#HOW DO I GET A JOB I CAN DO WITHOUT EXACERBATING MY SYMPTOMS....

[crabussy]

GIUEHGHRGH...... why is it DIFFICULT to find a part time remote student job as a character designer. give me your money I'll draw you a wonderful guy for your story or game or show... please. so I can buy crumpets 18 times a week

[noodlesoup1819]

Day 5: Chronic Illness - Sigma with endometriosis

(Cw: periods / menstruation, panic attack, throw-up)

(Read on Ao3)

For some naïve reason, Sigma thought this would stop once he joined the agency.

He had woken up multiple times in the middle of the night, lightheaded, nauseous, and hurting. He had probably only gotten a few hours sleep total and what he did get was restless and uncomfortable.

This wasn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence for him. 

Sigma might only have a few years’ worth of memory, but for its entirety, he’d felt like this. Nausea and headaches. Bone deep fatigue. Joint pain and body aches. Not to mention the sensation Sigma can only describe as someone trying to chip off pieces of his hip bones as they stabbed at his organs…

Not pleasant. To put it lightly.

Regardless of how unpleasant it is, it’s how it’s always been.

Dos-kun had once explained that stress could exacerbate the symptoms of periods. And both the desert and the sky casino and everything that followed were nothing but stressful. He also told him that all periods hurt. Sigma often spent time gazing at the women he knew wondering how they did it.

While the agency was no where near stress-free, it was still leagues better that anything he’d had previous. He’d only been there a couple weeks, but…he’d still expected things to get better.

Nonetheless, Sigma had a job to do and he prided himself on doing his job well, no matter if that was the casino or here at the agency. In fact, Kunikida-san often praised his exceptional work ethic and Sigma had no intention of messing that up regardless of how he felt.

Popping a few Tylenols, Sigma finished getting dressed and headed out the door. If he was lucky, he’d have enough time to stop in the café and get a coffee and something for breakfast before he needed to head upstairs to work.

-----

With caffeine to dull his headache and a small muffin in his stomach, he’d felt a little better all morning. The Tylenol was doing it’s job and while the pain in his abdomen wasn’t exactly comfortable, he was able to go through his daily morning routine of checking his emails, filling out mission reports, and assisting the office staff with anything they asked. He’d even managed a small mission with Kenji.

But by the time the two were heading back at close to lunch time, the sharp pains in his hips and lower stomach were becoming unbearable again. It was hard to keep walking without folding over and his nausea was building quickly. As soon as the two got back to the agency, Sigma excused himself to collapse onto the floor and heave into one of the toilets in the agency’s bathroom.

“—Sigma-kun~? Are you in need of my assistance? I’d be happy to help if you’ve gotten hurt on your mission~” Yosano-sensei’s voice traveled through the door. If Sigma was honest with himself, she still scared him a little.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. I’m alright.” Sigma called back.

“Really? Because Kenji-kun said you looked like you were in pain when the two of you got back. And I’d be happy to fix you up~.”

Getting up and rinsing his mouth out, Sigma tried to make himself as presentable as possible before opening the door. “I’m alright, Yosano-sensei,” Sigma said, trying not to grimace at the pain, “I’m not injured. And besides, I don’t think your ability would help with this anyway.”

Yosano seemed skeptical. “You sure? You’re doing a pretty terrible job of hiding the fact that you’re in pain. And what is ‘this’ anyway?”

“I’m just on my period,” Sigma sighed. “This just happens sometimes.”

“Your period is causing this? And this is frequent?” Yosano seemed concerned. “Have you ever been to a doctor about it?”

“No?... I thought that it was normal for periods to hurt?” Was that not true?

“Sigma,” Yosano started, “periods are not supposed to hurt. They can be uncomfortable, sure, but they are not supposed to cause you debilitating pain. They are not supposed to make you so sick to your stomach that you have to heave in your work’s bathroom.”

“But… I was always told…” …By Fyodor. He was told all those things by Fyodor. The person who lied and manipulated more than Dazai. The person that lied about a whole world war and used it to manipulate someone revered as a hero into a weapon of destruction. He told him that it was normal. That that was what was supposed to happen. What an idiot he was for believing that load of crap.

If it wasn’t normal, what about him was. He doesn’t have a family or a home. He doesn’t even have a place where he was born and then tossed away. He was written down on a special piece of paper and then thrust into being a pawn for everyone he’s ever met since. He doesn’t have an ideal type or romantic fantasy. He doesn’t have a strong gender identity. And now, the one thing he thought was at least somewhat normal, isn’t either. Does he even count as human at this point?

“—Sigma! Breathe!” Yosano’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Was he not breathing? No? He was breathing too much? His chest hurt and his body hurt and he can’t breathe. Is he dying?

Something grabbed his hand. “Sigma follow my breathing. You’re okay. You’re fine.” Sigma doesn’t think he’s ever heard Yosano’s voice be so comforting. As he followed her instructions breathing got a little easier again.

“Sorry—I just…”

“Sigma, it’s okay. Let’s start from the beginning, alright?”

------

After that day with Yosano-sensei, things got better.

 She gave him some stronger painkillers and nausea meds and sat him down to explain things. He learned what was normal and what wasn’t.

He learned that periods usually only last 5-7 days once a month instead of the almost 9 days twice a month he was experiencing. He learned that periods usually cause cramping and could cause other things but were all things that should be managed (as in taken care of completely!!) with over-the-counter meds. He should not throw up or feel like passing out.

But, as much as he learned what was different, he learned what was normal about him. He learned that he was aroace and that lots of people didn’t experience romantic or sexual attraction. He’d even learned that Ranpo was aromantic! And he learned the word agender. Something that described his experience with gender completely.

He’d felt…whole. Like he was a whole person. Like he was normal. Like there was hope for things to get a bit better.

He’d started playing with different ways to express himself. He was diagnosed with something called endometriosis and Yosano-sensei worked to find meds that helped him. Even though they didn’t stop things completely, his flare-ups had become manageable.

The agency had been really accommodating too. It’s become common to see Sigma cozied up on the agency couch with a heating pad and his laptop on worse days. The president said he could take the day off on those days if he wanted to, but he liked being at the agency.

“—Ku-ni-ki-da-kun~ Sigma-chan looks so lonely sitting all alone on the couch! It’s my duty as a member of the armed detective agency to make sure all our members are taken care of! You should let me go join them!”

That was a new development, too. Being invited into Dazai and Chuuya’s weird situationship has been interesting to say the least. Even though she doesn’t experience romantic or sexual attraction, they’ve grown fond of the two of them and their relationship worked well.

“I can guarantee that Sigma is not lonely the all of seven feet away that he is. And Sigma actually completes their work when she’s on the couch! You’d just use it as an excuse to nap all day!”

“He’s right, Dazai,” Sigma interjected before the two could start actually fighting. “I’m fine. I’m a bit ahead actually. We can head home a bit early if you get your paperwork done.”

Yeah… that sounded nice. Heading home early to spend the evening in with both his partners. Chuuya would probably prepare a nice bath and he could relax as much as they could. Flare-up’s weren’t pleasant, but between her concoction of meds, the agency, and her partners, they were bearable.

“Hmph. Fiiiiiine. But only because Kunikida-kun will let us leave early if I do.”

“Sigma. You’re a godsend. Please never quit the agency, please.”

Yeah… Things were pretty alright.

[granulesofsand]

🗝️🏷️ syscourse, invalidation, McLean video

I (alter) just watched the McLean video in its entirety, thanks to a syscourse incitation on TikTok. It’s been the only version I could see and hear (or my auto captions could hear and transcribe for me), and I have opinions about it.

If you& were destabilized by the original circulation or have found peace since, consider skipping this post. If you& want to discuss it, please let us know how to make the conversation accessible to you&.

My overall impression of this lecture is strongly negative. There were large segments I agreed with, but the tone and labels left a bad taste in my mouth. We have a system policy against using content without permission, and Robinson knocked it flat down.

In addition to all of that, he was told what was disrespectful four months earlier at his first lecture, and he did it again anyway.

I don’t believe the use of “imitative” is beneficial when describing presentations of a disorder. His definition of “imitative DID” — misconstrued symptoms exacerbated by psychological gain — was very similar to factitious disorder, so much so that I’d argue it serves more as a subtype than a new category.

The proposed imitative presentation was a direct contrast to the “genuine” cases, who Robinson claimed were in all stages of healing.

Genuine vs imitative:

Covert vs overt — rather than recognizing a changing population, Robinson asserts that the increase of overt presentation is evidence of poor representation of a past percentage

Shame vs celebration — shame is not addressed as relating to trauma despite prevalence in traumagenic DID presentations, while celebration is viewed only through the lens of dangerous encouragement to fit in

Fragmentation vs multiplicity — fragmented presentations of DID are still multiple if they take the label, and be likens the elaboration of alters to creating character rather than healing

Amnesia vs disavowal — taken from the study of the women who were supposedly misdiagnosed with DID, frames disavowal of memories formed in high emotional states as lying rather than state-specific memories

All plurals, multiples, and endogenic are defined by these standards, though not directly diagnosed imitative. A question in the final segment of the video asked what Robinson made of empowerment, which he answered by saying we should stick to prescribed informational campaigns.

I think the main problem of the lecture’s content was Robinson’s misunderstanding of community pride. He does notice the pressure to identify with a group and remain in that group, the differences in plurality vs medical multiplicity, and the allowance for genuine presentations to take up space, but ultimately decides our pride defines us as not CDD systems.

Another question asked what he intended to do to help this other population, if they weren’t in need of trauma therapy for CDDs. He restated that it was not what he offered, and moved on.

Because Robinson remains outside the plural community, he has no awareness of non-traumagenic dissociation whatsoever. He does a wonderful job of illustrating the connection to trauma and the history of getting there, but the closest he got to disproving healthy dissociation was showing that those with CDDs were not likely sociogenic (as in prone to fantasy and confused).

He made some good points about algorithms of social media, commodification of users, and unhealthy group dynamics, and I can see how people on these settings might find their psychological reasons for misconstruing symptoms (which he calls imitation).

If that were his whole lecture, my only concern would be how the community took it, but it wasn’t. Robinson overreached by using video examples of behaviors and by defining those behaviors to start. He defined an entire social movement into imitation, and his reasoning for our being harmful didn’t match his criteria.

There is no correct presentation of a CDD. You& meet the DSM criteria or you& don’t. You& get professional treatment or you& don’t.

The plural community exists for all of those options, and it exists because some fell into the “don’t”s.

This is why we push for acceptance of both medical and community voices; some people need therapeutic treatment, and most people need social care.

Nobody has to opt in to any identity label. Those with CDDs don’t have to be plural or multiple, but getting to know others with similar experiences can alleviate that shame so common in traumatized people. It’s okay if that sounds like a poor fit for the present, and it’s okay if that sounds like a poor fit forever. The important part is that everyone gets a choice.

We (system) also had shame around our trauma and our system. We still do, though to a much lesser extent for far more of us. Most of us weren’t so elaborated when we found out we were multiple, and we’re learning even now how to allow overt switches for safety. Putting our body down during long switches sounds better than slumping or falling while we dissociate, and we’re safe enough to stop hiding those switches now. We don’t have so much amnesia of amnesia anymore, so we can tell we’ve forgotten and talk to each other to find out what happened.

Community really helped us, as did a therapist who insisted on internal realities rather than imitative symptoms. You& deserve better than this “genuine” presentation. Heal how you& heal, and do whatever empowers you&.

[tocautiouslygo]

15 questions, 15 people:

Tagged by @lockwie! Thank you!

1. Are you named after anyone?

Uhhh myself kinda? I chose Jay partially because it shares a starting letter with my deadname.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Couple of days ago. I've been trying to get more in touch with my emotions and, uh, it turns out that has consequences

3. Do you have kids?

No

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

A sort of average amount, I think? When I do I try to clearly indicate it for accessibility reasons, and I think that's given me the freedom to be more sarcastic because I'm not worried about people thinking I'm being serious

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I... have no idea? In online spaces, how much attention they pay to me, possibly?

6. What’s your eye color?

Blue

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

I don't think these are mutually exclusive! But happy endings definitely. I don't enjoy being scared lol

8. Any special talents?

I can juggle! Not very well, but hey

9. Where were you born?

UK

10. What are your hobbies?

I'm very limited in what I can do for chronic illness reasons but I like writing poetry when I can.

11. Do you have any pets?

No. I would like a dog or cat someday, and some ducks if possible, but I can't even care for myself currently let alone another living being.

12. What sports do you/have you played?

Again, disabled, lol. But if I was somehow able to do sports without it exacerbating my symptoms I'd want to try mushing. I also think I used to play netball way back in primary school.

13. How tall are you?

170cm

14. Favourite subject in school?

Maths my beloved. I am very much an autistic stereotype in this regard. I find the certainty of maths calming.

15. Dream job?

Jobs are so far outside the realm of possibility for me at the moment that it's impossible to say. Can people get paid to pet dogs? Is that a thing?

Edit: oh, I forgot to do the tagging part of the tag game! If you see this, feel free to do it and say I tagged you, if you want

[mental-illness-bingo]

Well, this draft has been sitting since August 29th, 2022. I never ended up going. I couldn't. My partner was supposed to go with me and backed out last minute, and I was already terrified, so I just... never went. Now it's about time I make that appointment again (POTS is better assessed when it's warm so that your symptoms are exacerbated, and it takes a couple months to get an appointment) and I once again do not want to and am terrified. Yay.

The thought that this upcoming cardiologist/PoTS specialist might not lead to a diagnosis but instead a series of even more appointments with different types of doctors is enough to make me want to curl up in the corner and never come out again.

But I have to face the fact that the older I get the worse these symptoms are getting...

It was already so hard getting myself into a therapy schedule and getting my mental health on track... the idea of this turning into a neurologist, other dysautonomia specialists, or other types if it turns out to be worse than I think it is... it's just so hard. I don't want to go, but I need to.

I don't even know what I'm hoping for. PoTS has no cure, it's a chronic illness. If I have that... I'm doomed to feel like this forever. But I certainly don't want there being anything wrong with my heart; at least the chronic in chronic illness means you've got a chance for a long, if challenging, life.

And yeah MDD, ideation, and all that, sure but the point was a relatively quick, relatively painless way out... not this.

The only thing I can hope for while having reasonable expectations is some validation that I was right, everyone doesn't feel like this; I'm not just weak for not being able to force through it.

I tried so hard to ignore it, push through it, have a normal life and work a normal job and do normal things but the reality of my physical and mental health is that's not possible. I can't do it anymore.

There is a sad little kid's voice inside of me begging "don't make me go, I'm scared". Me too... how do I validate that fear without scaring the crap out of anyone I try to talk to about this?

The last thing they need is to worry. I am always fine, always, even in situations where no person in their right mind could be. That's who I am. They don't need to be scared just because I am. But that little voice is gonna keep crying and panicking until I somehow learn how to validate our fear all by myself. Fuck man...

[digitalsatyr23]

Dealing with Schizophrenia

Saw a post earlier about schizophrenia and it really got me thinking about my own issues. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia, depression, and anxiety disorder ages ago and I really had to learn how to pace myself to survive. Despite the various issues I had to deal with on a day to day basis, the world never slowed down for me (why would it, after all). I remember back when I was a floral clerk at a Fred Meyer I would sometimes hide in our cold storage for our flowers just so I could take a breather. Having to manage the day to day of a busy retail job while a bunch of voices in your head are prattling on, arguing with each other, and telling you to do all sorts of terrible things is... Difficult, to say the least. When I’m not too stressed out I only deal with negative symptoms, but when I’m in stressful situations my positive symptoms can resurface. I’m glad the only hallucinations I had at that job were auditory because if I had any of the visual ones I had in the past that would have been it. Instead of trying to focus on the task at hand I’d be running full speed from the flesh monsters. (I wish I was exaggerating but I’m really not.)

For those who are just learning about their condition or have been struggling with it for years like I have, my heart goes out to you. You’re far stronger than the world gives you credit for.

Also, here are some tips for those who might need it:

Stress can and will exacerbate your symptoms, so be careful not to overburden yourself with too many responsibilities and obligations. You shouldn’t avoid these things entirely, but try and learn your limits so you can better manage your stress levels and lead a calmer and more controlled life.

Bouncing off the first tip, it’s impossible to avoid stressful situations all the time, but you can take steps to make things easier on you. When you need to go on a long commute, consider bringing comfort food/drink with you. Overeating can be a bad habit too, but there’s nothing wrong with having a little treat for yourself every once and a while.

Do you have a personal belonging that brings you great comfort, helps you focus, and/or helps you block out negative thoughts? Keep it with you! For me, I never leave home without my mp3 player because music helps me cope with stress and helps me focus on things.

Do what you can to keep up with your basic needs. Drink plenty of water, get plenty of sleep, keep yourself fed, and practice good hygiene. It can be tough to feel the necessary motivation sometimes, but I guarantee you that you’ll feel x10 better if you’re hydrated, fed, well-rested, and clean.

Finally, try not to make too many excuses for yourself. I know that may feel contradictory alongside me saying schizophrenia can be a struggle, but I feel it’s important to avoid throwing your hands up when things start to get too difficult. We need to take care of ourselves and know our limits, but we also don’t want to let those limits increase, you know? You can’t let your symptoms beat you. You’re stronger than that. Be patient with yourself, take a breather when things get stressful, and when you’re ready, keep on keeping on.

Also I do recognize that my tips aren’t going to work for everyone. I’m just sharing these because they’re things that helped me manage my symptoms. Part of the struggle is figuring out what works for you. I wish whoever is reading this the best of luck. Stay strong, everyone!

[theboardwalkbody]

Asking for Help

Hello Tumblr folks.

I never thought I would make a post like this but here we are.

I need to ask for help.

Back in November I ended up catching COVID and was out of work the entire month until I could provide a negative PCR test. My job was contractual and offered 0 assistance / sick leave /pto. Upon returning to work in December my hours were drastically reduced (on their end, not by my choice) to below 20 hours a week. The loss in pay followed by the decrease in pay did not allow me to make ends meet.

Throughout December I relied on asking family for financial help, which really was hard especially with the holidays, but there was very little help to be found.

I've since then left my previous job once I was offered a position with a new company - during the interview and onboarding process I was promised steady and guaranteed hours. I have not yet seen those guaranteed hours. Instead I am working less than 15 hours a week and with a lower pay rate than my previous position. I have offered numerous times to come in / asked to be scheduled more but so far those requests have been denied.

Despite having worked 15 hours I was informed today that it could take 3-4 weeks to see pay for any hours worked due to me not being in their payroll system until they finish the paperwork (those in charge of said paperwork are not due to return until next week) and then send my information to the bank for confirmation.

I also applied for TDI due to COVID - despite applying back in December I have not yet received a judgement on my claim. I called to check the status and was informed it could take a few months due to how backed up they are.

So what does this all add up to?

I am three months behind on rent. I am three months behind on car payments. My credit score has lowered ~60 points due to missed payments. I can no longer afford any of my bills (in addition to the car payment and rent); I can no longer afford my car insurance. And as of today I can no longer afford gas to get to and from work, nor can I afford groceries.

I won't even list how much I owe because, quite frankly, the number is so daunting. I know it's above 2k. The longer I go without being able to pay any of these bills the more I end up owing so the number keeps growing.

The stress alone has gone from just psychological to manifesting as physical symptoms. My memory is deteriorating. And I dare not say the thoughts I've had as my depression has been exacerbated. I've just felt like giving up as it all seems kind of hopeless. So I am asking for help. Because I need it badly and I know I can not do this on my own and it's only getting worse.

I hope you'll consider helping as much as you can by donating or boosting. I really can't say how much it would help.

Thank you for reading. <3

PayPal - thebananda@yahoo.com

Venmo - @ memelynn1991 (no spaces)

[addictedtostorytelling]

would you headcanon that Sara ever sought out counseling/therapy voluntarily ?

hi, anon!

in canon? probably not.

i think she completes her required peap sessions in s5 and then pretty quickly thereafter commences her romantic relationship with grissom, which kicks off an upswing in her life. not only does he become a confidante and emotional anchor for her, but she probably starts sleeping better, eating better, and living a generally more balanced lifestyle once they are together, all of which factors combined with just how over-the-moon happy she is to be with him make it so she feels better to the point where she thinks she doesn't need to pursue future therapy at all.

it isn't until her abduction by the miniature killer that her old mental health issues resurface, exacerbated by her trauma response from her ordeal in the desert.

however, while at this point it probably would be wise for her to return to therapy, she doesn't, instead trying to conceal her symptoms and deal with them on her own so as not to freak out grissom and/or sabotage their relationship.

of course, she is unsuccessful fighting this battle on her own, which is why she eventually cracks under the pressure and ends up leaving las vegas before grissom can even really get a handle on what's going on with her.

to my mind, if she ever goes to therapy of her own volition, it would probably be during the time she is away from vegas (most likely in san francisco); however, i kind of tend to think that she doesn't attend therapy even then, though she may pursue some kind of alternative mental health treatments, like visiting a nature retreat or taking up yoga or meditation.

"when in san francisco," you know?

in any case, she's only in san francisco for six months before warrick dies and she returns to vegas to be with grissom and then in vegas with grissom for four months before she takes off again to join the sea shepherd.

to me, she just doesn't read like someone who's attending therapy during this brief vegas period, as she seems to be carrying a lot of sadness, anxiety, and uncertainty with her without having much sense of how to deal with it. one would like to believe that had she been in therapy at this time, she might have had more cognitive and emotional tools in her mental toolbox for dealing with the stress in her life and specifically in her and grissom's relationship. the fact that she, once again, just kind of skips out on him when things get rough suggests that she's still left to her own devices, resorting to old patterns, cognitively and emotionally fending for herself, etc.

so from there:

considering that she immediately joins the sea shepherd expedition after leaving town, there's not really any opportunity for her to do therapy prior to the time that she and grissom finally reunite during the events of episode 09x10 "one to go."

and after that point, i don't think she feels the need to, as, once again, as was the case during s5-s7, her life takes an upswing, and she feels happier than she probably ever has once she and grissom get married.

since she's still basking in newlywed bliss when she returns to vegas in s10—seriously, look at how much that girl smiles!—i again don't believe she prioritizes therapy.

she just falls into her routines of visiting and talking with grissom, working her job, going about her life, etc.

—which is why when her marriage starts to fall apart between s12 and s13, she's left to flail.

any therapist worth their salt who listened to her talk about her fears regarding her and grissom's lack of communication would've been like, "you know there's a simple solution to this problem, right? just call your husband. or better yet, get on a plane."

there's no way they would have let her get away with that "though i don't know anything for sure (because i haven't asked), i'm just going to assume the worst and let things spiral out of control, self-sabotaging until this whole situation becomes unsalvageable" shit.

she's obviously not attending therapy during s13 when she's abusing sleeping pills and making reckless, self-destructive choices, and as for whether or not she starts going after the divorce, at any point between s13 and the events of "immortality," i'm again gonna go out on a limb and say "no;" girl just reads too much like someone who's keeping her sadness to herself, soldiering through her pain, and not talking to anyone about what's going on inside of her.

so then come the events of "immortality," and, again, as has been the pattern, i think that once sara is back with grissom (and they are remarried), her life improves, as do her self-care and health habits, and she gets happy, and she feels no need to seek out therapy.

and especially not because she wouldn't even have access to it if she wanted it, considering that they're living a nomadic lifestyle on a boat traversing international waters (at least some of the time during a global pandemic).

so the way i see things? in canon, i don't think she probably ever does go to therapy of her own volition.

now.

all of the above said, i really wish she would have gone to therapy post-s5, as i think it probably very much could have helped her and maybe even prevented a lot of the angst of the later seasons had she done so.

(i'm only kind of joking.)

in the big, giant canon rewrite au i'll never get around to, i'd write her going to therapy after her kidnapping by natalie davis, and everything being different from that point forward, not entirely because of the therapy but certainly at least in part thanks to it.

anyway.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[pink-peony-princess]

A Late Night Call

-Katie-

"Shawn" I called into the darkness, wanting the comfort of my boyfriend. We lived together in a house, along with his friends,Brian, Connor and Dave -who also happened to be my older brother.

When no response came, I started to get worried, I had been feeling unwell for the last several days, running fevers and feeling generally blah, but I had just woken up to bad pain in my abdomen. I had always hated being sick- not only because it obviously wasn't fun, but because I had a fear of doctors and hospitals. Something which wasn't helped by the fact my brother, my boyfriend and their friends were all doctors of some description. As a result, I had tried to avoid medical intervention as much as possible for pretty much my entire life, so twenty years, which both Dave and Shawn as Emergency physicians were not happy about.

Swallowing the lump that was now forming in my throat I called out again, "Shawn!" I tried, louder this time, hoping he had just gotten up to use the bathroom.

"Katie?" I heard a sleepy voice ask, before someone switched the lamp on beside my bed, causing me to close my eyes immediately. "Katie, what wrong honey?" I recognised the voice now as my older brother, I could hear the concern in his tone. "The heat pack didn't help?" he asked, sitting beside me and sighing.

"I hurt D," I whimpered, trying to move closer to him to gain some comfort, while not causing myself anymore pain.

"What do you mean it hurts?" he asked, switching into 'doctor mode'. I hated it when he did this, but even I knew that I needed help. Something wasn't right, and my only hope to get it fixed was letting my brother do his job. "I thought you just felt sick?" he asked, taking my hand to check my pulse.

"I did," I started, "Well, I had an achy tummy, around here," I explained, pointing to around my belly button. "But now it's REALLY hurting," I cried, just wanting him to make it stop.

"It's okay, I'm going to call Shawn okay? Bri!" he called, getting up and grabbing my cell phone of my bedside table, speed dialling Shawn's number.

"What's wrong David?" Bri grumbled, "It's two in the morning for goodness sake. I need my sleep man!" Dave just pointed, directing Brian's attention to me silently, waiting for Shawn to pick-up.

"Oh Katie, what's wrong buddy?" he asked, grabbing a tissue from the side table, before sitting down and gently wiping away the moisture that had accumulated from my face.

"Just make it stop!" I begged, trying desperately to find a more comfortable way to lie, trying to ignore the sharp pain that was now my sole focus.

A few more minutes past in which Brian tried, with almost no luck to calm me, telling me that everything would be okay. Dave took the phone away from his ear. "He must be in the middle of a consult, I kept getting the dial tone, I'll try in a few more minutes," he spoke, coming to sit by my side again.

"Care to explain what's going on?" Brian asked, reaching for more tissues, the ones he had been using, now soaked and laying dis-guarded on the mattress.

My brother looked at me sympathetically, before turning his attention to his friend. "I'm not totally sure myself. I just got up to use the toilet and heard her crying and calling out to Shawn."

"What's up Missy?" Brian asked again, trying to get something useful out of me. When I didn't answer for fear of crying again, he sighed, and rested his hand again my forehead. It was calming, having physical contact, something to take my mind of my current state. "Dave, pass me the thermometer," he uttered. "She's got a fever, when was the last time her temperature was taken?" he asked, as he held it in my ear, waiting for it to beep.

"About- three hours ago," Daveresponded.

"Yep thirty-nine on the dot," Dave spoke moving the instrument away from me. "You have quite the fever Katie," he told me, moving to get the water bottle which Shawn had placed on the wardrobe, helping me to take small sips of the liquid.

"No wonder you're feeling so horrendous," Dave chimed as fixed my blanket up.

"Katie, where is the pain exactly?" Bri asked, sitting up, and moving the blanket aside.

"Here," I told him pointing once again to the spots I had shown D.

They shared a dark look between themselves, before Brian spoke up. "Katie, I need you to lie down again okay, I need to have a feel of your tummy." As he said this, Dave helped me to lay back, making sure that I was as comfortable as I could be, given the current situation. "Can I pull this up?" Brian asked, gesturing to my bed-shirt once I was situated the way they wanted me.

"He' will be as gentle as possible okay," Dave, tried to reassure me, taking my hand.

He felt around for a minute, before hitting the one spot on my right side. The pain was unbearable, and I nearly broke Dave's hand from holding it so tightly. "Please stop!" I begged, hot tears rolling down my face once again.

"I'm sorry Katie," Brian apologised, pulling my clothes back down.

"What's wrong with me D?" I asked, turning to my brother, who was now watching Brian very carefully.

"I can't be sure-" Brian started, "Dave, she hasn't had her appendix out has she?" he checked, watching me closely.

"No, she hasn't. Is that what you're thinking?" he asked, reaching for my phone that he had placed back only moments earlier.

"Well, I can't be sure until we run the usual tests, but when I just felt around that section of the abdomen was firm, and given the pain and fever, it wouldn't be surprising."

I couldn't work out if it made me anxious that Brian was talking like this. On the one hand, he was one of the best surgeons in the area, and the head of General Surgery at the hospital the guys worked at. On the flip side though, he was talking about my appendix, and running tests, and although I didn't understand exactly what this meant for me at that moment, I knew it probably wouldn't be good.

"I'm going to call Connor, let him know what's happening, try to get through to Luke again," he told Dave as he got up and left the room.

The room was quite for a few moments again, as Dave called Shawn again, this time though, it connected and I heard Shawn's muffled voice down the line.

"Shawn yeah it's me Dave, can you come home, it's urgent. Katie's woken in bad pain, we're thinking it could be her appendix, but she's been asking for you for the better part of twenty minutes now, and I doubt she'll let anyone else move her," he was quiet for a moment, before turning and handing the phone to me. "He wants to talk to you."

-Third Person-

"Shawn?" Katie whispered, down the line.

Hearing his love in so much pain broke the young doctor's heart. "I'm right here babe. I'm on my way," he spoke as he ran out the main doors and into the rain. Only stopping momentarily to let an emergency vehicle through.

"It hurts," Katie cried, and he could hear the desperation in her voice. She was usually strong, so for her to be in this emotional state, he knew the pain must be bad.

"Just hang tight for a few, I'll be there soon, Dave will look after you."

Dave and Brian, who had both heard the end of their conversation smiled.

The hospital was only five minutes from the house, but it took what felt like eternity for Shawn to come crashing through the door.

Katie could see from his attire that Shawn had been on-call, and immediately felt bad for pulling her boyfriend away from his responsibilities.

"Oh honey," he whispered, bending down to kneel beside the bed, kissing her forehead gently. "How long has she been like this?" he questioned, turning to his friends.

"I found her like this," Dave explained, pain clear on his face as he watched his little sister with sympathy.

"I'm sorry," Katie muttered, hiding her face in her boyfriend's shoulder, just wanting the world to melt away.

"For what?" Shawn asked, moving back to look at his girlfriend. "There is nothing more important than you," he declared, kissing her gently again.

"I think we need to get you to the hospital Katie-Kat," Dave announced, earning nods of agreement from the others.

"No please," she begged, fear consuming her, her chest tightening at the thought of being in one of the places she hated the most.

"But we'll be able to give you pain meds there, and besides we don't have the right equipment here to deal with this. If something goes wrong, it could be very dangerous babe," Shawn tried to reason, feeling horrible that they couldn't just keep her at home and sort it out there.

"Promise?" she whispered, feeling helpless as she looked between her boyfriend and brother.

"We promise," they responded immediately, before starting to gather the necessary items for the trip to the hospital.

Five minutes later, Katie was wrapped in a blanket, Dave and Shawn having worked together to shift her off the bed, without causing any more pain, something which Katie found miraculous.

"You ready Princess?" Shawn asked, bundling Katie up in his arms, and making his way down to the car. They had decided that it would be quicker to drive, than wait for an ambulance, especially given that they had direct access to the urgent care unit.

Brian had called Connor on the way there, informing him that they would be needing a bed, and possibly an O.R., which Connor had no trouble securing as not only was he Deputy Head of General Surgery at the hospital, and well- respected by his colleagues, but the patient in question was the girlfriend and sister of the two most highly qualified doctors in the area.

The ride to the hospital was not pleasant, every little bump in the road sending white-hot pain through the affected area, Katie, being completely worn out physically and emotionally, was nothing more than a weeping mess when they finally made it to the entrance. Shawn, who had been trying his hardest to keep his hysterical girlfriend calm, so as not to exacerbate her symptoms, let out an auditory sigh of relief when he spotted, his friend, waiting with a gurney, and several nurses.

"She'll be fine mate," Connor promised, just above a whisper so that only Shawn could hear. He nodded, silently thanking his friend for the words of encouragement. Normally he would have had no issue in a situation like this, in-fact, his job entailed this type of situation daily. However, what Shawn was now finding out, was that no-one had told him what it would be like to deal with a loved one in a situation such as this. And It was horrible.

His heart broke into what felt like a thousand tiny pieces, as Katie let out an agonising cry of pain, when she was placed, however gently onto the gurney, it being lead at a rate of knots down the hospital halls and into a free bay.

Stopping to re-gather himself for a moment, he saw Dave, somehow managing to hold himself together, as he held his sister's hand in a silent show of comfort. Shawn really didn't know how he was doing it, but if her own brother could do it, surely, he could too. Shaking the ever-growing dread that was forming at the pit of his stomach, he ran to start assisting in getting Katie into a semi-stable condition.

"I need a standard dosage of pain medication for an I.V." Dave called, going to stand by his sister's side. "I'm going to get some pain medicine in you okay poppet," he spoke, moving the blankets out the way, freeing Katie's hand.

She groaned, but made no effort to move, alarming the four doctors, who knew only too well, how much she would normally fight the idea of needles.

-Katie-

I was aware of everything going on around me, people rushing in an out of the crowded room, the boys ordering fellow doctors and nurses around, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't muster the strength to fight anymore.

Shawn sat by me, as Dave set me up with an I.V., administering a dose of pain medicine, which helped almost immediately.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked, resting his chin on top of my head.

"Hmm," I responded, finally feeling a little more content.

The response seemed to satisfy him, as he went quiet, allowing me to close my eyes momentarily.

I wasn't aware that I had drifted off, but I must have, because the next thing I was aware of, was someone calling my name. When I didn't' respond, they tried again.

"Katie, can you open your eyes for me honey?" This time, I did as asked, blinding light clouding my vision temporarily. "How are you feeling?" Brian asked, standing at the end of my bed, chart in hand.

The room was unfamiliar to me. He must have seen the confusion on my face as he chuckled lightly and came to stand by my side. "We just finished surgery," he spoke, making my eyes go wide.

"What happened?" I croaked, my throat feeling scratchy and dry.

"Connor performed an appendectomy," he responded, as he retrieved his stethoscope. "May I?" he asked. When I nodded, he placed the bell on my chest, listening to my heart.

"A what?" I asked, feeling no more informed. "You had your appendix out," he explained in layman's terms so that I could understand it.

"Oh," I was shocked, I knew that I was in pain, but I didn't realise it had been that bad.

"You're quite lucky actually, it ruptured, we caught it just in time, Shawn and Bri were beside themselves."

"Where?" I asked, wanting to know where they were, but not able to get anymore words out, over-whelming tiredness taking over.

"Cafeteria, they should be back in a minute," he reassured me with a smile.

Right on cue Connor, Shawn and Dave all walked through the door, food in hand. When they saw that I was awake, they all stopped running into one another like a set of dominoes.

Connor recovered the fastest, a smile lighting his face as he came over, "So the sleeping beauty has awoken I see."

Shawn looked as if he had been tasered, literally jumping back, forcing Dave to grab him to stop him hitting the ground. The shock only lasted a millisecond though, and before I could take another breath, he was wrapping me in his arms, pulling me tightly to his chest, as if his life depended on it.

"Shawn, gentle," Brian, warned, laughing at his eagerness, but making no move to stop his mate as he hopped onto the bed beside me, forcing our bodies against one another. Feeling his warmth sent a rush of security through me, and I just sat there in silence for a moment, trying to readjust.

Up close I could see the exhaustion, the toll that this had taken on him, his face looked sullen, his eyes puffy and red from crying. "I missed you so much!" he whispered, resting his head in the crook of my neck and breathing heavily. It was a few moments before I realised that he was crying.

"I'm okay," I spoke, smiling, trying my hardest to convince him.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he admitted, kissing me desperately. "We all did."

"How bad?" I asked, almost scared to know the answer. He just looked at me and shook his head. "How bad?" I asked again, this time turning to my brother.

When he saw that I was addressing him, he rushed over, taking me in his arms, and hugging me, though much more carefully then Shawn had. After a moment, he stepped back, resting his hand on my shoulder. I took hold of his hand with my free one, keeping a firm grip on Shawn

"You coded," he spoke as if the words physically pained him to say. I didn't say anything, in truth, I didn't know how to respond, what do you say when someone tells you that you almost died? Everyone was quiet for a moment, just sat taking everything in, me, tracing the tattoos on Shawn's arm absent-mindedly.

Again, Connor, was the one to break the silence. "Katie, I just need to do your vitals okay, and check your wound, and then we'll let you sleep," he bargained, when I grimaced at the idea of being poked and prodded once again. "Just follow the light," he instructed, having pulled a pen light from the pocket of his scrubs. I did as asked, and after a moment, he put it back, telling me there were no problems.

He was quick, Brian writing everything down on the chart, that he was still holding from when they came in.

"I'm just going to pull this up okay?" he checked that it was okay, before doing so. I winced slightly, earning an apologetic smile from Connor. "That's looking good," he spoke, re-dressing it, and re-situating the blankets so that I was kept warm.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Shawn whispered again, kissing my temple.

"I have to pee," I whispered against his cheek, making him laugh.

"Gee way to ruin a romantic moment," Dave snorted as he sat typing on his laptop, causing me to blush, and hide my face in Shawn's chest

"Nah, it's okay, do you want to use the bathroom?" Shawn queried, moving to get off the bed, before moving the pole which held the fluids out of the way.

"As apose to?" I questioned, feeling confused, as he helped me sit up.

"A bed pan," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I just stared at him for a moment, "Okay, so that's not going to happen, to the bathroom we go," he laughed, helping me manoeuvrer my way out of bed.

It was a slow process getting to the toilet, but he was patient, helping me to bare the weight where possible. Once I was situated, he turned, giving me privacy to do my business. Once I was done, and I had successfully been transferred back to my bed, I was able to relax a little more.

"Are you in pain?" Dave asked, watching as I shifted around, trying to find a comfortable spot on the hard bed.

I nodded,and within moments he was up and administering another dose of pain relievers in the tube sticking out of my arm.

"Thanks D," I mumbled, sleepily, bunking down, and snuggling into Shawn's side to try and stay warm.

"Here, this should help," I heard Dave say, before something extra soft and warm was placed over me. It felt like an electric blanket.

I hummed, finally content, letting myself drift off.

The next few days were okay, well, in between the hourly vitals checks done by the nurses and the daily dressing changes, and not to mention Dave and Connor forcing me to start walking around, something which I grumbled at them about for a solid half hour after the fact.

Finally, five full days after the operation Dave declared that I could go home on the condition that I promised to take it easy, and rest. After making me swear to it three times, he let Shawn remove my I.V. and help me into a wheelchair for the ride out to the car.

The drive home was quiet,Dave letting me rest my head on him as Shawn drove.

When we got home, they helped me up the stairs, all but ordering me to bed, persuading me by promising that we could eat pizza and watch crappy C grade chick-flicks all night.

As I fell asleep to the rise and fall of Shawn's chest, I found myself thinking just how lucky I really was. Lucky that I was alive, and lucky I had the guys to call family.

Reaching up, I pecked Shawn on the check, him leaning down and kissing back. "What was that for?" he asked, a soft smile gracing his face.

"Love you is all," I sighed, resting my head back on his chest, and letting the world fade out. 

[pinkpeonyprincessblog]

A Late Night Call

-Katie-

"Shawn" I called into the darkness, wanting the comfort of my boyfriend. We lived together in a house, along with his friends,Brian, Connor and Dave -who also happened to be my older brother.

When no response came, I started to get worried, I had been feeling unwell for the last several days, running fevers and feeling generally blah, but I had just woken up to bad pain in my abdomen. I had always hated being sick- not only because it obviously wasn't fun, but because I had a fear of doctors and hospitals. Something which wasn't helped by the fact my brother, my boyfriend and their friends were all doctors of some description. As a result, I had tried to avoid medical intervention as much as possible for pretty much my entire life, so twenty years, which both Dave and Shawn as Emergency physicians were not happy about.

Swallowing the lump that was now forming in my throat I called out again, "Shawn!" I tried, louder this time, hoping he had just gotten up to use the bathroom.

"Katie?" I heard a sleepy voice ask, before someone switched the lamp on beside my bed, causing me to close my eyes immediately. "Katie, what wrong honey?" I recognised the voice now as my older brother, I could hear the concern in his tone. "The heat pack didn't help?" he asked, sitting beside me and sighing.

"I hurt D," I whimpered, trying to move closer to him to gain some comfort, while not causing myself anymore pain.

"What do you mean it hurts?" he asked, switching into 'doctor mode'. I hated it when he did this, but even I knew that I needed help. Something wasn't right, and my only hope to get it fixed was letting my brother do his job. "I thought you just felt sick?" he asked, taking my hand to check my pulse.

"I did," I started, "Well, I had an achy tummy, around here," I explained, pointing to around my belly button. "But now it's REALLY hurting," I cried, just wanting him to make it stop.

"It's okay, I'm going to call Shawn okay? Bri!" he called, getting up and grabbing my cell phone of my bedside table, speed dialling Shawn's number.

"What's wrong David?" Bri grumbled, "It's two in the morning for goodness sake. I need my sleep man!" Dave just pointed, directing Brian's attention to me silently, waiting for Shawn to pick-up.

"Oh Katie, what's wrong buddy?" he asked, grabbing a tissue from the side table, before sitting down and gently wiping away the moisture that had accumulated from my face.

"Just make it stop!" I begged, trying desperately to find a more comfortable way to lie, trying to ignore the sharp pain that was now my sole focus.

A few more minutes past in which Brian tried, with almost no luck to calm me, telling me that everything would be okay. Dave took the phone away from his ear. "He must be in the middle of a consult, I kept getting the dial tone, I'll try in a few more minutes," he spoke, coming to sit by my side again.

"Care to explain what's going on?" Brian asked, reaching for more tissues, the ones he had been using, now soaked and laying dis-guarded on the mattress.

My brother looked at me sympathetically, before turning his attention to his friend. "I'm not totally sure myself. I just got up to use the toilet and heard her crying and calling out to Shawn."

"What's up Missy?" Brian asked again, trying to get something useful out of me. When I didn't answer for fear of crying again, he sighed, and rested his hand again my forehead. It was calming, having physical contact, something to take my mind of my current state. "Dave, pass me the thermometer," he uttered. "She's got a fever, when was the last time her temperature was taken?" he asked, as he held it in my ear, waiting for it to beep.

"About- three hours ago," Daveresponded.

"Yep thirty-nine on the dot," Dave spoke moving the instrument away from me. "You have quite the fever Katie," he told me, moving to get the water bottle which Shawn had placed on the wardrobe, helping me to take small sips of the liquid.

"No wonder you're feeling so horrendous," Dave chimed as fixed my blanket up.

"Katie, where is the pain exactly?" Bri asked, sitting up, and moving the blanket aside.

"Here," I told him pointing once again to the spots I had shown D.

They shared a dark look between themselves, before Brian spoke up. "Katie, I need you to lie down again okay, I need to have a feel of your tummy." As he said this, Dave helped me to lay back, making sure that I was as comfortable as I could be, given the current situation. "Can I pull this up?" Brian asked, gesturing to my bed-shirt once I was situated the way they wanted me.

"He' will be as gentle as possible okay," Dave, tried to reassure me, taking my hand.

He felt around for a minute, before hitting the one spot on my right side. The pain was unbearable, and I nearly broke Dave's hand from holding it so tightly. "Please stop!" I begged, hot tears rolling down my face once again.

"I'm sorry Katie," Brian apologised, pulling my clothes back down.

"What's wrong with me D?" I asked, turning to my brother, who was now watching Brian very carefully.

"I can't be sure-" Brian started, "Dave, she hasn't had her appendix out has she?" he checked, watching me closely.

"No, she hasn't. Is that what you're thinking?" he asked, reaching for my phone that he had placed back only moments earlier.

"Well, I can't be sure until we run the usual tests, but when I just felt around that section of the abdomen was firm, and given the pain and fever, it wouldn't be surprising."

I couldn't work out if it made me anxious that Brian was talking like this. On the one hand, he was one of the best surgeons in the area, and the head of General Surgery at the hospital the guys worked at. On the flip side though, he was talking about my appendix, and running tests, and although I didn't understand exactly what this meant for me at that moment, I knew it probably wouldn't be good.

"I'm going to call Connor, let him know what's happening, try to get through to Luke again," he told Dave as he got up and left the room.

The room was quite for a few moments again, as Dave called Shawn again, this time though, it connected and I heard Shawn's muffled voice down the line.

"Shawn yeah it's me Dave, can you come home, it's urgent. Katie's woken in bad pain, we're thinking it could be her appendix, but she's been asking for you for the better part of twenty minutes now, and I doubt she'll let anyone else move her," he was quiet for a moment, before turning and handing the phone to me. "He wants to talk to you."

-Third Person-

"Shawn?" Katie whispered, down the line.

Hearing his love in so much pain broke the young doctor's heart. "I'm right here babe. I'm on my way," he spoke as he ran out the main doors and into the rain. Only stopping momentarily to let an emergency vehicle through.

"It hurts," Katie cried, and he could hear the desperation in her voice. She was usually strong, so for her to be in this emotional state, he knew the pain must be bad.

"Just hang tight for a few, I'll be there soon, Dave will look after you."

Dave and Brian, who had both heard the end of their conversation smiled.

The hospital was only five minutes from the house, but it took what felt like eternity for Shawn to come crashing through the door.

Katie could see from his attire that Shawn had been on-call, and immediately felt bad for pulling her boyfriend away from his responsibilities.

"Oh honey," he whispered, bending down to kneel beside the bed, kissing her forehead gently. "How long has she been like this?" he questioned, turning to his friends.

"I found her like this," Dave explained, pain clear on his face as he watched his little sister with sympathy.

"I'm sorry," Katie muttered, hiding her face in her boyfriend's shoulder, just wanting the world to melt away.

"For what?" Shawn asked, moving back to look at his girlfriend. "There is nothing more important than you," he declared, kissing her gently again.

"I think we need to get you to the hospital Katie-Kat," Dave announced, earning nods of agreement from the others.

"No please," she begged, fear consuming her, her chest tightening at the thought of being in one of the places she hated the most.

"But we'll be able to give you pain meds there, and besides we don't have the right equipment here to deal with this. If something goes wrong, it could be very dangerous babe," Shawn tried to reason, feeling horrible that they couldn't just keep her at home and sort it out there.

"Promise?" she whispered, feeling helpless as she looked between her boyfriend and brother.

"We promise," they responded immediately, before starting to gather the necessary items for the trip to the hospital.

Five minutes later, Katie was wrapped in a blanket, Dave and Shawn having worked together to shift her off the bed, without causing any more pain, something which Katie found miraculous.

"You ready Princess?" Shawn asked, bundling Katie up in his arms, and making his way down to the car. They had decided that it would be quicker to drive, than wait for an ambulance, especially given that they had direct access to the urgent care unit.

Brian had called Connor on the way there, informing him that they would be needing a bed, and possibly an O.R., which Connor had no trouble securing as not only was he Deputy Head of General Surgery at the hospital, and well- respected by his colleagues, but the patient in question was the girlfriend and sister of the two most highly qualified doctors in the area.

The ride to the hospital was not pleasant, every little bump in the road sending white-hot pain through the affected area, Katie, being completely worn out physically and emotionally, was nothing more than a weeping mess when they finally made it to the entrance. Shawn, who had been trying his hardest to keep his hysterical girlfriend calm, so as not to exacerbate her symptoms, let out an auditory sigh of relief when he spotted, his friend, waiting with a gurney, and several nurses.

"She'll be fine mate," Connor promised, just above a whisper so that only Shawn could hear. He nodded, silently thanking his friend for the words of encouragement. Normally he would have had no issue in a situation like this, in-fact, his job entailed this type of situation daily. However, what Shawn was now finding out, was that no-one had told him what it would be like to deal with a loved one in a situation such as this. And It was horrible.

His heart broke into what felt like a thousand tiny pieces, as Katie let out an agonising cry of pain, when she was placed, however gently onto the gurney, it being lead at a rate of knots down the hospital halls and into a free bay.

Stopping to re-gather himself for a moment, he saw Dave, somehow managing to hold himself together, as he held his sister's hand in a silent show of comfort. Shawn really didn't know how he was doing it, but if her own brother could do it, surely, he could too. Shaking the ever-growing dread that was forming at the pit of his stomach, he ran to start assisting in getting Katie into a semi-stable condition.

"I need a standard dosage of pain medication for an I.V." Dave called, going to stand by his sister's side. "I'm going to get some pain medicine in you okay poppet," he spoke, moving the blankets out the way, freeing Katie's hand.

She groaned, but made no effort to move, alarming the four doctors, who knew only too well, how much she would normally fight the idea of needles.

-Katie-

I was aware of everything going on around me, people rushing in an out of the crowded room, the boys ordering fellow doctors and nurses around, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't muster the strength to fight anymore.

Shawn sat by me, as Dave set me up with an I.V., administering a dose of pain medicine, which helped almost immediately.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked, resting his chin on top of my head.

"Hmm," I responded, finally feeling a little more content.

The response seemed to satisfy him, as he went quiet, allowing me to close my eyes momentarily.

I wasn't aware that I had drifted off, but I must have, because the next thing I was aware of, was someone calling my name. When I didn't' respond, they tried again.

"Katie, can you open your eyes for me honey?" This time, I did as asked, blinding light clouding my vision temporarily. "How are you feeling?" Brian asked, standing at the end of my bed, chart in hand.

The room was unfamiliar to me. He must have seen the confusion on my face as he chuckled lightly and came to stand by my side. "We just finished surgery," he spoke, making my eyes go wide.

"What happened?" I croaked, my throat feeling scratchy and dry.

"Connor performed an appendectomy," he responded, as he retrieved his stethoscope. "May I?" he asked. When I nodded, he placed the bell on my chest, listening to my heart.

"A what?" I asked, feeling no more informed. "You had your appendix out," he explained in layman's terms so that I could understand it.

"Oh," I was shocked, I knew that I was in pain, but I didn't realise it had been that bad.

"You're quite lucky actually, it ruptured, we caught it just in time, Shawn and Bri were beside themselves."

"Where?" I asked, wanting to know where they were, but not able to get anymore words out, over-whelming tiredness taking over.

"Cafeteria, they should be back in a minute," he reassured me with a smile.

Right on cue Connor, Shawn and Dave all walked through the door, food in hand. When they saw that I was awake, they all stopped running into one another like a set of dominoes.

Connor recovered the fastest, a smile lighting his face as he came over, "So the sleeping beauty has awoken I see."

Shawn looked as if he had been tasered, literally jumping back, forcing Dave to grab him to stop him hitting the ground. The shock only lasted a millisecond though, and before I could take another breath, he was wrapping me in his arms, pulling me tightly to his chest, as if his life depended on it.

"Shawn, gentle," Brian, warned, laughing at his eagerness, but making no move to stop his mate as he hopped onto the bed beside me, forcing our bodies against one another. Feeling his warmth sent a rush of security through me, and I just sat there in silence for a moment, trying to readjust.

Up close I could see the exhaustion, the toll that this had taken on him, his face looked sullen, his eyes puffy and red from crying. "I missed you so much!" he whispered, resting his head in the crook of my neck and breathing heavily. It was a few moments before I realised that he was crying.

"I'm okay," I spoke, smiling, trying my hardest to convince him.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he admitted, kissing me desperately. "We all did."

"How bad?" I asked, almost scared to know the answer. He just looked at me and shook his head. "How bad?" I asked again, this time turning to my brother.

When he saw that I was addressing him, he rushed over, taking me in his arms, and hugging me, though much more carefully then Shawn had. After a moment, he stepped back, resting his hand on my shoulder. I took hold of his hand with my free one, keeping a firm grip on Shawn

"You coded," he spoke as if the words physically pained him to say. I didn't say anything, in truth, I didn't know how to respond, what do you say when someone tells you that you almost died? Everyone was quiet for a moment, just sat taking everything in, me, tracing the tattoos on Shawn's arm absent-mindedly.

Again, Connor, was the one to break the silence. "Katie, I just need to do your vitals okay, and check your wound, and then we'll let you sleep," he bargained, when I grimaced at the idea of being poked and prodded once again. "Just follow the light," he instructed, having pulled a pen light from the pocket of his scrubs. I did as asked, and after a moment, he put it back, telling me there were no problems.

He was quick, Brian writing everything down on the chart, that he was still holding from when they came in.

"I'm just going to pull this up okay?" he checked that it was okay, before doing so. I winced slightly, earning an apologetic smile from Connor. "That's looking good," he spoke, re-dressing it, and re-situating the blankets so that I was kept warm.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Shawn whispered again, kissing my temple.

"I have to pee," I whispered against his cheek, making him laugh.

"Gee way to ruin a romantic moment," Dave snorted as he sat typing on his laptop, causing me to blush, and hide my face in Shawn's chest

"Nah, it's okay, do you want to use the bathroom?" Shawn queried, moving to get off the bed, before moving the pole which held the fluids out of the way.

"As apose to?" I questioned, feeling confused, as he helped me sit up.

"A bed pan," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I just stared at him for a moment, "Okay, so that's not going to happen, to the bathroom we go," he laughed, helping me manoeuvrer my way out of bed.

It was a slow process getting to the toilet, but he was patient, helping me to bare the weight where possible. Once I was situated, he turned, giving me privacy to do my business. Once I was done, and I had successfully been transferred back to my bed, I was able to relax a little more.

"Are you in pain?" Dave asked, watching as I shifted around, trying to find a comfortable spot on the hard bed.

I nodded,and within moments he was up and administering another dose of pain relievers in the tube sticking out of my arm.

"Thanks D," I mumbled, sleepily, bunking down, and snuggling into Shawn's side to try and stay warm.

"Here, this should help," I heard Dave say, before something extra soft and warm was placed over me. It felt like an electric blanket.

I hummed, finally content, letting myself drift off.

The next few days were okay, well, in between the hourly vitals checks done by the nurses and the daily dressing changes, and not to mention Dave and Connor forcing me to start walking around, something which I grumbled at them about for a solid half hour after the fact.

Finally, five full days after the operation Dave declared that I could go home on the condition that I promised to take it easy, and rest. After making me swear to it three times, he let Shawn remove my I.V. and help me into a wheelchair for the ride out to the car.

The drive home was quiet,Dave letting me rest my head on him as Shawn drove.

When we got home, they helped me up the stairs, all but ordering me to bed, persuading me by promising that we could eat pizza and watch crappy C grade chick-flicks all night.

As I fell asleep to the rise and fall of Shawn's chest, I found myself thinking just how lucky I really was. Lucky that I was alive, and lucky I had the guys to call family.

Reaching up, I pecked Shawn on the check, him leaning down and kissing back. "What was that for?" he asked, a soft smile gracing his face.

"Love you is all," I sighed, resting my head back on his chest, and letting the world fade out. 

[scripttorture]

Bit of an odd situation for this one, so I apologize if it's out of your scope. CharacterA was a child soldier in Russia, groomed from around age 6 to be an assassin and honey trap. Due to time travel bullshit, CharacterB has now found themselves in charge of a 3-year-old CharacterA who has much of the child soldier mentality and trauma still present. What kinds of lingering issues should they expect/keep an eye out for, and how could they best help this child recover? Modern setting. Thanks!

I might be able to help a little but I don’t know anything about childhood development. And that means that because of the age of the character there’s going to be a lot of important stuff I miss.

 Scripttraumasurvivors had some posts on how abuse effects childhood development and how kids at different ages express symptoms. I’d suggest taking a look at their blog.

 The impression I get is that the outlook for child soldiers is generally poorer then that of other children but there’s a lot of variability and it doesn’t necessarily have to be as bad as it is now.

 There are a lot of different factors that lead to child soldiers having shorter, poorer and less healthy lives and some of those factors can be eliminated.

 The biggest one is rejection by the community. People typically don’t want to care for child soldiers. They are often an easy target for the anger and frustration victimised communities feel towards armed groups.

 Isolation exacerbates mental health problems. Isolated children are less likely to learn acceptable social behaviour (a big problem when they’ve been taught violence is the best solution). And rejection reinforces the narrative their captors push on them: that the only home they’ll ever have is with the armed group.

 The cases I’ve read about are all with much older children. Typically child soldiers are much older then this. They’re usually in their teens.

 It’s also important to remember that ‘child soldier’ encompasses any child working within an armed group, whether they are actively fighting or not.

 Self esteem problems, mood swings and difficult behaviour (sometimes violence but more often aggression and inability to respond to social cues) all seem to be common.

 I’m not sure what these would look like in very young children. However one of the things child soldiers often talk about is difficulty going back to school, getting training or finding jobs. They’re very aware their lack of training has handicapped them. I’ve not read any accounts of them being put back in school among much younger classmates but I imagine at least some of them would find it humiliating.

 I’d say that whatever the age (and whether they’re in school or not) this character is likely to feel isolated from and unable to relate to their peers. These feelings may include a degree of jealousy that their peers have access to things Character A does not.

 I honestly don’t know how to write these complex feelings manifesting in a three year old.

 I do know that in young children the symptoms and emotions at play often get read as the child ‘being difficult’ or ‘acting out’.

 Patience and compassion are important.

 I think the other main thing to keep in mind for Character B is repetition.

 Children raised in these kinds of indoctrinating environments are- They’re subjected to a lot of repeated messages some are about things the group wants them to believe and some are ‘accidental’ lessons. So for instance the group might put a lot of effort into teaching children that ‘You can’t trust anyone outside the group’. And they might accidentally instil things like ‘Do not eat in front of bigger people because they will take your food’.

 It would be perfectly normal for Character A to be consciously aware of some of these lessons and unaware of others. For instance if they were explicitly told not to trust outsiders they’d be aware of that and able to verbalise it. But they might not be able to verbalise (or properly think through) something more complex like ‘when you raise your voice I become anxious because I associate that with anger and I associate anger with emotional or physical abuse.’

 This is something that applies to adult survivors and I expect it would be more pronounced in children: people can’t always explain why something feels bad or even what about the situation made it bad.

 Which means that care takers like Character B need to be patient and be careful about the behaviours/lessons they reinforce.

 Any rejection, however small it seems, could be read as ‘evidence’ for that common cult-style lesson that ‘no one outside the group can be trusted, no one outside the group will care about you’.

 Undermining these things takes a lot of time. And it can be complicated by the fact that someone can know a feeling is irrational yet still feel it.

 Again repetition, providing a consistently safe and nurturing environment, is key.

 Any form of physical punishment, whether it’s smacking, sending a child to bed without supper or making them stand in a corner, should be avoided. There’s considerable evidence that smacking at any level is harmful to children. In this particular story I think any sort of physical punishment would worsen the relationship between carer and child, while also reinforcing the message that the people who trained Character A were right.

 Beyond that I tend to get a bit more vague because while I know a little about child soldiers there’s still a lot more reading I need to do.

 There is a lot of variety in outlooks and outcomes for former child soldiers.

 A fair proportion of them go on to have normal lives and contribute to their communities. That proportion increases when there are concerted efforts to welcome them back and care for them.

 Some former child soldiers are scoped up by criminal groups. I personally think that a lot of this is because of communal rejection and a lack of other options. Without schooling and skills former child soldiers are relatively easy targets.

 I don’t have a breakdown of common mental illnesses in former child soldiers. The general symptoms of trauma are typically the same regardless of the trauma, so you could pick some symptoms from the list on this Masterpost here. They would all be in the realm of possibility even if I can’t tell you how common or uncommon they’d be for child soldiers in particular.

 I haven’t read enough about or by child soldiers to feel confident guessing a number of symptoms. If the character survives abuse or torture as part of their time as a soldier then I’d suggest following the guidelines in the Masterpost of around 3-5 symptoms.

 Because we don’t have any way to predict which individual survivors develop which particular symptoms I always recommend approaching this choice as an author and considering what works best with the story.

 You might want to rule out using some symptoms because of the character’s age. You’ll also want to consider how the character’s age would effect the expression of symptoms.

 Anxiety (and related mental health problems) can cause a rapid heart rate, pain in the chest, shakes and a light headed, dizzy feeling. Depression (and related mental health problems) can manifest as tiredness, lack of appetite (or conversely much increased appetite) and nausea (sometimes vomiting).

 In a character who can’t necessarily express what they’re feeling (who doesn’t know mental health terms) these symptoms can be confused with physical illness.

 My impression, based purely on anecdotes, is that many mentally ill children are labelled as ‘problem children’ long before there’s a suggestion that they might be unwell. It can be difficult to know how to help someone who doesn’t have the vocabulary or experience to express what is wrong and how to fix it.

 It’s also really natural, whatever the character’s age is, to get angry at the lack of understanding and accommodations for mental illness. It’s especially difficult to be patient when you’re in pain.

 The only other thing I can think of in terms of Character A is that they’d probably say a lot of things adults would find very disturbing.

 They’ll not only have been exposed to a lot of… It’s not even really ‘age inappropriate’ so much as inhumane things. They’re told these things are normal. They’re used to being praised for them.

 If this child is used to being given positive attention for- Pointing out how someone could be manipulated or killed then they are likely to do it once they begin to trust Character B.

 And the problem here is that responding with horror, or telling the child to stop can damage their trust in the adult. It can feel like rejection and it can be difficult for very young children to understand why something they were previously praised for is now wrong. Even when a child understands being unable to express or share things they’ve come to see as ‘normal’ is difficult.

 All of which boils down to this: Character B has a damned difficult job ahead of them.

 It is hard to rehabilitate traumatised kids even for professionals with experience. For someone who doesn’t have that background it’s stressful, intense and they might not expect so many moments when things seem to get worse instead of better.

 They need a lot of patience and an absolute commitment to winning Character A’s trust. Which could take months or more. Consistently providing a stable, safe, loving environment is essential.

 What that should look like to best serve the characters isn’t a question I can answer precisely.

 There’s a list of sources on child soldiers here that you might find helpful. Also my salty complaints about Cambridge University Press’ search function.

 Barber’s book (which I haven’t read yet) focuses primarily on recover and rehabilitation so it might be helpful to you. However age is a factor and I am unsure how many children in Barber’s data set were under 14.

 I hope that helps :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[jaydaydemon]

University: A crash course in covid

Three weeks at university and I have already contracted the dreaded coronavirus, who could’ve seen that coming? Well, anyone really. You don’t need to be an expert or an oracle to foresee the poor outcome of sending a million students all over the country off to university in the midst of a pandemic. Jo Grady, a university union leader, made a plea not to do just that back in August which I saw and whole heartedly agreed with, she knew then as did many others without a doubt how much of a terrible idea it was, but no one heeded the warning. Would it not have been wiser to either do the entirety of the first semester online, keeping the students at home therefore minimising the spread of the virus? Or postpone the start of the academic year until after the Christmas holiday period? These are the kind of actions one might expect those in power, the leaders of this nation, to make, tough decisions that prioritise the safety of citizens in a time where taking well thought out precautions is the best approach to minimising the disruptive nature of a pandemic in a globalised world. But yet again this current situation we find ourselves in further demonstrates the inadequacies of those we rely on to make the big decisions, this global pandemic has highlighted many shortcomings and failures of leadership not just in the United Kingdom but all over the world.

I write to you from the perspective of a mature student, someone who did not come straight out of college at 18 and went on to university, but someone who did not finish college the first time around, worked in various jobs over the years getting a taste of what life as part of the workforce is like before fully realising my interests and career goals in life. I the decided to return to education and complete a college course for over 21s that got me into the university of my choice. That year at college was somewhat difficult as the outbreak cut the academic year short and saw myself and many other college students having to finish their courses from home and our teachers forced to adjust to educating us via a virtual environment. It wasn’t easy but we managed to pull through, and short of an idiotic fiasco that threw many young people’s futures into doubt when our sort sighted government thought it wise to dictate that responsibility to a computer algorithm, most of us managed to make it to the universities of our choice.

I made it to a university in Norwich, and although I had reservations about starting during these uncertain times I rolled the dice and went for it anyway, having figured I’d taken long enough in life to make it this far and I wasn’t going to wait any longer. I applied for student accommodation as I wanted to have the full experience and as far as I was aware, at least initially, most of my lessons were going to be taught in person. It did not take long after my arrival on campus to learn that none of my lessons would be in person, although long enough to miss the window in which I could renege on my accommodation without having to pay any fees. With no events going on very late, venues closing by ten thanks to government guidelines imposed at the time, not able to mingle with people at the bar, there was nothing but flat parties left for students to let loose in which were bacterial powder kegs. And at this point I began to wonder why I had come all this way during such times, why any of us had been offered this choice in the first place when I and everyone else could have done most of the academic studying from home. But of course it was obvious, plain and clear for all to see, the economy has taken a major hit from the pandemic and the universities weren’t getting help from the government so the students were now their primary cash cow, draining us for that money they so badly needed to keep them afloat, it was readily apparent for us to see and the whole thing has a disingenuous and sleazy feel about it.

And then I tested positive for coronavirus, followed shortly by a flatmate of mine, and then our flat went into quarantine. We were not the first in our building to do so, another flat near ours had already begun theirs a few days before, but in their case they were all asymptomatic. I and my flatmate however were not and had a rough week recovering as a result. I began to feel a little under the weather a few days before testing positive but none of my symptoms matched the core ones, not at first. We were contacted by people from the university at the beginning, me and the friend who tested positive, and were given some advice on where to get help with getting food and other resources. In my case these proved not to be especially useful and thankfully my parent was able to drop food off to me on two occasions during the isolation period. The situation frayed burgeoning friendships being formed among our flatmates a little, as accusations were thrown around which did not help matters, but on the whole relations did not sour too much. Only smokers could leave the flat to indulge in that nasty habit, masks were always to be worn when entering and leaving the building, a rule which most but not all students held themselves to. No security guards were posted on each flat like at certain universities which was nice, and honestly not necessary as the cases here are certainly higher than the university lets on but the number of cases aren’t too excessive and most students are being sensible. The cleaners have been in only once the entire isolation period, which is better than some universities, but they only cleaned a select few toilets belonging to a third of the flatmates. Although the litter started to pile up it wasn’t beyond control in our flat at least.

The symptoms of the coronavirus abated for myself and my friend after eight days or so, and no one else in the flat came down with it, all tests returning negative results, but since our self-isolation period began several more flats across various buildings have gone into quarantine as well.

The mood here I can describe as frustrated. There are over a thousand young people here, many of them freshers like myself looking to have a good time and live it up but there are few places to let loose and not enough going on to sate the appetites of party goers. Even during a pandemic it is near impossible to contain the energy of the youth, and those of you who are older and read this now need to consider if you would have had such restraint in your teens or early twenties, and if you’re being honest you know the answer is most certainly no. The downside of all this is that there’s a lot of young people with so much pent up energy and very few places or opportunities to expend it in a time like this, which is a bad mixture. And when a fifth of those students are stuck in self isolation, taunted by the sounds of those who escaped the virus partying away in the next flat across from you, it wears away on one’s nerves. But as could have been predicted, by the time our flat emerged from quarantine, most of those flats that were partying the whole time were starting their own self-isolation period.

Right now, no one is in a good situation. This pandemic has created a crisis in many areas of life, not just to students, but to many working people out there who are now jobless, many industries who are struggling to support themselves, and the incompetency of governance in many areas does little to help matters. Although the universities aren’t in a great position either, they have little moral high ground to stand on right now, they are complicit in this situation and regardless of their situation they should have made the tough choice and kept students away for the remainder of this year. At this point I think we can all agree on one thing; 2020 is a write off, it cannot be salvaged, it might have been to some degree if the right decisions had be made but, the rush to get everything going like normal once again in a time where normalcy has died and we all know it has only exacerbated the situation and there’s no way that this isn’t going to have a roll on effect into next year and beyond. This is something we are going to have to live with for a long while yet, and we must figure out better ways to endure it, but where do we look to find these solutions? I don’t know anymore, do you?

First drafted: October 2020. Published: November 15th 2020.

[damienthepious]

director's cut of the recorder scene in ch.11 and/or the braiding bit at the end of ch.12?

[Pick a short passage from any fanfic I’ve written specifically Scattered On My Shore today I’m being picky, and send it to me, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet]

faldskjfasdklf i already did part of the recorder scene but someone else also asked for the end of ch12 so i’m gonna do an earlier part of the recorder scene, yeah? yeah. that’ll work. After Arum confronts her, when she pulls her.. hrm. her counterpoint.

[“Skip ahead on the recorder,” she says. /// “What?” /// “Skip to entry four two one one. Should be… eighteen to twenty after the one you just played, I think.”] Rilla knows exactly what entry she wants him to hear. She knows the exact entry. That’s interesting, isn’t it? She doesn’t remember exactly what number entry Arum just played. But she knows the number of the one she thinks he should hear.

[“Why?” he snarls, ducking his head and clutching the recorder close against the bandages on his midsection.] Arum is perpetually suspicious, but he’s amping it up right now. He’s furious, he’s hurt, and now he’s fucking confused, because what the fuck else could she want him to hear? What does she think she can pull, to trick him again?

[“Because there’s something else you should hear, too. You heard what I said when I first found you. You should hear what I said after. If you really think that I’ve been using you for some sort of spy work, then the rest of it should interest you too, right?”] She’s trying to be matter-of-fact. She’s trying to do this without getting emotional herself (this will break down). This isn’t a fight. She just wants him to listen long enough that she can explain.

[He hesitates, his expression tightening. “Perhaps I have no interest in hearing myself cataloged, doctor.”] This could still be part of some trick. And. honestly. Hearing her like that in the first recording hurt. He didn’t realize how much he trusted her until it broke, and he doesn’t want to hear another recording of her speaking about him like he’s some animal.

[“Please. Just- listen to it. And then you can decide if you want to- I don’t know. How you want to proceed. But before you make any sort of decision, please- please just listen, Arum.”] If this breaks bad, Rilla doesn’t even know what that would mean. Will he start trying to leave, again? Will he just- shut down, emotionally? Will he just stop speaking to her entirely until he’s just well enough to slink out the door and disappear?

[Arum stares at her for another long moment, suspicious with a growl in his throat, and then he moves his thumb, sending the recording forward with a thin squeal of sound. He overshoots the start of the entry a little, and it cuts in just in the middle of a word.] Here’s something: Rilla doesn’t say please very often. It means something when she says it three times in one little speech. And Arum is curious, despite himself. Maybe a little morbidly so. How much worse could it be, he wonders. How much deeper can i push the blade. A lot of Arum’s impulses are vaguely self-destructive, that way.

[“-ter than that, and it seems like his frill is really starting to knit together properly. Finally. It’s been tricky since it’s only a half-conscious thing, the flaring, but- I mean, it’s hard to complain about. It’s always so funny when he gets indignant and it just- fwoops out like that and-”] The second recording is about a lot of things. First: contrast. It’s tonally opposed to the first one. It’s personal, instantly. It’s not cold, the way the other one was. She’s excited, she’s enthusiastic, she’s noting rather unscientific points. Also if you imagined Rilla making an absurd hand gesture when she says the word “fwoops”, you are correct. Also, I don’t know why Arum’s frill became a Thing in this fic.

Also, hilariously, I’m pretty sure that the first chapter, where cleaning it wakes him up, and this sentence, from this scene, were the first two things specifically about Arum’s frill that were written. Him perpetually exacerbating his cuts by flaring it came later.

[She laughs on the recording, breathless, and Rilla remembers this moment with exact clarity.] She remembers this moment with exact clarity. This was important. This was a shift. Off screen, which was kind of a Choice. I could point out when this happens, in the fic, but I’ll hold on to that, I think. Some of the ways that Rilla reacts to things give it away, a little bit. You could probably narrow it down if you tried.

[The door to his room had been cracked, she could just see half his face through the gap as he rested, the gentle light of early morning on his scales and his expression untroubled in sleep-] Love this image. Would sacrifice a limb to project the image i have in my mind into actual art.

[“He’s beautiful,” she says, and she still feels the little stunned swoop that realization had made her feel.] yeah.

[“He’s… I didn’t know a monster could be so beautiful. I didn’t know they could be funny either, honestly, or- or-”] … uh oh. Also, one sentence away from realizing that she thinks he’s beautiful, she’s already upgraded him to “so beautiful”. Also trailing off on those ‘or’s stops a little floodgate situation. she was about to ramble. she was about to go off. and she realized what she was about to start doing. Remember, in the courtroom scene, where she talks about Damien? “I love his stories and his smile! I love that he makes me see the beauty in the hard questions, even when they make me uncomfortable! I love that he makes me grow!”

she just caught herself about to do something similar. Uh oh, Rilla. Uh oh.

[There is a pause.] deep breath, Rilla

[“Saints…”] ………. so……….. I talked with Sky, a bit, about how there are very specific Moments in this fic. When characters Realize certain Things. I feel like it’s probably pretty obvious, actually… exactly what Rilla is realizing in this particular moment.

[Another pause. Quite long.] Cataloguing symptoms, perhaps. Or maybe just reeling. Hey I wonder what Arum is thinking right now? Hm.

[“He… um. He’s improving by leaps and bounds, now,” she says, her voice a little clipped, a little muted.] Back to business. She. she doesn’t have time to think about this, right now.

[“He can almost stand on his own, though it tires him out. He’s… soon he’ll be well enough to travel, I think. Which means we’re going to have to have another conversation, soon, about- about exactly how we’re gonna get him back home.”] She doesn’t have time. She’s gotta do her job, first.

[“And that shouldn’t… it shouldn’t hurt to think about that, should it?”] Oh, Rilla…

[“It’s good. It’s a good thing that he’s… soon he’ll be well enough to go home, to be free again, to go back where he belongs and rest and recover where he’ll be comfortable and safe, but-”] That’s been the goal. Hasn’t it? Make him well again. Save his life.

[A little half-laugh. /// “I’m gonna miss him, is the only thing.”] A partial admission, if not the whole thought. and it’s… ridiculous, isn’t it? She’s had long-term patients, before. Never a monster, obviously, but- [“I’ve gotten so used to having him around, and- and even if he’s always arguing about the methodology he’s been so- it’s been nice to have him around when I’m doing my experiments, I mean- it would have taken me ages to think of modifying my bandages with machracnid silk, and the improvement to the elasticity is- but that isn’t even the point, you know? He’s just- he’s-”] just realized i never checked the script to see if i spelled machracnid right whoops ahem. I love the way Rilla rambles when she gets distracted by a thought. Hey i loved Moonlit Hermit did y’all know that? fljdjdkfdk

[Less of a laugh.] These are not fun feelings to examine.

[“It’s almost time for him to go home. It’s the only way to keep him safe. The longer he stays here-”] All three of them are fiercely protective, aren’t they?

[“I know Damien won’t hurt him, not anymore. I think he’s seen it too, he’s seen how- how much- he’s seen Arum, really seen him. I know he has.”] Rilla isn’t quite as articulate as Damien, especially when it comes to emotions. Seen him. Acknowledged him as a person, is what she means. Which, not verbally he hasn’t, but she knows anyway. Rilla isn’t as perceptive as Damien when it comes to people, either, but she knows Damien. And Damien isn’t actually good at concealing what he feels, whether or not he speaks his heart.

[“But every day Arum stays here is another risk, is another chance that he’ll be seen or- and if that happens, then what? I don’t care what they do to me, I’m not afraid of them, but Arum- he’s still not strong enough to defend himself, and even if he was, what would he do against an armed squadron of knights? I wouldn’t be able to do anything to protect him, and- he- I can’t let that happen. I won’t. I won’t let the Citadel hurt him.”] Hm, looks like i echoed Arum’s canonical can’t/won’t again. I swear that wasn’t intentional. Again, fiercely protective. And all of this- it hurts, to think about Arum getting hunted by knights. Rilla knows if things go wrong, she’s not going to be able to do ANYTHING. And she hates feeling helpless.

[“So- so… so he has to go home. It doesn’t matter that I-”] IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT I- IT DOESN’T? RILLA. IT DOESN’T MATTER? [“it doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to get him home. He deserves- he-”] Getting him home and making sure that he’s safe is more important than her own feelings. Whatever feelings those are, exactly.

[“Amaryllis?”] this scene is the primary reason i want desperately to do a podfic of this whole thing, eventually. I know. I know the exact intonation of every part of this, but I can always just HEAR the voice Arum is using here, in my head. gentle and unhurried and expectant. fun fact: they fcukging care about each other and i’m soft

[adhdtoomanycommas]

Emotional Abuse and ADHD

Ok, first real post on the ADHD sideblog, so lets dive straight into the heavy stuff.   TW/CW for emotional abuse, gaslighting, and probably some other things too (please feel free to let me know if I should add additional tags).

I had trouble sleeping last night because my brain kept insisting I needed to start this blog, like immediately, despite it being clearly not an opportune time to do anything of the sort. Or at least, it insisted, I needed to jot down all the essay/ramble/whatever topic ideas I had complicated thoughts on so I could start the blog today. I managed to resist doing both of those things, and get to sleep eventually, but here I am.  The first topic that brought this on was wanting to talk about my experience in an emotionally abusive relationship and how many aspects of that were exacerbated by various symptoms of my (then undiagnosed) ADHD. 

I’m going to assume a certain amount of baseline familiarity with some terminology and whatnot here, if you’re confused by any of the ADHD terms I use here I recommend heading over to theadhdmanual.com and reading their very helpful “three pillars” articles which do a great job of explaining Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) and emotional hyperarrousal (also elsewhere called emotional disregulation, I’ll be using both terms interchangably but won’t be abbreviating the latter for hopefully obvious reasons).  On the emotional abuse terminology front, there’s a couple great articles on gaslighting on everydayfeminism.com that I recommend seeking out. 

It is possible I am slightly stalling here by providing all this context.

At this point damn near ten years ago, for most of my senior year of college and for a good few months afterwards (I don’t remember how long exactly since adhd brains suck at timelines and I don’t feel like logicing it out right now) I was in what I later realized (with help from the aforementioned everydayfeminism articles) was an emotionally abusive relationship.  My then-boyfriend, who I will call Al, was insecure and jealous. I had more sexual experience than him going into the relationship, and he used that as an excuse to guilt-trip, manipulate, and ultimately control me.  I realize now, that the primary weapon he would use against me was my own RSD. 

Whenever I did something that upset Al, (typical infractions included things like accidentally mentioning one of my exes, correcting him about something,  “flirting with” --read: talking to-- any of my friends who were more my friend than his, or singing along to music) he would generally make his displeasure known by ignoring me--withdrawing all physical affection, coupled with the silent treatment.  If you’re familiar with RSD, you can already guess how effective this was.  If you’re not, then for comparison you should know that ADHD people can spiral very quickly into completely irrational “they hate me, don’t they?” thought spiral from something as small as a delayed text.  Al would almost never tell me what I did to upset him, and in my guilt-spiral I would usually tearfully beg forgiveness for everything I could think of until I guessed correctly and/or he arbitrarily decided I’d had enough. 

As an aside,  he would often do this silent treatment toward me in public while being perfectly cheerful and whatnot with our other friends, often making it seem to others like he was just joking or messing with me. On one memorable occasion he refused to say anything to me but the word “spoon” with varying inflections for the better part of a day--a pretty skillful gaslight because to everyone else around this just seemed like goofy ol’ Al being his silly self, but from context I knew this was part of a punishment, and I couldn’t express any kind of being upset about this, even annoyance, without looking like I was overreacting to a dumb joke.

Ultimately much of what he actually did (or didn’t do) in public didn’t look like much to an outside observer, but he knew my (RSD fueled) insecurity would make it hurt, especially when I wouldn’t be able to address anything with him until we were in private later. 

Also (and I intend to write a whole different post about this later) my particular brand of emotional disregulation takes the form of crying extremely easily.  I cry when I’m sad, when I’m tired, when I’m happy, when I see something too cute to handle, and (most importantly, in this instance) when I’m angry.  Because of this, every time I tried to address some relationship concern I had with him, whenever I tried to call out some of his shitty behavior or bring attention to my own emotional needs, it was extremely difficult--nigh impossible--to do so without crying.  This gave him a massive amount of gaslighting ammunition--it made it very easy for him to say I was overreacting, overemotional, irrational, trying to manipulate him, et cetera.   And it was hard to defend myself against that, even to myself. After all, lacking the ADHD diagnosis and resources about emotional disregulation that I have now, I had pretty much internalized the idea that I’m just “oversensitive” when it comes to crying, so I rationalized that I was also being oversensitive about whatever concern I started with in the first place. So every time a conversation started with me telling him he hurt me some way, it inevitably ended with me apologizing to him instead of the other way around.

Just to add to the already nasty cycle, Al also considered crying over something he didn’t deem worth crying over a punishable offense, so it often triggered the previously discussed silent treatment. 

A third aspect of ADHD I haven’t discussed yet also played a major part in how I was abused--Memory.  I don’t have a good resource to link on this one (I’m pretty sure there are some good howtoadhd videos on it on youtube but I’m not going to go dig for them right now), but ADHD people, on the whole, have terrible memories, especially short term/working memory.  Mine in particular might be even worse for some kinds of things  for unrelated reasons (aphantasia, which I might write about later but this is already really long and it’s not actually that relevant here).

Al was perpetually convinced that I was cheating on him, and any time we were apart he would quiz me afterwards on where exactly I was, what I did, for how long, and in what order.  Any inconsistency in my account, or any “I don’t remember”s would mean he would accuse me of lying about the whole thing.  I am pretty sure I have in common with most ADHD people that between time blindness and bad working memories, giving a consistent and accurate account like that is basically impossible, so this rarely went well for me.  Just to further complicate matters, being accused of lying when I’m not is practically guaranteed to make me cry, and trying to keep from crying (to avoid angering him further) means I swallow a lot, and somewhere Al had heard that excessive swallowing is a sign that someone is lying, so again these various ADHD symptoms would combine to just make everything worse.  

 I eventually got out of that relationship, and not too long afterwards got together with my now-husband, who is wonderful, so that’s a happy ending. Getting diagnosed with ADHD a few months ago, learning about these symptoms, and figuring all this out has made this make much more sense to me than before.   But in addition to my ADHD symptoms making me more vulnerable to these emotional abuse tactics,  I’m pretty sure the leftover baggage from the emotional abuse may have made those very same ADHD symptoms worse, and while my new meds seem to help immensely with the executive disfunction aspects of ADHD, they don’t do a damn thing about RSD spirals or emotional disregulation.  Healing and processing it all is slow going, but it has gotten a lot better over the years, and knowing now that even another aspect of this isn’t my fault helps too.  And taking my meds today did help me motivate myself to write all this out, so maybe that will help as well. 

I’m not sure what the takeaway is here, other than I strongly suggest everyone learn what gaslighting and emotional abuse in general looks like, but especially if you have ADHD or suspect you might have ADHD because we might be more vulnerable to being on the receiving end of it than most people.  If anything I talked about here sounds a little too familiar, I strongly recommend reading up on gaslighting, and consider getting the heck away from anyone who sounds too much like Al.  Maybe us ADHDers will inevitably get into some nasty thought-spirals or bad emotional places sometimes, maybe we’ll cry over nothing or worry too much that something we said will make everyone hate us, but if anyone tries to use any of that against you, uses it to get you to do what they want, or intentionally makes you feel worse, they’re not someone worth being around, and I promise you deserve better.

Not sure if anyone will read this, much less any fellow ADHDers because yeah, it’s a big ol’ wall of text and I get that can be hard, but if you made it this far, thanks for listening and I’ll try to go not quite so heavy with my next post, (assuming, of course, that I have a next post and this blog doesn’t become yet another started-and-abandoned project).

That’s all for now.

[umbillicalnoose]

i think that you would think im pretty and would like my poetry and i want to share it with you. im shy.

to be honest, im very apathetic these days. im not the nice “cutesy baby flower petal boy” i used to be. a lot has happened & im bitter & sullen & all in all, a pretty shitty friend/person to know. i used to possess some redeeming qualities, believe it or not, even if they were construed by the subconscious in an attempt to be likeable - a facade, even tho its only a facade, is still tangible, still there, is still something, even if not authentic. is poorer character forgivable in the name of presenting more authentically? but nah. that makes it sound like im putting effort into being a better person, which im not. im just sort of fried & done. its been a very long time since i played the role i built for myself on here of the “small fawn boy who wants to help girls” lmaooo. how embarrassing. altho, i was just a kid, & i guess, if you had a tumblr as a teenager, you went thru some cringe (i know the use of that word has fallen in on itself & adopted its own definition but for lack of a better one) ass phases, whether it was kinning or malingering mental illness or oh fucking christ, all that gender bullshit, etc etc. from what ive observed, tho, loosely following kids im still casually friends with that i met on here, i think we’ve all managed to Grow The Fuck Up, at least a little. most of us have jobs or r in school or have partners - growing up & moving on is a very surreal experience to watch/go thru. im moving at my own pace & ive accepted that - im still currently using & starving myself & concocting a suicide plan every day but at least i use clean needles as much as possible, i actively & honestly do strive for the bare minimum calorically, & um able to work with the mentality of “well ill have this when i need it but todays not that day” a lot more readily, in relation to suicide shit. ive finally found a therapist who Really Gets It, is a frontrunner internationally on ritual & extreme abuse & mind control. its pretty incredible what a few years with a good therapist can do. anyways. im sorry, i know you didnt ask for all this & im not even sure why i divulged. i guess, what tipped me off, was your attempt at sounsing “cute” - dude, cut that shit out, i promise youll be a lot better off. & i know everyone interchanges aspects of their personality based on who theyre talking to/who they percieve themselves to be talking to, but i feel like not a lot of people give enough credence to the internet & its hand in shaping/molding young people, kids, vulnerable dumbasses, especially tumblr (tho, i get that its a relatively new phenomenon) - u get a bunch of the “weird”, “alternative”, ““ostracized” kids together on a website, of course its gonna nurture a culture of hypervalidatoon & pretending to be sick in order to fit in to the point that its not an act anymore & exacerbation of symptoms & basically, just sucking each others dicks, sitting in ur own shit, & never ending coddling. & then, you have the older group of kids, who have played this game before but instead of helping or ignoring the Dumbshit kids, they indulge their own normally-buried-but-unleashed-by-internet-anonymity sadism/human instinct to just be fucking dicks & so now you have this vicious cycle of anger & hatred & fucking melodrama up the urethra. im sorry, i know im comig off as/am being harsh but god fuckin dammit yknow? also, this isnt directed at you, specifically, more of a generalized thing, @ myself included. so uh. i mean, if u still wanna share it with me after reading all this, id be happy to read ur poetry. i used to be over the top nice & then reverted to Major Asshole & am now trying to find that sweet middle spot - honoring & allowing myself to share my pain without putting it on others. which is really hard!! cuz becoming a Dick was difficult in that it forced me to be more honest with my true self & as such, more vulnerable - now in trying to become Kinda Nice again because despite being a pulsating scrotom, ive had the intense desire for friendship & human interaction, while simultaneously doing things that i was consciously aware was pushing others away - but then, if i pretend to be nice, where does that authenticity i worked for & was so scared of go? & i dont mean telling someone their new haircut looks nice even when it doesnt - thats just not being a dick. but i guess, those r the normal trials & tribulations of any relationship & adolescent developing identity. which is weird too - dealing with “normal” issues, i mean. whats the point if your life/limbs/breaking point arent at risk? whats the point when your best friends already dead. im sick of people calling "survivors” (despise that word, so fucking female-originated & overdramatic) “brave” & “strong” - surviving is not brave or strong. its just survival. you wouldnt call an animal brave for running for its life from a predator but you would call a dog courageous for going into a burning building to save its owner. premeditated action on the notion that you are probably going to be hurt is brave. being subjected to pain with no choice is not. theres no “silver lining” or anything “good” to be drawn from it either - sure it may have made x a more compassionate person or made y more introspective & gentle but you know what would have been even fucking better??? if the shit hadnt happened in the first place! let x be an asshole & y be self absorbed - the “benefits”, so to speak, do not outweigh the cost, not by a long fucking shot. its not only patronizing to hear garbage like that, but a slap in the face to know that anyone could possibly see anything good coming from that nightmare & that the characteristics, good or bad, you developed either in response to or as a result of, are worth praise. dont tell me im strong for doing what i had to to escape a torture chamber - tell me im perseverant for studying my ass off & passing that test last week. in the words of one of my dearest & most fucking brilliant friends, “pain doesnt owe me/you purpose - the need to intellectualize & assign meaning to pain & death is not only futile, but harmful.” & honestly, i think that it stems from weakness (in most cases - i realize theres a plethora of other reasons such as those who r just desperate for something to hold on to or r hyperintellectual & analytical or who have been pressured by external “support” systems to find the “good” etc etc) - while the majority of people view the person who “can find the good in everything” (strictly speaking only in relation to trauma/tragedy here & more in denunciation of those that celebrate this trait as opposed to vilifying “survivors” who respond this way, though in my experience, its very very very rarely the “survivor” that perpetrates this ideology ) as strong, i sort of see it as a weakness - their inability to sit with & absorb their own pain or that of others is so strong that not only do they have to frantically pull rainbows out of the teeth of a meat cleaver, they also have to exist within this strange (tho, not malicious - more subconscious) superiority complex. like, nah, dude, some times shit is just awful. you cant tell me anything fucking good came out of a four year old girl being kidnapped, gangraped, & tortured for two years, before being impaled & left to die on a stake. her mom opened a non profit organization? oh well thank fucking god for that!!! those that believe the latter to be more “enlightened” or whatever the fuck r the same people who say shit like “dying is easy - living is harder” & i get that that its supposed to be interpreted metaphorically for the most part - giving up is easy, trying isnt (which also.....isnt true??? admitting defeat & fully accepting the fact that ur fucking helpless is beyond hard lmao???) - but pretend youre somewhere, anywhere outside ur sunny little fucking yoga studio full of white women whos biggest issues r the pta & johnny whos failing math, & lets say your life is in real, imminent danger, a gun is to your head & i want you to not scream or cry or beg for ur life since dying is “easier”. if dying is so easy, why do the majority of ppl cling to it with such desperation - why is suicide illegal? why do some ppl go thru 100s of chemo treatments even tho the doctors say theyre just prolonging the inevitable, ppl who cut off a diseased arm so it wont spread, those who walk dozens of miles every day for food & water, etc? & i know & understand the survival instinct better than anyone, even when i wanted to die more than anything, my natural instincts would kick in with no conscious neural input & id do what i had to do. im not condemning those who cling to life (ok - a little. ur wasting resources out of ur own fear. but i also realize thats just me being a Fucking Asshole As Always cuz technically, im doing the same thing tho its more due to lack of opportunity rather than fear. i just think, societally, death should be more normalized, discussed, & not made out to be so unknown & scary), instead just reprimanding those who say shit like that (inspirational facebook quotes). especially cuz most of the ppl who do spew that shit have never gone thru anything even remotely difficult - their worst nightmare is a Big Scary Black Man grabbing them on the street, mugging them, & touching their tits. & i also know that these stupid ass sayings are to be applied to bullshit like exercise & fitness (“no pain no gain” is another one of my Favorites) & not fucking torture or even just ur run of the mill rape, even that would probably smash the rose tinted banana republic shades off their beverly hills tanned faces. but ive heard the no pain no gain one a handful of times in the last few weeks, specifically from doctors performing procedures in preparation for my bottom surgery. & i know its supposed to be encouraging & they have no way of knowing, but its just like, buddy, u have no idea who youre fucking talking to. & im starting to understand what THEY mean when they say it - pain with a reward is infinitely more tolerable than pain just for the sake of pain; like, a tattoo, it hurts, but u know, when its done, its gonna be sick as fuck. when u r able to fall back on the idea that its for something u rlly want, its A Lot easier to handle as opposed to pain thats Just Pain - theres no reward for it except, i guess, that the more u experience it, the closer u r to the end of it lmao. i mean, i still hate when ppl say it cuz for most of my life, pain was just pain, & the “reward” was the opportunity to go home at the end & so whenever ppl say that, my mind just immediately resorts back to that & im just like haha fuck u. but im trying to remember my experiences r definitely not universal & im starting to sorta understand what they mean i think. but, flipping gears here, & going back to the sentiment of “everything happens for a reason”, the base philosophy of psuedo deep Fuckwads - a girls dad didnt fuck her “for a reason”, everything doesnt happen “for a reason”. like ok, hypothetically, the kid he impregnated her with & that she was forced to have at 12 may surpass all odds & not become a homeless junkie & instead become a world renowned doctor who finds the cure for cancer. but she wasnt raped repeatedly from the age of six for that “reason”, no matter what anyone says & honestly, the liberation of the masses does not justify the suffering of one, especially a child. in my eyes at least. but again, im a bitter asshole. sorry i just Went The Fuck Off here oh my god.....if u read all this, thanks, pal. if not, thats cool too. but yea, send me ur stuff, id totally be down to read it. as for me potentially thinking ur cute, i have to look at my disgusting shitstain of a “face” every goddamn day so everyone else to me is fuckin aphrodite. but im also tryin to not put so much worth into physical appearance- its not something that should be complimented cuz its just smth a person was born with which is the same reason it shouldnt be insulted. this is gonna sound gay & stupid but i personally find that a persons essence & personality really permeates. you can meet someone who, objectively, isnt all that great looking, but once u get to know them, u really see their beauty - how the sun catches in their hair, their dilated pupils looking up at u from under long eyelashes in the dark, the birthmark on their right shoulder that they despise but that is so Them, the gap in their teeth, etc. & idk how to phrase this without it sounding like “well ur ugly but at least ur a good person”, cuz that only reiterates the societally indoctrinated emphasis on appearance & my kneejerk reaction to assure the person in question that thats not what im saying is only another result of that!!! its inescapable!!! but no, really, its not just a matter of “its on the inside that counts” - physically, they change or maybe, actually this is more likely, when i first meet them, my “default” eyes r just looking for features that i know im immediately attracted to (tall, blonde, sickly as in sunken eyes sticklike pale but still looks like she could & will beat the shit out of me) but as i fall in love or get to know them better, my eyes adjust & i notice & adore the beauty that was there all along. so uh. idk if ill think ur “cute”. but probably, yes, ill think ur an angel.

[nightspiritwings]

Someone asked me today, as a psychology major and psychologist in training :3, what is one of the most difficult things for people to do. I thought of countless ones, and for each person those hurdles are different. But one big one is self care. A large amount of society gets so wrapped up in everything else in the world and every one else in the world, that they forget about themselves. We end up sick, unhappy, tired, frustrated, those with mental illness experience exacerbated symptoms. And I'm guilty of this too. It's so easy to say "I just dont have time for myself", "I dont have time to see a therapist or go to the gym or take a nap". I did those same things. We see the rest of the world on one end needing and wanting, and our needs and wants on the other end, and run to the rest of the world instead. If I can give advice to anyone, it's that you are at your best, when you take care of yourself first. Take that ten minutes to enjoy some coffee on silence, say no to a gathering because groups make you anxious, eat that donut and savor every bite, see that therapist, tell someone how you feel without worrying about the consequences. Self care is one of the most important things you can ever do for yourself. Not properly giving yourself self care is like trying to swim with weights on your feet. Be kinds to others and take care of others, but NOT at the cost of your own needs. You are all v.i.p., treat yourself, make sure you take care of your wellbeing and mental headspace. Tell me what you do for self care! I will take naps, go out for coffee with a friend, talk to my therapist, draw and I took a job with a 45min drive partially so I could relax on my way there and have time to sort of decompress on my way back. No form of self care is too big or too small! #furry #furries #furryart #furryartist #sketch http://bit.ly/2ULXNwr