#Not a psychiatrist

[cheemscakecat]

Why Emesis Blue Medic should be taken off the Gravel War Battlefield.

My overall Em Blue theory is that it’s a shared nightmare, so keep that in mind for this post.

So we know Dr Ludwig has been diagnosed with Schizophrenia by somebody at BLU. The reason we know this is because he gave Scout the same medicine that he’s been taking, which you wouldn’t do if you had two different issues going on.

If you were Scout and your doctor friend was addicted to this medicine, you wouldn’t want to get addicted yourself. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Scout theorizes that the medicine is part of the problem.

So here’s my theory on what mental health problem is plaguing BLU Medic:

Because he was roughly 6 when the N*zis took power in 1933 and Jewish, Fritz had a lot of trauma from a young age. He developed DID, formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder [it can only develop from childhood trauma]. His parents and doctors were limited in what they could do because of the state of the country; they also thought his hallucinations of other personalities were imaginary friends.

When he escaped to America as an adult, he decided to join BLU in the hopes that other mercenaries would be willing to go fight against Germany in the war. But then the first respawn failures happened, and he got roped into being an “expert” on the issue.

Spy’s Disguise gave us a brief window into what was happening to the doctor during the respawn crisis.

He hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s got an exposed cut on his face, a five o��clock shadow, and bags under his eyes.

He didn’t speak or blink for any of the scenes he was in, which was off putting to Engineer. He even showed them what was wrong using a VHS, not his words.

Overall, he seems aloof and unapproachable, which is different to how he acted in Em Blue.

We know Jules Archibald must be a hack since Soldier and Spy had a nightmare where he’s callously letting people die for money. If he’s too posh to defend himself like he was in Spy’s perspective, he’s got to be too posh to deal with respawn failure gore.

But that wouldn’t stop him and his crew from holding Medic to a high standard when it came to his work, even if they didn't really want to spend money to fix the problem. I imagine the Administrator was the one that had to “motivate” them to allocate funds, and it would take her a while to get fed up.

So in the meantime, Ludwig developed a new, scarier personality to help him deal with Jules and new respawn failure trauma.

He was the one in control when CyberSpy was examined, and when he was given the bad news about his condition.

We know the doctor still doesn't understand his condition because of the nightmare versions of his other personalities.

This is the nightmare version of the unblinking, mute personality from the funeral. But he’s not the only personality that Fritz is afraid of.

This hallucination gives us more insight into how the doctor views his other personalities. 1. They are trying to trick him and other people. Whichever one this nightmare is based off of is good at pretending to be him.

2. They hate him. He woke up with blood on his hands and no memory of why. The nightmare got angry that he tried to wash the blood off himself. It didn’t hesitate to hurt him.

3. They love violence, and they want to hurt him. This one choked him out and slammed his head into the mirror. And again, he woke up with blood on his hands.

Him unknowingly killing Scout’s Ma and kidnapping the poor guy happened because he’s afraid that these personalities want to do that. He’s afraid that they’re plotting something and biding their time, Em Blue is the manifestation of what he thinks they’re up to.

The plague doctor was reaching towards him like it was going to be fake nice, despite all of its terrifying features. He thinks that one is trying to lull him into a false sense of security.

He’s wrong about them, and we have proof. We have the actual personality that the mirror monster is based off of, and a long scene with him in control.

This is the personality that developed to deal with RED mercs on the battlefield. That’s why he’s so good at fighting and acts so terrifying.

Now imagine for a moment that you black out during a fight, and when you come to your team is freaking out over you. They say you started beating the RED team senseless, with a terrifying grin that nobody has seen from you before. You don’t remember any of it, and unfortunately it’s only the first of many times this will happen.

That’s Dr Ludwig’s perspective. He doesn’t know what they want. He doesn’t know what they are or how to get rid of them. They keep appearing in the corner of his office or his room, if you watch him talk to Scout in his MedBay, he keeps looking around like he expects another person to be there. He just wants it to stop, so he starts relying on Valium as a crutch.

The bottle reveal is an interesting scene to me, because Emesis Diazepam horrifies the doctor. It must be something he knows is dangerous, and he’d never take knowingly.

Here are some symptoms of long term Valium/Diazepam abuse

Persistent drowsiness

Confusion

Memory loss

Fatigue

Dizziness

Blood in urine/feces

Depression

Anxiety

Tremors

Sleeping problems

Nightmares

Hallucinations

Seizures

Here are the overdose symptoms:

Coma [can still breathe]

Bluish lips and fingernails

Blurred/double vision

Slowed/stopped breathing

Confusion

Depression

Dizziness

Drowsiness

Excitability

Hiccups

Rapid eye movement

Rash

Stomach is upset/pained

Tiredness

Tremors

Uncoordinated movement and weakness

I think the bottle reveal is meant to be a wake up call about the Valium addiction. Maybe the other personalities know he should stop taking it, we do see the quiet one standing behind him afterwards.

DID personalities develop to protect a person from their trauma and keep them safe. Sometimes these personalities can be dangerous because they believe that they are demons, evil, or that destroying the host body will just send them back to their own. People wake up parked on bridges and in other odd places because another personality took control then switched back.

But in every scene where we get to see the others in control, they appear to be trying to help Fritz, not make things worse. The quiet one was trying to keep him safe from Spy and the people at BLU that made him a scapegoat. The violent one was attacking the Engineers to try and save both Medic and Scout, and probably tried to take control at Scout’s house so he could deal with BLU Ma’s body instead.

When the ambulance crashed into the telephone pole, that was because the quiet one over exerted himself and blacked out. But remaining parked outside of Scout’s house and waking up may well have happened because of the Valium abuse. The medicine is causing more symptoms that overlap with DID, and exacerbating the distrust that Fritz feels towards the others.

This doesn’t make him a bad guy, he doesn’t know what he’s doing to himself or that the others are trying to help him. The quiet one is terrifying, and seeing him in the corner of your room would get on your nerves. Blacking out and being told about actions you don’t remember doing would be terrifying, and I don’t blame him for assuming the personalities are malicious.

Maybe it would be better for BLU Medic to keep working as BLU since it’s become home, but not as a battle Medic. First he needs to reconcile with the others and understand what they are trying to do. Then they need to work together to decide whether he should retire or stay at the familiar base. But he’s having too many issues to be fighting other mercenaries.

The Spies and RED Medic that looks exactly like him are just going to confuse matters more, whether they know it or not. They gotta get another BLU Medic to fight on the field, this can’t go on.

[nemo-me-impune]

From what I can see the main difference between OCD and autism is that autistic people enjoy doing the same thing over and over while OCD people find it distressing over time

[adriagan]

i NEED you to remember this: you are allowed to be angry at your doctors. you are allowed to be furious. you are allowed to be mad at your nurses and technicians and neurologists and psychiatrists and medical assistants. they are not god. they are human beings and they work in a system that wears them raw, and that is unfair, but it isn't an excuse to treat you badly. i'm not necessarily saying you should throw a brick through the window of their car, but you can, should, must be angry with them for ignoring you, demeaning you, dehumanizing you, dismissing you, acting like you're lying, talking only about your weight, failing to acknowledge you past your symptoms, etc etc etc. you are an equal to your doctor. you are a human being and so are they. do not treat them as beyond reproach. you are allowed to be angry at your doctors.

[rocktheholygrail]

Hannibal (2013-2015)

1x08 - “Fromage”

[martitheevans]

They are the same person in my head

[arthur-side]

Idc what the outcome will be but I'll probably need the motivation

If this post gets:

350 notes: I'll start properly writing the Vigilante AU that I'm struggling to do

500 notes: I'll start to clean my household that's dusty af

1000 notes: I'll start studying for my Journalism(I have to catch on a lot hwlp)

2000 notes: I'll start art studying more on the face

3000 notes: I'll start actually exercising the whole week(I've been needing to take vitamins because of how much I just sit and struggle to do something with my body)

4000 notes: I'll start actually studying for my school

5000 notes: I'll try stopping the voices in my head that says that all my injuries/suffering are just little and actually start trying to ask for help more

10000 notes: I'll go and fight my trauma and start trying to cook more food other than rice and eggs because I still remember that fire back when I was around 5(It's funny because I wanted to become a chef before and now I joke a lot about arson, ironic, ain't it?)

Why so much? I really want to do these and yet there's something in my head making me scared of doing these

No rules, go insane if needed

[wimsiecal]

“it's not like I lay awake at night thinking about her!”

“…uh oh”

[mrs-weasley-reid]

DOCTORS ACROSS THE HALL

Spencer Reid x psychiatrist!reader

Synopsis: Sleep-deprived and traumatized, Spencer Reid attempts to pin the blame on his innocent new neighbor (he can't). Word Count: 2k+ Warning: meet cute-ish(?) fluff(?) i'm not sure anymore, lol. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. not proofread !!!! A/N: inspired by S2 x E14 & 15, we all know what i mean hehe

Spencer Reid's eyes are dry.

Each blink is a terrifying journey. Afraid that he'll go back in the past—in that hut—in between the millisecond of closing his eyes.

He's seeing nothing but blurry darkness, and yet he can still feel Tobias Hankel's shaky palms across the skin of his arm.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

The same four words ring in Spencer's ears, encouraging pain—paranoia.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

With every breath Spencer takes, they hitch in the middle of his throat. Forever stuck and dies there with no trace of hope for the next generation of traveling air.

Hope that he'll be able to breathe without tugging aches all over his chest is long gone.

No man would ever be the same had they been in the situation he went through. He can't help but feel weak. And it's eating Spencer alive to the point of deliberate insomnia.

He doesn't remember the last time he'd ever slept like a normal person.

"It helps."

Knock, knock.

"Trust me."

Knock, knock, knock.

Spencer opens his eyes. He's not sure when slumber took over his mind or if he even participated in sleep at all. Chances are he was too dissociated from reality that he's left his body frozen for a while. Nonetheless, in the little time he spent in serene blankness, only one emotion brews in him.

Anger.

Who in their right minds would go out knocking at—Spencer glances at the clock on his nightstand—2 AM?

Knock, knock, KNOCK—

It stops.

A creak echoes in the hall as muffled voices scratch Spencer's ears. He can't make out the words, only the wave of the softest and gentlest whispers he's ever heard.

On a different day, he may have let it go. Hell, a different him would have let it go.

The Spencer from one week ago would have let it go.

The Spencer who never felt so nauseous at the sight of his own blood along the canvas of his temple. The Spencer with an awkward grin without the baggage of Tobias Hankel's torture over his shoulders.

The Spencer he used to be.

But despite everyone's loving support. Despite the bragging rights he gained for surviving a serial killer. No one can loosen the throttling chokehold of trauma around his neck. Not even him.

Spencer catches himself clenching his fists too tight. Crescent indentations sting on his palm—nostalgic and unsettling. He only grits his jaw at the thought. And comes in the invigorating vibrations all over his chest.

There it is again.

The useless anger.

A loaded gun with no target.

The man is dead. Tobias Hankel is dead.

Spencer wonders about the use of his boiling anger when the person he loathes is already rotting in his grave.

Without any other outlet to unleash the colossal mass of suppressed rage brewing inside of him, Spencer makes good use of one of the most common defense mechanisms: displacement.

Maybe screaming at someone will deflate the tightness across his chest and clear his mind a bit in the form of self-loathing after he realizes the grave immaturity of his plan.

He lifts his body off his mattress, swinging his legs on the side of his bed as he methodically rubs his eyes against the lamp's brightness. Strands of his hair go array around the vertical circumference of his head like an electric halo.

A huff pulses off his lips. He swallows a lump of thick air as he weighs his next moves.

Part of Spencer died in that cemetery. What difference does it make if he screams at the world? If he screams at—

His brows furrow, eyes narrow, and ears perk.

It's different this time.

Irritating knocks. Opening door. Muffled whispering. Closing door. Then quiet for an hour.

That has been a constant for the past five days. A constant routine that he felt indifferent about but somehow grew annoyed by.

But it's different this time.

The door across the hall didn't close.

And it's been five minutes.

Before Spencer knows it, his hand turns the knob and swings the door open.

Two women across from him. They are in the middle of what seems to be a tight hug before one bids her goodbye and lightly runs down the stairs.

Spencer watches as the other disappears down the lower level. Anger morphs into confusion.

"Did we bother you?"

He jolts back, snapping his gaze to the woman across. "What?"

You smile apologetically, "I'm sorry about the noise—"

"Dr. Spencer Reid," He spits. Spencer's forehead creases. He wonders what prompted his mouth to openly provide his full name to a stranger, specifically when the information was not asked for.

"Oh," You blink, lightly jumping on your toes. An unseen glint sparks in your eyes. You introduce yourself as a response, a lot less threatening than he did but equally awkward. You smile again. Sweetly, this time. Like you're looking at a puppy.

Spencer's brows bounce over his forehead as the hand over his doorknob loosens. "You're a doctor?" He inquires.

You nod, "Mhm, what are the odds, right?" You chuckle. The sound echoes around the quiet hall.

"11.76%."

"What?"

"The odds—" Spencer scratches the back of his neck, "—it's 11.76%. There are fourteen tenants in this building, including you. We both found out we're doctors, and I know none of our neighbors are. Most of the neighbors are living alone besides the old couple on the first floor, but I know none of them are doctors. That's two in fifteen people. So 11.76%. But now I realize you weren't being literal about it..." Heat rushes against the skin of his face.

Silence hovers between the two of you. He feels more awake than he was minutes ago for an entirely different reason—embarrassment. Spencer wishes that some sort of earthquake would open up the floor and swallow him.

"Interesting," You finally speak, changing the leg where you placed your weight. "I tried calculating it myself and got the same result. You were right."

His mouth falls agape. A surge of warmth strikes his chest. "You were calculating?" Spencer squints, rubbing an eye out of habit due to his current predicament and baffled by your antic all the same.

You nod again, "Just cause you're my neighbor doesn't mean I'll just take your word for it, you know. But I have to admit, it was cool that you figured that out in a second. You have my respect." You flash a playful smile, hugging your chest at the sudden draft.

"Ahh," Spencer steps back into his apartment. The tinge of giddiness is quickly replaced by sleep deprivation and anxiety. A hand throws itself into the cavity of his eye socket, pushing it close to remove the pain that's settling in.

Flashes of bright light blind him in the dark shade of his eyelids. Frustration swiftly creeps over his shoulders. Like he's drowning above water, tied down, and has no air to gasp for. Panic begins to paralyze him. All seems lost, and darkness slowly—

"Would you like some tea?"

Spencer blinks, lifting his gaze back at you as your soft smile slowly adjusts his sight.

"I have a new brand of tea I've been dying to open. Would you like some?" You repeat, tilting your head a bit as you await a response. When you don't get one, you add, "I promise I don't bite." And your heart flutters at the little twitch at the ends of his lips.

He concludes you're roughly two weeks fresh from moving in. Here you are, inviting a stranger in the middle of the night to enjoy tea inside your home.

Seems reckless.

Idiotic.

But Spencer doesn't say no.

He walks towards you like he's leaving a world to explore another. Anxiety slowly dissipates with each step he takes. A contrast of what he feels each second that passes while he lies awake.

You step aside to give him way. "Grab a seat—" you gesture towards the kitchen -island-slash-dining-table, "—The girl you saw usually stays longer, so I already heat some water. Is chamomile okay?" You talk as you maneuver around your small kitchen.

Spencer finds a seat closest to the door. For all he knows, you're the serial killer on your end of the skeptical assumptions in his head.

"Nice apartment," He says out of the obligatory guest etiquette. Spencer takes in every bit of your reflection in your home.

It's inviting. Warm and cozy. The hint of oat and lavender whiffs past his nose. Your place is adorned with small, warm lights, brightening each corner with sunset tones.

Your chuckle brings his attention back to you. "Don't be shy, Dr. Reid," You glance at him over your shoulder. "It's messy. You can say it."

"If a couple of books on your table is messy to you, you should see my side of the building."

Spencer straightens up as confusion spreads over his face.

How do you do that?

Make him feel comfortable with words and a gentle voice. Everyone on his team has been doing the same exact thing, but somehow, you get something out of him without further prompting.

The image of your coffee table pops in his head. Cultural Psychology. Learning Psychotherapy. Trauma and Dreams. And a few more books that clocks his interest in you further down the rabbit hole.

"You're a psychologist," He announces into the air.

"Psychiatrist, actually," You place a mug in front of Spencer, finding a seat across from him. "But what gave it away? The tea or the messy apartment?" You ask into your mug that says 'you're purrfect' in pink lowercase and has a cat’s paw under the lettering. A playful smile is curving your lips.

Spencer accepts the blue mug, brows rising at the police box outlined image over the blue stain. He wouldn’t have expected you as a fan of Doctor Who, but who’s he to judge? A part of him wants to discuss common interests, but he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to change the subject.

"T-the books." He says hesitantly, uncertain whether the art of observation has marked him a creep right at that moment.

You hum, "Thought I would've been more mysterious than that." You chuckle, pulling a leg against your chest. "And you?" You inquire back.

"I have three PhDs," Spencer shares shyly, breaking eye contact masked as drinking your quite tasteful tea. He notes to ask the brand you're so enthusiastic about later on.

"Three?" Your eyes glisten under the warm light.

He nods.

"Let me guess, 190."

"190?"

"Your IQ," You lean back against the table, "My guess is you graduated young. Went to high school, college, and graduate school as a puppy." You add, amping with adoration over the new information.

"A puppy is a strong word, but yes," Spencer blushes now, hoping the small lighting leans in his favor to hide the red tint over every bit of his skin. “And just 187, not that big of a deal.”

"Just 187? You're just being humble, right?" You giggle, "I bet some prestigious agency hired you at a young age, and you're called the genius kid." You jest, genuinely interested in him more than ever.

More like the boy genius. But can’t possibly expose himself more than you already did out of sheer lucky guesses. Spencer avoids meeting your eyes like it's the plague. "You awfully guess a lot..."

You gasp, placing your mug on the table, "Shut up! I was close, was I? Oh my gosh!" You're laughing now, utterly comfortable to show quirks that people you just met shouldn't see yet. "I'm good at this. I think I'll be okay later, then." You say to yourself, nodding in satisfaction.

"For what?" Spencer chimes, troubles slipping away to the back of his mind and the sound of your hush laughter lulling him. It might be the tea or the possibility that you'd drugged him, but his body felt light for the first time in weeks. He doesn't have any complaints.

"I moved here for a job," You start attentively, making sure that you don't share too much. "But I have people. They'll search for me in case you turn out to be a serial killer."

His brows jump, "How do I know you're not the serial killer? Women can be one, too. And statistically, women who are serial killers are attractive."

"Are you saying I'm attractive, Dr. Reid?"

"I—" Spencer freezes, heat flowing to his ears. "I-I was making a point—" He cuts himself off. He wonders when the earthquake he's wished for earlier is coming to save him from embarrassment.

You stay silent, reveling in his stuttering voice.

"Is that coffee? I thought you made tea." He changes the subject—poorly.

You don't mind it one bit, indulging at the sight of his pinkish ears covered by his unruly hair. "I invited you for tea. I didn't say I'll drink one with you." You take a sip of the caffeine, rubbing the idea on his face.

Spencer responds with a subtle roll of his eyes that makes you chuckle more than intended. "Why coffee at three in the morning?" He asks gently, not wanting to step over any boundaries.

"I'm supposed to start my job later. I heard my patients need a lot of assistance, so I need to study and make sure I give them the right help."

"That sounds noble," He yawns, the first of many.

Spencer never thought your smile could get any sweeter, "I haven't officially met them yet. So, I really wish it goes well."

It might be the chamomile tea with a hint of honey finally working in his veins, but Spencer thinks you're beaming like an angel descending from the skies.

He yawns, and you giggle once more, "I think you should go to sleep, Dr. Reid."

“Yeah, yeah, I should,” Spencer’s eyebrows collide at the sadness in his chest. His body feels comfortable in his seat. Getting out of it feels like torture. 

You both stand from your seats, walking him towards the door. 

Spencer turns around before he closes his, a sleepy smile on his face. "Thanks for the tea," He yawns, a hand covering his mouth.

“You’re— hold on, give me one second,” You turn around and back inside your apartment. He can’t see you but can hear your light footsteps on the floorboards as you run to your coffee table and back inside the frame of your front door. 

Spencer patiently waits as you walk to his end of the hall, take his hand out, and hand him a heart lollipop. 

“Take this. They help with the bad craving,” You advertise as you walk backward. Before he completely shuts the door, you call for him, "Oh, and Dr. Reid."

Spencer swings the door open back wider, "Yes?"

"I think you're attractive too."

reid masterlist | masterlist

[one-time-i-dreamt]

My psychiatrist asked every therapist I've ever had what I was like in therapy, compiled what they said on a piece of paper and just gave it to me saying it's constructive criticism.

[boccher]

the difference between cheating to get through compulsory education and cheating to get a profession in a position of power is that the cheating part is literally irrelevant you should kill yourself if you're trying to gain societal power over the marginalized regardless of if you're getting your qualifications legit or not

[the-scarecrow-of-aus]

Dating life of an immortal teen

Jazz developed a liminal gift around the time of dannys accident due to exposure.

She starts to suspect since she hasn't grown as much since she was 17, it was so subtle barely anybody noticed: jazz has the gift of longevity and is not ageing as fast.

Unfortunately her parents were among the small number that started to notice and she had to leave 'for college' before they tried any 'experiments' on her (they were always far too quick in suspecting jazz of being a ghost).

So started the continually cycling aliases of Jazz [no last name given] as she tried to live her life travelling around the country.

Occasionally she would meet someone and be happily in their life for a while, before having to move again (either forced or scheduled)

Her secret finally comes out when one of her early ex's recognises her in a photo with their younger co-worker... who then realises another co-worker is also an ex... until most of the group realise they've dated her at one point in their lives... then it gets noticed by their sister organisation who also recognise her.

Now anywhere else this could be humorous except these are no ordinary coworkers...

They're hero's.

Jazz has accidentally been 'Dating' her way through a large chunk of the the justice leagues civilian identities all across america and the world! (Not to mention JL: Dark) she has no idea they were hero's only that they were charming and she was lonely.

now the paranoid members (eg. Batman, the Question, Constantine, wonder woman) are worried she was preying on them and need to investigate.

[gatheringbones]

people who couldn’t afford therapy have been doing postgraduate trauma work in communion with one another for longer than you or I have been alive

[catwouthats]

Going fucking insane. The gays and their little games of chess

[furrybydaygaybynight]

Listen I have a lot of things I need to wait for today, a lot on my mind, a tiny sketchbook and about 7 different ballpoint pens stolen from different offices

I need to occupy myself somehow, so I'm putting him in situations

[galactic-rhea]

This one was for my partner! He asked this little scene from an AU we have.

Very short context for this particular scene: Anakin survives ROTJ to b come the most bonkers dad and then grandpa ever, which means the whole Sequels timeline gets a bit to the left (or more like a 180° shift), Rose builds what's basically an UFO and, accidentally, it's so dangerous and intuitive that only a force sensitive can fly it.

Luke, like usually, is pretty much amused. Poe and Ben are...confused.

[bixels]

I hate how ADHD has made just the act of eating difficult. My psychiatrist and doctors have told me that eating food is none-negotiable and a part of my medication, but it’s still hard to self-motivate. I have to struggle every day not to purposely starve myself. It’s gotten to the point where I won’t eat anything for a whole day and will feel fine and that’s bad. Or stomach growling feels good.