#No but like it could be mildly useful when describing sound frequencies?

[0ctogus]

hey bad idea since the suffix -ome is out of control anyway what if we scrapped the word phonology and went with phonome and phonemome for "set of phones a language has" and "set of categories of sound aka phonemes a language distinguishes". you could also apply this to like an utterance and describe the set of sounds within that utterance as its phonome. hehe

[bumblybeebounce]

Sweet Music

So I was the guitar anon in @rzrcrst 's asks a while ago, and thought hey, why don't I try to practice a bit more on writing Ezra? Ssso I made this. Hopefully it's at least tolerable? :'D I just wanted to write something sweet, maybe it will cheer someone up a bit! I am actually trying to learn how to play guitar, but please consider: I am a dumbass. It's a slow going thing. VERY SLOW. So apologies if I got something wrong! Anywho, the song in this one is "I Belong To You" by Brandi Carlile.

Rating: E Pairing: Ezra x Reader Warnings: None

Taglist: @rzrcrst @tarrevizslas @equalstrashflavoredtrash

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Sometimes, for all the advancement made in space travel, the waiting was a purgatory of boredom you just HAD to get through one way or another. Like right now. With you and Ezra in your ship, docked to another carrier on the course for another possible payday. And as much as you could appreciate it when your companion decided to leave you alone for a bit and have some quiet time with a book, this was one of the times where you actually kind of wanted him to talk. Of course if he did he wouldn't shut up for a few hours but listening to him would've been vastly preferable to the sheer amount of mind-numbing boredom you were going through right now.

"If you don't mind me saying so, birdie, going by the frequency and continuous nature of your fidgeting, it truly sounds as though you're preparing to climb the walls." And then he simply turns the page. Like he's not even bothered by the fact that all the daily tasks are finished and there's no reason to go out anywhere because the carrier has sweet fuck all in it and gah!

"Astute of you." It comes out grumpier than you really intended, but going by the lopsided smirk Ezra flashes at you while looking at you knowingly from behind the book is kinda worth it. He seemed to take a lot of pleasure when at any time you either used a fancy word, or spoke in a similar long-winded way he did. Which, let's be fair, was kind of growing on you after spending enough time in his presence. Stupidly charming... Smart-ass. With a nice ass.

"Well. If you are feeling amenable today-" He started after a while and laid his book against his knee, finger between the pages. "I can't help but recall you to be musically inclined, and that you have an instrument hidden in that there locker." Ezra nodded at the locker underneath the bench you were on, causing you to automatically look down at it too.

"Ah. So you noticed." "With this little space to work with, birdie, it's very difficult not to notice such things. Now, that is not a reproach in any way, shape or form, calm yourself-" He leaned forward a little and straightened his leg as you opened and closed your mouth, swallowing the apology you were about to give. "I merely mention it because I do believe you haven't played your guitar in my presence before and I am nothing if not a man who appreciates the arts, as difficult as those may be to find here among the constantly moving stars. So if you would indulge me this once, I believe I would appreciate immensely to hear whatever you deem fit to share with me."

Ezra did have a point, you had been making sure to practice mostly when he was out of earshot for one reason or another, a little convinced that he didn't much care to hear the music. Granted, that could've just been a mix of modesty and self-consciousness, but it honestly hadn't come up before now. You scratched your head a bit and shrugged.

"I mean. If... If you don't mind..." Actually, playing the guitar sounded kind of nice right now. "Oh, I insist."

And with that, you got the bag out and pulled out the acoustic guitar. It had been a bit since you last did so a while went by with just checking that it was still in tune and and just testing that everything sounded right. Your partner kept looking at you with a small smile from his side of the ship as you did, and begun strumming the chords in no particular tune, just to feel it out.

"I must confess, I am mildly disappointed I haven't suggested this earlier. It is a privilege to witness living art produced by a living work of art." Ah, and there was the blush back on your cheeks. You gave a nervous titter and raised a brow at Ezra. "Really, Ez? You're going with that?" He inclined his head in good humour, while keeping his voice serious. "Birdie, have you ever known me to be untruthful about your considerable skills or your considerable charms?" For once, he was very bad at keeping that smirk off his face and you shook your head, telling him to enjoy and keep reading his book.

And so the time passed, with Ezra reading his book and occasionally glancing your way warmly, and you strumming the instrument, playing old songs you half remembered or just nothing in particular. It was surprisingly easy to just get lost in the act of playing, the notes in the air, filling the little pod with something other than mechanic beeping.

Still, now that you had the approval of your partner to practice more freely, it didn't feel like that big of a step when you decided you wanted to sing a bit. Reaching into one of the pockets of the bag, you pulled out a capo and clipped it to the fretboard, tested out the strings, and began. The notes flowed wonderfully and familiarly, like an old friend returning as you took a breath and sang.

“Last night I had the exact same dream as you I killed a bird to save your life and you gave me your shoes You said clip my wings and walk my miles And I said I would too Then I woke up But I wasn’t gonna tell you.”

“Today I sang the same damn tune as you It was ‘Lady in Red’, I hate that song and I know you do too You didn’t catch me singing along But I always sing with you Nice and quietly 'Cuz I don’t wanna stop you”

Alright, so your voice wasn't at it's best but it was fine. It felt nice to be singing again, you thought, even if it was a bit shaky.

“I know I could be spending a little too much time with you But 'time’ and 'too much’ don’t belong together like we do If I had all my yesterdays I’d give 'em to you too I belong to you now I belong to you”

“I see the wo-”

The sound of something dropping startled you and made you look at the source of the sound. It had been Ezra’s book, that much you could see but it was more the look he had on his face that gave you pause.

“Songbird.” Ezra breathed the word out like it was the sweetest word in existence, like it was the culmination of all the wonders of the worlds delivered to him at once, and combined with the look of stunned awe on his face, he sounded like he had just witnessed something indescribably glorious.

The blush creeping up your neck wasn’t that strange in Ezra’s company, the man seemingly lived to fluster you, but in this instant it felt different somehow. The changed term of endearment didn’t escape your notice either.

“… What?” You shifted on your seat, suddenly overwhelmed by the weirdly irrational feeling of doubt and embarrassment. “Sorry, I’ll stop-”

“No, no no no, songbird, please don’t mistake this interruption as a request for cessation, Kevva forbid-” Ezra got up, his book forgotten as he hurried his way to sit in front of you, still looking like he was witnessing the birth of a galaxy while he was given all his birthdays at once.

“I apologize for my clumsiness that distracted you from your practice, and forgive my presumptuous request, but I implore you to finish your song if there is still some of it left.” His voice had grown unusually hushed as he peered at your now very warm face, practically on the edge of his already precarious seat.

The silence stretched for a bit as you tried to respond. This was quite possibly the most captivated and enthusiastic audience you had had in a very long time and it was poking at your nervousness more than you would have guessed.

“Um. Well, okay, uh, just…” Fingers back on the strings and the fret, you counted from where you were and started again.

“I see the world the exact same way that you do We lend our hands, and take our stance In tandem when we do But I lied and said I knew the way And I hid my eyes from you I still don’t know why I probably didn’t wanna scare you”

You could feel Ezra's gaze on you, though you were trying your best not to let your brain psyche you out and just kept going.

“I know I could be spending a little too much time with you But 'time’ and 'too much’ don’t belong together like we do If I had all my yesterdays I’d give 'em to you too I belong to you now I belong to you"

“I’m gonna die the exact same day as you On the golden gate bridge I’ll hold your hand and howl at the moon Scrape the sky with tired eyes, and I will come find you And I ain’t scared 'Cuz I’m never gonna miss you.”

“I belong to you now I belong to you.”

“I belong to you now I belong to you.”

You looked up at Ezra, and had barely enough time to draw a breath before he was kissing you sweetly. You let out a surprised squeak and he lifted his hand bringing it to the back of your neck, caressing your skin as the kiss went on, somehow passionate while remaining warm and almost chaste, considering how his kisses usually were.

He pulled back, pressing his forehead against yours as he smiled with his eyes closed. He huffed a laugh as his hand slid over to cup your cheek, almost reverently.

"All the words in the language at my disposal and I cannot find a single one to describe what I am feeling at this very moment, songbird."

It was a little strange how easily he could summon a flock of butterflies into your gut while making your heart squeeze in delight. And all you could offer him back was a delicate "Oh.".

And then he kissed you again, brushed your cheek like you were a miracle and suddenly words felt incredibly superfluous. You wove your hand into his hair and carded your fingers through it, enjoying the affection he was giving you. When you broke the kiss, you bit your lip shyly.

"So I take it that I should play more?" "Songbird, the day I refuse the pleasure of hearing you serenade again is the day I am long dead and turned to dust." "Do... You want me to play something else?" "There is nothing that would please me more."

And who were you to deny such an earnest request?

[sincerelykhim]

divine 05

description; You’ve made a terrible deal with the one and only Devil; Taehyung after your almost-tragic death. Little did you know it would lead you to life in Hell.

Pairings: Devil!Taehyung x reader

Genre: Romance/ Angst

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | bonus

에이미: The idea of this story may not be suitable for all audiences as it is not Biblically correct; read at your own risk. There is a little bit of Jungkook in this one! It’s been a lonnnnnggggg time but I hope I’ve still got this. Enjoy and cry me a river~

MASTERLIST

There was no doubt that he had been more than terrified when he ascended down from Heaven; glorious wings -black, and his heart -heavy.  And there was no doubt that you wouldn't have had a clue as to who he was, or why he coming to see you. .

December always brought on flashbacks; these scattered memories that don't seem like mine continuously strobed in my mind. Were they real events? Do I have amnesia? They seemed far too real to be fictional.

'I keep seeing this man...no....I think he's the Devil.' My eyes flicked to the ticking clock in the consultant room as my head rested on the arm of the chaise lounge, 'I feel like I know him very well.' Then I realise what I said sounded mildly disturbing. I sprung from the chair to sit up straight, 'Wait! That sounded really bad -I'm not in a Satanic cult or anything like that!'

My therapist just smiled, 'That's alright,' I knew what he was going to repeat next, 'This conversation is confined to us only; I'm not allowed to speak of my patient's matters.' His eyes moved back down to the piece of paper on his clipboard, 'Any more flashbacks recently?'

I swung my legs back onto the chair's arm and laid myself down, 'There was one last night...' I reconstructed the images that had been playing in my head several hours ago, 'I think I know where I've been in those flashbacks.' My therapist nodded his head, not looking up from the paper he was scribbling notes on, 'I think I've been in Hell that whole time.'

He finally shot his head up, but this time, I was staring straight ahead into the wall. 'How do you know it's Hell? Can you please describe it to me?' He asked softly, sounding genuinely concerned.

I stared harder into the wall, trying to think of a way of putting the vivid images into words, 'It's...' I pause to rethink my choice of wording, 'It's humid and dark...everything is grey, and...' And I realised that I couldn't describe Hell, 'I can't -I don't know how to put it into words...I'm sorry.'

'No, it's fine.' That was a lie, 'Would you like to try again sometime? Maybe an appointment next...' He flipped through the extensive amount of pages that were surprisingly not popping out of his clipboard, 'Thursday?'

'Yeah...' The seconds of the clock hand seemed to have slowed down for a fleeting second, 'Thursday sounds good.' Swinging my legs off the velvet blue couch, I made my way to the door, 'Thank you.' Although I didn't mean it.

You can hear the pitter-patter of the rain in December crisper and calmer than any other month; my boots carelessly stepped and splashed into puddles that collected in the uneven hollows of the pavement of my street.

My phone rang, 'Yes?' A greeting wasn't necessary from the caller ID.

'How many times this week?' Her voice pooled with worry.

'Mum,' I sigh, contemplating whether to lie or not, '...six.'

'Six?!' I rolled my eyes at her tone; I couldn't see her but I knew she would be running from the kitchen to her lounge -ready to tell my Father, 'Christ! Honey, we have to get this fixed! Y/N, you can not live like this!' She threw herself into panic mode while discussing this topic with my Father for the umpteenth time, 'Christopher, I will not see our daughter like this anymore; I can't. We have to give Dr Bronwin a call tomorrow. This is unhealthy!'

'Mum,' Her pointless rambling overpowered my exhausted voice, 'Mum,' No reply, 'MUM.'

'Yes sweetie,' I could literally hear her brows furrowing from her silence, 'What is it?'

'I'm going to go now,' I stated as politely as I can. She tried to butt in but I bet her to it, 'If you get the appointment with Dr Bronwin; fine, I'll go...just text me the time and the address.'

Sliding the phone back into the pocket of my coat, I resumed in getting lost in my own thoughts. What if this was real and not some drastic illusion my mind was making up? No one would believe me anyway; as much as my Mother loves me, she'll silently back off when the psychiatrist stamps the seal of approval to formally diagnose me with delusional disorder.

Maybe I wasn't seeing the right people...

'Are you serious about this?' Jungkook sat opposite me in the booth of a small coffee shop, 'You know how dangerous this could turn out to be?'

'Really?' I slid him a cutout of the address, 'You can't be serious right? You really believe in all that hulu voodoo Satanic shit?'

'What, I just happened to very careful.' He read over the advertisement, 'Do you want me to come with you?'

'I'm okay.' I answered unconvincingly as his brows furrowed deeper, 'I can handle it.'

He continued to strike a deal with me, 'How about I'll stand outside the door just in case anything unexpected happens?' He slides the piece of paper back to me.

I scoff jokingly at him, 'You think she'll rape me or something?'

Jungkook's face hardened immediately, 'Don't.'

'Fine,' I downed the last bit of my tea, 'Monday, ten: thirty, and don't be late.'

The black SUV rolled into the richer area of Seoul when I sensed an uneasy feeling breathing down my neck. My hairs rose, 'Actually...,' I turned to Jungkook in the driver's seat, 'could you come in with me? I'm getting a bad feeling.'

His doe-eyes stared back at mine before he started to process what I had asked of him, 'Yeah, no problem.'

Despite the rich exterior of the neighbourhood, I could quite literally see the charcoal grey smoke that lingered around the particular house...it was a familiar grey smoke... It didn't just linger, it laughed sinisterly; devouring the building in a thunderstorm of wickedness.

'You alright?' Jungkook parked us across the house, 'You don't look so good.'

I tried to laugh it off with a joke, 'When do I ever?' Not giving him the chance to argue back -I opened my door -unready for whatever hid behind those walls, 'Come on, I already smell Satan making tea for us.'

'Do you see that?' I pointed at the grey veil surrounding the house.

Jungkook stared back at me with his doe-eyes again, 'The house?' He couldn't see it.

I shook it off, 'Yea, it's hideous.'

Walking across the lawn, Jungkook caught up with my nervously fast-paced steps, 'You can't lie you know, I can tell when you're nervous.'

I kept silent as I grabbed his hand.

He stayed that way too.

Luna; despite her name, was middle-aged, hippie-looking Satanist who bore serious frown lines that cut deep into her skin. Her teeth had already stained a yellow hue and her grey hairs already started to thin; it showed whenever she turned her head too fast -you could see the bald patched hidden at the back of her skin. She almost looked undead.

Laying down a set of cards that were lavishly decorated with paintings of demons and tokens, Luna's eyes seemed to have rolled up to meet mine, 'Pick whenever you hear it screaming at you.'

I look hesitantly back at Jungkook who was sitting on a deep violet, velvet couch and then back at the deck of cards; waiting for it to scream out to me.

'How long is this procedure-' Jungkook uncrossed his legs as he looked to Luna for an answer before he was cut off by my spastic screaming.

When it did happen it wasn't a scream at all -it was a shattering screech that rung and panned from the left ear to the right; piercing my eardrums with an aching pain.

'God! Oh God! That one!' I pointed feverously at the card that sat in the centre, 'Make it stop!' But it wouldn't stop. It couldn't stop.

'Christ!' I attempted to cover my ears to muffle the intensifying volume, 'Make it fucking stop!' I crouched to apply more pressure to my ears, 'Make it stop!'

Jungkook bolted from his seat only to be stopped by Luna, 'She needs to touch the card.'

'We'll she obviously can't,' He snapped back; fuming with worry, 'What are you doing to her?'

'She needs to touch the card.' She repeats.

Jungkook was enraged by her lack of care for my suffering, 'Well she fucking can't, okay?! Look at her! I swear if you try-'

'She needs to touch the card!' Luna speaks out more urgently this time.

'Make it stop!' I ran myself into the wall as tears started to form from the pain, 'Stop!' I sobbed.

Jungkook shoved past Luna's smaller figure to hold my head in his hands, 'Y/N!,' I squeezed my eyes shut; unable to process any sound other than the unexplained frequency, 'Damn fuck it! Y/N! Focus!'

'Make it stop,' my voice was weak from the screaming and the crying, 'Make it stop...' my line of vision blurred and refocused and then, blurred and refocused again, 'Please,' I placed my hands over his, 'Kook, make it stop.'

I didn't only mean for the murderous noise to stop but also the dreadful nostalgia that came along with it. I couldn't pinpoint what about the entire experience was so familiar...it just was. The smoke, the cards, the velvet, the scent, the house...the beast that fed upon this house...I was caught, dazed...afraid.

So when Jungkook forcefully pried my hand away from his to then place it on the card I had picked, I didn't fight back. I let it happen. .

'It happened,' disappointment washed over Micheal's face as he spoke through the phone, 'She did it.'

'Did you see her do it?' Taehyung's voice rang through the other line.

'I'm standing outside, of course, I couldn't see her do it,' he ran a hand through his gold locks, 'But her screaming did stop so...'

'Fuck.'

Micheal began to back away from the demon-possessed home, 'What now? She'll know who you are, she'll remember what happened, won't she hate you-'

'Shut up already,' Taehyung hissed harshly -stopping Micheal from tormenting him any further, 'Fuck off, you had one job.'

Micheal's smug grin was his only reply, 'So?' he beckoned him to make a decision, 'What's it going to be? Are you still going to see her?'

Taehyung massaged his temples and sighed, 'Well I don't have a choice, do I?' He paused, 'I'm dying.' .

It was traumatic. Horrific, overwhelming...disgusting.

Everything came back to me like a developing film; motions that were significant from my last one thousand years of existence flickered like shots taken from an old Kodak...everything.

I remembered that fight, I remembered how savage his words were, how much I loved him, how much he broke me; my heart.

I relived that moment.

'What,' he yelled harshly, 'you can't speak now?' He paced in a circle just to return back to where he was, 'I didn't ask for this.' He ran a shaking hand through his hair, 'God damn it.' He breathed out. 'God-FUCK!' His leg swung to kick the chair that sat in one corner of his room.

This was the real Devil; this was what he was like before I came around -angry and resentful.

The chair flew across the room and barreled into the wall -creating a hole, ‘You want me to carry on?!’ He didn’t leave me time to answer, ‘Okay! Fine! On the two hundredth year, I thought about feeding you to the demons so I could clean up the mess I had made!’

His words burnt holes through me -his words that once built me up; ‘So I get the pleasure of seeing you ascend to Heaven,' -tore me down piece by piece; ‘Just LEAVE! How fucking hard is it for you to understand! -I don't give a fuck about your problems, just fucking leave! I don't even know why I spent so much time on you!’

I felt like I was drowning in a murky whirlwind of emotions so clear to understand when they were experienced alone, but suffocating when they were all thrown in at once.

Through a gap in the whirlwind, I could hear Jungkook again; calling me.

'Y/N,' he sat on the Persian carpet rug with my head in his lap, 'Has it stopped? Can you hear me?'

If I did hear him, I didn't process it at all. I simply sat up to press my face into his chest; the wash of emotions were still heavily present, 'I just wanna go home.'

'Out! Out you witch!' Luna burst, suddenly angry after she picked up to look at the picture on the card.

She threw it by my side, 'Satan killer!' .

Forty-six missed calls, a hundred and six unread messages, and one voicemail.

I picked up my phone that sat lonely under the mountains of french fires packets. 'Dial two to hear your latest voicemail-You have one voicemail from;' the monotone voice recited a familiar number, 'zero-two-one-five-six-eight-six-four-one-five.'

'Y/N, it's been two weeks since that reading,' Jungkook's voice sounded drained, 'Come on, weren't you the one who didn't believe in all this?' He sighed, 'What really happened? It's like it's dragged you into a depressive state. Y/N, it's not just me who's worrying; your Mum, your Father...even your therapist is starting to worry.' He paused to steady himself, 'Just...I don't know, call. We can figure this out together.' And then the line went flat.

I didn't want to call back or reply; they would've never have believed me, I didn't want to call and pretend that everything was fine because I had no more energy to lie; I was emotionally drained, it felt like I had to relive one thousand years of emotional turmoil in a few short minutes -in fact -that was exactly what happened.

Tuesday welcomed a storm that brewed steadily a few miles from my apartment, 'Can I get barbeque swirls on those?' I repeat my order through the phone, 'How much was the total again?'

'That'll be twenty-five dollars and the barbeque swirls are fifty cents for each pizza, Miss.' The receptionist chirped too vibrantly for a rainy day.

'Yea, okay.'

'We'll be fifteen minutes away, Miss.'

'Sure.'

If fifteen minutes seemed like forever, I was more than glad to wait for eternity because when I opened the door to my apartment; I automatically wished I hadn't.

'Hey old friend,' His eyes were still held the same fire, but the rest of him seemed...worn. His crisp suit was replaced with a white pullover and a pair of black jeans, and he held my pizza's in one hand, 'The delivery guy said it was for you.'

I was still frozen from the sudden affirmation that everything I saw a couple of weeks ago was true.

He seemed to act like our fight never happened as he gave me a warm smile; something he never did, 'May I come in.' Not waiting for my answer, he closed the door behind him.

I didn't know how to feel, the only thing I wanted to do was to embrace him; he looked tired and beaten but my head wouldn't let me, it reminded me of where we had left off. After he placed the boxes on my kitchen counter, I finally spoke up, 'Get out,' It was colder than I had anticipated it to sound, 'I can't do this, not now.'

'That's it?' He was obviously upset with my tone, 'Fine, you have every right to be angry with me but just give me chance to tell you why I'm here for.'

I scoffed, sickened at the fact that he was playing this fight like a children's game, 'Angry!' My anger turned into frustration and then, into tears, 'I'm more than angry with you! I hate you!'

The Devil's face softened along with his voice, 'You don't mean that.'

I let a tear slip from my eyes...then another...and another, 'No! I do!' I back stepped as he tried to reach out to me, 'I hate you for playing with my feelings, I hate you for hurting me, I hate you because you put me here in this position! I-'

'Y/N, listen to me.' He grabbed my hand and it physically stung.

I swatted it away out of pain, 'Don't touch me.' I hissed at him as distanced our bodies even more, 'I hate you for cursing me!'

'You're not anymore.' He seemed to have found a second of silence to squeeze his line in, causing me to shut up.

My eyes fluttered and my heart constricted; it seemed to have cramped up. I wanted to, I desperately wanted to crash my lips on his and feel his warmth again. Despite his nauseating words, the thought of him still felt like home.

Yet, I let the overwhelming emotions take control, 'Is that all? Are you expecting a 'thank you?' because that's never going to happen. Getting my life back was the least you could've done.' My words reflected the Devil of the past; stabbing into him and dragging the knife along the wound to tear it even more.

But he didn't lose it, he stayed frighteningly calm and what happened next took my soul and crushed it in its palms.

His hand came up to hold my damp cheek, he lowered his head to press his forehead against mine, 'Shhhh, don't cry anymore okay?' That's when I realised that he had been crying the whole as well. His voice was as soft as my favourite lullaby, but his words pulled at my heart, 'It's all my fault alright? I blame me too, okay? I was stupid and it's all my fault.'

I sniffled as his hand snaked to the back of my head and he pulled me into his chest as I cried; he was willingly showing me affection for the first time in a long time.

I wasn't wrong; he still did feel like home, but when I recollected myself, I foolishly told him to; 'Get out.' It was a whisper, but it was enough.

Before he left, he proceeded to kiss the top of my head, 'I love you.'

I shouldn't have hidden the tear that slid down my face at his confession...I should've told him I loved him too.

���  

Next chapter: 06 

[ortheaux]

i finally managed to get to my laptop, and got all comfortable on the sofa, propped up my grossly overworked and manhandled (i’ll tell you later.)  spine and was going to get into the details of this week’s big, growing ptsd struggles and my reaching a breaking point in terms of needing to get the trauma specialist RIGHT now as opposed to waiting for the referral to go through to change over. the rising panic, hypervigilance and complete dysregulation cropping up in now entirely ‘normal’ and boring, simple situations. the paralyzing agitation and fear on the bus to work, my hands shaking like a leaf in the nail therapists hands simply because she was both close to me AND touching me and i didn’t know her - as well as the fact that i could see every person in the salon at the same time moving and speaking simultaneously, and the sensory overload was making my head feel like it was collapsing in on itself, or coffee with a dear friend becoming a minefield of sounds and light and horrendous spine pain (another shameful assault to the senses) complete with waning eye contact and twitching - but though i want to vocalise these things, organise the thoughts and feelings and get them out of me somehow, i had a thing that took the edge off of them instantly, and it was so weird that i thought i’d share that first/instead, partially. i’ll start from the top, if you’re interested.

so usually, my biggest issues living day to day and especially over the last couple of months around the winter/christmas period have definitely been increasing instances of INTENSE hypervigilance, sensory overload, panic episodes spanning days/an actual week or two after big triggers and navigating my interpersonal relationships whilst trying to deal with hearing from mom(with the wrong therapist), money, dreams, weddings, love, life, etc etc, and these specific ptsd symptoms have been overshadowing the rest of them because of their intensity and frequency, and i’ve had a really symptomatic year really, and it’s built up gradually.

ususally, i’m pretty high functioning and it’s just rough periods post-triggers and stuff, but the vigilance/alert buzz is always there. since xmas, it’s sort of bled out of things at home and interpersonally, and moved more prominently into every day situations, as if someone has gradually turned up the dial on my symptomatic period, and now i was suddenly not just quietly, background terrified/alert at all times, 4/10, know where all the doors are and numb the quiet hum of danger in the background kind of terrified, but i moved up to 5 through 7/10 in just a few weeks, and it hit hard. i think in general, it was something i could sort of force myself through and i could have been satisfied-ish with a basic, single-event trauma ptsd therapist if i had stayed at 4/10 but i didn’t. i was living at 7/10, working HARD on cultivating a mildly relaxed exterior in public, whilst my internal dialogue could only be described as, ‘!!!!!’ at all times. and that sort of thing, it sounds textbook, but it’s complex and really, really destructive in a couple of ways. so, i stay at 7/10 alert always, but it manifests differently depending on where i am, who i’m with at a minimum. so for example, the scenario with the nail tech that i mentioned earlier, that seems sort of rationalisable and typical of a trauma related disorder or even a panic disorder in general. but the funny thing is, all that came last. the worst of it is when you’re surrounded with people you love, but you’re on the edge of your seat. on a bad day, you can hear every move they make and every tiny change of tone. your skin feels like it tingles when somebody looks at you for too long, their questions feel sudden and overwhelming, you’re searching their faces for things that aren’t always there and searching for an agenda that you know they don’t have. on my worse days, i can’t relax my posture, position, and my body wants to make me smaller and so usually i’m really still, or moving periodically and uncomfortably because i know that i should. on my worse days, i can’t relax my face, or my breathing, and it hurts, and i twitch, and shake, not to mention my heart beating out of my chest because ‘!!!!’ and around all those inside feelings, the sensory still buzzes underneath it; the sounds, the sights, every twitch, clang, sharp breath, it goes on, and on, and on - and that’s totally excluding my physical disability and the feelings attached to it lol. can you then imagine, being this way around somebody that wants to marry you?

point is, it’s complex. the inability to relax in itself, is exhausting to say the least. it’s also embarrassing. it happened interpersonally first though, but the intensity ramping up to 7/10 in all areas of my life at the same time has meant that not only am i never relaxed and constantly exhausted at home and with everyone i love until i deal with this, i now feel choked and trapped everywhere i go, including to work - which has been my safe space for years. studying, and working, my professional aspirations in general have been my safe haven for so long and it has followed me there. this, in addition to being so highly symptomatic sometimes at home and in my personal life has been collectively, frankly quite heartbreaking to me, and this week has been choc FULL of it, is what i’m saying. i guess i’ve had enough of only being able to get down to a 3/10 when i’m by myself, because i don’t want to BE by myself. i have people in my life and i love them, and they deserve more, and i feel like maybe i do too. i’ve spent the last two-ish weeks or so jumping between 4/10 to 7.5/10 and i’m so tired of being so... this. one of the worst things about ptsd is the fact that you don’t get to choose - this all happens, and life happens too, at exactly the same time. the saving grace is always just the general ebb and flow in intensity for these conditions in general. anyway, sometimes with ptsd, you have to be reminded that you can’t fill a crack with a plaster, and everything that happens to you going forwards could make you worse, unless you get up and seek out the right cement to fill the cracks. so, i can’t wait just for the referral to go through and do my thing of enduring discomfort until i simply cannot, because i need the tools to live properly. okay, so to the point.

i got comfortable and figured i’d try to articulate where i’m at and what’s been going on for me in this big symptomatic period for me, and sat at my laptop and decided to try for some small victories today since i had such an awful time in pubic again yesterday.  i  had some breakfast, and went to buy the shopping, which i was avoiding because of a shame spiral (whatever, it’s a long story lol) and i texted my partner something about the shopping, and our exchange was so... normal, and loving, and pure and i just felt a little less heavy - like he’d changed the shape of my processing just by us talking about milk and him telling me he loved me. it was such a little dose of just... living normally, and i remembered that i can actually do that, i’m not lost in this! it’s going to take some work, but i just need to find the right cement for the cracks in my psyche and i might get to just share my life with this man without so much of this fear, and dysregulation because i haven’t learned how to handle and process the toughest stuff yet, and i guess after that little pocket of something nice, this whole piece of writing came out differently. don’t get me wrong though, i can’t live like this. none of us can, but i need to get over the funk of blaming myself for accepting the wrong type of therapist and basically getting nowhere - worse, actually - from therapy for a single event trauma and getting constantly retraumatised by exposure therapy and just move on to what i need. because the moments, the moments where i get to experience being calm and happy just for a while, i’m okay with that girl. people can talk to that girl, and love that girl, and that girl doesn’t live in shame because she exists, and that girl can enjoy her life.

but, i’m not an idiot. i have 16 years of trauma and twisting to work through, and i’m not expecting to come out miraculously... anything. all i need, is the right person equipped to equip me with the tools to move through the paralysing fear and complete emotional dysregulation, as well as sort through what i know instead of sealing it away and that’s all i ask - i just know that it needs to be done by a  specialist, and it needs to be done now.

because, i want to live and do what i love.

[i-am-very-very-tired]

Dr. Debra Kissen is the Clinical Director of the Light on Anxiety Treatment Center of Chicago.

Dr. Kissen specializes in CBT based treatment to children, adolescents and adults with a focus on anxiety and stress-related disorders, including OCD, PTSD, panic disorder, agoraphobia, social anxiety disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, specific phobias, separation anxiety disorder, compulsive skin picking, trichotillomania and other Body Focused Repetitive Behaviors (BFRBs). Dr. Debra Kissen applies the principles of evidence-based treatments while at the same time treating the whole person, with deep respect for the human spirit and the challenges we all face on our journey through life.

Dr. Kissen is a Clinical Fellow at the Anxiety Depression Association of America (ADAA) and is a Co-Chair of ADAA's Public Education Committee.  

Step 1: See Through OCD’s Scare Tactics

OCD is the fear network of the brain sending a signal that something is wrong and needs to be done about it IMMEDIATELY. OCD only reports on feared consequences that are important to a person. For example, if somebody does not fear spilling water on the floor, OCD will not send the intrusive thought, “Oh no you spilled water. You must clean it up IMMEDIATELY”. On the other hand if someone does care about the safety of her family, OCD might say, “Oh no you left the stove on. You must go back and check IMMEDIATELY or the most important people in your life will die and it will be all your fault.” Similarly, if you care deeply about your family's well-being or your students safety, OCD may inject itself into your awareness with the thought “Oh no. What if I lose control and harm my children or students.”

My clients always ask me what it means about them that they could have such “horrible thoughts”. What I tell them is that somewhere within an obsession is the flip side of a core value. If OCD taunts you with images and thoughts about offending god, then religion must be important to you. If OCD reviews all the ways your family could be hurt, then your family is clearly one of your top priorities.

There is checklist of common intrusive thoughts that I find helpful to share with my patients. There are numerous thoughts on this list regarding losing control and acting out violently or sexually. Several research studies found that when this list is shown to a non-clinical sample of people, approximately 90 percent of those surveyed will agree to having experienced some of the intrusive thoughts.

When the non-clinical sample is asked how bothered they are by experiencing these intrusive thoughts, they are most often only mildly bothered by them. In contrast, when this same list is shown to individuals diagnosed with OCD, a similar percentage of the sample will agree to having experienced these intrusive thoughts but the big difference is how much distress these thoughts evoke for the OCD sample. For those meeting criteria for OCD, there will be a much higher level of emotional distress when these same intrusive thoughts surface.

What keeps OCD alive and well is not the experience of intrusive thoughts but actually one’s reaction to them. The more one dislikes experiencing intrusive thoughts and then tries to repress or fight with these thoughts, the greater the frequency of intrusive thoughts one will experience. The very act of trying to “not have” a bothersome thought guarantees its resurfacing. The only way to know if you are having or not having a thought is to think “Am I think about X” or “I better not think about X” which of course causes one to think about X.

So back to the question of why do those meeting criteria for OCD have such disturbing thoughts? Because they are human and to be human means one will experience freaky, odd thoughts. The human mind is constantly spinning around trying to find interesting problems to solve, in order to keep us alive. We don’t have the speed of the jaguar or the strength of a bear but we do have an all too powerful mind that is very good at planning for future challenges but also for tying itself into a knot. Freedom from OCD is not about stopping the mind from offering up strange and occasionally disturbing thoughts but learning how to recognize spam vs. urgent mail.

I must give a disclaimer here that OCD loves taking anything that is reassuring and turning it into a compulsion. So, if you are reading this blog for the hundredth time and desperately trying to figure out if this sounds like you and if your “awful thoughts” are OCD or if in fact you are an awful person, then STOP reading this blog. As I am sure your experience has shown you obtaining short-term anxiety relief through a compulsion comes at a cost in the form of greater overall anxiety. Instead, strive for long-term freedom from OCD by teaching your mind to not take itself so seriously.

Step 2: Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP)

There is no way past OCD except through it. As described in step one, the more one avoids an intrusive thought, the more one will experience the feared, bothersome, super annoying thought. Therefore, we need to flip the equation on its head and practice bringing on the thought while disengaging from any compulsions that have been utilized to obtain short-term anxiety relief. Common compulsions engaged in, when struggling with intrusive thought OCD are reassurance seeking, information seeking/googling to determine if there is something wrong with self, mental reviewing and avoidance. The best way to organize exposure tasks is by creating an exposure hierarchy that outlines baby steps that you can take to slowly but surely prove to OCD who is in charge (hint…YOU).

Step 3: Get Support

“Support” may sound superfluous but without it your Intrusive Thought OCD fighting plan will most likely be a bust. It is near impossible to do this work alone. It is not that you are not smart enough or determined enough or brave enough to beat OCD. The reason you need external support is because there is nothing more powerful in taking the wind out of OCD’s sails than voicing intrusive thoughts out loud, to a compassionate, informed coach. The same intrusive thoughts that feel so real, all powerful and self-defining when swirling around in your head will disintegrate when said out loud. When your intrusive thoughts are released into the world and your supportive coach looks back at you, and still sees the YOU they believe in and hears your intrusive thought as “blah blah blah” and possibly laughable, your brain will be one step closer to understanding that these thoughts are spam mail and nothing more.

In terms of finding a supportive OCD coach, you can contact a therapist that is well trained in CBT for OCD but if this is price prohibitive or if there is not access in your local community to OCD experts, there are other options. You can purchase a CBT for OCD workbook and go chapter by chapter through it with any licensed therapist in your community. You can schedule an appointment with one of ADAA’s OCD specialists who offer tele-mental health services. And it is perfectly acceptable to purchase a CBT for OCD workbook and go through the material together with a friend or family member.

So you now know the three basic steps necessary to kick intrusive thought OCD to the curb. And remember, we are all so much more than our thoughts. Our lives are defined by the actions that we choose to take, not by the electrical storm of thoughts that flicker through our minds.

Free Webinar!

Dr. Kissen and Dr. Ashley D. Kendall, PhD presented a live webinar on this topic on March 12, 2018 at 1:00 pm ET.

This webinar will share tips and tools to:

Identify if you may be dealing with harm OCD

Make sense of why harm OCD picks such painful themes and content

Take the power away from harm OCD

Re-engage in your life now that you are giving less of your attention and energy to harm OCD

Watch here.

Additional Resources:

ADAA provides free webinars (many focused on OCD)

Learn more about OCD

Read personal stories of triumph

Join ADAA’s free, anonymous online peer-to-peer support group

Subscribe to ADAA’s free monthly email newsletter

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

[jaggu-rdx]

Night Stay At Haunted Place Ghodbunder Fort Most scientists dismiss the vast majority of ghost sightings as hoaxes. But researchers in Canada, England and elsewhere are exploring what happens in the brain to create the illusion that something is “haunted.” So far, they have found evidence that some apparitions may be brain benders caused by spiking EMFs (electromagnetic fields), and possibly even extremely low-–frequency sound waves (known as infrasound) so subtle that the ear does not register them as noise. Although Persinger believes this case and others to offer compelling evidence that EMFs contribute to a person’s perception that something is haunted, experiments intended to prove this theory leave room for doubt. Christopher French, a psychologist at Goldsmiths, University of London College in London who studies the paranormal, is one researcher who has conducted experiments to test the EMF theory but has been unable to prove its validity. He and colleagues four years ago built a “haunted” room in a London apartment rigged with electromagnetic sources and infrasound generators. They invited 79 volunteers, recruited via the Internet, to spend some time inside the cool, dimly lit space. The researchers used a computer to drive twin coils, hidden behind the walls of the room, that generated EMF pulses up to 50 microteslas (a unit for measuring the strength of a magnetic field) of electromagnetic pulses, many times greater than the one1- to -four4 microteslas generated by Persinger’s clock. They also used a computer to pump in extremely low-–frequency infrasound waves that were well below what humans could possibly hear. Such sounds have been linked, albeit tenuously, to some alleged hauntings. In a 1998 Journal of the Society for Psychical Research article entitled, “The Ghost in the Machine,” Coventry University (U.K.in England) researchers Vic Tandy and Tony Lawrence describe an experiment during which they detected an infrasound wave with a frequency of 18.9 hertz in a factory where workers had reported strange experiences they believed to be paranormal (French and his team used waveforms of 18.9 and 22.3 hertz.). French’s volunteers were exposed to electromagnetic pulses, infrasound, both or neither. “Most people reported at least some slightly odd sensation, such as a presence or feeling dizzy, and some reported terror, which we hadn’’t expected,” French says. “Terror is obviously quite an extreme reaction, and we only anticipated getting reports of mildly anomalous sensations in the context of this particular experiment.” Still, French and his colleagues could not conclude that EMFs played a role in conjuring these feelings. Like any dutiful researcher, French—who became interested in paranormal psychology after reading the 1981 book Parapsychology: Science or Magic?, by the renowned doubter and British psychologist James E. Alcock—has gone into the field, visiting purportedly haunted houses, which are in ample supply in England. He says believers “psych each other up. Sitting in pitch darkness you hear noises, which are common in these old houses, but believers see and hear things that just aren’t there, according to our recording devices.” “There’s a continuum, and this kind of framework is useful when you’re talking about hallucinatory experiences,” French says. “People are mistaking their attribution, feeling a product of their own mental processes as something that’s taking place in the real world. Anything that can lead to making your mental events more similar to events that take place—a vivid imagination, for example—will make it more difficult to distinguish between the two.” Of course, believers say French cannot see or hear ghosts because he is a “horrible skeptic,” which he readily admits. “I wish it was a bit more spooky,” he says of his time waiting for apparitions to appear in dank, musty castles. “I’m sitting in the dark, in the cold. I wish something more would happen.” Persinger commends French’s team on its “splendid experiment,” even if it didn’t validate his ideas. Still, he contends, EMFs do affect the body in many ways—from the brain to individual cells, to enzymes, and even DNA. The key to testing their effects on brain activity, he says, is to make sure that the fields are neither too strong nor too weak, and that they come in the right pattern. So he is not willing to give up on finding a way to prove scientifically that EMFs are behind at least some ghost sightings. “I’m a scientist,” Persinger says. “I don’t believe in anything.”