where I really don’t interact with others. Like I know you’re there, but I also don’t know you irl like I do with ppl on fb and twitter. Keeping a journal is part of the process of coming off of a drug and while my story isn’t as exciting as say someone coming off an illicit drug, it’s still something to worry about and that I should keep track of.

So to get the whole story of what's going on you have to go back to 2014 when I had a bad encounter with a customer who sent me spiraling into a panic attack. It bothered me for days afterward, so I decided to go to my doctor to see if I could get on anxiety meds. We tried the 24 hour 150mg Welbutrin XL at first, where you take one pill, once a day and it's in your system that whole day and night. It gave me insomnia, so I switched to the twice-a-day pill 150mg SR and just didn't take my second dose. It fixed the insomnia but the anxiety was just kinda the same, I kept taking Welbutrin tho, because I found out that it took away my migraines. I didn't get one for a whole year and at the time that was unheard of. Anyway ... I've been on Welbutrin since then and it's always been the same purple pill. Then suddenly they were white. I looked it up and saw that this meant it was from a different manufacturer. I didn't like them. I felt it increased my anxiety, so for three days I went back to some old purple pills I still had bc remember I only took one pill a day instead of two and the way it's prescribed I always get two a day anyway. After three days I started getting withdrawal symptoms and thought the pills must've lost some of their power with them being almost a year old. I went back on the white pills and whoa, suddenly my anxiety went through the roof and I was having manic episodes, like I couldn't sit still and was having fear for no reason.

So fast forward to today. I've been on a lower dose of 100mg SR for two weeks and had a plan to slowly tapper off from them after school ended next week and I could devote more time to feeling icky. That was the plan until Friday when I had a scare that I was having a stroke. I couldn’t form the words I wanted to say and when they came out they sounded all weird. Afterward I realized this was just normal brain fuzziness that happens sometimes, but the heightened anxiety (yes, even on 100mg I am on edge, just not wanting to run away screaming on edge) made me think I was having a stroke and I had a panic attack. After that I was like I’m going to begin the weaning process tomorrow, staring by taking the pill every other day. But then when I thought about it (and at the urging of my husband who does not like how this drug makes me feel or act) I thought I would just do cold turkey. I’m already on a low dose and don’t even take the second pill. I will likely feel withdrawals by not weaning myself more, but I just can’t stand the thought of taking Wellbutrin another day. 

If you don’t have any interest in reading about how my withdrawal symptoms are going (and I totally understand if you don’t want to know) I’ll be tagging it as wellbutrin withdrawal so you can blacklist it. 

[chikabiddy]

Chapter 4

A/N: Here is the next chapter! Still no action (next chapter should get back to that), but we get to see LoVe interacting more and moving toward reconciliation. LOTS of dialogue. Hope you enjoy! :)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

He’s sorry? Veronica was speechless. What do you say when the guy who has made surer your life was hell the last year apologizes? Sorry for what? For abandoning me? Trying to hurt me? That I actually ended up hurt? What? Veronica locked her jaw, scowl focused firmly on Backup’s head.

“Veronica,” Logan’s voice was soft, imploring.

Against her will she glanced up. His eyes were piercing, and her breath caught in her throat as nostalgia coursed through her. For the first time in over a year her friend sat across from her. Something inside broke. The fear, anxiety, loneliness, and pain she had bottled since Lilly died, since her mom abandoned her, and especially since the night before, washed over her. Tears prickled behind her eyes. It was too much, too much to process and handle. Her throat constricted, and she choked as she tried to swallow. She was about to cry. Please, god. Not here; not in front of him.

Jumping to her feet, she spun away from him toward the hall, toward the safety of her room. But he was there, stepping behind her and encircling her with his arms. She wanted to pull away, thought about pulling away, but it was too late. Everything came pouring out and she collapsed back into him, shoulders heaving and gasping for air. Logan guided her tenderly to the couch, whispering words she couldn’t quite hear. Veronica instinctively curled into his chest as he stroked comforting circles over her back. He continued muttering soothingly to her as her sobs settled into hick ups; until her breathing slowed and every part of her drooped, weary.

“You’re not fine, Veronica,” he whispered, mouth pressed to the top of her head.

Veronica stiffened, and Logan’s hand stilled on her back. Rookie mistake, Mars. Never show the enemy weakness. She rubbed the tears from her face furiously and moved from Logan’s embrace. He made no move to stop her retreat, folding his hands on his lap. Veronica took a deep breath, eyes closed; her headache returned full force during her breakdown. This isn’t friend-Logan. This is psychotic jackass-Logan. He hasn’t been a friend since Lilly… She crossed her arms.

“So, how long until you tell everyone how unstable I am?”

“Veronica…” she couldn’t tell if it was hurt or regret in his voice. She narrowed her eyes but grimaced as the effort flared the pain in her head. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she sighed. “Just the after effects of using my head as a ping pong ball.”

Logan straightened, like a rod shot down his spine. He seemed to really catalogue her injuries for the first time; his face paled and mouth pinched into a hard line. “Where’s your medicine?” came out gruff, almost angry.

“What?”

“Your medicine? Pain pills? Stuff to keep you from feeling like a ping pong ball.” The edge hadn’t softened. Is he mad at me?

“Uh, in my bathroom,” Veronica offered. “But it’s fine. I just took some Tylenol a couple hours ago. Can’t take more yet.

Logan scoffed. “I know the hospital didn’t prescribe you Tylenol for that.” He gestured towards her.

“No,” she admitted. “But I don’t like taking the other stuff. Makes it hard to focus.”

“You don’t need to focus right now, Veronica,” he growled, sarcasm practically dripping. “Where’s the medicine your doctor prescribed?”

She glanced to the kitchen island, “Don’t worry about it, Logan. Really.”

He had followed her gaze and spotted the pharmacy bag on the counter and moved toward the counter. “Does you dad know you aren’t taking this?” he almost spat without looking back. Veronica flinched back, surprised at the venom in his voice.

“I told him I don’t need it. Because I don’t.” Why am I telling him this? Why am I telling him anything? “Seriously, Logan.” She waved dismissively. “I don’t need you pretending to babysit me. And I really don’t need your guilt.”

“Cups?” He had already pulled the bottle out and dumped the correct dosage into his hand, ignoring her protests. When she didn’t respond he moved to the kitchen, opening cupboards until he found what he was looking for. He filled a glass and brought it with the medicine to Veronica and crouched to be level with her.

“Logan…” She began, exasperated. Why is he pushing this?

“Stop, Veronica. You aren’t going to heal if you aren’t taking care of yourself. Want to be able to focus sooner?” His lips dipped into a half sneer. But he softened as he nudged her with the hand holding the pills. “Take your medicine. Let you brain and body rest, reset, heal.”

“I… I don’t…” she stumbled, looking for the right words, a way to convince him without explaining why she wouldn’t, couldn’t, take what the doctor prescribed. “I don’t want to take it. I’m here, alone, and… and I... I can’t…” She sighed, frustrated, eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. After her everything she had been through the last 24 hours, she really wished he would just let this go.

“Veronica?”

“Please don’t push this,” she whispered softly. Logan didn’t respond. after the silence grew awkward Veronica couldn’t help but look up. He was looking away, but his jaw was locked tight and his face was hard. She took a deep breath, trying to say she couldn’t in a way he would believe, without giving anything away.

“I don’t understand why you won’t take care of yourself,” he hadn’t turned, face still firmly away from her.

“I am!” Veronica dropped her arm quickly as the pain in her head intensified with her movement. “I don’t need to take that stuff to take care of myself.”

His eyes finally met hers again, and she could read clearly the skepticism. “You can’t move without grimacing, you’re covered in bruises; I’m sure you have a concussion. You need more than Tylenol.” She started to shake her head. “Just explain it to me, Veronica. Explain to me why you won’t take care of yourself.” She hadn’t heard this voice from him in a long time, soft and pleading and firm all at once. The box she’d stuffed her emotions in creaked open the tiniest amount.

“I can’t,” her voice was a whisper again. “I can’t lose control…” She could feel herself teetering on the edge of another breakdown and drew in a ragged breath. “I’m here, and I’m alone,” she was proud to hear some control back in her voice. “And I just can’t be zoned out on pain meds.”

“You’re not alone.” Logan moved the medicine near her hand again. “I’ll stay here, until your dad gets back.”

Veronica debated this, unsure if Logan’s presence would help alleviate the panic she felt any time she felt as if she was losing control. Dad being here doesn’t help, why would Logan be any different. Hell, Logan will probably be worse. At her pensive frown, Logan added:

“Please, let me do this. Let me help you.”

He isn’t going to let this go. Sighing, Veronica stretched her and out for the pills. Mask up, Mars. You’re about to lose control with a guy who was, until a half hour ago, your worst enemy. Better be sure. Eyes twinkling, she slammed the pills back with the water then she opened her mouth and stretched out her tongue proving she did, indeed, swallow the medicine. “No hiding them in my cheek, see? Happy now?” Her voice was more mischievous than frustrated and Logan’s posture relaxed with her banter.

“Appreciate it, Mars.” He lifted his hand toward her, then let it drop. “So, you wanna crash on the couch or in your room? Eithers good for me, though the bed might be a little more exciting…” He raised his eyebrows at her.

Her gut clenched uncomfortably at the thought of someone, even Logan, in her room (her bed) while she was doped on pain meds. Get a grip, Veronica. He’s just messing with you; being Logan. She drew in a calming breath, but it was too late. Logan hadn’t missed her reaction. Pain and confusion flit across his face; his features settling to regret.

“God, sorry. That’s… I didn’t mean… I wasn’t thinking. It was a bad joke, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands and shook his head, eyes pleading. Veronica lifted the corners of her mouth into a weak grin, shoving her panic back into the deep recesses of her mind where it belonged.

“No need to apologize, Logan,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as forced as it felt. She took another breath and smirked up at him: “I knew what I was getting into, inviting Playboy Echolls into my house.” Then with a bravado she certainly didn’t feel, she added: “Do you want the left or right side of the bed?” punctuating the question with a wink.

********

           Logan sat, stunned, as Veronica made her way back to her room. She did not just invite me to sleep with her. He knew it was a joke, logically, but his heart skipped a beat as he scurried after her. She headed straight down the hall through the door on the end and Logan paused at the door as he took in her room. Snooping later. For now… he snaked past Veronica and plopped himself down on the edge of her bed.

           “I’m not sure there’s room enough to share, Ronnie,” he challenged with a smile. “If we’re both going to fit we’ll have to snuggle up real close, me with my back to the wall. You’ll definitely knock me off otherwise.”

           He saw surprise and the same emotion he’d noticed earlier, the one he was sure was panic, before her lips thinned into a hard link and she quirked her eyebrow at him. The pursed lips could have been taken as disapproval, but Logan could see the twinkle in her eye. She was meeting his challenge. I must have imagined it; panic isn’t easy to hide.

           “Me kick you off?” she shot back. “You do realize you’re huge, right?” Logan let her statement hang in the air but made sure she could clearly see the innuendo on the tip of his tongue. “God, Logan!” She shoved him. Then she laughed, the first real laugh he’d heard from her since before Lilly. He couldn’t help himself, he bumped his shoulder into her and put his arm around her pulling her to his side. Her muscles tensed for a moment, but she didn’t pull away and after a moment he felt her relax and settle into him.

           Even after spending the last day thinking of nothing but Veronica, Logan surprised at how easily they had fallen back into their old rapport. He had no right to this, the ease he had with Veronica, and he knew it all too well. But he soaked it in, rubbing his hand gently down her arm and breathed in everything Veronica Mars. She was both new and familiar to him, like coming home after a long holiday to find your house totally redone; insides gutted and made completely unrecognizable. But, remodeling aside, home is still home. Logan hadn’t felt this content in years; not even before Lilly had… before Lilly. But she’s here, she’s safe. And if I’m not totally mistaken, she was flirting. His lips quirked up.

           A soft snore brought his attention back to the tiny blond beside him. She’d fallen asleep, and despite her cuts and bruises, she looked peaceful. Serene. While continuing to stroke her arm he reached his other hand to trace her bruises, coming to a stop at the gash disappearing into her hairline. Teeth clenched against the bile rising in his gut, Logan had to look away. A fierce protectiveness washed over him, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to go back. He couldn’t return to how things had been just a day before: him mocking and egging on the hazing and hatred towards Veronica. He couldn’t take hurting her when all he wanted to do was protect her. Well there was nothing else for it, he’d just have to get everyone to back off. No one’s going to go up against the son of America’s favorite celebrity. He wouldn’t even have to explain it, just decree it.

           When he was sure Veronica was sound asleep he settled her onto her pillow and covered her with the plush comforter. He took a moment to study her then. The hard edges which so represented Veronica lately were still evident, in her haircut and her new clothing style. Even the way she nestled into the pillow was defensive, less open than Veronica was before. Lifting his eyes from her, he took in the room around him. There were few things here which reminded him of the Veronica pre-fallout, but the board on her wall was the starkest sign that the girl beside him wasn’t that Veronica anymore. The board was covered in pictures of people in various stages of compromise. Nice murder wall, Veronica. He assumed the pictures were from cases she worked for her dad. Knowing she worked on cases like these, investigating the worst in people, was something Logan had yet to wrap his mind around. Pre-fallout Veronica was optimistic, always seeing the best in everyone. Pre-fallout Veronica wouldn’t imagine people in the situations depicted on her board, let alone document and display their indiscretions.

           The rest of the room was fairly bare, neat and orderly, not betraying anything of the new Veronica. He wondered if new Veronica, all hard edges and sharp tongue, would care at all about his rekindled interest in her. The time they spent together today was significant to him, but this Veronica was full of fire and vengeance, and he wasn’t sure he could survive the flames. Way to be creepy and dramatic. Just because you’re ready to drop the feud doesn’t mean Veronica feels the same. He couldn’t blame her, though he hoped the spark of affection he had seen today was real, genuine. She was amicable enough and definitely participated in the mildly flirtatious banter. Logan grinned. That was better than all the snark we’ve traded this year. With a last glance around the room, he slipped out leaving the door cracked should Veronica need him and settled on the couch.

[truerequitedlove]

Dark Butterflies

Genre: hurt/comfort

Warnings: hurt!phil, anxiety, panic attack, breakdown, phil has social anxiety n a bit of a panic disorder which stems from that

Word Count: 3.7k

In which Phil's introversion runs deeper than one might think, and it's been a rough few weeks of socializing. Could one meeting be all it takes to push Phil over the edge?

~•~•~

Phil woke up very much craving a lazy day. A day in which he could simply lie with his boyfriend and watch stupid television. They were done moving, done meeting with family. He wanted alone time. He certainly didn't want to have to be around strangers or have to work with others.

For quite a while, Dan had been the only one who didn't leave Phil mentally and physically exhausted after socializing with him. Even Phil's other closest friends left Phil tired and relieved after hanging out. Dan was the only one Phil could stand to be around practically 24/7.

It hadn't always been that way, however. Back in 2009/10, every time Dan finally left after being over, Phil was exhausted. He loved Dan and every second they spent together, of course, but he couldn't deny the tiny bit of relief he felt when he was able to be alone again.

Phil was 100% an introvert. Social situations easily drained him, even with is loved ones. And when expected to talk with strangers, his nerves often got the best of him. He was relieved to come into any alone time, even if it meant his friends leaving. Too many social situations could overwhelm him easily, and he often felt terrible during those situations when others seemed fine.

He'd been this way all throughout high school, but wasn't diagnosed with social- and later generalized- anxiety until he was 19 and in university. From there it was a lot more manageable, and Phil had a much easier time making friends.

Phil had told Dan about his condition before they met, and he was extremely understanding. Dan gave him space when he needed it, never pressured him into any situations Phil wasn't comfortable with, and made sure Phil didn't feel judged.

Dan had always had a few run ins with anxiety, so he understood, but he'd never had it as serious as Phil. Which led to Dan feeling terrible about coming to Phil with his problems for the first year and a half of their relationship because "you have it so much worse and don't need my crap, Phil." But they worked through that once Phil realized he'd been doing it.

Dan wanted to move in with Phil as soon as he could, already entirely committed to his and Phil's relationship, but Phil was a little more hesitant. It wasn't that Phil wasn't committed, he was. He was certain he'd never be with anyone else again. He'd fallen just as hard and fast for the boy as Dan did him. But sharing a living space with his boyfriend, seeing him everyday, could Phil handle never really having alone time?

Dan was his usual perfect understanding self when Phil explained his concerns. Dan promised he'd wait as long as Phil needed, and even suggested that they find a flat where they could have separate bedrooms so Phil could have his own space when he needed it.

After that conversation, Phil finally had the courage to start looking for places, and he and Dan moved in together before Dan's second year at university was to begin. Phil was glad he'd gotten over his silly fear, as Dan ended up needing his support a lot in the following year, and as their careers began to intertwine, they gained popularity by the thousand.

Things went downhill a few times, but, in the long run, Dan was always there for him when he needed it.

And in that way, Dan hadn't changed a bit. He was fairly tuned in to Phil's emotions, able to tell when his anxiety was bad. He talked Phil through the rare panic attack. And he still made sure that Phil had his space when he needed it. But nowadays, Dan was the only person Phil could spend all his time with without being anxious and exhausted.

Phil rolled over. He found that Dan was already up, and sighed. They had to go out today and meet with their management to discuss a possible new project.

Phil already felt anxious at the though of having to go out and engage in professional conversation with practical strangers. In fact, he was in such an anxious mood already, he wasn't even sure he wanted to see Dan. But, he knew that was just the anxiety talking, and once he did see Dan he'd feel better.

So, Phil forced himself out of bed and into the kitchen, trying to ignore the unease in his stomach. He found Dan already putting Phil's coffee on.

Dan noticed Phil enter and smiled. "Hey," He breathed cheerily, "Morning."

Phil groaned, leaning his forehead against Dan's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his slightly taller boyfriend, feeling a bit better when he had Dan's arms protecting him.

"Butterflies?" Dan asked softly.

Of course Phil's anxiety was nothing like the exciting jittery feelings you got when you talk to your crush or have your first kiss. Phil's butterflies were enormous, dark, pounding against his ribs and flying through his stomach at high speed. But they'd come to call Phil's anxiety this, as Phil didn't like blatantly stating his problem, but he could think of little other ways to describe it. Back when Dan had first met him, he'd described it as "dark butterflies," meaning the feeling you get when your anxious and excited, but much darker, much more sinister. Dan had promised he would chase away the butterflies. He'd kept good on that promise for the most part, and Phil couldn't be more grateful. Of course he didn't magically heal Phil or whatever crap they show you in movies. He just worked with Phil, talked him through his attacks, got him help, listened. He supported Phil while Phil did his best to help himself.

Phil nodded, as well as he could with his forehead pressed tot he top of Dan's shoulder. "I hate this," he breathed.

Dan was silent, wrapping an arm around Phil, running his back. Phil knew complaining wouldn't help, but he was so tired of feeling like this.

"You want your meds?" Dan asked, gently, thumb stoking Phil's arm.

Phil sighed. He had anxiety medication that was to be taken as needed. He was only meant to take it when he felt overwhelming anxiety, a possible panic attack coming on, or if he was panicking already.

"Yeah," he begrudgingly replied. He didn't want to feel like this all day, and they really couldn't get out of their plans.

Dan seemed relieved with his reply and gently pulled away to find the tablets in the bathroom medicine cabinet.

Phil got a coffee mug down, staring at the coffee maker. He tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach. Why couldn't he just have a normal day talking about his career with his management and getting excited over a possible new project?

He guessed he'd just a had a rough few weeks. With meeting with management, interviews being set up, still feeling like he'd just gotten back from playlist and vidcon, his vacation with his family. His family had visited yet again, and Phil was drained. He hadn't had enough time alone to make up for all the time spent around so many people. Phil's anxiety was due to spike soon.

"When was the last time we saw your psychiatrist?!" Dan called from the bathroom, hoping he was somehow wrong and they'd seen him recently.

Phil bit his lip, still not happy with the fact that he had to see a psychiatrist. He knew it was stupid to be embarrassed in front of Dan, but Dan didn't have to see a professional. Phil shook away those thoughts and thought on Dan's question. It had at least been a few months... "Why?" Phil replied nervously.

Dan returned to the kitchen, frown on his face. "I can't find any of your meds, I think we're out, love," Dan spoke apologetically.

"Oh," Phil mumbled, hands gripping his empty mug tightly.

Phil met with a psychiatrist every few months and he prescribed them more of the anxiety medication when needed. Phil had used quite more than usual over the past few months, and it made sense for him to be out.

"A-are you sure?" he asked, feeling the butterflies move faster and swirl in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, Phil, do you want me to call and cancel?" Dan asked, obviously concerned.

Phil thought a second and waved his hand. "I'll be okay. I can let you know if it gets bad, but I have breathing exercises and stuff. I'll be fine," he assured, smiling.

"Alright, but I'd skip the coffee. Caffeine won't help, sadly," Dan warned.

"The one good thing in my life," Phil over-dramatically cried.

Dan chuckled, heading off to get dressed. Phil turned off the coffee maker with a sigh and followed after Dan to get dressed himself. By the time they left the flat, Phil seemed better.

~•~•~

Dan gave Phil's hand a squeeze before they stepped out of the cab to enter the building and meet with their management. Phil gave him a smile, hoping Dan wouldn't worry about him.

It was pathetic. Phil was a grown man. He should be able to handle himself. He took a few deep breaths, trying not to let Dan know know anxious he actually was. He needed at least one of them to be able to pay attention to the meeting without worrying. Dan had a tendency to worry too much about taking care of Phil whenever Phil had an issue.

Dan sent Phil a reassuring smile before they entered the building, greeted by the familiar faces of some of the crew that joined them on tatinof, and the unfamiliar faces of other coworkers.

Phil was having a hard time focusing as he went on autopilot with his greetings and smiles, following them down the halls. He could hear Dan chattering animatedly with someone.

Phil instead focused on his breathing. He was glad that Dan was able to sort of take over. He'd grown a lot in that area. For a long time Phil had to be the adult, take care of the professional stuff, for the most part. But in the recent years, Dan allowed Phil to teach him how to take on more responsibility. Phil guessed that since Dan's own mental health had improved, he realized Phil needed to take a load off before his could improve as well. Whatever it was, Phil was grateful.

Most of the meeting went by without incident, mainly due to the fact that no one really interacted with Phil. Phil had just kept to the corner, nodding along, smiling politely. His anxiety didn't necessarily get better, but it didn't get worse.

At least until...

"Phil?" Dan asked.

Phil shook himself from his thoughts to find everyone in the room focused on him, staring at him expectantly. Why was everyone looking at him? What had he missed? Stop looking at me, please stop, why are you staring at me? What happened? Please don't look at me, oh God, leave me alone. He looked to Dan to somehow save him, and Dan's brow furrowed.

"Phil, you okay?" Dan asked, gently.

"Yeah, mate, you alright?" Another voice asked.

Everyone continued to stare at him expectantly, some murmuring among themselves. They're talking about me. I probably look so stupid. Fuck. Fuck. I can't speak. Why can't I speak?! The butterflies in his stomach beat their wings faster and faster.

Why had Dan called attention to Phil's discomfort? Why would he put Phil on the spot like that? Didn't he know how Phil was feeling? Why would he do that?!

Phil felt his breathing speed up and his eyes water, and he freaked out. He couldn't panic here, not in front of the people he worked with. Fuck, this was so embarrassing. He tried to focus enough to find the nearest exit. He got it within his sights and impulsively bolted for it. He needed out. He needed to get away. He needed solitude.

Phil walked quickly down the halls, staring at the floor as tears slipped down his cheeks. Every person he passed increased his heart rate and made his movements and breathing even more frantic. Finally he saw a sign for a bathroom and rushed into it, relieved in the slightest that he finally had somewhere to be alone.

He locked the door to the family bathroom, sinking to his knees in the corner and letting out a sob. His breathing was quick and shallow and he couldn't even think properly.

Fuck! What was he going to do now?

Dan glanced over at Phil when he didn't reply to the question he was asked. Dan frowned a little as he looked his boyfriend over. Phil looked even paler than usual, and he didn't seem to at all register that he'd been asked a question.

"Phil?" Dan asked, thoughtlessly, hoping to get Phil's attention.

Phil blinked, seeming confused. He looked around, obviously unsettled. Then he seemed to recognize the situation and a familiar look took over his expression. Dan recognized that look. Shit. Phil's anxiety.

Dan had let himself forget to worry about it while he was talking and planning. Phil had seemed content to sit alone and barley contribute. Dan thought that would get him through the meeting.

Phil looked to Dan desperately, and the rest of the world melted away as Dan stared at Phil. "Phil, you okay?" He asked, softly.

Someone asking a, "Yeah, mate, you alright?" brought Dan back to the real world and everyone else began murmuring concerns. Everyone was focusing on Phil, and Dan silently cursed himself for calling attention to Phil. This wouldn't help at all. Dan bit his lip, and Phil jumped up, running from the room.

Fuck.

Dan briefly explained that Phil hadn't been feeling well, and that he'd likely rushed to the restroom, to his coworkers before he hurried to find Phil. He sped down the halls of the building. He discovered a bathroom and found it locked. He listened carefully and, sure enough, he heard quiet breathy sobs.

"Phil?" Dan called softly.

Phil let out a sob when he heard Dan on the other side of the door. Dan had probably told everyone about Phil's disorder and panic. Dan was usually so good at being discrete. Did he not care anymore? Did he not notice how Phil had been on the verge of panic the entire time? Was Phil just a massive burden?

"Phil, love," Dan pleaded, "I'm so sorry, let me in?"

Phil was upset and scared and confused, but he knew he was shit at getting trough these without Dan, so he reached up with a shaking hand and unlocked the door. He sunk back into his fetal position against the wall, hyperventilating and shaking.

Dan opened the door and, upon seeing Phil's state, rushed to close it and get to his boyfriend's side.

"Oh God, Phil, I'm so sorry," Dan rambled, entry grabbing Phil's hands to pull them from his chest. "Cmon love, sit up, knees down," Dan requested. He needed Phil to keep his chest free and be able to fill his lungs even with the shallow breathing he was doing.

Phil did as he was told, really having no choice as Dan gently manhandled him into a good position.

"W-w-what d-did you-" Phil struggled to breath as he gasped out words. "T-tell," he added, still hyperventilating.

Dan was confused for a moment, but quickly gathered what he meant. "Oh, sh-sh-sh, love, I just told them you felt ill today, that's all," Dan reassured, thumbs storming over Phil's knuckles as he held his boyfriend's hands.

Phil was relieved at that, but his panic didn't ease in the slightest. He looked a wreck, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, tears running down his cheeks, snot running down his upper lip, breathing quick and shallow, entire body shaking. Though, Dan had seen him in this position far too many times before.

Dan grabbed a few squares of toilet roll and held it to Phil's nose, cleaning him up a tiny bit. "Shhh, Phil, breathe," Dan coached, "Deep breaths, fill your lungs, then let it out slowly." Dan had both gotten used to, and would never get used to, this. He knew how to act and what to say, but that didn't stop his internal panic every time. The mantra in his head of oh my God, Phil's hurting. Fuck, I probably could've stopped this. Shit shit shit. He still had a hard time seeing Phil broken like this when Phil had always been his personal hero, his rock, the strong one. But like this, he looked so small.

Phil squeezed Dan's hands, needing to be grounded, to feel something that felt real in his confused and floaty state.

"Just breathe," Dan murmured, squeezing Phil's hands back. "You're okay. We're gonna go home, yeah? But first you've got to breathe for me."

Phil just wanted to go home, but he knew Dan was right. He needed to calm down first. He focused on breathing, still finding it hard to focus on anything. There was a ringing in his ears and he just wanted to sleep but he couldn't if he tried. It was much easier when he had Dan's calm, soft, voice to focus on.

"K-keep t-alk-k," Phil forced out through his tears and hyperventilating.

"Of course, of course, love," Dan spoke, sat crisscross in front of him and still holding Phil's hands away from his chest so it wasn't restricted. "Just breathe, Philly. You're doing so well."

Dan rambled praises, spoke about what they'd do when they got home, how excited he was for the new Game of Thrones.

Phil tried to take deep breaths, focusing on Dan. Dan's voice. Dan's face. His eyes flickered over Dan's face. Dan's freckles, a very few dark ones scattered here and there. Dan's lips, turned down slightly as he looked at Phil in concern. Dan's eyes, wide and watery as he talked Phil through. Phil always forgot how much his attacks actually affected Dan.

"That's it love," Dan praised, "You're fine. You're okay. I'm here, Phil."

Phil breathed in longer than he expected to be able to, held it for a few seconds, and then slowly let it go. He was a bit proud of himself, during a bad panic like this he normally took a long time to calm down, especially away from home. He sniffled.

"There you go. You're so strong, you're doing so well," Dan rambled, "I'm sorry. We should've stayed home. I'm sorry, Phil."

Phil just leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He was so exhausted now. "Can we go home?" he asked, voice shaking and sleepy, "I wanna...go home..."

Dan smiled sadly. "Of course, love, c'mere." He opened his arms and Phil fell into them, burying his face in Dan's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Phil whimpered, shaking having calmed now. It hadn't been he worst attack he'd had, but it'd been more than an average one. Panicking away from home always made it harder to calm down.

Dan frowned. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart, don't ever be sorry. This isn't your fault. I should've realized sooner. Cmon, love. We're gonna go home, watch some tv, and cuddle for the rest of the day, how's that sound?" Dan offered.

Phil sniffled and nodded. He stood on wobbly legs and moved over to the sink to splash water over his face. Dan set a hand on his lower back, rubbing softly. The silence wasn't the thick, anxious, uncomfortable, silence that Phil was used to. With Dan it was always the gentle silence, the kind that assured Phil he didn't have to say a thing.

Dan wrapped his arms around Phil from behind, hunching a little to rest his chin on Phil's shoulder.  They remained that way in silence as Phil's breathing completely leveled.

"Are the butterflies gone, now?" Dan asked softly.

Phil hummed softly. "If I try not to think, they're a bit quieter."

"That'll do for now," Dan spoke, kissing Phil on the side of the neck, "At least until we get home, then I promise to make it all better, okay?"

"Dan," Phil sighed, "We've talked about this. It's not your job to pick me up all the time."

"Phil," Dan retorted in the same manner, "We've talked about this. I want to be here to pick you up because I can't stand not doing something when I know you're hurting, and before you say something stupid, you're not a bother. You're never a bother. All I want to do is make things easier for you, because that's what you've always done for me."

Phil smiled a bit. "We always get so sappy after these don't we?" He asked.

"Well next time we're sappy, I'd prefer it to occur without this as the cause," Dan spoke, cracking a small smile. He squeezed his arms around Phil. "I love you," he murmured softly.

Phil smiled. "I know." That was the one thing Phil's anxiety could no longer touch. He knew Dan loved him, and no amount of overthinking would change that fact. Dan would always love him and he would always love Dan. That was just how it was. Dark butterflies or not.

When they got home, Dan would assure Phil he had nothing to be embarrassed about. He'd cuddle Phil until Phil's panic-induced exhaustion took over and Phil feel into a deep, blissfully dreamless, sleep. Dan would stroke Phil's hair, calling and making another appointment with Phil's psychiatrist.

It wasn't the best situation, but it was no way the worst. Dan was able to help Phil. Phil was able to recover from his episodes. They were able to manage it. With each other's support they'd work to tackle whatever messy situation their minds threw at them.

The End

(If u like this I have an idea for a prequel that takes place in 2012 and one that takes place in 2009I !! Lemme know if you'd like that ^_^)

[sugatsby]

Migraine Migration

Group: GOT7 Pairing: Park Jinyoung X Reader Rating: Fluff Prompt: You made the mistake of forgetting your medication at home and ending up worrying Jinyoung. Word count: 2 550

Warning: mentions fainting

Attending music shows with a group of idols is always chaotic, and today was no different. Normally you are up and about at four in the morning, doing the boys’ makeup and getting them ready to go to the studio at a separate venue. The people at these shows always made the idols and their staff arrive at five o’clock in the morning, letting everyone wait their turn afterwards. You figured it has something to do with solidarity towards the people that worked at the show, and you understood, but making everyone wait around all day, just ended up being a drag. Only when the boys had to do their soundcheck and their performance takes, you were running around, touching up their hair and makeup. Those were the most hectic moments. A group only had so much time to get two takes done before another act takes their place.

This morning your alarm clock went off at three in the morning, waking you up from your not-so-peaceful slumber. You were constantly moving around, not being able to find a comfortable sleeping position. You hated sleeping alone, but you had no other choice that night since GOT7’s manager would be the one waking the boys in the morning of a TV performance. Since you and Jinyoung weren’t really comfortable yet to tell people about your relationship, trying to be as professional as possible, you were dating in secret. Only his members knew, making it a little easier to sneak around.

After a quick shower and getting dressed, you get into a taxi with the suitcases containing all of the things you’d need that day and you make your way to the salon where the boys would be arriving soon. Traffic was a bitch in the morning. You’re late.

When you get out of the taxi you grab your belongings as quickly as possible and jog your way through the hallways until you find the room that is supposed to be occupied by the boys of GOT7.

When you burst through the door, all eyes are on your panting figure. “I’m so sorry I’m late! Traffic this morning was the worst!” you explain, trying to even out your breath while you walk towards one of the mirrors to set up your stuff.

Mina, one of the other makeup artists, tells you it’s okay. There is still enough time to get the boys’ makeup and hair done. You sigh, opening your case and placing some products down on the table. Your so focused on your task you don’t notice Jinyoung taking a seat next to you before he calls your name in order to get your attention.

“Oh, hey!” you show him a smile. “Good morning!” You’re really glad to see him, even if it’s only been a day.

“Good morning!” he beams back, creases appearing around his eyes. Oh, how you loved those eye wrinkles! “Are you okay, Y/N? You seem a bit out of it,” he asks you worriedly.

“No, I’m fine,” you try to convince him, while starting to work on his eyebrows. “Just had some trouble falling asleep last night.” You lower your voice, making sure none of your colleagues overhear you. “You know I hate sleeping alone,” you pout.

Jinyoung chuckles at your fake disappointed face. He leans in, his lips almost touching the shell of your ear. “We’ll fix that tonight. Although I can’t promise to let you get the sleep you’ll need,” he whispers playfully.

When Jinyoung moves back you give him a disapproving look, shaking your head. He lets out another chuckle. He knows you secretly like his teasing. The small smile tugging on the corners of your lips tell him that. The two of you chat a little about some general stuff for a while – trying not to raise too much suspicion – until Jinyoung is ready and Youngjae takes his place.

When the guys are ready and on their way to the TV studio, you sit down on the chair next to you. You rub your hands over your face before massaging your temples and letting out a heavy sigh. Mina comes over while cleaning her brushes, asking if you’re okay. You tell her you feel a bit of a migraine come up, justifying it by stating a bad night’s sleep as the cause. You brush her concern off. “I’ll survive,” you smile reassuringly at her and you stand up to clean up your workspace and pack everything back into your cases to take it all to the studio with you.  

At the end of the morning, the boys began their first real task: the soundcheck. Their outfits were picked, mics were hooked up, and their makeup and hair was done.

You were just finishing up Bambam’s hair when Jaebum came up to you. “Hey, Y/N! You okay? You look a little pale today.”

His concern makes you smile. To some people he might come across as cold, but in real life he’s a very warm person, always making sure everybody’s needs are taken care of and very protective of the people he’s closest to. You experienced his protective side first-hand when you told the guys about your relationship with Jinyoung. Thankfully, after a year, you managed to get one step closer to becoming one of those people Jaebum’s protective of.

“Must be the lighting,” you joke, trying not to make him worry.

“I mean it,” he insists. “You look tired.”

“It was just a bit late, last night, when I fell asleep. Nothing major. Don’t worry!” you reassure him with a smile.

He answers with a nod and a brief ‘okay’ before walking back to the group to discuss the performance some more.

About two hours passed when the guys were up to perform. While running around between the practising boys, fixing their makeup, your headache got worse. You could barely focus on the things you were supposed to do. Waves of nausea started to hit you whenever your heart rate sped up a little or when a waft of hairspray floated your way.

While the boys start performing, you hurry back to the waiting room, looking for your purse. Your little headache has started to convert into something much worse: a migraine. You’ve suffered from these attacks for about five years now, each one a bit different from the other. But your prescribed meds have always done their job. If only you could find them!

After pouring all of the contents of your purse onto a table, you give up. You forgot your migraine meds at home. You could hit yourself in the face for this, but that would only make your headache worse.

Discouraged, you decide there is nothing else to do but to suck it up and finish your job for today. Hurrying back to the side of the stage, you find that the boys have just finished their first take. Grabbing some tissues, handing some of them to Mark and Yugyeom, you walk up to Jinyoung and start dabbing the sweat from his forehead.

By the time the boys are cooled down and start preparing themselves for the second take, you can’t see clearly anymore, weird, sparkly dots disturbing your vision. You even feel yourself breaking out in a cold sweat by the time you’re fixing Jackson’s makeup.

When you start applying more foundation on Jackson’s face you feel faint, darkness starting to creep around the edges of your vision. You feel Jackson grab your forearm when a sharp pain shoots through your skull, making your knees buckle from underneath you. You hear Jackson calling out your name before everything gets dark in front of your eyes, and you let yourself fall against him.

When Jackson notices you’re not feeling well, he grabs your arm, trying to get you to look at him. But when you don’t react to his voice, he starts to panic. He calls out to Jinyoung, who turns his head in your direction just in time to see you collapse in Jackson’s arms. Jinyoung’s eyes go wide. “Y/N!” he gasps, running towards you, almost tripping over stray cables. “What happened?!” he questions Jackson worriedly, looking at your unconscious figure.

“I don’t know,” Jackson panics. “She just fainted!”

When Jinyoung looks at the beads of sweat that have formed near your temples, he starts to worry so much he doesn’t even hear Mark shout for a paramedic. Together with Jackson he carries you to a sofa in the corner.

When all of the boys are called to the stage to film their second performance, Jinyoung is reluctant to leave you.

“Go,” Mina reassures him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of her until the doctor’s here.” Jinyoung nods in reply and lets out a sigh. “She’ll be alright, Jinyoung,” she assures him. “Go and perform, we’ll be here when you’re done.”

But you weren’t there when he was done. Coming backstage again, he’s confronted with an empty couch. Sensing his confusion, one of the staff members of the show walks up to him. “You’re looking for the girl that fainted earlier?” he asks, his question getting answered with a nod. “The paramedics took her to your waiting room.” With those last words Jinyoung hurries back to their room, the boys following close behind him.

You wake up when you feel something cold being pressed against your forehead. You frown and let your eyes flutter open. The first thing you notice are the bright lights on the ceiling. You let out a groan, squinting your eyes, oversensitive to the brightness. You hear a voice, that sounds like your boyfriend’s, asking to switch some of the lights out. That’s when you start to look around, Jinyoung being the first person you see.

“Hey,” he greets you with a soft voice and a weak smile tugging around his lips. “How are you feeling?” You feel him squeeze your hand, just now noticing that he’s been holding it the whole time. You squeeze back.

“My head hurts,” you groan, moving your other hand to your forehead covered with a small, wet towel. “How long have I been out for?”

“Just a little over thirty minutes,” he frowns worriedly.

You see Mina walk over, a concerned smile on her face. She holds out what seems to be a box with some type of painkillers. “The paramedic said you might need this,” she says.

“Thanks, Mina,” you say, a tired smile forming around your lips.

Jinyoung turns to you. “Do you need help to sit up?” he asks.

You give him a slight nod. “I think so,” you say with a weak voice, the nausea and pain becoming too much again.

Jinyoung places his arm underneath your upper body to help you sit up on the couch, causing the wet cloth to slip from your forehead onto your lap. You love the feeling of Jinyoung’s body against you, causing you to lean your head on his shoulder when you manage to sit up straight. You don’t care about the fact that the members, Mina and their manager is there to see it, you just want to be comforted by your boyfriend right now.

When Mina hands you one of the pills and a bottle of water, you take it, hoping the pounding in your head will subside soon. After laying you down once more, Jinyoung grabs the wet cloth from your lap and places it on your forehead again, pressing it down with his hand. It’s a pleasant feeling compared to the very prominent pounding that feels like your head is about to explode.

“You should try to sleep for a bit,” Jinyoung suggests. “In about an hour and a half we have to get back up on stage for the ending. After that we’ll be able to take you home.”

You shut your eyes and try to focus on Jinyoung’s hand pressing down on your forehead. You feel someone placing a blanket back over your upper body, something you didn’t even notice was there earlier. After a couple of minutes, you fall asleep to the soft whispers of the members in the background.

After the show, GOT7 walks along the hallway to their room, greeting and thanking each staff member they come across on the way. Yugyeom is the first one to enter. “She’s still asleep,” he observes with a whisper when the rest of the boys shuffle into the room. “Should we wake her?”

“No, let her sleep. She needs it,” Jaebum suggests. “Let’s just hurry and get dressed, so we can take her home.” All the boys nod in agreement before each walking over to their own clothes.

Within fifteen minutes, Jinyoung notices the whole gang has packed up and is ready to go, except for you. He’s contemplating to let you sleep and just carry you to the car wrapped in your blanket. But as normal as it is for a boyfriend to carry his girlfriend, it’s definitely not a normal thing to do when you’re a simple co-worker. So, he decides to wake you up to not raise anymore suspicion, like he managed to do earlier today, around the staff, by being overly concerned about your wellbeing.

After waking you up, Jinyoung grabbed his stuff and your purse – Youngjae was so helpful to take your case with him. With the blanket still wrapped around you, Jinyoung helped you into the car next to him.

The boys decided to bring you home first, letting you ride with them in one of the cars. Mark, Yugyeom, Jackson and Bambam were in the car that would be driving straight to the dorms, while Jaebum, Youngjae and Jinyoung were in the car with you, taking you home first. The car ride was a silent one. Still feeling a bit drowsy, the swaying of the car lulled you to sleep. Jinyoung felt the eyes from his manager staring at him through the rear-view mirror, when your head ended up on his shoulder. He hoped he would just brush it off, not reading into the gesture.

After about thirty minutes, the car stops in front of your apartment building, the breaking of the car causing you to wake up from your little nap. After Jinyoung helps you get out of the car, he’s about to follow you, when he gets stopped by his manager calling out his name. He looks at the man through the mirror.

“Go,” he tells Jinyoung with a smile. “Make sure she’s alright,” he continues, a wink following. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Jinyoung smiles at him gratefully. “Thank you, I will.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he laughs before turning on the ignition, signalling his departure.

Jinyoung says goodnight to the other boys end gets out of the car before grabbing your stuff from the trunk. As soon as he slams it shut, the car drives of, leaving him next to you at the entrance of your apartment building.

“I guess your manager isn’t all that bad, huh?” you send him a weak smile, Jinyoung mimicking your expression.

“I guess…” he mutters. “But now, let’s get you into bed and order some food. I’m starving!”

“Let’s!” you giggle, pecking him on the lips. “I think we both deserved it.”

[crankycorviknight]

(1) Hi, this is the insomnia anon, thank you for the tips you added to the post. Your advice is really good! The problem is, I panic pretty badly at night, so sometimes in the middle of my anxiety I just end up taking an extra pill because I'll be feeling too revved up to relax and fall asleep. You said you didn't know what I meant about not wanting to be dependent on medication, sorry for not explaining better, but I'll try to give you a better idea of what exactly is going on with me.

(2) I have been on a prescription sleep aid for a while. It was prescribed to me in 2014 after a traumatic event, but I always took it kind of on-and-off, and then towards the end of 2016 + all of 2017 so far, I have had to use it more consistently due to stress from a lot of things keeping me awake. Currently, I'm living a pretty isolated life (no friends nearby), I can't find a job, and am pretty sedentary (I take walks, but can't really do any heavier exercise due to physical health issues).

(3) I know people say there's no shame in needing medication, but I feel like at one point, I could have managed sleeping without needing meds, and I blame myself for it even though I really did try to get help. Like I tried to see a therapist at my university after my trauma, and the therapist specifically asked me if I wanted to make medication part of my treatment plan, and I said no, but then she said she couldn't keep meeting with me because I wasn't enrolled as a student at the time.

(4) Also, my best friend had moved to Korea a month before my traumatic event (she still lives there since it's where her husband lives and they are planning on starting a family soon). So, I think out of desperation for not knowing how else to deal with my trauma and insomnia on my own, and suffering so badly every night, I saw pills as the only way to get my sleeping patterns back to normal, and kept telling myself it would only be a temporary thing.

(5) But then other things started getting worse and unbearable for me, and by then, I realized, "Okay, my body has gotten used to depending on these pills to sleep now" so it makes me feel trapped. The problem is that I don't want to run into a situation where maybe I can't get my prescription filled on time and end up sleepless and feeling awful, or maybe in the future when I'm married and want to become a mommy, I know taking pills could possibly cause a risk during pregnancy.

(6) Plus I just really miss when I didn't have to put so much thought into falling asleep and could just go to bed naturally when I felt sleepy (I literally cannot feel sleepy anymore, unless I medically induce it), not calculate how many pills will give me how many hours of sleep, and all this nonsense. My doctors are pretty much useless because either they tell me to just get used to staying on the pills forever ('cause I guess they think I'm too messed up for anything besides that)

(7) or they tell me they think I should be off the medication, but don't tell me how to do it because "Whoops, sorry, I don't specialize in that." So I realize I am quite alone in this, except for God. He is the only reason I have been able to hang on this long. I don't know how else I would have managed to get through my trauma, my physical health problems, my loneliness, my heartbreak, and everything else that has caused me so much pain that no one around me seems to care about or understand.

(8) But this still feels like such a mess, and when I reach out for help from people in-person, either they don't realize what the problem is and act dismissive, or put all the blame on me for not being able to sleep normally, even though I would do literally anything NOT to suffer with insomnia, anxiety, depression, trauma, and all this other junk going on in my head that started this whole mess. Thank you so much for listening, I hope you're doing well! (End, sorry this ended up being so long)

_____________________________________________________

First of all, I’m so sorry that you’re going through all of this. This sounds incredibly frustrating, and that’s probably an understatement. I’m honored you would open up to me about this. Its not your fault, what you need is help and support, not a cold shoulder or to be told that you’re messing yourself up. You’re in a state of gradual recovery, and I’m sorry its taking so long.

Shoot man this would be the case I would suggest seeing a therapist because from the looks of it this whole thing stems from the event you’re talking about. I don’t want to risk saying something misleading since I’m frankly not an expert or experienced with that, but I hope that at least opening up here has helped a little. 

It’s definitely not the same as a therapist and it shouldn’t be a replacement for one but having a support group is important. Like I’ve said you’re more than welcome to talk to me, be it anon or IMs or discord if you’re open for that. And you’ve already messaged her but @my--darling--dear is a sweetie that’ll be more than happy to give you support or cheer you up with silly memes. There’s also @strawberry-milktea ! Rachel is a very kind and calm person, she’d be more than happy to talk to you.

I’m glad that you’re able to go to God with this, because sometimes? That’s all we can really do. I’ve had many, many silent battles. I recently got out of a really bad mindfunk where I had suicidal ideation every day. But I managed to get by every day, and for now, I’m okay. My faith and trust in God was just enough to make it. But I was also blessed with friends who kept me from the edge as well. Maybe I’ll lapse again, I mean, its a part of life to have ups and downs but I have faith that my friends, family, and God will be able to lift me up again whenever that happens. And resting in that helps so much.

It’s hard, sometimes it feels like there’s no response from Him. But logically, nothing can stay the same forever, with God as the exception of course. At one point, this will pass. There will be ups and downs in recovery, but day by day we do get better. Really, that’s the key. Take it one day at a time. Dwell on the promises of God. This dark time won’t last forever. And know you are not alone, and that people like me and Missy care about you very much and want to see you feeling better. 

I actually asked a few other family members what they do with their insomnia and I would suggest researching if these are right for you since I deeply respect your desire to be a mother one day and I don’t want to risk your fertility. My dad takes benadryl on a nightly basis and it seems to help him. Other allergy medications also have a drosiness factor to em, I don’t know if it’s strong enough to knock you out but it might be worth looking into?

Also a bud of mine does this, doesn’t work for me as much but ASMR seems to help with relaxation. Not the weird lip smacking stuff, more like rain noises and the such. Mynoise is great (x) since it plays indefinitely and there’s tons of customization and soundscapes. The mobile app is kinda crap though.

Here’s some youtube playlists though that might help. At the very least it could give you some nice tunes.

Abzu OST

Journey OST

Relaxing Twilight Princess Mix

Relaxing Okami music

Again, I’m praying for you, and please feel free to IM or message me whenever! 

[studypsychh]

Hi, so I was looking through your blog and I saw that you mentioned taking anti- depressants. Would you mind sharing your experiences with them and how they have affected you? My doctor has suggested that I take them and I'm a bit nervous.

hey! no problem I’m happy to share. my first experience of being prescribed anti-dep’s wasn’t for depression but for chronic pain, so i got given 10mg of amitryptaline. the dosage was low but it completely whacked me out. they were drowsy meds and it took SO long to sort my sleeping pattern out on these. tbh i don’t think amitryptaline is prescribed much anymore, your doc will most likely prescribe SSRI’s like citalopram or sertraline.

i got put on sertraline around November 2016? its all a hazy blur tbh. i did notice some side effects. my social anxiety increased on this, i started feeling really anxious in public spaces. i was first put on 50mg and honestly, i didn’t feel different.

after 4 weeks of being on antidepressants your doctor makes you book an appointment to see how its going. when i went back, i was honest and said that they weren’t helping me. she bumped my meds up to 100mg. i noticed an increase in anxiety again on the upping of my dose, getting panic attacks which i seldom get. but for a while, my depression did get better. i was in my third year of uni at the time, and i felt better managing my workload but at the same time, i was struggling with a lot of existential depression.

when i first went on meds, i really struggled with the “acceptance” of it. my mum personally really dislikes antidepressants (she’s a therapist) so i kind of ingrained her stigma, unfortunately. also at the time i was battling orthorexic disordered eating whilst being v*gan, whilst consists of a very anti med culture.

i do still struggle with low mood and intrusive thoughts. i started therapy in May and I’ve been going twice a week for the past month. at the moment, i still take my meds, even though i still struggle with my mood. i think everyone is different, tbh. my friend is doing great on citalopram and manages her depression very well, whilst my meds don’t really take the edge off much. 

im also really aware that i should go back to my doctor and say they’re not really working. it does take time figuring out what medication is best for you. sertraline may not be the best for me, there may be something better out there. I’m a bit put off at the moment tho, i don’t want to deal with side effects and withdrawals. at the moment I’m just trying to navigate my way through my depression, seeing what works for me. at the moment, a mix of therapy and anti depressants is where I’m at.

i would say this: don’t be put off by what other people say about meds. talk to your doctor about the specific symptoms your experiencing, whether its anxiety, panic attacks, low mood or intrusive thoughts, or just lethargy ect. they’ll hopefully find the right medication for you. 

also, don’t be disheartened if suddenly your not miraculously better, i know i was! keep persevering. it may benefit you immediately but it may take time. hopefully you have a good doctor you can talk about it too. i would say find a good support system too. i isolated myself far too much when i went on meds, you kinda have to put in a little work to get some good out of it. keep trying, challenge negative thoughts, maybe see if therapy will benefit you. 

sorry for the very long answer. meds have been a complicated experience for me. my nervousness about going on meds soon disappeared, taking meds now feel normal to me. i hope your experience is much better, let me know if you need any extra help or advice!