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milkeyrainbow · 1 year ago

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Why can’t I just ask for help, a talk about how fucked my thoughts are…

Why my face brightens up and that fucking smile won’t come off each time I’m asked if I’m alright I automatically say “ Always and it’s wonderful “ while tightening my fists inside my pockets distracting my head from my scars that won’t stop itching and reminding me how much my skin carves more and it might be wonderful if I feed it my blood…

WHY IT TAKES HOURS TO GET MYSELF TOGETHER AFTER MENTAL BREAKDOWN AND DAYS OF GUILT, DISAPPOINTMENT, SELF DISGUST THEN ANGER TILL I RAGE HARMING AND START A CIRCLE OF ALIENATION.

And when it hits at work or in public, I might just… disappear for a moment and be back within blink of an eye👁️ no pain, no thoughts, no regrets, just more LIES AND THAT FAKE HAPPINESS AND PLAY PRETENDING THAT I CARE ABOUT EVERYONE AROUND… So I can burn down mentally, drain myself from every little positivity hidden inside me, come back home hoping that it’s the last trip of my life…

Realise what I’ve done to myself; just a little scratch to ground my thoughts and irritating itching, will be gone by tomorrow…- It won’t be gone, because it wasn’t just a “scratch” never was, never will be, just dirty, deep, trench dug deep under my skin that should be cleaned and stitched up or at least sealed tightly…

And the circle is closing… How could I let it happen? Why didn’t I just tell someone I’m not fine? I’m sure it was just a mark but.. I don’t even know anymore…

Now I’m sitting on the bathroom floor gazing into nothing, I hear the whispers, random conversation between people I care about, I know… I’m alone, nobody knows about my pretty little shiny mask I just wore crashing and falling into pieces… “ I forgot my prescription pills again… Well it ain’t helping shit” thinking that maybe the voices ain’t real but they’re right, I know- I am a fucking monster, I’m a lier, I’m useless, waste of air, a piece of flesh with no soul, IM NEVER ENOUGH, that’s why my father died, my grandparents, my friends, my dog- the only sunshine I’ve had left my childhood loyal friend, baby, reason I’m alive… GONE… I should join them… NO I SHOULD BREATHE AND GET THESE FUCKING PILLS all of them at once JUST ONE PLEASE ye one for each voice that’s getting louder and one for each death you caused I CANT BREATH I CANT THINK ITS TOO LOUD!

It’s cold I’m shivering on a bathroom floor, I’m naked and there’s blood all over me, my head hurts, I need something for that headache, I need to take pills and iron tablets… I don’t want to look, I don’t want to know, just lukewarm bubble bath… it burns, I don’t care anymore, I failed myself again, the weight and sick fear against myself crushes me down, I won’t be able to wash it off, NHS… well… pills might calm down vocal hallucinations but won’t calm down my thoughts and physical sickness I’ll carry with me for the next couple of weeks…antipsychotics and sleeping tablets are addictive so I’ve been told to go for a evening walk before going to bed *Qualified staff* NHS and my doctors didn’t stand even close to “qualified people” but I’ll take an advice…

And here I am, on the edge of a trespass bridge above M25, smoking cigarette and fantasising about death, the “ easy way out” I feel it, I’m waiting for that slight impulse that will take me to nothingness. TODAY IS THE DAY FUCK THAT SHIT!

“RAINBOW!” I hear my coworker in a distance, it has to be a pisstake mate! “ Are you alright? What are you doing here?” Annoying voice continues like a painful static in your brain. “Always, wonderful! Living the dream, ain’t mine but still, having evening walk advised, fresh air fresh mind, getting ready for tomorrow, it’s Monday innit” I feel my insides collapse, turning my stomach upside down each time I hear those words my mouth spits out without any consent… I’m scared, I don’t want to go through that again… If there’s God please have mercy…. My eyes are filling up with a single teardrop it managed to produce in the past two months as I walk off the trespass next to my colleague- She talks about some sort of inspection and a visit from higher management. I hear my voice, I can’t distinguish the words… I’m laughing and jumping from excitement… it feel like a movie but instead of being cosy and munching popcorn I’m hyperventilating and whining silently while shattered, sharp pieces of the mask that broke in the bathroom last night comes back piece by piece piercing violently my pale face, like little lightweight, mist-like raindrops when falling on your face in November evening as you gaze into the universe admiring its creations before the dark clouds will take it all away from you and the darkness will embrace you promising the sunlight in the morning…

My raindrops are made from glass and pins and razor blades, and it’s not like a mist, more like heavy rainstorm hitting your face as you speed 200m/ph with nothing protecting you from cruelty and reality of human trauma, mental illnesses, loneliness, worst fears, helplessness and lack of empathy and understanding… fear of rejection… No reason that keeps you alive, reason I’ve been looking for every single day, one point proving I me there is something… Everything loses its meaning, once your skin and flesh had turn into nothing and all the pieces that caused you so much pain drill into your skull… it turns into a new face, your one doesn’t matter anymore, nobody seen the real face why would they care, all THEY know is that shining smile, bright face that cares only about others, always happy and ready to cheer everyone around up! THIS IS THE FACE YOU DREAMT ABOUT! CONGRATULATIONS NOW EVERYONE KNOW YOU AS SOMEBODY THAT YOU WILL NEVER BE! IT WILL AFFECT YOUR ACTIONS TOO!

MAKE FRIENDS YOU WONT LIKE, GOING CLUBS YOU HATE, DRINKING TEQUILA! HAVING FUN, TAKE FUCK TONNES OF DRUGS AND SIGN UP FOR SHIT YOU WILL NEVER GO!

Sounds nice… it used to be helpful, most of the time it was fun, then it just went downhill, putting the mask on and taking it off hurts more and more, so you decide to leave it on, so it takes control over your body, it melts into one - The Monster that will slowly kill you, destroy your body, relationships, strong bonds you’ve been creating with family and childhood friends, it will push away people you love most and become nobody, It turns you into a cutting board, knife holder and tear keeper for anyone you meet. It will make fun of your own trauma and insecurities until it will wear off and eventually the mask will fall off your face and break into a bilion pieces and turn into a shotgun shell that will blow your face off twice as much as in the beginning, but until it will you’re left alone, bleeding out ashamed, scared and filled with frustration real YOU leaving you on your own with you people you don’t know in the body you don’t recognise anymore… it will wait for the annihilation of your own being… It will wait until you won’t be able to live your own live and proceed with eternal sleep hopefully or you will try to retrieve what once was yours, family, friends, old habits, just so it can come back again, causing more damage, so you will give up…

Time is verifying your choice slowly… DONT LET IT USE YOU AS OLD TAPE IN A LOOP, JUST LIKE UT DID TO ME AND AGAIN AND AGAIN… but each time I’m back to this monsters live I care less, I have no purpose in my life I want to die, but I won’t let my monster be, I will suffer as long as THAT suffers, I guess we both waiting for the moment where the body can’t handle no more and stops its function and will get buried with or without the mask on…

THIS IS THE WAR WITH MYSELF…

I don’t even know if all that make any sense I couldn’t stop writing, the whispers created a white noise and ye, this is how I feel and struggle with, English is not my first language but since I’m living in the uk it just comes and goes and… why the fuck am I writing it ? Nobody fucking cares, I’m laying in my bed isolated, no fucking intention to crawl out of it… is too loud, I need to hide my arms till it will heal up… and I don’t want that fucking thing back, I just want to be me, fucking rotting in bed no sleep no food just me myself and I and books and that fucking phone finally made something useful I don’t answer the text or calls, I’m talking with …. Nevermind nobody will ever fucking read it xd

Jebać stare baby prądem i czcić Boga Hideo KOJIMA amen 🙏🏻

Zagrałabym w death stranding brakuje 4 prepersow na full pizde i będę miała max, wszystko wbite, każdy zadowolony.

W tedy zacznę ja od początku na super hard.

Pozdrawiam… a chuj w sumie nie mam kogo NARTY SANKI DPIERDALAM.

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oatmealcrisp-freak · 4 years ago

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author san update

so like fuck ok

i saw the specialist about my ouch and they got me on a treatment for ‘inflammatory arthritis’ but there’s no solid diagnosis as yet. however like the fucking pills man.

the pills.

hurk.

methotrexate in big enough doses is used for cancer treatment* but in baby doses its used for the treatment of IA. per most medications it comes with a whole host of side effects. basically it lowers your immune system so your body stops hitting itself.

now i’m used to nausea and headaches and shit like that so i was all ‘chill, cool, take a gravol and an advil and i’ll be good’, right? well sure we got that too but what I was NOT anticipating were the apparent effects it’d have on my MOOD. i’m so fucking angry right now? and my brain is constantly yelling about wanting to die. i’m feeling so unhinged bro. it’s triggering my paranoia, i’m constantly wanting to self harm, i can’t pay attention to jack shit, it’s GREAT.

now thanks to my history of psychosis (being me is FUN) i do have antipsychotics i take ‘as needed’ but they basically put me in a constant semi-comatose fugue state where i’m unable to partake in anything. when this shit initially started popping up i didn’t connect it to the new meds, i thought i was just having an oopsy daisy thanks to covid stress and mom stress. and that may be true to an extent but i think it’s deffo the metho that��s triggering the bulk of it. so i took my antis for a week and was basically useless for a week and a half because of it. cool right? don’t like that.

now the bulk of the side effects of the methotrexate typically fade after 2 days according to my reading and what the doctor said etc, and that’s been kinda my experience w/it too? and then i kinda feel okay ish again. it’s just beating my mental state for 2 days and then i’m all, ‘......chill, ok, cool’.

so i don’t know if i wanna just take my antis for 2 days a week and jack my brain up even harder. gonna try and ride it out but holy fuck man.

HOLY FUCK MAN.

@ the dumb gothy bitch whose taken up residence in my brain can you shut the fuck up please hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

also moms doing good. did i mention she’s on crutches now? though she like. fucking lifted a bag of dirt apparently and hurt herself and i’m mad about that too. idgi. she’s so determined to do shit herself that she’ll hurt herself instead of ASKING HER semi CAPABLE OFFSPRING FOR HELP.

i know that’s not a slight on my abilities (even tho it feels like one) but also god just.

fucking.

fuck.

anyways i’m still writing agwito yo y’all are gonna hate kusuke even more now. satosai fic is lowkey on hold. i’m having a rethink about where i wanna take the plot. might dump the bulk of the cliches i was thinking bout integrating and just get on w/it.

however, as one might guess, writing has been made EVEN MORE DIFFICULT. drawing is kinda easy, i’ve been drawing for. probably longer than some of you have been alive. so that’s lowkey brainless but. i’m also so miserable i don’t fucking want to LOL

gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawd life is fun life is good life is great life is grand. also my former job that ‘temporarily’ laid me off that was sending out monthly updates has stopped sending out monthly updates so. i don’t think that’s temporary anymore bro.

anyways im gonna go throw up now.

anyways here’s an agwito sneak peak in thanks of y’all’s patience.

~~~~~~~~ “Thanks,” Reigen croaked, squintingly also taking the offered glass of water. “So why are you kids here?”

At that Mob smiled and held up a sheet of paper and Reigen took it.

Oh.

It was a flyer, illustrated in markers, advertising Spirits and Such Consulting. It was bright, colourful, and actually kind of cute. Reigen had the feeling that Mob had done most of it, though the nearly photographic likeness of himself grinning with a thumbs up in the corner was certainly Saiki’s work.

“Saiki texted me to say that you’ve been stressed about how slow business has been so, uh, we’ve been brainstorming! See, Master, we’ve got your prices, and the number and address on these little tear away strip things, and we thought maybe since we’ve got that backlog of your autobiography we could use that as an incentive to bring in customers!”

“...Hey, yeah, that’s a pretty good idea.” Reigen blinked at the poster, attempting to decipher the warm, fuzzy feeling he was having. “You kids...did this while I was out?”

“Mhm!” Mob gathered up a list. “We also came up with these but didn’t want to, uh, do them without your approval first.”

“Well, I did get started on building a client database.” Saiki nodded toward the office laptop, apparently pilfered similar to how Reigen had been earlier. “Don’t know why you don’t have one yet. I had to go through your receipt book. But this way you can reach out to them to offer them exclusives or. Something.”

“I know you’ve been stressed Master,” Mob lowered his eyes. “About money, especially since you gave us that raise, and. Uh. Well. Having extra spending money is nice and all-”

Saiki cut in. “But we’re both still getting an allowance that’s plenty. So, if it suits, we’re willing to volunteer until such a time as you can afford employees again.”

“I...is-” Reigen blinked hard. His eyes were itchy. “Mob, is that why you’ve been refusing to come in off-schedule? And why you haven’t been wanting to get food and stuff?”

Mob nodded, lowering his head. “I mean, I really do have a social life Master, but. Yes.”

“You guys…” Reigen sniffled, unable to stop his eyes from welling with tears. “You-Geeze, kids, I-! This. This really-” They cared about him.

These damn kids really cared about him, and wanted to see him succeed.

To say he was ‘touched’ was a massive understatement, and under that...

“Aw, c’mere!” Reigen hollered and drew his boys in close, squeezing the living daylights out of them even as he sniffled over their shoulders at the crumpled flyer. “You damn kids, you had me worried sick, I can’t believe you’d do that for this crummy old man! And you cleaned my apartment too? Geeze, guys!”

“Saiki,” Mob shuffled in his grip but Reigen was too busy crying to really notice. “You cleaned his apartment?”

“It was a mess and it took, like, ten minutes. Shut up.”

#tw #trigger warning #agwito

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chac-ozai · 6 years ago

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Intent to Kill (Bruce Wayne x John Doe)

My first telltale batman ficlet! Vigilante Joker may be back behind Arkham’s bars, but the friendship he and Bruce cultivated could not be broken. Bruce comes to visit his best buddy in the asylum, but nothing could prepare him for what he finds. Tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, drug use

They weren't expecting him at all. Not many would consider Arkham asylum one of the finer attractions outside of Gotham, and even less would consider it a place where Bruce Wayne would frequent nearly twice a week. Paparazzi had a way of sniffing out every little detail in Bruce's life no matter how well he kept himself out of the public eye; ever since the public fiasco he'd endured with Waller, Cobblepot.

These visits, they made him feel sane. Bruce thought it was funny somehow, that he'd be parking his cherry-red coupe at Arkam's gates, a stark contrast against the hallowness of it's faded masonry. Feeling sane, at an insane asylum. Bruce had to smile, he couldn't contain it, thinking of the absurdity of his life and where his comforts lie.

He knew exactly where his friend stayed, the sound of his footsteps greeted with the dull roar of groaning, screaming. The Male ward was particularly active today it sounds, he hoped John wasn't too annoyed by it. Bruce fiddled with the gift he'd brought in his breast pocket, tucked away safely along with a small packet of Skittles. Anything he could do to make his friend's day he'd do, Bruce thought.

“Mr. Wayne!OH, I, huh, uh-” Hall C6's orderly looked shocked to see the billionaire's intimidating form standing in the doorway- “Visiting hours are cut short today, unfortunately. There's been an incident we have half of our staff cleaning up.” He looked nervous, moreso than a standard Arkham orderly should look.

“Incident? I'd ask, but considering your confidentiality, but-” Bruce peeked over the man's shoulders and spied upon John's door, locked tight. “I'm sure you can find the time and place for me? If only just for a few minutes.” Bruce's winning smile somehow couldn't get through to him, and apparently neither did his cash once the first attempt had gone under.

“I'm sorry Mr. Wayne, I'm under strict orders from Doctor Erickson, I can't let you in.”

“Well you could at least tell me if John Doe's okay?” Bruce felt annoyed, something very easy for him to feel these days. Pressure was building up between his temples and not getting his way was something rare.

“You said it yourself, confidentiality.” The orderly began the process of slowly closing the door on Bruce, a massive hand reaching out and holding it open. Bruce could hear a particularly intense, one-sided argument coming from a patient's room nearby, a garbled wail punctuating the air.

“You're avoiding the question. What's your name? Can I get a name?” Mr. Wayne's voice dropped-

“Larry. Why?”

“Can I speak to Dr. Erickson, Larry? How much is it going to cost for just a chat?”

“...” Larry looked at Bruce thumbing through his wallet, his mind harkening to the recent tax hike he'd endured this week. “I'll bring her right over, if you just give me a moment.” Larry took the 3 fresh hundreds and pocketed them, his lumbering self disappearing down the hall. When Larry returned, the familiar face of Dr. Erickson put Bruce in an immediate sense of dread.

“I just want to talk to John. Please.” Bruce implored. When he got a no, that's when he'd had enough of the standoff- “You do understand the more you turn me away and avoid my questions, the more suspicious I'm becoming. If this visit is going to be a problem, I can always take a visit to Mayor Dunham and see about lightening my monthly donations.”

“Mr. Wayne, you do understand this is highly illegal, what you're asking. Mr. Doe can't take visitors right n-”

“And why not?”

“He's asleep.”

“Let me through.” Bruce demanded, something wasn't right- The workers had made no attempt to physically restrain Wayne as he strode past them, something of an exasperated sigh coming from the Doctor.

“John!” Bruce stood at his door, the little paper notetag with his name on it affixed into his eyes. “John, it's me, Bruce.”

No answer. Bruce rapped his bare knuckles on the slot of the door and Dr. Erickson began to sweat.

“You see, he's asleep. Why don't you just come back tomorrow?”

“Open the door.”

You just couldn't say no to a man like Bruce. Erickson was past the point of calling security, he only gave the solemn nod to the orderly to unlock the bolt of John's door. Bruce's steady heartbeat almost fell out of rhythm when the room inside was still lit, the walls barren and bleak.

“John.” Bruce inched his way inside, untrusting of his friend's state. John, while normally bouncing off the walls in excitement to see his best friend, was as far from himself Bruce had ever seen. On the bed he lay sprawled, his cheap blanket barely covering a leg. Fuck, he looked dead until Bruce saw the uneven rise and fall of his chest.

“Hey, John!” Bruce fell to his knee beside the bed, reaching out and placing a warm hand on his forearm. He was clammy, but only a moment went by before John's eyes fluttered open, gazing wearily at Bruce's chest before laying half-lidded.

“What's wrong with him?” Wayne's anger spiked, peeking back in alarm at the doctor, who held fast to his stethoscope around his neck. Bruce knelt by John's bed and shook his shoulder, and what came out of his mouth shattered something inside Bruce- A hauntingly low moan, ending in a gargle. His eyes failed to focus on Bruce's face even though John knew his best buddy was there.

“Mr. Wayne-”

“John! Shit, get up! What happened to him?!” Bruce called out, two fingers placed beneath his jawline and felt his pulse, slow but steady. He tried to pull John up to sit but the man fell limp, Bruce seeing the pinpoints of his pupils inside his listless eyes. He knew right away what had happened- He placed John back down onto his bed and about-faced, rage in his eyes-

“Have you been overdosing him on sedatives?!” Bruce yelled “How many drugs do you have in him right now?! And you just leave him locked in his room unattended?!”

“Mr. Wayne! John had a violent outburst earlier today, we had no choice but to tranquilize him.”

“No shit he had a violent outburst! He's a sick man, what gives you the right to put him into a coma? What drugs do you have him on?! Let me see the charts.”

“Bruce,”

“If I don't get those reports, I'm filing a lawsuit that you cannot possibly win. What's it going to be? Your job, or his chart?”

“..I'll fetch them.” Erickson shuffled out, looking grim. Bruce practically dove to John's bedside and placed a hand under his head, trying in vain to lift it and inspect his face. His mouth hung open and saliva seeped freely across his cheek and into Bruce's hand.

“Ah, John.” Bruce groaned “I can't believe this shit.”

“Bbrruh..” John tried to speak, Bruce hushing him and flashing him a very fake smile.

“You're going to be alright. You can hear me, right?”

John gave no response. Bruce climbed into the bed and sat, cradling John's head in the crook of his elbow, turning his head as not to choke on his saliva. Bruce glared daggers at the orderly-

“You do realize you could have killed him.”

“He attacked three patients, we only followed protocol.”

“Yeah, protocol, and what is that? Pump them full of drugs and hope they don't wake up? That sounds like an easy way to get rid of a problem.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Erickson returned and felt his heart drop at the sight of John laying prone across the billionaire's lap. He handed the report over on shaking hands, knowing his career was on the line-

“Give me that.” Bruce's eyes scanned the first page of many beneath it. “Already I'm seeing malpractice. What's this, you haven't been taking his vitals in between his doses. Midazolam IM induction, Diazepam IM, Clozapine, Pentobarbitol?! And you just gave this to him all at the same time?!”

No response. Bruce looked down at John and saw that he was trying to open his eyes- he wasn't dying, but Bruce wasn't going to accept anything like this. The bat inside him wanted to beat everyone who did this to a bloody pulp, this was a fate worse than death for his best friend. His heart broke all the while he grew more frightening, placing John back on the bed while he waved the chart in the doctor's face.

“Is this how you handle your patients here?! Another milliliter and my friend could have been dead in his cell for hours and you wouldn't have even known!” Bruce's cheeks where red in fury, he shoved the doctor and the orderly out of the room, standing in the doorway as a barrier between them and John.

“I'm going to go over every page of these records, and I'm going to unleash hell on this hospital in ways you can't even imagine.” Bruce, taking control, slammed the door to the cell and approached John's bed, his throat tightening at the pitiful sight.

“Here I am, buddy. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Mhh.” John tried to squeak out, his eyes heavily glazed in his attempt to look up at Bruce. The larger man couldn't contain himself, he had everything inside him needing to climb into that bed beside him and embrace his friend.

“I've got you, John.” Bruce tries to comfort him, picking up the lanky man and nestling himself right at his side, letting John's pale arm lay across his chest. Jesus, he was cold as ice. Bruce placed his friend's head against his chest, an arm around his shoulder holding him steady as he shared his warmth.

“Is that alright? You comfortable?” What the hell was he supposed to say? Bruce was overwhelmed, hugging his friend tight to his side as he placed the clipboard on his stomach, thumbing back the page to yesterday's report.

The amount of drugs they'd put him on was insane. Bruce wasn't a medical doctor but he knew most of these drugs, powerful antipsychotics and anticonvulsants. The amount of benzos they pumped him full of the past few days was legitimately cruel, it could have taken a horse down. Bruce felt a warm wetness on his chest, John's eyes where open but he was drooling freely onto his shirt, something Bruce entirely ignored.

He saw something there, 2 days ago and recorded at 12:15pm, John had apparently received a dose of flumazenil in an apparent “emergency” noted in the chart. So it was true, they had been overdosing John.... Bruce's heart ached. He cradled John a little closer and felt the noise in his chest better than he heard it. Wayne's memory flashed back to the crazy times they had, how Bruce had used him despite his sincere desire to save him. He really does like John, he is a good friend, no matter how sick he is.

“I'm going to get you out of here. I promise, John.” Bruce tells his buddy, patting his shoulder. John's hand grasped at his collared shirt in response and all Wayne wanted to do was mourn. It wasn't truly his fault John is back in Arkham, but thinking of his father and what he'd done to these desperate souls, he knew he could change things.

John had to get out of here, every tortured individual in here deserves better, no matter how dangerous they are. Bruce's heart was filled with a sensation of justice, but it wasn't Batman's work...it was his own. The camera affixed on him be damned, Bruce leaned in and kissed the top of John's head in a vain attempt at something, whatever it took to get to fix this.

#Batjokes #batman #telltale #joker #john doe #bruce wayne #fanfiction #fanart #john doe x bruce wayne #batman x joker #my gay art

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crepuscularghost · 2 years ago

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meh pointless rambling / venting

can we PLEASE skip summer this year I *really* don't want to experience smoke and fires and 105-115 degree heat again. i have lived around this weather for the last 14 years. im so over it. i just want out. california is literally sucking us dry and making it impossible to save more than $10 a month. im really worried that we'll be stuck in sacramento as it gets more expensive here and as our rent gradually increases by $100 a month. i wish i could be sane enough to hold down a job and not lose my shit so we could actually save up to move to the pnw. i need to start looking into disability asap but I'm honestly afraid they won't approve me b/c I don't have enough "proof" as they denied my mum when she was very clearly unable to work and she was fighting to get on disability for 4 years before she died. like i really don't have faith in anything lately. and im just losing more and more money by not being able to work or draw. so disability is literally my only option rn. i just don't even know where to start, the whole process is incredibly intimidating without any assistance or anybody to talk to about it. I've tried applying at the grocery store across the street, and to a few other places down the road, but to no avail. the one job I actually thought I *could* manage, at an art store, never called me back after applying 3 times in the span of 8 months. (they keep telling me to keep applying so I do but it feels rather pointless if I don't even get an email back saying they don't want me lol) - not that i feel i could really be stable enough to hold it down for more than a few months. the entire time i was at PFX i was facing depersonalization and disassociating even while on antipsychotics and would face random bouts of suicidal ideation. I only worked there for a month. i really don't know what to do. the one thing I used to rely on, drawing, to help me get by some months and save up for things I needed or moving-funds, I can't even do that anymore. I *loathe* drawing lately. it just breaks my heart and I go insane forcing myself to do something that literally hurts. i don't know what's wrong with me. why is the artist part of my brain so broken. people keep calling it burn out, but i don't know. i don't think it's just that. im really afraid that im no longer an artist anymore and that's a huge part of my identity and it's fucking with my perception of self. i feel like nobody. i am nothing. im just a whacked out furry art has-been. some people are just saying "just go crazy! just open the canvas and don't think about it!" but you see, i can't even *do* that. i make a line, im angry, im frustrated, i want to turn my computer off and never look at it again. i think to myself "why try, it'll be shit" every single time. the mental process of just doing Art for Art's sake and now Everything Has to be Aesthetic or else it won't get viewed literally broke me b/c social media has taught us that our art is literally worthless if nobody comments or retweets/blogs it. it has created this toxic mental think that you are also worthless as an artist if you can't get anybody to like your personal pieces. that sex sells and you have to sell your soul to it in order to get any level of attention online or irl. that, or you must find your special *niche* and stick to that only so you can find your underground fans.

i miss doing art for myself. purely, just for me. for me to vent, for me to escape, for me to explore. doing commissions was a mistake. having twitter was a mistake. i hate the current art world, so so much.

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room3voluntary · 7 years ago

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In meds we trust

I was in the toilet when I heard a polite knock at my door. 'Are you in Maddie? A man’s voice floated through the door. I was only in there looking at my face. Well, the chemical caused acne breakout that used to be my face. Urgh. I opened the door. 'I just have some paperwork to fill in if that's ok?' I realised he might be a junior doctor and he was as polite and his knock. I grabbed them from his hand and it was the usual. 2 pieces of paper, each with situation statements which I had to confirm with a circle. Never, rarely, some days, several days, always. Question 3 really got me. 'Do you talk to yourself while you're alone? What type of question is that ?'I asked aloud. He asked why and I said how do you know. 'How do you know if you talk to yourself while you're alone? That's like asking if a tree falls in the wood when no one is around does anyone hear?' He started laughing. 'I see your point' he said 'I know that I talk to myself' me too. I circled 'several days'. I think everyone does. He thanked me and collected the papers. He informed me I have formulation meeting tomorrow. A formulation meeting is where everyone gets together and discusses what to do with you. It sounds so clinical. How do you solve a problem like Maddie? I've been a puzzle quite a few times.

I was sat at my desk when a seriously lady walked in, carrying a briefcase and a warm smile she perched on the end of my bed. 'My name is Dr Khatri'.

First things first we discussed the events which led me here but after a while she clocked my note pad. She asked me what I was writing so I explained. It was partly this, partly my book and partly serious subjects. 'I wish I was as creative as you' she said. We then continued trawling through my history and uttered the words I knew were coming but still filled me with dread. 'I think you will benefit from an antipsychotic'

In 2008, after the first serious admission i had, I left hospital at went back to college. I had my second psychotic breakdown 6 months into my first year at art college. It was now September and my first day back. i was so nervous but everyone was so nice, within a few hours i got my confidence back, i was ready to begin. I stared at the canvas in front of me and nothing happened. Creativity used to flow out of my hands. My mother was told I was gifted. I never saw a blank canvas I saw one hundred visual stories to be told. I picked up the charcoal to trigger some sort of idea but nothing happened. Then it hit me, I was normal. I was functioning but i'd sacrificed my creativity for it. Id sacrificed part of myself.

When you're young you're told to believe in you're dreams. You can achieve anything you want but as you get older you realise this isn't true and it takes hard work and sacrifices. My goal was to be normal and for that i realised I'd sacrificed part of my soul. Through the following year, I noticed not only had I sacrificed my soul, also my identity and it was down to a little blue pill called aripiprazole. aripiprazole was an antipsychotic and two years later when I had a trial coming off it, I came back. My soul re-entered my body, whatever what repressing me left and I got my sparkle again. I didn't want to be locked away again.

'It's an antipsychotic called olanzapine' she said covering an awkward silence in which I realised I hadn't replied. 'I understand you have tried aripiprazole and quetiapine in the past yes?' I had but they were both the same, they stole who I was but quetiapine had made me physically ill as well. bad allergic reaction.

'What are the side effects?' I asked when I finally got out of my thoughts. 'There can be weight gain as a side effect' i knew this. Not only that I knew olanzapine was the worst one for it. I felt sick. I am Maddie and I am skinny. That's part of me. Throughout my life I've had patches where I've been a bit funny about my weight and for this reason I felt like I'd been given a death sentence. Logic once more dictates that this was ridiculous, but me and logic aren't always friends. I'm crazy and ill but at least I'm skinny and exciting. I'm not pretty enough to be fat. Medication weight is entirely different to normal weight. It's all on the stomach. You see it, a big round pouch. It's all on the stomach and flat in the eyes. I got one before, not big but it was there. People can be beautiful at any weight, size and shape but it made me so worried. My choice was be mad or be unhappy with how I look. I don't know what's worse. I know I was being dramatic, I know I was being shallow and vain but maybe It's what I deserved. 'Okay' I said. I wasn't really thinking. I'd already conceded to defeat to continue to participate in the decision. She asked if I had any more questions and smiled as she left. I smiled too.

I am not anti-medication. I am pro-medication. I'm already on some. There are so many people, mainly who suffer with depression I've found, who point blank refuse any meds. I understand, they worry for the same reason as me but no matter how good your diet is, no matter how many miles your run, sometimes you're serotonin will not play the game. There is no denying these factors help but sometimes you need a crutch, a little helping hand to get you through the day but prejudice and fear seem stronger than logic. 'You don't need pills, why would you want to put all those chemicals in your body?' Preaches the person who nearly blacks out on tequila every weekend before inhaling a gram of cocaine through to Sunday morning. 'You just need a distraction' says the person who’s never even had a cold in their life, never mind any other health problems.

It's a chemical imbalance: would you tell someone with diabetes it's a state of mind? And the same as diabetes, yes a diet can help, but you're not going to stop that imbalance by stopping their insulin. Ignorance causes suffering.

The reason for my reservations was my complicated past with this type of drug. After a short time of contemplating in silence I started to cry. I felt heartbroken. Everything I had tried, the struggle and determination I had fought to stay off them, I was back to where I was a few years ago. I had failed. My heart sank into my chest not only through disappointment but the knowledge she was probably right. I was being selfish too, my behaviour was also effecting the people around me, i had to be fixed. It was the most logical answer. I also knew that medication effects individuals in different ways but even that didn't help me. What could I do? I needed to formulate a plan of my own. Ferociously scribbled into my notebook cause and effect, feelings and frenzied suggestions but i knew deep down i was wrong.

I went to find a nurse. I wasn't good at this whole 'talking to someone' business, I can do it in my own, but I needed to say my thoughts out loud.

The ward has been busy. It was living up to a stereotype I tried to ignore. Sharon, the walker, was no longer wandering the hallways but yelping incoherently to herself in her room. Earlier a new girl was brought in by a flock of people who promptly tried to escape and hit her dad. I watched as she screamed and wet her self. I watched her violently thrashing as she was rugby tackled like a SWAT team by the staff and sedated. As we all shuffled off to our rooms as instructed by staff, I saw her legs were all bruised and bleeding. I saw her eyes too, she wasn't there.

I finally found a nurse to speak to. No, talk at. Through mascara stained rambling I explained. She said nothing. Finally she said 'don't worry about the weight gain, it doesn't happen to everyone'. What a pile of shit. Yes it does, it's the one that does it that most, im not an idiot. 'Tea is ready if you want some?' She said changing the subject and leaving. I didn't want some. I wasn't hungry. Probably because I knew soon that's all i'd be. Hungry and lost.

As the evening drifted on, it nearly time. I made my way to the treatment room like a prisoner on the way to the executioners block. I had to get rid of this negativity. i had to try. I slouched on the chair outside the treatment room, waiting for my name to be shouted. A few of the older and worse patients were watching TV. I looked at their facing staring blankly at the set. How do they do it? All of them are on antipsychotics and they just get on with it. That's all some of them do though, just stare at the TV in their pyjamas. I can't work out if they know what's going on or braver than me, stronger than me? Probably both, more so the latter.

I heard my name and got my meds. I saw a new little pink one, poking out of the crowd of pills in the paper cup. 'This is a new one for me. I'm excited for the sleep but not the weight gain!' I joked. She just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. I took a deep breath and knock it back. Then nothing. I don't know what I expected. The whole world to change? To die? Everything was exactly the same. An hour passed and still nothing happened. I was just sat watching TV and very much still myself.

I got up to go to the kitchen and that's when I noticed the change. Fuzzy. Everything was fuzzy. From the floor tiles to door frames everything was like a slow slide show, doubled and swayed. I felt like static, my brain full of white noise. I stumbled into the kitchen but it was too bright so I abandoned my cup and made my way to my room. I felt as though i was walking through water. A 5 second journey turned into a 5 mile march of white corridor. I have spent more time in a drug fuelled trip wandering round hospital corridors than I have house parties this year.

I finally made it into bed and turned out the lights. Everything was better now. The white noise was quieter. Calm. The world has righted itself. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was my legs feeling hot against the bed sheet.

*****

I've just woke up. I can't get up

It was two hours later and I was still struggling to move. Every twitch of my leg and flex of my arm made me feel sick. I needed the toilet, I had to move. My mouth was sandpaper dry, I needed some water, I had to move. I eventually pulled myself up and felt better I thought- until I stood up. It felt like my heart was going to explode through my chest. All my extremities tingled. I edged my way to the toilet using the wall as a frame and finally reached the bowl. That was the best piss I ever had. I looked over the mirror. I looked awful. Every time I closed my eyes I could see the veins pulsing across my eyelids and in my reflection that is what I saw. Blood shot eyes, the negative of what I saw in the blink, like a fingerprint. I got up and shuffled to the door.

The hallway was white. Too white. My heart felt like it was beating into my legs, each step a slow and heavy thump. The pressure in my chest was radiating down from my head which was locked in an invisible vice. The heaviness of my head led the way as I went to find help. 'I don't feel very well' I said when I finally reached the dining room hatch. One of the nurses took my arm 'oh dear' she said 'Coincidence has it, a doctor is here, I'll get him to take a look at you, don't worry'. I lent in her shoulder and she grabbed me gently by the arm and steadily walked me to the treatment room.

wilted on the bed, I blinked and there stood a figure leaning over me, face shrouded by the strip light behind, turning his features into a silhouette which was crowned by a halo. My eyes adjusted to the lights and distortion melted away. The silhouette was now replaced with a dark haired doctor. He looked early 30s. Quite cute actually. First attractive person I'd seen in ages and i was in this state. The nurse from before leaned over and pulled my top up. I then also realised I had my tits out. Great. Faces of Meth, faces of Maddie, there was very little distinction. 'Hold up your arms, put then together onto your chest and lift them up like chicken wings' he said. What. He must have seen my expression of disbelief and confusion as he showed me how. 'I'm not going to press on your elbows and you have to try and keep them up, okay?' He was very authoritative yet polite. I liked it. From there proceeded a number of resistance tests, pulling and pressing on various limbs. After a while he pulled out his stethoscope and listened to my chest before checking my blood pressure. Everything was a little bit high. 'You are experiencing some very strong side effects but you are okay but we'll mention this to the consultant. Try and get some rest' Rest. That is all anyway says but it doesn't seem to be working. The nurse helped me back up and I hauled myself back to bed.

'Maddie can i come in?' The staff nurse shouted the door. 'You have your formulation meeting at 1 o'clock is that okay?' It was 12:30. Oh god, I had so much to say, so much to explain, so much persuading to do and I couldn't in this state. I was struggling slur through a sentence. mind fuzzy. I started to panic, the kick of adrenaline woke me up and I pulled on some clothes and lumbered to meeting room. It was time to formulate my formulation, see where my path was headed next, and I was not prepared.

When I walked in I was greeted by four ladies all sat in perfect symmetry, two on each side. There was my mum, a staff nurse, the psychiatrist and a lady I didn't know. I looked at my mother who couldn't hide her concern at the state I'd walked in. 'I don't want to take olanzapine again, please don't make me' I pleaded before anyone could even begin. 'It is your body and I can see you are not well' I looked at Dr Khatri 'They have had an unusually adverse effect on you. In the pasts you have tried aripriprazole and quetiapine and there were not successful either. I don't think this medication is for you. I see no benefit to continuing' she smiled at me. 'Thank you' I replied. Thank you didn't even cut it, thank you for the bottom of my heart. A wave of relief washed over me. I said previously they are not good for me but no one had really listened. I have the symptoms, they fix the symptoms but they don't suit me. Antipsychotics are anti-Maddie. 'We have decided to the observe and see how you go' she continued 'we will wait for the increase in lamotrogine to take effect and if you manage to have two nights full rest, you can go on weekend leave and if that is successful we can discuss discharge' even better! This was the plan. This is want I wanted. I struggled to hold back tears as I thanked her. The lady was finally introduced to me. She was my work liaison officer. The thing is, and the thing you may not believe is, I am full time employed. Up until a while ago I was just like you. A Starbucks drinking, Tesco raiding, selfie taking, endless consumer. I was the one who accidentally walked into you in a heaving pool of people in primark. I am the person who sat opposite you on the train. A 'mutual friend', a 'someone you might know'.

Mental illness believes in equality. It doesn't judge or have prejudice. It will simply strike any of us at any moment. A monster lurking in the dark.

For a while I’d felt like my life had been stagnant and now it was the most static and stagnant it’s ever been. I needed to get out.

For the rest of the meeting I stayed slumped in my chair, the drugs still flowing through my veins. I watched them speak, their mouths moved but blurred sounds came out from far away. Dr Khatri hand grabbed mine and shook it, our faces smiling simultaneously. The plan was complete. The formulation; I just had to sleep. Not that hard right?

*****

I’m trying to sleep but It’s raining. It’s raining so hard. I overheard something about a storm earlier, about the sky turning yellow? I don’t know. It’s not just me that’s gone crazy recently, it’s the whole world. I couldn’t sleep though it like the slow motion crush of a car bonnet crumpling into a wall in a crash test simulation, dummy falling and bending inside.

Suddenly silence. I flipped open the curtain next to me, only blackness peered back in. No rain.

From behind me I heard the pitter patter of quick footsteps down the corridor and quickly flung myself into bed and pretended to be asleep. A few seconds later I heard the shutter fold up, the flash of a light and felt the eyes of a nurse observe me for a moment before moving on. I heard the shutter slap down I rolled over. Try again.

I lay in the darkness, it buzzing around me like bees trying to shut down. Even if I don’t sleep even if they just think I have slept I can leave. I wasn’t going to move but then I heard the tapping. It was coming from outside of my window. Tap, tap, tap. I got up and went to the bathroom and slid under the sink, curling into a ball. Tap, tap, tap. I closed my eyes and breathed.

I wont tell them about this

#olanzapine #mental health #mental illness #bipolor #medication #meds #antipsychotics #psychiatry #psychiatric hospital #psychiatric mental health nursing #mental heath awareness #diary #mania #psychosis

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lymanjosh · 6 years ago

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do you have any tips on bringing up ADHD to a therapist? I desperately need help for it but I don’t want my concerns dismissed because stuff like adderall is heavily misused :(

i had like two pages of an answer for this (and it was coherent, even, if you can believe it) and then i refreshed the page like a dumbass so this is take 2, which is Less Coherent and im sorry but theres nothing i can do about it

so im not an authority on the subject or anything, and i don’t know your situation, and also ive been diagnosed for like 2 weeks, so you can pretty much take everything i say with a grain of salt. what im gonna do is im gonna run through my own experience / what i wish i did differently / what im doing now, and i hope it helps, and you can totally feel free to come back if you wanna talk more at all once im finished!! and i really hope that at least something i say here is of help to you

also this is gonna be rambly and im sorry about that but i don’t know any other way to be. im gonna preemptively forgive myself because youre like me so you get it but im sure it’s not easy to read so for that i apologize.

tldr: know concretely why you think you have ADHD and what treatment options you want to pursue, do like 3 times more research than you think you need to do, write down all your symptoms in advance, cite your past history of mental health treatment if you have one, and try not to worry too much. if your therapist is any good at their job they’ll know you’re not just drug-seeking, and they’ll recognize the symptoms and problems you discuss when you bring them up in the context of ADHD. probably you’ll be okay, and you’ll get the treatment you need.

so i spent most of my teen years in a drug-addled haze. i was depressed and anxious because i couldn’t Fucking Do Anything, and my parents were worried so they took me to the doctor, and the doctor was worried so she sent me to another doctor, and this continued for a long time and i was on like 4 different antidepressants and 4 different antipsychotics and also some anti-anxiety meds between the ages of like 15 and 16. it was heavily traumatic and also not fun, and the reason all this happened was that nobody stopped to think that maybe i might share some genes with my dad, who has been diagnosed inattentive since before i was born.

right off the bat i should have been way more up in arms about self-advocating, which is something you’re clearly doing, so that’s awesome and you should give yourself a pat on the back because that’s really difficult in the mental health industry especially when you’re already fighting your own brain on most things.

hopefully you haven’t been through a wringer of false diagnoses and nonsensical prescriptions, but if you have, then you can guilt your doctor a little bit. “i was traumatized! i was given dangerous psychoactive drugs during a critical phase of neural development! you have to give me stimulants to atone for your sins!” phrase it exactly like that, it’s like a silver bullet. in all seriousness if you ahve past diagnoses of anxiety or depression or anything to do with emotional dysregulation that can help your case, because you can point out that a) these things are common misdiagnoses for adhd, and b) the symptoms for these things logically emerge from things like emotional hyperarousal and rejection-sensitive dysphoria.

what i should have done, and what i think you should do, is write down your symptoms in advance, because then you won’t have to spend an hour hemming and hawing and trying to thnk of them all in the doctor’s office. i did not do this. it didn’t prove to be a problem because my doctor was kinda irresponsible but i really should have done this, just for my own benefit.

when i actually brought it up to my doctor that i might have adhd i had a couple different things going for me. i was talking to my GP, and not my therapist; im not in therapy (which you can probably tell) because therapists creep me out, but i think physicians are probably more inclined to throw drugs at it than therapists are. my GP was also brand new to my case– i had never even met the guy before. i mentioned my history of mental health treatment, and i also mentioned my dad being diagnosed, and im also a girl (girls are chronically underdiagnosed and extremely likely to be misdiagnosed with either anxiety or depression), so i had some concrete facts to support why i had suspicions. i had also done a shit ton of research beforehand, so i advise you to do that– know concretely why you think you have adhd and what treatment options you want to pursue.

you might benefit from talking about it with your doctor before your therapist, but idk that might just be my fear of therapists talking. i think a doctor is less likely to want to taco bout it than a therapist but that may just be my specific experience– you know your situation better than i do. and admittedly a therapist is more likely to, like, Know You and know what you’re talking about when you say (for example) that you’ve always struggled with emotional dysregulation, or whatever.

something else that might help you– i wish i had done this not because i don’t want to look like a drug-seeker but because i Miss Coffee– is to bring up non-stimulant treatments like strattera (for adults) or kapvay or intuniv (both for children but sometimes prescribed to adults) because it’ll show you’ve done your homework and it might be a point against writing you off. stimulants are usually the first resort for adhd, so it’s highly likely you’ll end up on adderall or another stimulant, but it’s good to bring up as an option. might also be good to research it as a serious course of action, especially if you suffer with anxiety, because stimulants are likely to make you more anxious.

i would also advise you not to fixate on adderall? idk enough about your situation to know if you’ve done that but it’s good to be open to other medications and treatment plans bc if adderall doesn’t work for you it doesn’t work and there’s not a ton you can do about it. you should for sure read up on other treatments– you might find one that sounds more appealing, or at the very least you’ll know what to think if your doctor brings up another one unexpectedly.

so i brought up to my doctor that i might have adhd and he immediately plonked a questionnaire in front of me. i filled it out (spoiler alert most of my answers were “often”) and he was like “oh this is textbook, let’s get you on adderall” which like WHAT. i didn’t even ask about adderall. like im not gonna argue with you but let’s talk about this first before we break out the stimulant medication. but i’ve been on it for a couple days and no major side effects yet so maybe he was right who knows. anyway he was super irresponsible don’t let your doctor just prescribe you meds at random go through the side effects. always ask about the side effects. i get such bad headaches after it wears off. i have one now and its Bad.

but as an addendum you should for sure be prepared to use other coping mechanisms. i’ve started using a bullet journal since i was diagnosed which i’ve found works really well, and youtube channels like howtoadhd are really helpful to me!! i try to use the meds sparingly because i Don’t Like taking pills and also bc adderall can be habit forming, and because i hope to eventually be able to function without it, and i advise you to think of it the same way. drugs don’t have to be a permanent fixture in your life– you can use it as a temporary tool while you build up the necessary coping mechanisms and mental pathways to function without it. adhd isn’t broken brain, it’s just brain on hard mode, if you know what i mean. i try to think of the meds as training wheels– i learn to function with it, and then i gradually learn to function without it. so idk if that’s a useful way to think about it for you but to me it feels more hopeful than resigning myself to a lifetime on more drugs. idk.

but even if you’re okay with that, adderall isn’t gonna make you functional (it might. kinda feel like you’re magically functional. that’s how i feel right now, that is to say when im not headaching.) so you have to have systems in place to make it easier for yourself. some kind of productivity app might help ig (i used ike for like 3 days and then my phone died and i forgot to charge it for a week because that happens to me sometimes, but i liked ike!) but i like analog todo lists. feels good checking stuff off. either way is good though.

also get your phone to send you alerts. also rearrange your stuff. like, make the world around you conducive to your functioning. do your best to create and live in a space that enables you to do the things you need to do. get accommodations at school if you need to (i haven’t done this and can’t tell you how but there are a ton of online tutorials and you can probably just google your school + accessibility, or something, and that’s assuming you even go to school)

but yeah i hope any of that was helpful to you and im sorry to make you do 1 million hours of deciphering my shitty informal writing style and i love you and i want to help you please come back and let me know how everything goes bc im gonna worry about you otherwise

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