#I think my therapist is worried I might go through depressive episode and harm myself because last phone call with her she asked

[omegalawliet]

My job firing me a week before Christmas is funny tbh

[psychoticallytrans]

hi i hope this isnt a weird question to ask but. uhm tomorrow i have to tell my therapist about a maybe-psychotic-depression episode i had last week and im like, Nervous:tm: and unsure how or what to say? this is probably So stupid to ask but is there. i dont know. a script for this kind of thing, a limit to what i should disclose (im trying to avoid institutionalization, im in college and i cant afford to miss class)? therapy in general is new to me and while ive maybe had episodes like this in the past, the one i had last week was a new level of intense, too, so im just very out of my depth. thank you so much if you reply to this and if you cant thats okay too <3

This took me a long time to get around to. This probably won't help you in particular, anon, but I hope it helps others.

I will disclaim before this post that I have had extremely traumatic experiences in therapy. I came out of therapy with more disabilities and more severe ones than when I went in, and at least one of my therapists can be pinned as a direct cause. That will color this post.

The problem of therapy and disclosure is that... therapists are people, and they are people whose word holds an incredible amount of sway when considering how to act in regards to their clients. That sway is a problem because of how ableism and specifically saneism interact with the medical industry and with society. We are not seen as arbiters of our experiences. They are seen as the authorities on us. Everything you disclose will be filtered through the therapist, all of their prejudices and preconceptions, before it becomes something that the medical system will take seriously.

Amplifying this is the unavailability of therapy and how very few therapists are also mentally ill. If they are, it's even rarer to find one with a disorder that is considered "threatening"- for a reason. The inventor of DBT was BPD, and the second she revealed this, she was essentially exiled from her community. This means, in order, that a) a lot of people have to either adapt to their therapist or go without therapy and b) that therapists can very rarely actually relate to the experiences of clients that need heavy-duty help.

They might be presented as cutesy and "just here to help", but therapists are still medical professionals administering medical treatment with medical authority, and should be treated by disabled people with every caution that you treat a normal doctor with.

As such, this is my advice.

a) Don't disclose any heavy duty symptoms or trauma until you've tested them on some lighter topics, and they've handled them well. "Well" means not denying your experiences, respecting boundaries that you put up, and not acting like mental illness being in your head means you can think yourself well in a few hours. To define "heavy duty" generally, think about what you would put behind a trigger warning for an audience of adults.

b) Don't sign anything without reading it in full. If you don't understand it, tell them you need time to understand it before you can sign it. If they respond to this by telling you to just sign it or that it's not important, that should send alarm bells clanging in your head.

c) Request your medical record. Even if you're not concerned about your therapist, it lets you see their notes. It can be very informative.

d) If they pass as a decent person, then only one disclosure should get you institutionalization: confessing that you are going to hurt yourself or another person. If you can't afford institutionalization, and this is a problem for you, then you are going to have to find ways to deal with that without telling your therapist that. This is actually very easy. As long as you don't tell them that the feeling is current, you can ask for advice. "I sometimes have problems with wanting to hurt myself. Can you help me?" or "I worry that I might do harm to other people- what can I do to avoid that?" are great ways to phrase it that should still get you help as long as you can keep them in the past or future tense. If either of these is an active problem for you, seek whatever help you safely can.

e) Understand that therapy is medical treatment. It is very possible to perform great healing with it. It is also very possible to perform great medical malpractice.

You only have one mind. Be careful who you trust with it.

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Hesitate

You’re going through a depressive episode, but your boyfriend Sebastian is going to help you as much as he can. Title inspiration: Hesitate by the Jonas Brothers 

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x female reader

Warnings: Depression, suicidal thoughts, small mention of self-harm. Please do not read if this triggers you! 

-

Sebastian wrestled his key into the door of your apartment, growing even more frustrated by the second when he couldn’t get it to turn. Finally he heard it click and your door opened. He grabbed the key out of the door and placed the set of them on the hook you kept by the door. He didn’t quite know what to expect when he opened your door, but he hated what he saw. 

You lived in a small studio, even though you stayed at his house most of the time. He’d gone out of town and you’d gone radio silent, which was completely unusual for you - normally you were sending him funny memes, asking him how his day was, or FaceTiming him with your smiley face. But while he was checking back in his apartment in New York for the weekend, you’d stopped. And he knew it couldn’t be a good sign. Over the time he’d known you, he knew you struggled with depression and he understood it because he did, too. But he’d never been with you through a manic episode, at least not one like this. He didn’t know what to expect, but this definitely wasn’t it. 

Your kitchen was wrecked, even though you clearly hadn’t used it in a long time. Dishes and trash were piled in the sink and on the counter, making the kitchenette look even smaller. One of the chairs was toppled over, probably something you’d done out of frustration because your bag and its contents were scattered across the floor, too. You hadn’t tried to do your laundry and the hamper was beyond full. Your TV was on and had been playing for a long time, he assumed, because the remote was across the room on the media stand. The couch was a mess, too. You were a lump in bed, curled up so small that he didn’t even see you at first. 

“Babe?” He asked. You finally opened your eyes, wiping the little yellow-green pieces of crust out of them, and turned over your sore body when you heard his voice. You tried to sit up, but you didn’t feel strong enough, so you didn’t. 

“Hey, I thought...” Your head suddenly throbbed and you shut your eyes, taking a second to think about what you wanted to say. “I thought you weren’t coming back ‘till Thursday?” 

“Sweetheart, it is Thursday,” he muttered. “Have you... been here since the weekend?” Your heart started pounding, right away. You started sweating, your stomach churning. You felt sick. 

“What? No, it’s...” Your voice trailed off. He had to be playing a trick on you or something. There was no way it was Thursday. The two of you had gone out for brunch, and then you’d dropped him at the airport, and he said he would see you on Thursday night when he got home. You swirled around, grabbing your phone, only to find that it was dead. Sebastian walked closer to you, taking his shoes off, and he got on the other side of the bed. 

“Have you been here all weekend?” He asked again. “Baby, do you feel okay?” He put a hand to your forehead, trying to figure out why you’d been in bed all this time. Part of him knew it had to be the depression, but he’d never seen you this bad. He’d never seen anyone this bad before. You started crying as soon as he shook his head, clicking his tongue to say you didn’t have a fever. 

“I’ve literally missed a week of work, I’m gonna get fired, I’m gonna lose my job and then the apartment and then...” Sebastian put his hands under your legs and your back and pulled you into his lap as you burst into tears. 

“Shh, shh,” he tried to calm you down. “It’s okay.”

“No! I’ve missed a whole week of work because I was too depressed to get out of bed. I just ruined... You probably think I’m crazy now. I ruined everything.” 

“No, sweetheart, you didn’t ruin anything,” he said softly. “But I want you to be honest with me. Did you know you were in bed all this time?”

“No.” 

“Have you been eating at all? Or showering?”

“I... I guess not.”

“You haven’t even been to the bathroom?”

“I don’t remember the last time. I kind of have to.” Sebastian sighed and hugged you, tightly, listening to you cry for a minute. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. Let’s just get you cleaned up and we’ll figure all this out, alright? I’ll call your boss,” he said as he started to rub your back up and down. “I’ll call your boss right now and talk to her. And then I’ll make you some of that pasta you like. And then I’ll help you clean this place up, okay? I’m staying here tonight.” You listened to his plan and were only able to nod in response. You sniffled a little, but the first bit of crying was over. He told you to get up so you did, and you gave him your computer password to find your boss’s number. You nearly cried again when you saw all of the missed messages and emails, but you didn’t have time to deal with it. 

You entered the bathroom just as you heard Sebastian start calling your boss. You must have been in bed all of that time because your dirty clothes were the same they’d been because you always did your laundry on Saturdays. You started the shower, even though you felt like you might either throw up or faint or maybe both. You were shaking as you reached for your face wash, noticing that you’d started developing acne. The mirror you kept in the shower showed bloodshot eyes, puffs underneath them, skin that was suffering from not being taken care of. How could you let things get this bad, you thought. How could you possibly let yourself do this? 

Just as you were about to pump some onto your hand, the door opened. Sebastian. 

“Mind if I join you? I need to shower the airport off,” he said. You nodded, opening the curtain. His eyes checked you up and down, able to tell that you’d lost a little weight from not eating. And then you were ashamed again, backing into the corner of the shower as he took off his clothes. Normally when he came back you jumped at the chance to do things with him, but now you just wanted to hide. You were sure he was ashamed of you, he had to be. Right? 

“Don’t hide. It’s okay. Let me get you,” he insisted. He got underneath the stream of water and pulled you into a tight hug. The water was just hot enough as it beat against your back. You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. He gave you a kiss on the forehead before taking the face wash from you. His fingers were incredibly gentle as they rubbed over your cheeks and your forehead, then let the milky white cleanser fall off your face. He continued to help you with your hair routine, then let you wash yourself as he washed his hair. The two of you showered together often, and this was no different. 

“Am I fired?” You asked eventually, just as Sebastian was about to shut off the water. He shook his head, wringing out a little of the hair he’d been growing out for another role. 

“No. Your boss said she just wants you to call her when you get the chance. I talked to your mom, too, and she said...” 

“No.” You already knew what he was going to say, and you hated the idea. “No, don’t.” 

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.” He shut the water off and started wrapping a towel around your body for you. You noticed him looking at your arms as he did so, and you jerked yourself away from him like an angry child.

“Yes, I do. You’re going to say that you’re afraid I’m going to hurt myself or kill myself and you don’t want me around and...” You could feel yourself beginning to lose control. You were suddenly angry, so angry that you wanted to push him and scream, but you didn’t. There was a burst of energy in you, for the first time in days, and a fire that burned in your chest and threatened to come alive. Sebastian knew what was happening because he just let you go. You walked into the other room and started pulling a t-shirt on, trying to forget about everything you were feeling. You put on a pair of shorts and then you couldn’t contain it anymore - you sat down on your bed and started crying, for real this time. 

“You want me to come cuddle with you?” Sebastian asked. “If you wanna do this alone it’s okay.” You shook your head, looking up at him. He had tears in his eyes. You knew you were hurting him by pushing him away and then pulling him back, and you hated hurting him. But you couldn’t help but wonder if that was all you were doing. 

“You don’t want me anymore,” you concluded out loud. He looked confused. “You’re gonna tell me that you’re worried about me but you can't deal with me because I’m too much and I need constant reassurance and I need... And I’m jealous, and I’m everything you don’t want, and...” Your voice was lost in a sob. Your heart was starting to hurt so badly and you didn’t know if it was because of everything you’d gone through or if it was the thought of losing the person you trusted the most in the world. 

“Baby, I want you,” he said softly. “I wasn’t gonna say any of that. I promise. Just come here.” You let him take a seat next to you and pull you into him. He let you cry for what felt like hours before you were finally done. You had a headache. Your nose was stuffed up. Your eyes stung from the way you rubbed at them when you were upset. It wasn’t a pretty kind of cry. But you were done crying, finally. Sebastian moved you onto his lap, sitting back in the bed, letting you lay there for a few minutes. You took in the sound of his heart beating, the gentle throbbing of it in his chest as it rose up and down. You took in the way that he was rubbing your back, shushing you in a calm voice. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Stop apologizing to me. I was going to tell you that your mom and I are worried about you. And that we both thought it might be a good idea if you go back to see your therapist. And, if you want, we can try and get you on some medication to make you feel a little better. Maybe give you some more energy to get through the day. I want you to come stay with me for a while so I can watch you. But I need you to be honest with me right now, baby.”

“About what?” You sniffled. 

“Have you ever thought about hurting yourself at all?” 

“I’ve thought about it. But I don’t... I’m scared to. So I won’t.” He nodded. It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, it was an answer nobody wanted to hear, but it was the best thing you could’ve said to him in that moment. 

“Good. That’s so good. How about I start making you something to eat? And you can start cleaning up a little bit. If you’re up to it we’ll go back to my place. If not we’ll go in the morning.” You sniffled and nodded, trying to find the energy to get up. He kissed your temple two or three times, muttering that he loved you.

Eventually you got up and started changing your sheets. You started folding your clothes, picking up the stool that had fallen, and organized your desk. You cleaned your toilet and the shower, then the kitchen. Around the same time, Sebastian had finished making food for you. You didn’t even realize how hungry you were until you ate all of it. 

You helped Sebastian clean up the dishes and then you were packing a bag to go stay at his house. You finally flipped the light off in your apartment and gave Sebastian your car keys so he could drive. He had been so concerned that he came straight from the airport - he hadn’t even gone home to change clothes or anything. 

“You know I love you, right?” He asked as he stopped at a light. His right hand snaked over to you, grabbing onto the inside of your thigh, his thumb rubbing against the skin you’d just put lotion on before leaving. 

“I want to believe you do, but it’s hard,” you muttered in complete honesty. “I feel so un-lovable like this.” You sniffled, not wanting to get into another pity parade but still wanting to be honest with him. 

“I know you do. But I love you. I love you and we’re gonna get through this, okay? Together. I’ll do whatever you need me to do, sweetheart, I swear. I just want to help you get better.” You leaned against his arm, shutting your eyes. Eventually you heard him pull into his garage and you got out, bringing your bags inside. 

“I guess I should probably try to work some,” you thought out loud, realizing how much work must be sitting in your email inbox. You were only doing office administration stuff, but it could still pile up while you weren’t working. 

“Yeah? I need to get some sleep. How about you try to get a little work done and then come and join me. We’ll go for a long walk tomorrow morning, and then we can go get coffee at your favorite place?” You nodded. He walked into the kitchen and pulled out a fresh, chilled bottle of water, before walking back over to you. 

“Thanks,” you said. He must have known you were thirsty from all of your crying. 

“I want you to drink this whole thing before you come to bed, okay?” He instructed. “It’s not healthy that you’re this dehydrated.” 

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” Your whole body tightened at hearing him say those words - normally he said them in another context, but right now it was what you needed. You were so lucky he knew that. You walked upstairs with him and went into his office while he went into the bedroom, starting to get through some of your work. You didn’t understand how you could be so tired after sleeping for almost a whole week, but you were. 

You crawled into bed with him at 3:05 AM. You remembered that time because you looked at the clock on your phone, realizing that while you were gone earlier he’d changed the lock screen to a post-it note you always kept on your desk. One he’d written you. It said I love you, baby. X Your Seba. Your heart melted as you looked at it, putting it down on the nightstand. Then you got into bed beside him, worming your way into his arms. 

“Seba?” You said. He was obviously awake because he wasn't snoring, and when you said his name he tightened his grip on you. “Thank you for taking care of me. I love you.”

“It’s my job, baby. I miss seeing you smile. I miss seeing how happy you are to see me when I get back. I miss hearing your voice. I miss you.”

“I missed you, too.” 

“And I promise you. I won’t hesitate. Anything you need, I’ll give you.”

A/N: This was... a lot. And probably the most true to life thing I think I’ve written, at least in my experience with depression. If you’re going through the same thing, it gets better. Trust me. ❤️

Taglist: @an-adventureland, @ssebstann, @firstangeldragonranch, @winterreader-nowwriter, @eviemarvel 

[dangan-happy]

$$$PW: I want Mikan to have wheelies to escape her feelies$$$ *TW for potential suicide*

Hi, can I talk to Kaito Miu or Gundham please?

Hi, so I've got this relatively close friend of mine who recently just got out of a breakup with his girlfriend, he cared/ cares for her a lot, he's hurting a lot because of their break up, I think he's... contemplating his life choices if you know what I mean. I haven't heard back from him yet, but I'm trying my best to keep him from thinking things like... that, I know he is, anybody would be in that situation, but... damn it, what am I supposed to do????? I'm not a therapist, how can I help someone in pain, I can only take his mind off of things for so long... i just feel so bad.... It doesn't help that my aunt of all people's also having depressive episodes and talking to me of all people about it, I just feel kinda stressed since I'm going through my own depressive shit and doubts, Can I please get a hug??

Hey there anon! Of course you can talk to me, I'm always happy to help out! Aw man, breakups are the worst, and I'm not just saying that because it's a common thing to say. Losing someone you were  that close to stings pretty damn badly, and I'm really sorry your friend is feeling that pain. That sucks, it really really does. Oh damn, he's hurting that bad? That's really not good, and I'm glad you're aware of how bad that is. If you haven't heard back from him, get in contact with someone close to him like a family member. If you can't talk to him, talk to someone who can check on him and confirm he's still with us. You're right, you're not a therapist. And I'm really proud of you for realizing that. A lot of people without professional training try to handle these kinds of things and yeah, I'm guilty of that too. You're not a therapist, but you can get him to one. If things are seriously this serious, then work with the people around him. Make sure he's safe and getting the professional help he needs. Even if he told you not to tell anyone, this isn't something to keep to yourself. The more people that know and can help, the better.

Listen, there's no shame in having someone else help. You aren't trained to do this, and it shouldn't be your job to keep other people afloat, him or your aunt. Seriously, get a professional for your friend, that's priority one I think. As for your aunt, I think you need to tell her that you can't help her with what she's going through. Be nice about it, tell her she needs to talk to someone who's been to school for this and knows how to professionally handle these. That's not being selfish or anything at all. Taking on the extra weight when you're already going through your own things can be really harmful to you, plus a professional can help your aunt more than you can. For the record I'm not insulting your ability to help, it's just that the pros have knowledge that us non-therapists don't. Again, you shouldn't have to be in charge of carrying people.

Do what you can to get them professional help, but worry about yourself too. I'm sorry you're already going through shit, and I bet none of this is helping. Ok not to sound redundant, but you might want to talk to a therapist too. Therapists for everyone! I wouldn't recommend it if I didn't think that it would help, hell I've talked to a therapist before and that helped me out a lot. It's really amazing that you want to help others this much. I've totally been where you are, I was supporting so many people that my back almost gave out (metaphorically.) Yeah, it sounds like your aunt and friend are going through some serious stuff, and it's ok if that's too much for you. It's like handing off a baton. You carried it a long ways, and now you're letting someone else help so you can focus on you. Ok, I've used a lot of metaphors in this, so I hope it still makes sense. Bro, of course you can have a hug! You can have as many as you want for as long as you want. You've already done so much for the people around you. It's ok to worry about yourself now.

=

Shit, that sounds like a difficult situation anonymous, you know what the ironic thing is…I can understand that feeling all too well.. Of course I won’t have those kind of thoughts when it comes to feeling sad over a break up. Or love in general..

Enough of me moping, the important thing here is about your friend.. Break ups are difficult so I can understand why he would be feeling low already. The most you can do in this type of situation is letting someone close to him know, like a family member. There’s only so much you can do as a friend and a family member can be in contact with them more. If that makes sense, I’m sure it does in some way.  You’re already going through a lot too so reaching out to a family member is definitely the ideal thing to do here.

If worst comes to worst, you get authority involved. Hopefully things don’t get that intense…I really hope they don’t for your sake.. I know you want to help him anonymous, and thats great, but you can’t always be the one to fix problems for people.. You’re not responsible for other peoples action. That’s the hard truth, I know it might be some shit you don’t want to hear.

But it’s pretty shitty to have to worry about things like this when you’re already going through something.. But if professional help is what this needs, then that’s what needs to be done.

Well, a Dark Warlock such as myself has no means for love. However, from what I’ve seen from you mortals, a heartbreak is a severe illness that you can procure from breaking up with a significant other. Truly, my condolences go out to your friend, and hopefully that he may find a better relationship that shall last for eternity. However; him contemplating these certain “life choices”, has me worried. From what I can imagine... losing a loved one can make you feel as if the world is ending, and sadly not by my hand. That you feel as if you’re being swallowed by darkness; and that there is no means of escape. I applaud how you try and raise his spirits Anon, truly you would be a worthy ally to me. If you truly worry about what he may do, perhaps get his family involved? A friend can only do so much, you’ve done your job as far as you can; now you must rest. A therapist as well; I recommend that if you are to believe that he needs one.

You shouldn’t feel bad Anon, so many things are being put upon your shoulders, you can only take so much negative energy. Along with your aunt and the worry of your friend, you must be tired. And I applaud you for being able to handle both. Truly you are strong. I recommend having a sit in with your aunt with some other family members. Perhaps you may all discuss and be able to help each other, to grow closer. Don’t forget to take care of yourself as well Anon. You must relax from hearing all these despairing things.

[babyboy-ollie]

Having a Little Who is Suicidal Means...

Trigger Warning 

USA Hotline (accessible to those who speak Spanish, and those who are HoH or Deaf)

Crisis Text Line (USA, Canada, UK, and Ireland) [I can personally vouch for this one. The counsellors were very helpful and understanding, I felt heard]

International Helplines (Database of helplines for every country)

Understanding that just because they feel suicidal does not necessarily mean that they will commit suicide

Never guilting them for feeling this way (ex. “How could you think about doing that to me?”) It is not about you.

Coaxing them into small space when the Bad Thoughts become overwhelming 

Knowing their triggers and avoiding them as much as possible

Understanding the root of their suicidal feelings (It could be caused by trauma, depression, PTSD, or one of any other causes)

Checking in on them throughout the day, without being overbearing (A simple “hey baby, how are you doing?” is fine.)

Never treating them like a “Basket case”. They are not “Crazy” or “Insane”, nor are they someone who could “snap at any moment”. They’re a human being just like you and me who just happen to be feeling some really bad feelings.

Reminding them of all the small happy things in life when they’re having a bad episode. (Sunrises, their stuffies, their pets, yummy food, their favourite music, etc.)

Remembering to also take care of yourself! Taking care of your little is important but so is taking care of yourself

Staying up late with them when the scary thoughts get overwhelming 

Understanding that things may get worse as the sun goes down

Making sure that they know they are loved and cared for (But also understanding that these facts won’t magically fix everything)

Not getting mad at them when they talk about feeling suicidal, be calm and help them through it

Not taking away every item that you deem “dangerous” (Refer to the first line) Sometimes this can serve to further suicidal feelings or give them more motivation (Only take away objects if they have explicitly asked you to take them away)

Letting them know that it’s okay if they were ever hospitalized. Remind them that it’s nothing to be ashamed of and it doesn’t define who they are. (Don’t ask prying questions like “What’s it like?” unless they’ve told you that they are okay with you asking questions)

Not yelling, shaming, or guilting them if they ever do attempt. This is like rubbing salt in a wound. They already feel terrible, to a level you may never understand, and they do not need you making it even worse.

Learning the signs of them going into a rough patch, check up on them and help them but don’t hound or harass them (yes, even if you’re “doing it out of love”. it’s not helpful)

Learning what activities help distract them (Games, movies, snuggles, playtime, crafts, etc.)

Understanding that they may self harm (Just because they self harm does not mean they are actively trying to commit suicide. See Having a Little Who Self-Harms)

Comforting them when they cry

Learning their coping mechanisms and helping them use them when things are bad

Reminding them that they are wanted

Never telling them that they’re “just being dramatic”

Do not treat them like they are fragile. You don’t need to walk on eggshells or be a helicopter parent. Treat them no different than you would anyone else. If you’re in doubt, ask yourself “Would I like it if they did this to me?” If the answer is no, then don’t do it. ex. “Would I like it if they took my bathroom door off the hinges?” (Obviously, if they have explicitly asked you to do something for them then this is null)

Taking them seriously. If they express their suicidal feelings don’t dismiss them as joking or as “empty threats”. 

Never trapping them into a situation (Such as forcing them into therapy). This can intensify their feelings and may push some to make an attempt

Not dismissing them by saying things such as “Just get over it”, “Just think happy thoughts”, “Just be happy”

Reminding them that these feelings will pass someday

Always carrying around a comfort object for them

Knowing the things that they live for (Family, pets, stuffies, you, their art, good music, sunny days, the bunnies in the backyard, etc.)

Never making fun of the things they live for

Not repeating the same spiel over and over. Show that you care and that you’re not just reading off a prompter.

Knowing what you should do if they attempt

Not being offended if you’re not their main source of personal support

Making sure that they take any meds that they may have

Understanding that they may regress involuntarily during bad episodes (And in general)

Building them a safe space in your home [ex. turning a walk-in closet into a safe space by adding blankets and stuffies, hang some of their drawings up, adding a basket with headphones, books or toys or fidgety distraction items, hanging fairy lights]  (be sure to ask them what makes them feel safest and what they would like it to be like, this example is just what my safe space is like. It’s different for every person)

Understanding that they may have constant distractions (TV is always on, always listening to music, etc). Silence often makes the bad thoughts worse

Helping them start a “Happy Jar”. Write down all the good things that happen throughout the year, no matter how small (ex. “I pet 7 doggies in one day”) and at the end of each year (or whenever they need a pick-me-up) go through the jar to remember all the good things that happened each year!

Not making fun of the things that help them (ex. Screaming music may help them because it can quiet the thoughts and it express how they feel. Exercise or art helps many people as an outlet for their feelings.) Just because it may not make sense for you doesn’t mean you get to make fun of it.

Remind them how proud you (and their stuffies) are of them whenever they have an accomplishment (Remember, accomplishments can be small, taking a shower or putting on clean clothes can be an accomplishment)

Leaving them notes around the house with loving messages 

Planning activities for you both to do on bad days (Learn what they’re able to do on bad days, it might just be snuggles all day if they can’t get out of bed, it might be baking or crafts if they have more energy)

Plan small things to look forward to (Movie or date nights, going to the beach or into the city, going to the toy store, etc.)

Making sure that they have a hotline or a helpline number saved to their phone contacts

Helping them make a list of 10 things that make life better

Never, ever, under any circumstances should you threaten to harm or kill yourself if they express their suicidal feeling to you. This is unbelievably manipulative and harmful. This will make them feel even worse and can heighten their suicidal feelings. Never use your own life as a “bargaining chip”. If you’re worried that they are in immediate danger, call your local emergency number. Always, always, always encourage them to seek professional help from a doctor or therapist who can help them manage their feelings and teach them safe and healthy coping mechanisms.

**You also have rights in your relationship!! Just as you should not use your life as a bargaining chip, they should not either. If your partner ever threatens something like “If you leave me I will kill myself, and it will be your fault” or stops you from having autonomy by threatening their life, that is abuse. However, make sure you know the difference between them venting and expressing feelings and them directly threatening you. If you’re ever worried that their life is in direct and immediate danger, call your local emergency number.**

[charlottemadison42]

On Good Omens and Faith

Here follow personal thoughts on what Good Omens has meant to me as an Exvangelical. There’s a lot of healing & hope here, but it gets a bit dark first, as worthy stories do.

CW: I wasn’t badly spiritually abused in church, but I’ll be discussing things that are spiritually abusive: purity culture, sexphobia, queerphobia, abortion, mild self-harm, failure to treat mental health appropriately, ableism -- plus the special ways church authority makes all of these especially hard.

I’m personally an atheist but this message is not an argument against faith itself, rather against the specific subculture I grew up in. If you are a person of faith you’re welcome here.

I grew up in the American Evangelical subculture of the 80′s and 90′s, in the Keith Green/DC Talk/Left Behind/Veggie Tales era. I got saved at a Carman concert in sixth grade, and re-pledged my faith just to be extra sure every year at summer camp and youth group retreats.

This upbringing is not unusual. Doesn’t make me special. But its effects were real.

I’m finally engaged in a reckoning with it, in the “I should maybe talk this over with a support group or therapist” sense. I was a worship leader and youth leader at a Vineyard church when I left my faith abruptly in 2007*. It took me ten years to tell my family and friends that I was an atheist. For that decade I didn’t think about it -- but when I confessed to my loved ones two years ago, the processing began in earnest.

If you came up Evangelical, you already know how literal our belief in angels and demons can be in certain strains of the church. Until I was 26, I believed they were real entities genuinely and invisibly at war all around me. The End Times were real and we were in them. The Antichrist was whatever high profile democrat could be weaponized at the moment, the Rapture was nigh, and Armageddon was imminent (which explained why tension kept building in the Middle East).

My church community regularly discussed friends and neighbors’ problems in the language of  demon possession or harrassment: depression was a demon, addiction was a demon, promiscuity was a demon. I was part of casual and formal exorcisms and the occasional healing. No holy water, but there were hours of fervent prayers and tears, speaking in tongues and anointing with oil. It’s like a fever dream looking back at it now.**

Shout out to my other teens and tweens of the Frank Peretti era, forbidden from reading books of fantasy any later than Lewis or Tolkein -- Xanth was forbidden, Hogwarts was demonic. We were given instead (retrospectively) horrifying books about spiritual warfare, Christian takes on historical fiction, and end times fantasies. But they weren’t sold as fantasy to us, it was all real. Adults in positions of power confirmed it over and over. Narnia might be allegory but This Present Darkness supposedly illustrated spiritual truths.

I remember telling a trusted church teacher at age 10 or 11 that sometimes I would get scared at night, in the dark, and feel a palpable terror that kept me awake. They told me with no hint of comfort, “That means a demon is visiting you and sitting on your chest, trying to oppress you with fear so you will sin. Don’t wake your parents or read a book, instead you should pray or read only the Bible until the demon is compelled to leave, either by an angel or the presence of God.” This adult was affirmed by amens and mm-hmms.

I took this teaching to heart. I also understood, by implication, that if the bad feeling stayed with me then I was praying wrong -- that no angel would rescue me that night. I knew that my fear as it compounded in the dark was itself a sin that made God harder for me to reach.

These are not things that should be told to children.

Then there were the prophecies. (read more if this resonates with you, if not I’ll clip it here so I don’t take up your whole screen)

Anyone could prophesy in most churches I attended. Dreams were prophecies, visions were prophecies, vague feelings were prophecies. (That gave nightmares / being hormonal / being really hungry an awful lot of sway at Bible study.)

I had a woman prophesy over me weeping, with her hands buried in my hair, that she felt overwhelming grief for my future child. I was 23.

I have no child, and I harbored the secret at the time was that I didn’t want one -- a rebellion for me as a married woman. I feared she was prophesying an abortion in my future, and I was inconsolable for months at the damning choice that would visit me someday. (As of this writing at age 38 I’ve never been pregnant, for which I give all thanks to modern birth control.) I still wonder what happened to that woman’s child, or pregnancy, or perhaps her desire for a child, that this was her prophecy for me.

I heard much darker things prophesied over other people. I remember career changes (ill-advised) and marriages staying together (they shouldn’t have) and mission trips undertaken (that assuredly should not have been) because of prophesies.

Last, of course, I didn’t know it yet but I had many queer friends at the time. Some of them didn’t know it. We had no context in our small town -- and no corners of the internet to hide in and learn context, because the internet didn’t do much more than access our local library catalog at the time. I was told that demons sat on my chest to oppress me as a child, but I was shielded from understanding what a lesbian actually was until I was sixteen.

I remember feeling vaguely guilty when we prayed over this or that person in youth group, entreating God that they could resist their base urges. We prayed that they could choose a life of abstinence if they had to, rather than enter sexual sin and be cast out. I felt guilty but I still joined the circle to pray.

I’m sorry. I was wrong. Part of me knew it at the time. I wish I had listened to that part of me because that it was correct. There are fragments of my former faith I still treasure, but those prayers were rotten to the core.

Sidebar: Luckily that feeling of guilt bloomed quickly into rejecting queerphobic doctrine. By age 20 I decided I could only attend churches that did not preach homophobic takes on scripture from the pulpit, and that did not advocate/imply advocacy for any particular political party. The reason I mention this: if YOU are currently a person of faith in this position, uncomfortable with what you hear from your leadership, go find a church that’s queer-affirming, gives to the poor, and advocates for immigrants. Live in a conservative area? Create or join a home church. That’s what the early church looked like anyway. Don’t shrug off this responsibility. Shine a light.

Anyway. Several years later, I fell.

I had to step down from multiple church leadership positions in one day. My entire life changed in two months; marriage, job, home, friends, everything uprooted when I could no longer pretend to believe. I didn’t tell my family why everything fell apart, even as they let me crash their couches.

I had wanted to be a good believer. I read apologetics, the mystics, eschatology, theophostics. I taught and attended study groups, I took troubled teens out to coffee, I served the homeless, I waited til marriage. I was in church as many as thirty hours weekly. When I first felt my faith slipping I said “not yet,” and I read the entire Bible straight through twice, in different translations, while journaling through “My Utmost for His Highest.” Then, unsatisfied, I read and annotated the New Testament in interlinear Greek. I gave it my everything.

What could replace all that?

Time, it turns out. And freedom.

Freedom to not think about it was perhaps the kindest freedom. The constant labor of self-evaluation and thought policing that goes into Evangelical Christianity is exhausting. Letting it go of it felt like getting my mind back. Or owning it for the first time, since I never knew this freedom before. I had even been seeking counseling because I was hearing multiple voices in my head at once, all mine, often arguing. That problem vanished the hour I deconverted. I heard only one voice anymore, and it was my own.

For ten years I was free to just not think about it.

When I decided to remarry I realized that I didn’t want to explain to anyone why my ceremony would not include prayers or communion. So I told my loved ones at last that I was an atheist, a decade late. They received it graciously, and I’m sure they had known-but-not-acknowledged it for a long time. I hope they don’t worry about me or pray behind my back for my salvation. But if they do I can’t accept responsibility for it anymore.

Since that confession I’ve finally felt compelled to back at what all actually happened in church. It seemed so normal to me at the time. But wait, it wasn’t:

I exorcised people. I laid on hands for healings. I encouraged episodes of religious rapture, falling out, and speaking in tongues, and as a worship leader I knew the music cues to bring them about (yes, there are certain chord and tempo changes for that). I was present for prophecies that changed people’s lives and might have issued some myself, I don’t remember. I alienated people who didn’t fit in, whether because they were queer or just because they didn’t conform to church culture. I witnessed abuse and had no language to report it or even comprehend it. I hurt people. I was hurt.

I was told there were real demons in my room and I had to pray them away all by myself.

The work of undoing this mindf*ck (sorry friends of faith, that’s how it felt) suddenly turned urgent after being ignored for a decade. I can’t afford therapy, but thankfully Twitter chats and message boards and podcasts exist (thank you, @goodchristianfun​ and @exvangelical​).

And then -- out of the blue -- along came my own personal angel and demon, along with Frances McDormand herself. I watched it on a whim. (Actually no, David Tennant’s hair made me.)

Apparently Good Omens had a few things to say directly to my mindf*cked subconscious:

1) Are you scared of demons in a pathological childhood trauma way? Here, have a helping of this amalgam of your favorite Doctor and scariest ever Marvel villain tearing it up as the demon Crowley.

2) Does your mild bookish personality and respect for the culture you grew up in keep you reflexively deferential to authority, even as it gaslights you and hurts others? Enjoy some Michael Sheen as the angel Aziraphale.

3) Are you stuck still mentally assigning a male gender to the god you always claimed was beyond gender? Boom, meet Her in all Her ineffable wisdom.

4) Are you terrified of the End Times, both as a Biblical horror of childhood and as an adult who reads the f*cking news? Let’s fantasize awhile about a solvable apocalypse (because what would that even look like, yo).

5) Do you keep reflexively binarizing good and evil? Still giving in to the temptation to characterize humans as righteous or fallen, especially celebrities and political prospects? Spend some time on Our Side with Adam, the utterly human Antichrist, as he makes choices that matter -- some goodish, some baddish, all with mixed consequences, because that’s what humans do.

6) Do you need more queer love stories in your life? Yes you do. Yes. YES. Here it is. The good stuff. Whether it’s gay, trans, genderfluid, asexual, agender, metaphysical, whatever (I’m enjoying reading all these takes and more on AO3) it’s a hell of a love story.

Good Omens was a f*cking revelation.

I’m not sure why the show hit me as hard as it did in the Exvangelical feels. It’s not that it’s a perfect show, but it was the right thing at the right time for me, and it brought a truck full of dynamite to the excavation I was just beginning with a trowel and a makeup brush. I finished watching ep 6 and thought “why do I feel like I’ll be thinking about this every single day for years?”

And then I looked down, and lo and behold I had an open chest wound -- inside of which I found the banished memory of a child trembling and praying in terror in a dark room.

There was a lot that I forgot about in the ten years it took me to hike away from Evangelical life. It all came rushing back.

I had forgotten the sweat and cries during exorcisms and the heat of laying on of hands. I had forgotten fits of ecstatic tears of self-hatred and self-denial so strong they were almost blissful, as I sang and chanted mantras like “I am nothing, You are everything.” I had forgotten giving away ten percent of my income until I was 26. I had forgotten the constant mental effort of Being A Proverbs 31 Woman, about submission and complementarianism and feeling responsible to guard the virtue of men by never tempting them. I had forgotten the pressure to not even masturbate before marriage and to become a sexual athlete the night after.

I had forgotten the hours and hours of daily prayers. Every phrase was carefully carved in language my superego ran by my doctrine, to make sure no hint of rebellion ever bled through. I washed words of need and doubt and frustration from my mind so they could never slip between me and my Heavenly Father. I didn’t just want to hide thoughts God wouldn’t like, I would have cut them out with violence if I knew how. As a result I picked and ticced and cut and exhibited symptoms of OCD.

It hurt to remember all of this at once during a BBC Amazon Prime miniseries. It confused me. It confused my spouse. I looked at all these feelings, exposed and piled in a massive dirty heap -- and I spotted the straps I used to haul it around with me for decades. Who knew I could carry all that? The weight of faith?

But I don’t have to pick it up again. I had a new story to help me frame my story. I felt equipped with a flaming sword to face my past and a new syntax to describe the old ideas I'm ready to let go of.

I got to recast Heaven and Hell. I was invited to ask myself whether a cozy cluttered bookshop doesn’t beat them both hands down.

I got to reimagine angels and demons, good and bad, intentions and consequences. I was invited to live in the reality that we’re all of us humans in between, and that I’m probably still overinvested in the value of Good and Bad as yardsticks.

I got to reimagine western history. The show’s perspective of history is very limited and Eurocentric, but it’s also the version of history I was taught at an early age, which made the story a useful lens to deconstruct what I learned before I knew much about critical thinking.

The opening of Episode 3 in particular f*cked me up. First Aziraphale lies to God and She vanishes, then Crowley starts poking holes in the story of the Flood, then at the Crucifixion -- I started breathing hard on my first viewing, experiencing a real physiological threat response. I was loving it, of course, but distressed panicky love.

The second time I watched it I realized what was happening: I was going back to Sunday School to revisit ideas I absorbed before I was fully sentient, and examining them in the light of fully formed adult secular morality. They look different from here.

When God withdraws Her presence from Aziraphale in the first few moments of Ep 3 as he prevaricates (well, lies) I remembered the one great fear of my faithful life: that I could sin a particular sin and as punishment I would be cut off from God’s presence. As a believer in the End Times, that meant the Rapture could occur at any moment and I might be rejected, be left behind to experience the Tribulation.

Now, from some remove, I realize that I always had one fear larger. It’s a thought I never allowed myself to entertain consciously. Good Omens unearthed it like a vein of flowing lava:

If the Apocalypse as my church describes it is real, how could God want it to happen? And if God does, is this a God I want to worship? If I don’t, but I’ll be damned for that, is my faith freely chosen?

Whose side could I really be on, in the End Times, if not Heaven’s or Hell’s?

These are not small questions.

I’m relieved that I answered them a long time ago for myself.

But even after the answering, there’s fallout; a million little knots to untie and ideas to unlearn. We all get to spend our lives doing this sort of archaeological dig through our childhood baggage, I suppose. My Stuff is certainly not unique. It’s just a lot. Same as everyone’s.

But once in awhile a story comes along and helps us with the process. A sharper spade, a better tool for the work. In my case, through Good Omens I received demolition-grade explosives. It gave me a framework, characters, and a personal shorthand to speed my own digging and contextualize what I find.

If your history is kinda like mine -- whether you’re still in the faith or not -- be sure to talk to someone about church stuff from your past. The weird stuff, the dark stuff, the things you did/people did to you that now seem “off.” Even if you’ve grown past the point of “mental illness requires an exorcism” there are still dangerous ideas buried like land mines in our moral matrices. Self-hatred, intolerance, fear of abandonment, fear that failure is damnation, presumption that “we’re” on the “right side” of everything and “they’re” not, fear that we the apocalypse Is Written by powers above and so we can’t change it.

I’m so happy I know a story with an Our Side now.

I’m so happy I know a story in which the true test of devotion to God’s Ineffable Plan is turning away from the dictates of Heaven and turning toward the World.

I’m so glad I met Aziraphale -- so like me, still seeking Heaven’s approval far too late in the game. I’m so grateful he found the courage to walk away, and I’m so glad I did too. I love that I know Crowley now, self-pwning lovelorn disaster demon of minor inconveniences and imagination and free will. I’m so happy Crowley was there to tempt his friend with questions from the start, and to receive him when he was finally ready to break away.

I’m so proud to know Adam and the Them and Anathema and Newt, inept humans trying their hardest against unstoppable cosmic forces, getting it right not just despite their flaws but through and because of them.

I’m so grateful I’ve finally managed to completely swap to female pronouns for God (thanks, Frances). I still love stories about Her, I still enjoy talking theology and religion. And after 20+ years of insisting God is above gender but masculinizing him, it’s about time I switch to thinking of God as Her for a spell to even things out.***

I’m so thankful for the nicest fandom I’ve known in ages and all the glorious queer beautiful amazing body-positive art and writing growing in this fabulous garden.

Confession accomplished.

CM

P.S. I might not have the time/resources you need to chat with you if you’ve had similar experiences or want to discuss. If you need help be sure to reach somewhere healthy to get it. If you witness abuse, online or in church or otherwise -- report it, block it, mute it, shut it down, whatever is in your power.

P.P.S. If you have words of rebuke for me from a churchy place, and/or critiques about gender or politics, sorry, don’t give a f*ck. This is my story to tell and I am secure in my spiritual status. I am free indeed.

++++++++++++++

*Re. Deconversion: Or rather, I had my faith zapped out of me in what turned out to be the truest rapturous religious experience of my life. It happened in a church service; I almost fell out and spoke in tongues with the tingling power of understanding that I was truly and finally faithless. It’s an interesting deconversion story if you're familiar with charismatic church stuff, ask me sometime over tea. It felt like this.

**Re. Exorcisms: Most disturbing was the regular practice of exorcising people who clearly needed professional help for their mental health. I was present when prayers against demons happened over cases of depression, manic depression, epilepsy and other seizures, addiction, schizophrenia, and psychotic episodes. My particular church did acknowledge the role of modern medicine, but felt that the true core of these issues was spiritual and that medication ultimately could not solve a problem of demonic infestation. Looking back now I shudder and weep to think that this happened, that I was part of it once, and that it still happens daily at churches everywhere. It can be unspeakably damaging to the people being prayed over. If this practice happens in your church, leave. If it happens at a church where you’re in leadership, end it.

***Re. God as She/Her:  I encourage you to find your own appropriate pronouns for God, whether you believe in Them or not. For me personally, still reeling from the Proverbs 31 upbringing, She/Her is very healing for now. But gender is a construct etc. etc.

[sparklemichele]

Hay, if you dont mind can you Write a Tom Hardy story, in which he come back from US with his friend Cillian Murphy and find his wife was in a very bad starte, like she was in depression and doing self harm to her self, after seeing this Tom was really sad and when Tom ask her why she didn't him before, so she reply that she was scared that he might think she is mad, if its okay for you

Here you go.

Trigger warning of self-harm, depression, mental disorder and cutting. Do not proceed if you are easily triggered. DO NOT READ BELOW THIS LINE IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

Nuire

“Y/N!” Tom called out your name once he and his friend Cillian entered his home. Tom shut the door behind Cillian. “She will be happy to see you,” He told Cillian as he motions for him to sit down and make himself at home. Tom headed to the bedroom and heard the shower running. It’s been weeks since he has seen you as he was filming in the States, so he figured you would not mind if he interrupted your shower. He threw his suitcases down and opened the bathroom door. He frowned when he didn’t see your silhouette standing behind the shower door. Where were you? He opened the shower door to find you in a fetal position in the shower and your thighs covered in blood. Blood flowed down the drain of the shower and for a split-second Tom thought you were on your menstrual until he saw you clutching a razor blade in your right hand.

“Y/N!” What were you doing to yourself? You barely acknowledge his presence. You were extremely lethargic.

Tom, cut off theshower, grabbed the towel that was hanging on the shower rod, pried your righthand open to remove the blade, threw it in the trash and wrapped you up and carried you into the bed room.

“Is everything alright?” Cillian called from the living room as Tom laid your wet body on the bed.

“Y/N, what did you do?”Tom was in near hysterics as he saw the blood seeping from the long, cut marks on your inner thighs below your femoral artery.

“Tom?” You asked hoarsely.

“It’s me baby,” Tom quickly kissed your forehead before running to the bathroom to get another towel to soak up the blood that was still seeping from your self-inflicted cuts.

“What did you do baby?” He asked as he gently patted the inside of your thighs.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” You tried to sit up, but Tom told you to lay back down.

Cillian softly knocked on the bedroom door. “Is everything alright?” He asked again through the door.

“Don’t move,” Tom told you as he rushed to the door. Tom cracked open the door.

“Cillian, I’m sorry but she is not feeling well. Can I call you later?”

“Sure……sure. The car service is still outside. Give her my love and I will talk to you later mate.”

Tom nodded and quickly shut the door, went into the bathroom, found the first aid kit along with extra sterile bandages and tape and was back to you in seconds. You had sat up in the bed with your breast exposed, wincing as you continue to wipe away the blood.

“Tom can you get me at-shirt and shorts out the drawer please?” Tom got you a t-shirt and shorts and silently watched as you slowly put it on the t-shirt trying not to get blood on it.

“Are you going to talk to me?” Tom asked as he sat on the edge of the bed watching you wipe more blood away. He gasps as he saw the extent of your cuts and tears sprung to his eyes.

“Gotdammit! Y/N, why?!”He choked as tears fell from his eyes. Seeing how hurt he was caused your feelings of depression and worthlessness to intensify. You started to cry as well.

“I’m sorry Tom.”

“Why would you harm yourself like this?” You looked down not wanting to meet his questioning gaze. Tom lifted your chin to look at him and wiped your tears away.

“Talk to me,” He searched your face for some type of answer.

“Let me get cleaned up and bandaged up and we will talk.” You promised as you slowly made your way offthe bed grabbing the bandages.

“Do you need help?”

“No, I got it.”

Tom patiently waited for you to return in the bedroom from the bathroom. After about fifteen minutes you finally opened the door and slowly walked in, with your shorts on, bandages on both your thighs and sat next to him on the bed.

“I can’t pinpoint what exactly triggered me to cutting myself again.” You told him finally looking in his beautiful blue eyes that were red from his tears earlier.

“Again?”

“Yes, I have done it before when I was younger and maybe a few years before we met.”

“So those scars on your thighs are not from an accident when you were younger?”

“No.” You whispered.

“Y/N. Is it something I did?”

“Oh God! No Tom! Don’t think that. I get depressed at times and sometimes I just can’t cope, and I cut myself to handle if I have too much stress and lately it just seems to have been piling up since you have been gone to the States. I usually have coping mechanisms in place and my therapist usually can help but this time around it was just too much. I could not help it. I am sorry if I scared you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Because I thought I had a handle on it. I haven’t had an episode in years. Plus, I was scared you would not understand and be upset with me and potentially leave me,” You let out a heavy sigh.

“Leave you? I would not leave you. You can tell me anything Y/N. I am here for you, always. I can’t believe you would think such a thing.” You bit your lip to keep fresh tears at bay. “What has been stressing you since I have been gone?”

“Just stuff with my business. It just seems everyone wanted everything all at once and I am only one person.”

“Maybe it’s time for a personal assistant.” Tom suggested.

“Yes maybe. I also missed you. I really hate it when you are away.”

“I know honey. I miss you too when I am away. My next couple of films are closer to home. Next time I have to go over seas you should have an assistant who can handle your business enough where you can come visit me on set,” You nodded your head in agreement. “Will you make an appointment with your therapist this week?”

You nodded yes.

“Are you sure you are not mad at me Tom?” You looked up at him again and tears escaped your eyes and flowed down your cheeks. You could not lose your husband. You wanted him to understand your disorder and the pain you were in. You wished you had told him before the extent of your pain but again you did not want to scare him away.

“No, I am not upset with you. I want you to get the help you need Y/N. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy.”

“You make me happy Tom.I’m just going to need to see my psychiatrist to maybe get my meds adjusted and see my therapist. I know when I need extra help and now is the time.”

“I’m here for you. Doyou think you will be able to tell me if you feel like self-harming again?” Tom asked as he slowly pulled you in an embrace, careful not to aggravate your thighs. You shook your head no.

“To be honest Tom I don’t really know. That is something I can’t promise…but I will try. I promise I will try,” You slightly pulled from his embraced and gently tugged at his beard as you looked into his sad eyes.

“As long as you try love. As long as you try.”

Tom softly kissed your forehead and let out worried sigh. He did not care how long the road would before your recovery or for you to gain some sense of your what you considered to be your happiness he knew he would be with you every step of the way.

[badrpstories]

You know its hard being a mun who roleplays with depression its really difficult especially when people block you out of nowhere and you start seeing what you are doing wrong so at this point rather I am asking for advice per the mods. How do you deal with roleplaying with depression have to ever had to deal with it before ? I just want to manage it better yes I have a therapist. But , I dont want to keep scaring people away because of what I have.

So Mod Chance claimed this ask a week ago but we’ve been out a lot and she’s got a ton of work so it’s probably best if I just take a crack at this and if Mod Lup or Mod Chance want to reply then I’d definitely encourage listening to them over literally anything I type or say, since while I’ve suffered through anxiety and a whole host of other issues, I’ve only had one depressive episode my entire life and it was so long ago (three years) I don’t quite remember how I brought myself to rp besides the fact that I was desperate to use it to keep a couple people in my life. Meanwhile I do know for a fact both of them have some form of depression.

First of all definitely talking to your therapist about what’s going on is going to be important since they can walk you through it. Beyond that I would try doing only a small amount at a time. If your lack of motivation is what’s screwing you in this regard then your best bet is to do a couple of replies and then reward yourself for that, because you got through that.

If your issue is coming from thinking you’re not good at rping and that people might unfollow you for that, then the main thing to focus on is ignoring how good or bad you are at rping and simply remind yourself that rping is a hobby you’re supposed to have fun with, and if people putting pressure on you to be good isn’t making it fun and harming your ability to rp, then you need to stop worry about being good and focus on the rp itself and just having fun. The people who like your rp will stick around and they’re who matter since they’ll be the ones rping with you anyways.

If the fear does come from the people who might react and block you over nothing, and losing those people, then it becomes a whole lot harder, and I don’t fully have the knowledge to do anything about it. The best recommendation I can suggest would be to find a different rp community where these things are less prevalent, but even then this is something I’m largely unused to since it isn’t a consequence in my community outside of one time I actually was the one who did it.

Anyways, rping with depression isn’t an easy thing but for the most part the key is to ignore the anxiety and just rp for fun. People will block you, unfollow you, or refuse to rp with you all together. Partners come and go as they disappear from the site, but the important thing is that so long as you’re still enjoying it, you stick with it, and celebrate the victories when they come, since at the end of the day that’s what will make rp something you’re able to do until your depression is no longer hindering it.

(Anyways if you want to know how I handled rping with depression I basically pushed myself for my best friend and the chance to lay to rest an old thing with some characters who I loved. And because of how much I cared about him I was willing to push through it despite being scared of a lot of things involving rping. But I know for a fact that my story is unique since chances are you aren’t going to have this kind of situation.)

(Also followers if you want to chime in please do. I really do have limited experience rping with depression and I’m like one hundred percent certain one of you will be able to help better.)

-Mod Anna

[justalonesomepotato]

Rant? Personal Talk? Eh?

It feels wrong, weird, stupid even. Its makes my brain go so muddled, and it makes my chest start to ache, whenever I start typing or explaining. I want to explain to these people why, I want to figure this out and try to solve the riddle that is my literal mind, but whenever I start writing everything feels wrong. It feels so fucking pathetic when people are going through so much more. It feels so open and exposed, and nothing terrifies me more than that. It feels like useless, not worth the effort, because for all the anxiety that its going to produce, I know that only one person is going to pay attention. And this is the person that I am most terrified to know. Talking about personal crap is one of my biggest personal struggles, but I’ve always found it harder to talk about things with people I know than people I don’t know. Words are a hard thing to muster. So I don’t know how far into this I’m going to go, how much of the fucking long, long, long-ass haul I’m going to rant about. No matter how much I talk about, I always seem to come away wishing I had said more, or thinking of more that I needed to say. So, I guess we’ll get started? Now the awkward place is where to start, heh. I guess we’ll start from the beginning. My Mum is from a a bad background, abusive parents, leaving home and moving away when she was very young. She was pretty much forced into marriage with another disgusting, perverted man, my father. He didn’t do much use, with my Mum doing all the housework and home care while we lived on a farm, paying for all the expenses, caring for us, etc. Fortunately they divorced when we were quite young, which wasn’t so great for my Mum. She was left alone on a big farm having to manage all the expenses and massive tasks, young children, no family support, and continued trouble with my father. The same man who went behind my mothers back and befriended her family. To this day, he visits and has a close relationship with her abusive family, absolutely adoring tempting and teasing her. Later on, she started dating another man. An alcoholic, an abuser, another lazy asshole. We moved. She gave birth my younger sister, which to this day suffers the effects of an alcoholic background and highly violent behavior. He couldn’t deal with a child, left us to move across the other side of the country somewhere. He too provided my mother with absolutely nothing to assist her, and the court is still chasing for the debt he owes. Myself and my younger brother continued to see my father, who also remarried to a woman with two children. She was horrendous, still is… A woman who slaps her children in dedication to her religion. He would spoil us with outings and sweets, but he was never there when it mattered. There were times when he would slip up, make comments, curse, get drunk. He put ideas in our heads, made us says, manipulate us. Things went downhill when I got ill. I don’t know how it happened, where it came from, why it was happening. I don’t recall anything from that time, about how I was feeling, or how I looked apart from pictures my Mum had of me. I got diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and obsessive compulsive disorder, and was in and out of hospital visits, therapists offices, doctors officers. I was probed and touched and questioned. There was a time when another alcoholic, crude family member made me strip off my clothes until I was naked, and stand in front of the mirror while they poked and chastised me. There were times when things were particularly bad. My Mum got uncontrollably angry at one point, screamed and threw glasses at me because I couldn’t eat. I got scared, called my father, and he called the police. When they arrived, they ridiculed me for a while about how I should respect my mother. I agree, but I don’t think it was the best solution for a terrified child. There was a time in the heat of summer when I was locked away in my bedroom for days, because I was told no one wanted to see my face. One time at my fathers house, I couldn’t eat, my stepmother left, told me that it was my fault her marriage was being ruined. And one of the worst nights… When I was locked in a hot car, yelled and screamed at while my father stood back smirking, only to come home where I thought I was safest and have a bottle of pills thrust in my face, demanding that I take them and quote “never have to be seen again.” After that, I moved into my mothers house where I am now. He used to try to send me stuff, until I started fighting back and telling him no. He used to send my cards with creepy quotes, one time for a birthday sending me poems of rape, incest and domestic abuse against women. Around the same time, I found out that he as one of the authors, that he used to get my mother involved in the production of his little stories. Schools always been hard… Through it all, I’ve always been the weird, anxious outcast kid that gets laughed at and things thrown at me. Highschool was alright at first, until my anxiety started getting worse. When I was 15 years old, I started self harming… I thought it was bad back then, heh. When I was 16, I tried to commit suicide three times, everytime unknown to everyone but myself. Twice with suffocation, once with pills. I could never go through with it, no matter how much I wanted it at the time. It was around this time that I made my deepest cut. It probably needed stitches, bleeding for 3 days straight, but I dealt with it on my own beneath my school skirt. The anxiety got worse. I tried working in hospitality when I was 16, but I found myself throwing up before and after work due to the anxiety of it. My coworkers laughed at me, being the awkward, clumsy kid, and there was no reason for me to stay, so I left. I’m at a point now, where my anxiety is so fucking bad that even the simplest of things is a struggle… Talking to others, eye contact, being called on, paying for things, leaving my home, anything Social, noise, crowds, shaking hands, revealing my body in any way, assessments… Each and everyone gives me an anxiety attack. I hate my fucking hands because of all they’ve suffered and continuing to suffer, showing the extent of my anxiety, past disorders and childhood scarring. So much so, that now with my anxiety peaking so high, I have to wear a jumper/sweater/cardigan to pull over my hands all year round. I avoid any form of hand contact, my hands fucking disgust me, and people only stare with judgement when they finally see or notice. T-That’s something I’ve never admitted before, and never will again. A few weeks ago, I had a school retreat that was compulsory to attend. It was one of the most open experiences of my life, and it terrified me. When we were forced to go on a date with someone of the opposite sex, I physically couldn’t. When I had locked myself away, and I was crouched on the ground unable to breathe, I knew how bad my anxiety and the pressure had gotten. A coupe of teachers made me come out and talk with them, while I was gagging on a fucking anxiety attack. These are people I see everyday, and now I cant even fucking look at them, I’m so ashamed that anyone had to see me like that. Its been a few weeks since then, and its still managing to get worse, everything has. For years now, I’ve been struggling with another illness… Doctors have bounced around with diagnosis’, but nothing fits. Nausea, throwing up, dizziness, fatigue, weakness, headaches, pain in my sides and back, excruciating pain down my legs… Other stuff has started happening too; hair falling out, problems with my skin, bruising, joint pain. I have an idea, but I don’t want to say it incase it might be true… Maybe I’m just exaggerating. No one knows the extent of that either, what's truly happening with my health and how much I've physically deteriorated over the past year or so. On top of that, there is the constant never ending anxiety, the self harm, the panic attacks, the depressive episodes that draw me away from others at months on end. I will hopefully be going to university next year, despite that causing us more debt, and worrying me about my anxiety which will no doubt be sky rocketing with this unfamiliarity. The future terrifies me, how bad my anxiety will be when everything is so unfamiliar, how bad it will get when I have to do so much scary adult stuff. My head is filled with this all day, every day, and I don’t want any one else to have to experience that. I don’t want people to have to deal with me, I don’t want people to experience that burden. And even if they insisted, I physically can’t, not with everything in my being, I can’t. No one knows about this story, absolutely no one knows about my whole story out there. Even this here, this is not my whole story and there are many elements I have avoided speaking of. People call me weird and stupid and an outcast, even my friends look towards me with judgement, and I ducking hate myself for it. But even so, they could never know what was really happening behind the happy, carefree mask. So I’ve well and truly accepted that I’m going to be alone for a long while, until I’ve done what I need to, and I can allow myself leave. I don’t trust anyone that much to get that close, it terrifies me to get that close, to reveal myself in that way only to be consistently judged as I have in the past. I know how people respond, but they don’t know it like I do, how corrupt absolutely everything else and how every single aspect of life is strenuous on me and those around me. Those people who insist otherwise… You don’t know me, and you will hopefully for my sake and yours never get the chance. So that’s why… That’s why I can’t… That’s why I’m like this. I’m sorry. 

[laularlau8]

‘Success couldn’t fix our insecurity’: Gillian Anderson and best friend Jennifer Nadel on why they’ve written a ‘manual for life’

Who do you turn to when you’re struggling to cope? After counselling each other when the going got tough, Gillian Anderson and her close friend Jennifer Nadel have written a tried-and-tested ‘manual for life’ on the issues that affect us all

Ten years ago, Gillian Anderson met Jennifer Nadel, a neighbour in West London’s Notting Hill, and, sensing a kindred spirit, made that classic mummy mistake of thinking how lovely it would be if their children could be friends. They arranged to meet at a local café, where Gillian’s 12-year-old daughter Piper and Jennifer’s 13-year-old son Jack sat in stony silence. ‘They just didn’t get along,’ laughs Gillian. ‘We took a stroll through Hyde Park and they shuffled along, saying absolutely nothing. It was hideous.’‘But we ended up being friends, which was the blessing,’ says Jennifer. Gillian nods in agreement as she sips coffee.

The star of The X-Files and The Fall has turned up to the YOU photo shoot in tight-fitting black jeans and dizzying stilettos, looking immaculate even though she is about to go into hair and make-up. For the first few minutes she’s glued to her phone, sending anxious texts. The premiere of her new film, Viceroy’s House (a drama set during the partition of India, which opens on Friday), has changed, ‘so I’m trying to work out how to get my kids home from swimming’. Jennifer arrives late to many hugs and greetings in a big, curly wool jacket, colourful necklace and chunky rings.

From their first conversation – one that has never really finished – Gillian and Jennifer realised they had a huge amount in common. Not just a shared sense of humour, but also of having dealt with pretty much everything life could throw at them: a fractured childhood, broken relationships, being a single parent, serious illness in the family, money worries, depression, anxiety and a creeping sense of insecurity that seemed impossible to shake off.

They became each another’s go-to adviser when things got tough.Now they have distilled their thoughts and experiences into a manual for life. We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere might sound grandiose, but it is a practical guide to getting to know yourself, your strengths and weaknesses, and learning to cope in a world that sometimes seems overwhelming, even if you are beautiful and successful. ‘This book doesn’t come from lofty heights,’ as they say in the introduction. ‘It comes from two friends who have stumbled along together, trying, failing, crying, laughing, learning and trying again.’ 

It seems incredible that two such able and successful women could feel so unsure of themselves, but no one is immune to stress and anxiety. Gillian, 48, says she suffered daily panic attacks when she first became famous as FBI Special Agent Dana Scully in The X-Files. Jennifer, 54, suffered a breakdown – ‘a glorious, full-blown burnout’ – when she was home affairs editor at ITN. From the outside, both had enviable lives but ‘no amount of external success could fix the way we felt inside…it made us feel guilty that even with the gifts and luck we’d been given we couldn’t make life work’.

Their recipe for finding peace of mind includes reflection, meditation and self-examination – looking at where your problems come from and how to fix them, without resorting to alcohol, drugs, work, food or abusive relationships, as they have done at times: ‘You name it, we tried it,’ they write.

Between them, they have clocked up many hours of therapy and distilled the best of what they have learnt into nine ‘principles’: honesty, acceptance, kindness, courage, trust, peace, humility, love and joy. Their aim is to get women working through the principles not just as individuals, but in groups that will use their new-found strength to campaign against injustice and create a more compassionate world.

‘It’s about women coming together to share troubles and joys without feeling we are in competition,’ says Gillian. ‘There are so many fundamental things we have in common. Who isn’t horrified by rising suicide rates among teenagers, the degree of self-harm and the impact social media is having on women of all ages?’

Gillian’s daughter Piper, now 22, is ‘quite grounded’, she says, but that’s partly due to luck. ‘There are times when I’ve gone waxing on about something or other and times when I’ve just let her be. She’s very self-aware, reflective and honest, so the good stuff must have had some impact, although I’m sure there’s plenty of negative stuff that’s been passed down as well.’

By contrast, both her and Jennifer’s early years were blighted by depression and anxiety. Jennifer first had therapy aged 15: ‘I beat you, I was 14!’ chips in Gillian.  Jennifer grew up in an eccentric, alcoholic household in the English countryside with a very young mother and a reclusive, academic father. The house was divided into a children’s half and an adults’ half, and visits between the two were regulated.

Gillian’s upbringing was more conventional, but perhaps moving around unsettled her: she was born in Chicago, but her parents soon moved to Puerto Rico, then London – where they stayed until she was 11 – before settling in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Aged 13, she ceased to be an only child when her brother Aaron was born (he had neurofibromatosis, a congenital condition that causes tumours to grow on the nervous system), followed by a sister, Zoe.

Gillian says there was ‘a lot of stuff to deal with’ in her childhood. She went off the rails, became a punk, dyed her hair, experimented with drugs and was voted ‘girl most likely to be arrested’ by her classmates – and actually was arrested and charged with trespass on the night of her graduation for trying to break into her school. ‘There was a point where it was highly recommended that I see a therapist because I was struggling in school. I guess that was the beginning of self-reflection and looking at behaviour patterns and historical stuff.’

Gillian’s father, who ran a film production company, tried to persuade her away from acting, or to at least learn word processing (her mother was a computer programmer), so she could earn money in the down times. ‘Good advice, but I didn’t listen,’ she says. 

Instead Gillian moved to New York and worked as a waitress between theatre roles until she was cast in The X-Files, aged 24. She thought it would run for 13 episodes. Instead, it dominated the next ten years of her life. She met her first husband, Piper’s father Clyde Klotz, on set (he was assistant art director).

Having therapy as a teenager helped Gillian cope with fame, but she still felt overwhelmed at times. ‘There were occasions during that series when I wasn’t sure whether I could go on. I started having panic attacks on a daily basis while we were shooting, around the time Piper was born. It was a mixture of not having dealt with childhood problems, the work being intensive, living in the spotlight and the expectation on me, as well as not knowing how to get balance or properly take care of myself. The panic attacks forced me to start practising meditation, just to eke out a tiny bit of space for myself, and that made it possible to continue.’ Gillian and Clyde divorced after three years (she later said she had been too young and has encouraged her daughter to travel and ‘make the most of her life’ before getting seriously involved with a man), and she was briefly married to Julian Ozanne, a filmmaker. She then fell in love with Mark Griffiths, a businessman, with whom she has two sons, Oscar, ten, and Felix, eight.

Despite achieving fame on both sides of the Atlantic, she remained insecure: ‘For years I was very self-centred and focused on my body, my weight, and it caused so much sadness. That really moves me now, just how much of my younger life I missed out on because I was so focused on my thighs or my outfit; it was such a waste of time.’

Obsessing about appearance is part of the career she chose, Gillian concedes, ‘but it’s becoming the world we all operate in because of social media. Facebook and Instagram have made all women focus on how they look and how they’re represented.’Jennifer agrees: ‘If we get a knock in life we rationalise it by telling ourselves we’re not good enough or pretty enough, and that’s a form of self-harm. You wouldn’t talk to your child or someone you love like that and yet that’s how we talk to ourselves, almost automatically.’

Jennifer, who is on her second marriage and has three sons (Jack, 23, Theo, 21, and Arlo, seven), channelled her teenage woes into academic success: she trained as a barrister, then swapped to journalism, spending five years as a senior correspondent at ITN.

Television was almost as demanding as acting in terms of appearance and long hours. ‘I felt obliged to don the uniform – power suit and heels – that my editor and the industry expected. I felt trapped. One morning I woke up and realised I couldn’t go on. I called the news desk and said I was very sorry but I couldn’t come in – not that day and, as it turned out, not ever.’ Jennifer was diagnosed with severe depression which dogged her for the next ten years. ‘I never thought I would work again.’

Motherhood brought its own pressures, especially for Gillian, who finds the noise and chaos of young boys unbearable at times. Maybe other mothers have ‘tougher nerve endings’, she says. She does the ‘right thing’ and gets down to play Lego but ‘my kids can sense it’s not easy for me. I struggled when Piper was little as well. I remember getting restless and feeling this pressure that I should be doing something else, but when I was doing something else feeling this pressure that I should be with my child. It’s that constant tug of war…and I don’t think I’m alone with that. I try to be tolerant and patient. How I am in the house depends on my time of the month: I’m either embracing of the noise or it’s nails on a chalk board. But they know that it’s just Mum. There’s an acceptance and a lovingness.’

There are 12 years between Piper and Oscar, so Gillian’s daughter was an only child for almost as long as she was. ‘I don’t think anything is accidental in life. It wasn’t on purpose but it’s ironic,’ she says.Is there some advantage to having a spell as an only child? ‘I’m not so sure. It was really important to me that Oscar had [another] sibling because Piper felt like an only child, Oscar’s dad was an only child and I didn’t want to repeat that with Oscar. So his relationship with his brother is something new to me. I’ve never observed similar-age sibling relationships before and it’s really fascinating and beautiful. 'Independence-wise being an only child is good, but there are traits that I have seen in other only children: being quite selfish, not really wanting to share. It’s taken a long time for me to push the boundaries of those and be less controlling, less protective of my world and my space.

Relationships with men have been no easier. Jennifer had a ‘horrible’ divorce from her first husband, which was ‘incredibly messy and painful and took many years to recover from, although looking back I can see how it led to transformation. I had to learn to love in the face of anger.’Gillian saw a pattern with her partners: ‘I’d meet someone, instantly fall in love and spend every waking hour with them, but stopped doing the things I enjoyed doing, stopped taking care of myself. I adopted their interests, friends, music, tastes…before long I’d start to resent them, even though it was me who actively let myself go.’

After six years together, she and Mark split up (they didn’t marry) and she has used some of the experience of her dealings with her ex in her book. ‘A spiritual adviser encouraged me to start thinking of [him] as my “beloved”, that regardless of our separateness we will be raising two children together for the rest of our lives and that makes him one of the most important people in my life, whether I like it or not. As you can imagine, this is not easy, but the times I am able to communicate with him from a place of love and appreciation rather than resentment, or as he says “againstness”, the more my perception shifts.

Gillian and Jennifer’s book, We, asks its readers to work through a series of exercises designed to shift their own perceptions. The first is gratitude. Though it seems simple – too simple almost – taking a look at your life and writing a list of things to be grateful for can be transforming however low, angry or despondent you feel, they say. The next is gentleness, the simple act of being kind to yourself. You’re not perfect: don’t dwell on little slip-ups, and banish the self-criticism.

Meditate. This is a tough one: Jennifer says when she first had a go, it ‘felt like I was being put in a torture chamber’. She and Gillian suggest making a quiet space for yourself, with fresh flowers or a candle nearby, but once meditating becomes a habit it gets easier. ‘I had to be facing in the right direction, there could be no distractions, the candle and incense lit, my legs crossed,’ says Gillian. ‘Then at one point I was away working and had none of my usual crutches. Now I can do it anywhere – in a crowd, on a bus, at work.’

All this is preparation for working through the nine principles, which are designed to guide you to a place of ‘acceptance’, where you can switch the spotlight from yourself to the problems of the wider world. They include a guide to choosing a cause close to your heart that you could support or campaign around.Jennifer stood as a candidate for the Green Party in the last general election and is a trustee of Inquest, a charity that supports families of people who have died in custody. At ITN she covered miscarriages of justice and visited prisons: ‘It gave me a harrowing insight into the powerlessness of being incarcerated wrongly and not being able to get anyone to believe you.’

Gillian styles herself on Twitter as ‘Mum, actress, activist’ and has campaigned for women’s and children’s rights (including her own: she made it public last year that she had been offered half as much money as her male co-star for an X-Files revival, a situation that was eventually remedied). She recently spoke at Davos about trafficking and modern slavery: ‘the thing that breaks my heart’.If it all sounds too earnest, remember that one of the principles in We is joy. ‘There have been times when the knocks have felt so hard and all-consuming that I’ve struggled to smile or to laugh, but it’s possible to break through that,’ says Gillian. ‘I try not to chew over or hold on to arguments, make space to lighten things – though, I have to admit, life situations come regularly where I think, “What! This can’t play out like this, are you kidding me?” I forget that I can’t control everything.’So reaching that place of acceptance, even for them, is a work in progress? ‘Absolutely,’ says Jennifer.‘Ongoing,’ says Gillian. ‘Every day.’

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-4245374/Interview-Gillian-Anderson-friend-Jennifer-Nadel.html#ixzz4ZkIKobPHFollow us: @MailOnline on Twitter | DailyMail on Facebook

[understandingchaoss]

Do Not Tell Me I'm Skinny When My Eating Disorder Says Otherwise

“I’m going on a diet because I’ve gained way too much weight. But that isn’t something you have to worry about.” “You’re lucky you don’t have to go to the gym.” “You’re so lucky that you can eat whatever you want without getting fat.” “You’re so skinny and I don’t understand how.”

Those are some of those common ways I am indirectly told that people are “jealous” of the way that I look. I would be lying if I said hearing those kinds of things didn’t hurt my feelings. I struggle daily with an eating disorder and my appearance. I would bet money on the fact that most of the people reading this do not know I even have such a thing.

I have what is called anorexia nervosa binge eating-purging type. There are three different disorders in that one diagnosis, and most people know what each one means individually; but what about combined? 

The problem is that when most people picture what anorexia looks like, they picture a girl in the hospital, weighing less than 80 pounds who is on her death bed because she never eats. Most people picture binge eating as some overweight 50 year old woman, lying on her couch eating potato chips all day, while the working class pays for her to do so. Purging isn’t as commonly known, but for those who have heard of it, most picture it as a girl hurling her lunch into the toilet because she didn’t want to allow her body to retain its nutrients, after all, that would mean she would gain weight.

I have spent years fighting with the voice in my head that screams much too loud for my liking. My eating disorder is what I like to call my inner demon. It convinces me that I have gained too much weight and now have to pull out my “fat pants” because I went up a whole pant size after a bingeing episode. It convinces me that the only solution to losing any of that weight is to starve myself. The voice sounds horribly familiar. Maybe even my own? I’m never able to distinguish. Whatever and whoever it is, it brainwashes me into thinking I’m not good enough, and that I certainly don’t look good enough to the outside world. 

Before we go any further, I’m going to set a few things straight.

First of all, all of those stereotypes are all wrong. Second of all, science is a fascinating thing, so I’m going to throw in a little education session.

Any and all eating disorders can affect anyone of any age, size, and gender. Men, women, children, and the elderly can all battle eating disorders.

Anorexia nervosa - contrary to popular belief - is actually not the most common eating disorder in America. For some reason though, it is the most glorified. It does, however, have the highest mortality rate of any other eating disorder. If you were to google it, the direct definition is: a lack or loss of appetite for food. This is where most people like to do what’s called a self-diagnosis. Except following that definition, it states as a medical condition. A medical condition is a medical condition only by diagnosis done by a medical/mental health professional, not self-diagnosis (so if you believe you may be having symptoms, see a medical/mental health professional for evaluation). With anorexia, the body is denied the essential nutrients it needs in order to function properly. As a result, the body is forced to slow down all of its processes and conserve whatever energy it may have left. The “slowing down” state can have serious medical consequences such as:

Abnormally slow heart rate and low blood pressure, which mean that the heart muscle is changing. The risk for heart failure rises as heart rate and blood pressure levels sink lower and lower.

Reduction of bone density (osteoporosis), which results in dry, brittle bones.

Muscle loss and weakness.

Severe dehydration, which can result in kidney failure.

Fainting, fatigue, and overall weakness.

Dry hair and skin, hair loss is common.

Growth of a downy layer of hair called lanugo all over the body, including the face, in an effort to keep the body warm.

Just because someone has anorexia, does not mean that they will end up in treatment, will die from it, or will look like the typical stereotype. It is rare, but not completely unheard of for children under the age of 10 to develop anorexia. It can also be present in adults of any age, sometimes being present until the day that they die of natural causes unrelated to the eating disorder – if the eating disorder does not claim them first. 

The following symptoms must be present for a potential diagnosis.

Inadequate food intake leading to a weight that is clearly too low.

Intense fear of weight gain, obsession with weight and persistent behavior to prevent weight gain.

Self-esteem overly related to body image.

Inability to appreciate the severity of the situation.

Obsessive counting of calories/compulsive exercising (does not need to be present for diagnosis, but is very common in extreme/severe cases)

Binge eating is actually the most common eating disorder in America weighing in at 2.8% of all American’s. Binge eating directly translates to: the consumption of large quantities of food in a short period of time; recurrent episodes of eating large quantities of food (often very quickly and to the point of discomfort); feelings of loss or control during the episode. Binge eating usually takes place as a way for an individual to use food as a way to cope with or block out feelings and emotions that they do not want to feel. Individuals can also use food as a way to numb themselves, to cope with daily life stressors, to provide comfort to themselves, or to fill a feeling of worthlessness they feel within. A person struggling with binge eating will typically have a depressive episode following the bingeing episode, which usually consists of having feelings of shame, distress, or guilt. The following symptoms must be present for a potential diagnosis:

Eating, in a discrete period of time (e.g., within any 2-hour period), an amount of food that is definitely larger than what most people would eat in a similar period of time under similar circumstances.

A sense of lack of control over eating during the episode (e.g., a feeling that one cannot stop eating or control what or how much one is eating)

Marked distress regarding binge eating is present

The binge eating occurs, on average, at least once a week for 3 months

The binge eating is not associated with the recurrent use of inappropriate compensatory behaviors (e.g., purging) as in bulimia nervosa and does not occur exclusively during the course of bulimia nervosa or anorexia nervosa (I will address how my diagnosed eating disorder is possible with this as a symptom of binge eating shortly)

Binge eating episodes must have three or more of the following for a potential diagnosis:

Eating much more rapidly than normal.

Eating until feeling uncomfortably full.

Eating large amounts of food when not feeling physically hungry.

Eating alone because of feeling embarrassed by how much one is eating.

Feeling disgusted with oneself, depressed, or very guilty afterward.

Purging type is most often associated with bulimia, because a form of purging is self-induced vomiting. However, purging can also consist of the sudden restriction of food, engaging in abuse of laxatives, diuretics, or enemas after a period of bingeing. An individual can have purging type without having bulimia.

How is anorexia nervosa binge eating-purging type even possible then? That was the question I kept asking when the therapist I was seeing during my four years of high school informed me that I fit the criteria. I did months’ worth of research. Unfortunately, there is not a lot of information available for such an eating disorder as it is classified under an Eating Disorder(s) Not Otherwise Specified (EDNOS) because of the fact that there are only certain symptoms from each disorder’s criteria found in other eating disorders. This means that I might only have two symptoms from one disorder’s criteria, but four from another, and only one from another. EDNOS was designed for such cases. From what I could find, I learned that it is most commonly associated with trauma. My eating disorder started out as frequent binge eating. I remember wanting to literally eat everything in sight. I wanted anything that consisted of carbs, fats, and sugars. As a result, I gained an immense amount of weight in a very short period of time. At that time, I had always weighed between 120 pounds and 138 pounds. So when I suddenly gained enough weight to shoot me up into the 200s, I felt disgusting. I was mad at myself for gaining that much weight, and allowing it. I was mad at myself for using food as a way to cope. So instead of putting myself on a healthy diet, I just flat out stopped eating. Most days, all I would have was an apple when I woke up and a small meal for dinner. I did that only because I was on medications that required food intake before the dosage. My bingeing episodes would last for months at a time, and my purging episodes would last for months at a time, which is why the three are able to occur at different times, but still simultaneously exist in the same diagnosis. According to my previous therapist, this type of eating disorder is extremely harmful to the body. Of course, all eating disorders are. But she informed me that I was literally putting my body through shock and trauma. Just as my brain was in shock as a result of the trauma, I was doing the same exact thing to my body. Anorexia/purging can slow down your heart rate, lower your blood pressure, and lower your cholesterol; while binge eating can speed up your heart rate, raise your blood pressure, and raise your cholesterol. By alternating back and forth between the two very suddenly, the body can go into a state of shock. 

Now, why do I not want to be praised for the way that I look when I go through a period of purging?

Imagine that you suffer from a series of mental illnesses, but one in particular is the only one that can, possibly, directly kill you, and yet you are receiving praise for the very symptoms that are destroying your mind and body. I am literally being praised for destroying my body. I am being praised for restricting my food intake for one period of time, and eating much more than I should for another period of time. I am being praised for harming myself.

So yes, gaining weight is something I have to worry about. No, I am not lucky I don’t have to go to the gym because I’m basically destroying my mind and body while you’re doing it the right way. No, I am not lucky I can eat whatever I want without getting fat, because I can definitely gain more weight at a faster rate than most. I am skinny because of an eating disorder, that’s how. I do not recommend it.

The only reason the majority of people around me do not know that I have an eating disorder, is because most people who binge and then purge, do not look unhealthy or underweight. But believe me when I say that I know exactly when I’ve gained weight. I don’t even have to step on the scale. I know when I’ve gained even three pounds; because I can see it. My eating disorder warps my perception of myself in order to be convinced that I am much too fat and I need to lose some weight. I don’t go from 80 pounds to 200 pounds overnight, so most people don’t believe me when I say that I used to weigh over 200 pounds. However, if you put pictures side by side of my different weight fluctuations over different periods of time, you would most definitely be able to see a difference.

Contrary to popular belief, eating disorders are actually not a choice. They are complex illnesses with biological, psychological, and environmental causes. They are in fact classified as a mental illness. I know that no one forced this disorder upon me. So if no one did, what did? That voice inside my head tells me that I brought it upon myself. In fact, it screams at me that I’m to blame. But no one person or thing is to blame for my eating disorder, including myself. It is a combination of neurobiology, family of origin, social and societal environments, and trauma. Depression almost always goes hand in hand. When you have depression, you lack the psychological means to deal with life stressors. As a result, your brain seeks a way to find relief in any way that it can.

Years later, and I still struggle with my eating disorder. I still fluctuate in weight frequently. But I am not responsible for the onset of my eating disorder. But I am responsible for my recovery and freedom from it. I must forgive myself for developing the eating disorder. I must forgive my brain for not being able to cope with the stress of life and the trauma I have endured. My eating disorder is an outward manifestation of inward confusion, anxiety, and distress. In order to find freedom, I must first deal with what it was that caused that confusion, anxiety, and distress. It becomes difficult to do so when I am being praised for destroying myself. It causes more confusion and anxiety within my head, thus causing me distress and to take several steps backwards.

I did not choose my eating disorder. My eating disorder chose me. But I can choose recovery from it, and I can choose to find freedom from it. Do not praise me for my illness. Do not praise me for hurting myself. Do not praise me for expressing my confusion, anxiety, and distress in an unhealthy manner. In fact, I don’t want any praise at all, because in the end, the glory and praise isn’t given to me. But if you must praise me for my courage or strength, or whatever it is you’d like to praise me for, praise me for my choice of recovery and the courage and strength it took to make that decision. Because at the end of the day and at the end of the road of my battle with my eating disorder, my choice of recovery is the only choice that will ever matter.

If you or someone you know is struggle with an eating disorder - or you suspect that they may be struggling with one - and needs support right now, please contact the National Eating Disorders Association at 1-800-931-2237 or text NEDA to 741741 

If you or someone you know needs support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, or text START to 741-741

[unnamedjournals]

Let’s Try This Again.

For the very few people who actually used to follow this page and the one or two that have followed since I dropped off the map, I’m not dead yet. Keeping a journal only when I wasn’t doing well wasn’t the plan, for the record. I could explain but to be honest I don’t remember all that clearly why I stopped except that I know it was probably a lot of reasons. I didn’t feel like it was helping, I couldn’t make time or energy, forgot over and over and over and fuck it, whatever. 

It’s been almost two years? Over two? I don’t know, I didn’t do the math before I started writing and now I can’t scroll to check the date and time on the last entry. Doesn’t matter. 

Good hell a lot’s happened and changed since then. 

Let’s see... uh. 

A lot of this happened concurrently and intermingled but I’ll do my best to make heads and tails of it. 

Broke up with the guy I was dating in previous entries. Found out a whole lot about him recently. I was upset when he ended it but now I see I dodged a bullet.

Briefly (like a week) dated another guy, things happened, we tried to be friends for about a year and change after it but more things happened and long story short he’s not allowed to be around me at game anymore. A story for a different time. It’s a doozy.

I quit the delivery job. I didn’t feel safe driving under that much stress with the zoning out thing. Still do that by the way, it’s actually gotten worse. As it happens there was a panic attack about that just two hours ago, fancy that. I’ll come back to that though.

Started LARPing a hell of a lot more, kinda took over my weekends for a while there and I had to cut back some. I’ve played some really awesome roles though.

Turns out I’m bi? Happy Pride Month everyone. Yeah figured that out mid 2017, dated a fantastic woman for three months. Didn’t work out by no ones fault, but the only thing I regret is how poorly I handled the end of it. She was the first time I’d fallen in love, and it ended way too quickly for me, and I made a right mess of it. I’ve been meaning to apologize for the last year, but again, that’s a story for a different time.

Oh right, on the zoning out bullshit. I went to a neurologist. Two actually because the first was a sexist sociopath. So the first sent me to get a 15 minute EEG (brain wave scan) that came back saying I had Partial Complex Seizures. He then made some very sexist comments and I left. The second neurologist said he agreed with seizures but based on all my symptoms it sounded more like Absence Seizures. Buuuuuut he wanted to do another EEG to be sure, this time for 24 hours. I had to wear a shit ton of wires taped onto my head all attached to a box that I brought home and carried with me everything. Kinda cool, kinda sucky. But I did it, and even had two episodes during it that I marked down the time and what I was doing. Test came back totally clean. No sign of seizures at all. Doc said he was at a loss because I made a perfect story for Absence Seizures but completely lack the neurology so there wasn’t really anything he could do. I did just last month get diagnosed with ADHD though so that’s probably a good portion of where it started. 

I finally let go of a person in my life who was doing more harm than good. She got married yesterday. I wasn’t there. Eventually I will stop being bitter about the things that went wrong, and eventually I will stop thinking about how she is or how things might have been different if I could have stood up for myself better. Not today apparently, but eventually maybe.

I began paying attention to politics. Gonna stop there on that one, but long story short there is a part of me that now hates my father for the words that come out of his mouth.

I dropped the community college classes I was taking because I was too depressed to manage. And then started again the next semester because I thought I found a career option. Switched that career path twice before deciding to just get my associates and work from there. I only went for two semesters, but at least I didn’t drop half way through this time. I stopped going for a year, absolutely positive that I would never go back. I was just going to start working full time and build a career on experience. Didn’t really work. I’m now signed up for fall classes in apparel construction to eventually lead into a career in costume design with specialties in historical fashion and LGBTQ+ fashion needs. But there’s some emotional shit in the way, because of course there is. More on that soon, probably its own entry.

Started a new relationship after I had time to heal from the previous. We were both nervous about dating again after the hurt from our lasts and we thought we would take it slow. Slow didn’t really happen. It’s been a year and seven months yesterday, and in that time we’ve said I love you more times than I can count, we’ve fought for each other, we’ve fought with each other, we’ve cried together, we’ve laughed for hours, they moved in with me and my parents, we’ve made big plans, we’ve made small plans, we’ve lost and changed plans, they moved out of my parents house, we’ve put our relationship on the line, and we’ve nearly broken. The last few months especially have been messy. Even a summary would need it’s own entry. 

A little over a year ago I started having persistent and ever worsening pain all over my body. Every part of it. Even there, wherever you just thought of. My primary care doc sent me to a rheumatologist, and last June I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. And again by second opinion in November. For the unfamiliar, fibro is hard to pin down as a diagnosis because for so long it wasn’t really a “real” condition. It was doctors going, “Well it’s not arthritis and it’s not lupus, so I don’t know what to do but I have to tell the patient something.” And a lot of times, it still is that. But it is actually a condition with characteristics. Think of it as the whole nervous system is in fucking overdrive. Some days are better or worse than others, and where on your body can shift around, but I don’t know that I’ve had a single day in the last year and change that I wasn’t in pain somewhere to some degree. I’ve been to more doctor appointments in the last year than I think I’ve had in my life leading up to this. It’s terrible and comes with a million other symptoms. Like migraines. I get migraines now. Mostly from auditory overload, but bright light can add to it. And guess what else comes with it. It’s commonly called Fibro Fog, which is problems with concentration and memory loss. Remember how I said the zoning out thing was getting worse? Yeah. Fucking great. So I’ve got ADHD, depression, anxiety, and now fucking chronic pain all doing the strong arm clasped hand meme of making me forget shit left and right. And my shoulder and fingers have been hurting from typing but I can’t stop or I won’t have the nerve to finish and post this. 

I turned 21 the other week. Great. Finally. Moving on.

The Crash finally hit. 

I spent the first year constantly worried it would, but somewhere along the way things actually started looking good. Like not 100% of the time, but like even when outside things were bad I didn’t want to die because of it. I was handling the curve balls and enjoying life and taking a step forward every day. I didn’t always know where that step was going but I was taking one and I was damn proud of myself. And then last week. Yike. Trigger warning imminent, skip to the next paragraph if you don’t want to read about thoughts of suicide. Last week was the first time in so long, so, so long, that I imagined my own death in detail. That I came up with a plan. That I imagined carrying it out. How far down this spiral I would have to go before I killed myself. How I would feel if I got there and made that decision. And I’ve thought on it multiple times since then. I won’t describe it now, but I will say that it’s a new plan than I had before. I’ve always picked my plans on the likelihood of them working and what damage would be left with my body if I failed, but also clean up for whoever would find me. The current idea is a trade off. Worse in the way of clean up but better success chance I think and the same in the way of damage in the case of failure. (I wonder if it’s weird that I’m so clinical about this.) I haven’t said these words out loud yet to anyone. 

My mom and partner know I’m more depressed than I’ve been in a long time, so much so that I’ve considered looking at anti-depressants, but not the full extent. I want to talk to my therapist first but getting a hold of her for the phone check in last week didn’t work. Turned into phone tag. My next in person appointment is Thursday but I’m going to leave a message for her tomorrow asking if we can scoot it up because I don’t know that I can make it that long. 

Uhh. Yeah. I think that covers the recap. Fucking hell, it’s been a wild ride. 

1:44AM Sunday, June 16, 2019

[shes-a-rebelll]

this might just be ~another~ manic mood swing but..

 i really hope it is the one that goes through. i’ve literally spent so much time wanting to fight against what my parents want for me and what society wants. i just have such a tendency to want to resist any authority or control over me. if someone tells me to do something; it is immediately the last thing i want to do. it’s just an immature emotional response probably stemming from mental illness. and that’s why i’ve been basically demonizing a higher education for the past two years..... because my parents and most of society tells me i will only be successful if i do it.... anyways.

our society is so harmful. the lifestyle that i worship is so harmful. every since i was as young as 11 or 12, an extremely toxic lifestyle was impressed into my brain. handed to me by my false idols.

this lifestyle is one shoved in the faces of many of us in our daily lives. on the cover of every magazine, in the glory of every rock show, in the stories of famous billionaires.

it’s this “rebel against everything and do it your way fuck school it’s all or nothing i’m going to be famous!” ideal. it’s so fucking stupid. but listen. i IDOLIZED people who this WORKED for. i met them. they’re very real.

they got lucky.

the reality they live in is not the reality ANY of us face or can relate to.

the music industry, businesses, corporations, fashion, film, are all well-oiled machines. they need stars, but only a limited amount. famous people are picked and chosen through a selective process. they are chosen for how pretty they are, they are chosen for how charismatic they are, they happen to be doing or writing something that is favorable to the general population. they are talented, but i’m telling you, for every famous person, there is absolutely HUNDREDS of people more talented than them simply milling around in society next to you.

famous people don’t tell you this, or they don’t know it. they will tell you to drop out of school and join a rock band, to never have a traditional job, they will say fuck college because it worked for THEM. because they got LUCKY.

well honey, it will not work for me. and it will not work for you.

i am forever thankful for billie joe armstrong with his guyliner, red tie and spiky black hair, commanding the stage and stealing my little preteen heart, and filling me with hope when i was young. i will always be thankful that i picked up a guitar because of him, that i started writing my first poems and songs because of green day. they led to me finding yet another wonderful outlet for expression and creation.

i am not grateful that they idealized becoming homeless, doing drugs, and leaving school for your art. because they are one of the hundreds of bands that played at gilman in the 90s. and what are many of those bands who played besides them doing now? i am sure plenty of those kids had equal amounts of passion, of drive, of dedication and want to be the starts green day are. they all didn’t get it. 

because hoping for that kind of future is simply not reality. and i am sick of living in delusion.

my entire childhood, i practiced so hard, i fought so hard, but it felt like i was fighting against a strong current. some good came out of this fight: a persistence to create, and a lot of practice on the instrument. but a lot of bad shit came out of it.

writer’s block for YEARS because i compared myself so savagely to ALL other writer’s and artists, because i “wasn’t good enough”. constantly worrying about “making it”, “getting lucky” and the odds. feeling like i was never practicing enough no matter how much i practiced because my idols said they practiced for 8 hours a day, why cant i do that why cant i do that how come i cant just focus and do that???? music never being able to take my full focus when in reality i am a well rounded person with so many interests and passions that included a passion for learning and academic skill.

and the whole time feeling so.... sad. sad that i wasn’t ever able to get in a band. 

but i was hopeful because i kept thinking that, well it will all come together magically at some point before i’m an adult!

and of course, it didn’t. haha, any young adult has gone through something similar like this at some point. reality’s tough, it’s true! i’m a pisces, i don’t spend enough time in it as it is...

well, these past few years have been my worst. it has been college dropouts, quitting jobs, suicide attempts, running away from home, ruining my credit, falling into deep debt, costing my family thousands of dollars that went to waste while they were trying to clean up after my mistakes and keep me from going homeless, developing drug dependency to try to cope with my worsening mental health (just making it 10x worse), and falling apart again and again and again. and hitting lower points than i ever have before, as in, FEELING more hopeless and suicidal than ever. these past few months have been particularly hard on me.

i couldn’t handle the fact that this wasn’t the future i fantasized about. as unrealistic as it was, i couldn’t handle the fact that i am an adult and still nowhere NEAR where i need to be if i wanted to make any sort of career as a musician. hitting dead end after dead end and nothing feeling right.

some of my closest friends are almost opposed to school, literally telling me it’s bad for me because it didn’t work out for them. well, i don’t believe it is too late for them to turn their lives around either, that is their decision to make. but i know i’m not giving into this bullshit anymore.

you’re not rebelling. you’re working for barely above minimum wage doing low skill work that numbs your skull. you hate it, you talk about hating it constantly. a ton of people live this way. i’ve never been able to live like this. i thought my ‘way out’ of it was trying to be a famous rockstar. even if nothing came from this fantasy, it didn’t stop it from being at the front of my mind at all times.

i have let go of it at many different points, in different ways. the thing is i have bpd which gives me intense mood swings that alter my entire life views and personality almost on a day to day basis.... as i write this i am literally worried that i will feel completely different tomorrow, because once again i feel this decision would be right for me. but i am letting go. i am letting go of these people i idolize, of this life i idolize. maybe it helped me in my teenage years but it is nothing but harmful to me now.

i want to create because i love to create. i want to write because i love to write. not for fame or fortune or even recognition. no worrying about where it will get me and if i’m good enough. just creating for the love of creating.

i recently was thrown into a depressive episode because i forgot to register for classes on time and couldn’t take the two community college classes i wanted to take. i just gave up instantly. i’m not giving up. i fucking want this. i’m calling, i’m emailing, i’m going in and even speaking to them if i have to. i am pursuing an education in recording arts and i am so excited and it might become something more and god damnit i actually like this and i’m going to do it!!!

i have also been needing therapy so badly these past few months but NEVER wanting to put an effort into actually getting one for myself. i literally had my mom call some for me but they didn’t even call back. it is very hard to find a good therapist and i have had many that haven’t helped me at all, but two who have been very helpful to me. my best friend told me about dbt therapy for bpd (which she has also) and her therapist was able to find one for me that’s covered by my insurance!! the important thing is that i actually CALLED THE OFFICE and SENT PAPERWORK. with my level of motivation, it’s like..., a huge accomplishment!!

so idk. i just hope i’m moving in the right track now. i have felt completely empty and devoid of life for so long, with no purpose or direction. and i feel like i am finally doing the Healthy Thing and i really hope to break out of my unhealthy habits soon!

i also plan on leaving tumblr in 2019 to better my mental health. as i talked about my problems with idolization (aka obsession, something i legitimately SUFFER WITH through mental illness, seriously guys stop normalizing intense obsession it actually has many harmful effects), it’s best for me to leave a website where i do nothing but reblog pictures of band members i idealize from like 10 years ago. on this site i am orbiting around people who don’t know about my existence or give a single shit about me... and that’s just plain insanity. that, my friends, is why most adults leave fandom at some point. maybe it’s not harmful for everyone, but this behavior is sure as HELL harmful to me. i want to focus on my life and the people in it. i want to focus on reality.

probably no one read this but yeah i really had to go off

[cxddledjh-blog]

hey @danielhowell? thank you

i read the article about your speech at UK on stage and hearing you talking about your feelings over the past years honestly made me cry. yes of course we noticed something was wrong and yes some of us always thought you were depressed but it was never something you wanted to talk about so we couldn’t help you. you said things like 'i hate everything about myself' and no one could find the courage to talk about it afterwards. my heart shatters at the thought of you having to pretend to be okay in front of us for YEARS while actually you were suffering from all these thoughts. it might sound strange to your ears cuz we are 'just a bunch of strangers on the internet' but we. love. you.

for about a year or two you were the closest i had to a best friend. you were my go to person. you still are my go to person. when i’m having a depressive episode, i rewatch your videos. you make me smile when i need to. i am and will always be a loner but when i’m on the internet talking to the dan and phil fanbase, i feel accepted and appreciated. i don’t feel like i have to pretend to be someone i’m not. you make me feel happy and understood. when i watch your videos or 'talk' to you on social media i don’t have to worry about hiding the worst parts of my personality (e.g having very bad social anxiety) because you would NEVER judge anyone based on their flaws or what society thinks of as flaws. don’t you understand dan? you created a safe space for so many people. you’ve helped me so much with my depression even long before you decided to open up about your own struggles with mental health. listening to you talking about mental health or something like bullying makes me happy and very, very proud. i’m going to be honest. i used to self harm and i thought about committing suicide an endless amount of times. i hated myself for everything i am and there was no reason for me to stay alive. that was until i meet my best friends online. i had finally found friends who cared about me and liked me because of who i am and not despite of it. i felt loved and supported and i can’t imagine my life without them anymore. what does that have to do with you? well i meet these people in a dan and phil groupchat on twitter. they understood me, they supported me and they listened to me. i never wanted to admit that i have depression. i didn’t wanna go and see a therapist. it made me feel like a freak and like a complete failure. i felt worthless and ugly and hated for the most part of my life. and then, on that one fateful day, you uploaded your depression video.

and that’s when i bursted into tears for the first time in months. i was crying so hard and i couldn’t get it together for at least another hour. the thought of you having to go through the same thoughts as me made me..mad and so damn sad. i rewatched the video at least 5 times in a row and when i finished it the 5th time my decision was made. i’m going to the doctor and im getting help. i can’t continue like this. this is not healthy and i need to get better. i told myself that, if i don’t wanna do it for myself then i’d do it for you, dan. is that pathetic? yeah maybe but it made me keep the promise i gave myself. i went to some doctors, made appointments with a therapist and i got anti depressants. what im trying to say is that you changed my life for the better. you’re a caring, accepting and brave person and i’m proud to call you my role model. when i say i love you i really mean it. it’s not even the teen crush kinda love. it’s a 'you’re my best friend or big brother' kinda love. im so proud of you. im so thankful for you and i’m so so happy you trust us enough to share this with us.

thank you❤️

[meanwhileinoz]

10+ Misconceptions About Mental Illness Need To Be Cleared Up Right Now

Mental illness is a myriad of conditions that appear in different ways. Moreover, because of the constant misinterpretation of mental illness on social media. Mental illness is often misunderstood.

Therefore, to inspire a more positive discussion on mental illness, here are a few anecdotes to clarify the confusion:

Depression comes with a mask.

I have depression. People don’t believe me because I appear outgoing and gregarious in social situations, but it’s just a large coping mechanism and something I need to do in many cases for client meetings and gatherings and such.

It’s exhausting. I’m drained and many times feel horrible afterward. I wish people knew that just because you appear happy or content on the outside, you can still be the opposite on the inside. Many people with depression go to great lengths to disguise or mask it, which makes it all the more difficult for others to see that there’s something wrong.

– ldn6

The intricacies of Mental health.

Mental Health is a spectrum. It’s extremely unlikely that any one person is 100% Mentally Healthy, and it’s unlikely that they’re the opposite. The  U.S. Department of Health and Human Services estimates only about 17% of adults are in a state of “optimal” mental health.

Just because you may have an issue though, doesn’t mean that you’re spiraling and unhealthy. Much like a physical health issue, a single episode isn’t the end of the world. – (Source)

Dispelling the ADHD myth.

ADHD; it DOES exist, and it’s not just about looking at squirrels outside the window.

And we’re not just seeking stimulants. Many of us hate taking medication because it makes us into zombies that can barely function and choose to deal with the symptoms of the condition rather than take Adderall or any other pills. – willflungpoo & Ketrel

Bipolar disorder needs to be understood better.

Usually when you say ‘I’m bipolar’, you get odd responses from either a) the people that think you are this rabid psycho bouncing off the walls one second and is dangerously suicidal literally the next second or b) the people who think “bipolar” is a normal, quirky personality trait. You know the kind: “you’re bipolar? me too! I’m so damn emotional all the time.”

I simply try to explain it to people as best as I can with a metaphor I came up with once: It’s not a balanced, steady rollercoaster of emotions, that most people experience and enjoy. It’s also not a rollercoaster that does 60 loops in a row, derails and explodes onto the ground below. it’s more of a rollercoaster that goes too high up with a bit too much energy and then gives everybody really bad whiplash when they drop to the bottom of the ride over and over until it’s too much.

The metaphor is kinda dumb at not completely accurate, but it just helps people understand better.

– zapsquad

Mental health and crime do not correlate.

Some people have an inherit fear of others who suffer from a Mental Illness. The media over-sensationalizes the effects of Mental Illness to a point where it seems that crimes are only committed by people who suffer from it.

This is completely untrue, as the American Psychological Association found that only 7.5% of crimes are directly related to Mental Illness.

– (Source)

Depression is not an illusion.

Depression.

“But you don’t have anything to be depressed about, sweetie.”

That’s like saying, ‘But you can’t have asthma! This room is full of air!’

– kernunnos77 & eeyore102

The importance of decreasing stigma.

Mental Health affects everyone. Research estimates that 1 in 5 people experience mental illness in their lives. So even if you aren’t suffering from it, someone you know might be suffering.

This is why it’s so important to decrease a stigma about Mental Health and open up a conversation about it. Everyone will experience the effects of it and the more we are able to understand and communicate about it, the more positive our relationships can be.

– (Source)

Psychologists are really trained professionals.

On the heels of that, it’s important to talk to a medical professional about your mental health instead of just your close family and friends.

Treating Mental Health takes more than just ‘Talking and Listening’ and the techniques that Psychologists use are developed through years of education and training to positively impact their patients.

– (Source)

I think you deserve that rest.

I have severe anxiety. So much so it’s developed into agoraphobia. I stay in my apartment most days, and only really go outside in public accompanied by my safe person. The common misconception is that I’m lazy. I don’t have a life. Because I stay inside all day, most days, and I’m content not leaving. But I do a lot. I draw, I’m learning how to sew, and I try to get out a little more every day but it’s baby steps.

People also think I’m lazy because I sleep a lot. I have regular panic attacks. At least 3 times a day. It’s rather exhausting. My brain feels like it needs rest after having one.

– MetalMaiden420

Misconceptions about Anorexia.

I have anorexia. I think the most common misconception is that it is about being thin. I have honestly never met a person who developed an eating disorder because they wanted to look like some photoshopped model. For us, it’s about perfection and control, it just so happens that thinness is a trait that our society admires, which is why we strive to achieve it. At a certain point, you are intellectually aware that you are not attractive and dying, but this irrational little part of your brain won’t let you eat because you’re still too big. There is no such thing as “small enough”, once the disease takes hold no amount of weight loss can satisfy.

– purpleelephant77

Seeking help isn’t a sign of weakness.

For some reason, even with this debilitating stigma that people dealing with Mental Illness face, it’s still seen as weak to look that in the face and say: “I’m going to go to a therapist anyways”. That doesn’t make sense at all.

But for people with Mental Health issues, opening up emotionally is a very trying experience. That’s exactly what happens in therapy, you open up your emotions and face your mind at its worst.

How could that be seen as weak? – (Source)

Yeah, just stop thinking like that.

OCD isn’t about being organized and anal. It can be overwhelming and paralyzing at it’s worst and telling us to “just not have those thoughts” isn’t helpful.

– mycatisawh***

Another great analogy for anxiety.

Anxiety is that unwelcome, creepy stranger at a party that won’t leave you alone.

One thing people don’t get is how debilitating mental illness can be. With anxiety, it isn’t simply just worrying too much about a deadline…that’s stress. Stress is good. Anxiety is bad. Anxiety starts with automatic thoughts that ruminate into something bigger. It’s worrying about things out of your control. I’ve been told more times than I can count to “just quit worrying so much.” I don’t think people realize how much effort I have to put in to getting myself into healthy thought patterns. It is a daily battle to fight off thoughts like “everyone hates me” and “you’ll never amount to anything”, and not let them ruminate to the point where I cancel my day and crawl back into bed. – frazzled_wumbologist

When people think your illness doesn’t even exist.

I have Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Easiest way to explain it is that I’m so good at compartmentalizing, the compartments can’t all access each other (work-me can’t access school-me can’t access home-me). And since people are kind of the sum of their experiences, my different ‘mes’ seem different from one another.

Did you know DID affects from 1-5% of the population? That’s the same as depression, schizophrenia, and a host of better know physical illnesses. Did you know that doctors trained in trauma only find the CATALYST for DID to be controversial? In other words, they know it exists, they just don’t know why only some child abuse survivors end up with it. Most people think the existence of DID is controversial when it really isn’t anymore.

And the really bad part is, abuse is always denied, always minimized. To come out from that scarred, with a mental disorder that was, in essence, thrust upon you by others when you were too young to resist, and to then be denied or minimized….there is a reason only my spouse and my therapist know I have this disorder.

– ThrowawayDIDhardenuf

Maybe people are actually sick?

People who really are suffering from a Mental Illness aren’t faking it for the medication. I can’t understand why this is such a permeating thought. Mental Illness is such a debilitating condition and the stigma is so overbearing that it would be completely undesirable to fake it.

These are real medical conditions that are treated by real medicine and real doctors. Ignoring a broken foot and continuing to walk on it won’t let it heal

– (Source)

Misconceptions about Borderline Personality Disorder.

Borderline personality disorder does not mean I am an axe-wielding homicidal bunny boiling stalker. Never have been.

Therapy helped massively with my emotion regulation and crisis management skills. Also suffer from depression, so life is a constant juggling act and some days are better than others. I’ve been mean, manipulative and suicidal and I self-harmed. The guilt of the way I acted is what usually drives the depression. Many people make the assumption that all borderliners are evil, usually because of bad experiences.

There are bad people with BPD. But there are also good people who want to change their lives for the better.

– Welshgirlie2

Clearing up more misconceptions about OCD.

I have autism & OCD and as soon as people find out, they start making Sheldon Cooper jokes and asking if my pencils not being aligned perfectly on my desk makes me freak out. OCD does not universally equal being a neat-freak, and autism does not universally equal being a socially stunted outcast.

My desk is a disaster and I can function fine in most social settings, but I can’t drink out of a cup without rinsing it out first(even if it just came out of the dishwasher), I pick my bottom lip till it bleeds, I can’t look people in the eye, I add up number sequences(like totals on receipts) till I’m left with a single digit number and if the number isn’t “good” I get uneasy, and I have horrifying intrusive thoughts that replay in my head for sometimes weeks at a time.

The autism isn’t so bad, but the OCD is really bad. It sucks and I wish I didn’t have it.

– Lydious

No one is immune.

Children can suffer from Mental Health problems too. It’s also not just a product of a bad childhood experience or a bad parent. These things just happen to everyday people.

In the UK, 1 in 5 children have been diagnosed with a Mental Health problem, and 1 in 20 teenagers suffer from depression specifically.

– (Source)

A personal account of the stigma people face.

High Functioning schizophrenic. Being close to 40, I’ve lived with the stigma of not being able to be trusted, that it’s just an overactive imagination & that I have more than one person living inside of me since I was a teenager. But mostly it’s the overactive imagination one that really bothers me.

– iwsnvrhr

Stop saying this please.

Having suffered from both Anxiety and Depression, many times I’ve been told to just “snap out of it”, which obviously isn’t possible. I’m not sure people always realize how debilitating these illnesses can be for people.

– Anonymous

Maybe don’t judge people by their medical history?

People with Mental Health concerns can absolutely hold a job. Like we mentioned before, these people aren’t violent or constantly having manic episodes.

In fact, studies have shown that employees with Mental Health issues are just as punctual, motivated, and work at a level on par with or greater than other employees.

Misconceptions about Tourettes.

It really drives me nuts when I say I have Tourettes to someone and they immediately let out a string of swear words.

Yeah no. If you told me you had alcoholism, my immediate reaction wouldn’t be swaying back and forth and slurring my words. Thanks for belittling my issues.

I wish there was more awareness about Tourette’s outside of the Hollywood version of it. It sucks living with constantly twitching, but it sucks telling someone you have it and having them think you have a hilarious malady and making a joke about it. I’m easy going, but for some reason, that really gets under my skin.

– my_Favorite_post

Although, there are some terrible people out there.

PTSD is something that stole certain joys away from me (shooting guns, fireworks, etc.) And it really sucks. To see people fake it and use it to get notoriety and discounts makes me sick to my stomach. I can only trust therapists or doctors with my issues. Not complete strangers.

– nessn12

We’ve been talking a lot about the debilitating effects of Mental Illness, but the truth is it’s not a life sentence. People can recover completely from their Mental Illness with the right help and medication.

Some issues aren’t curable, but they are treatable. Again, with proper medication, it’s entirely possible to live a happy and positive life.

– (Source)

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