#I'm tired of having a dissociative disorder

[extendedpain]

🫡🔫

[reimeichan]

oh sure when actors playing a character with DID or otherwise acting as multiple people in one body switch between alters on screen they're "such a talented actor" and you "get chills" but when I, actual diagnosed DID system, switch in front of you, it's "scary and unnerving" and you "no longer know how to talk to me".

[burningsolarsystem]

Sometimes system culture is realizing a little "quirk" you have is actually another alter.

(Not saying you can't have "quirks" or that they are all alters. But there have been a few times where something I would do I'd often be like, "Honestly, no clue why I do that. I just do." Only to realize it was another alter's influence.)

[maxdurden]

i got that kind of mentally ill swag where everyone in my life knows that i need to be medicated except my therapist ✌️💕🌎

[solthemyc]

new meme template !!

you put some things that remind you of events that happen(ed) in your system inside this image but you intentionally make it so that only you and your alters would understand them (or try to make it so)

here's our example:

[the-io-collective]

whatup, it's the designated tired wine mom of the system (ace) here writing about grounding skills in case it helps everyone. and i'm not just gonna tell you "take a deep breath." this is the real shit that works for our system. note this is from the perspective of an OSDD system, but anyone can use these tricks since dissociation's widespread across trauma and MH disorders.

also we've got like, 70% of a psych degree so i may know what im talkin about

what i'm doing right now: use your fine motor skills. i am quite literally typing this to ground us. learned this one from our therapist. engaging your peripheral motor neurons forces the CNS (central nervous system) to actually engage with the body and like. put you in it.

further on that, ENGAGE YOUR SENSORY SYSTEMS. i'm a massive fan of scented candles for this. just make sure you aren't picking a scent that's tied to a trauma

if you can, pet an animal. hold a cat. they're great for this.

further on that, soft things in general. fidgets. nuanced textures that you can interact with (case in point, i'm typing this like a maniac rn)

learned this one from a friend ( @spacefall-system , cheers mate) consume some sour sweets. shocks u into 'oh fuck i'm here.' also some science shows it can trigger the parasympathetic nervous system, which is essentially the "calm tf down" part.

get your shoes off and put your feet on the ground. physically feel what that feels like.

i am currently chugging oversteeped tea bc the bitterness is keeping me grounded. also the mug is warm, which reminds me that i'm controlling my hands and i'm holding it.

hold ice cubes.

physically rub your arms and legs, like you're trying to warm them up.

if i were to suggest anything, i'd make it a convo with your system. leave a journal page open. figure out what grounds everyone. some littles may like a specific stuffie. i know i prefer tastes and scents to ground. everyone's different.

on top of all this, though, be gentle with yourself. grounding ain't the same as forcing yourself to stay in front. our therapist is real clear on that one. switches happen with CDDs. grounding is an important skill to have, but don't get all mad at yourself if you're dissociating. that's literally how this works.

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 24

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Two in a row?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The dullness of the home renovation show does little to combat your fatigue. You watch the drilling and trimming and plastering from behind a glossy curtain, yawning and swaying against Andy. You really just want to go lay down but you don't have the courage to insist on it.

Your eyes roll back only for you to snap your head forward, forcing yourself awake. Several times you feel yourself start to slump to one side. You don't know how much longer you can stay awake.

You feel the air in your nose clog and a rumble in your throat. You're too far gone to catch yourself as you succumb to your exhaustion. You sink into the fuzzy abyss, welcoming the rest for your mind and body.

You sleep without thought, without dreams, or worries. The deep blackness that blurs time and space, the very concept of your existence fading into the void. You forget everything for the dulcet comfort of unconsciousness.

You feel something on your arm. A long, soft caress. It's almost soothing, so subtle and gentle that you're not sure it's real. You moan and sniff through your dry nose.

"Amber?" You murmur, "I'll get up in a minute."

The hand squeezes and you curl your shoulders forward. You're too tired. You just want to sleep forever. You murmur as the touch descends to your elbow and the hand slips down to your stomach, spreading there.

It is much too big to be Amber. And why would she be in the bed with you? Against you? You feel the warmth radiating along your back.

You open your eyes as you're drawn into a stolid embrace. You look down and see the freckled arm around you. Oh. What do you do?

You feel his breath behind your ear, fanning up your scalp. You've never been this close to anyone. Especially a man.

"Andy," you squeak. "Andy…" you grab his wrist as your chest squeezes with panic. He needs to let you go!

"Hmph," he grumbles groggily.

You don't care if he's sleeping. He's touching you. He's got you trapped! You don't like this. You need to get away.

You need to sleep on your own. You need space. You need to be alone!

"Andy!" You squeal and dig your nails in as he hugs you tighter, "get off!"

You writhe as your voice piques. You flail as he keeps a hold of you. He shifts but doesn't let you go. You throw your elbow up and twist around, the impact cracking hard as you're released at once. 

You hit the floor as Andy grips his cheek and grunts. You gasp as you realise what you've done. Oh no! You never meant to hurt him.

"Ow," he hides his face behind his hand, "dove…"

"I'm s-sorry," you stutter, dizzily getting your feet under you, "I didn't mean to–"

You step forward as he peeks out between his fingers. The hurt in his eyes gives you pause and you wince. Oh god! 

"S-s-sorry!" You clap your hands against your cheeks and spin, "I'm sorry! Please! Don't be mad–"

You run without looking, without thinking. You hit the edge of the couch as you race frantically out of the room. You stumble up the stairs, not looking back as you fear he might be after you. That you may have just pushed him too far. But you deserve it, don't you? You hit him first.

You burst into the guest room and scramble to lock the handle. There is no mechanism. Shaky and terrified, you get on the other side of the dresser and push it with your shoulder. It scrapes over the floor until you have it across the door.

You slide down and curl yourself into a ball on the other side, heart beating wildly. No, no, no. Stay out. Stay out!

You can hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and his barely repressed groans. There's a tap on the other side of the door before the handle turns and the dresser lurches but doesn't give. You whimper and cover your head.

You remember the way the chair leg smacked against your head, how the blows came down over and over, on every part of you. You remember how it left your breaths rattly and your bones screaming. You remember how Amber held you and told you it would be okay.

Where is she? You want her there to promise you that you're safe. You left her behind. 

"Dove, please, let me in," Andy says from the other side.

You don't say a word. You gulp as tears spring up. You don't want to remember. Stop!

"Dove, please, I'm not mad," there's friction on the door, "let's talk. What happened?"

You shake your head and ball yourself up tighter.

"Why did you hit me?" He lowers his voice.

You let out a sob. You don't know why. You didn't mean to. It never matters what you meant, it only matters that you're wrong.

"Dove," his voice rises again, "you can't just close me out."

You have no answer for him as you tremble in a heap, trapped between the past and present, paralysed for what's to come. 

"Aren't you going to apologize?" He scoffs.

You have no words, no strength, you have nothing but fear. 

He hits the door and you yelp, "Dove! Answer me." He snarls, "this is my house."

But he touched you. He was touching you! No, how can you be wrong? If he was touching you?

You're confused. It was an accident and yet you feel guilty. But Amber always says you should protect yourself. So why do you feel so rotten?

He huffs and clucks, "I can wait."

You open your eyes and slow drag your arms down, folding them across your chest. You wait and listen. He doesn't retreat right away, no he lurks outside and for a moment you think he's going to stay there until you come out. When at last his footfalls pad away, you're not relieved.

Eventually, you're going to have to leave that room. 

🕊️

Eventually comes in the form of your throbbing bladder. You stand at the door, facing the inevitable, dreading the outside. You shift the dresser inch by inch, trying not to make a noise. You move it only enough to fit through the door.

You peek into the hallway and hold your breath. The evening has come and the house is dark. You creep out, hoping you've gone unheard. You've always been good at being unnoticed.

Until Andy.

You tiptoe over the carpet and glance down towards his door. Your chest twinges with guilt. You hope he's okay. You can only feel the force of your elbow hitting him. You can hear the impact repeating in your head.

You quickly flit into the bathroom and shut the door. You flip the lock up and stand in the dim space. You don't bother with the light switch as you do what you need to and turn the faucet on only halfway to wash your hands.

You take a breath as you face the door. Just a few steps across and you can hide away. You ease it open little by little and let it fall ajar as you see the shadow waiting for you outside. Andy reaches over to flip the overhead light on.

You chew your lip as your eyes sparkle with a sudden wash of tears. You teeter on your toes as the white bulb shines through the glass sconce and illuminates the darkening blemish under his right eye. You did that.

"Andy..." you eke out.

He looks at you, tight-lipped, his own eyes glistening. He takes a deep breath that makes his chest rise and fall. His jaw grits and cheek twitches. He puts his hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I told you..." you blubber.

He shows his palm, raising his hand as he drops his chin. A long exhale before he lifts his head again. He lets his shoulders fall.

"We need to talk," he says.

"I... know," you hang your head in defeat.

He gestures down the hall and you offer no resistance. You walk ahead of him, keeping your posture low, wanting to shield your head as you expect the worst. He points you down the stairs and follows your descent.

You enter the dining room at his direction and you sit at the table. He pulls out the chair across from you and lowers himself with a sigh. He pushes his hands up his cheeks and winces, leaning his weight on his elbows against the table.

"You hit me," he says staunchly.

You stare at the table, wilting as you bring your feet up onto the seat and hug your legs. You nod.

"I said sorry--"

"Dove," he intones, "you hurt me. And as much as I want an apology, I want it to mean something. I want you to understand what you're apologising for."

"I am so sorry," you bluster as you snap your head up, "really, Andy. I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to. I would never-- I'm not a mean person."

"You didn't mean to but you did."

"I was confused. You were so close and--"

"You fell asleep. I was keeping you from falling off the couch," he hisses.

"Oh, uh, well, I... I didn't realise--"

"You keep making these excuses. I didn't want to... I didn't want to believe it but I spoke with Dr. Kemp while you were... hiding," he rolls his eyes, "and he agrees with me."

"What?" You heave, nearly choking on tears, "about what?"

"About you. About you're behaviour," he puts his hands down, folding them over the table. You watch the effort he puts into his next words, "about Amber. I didn't want to think about it, to possibly admit it but... she isn't the problem, honey."

"What does that mean?" You wipe your nose, "Andy, what are you saying?"

"Look at me, Dove," he leans in, emphasizing the blotch under his eye, "look what you did."

"But-- but--"

"You take. Everything. People around you give and give and give and they get nothing in return. It's exactly what you did to her. Dove, I want you to get help, but you have to realise, you're not a burden, you're a leech."

You lean back, chest heavy as it hollows shakily. You can barely breath. Why is he saying this?

"No, no, I'm not--"

"You are. You're not stupid so give it up. You know exactly what you've been doing," he insists. His tone is even and hard but not angry. "I know you're not stupid because you know how I feel about you. And you push me away and make me feel like the villain. I'm the bad guy because I love you? Because you made me feel something and I let myself feel it--"

"Love? Feel? Wh-what?"

"Stop pretending you don't know," he snaps, "dove, you just keep hurting me. Look at everything I've done for you. Why would I do all of this if I didn't love you?"

"You love me?" You croak.

"I do and look what you did to me," he waves his hand at his face, "you did this but I'm not going to give up on you."

You bury your face in your hands and cry. Every word is like a knife slicing through you. They always say the truth hurts the most.

"Dr. Kemp is going to help you. He's going to help both of us work through this--"

"I don't understand," you say through your fingers.

"I know you don't, so you need to trust me," he reaches across the table as you open your eyes and tear your hands away from your face, "I can forgive you, this one time. And that's because I love you. Because it would hurt more to let you go."

You shake your head and clutch at your hair, "no, no, no... I never... I didn't mean to hurt you..." you babble, "Andy," you gasp and hit the edge of the table with your hands, "do you mean I hurt Amber?"

He looks down and swallows tightly, "honey, you know what you did. You know it. You have to accept it if you're going to change."

You shudder as the world seems to shrink around you. You really are just as bad as you always thought. All those years in your little bubble, with Amber lying to you, telling you that you're not a monster. She took your abuse and you took everything from her. How could you be so horrible and not even know it?

"I... didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I didn't... mean to," you chant through thick sobs, "no, I didn't mean to..."

"Shhh, dove," he stands and you make yourself even small in the chair.

You wince as he rounds the table and kneels beside you. He hushes you as he touches your arm, rubbing it gently as he coos at you. You quiet to a hiccuping heave and look at him.

"Are you going to try?" He asks.

You nod and gulp loudly.

"That's good, sweetie," he praises and reaches up to caress your cheek, "Dr. Kemp is going to see us tomorrow and we can do this together."

"Us? Both?" You murmur in confusion as he runs his fingers back down your arm and takes your hand.

"Couples therapy," he explains, "we have to work on our communication."

"Couple... what?" You squint at him, lashes fluttering.

"Come on, dove," he stands and pulls you to your feet, "I told you how I feel, are you going to keep hurting me by pretending you don't feel the same?"

Your lip trembles. Do you feel the same? You don't know. You've never really known. You're just afraid and lost and confused. You don't want to be a bad person.

"You feel bad, don't you? For hitting me?" He asks and you nod, a sob wrenching in your chest, "and you feel bad why?"

You search his face, only looking in his eyes for a second before you can stand no more. You look at his neck and the tendons there, the way it bobs nervously, and the tension set into his shoulders. Your lips part and you puff out a shaky breath.

"Because... I love you?" You squeak the uneven statement through your quivering lips.

"You do but and that means it's going to be okay," he draws you into a hug and you don't fight it. You can't fight something you don't understand, "isn't it, dove?"

[greens-spilled-tea]

Good lord I saw a post along the lines of "if you've hit final fusion you're still disordered because you can still potentially split" and while I understand what they're trying to say it's just such a bad argument, especially since it was said within the context of how "non-disordered systems don't exist".

When the disorder is no longer causing distress or impairment, is it a disorder anymore? Yes, I still have a DID brain. My brain is likely never going to be the same as that of someone who has never developed DID. There is no "cure" for this. At the same time, saying that I'm still "disordered" feels wrong in the grand scheme of things. I've heard of people who have achieved final fusion or functional multiplicity who had their diagnosis removed from their chart because they no longer fit the diagnostic criteria for said disorder.

Also, saying I can still split even after reaching final fusion and using THAT as some sort of a gotcha to prove that I'm still disordered is so harmful. Yes I still split sometimes, in fact I still split quite a bit! But those of us who have reached final fusion have learned how to cope and manage our symptoms enough to be able to handle that without them necessarily fucking up our lives. Also, *gestures towards functional multiplicity* when you reach a level of symptom management even with dissociated parts where you can thrive and the symptoms are causing little to no issues in your life anymore, you literally don't fit the criteria for the disorder anymore and that doesn't mean you're cured, it just means you're no longer disordered. There is a difference between the two! This is why I love using the phrase "in remission" because that's very much what's going on here.

Anyways I'm just rambling and tired and angry.

[nickscodthoughtsblog]

Stars (König/Nikto)

continuing to write more for the ship im calling Könikto now. last one in the series was To Understand. wanted to have Nikto's softer side come through on this one. again let me know if ive written something incorrectly here, i tried to write thoughfully

CW: slight depersonalisation episode

November 15th. 

Nikto had a habit of counting the days near the end of year, counting down until it went back to 01/01 again. 

He stood outside, arms resting over the railing of the ramp up into the main building of the base. A lit cigarette, loose between two in one hand, his mask in the other. Eyes gazing idly over the thin layer of snow on the ground. Peaceful. Undisturbed. Sure to be cleaned away by the time he wakes up. Or melted. 

He couldn't sleep tonight, voices in his head loud, pointing out wrongdoing. Over the last month, König tried to make time for him, to talk, and learn, and make him feel less alone. But he only ever asked about the system and the others. Not once did he ask about the rest of the issues his disorder brought, not once did Nikto point that out. He'd only rattled off what professionals had told him. What he knew how to phrase. 

He deserves the truth.

“I didn't lie to him.” Nikto muttered to himself. 

The whole truth. You left parts out.

Don't be a coward. He should know the whole story.

“I'm not a coward…”

For all his effort, he deserves to know the full extent of it.

“Shut up!” He hissed at himself, shutting his eyes tight. They calmed. He tried to breathe, for a bit. 

There he was, leaning against the railing. It was like he was someone else, watching him in the middle of the night. The way his index and middle fingers held the cigarette as his thumb bumped it up and down. His boot softly, rhythmically tapping the wood board under him. Eyes shut, scars exposed. Calm, from an outside perspective. How long was he going to stand there?

Something touched his shoulder. A gloved hand, tentative to grab him any more than feather-light. 

“Nikto?”

His name rolled so well off the Austrian’s tired tongue. Krueger. No, not him. König?

He came back to himself, blinking a few times as if to check he was really alright. The presence of the tall man next to him made him put his mask back on, worried he would see too much of his marred face. The fabric of the balaclava he had attached it to may have folded on itself a little, but he ignored it. “Are you alright now?” 

Definitely König. “Да.” He responded. “You do not need to worry.” The voices were talking again now that he was here. Urging him to explain what was left unsaid. He should.

“Were you dissociating?” 

That gentle question was enough to make the voices go quiet again. Stunned as Nikto was. Had he spent so long feeling guilty over not telling him the entire complex spectrum, just for him to know anyway? “I…didn't think you read up on that.”

“Why wouldn't I?” He shrugged.

“You did not ask for any clarity on depersonalisation and-”

“It seemed universal.” That… “Well, maybe not exactly universal, but not hard to understand. The information was right there. I thought DID would be more…individual, I suppose.” That made…sense. “Am I wrong?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “We just didn't think you'd go that far.” An unspoken ‘For me’ caught in his throat. He was just used to Krueger not asking anything. Taking what he was told and not pushing for a word more. It was new. It was…nice.

König's eyes still held some concern, but he seemed to decide on distracting Nikto instead. “Your cigarette is out, by the way.” 

He glanced down at it. Burnt out. “ебать…done with it anyway.” He flicked it away into the snow.

A short silence passed, as he noticed his friend join him in leaning against the railing. “So we did get snow.” 

He was looking at the white sea in front of them, a thin coating over the ground of the base. Nikto was looking right at him. “We did. It is a shame it will likely not last.”

“Ja.” He let out a breath, before turning to meet the other’s gaze. “Did you stay up to watch the snow fall?” 

“No. We couldn't sleep.” 

“Me neither…” 

Last he checked his phone, it was half an hour to midnight. He planned to count the seconds until it hit, and then try to sleep. But he didn't have to do it in silence. 

If he cares so much, maybe he won't scream if he sees your face.

Maybe he'll let you see his face in return…

Do it.

“I'll get to that…” he muttered to them. König seemed to notice, but didn't say anything. Maybe he could. Maybe they were right. But he wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he was ready. “Hey.” he started, trying to back himself into just going for it. 

“Ja?”

“...have you ever…wondered what’s under this?” he tapped the shell of his mask. 

“Your face?” 

“Obviously,” he sighed. “I mean what it looks like.”

“Maybe once or twice. Why, have you…wondered about mine?”

“On occasion…” Nikto shrugged, looking away from him. “Perhaps you hear that a lot.”

“Not as much as you’d expect. The recruits don’t question it because my hood is apparently intimidating. Everyone else is used to it.”

“We’ve been told the same.” He sighed, tapping his foot on the floor again. “I don’t see it. Do you?”

König took a second to consider, looking over Nikto's mask. “...not for you. More the rest of you that is intimidating.” Nikto huffed a slight chuckle. “You don't intimidate me very much, if you're thinking you do.”

“...the one time I'm glad about that.” He took a deep breath. “We're more scary without it.” 

“Really?” 

“...can we see your face, if I show you ours?” Nikto offered, a little unsure of it. The thought of scaring him off after a month of opening up to him was on his mind. 

“Of course.” König seemed to be perfectly happy to.

Nikto didn’t move until König’s hands went up to pull off his hood. For a moment he considered stopping him and backing out. No, he had to. He said he would. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair. He took off his mask, letting it rest against the railing, his hands keeping it steady. Close, in case he looked so awful.

He took a deep breath, feeling the cold air on his face, his scars. He could do this. He could let someone in. He turned to look over at König, seeing him looking back. His soft eyes scanned over what he was seeing. What did he think? What was he thinking? Disgust? Discomfort?

“...that’s a…big scar.” he commented. He must mean the damage done to the left side of his face. “Has it healed alright?”

“It has, physically.” Nikto worried, his voices getting loud again. Regret.

“Good.” König smiled softly. “That’s good. It must have hurt. Could I…touch it? Or would that hurt?”

Touch it? Why would he want to do that? “...it won’t. Go on.” Wordlessly, the austrian’s hand came up to cup his scarred cheek softly. He thought he was just being careful, acting like he was delicate. “Really. It won’t hurt if you put some pressure on it.” 

“I know…” He couldn’t wrap his head around it anymore. Why was he being so fucking careful and kind and sweet and soft to him!? Just to distract his mind, he took in the sight of his face. Only few scars, one over his eyebrow, the other following his jawline. Small imperfections, nothing major. Seems he tends to shave too, given how short his stubble is. Nikto couldn’t grow a beard on half his face, so he got rid of his stubble every morning. He was admittedly jealous of how it looked on König. “You can touch too, you know.” 

“Да…” He gently placed his hand against the other’s cheek, middle finger brushing over the scar on his jawline. Not recent. Perhaps a few months old. God damnit, why did this make him feel so warm? He should be cold out here, but sharing this moment with him made him feel good, warm inside, and happy. He wanted to ask why he would hide his face, not quite perfect yet beautiful. He pulled his hand back, not sure if this was right. König drew his hand away with a smile on his face. And maybe he could feel his lips ever so slightly drawn into a small smile in return.

“You know, you’re…the first person that has asked, Nikto.” 

“We are?” 

“Ja. Usually, I don’t get asked about my face. None of the recruits have the courage to ask, or with my friends, they don’t have to.” He chuckled softly. That sweet tune was going to be stuck in Nikto’s head, wasn’t it? “I’m glad you did.”

“...me too.”

They went back to looking at the sky together, masks off. Like they weren’t two military men who were supposed to be getting some rest for missions. Like they were friends. “Hey, look.” König pointed into the stars that were visible now the clouds had passed. “I think that’s the Big Dipper.”

Nikto followed his finger, taking a moment to consider. “It might be.” He studied the constellation for a moment, somewhat glad it was clear tonight. He took out his phone to look it up, and noticed the time.

November 16th. 00:03. 

But he didn’t want to stop stargazing just yet. Not with König by his side.

Sleep could wait a few more minutes.

[sysventing]

uggghh, sorry this is so long. recently we told our therapist about that we most likely have DID (we fit the whole criteria and the diagnostic features) and this therapist has known that we're plural since we met them. They believe that we are plural but don't believe that our amnesia is "bad enough" and they keep saying that our bad memory is just from our autism. They only started to take me seriously about my amnesia when I said that it causes me extreme stress and embarrassment and also that sometimes I forget to take my meds or that sometimes I take them twice on accident. They said my short term memory problems were from adhd. and that they won't entertain diagnosing me with a dissociative disorder until they diagnose me with both autism (they said therapists shouldn't diagnose autism) and adhd (im already diagnosed with that and they know it)

It seems like they're doing everything in their power to not even entertain the idea of us having DID or any dissociative disorder. They were comparing us to their other clients that have DID (which seems like a confidentiality problem) and that those clients have such bad amnesia that they constantly forget sessions and that I've never forgotten a session. Like okay?? That's just one way DID presents? I know I just have to keep fighting or to get someone else to listen but I'm so tired. -💗👥

.

[allforthegamebingo]

AFTG Xmas Advent Calendar 2024 || Angst Edition

AFTG Christmas Advent Calendar 2024 || Angst Edition (this version is 18+ due to the context of the prompts (nothing explicit))

PROMPTS [ [#] angst - angst - angst || dialogue ]

[01] slipping on ice - breaking bones - unable to move || "you should have never come here." [02] unhealthy coping mechanism - overworking themselves - somethings never die || "you were just a child." [03] new trauma brings back repressed memories - memory loss - ptsd || "i don't want to remember." [04] fever - hallucinations - long recovery || "you stayed." "i promised."

[05] victim blaming - toxic relationships - tricked || "it's always your fault." [06] broken promises - betrayal - guilt || "everything will be alright, i promise you." [07] feeling tears while sharing a kiss - bathed and cared for by another - tired || "i'm sorry." [08] running away - left all alone - deep longing || "i feel safe, when i am with you."

[09] touch starved - flinching away from a kind touch - blood || "don't let them-" "i won't." [10] won't stop hurting - child abuse - sign language || "i could never leave you behind." [11] bad habits die hard - anxiety - relapsing || "won't you let me see?" [12] rough childhood - demons of the past - sexual assault || “i won't let them lay a finger on you, never again."

[13] chained - forced to lie - shot || "i'd never flinch from your touch." || [14] painful escape - forced to choose - career ending injury || "please stop." [15] eating disorder - panic attacks - self-harm || “but you love me anyway, don’t you?” [16] hiding an injury - infection - stitching themselves up || "you're over reacting."

[17] heavy breathing - fainting - feeling uneasy || "stop!" [18] sensory deprivation - overstimulation - strapped down || "you have to hold on." [19] passed out from the cold - can't open their eyes - has yet to wake up || "i hate you." [20] stab wound - being let down by someone they once trusted - first aid || "what happened to us?"

[21] freezing temperatures - hypothermia - left to freeze to death || "don't die on me now." [22] frostbite - hands numb from the cold - chronic pain || “you are- you will be alright, i promise you.” [23] staying awake till they can't anymore - dissociating - nightmares || "it's not your fault." [24] being allowed to heal - not afraid anymore - finally free || "acceptance is the first step, right?"

[justanothersyscourse]

I think this blog is blocked by fewer people that have heard the rumors and lies going around. I hope you'll read this. There are three sides to every story-- yours, theirs, and the truth.

I deserve to get my side out there so people can make informed decisions about who to follow or block, or whatever it is you need to do. It's okay not to support me, but do it for the right reasons.

I also run sysmedsaresexist, and I'm currently being accused of harassing a minor and sending random ass asks left, right and center.

Listen, if you got an ask where the person didn't say, "this is SAS," it's not from me. I HATE asks. On the rare occasion that I send them, I always tell people who I am. I am well aware that I'm a controversial figure. I want people to know who they're interacting with when I talk to them. I am old. It's important that I'm honest with the people I interact with. A lot of people really stepped up to support me, but I would like people to stop. Unfortunately, it's doing more harm than good.

With every one of these messages people send in support of me, the rumors get worse.

I want to defend myself, but I don't know how.

Send a vent to a vent blog that just actively lied about me? They won't post it. (They didn't, I just checked)

So I'll post it myself. You can make your own decision. All posts I've made on the topic are linked here (it's 5, compared to the DOZENS AEV has posted)

This will be my last post on the topic, and I hope that the people spreading these rumors will leave me alone. You've done more damage and harm to me than you know, and without any remorse or apology.

Ask sent to @anti-endo-haven :

I'm SAS and I'm so hurt.

I have not sent ANY anons to AEV, at all, at any point. I have not ASKED anyone to help me in this,

I made 5 posts. They have made about 50 at this point, all cruel.

The first was to AEV on their first post, which was NOT as rude as people say. I said, look webmd and mayo clinic isn't going to hold up to some of the articles that endos are throwing at us. Try some of these. I said, look, you're going to get really tired of hearing the same endo arguments. Here's some points you can throw back at them.

NOT TO MENTION THE MISINFORMATION IN THE POST. Dissociation is only trauma based? Incorrect. Maybe you should reconsider whether you're ready to be in these conversations.

That response was hidden.

The second post, I was correcting an endo that DID wasn't a trauma disorder. I tagged AEV and said, "see, you can be nice about corrections, and these are the kind of sources you should use."

I was blocked.

THIS IS WHEN I CHANGED LABELS. I was so disappointed in the community that I said fuck that, that's not what I want to be, I don't support this behavior. That's another person that AEV turned pro endo. Good job.

Then I saw the anon saying I was an endo. I used my other blog to POLITELY say, "This isn't true, please stop posting about me like this." This post is still on JAS, I didn't delete it like people are claiming

The fourth post was me making my own public post saying, "this child is throwing a tantrum over corrections. Now l'm pissed and I have to make my own public post so people don't believe those lies." This was the first rude post. I called AEV a blemish, and here's why.

I just made a MASSIVE post about dissociation that is actively being spread within the endo community now. All because I changed my label. I don't care if you all want to block me, but don't pretend that you're all doing anything to help by making bad resources for an audience that already believes the same stuff (all these new antis). Now all the new ones are spreading the same bad sources that don't hold up, and we all (yes, you, me, them, the next CDD system in line) look bad for it.

AEV couldn't provide a single source that said DID WAS trauma based, only "usually" trauma based. AEV actually made antis TURN PRO ENDO, because they used so many sources that said "usually". I offered him sources that said it WAS trauma based.

I'm not kidding, you can find the people that changed sides on sophieinwonderland's blog. This is what happened. I don't need to be polite as pie to people inadvertently harming the CDD community, but I certainly wasn't rude about it

My final post, the fifth post, on the subject was the sad one. "My main was leaked." There are people that stalk my blogs. They send me threats and long asks about the things they'd do to me if they found me. When sophie first came to tumblr, I'd get asks about what people wanted ghost to do to me. In the past, every time a new doxxer comes out of their gross hole, I start getting doxxing threats. l've had people get close to my area.

My main being released means those people are one step closer to actually finding me. It means I'm now getting these kinds of messages in my only safe space.

And the anon who sent my main admitted it was done maliciously. We had a falling out like two years ago, because their asks were getting creepy. When I APOLOGIZED TO THEM for ever hurting them because of my own avoidance issues, and told them that on this post, their response was, "well I enjoyed sending them so fuck you." If I ever find that post deleted, I've got a screenshot. You were NOT a minor at the time, you're an adult.

... Nice, really mature. You're definitely safe for minors.

Hey, also, minors, if an adult you just met online calls you "my kiddo", don't respond with an ovo face. Run.

Adults, if you call a minor your kiddo and they're like, owo really, I'm your kiddo? Fucking run.

Anyways.

I haven't said anything since. What can say. My main is out and I'm getting threats on it. Currently. Not "in the future," like the person said. It's happening NOW.

What do all you people want from me? I AM trying to leave you all alone. Stop saying such terrible things about me, godDAMN. I am not harassing minors. I don't want to harass anyone.

WHAT DID I ACTUALLY DO WRONG? I don't understand.

You're not the good guys you think you all are.

Not anymore.

I don't know that you ever were.

[blackoutsys]

anyways i feel like i should mention

im not against getting professionally diagnosed

it's just with current USA election results, and the way both the medical and legal system treats black people makes me incredibly wary to personally seek out diagnosis at this time.

we also live in a very conservative state and have no current means to get out [as we are disabled and job opportunities are very limited given what we can't handle, we also don't feel safe getting a driver's license due to dissociation]

i know there's generally a huge expectation in the online CDD community that you will eventually seek out diagnosis because for a lot of people, there's a belief that it's the only way you'll receive help for having one.

however i do personally feel like most of this opinion often comes from white systems. while CDDs are notoriously difficult to diagnose and everyone has their struggles, a system who is bodily white or white passing, will likely still, have an easier time getting a diagnosis over a black system. [i'm not trying to discount the years it can take to get a diagnosis, i've seen plenty of people talk about how it's taken them 5 or 10+ years to get diagnosed properly because either doctors don't want to diagnose it, or they file it under something else]

like with ADHD and Autism, the diagnosis rates are low in black afab people because doctors just don't want to run tests, and racism will also feed into their unwillingness to do so.

i'm just really tired of people talking about diagnosis being the only way to receive care for having a CDD. because not everyone is in a safe position to get that diagnosis

i'm sure im not the only black system that feels this way. in a lot of communities that form around having specific disorders the most vocal online opinion tends to be from white folk and it ends up bulldozing POC

[reimeichan]

Yknow, one of the more... interesting? Things that I've noticed since my partner started actively accepting they have DID is that they're slowly becoming less dissociated just by... being aware that they have a dissociative disorder. I remember for myself when I was going through this song and dance how it felt like I was actively getting worse and my life was falling apart as I became more and more aware of my DID. My partner, however, seems to be doing better with their memory day after day; already they've gotten to the point of being able to keep a full conversation with me without once asking me what we were talking about. Does it still happen? Sure, absolutely. But this used to happen multiple times a day for almost every single conversation we had and now I maybe only see them ask that... a couple times a week? And not only that, but they're so much more aware of when they're dissociating and will comment on such whereas in the past they'd brush things off with a "oh I'm just really tired" or a "sorry I wasn't paying attention" or a "I don't wanna think about this right now, I'm gonna play some video games". And because they're aware they can take measures to work on it and stay grounded! I'm just.... ahhh so proud of them and it also puts a lot of my own healing into perspective. That maybe the reason I felt like I was getting worse was because I was more aware of myself and my dissociation. That maybe it was because I wasn't so dissociated from the dissociation itself anymore, and that made things *seem* worse. And, maybe, it was because I didn't have the support in place to help me learn and utilize any other coping mechanism other than dissociation, and once dissociation started failing for me there was nothing for me to fall back on other than letting my life fall apart around me.

Looking at my partner's growth in even just these few months since they started becoming aware of their dissociative symptoms has given me a lot to think about in regards to my own experiences with dissociation. And I think, ultimately, I'm proud of where we both are now, as different as our journeys are.

[dove-tears]

a very unfortunate realization i've made about fandom is that unwillingness to engage with themes of the media is something you find much more often than not. you will very rarely if ever find something that's both popular and has at least a decent amt of the community that takes it seriously enough to engage with it in that manner... such is the curse with large / popular communities. it also seems to be a problem, as it relates to games specifically, where most of the community is centered around the gameplay itself ... which tboi definitely is haha.

i'm curious about your thoughts on the matter as it relates to tboi / the erasure of mental illness though, i'm relatively new and i'd love to listen to what you have to say :-)

i do agree however i'd say tboi in particular is when these kinda issues become most glaringly apparent, probably mainly due to the fact the game is centered around a child among other factors.

i'd say my main issue regarding the topic of mental illness is the complete disconnect many people here have surrounding the subtext of it in canon and the unwillingness to really engage with it in a meaningful manner. it feels as though people try to turn a blind eye to such themes as a means to make the characterization of isaac more "palatable". aus/headcanons are one thing, however for others there is this ignorance/disrespect of what the canon is trying to tell that i start to wonder if people actually care about the original story at all. isaac is shown to be VERY multifaceted and complex due to the fact that the game entirely takes place in his own mind, and that (almost) everything in the game is a reflection of either himself or something that is of significance in his life, everything from the good to the ugliest most deepest parts of himself that he tries so desperately to bury. rarely do i see discussions about the smaller details such as him struggling with dissociative disorders or the game possibly implying he's a victim of cocsa. he just feels so raw and upsetting and it kinda disappoints me how the community handles him as a character. not to mention how the other playable characters are a result of his developing DID and are a direct result of his trauma responses.

sorry if this made like zero sense im tired asf lmao