#Psychiatrist Online Consultation

[sthirtheminds]

Understanding the Physiological Effects of Stress: A Comprehensive Guide

Stress is an inevitable part of life that can significantly impact our physiological health. From minor daily pressures to major life events, stress triggers a cascade of responses in our bodies that can lead to various health issues. Understanding these effects is crucial for managing stress and maintaining overall well-being.

The Role of Online Psychotherapy

In today's fast-paced world, finding the best psychotherapist in Delhi can be challenging. However, with the rise of online psychotherapy, accessing professional help has become more convenient. Online psychotherapy allows individuals to connect with licensed psychotherapists in Delhi from the comfort of their homes. This virtual approach offers flexibility and accessibility, making it easier for people to seek help without the added stress of commuting or scheduling conflicts.

Relationship Therapy Online

Stress can strain relationships, leading to conflicts and misunderstandings. Relationship therapists play a vital role in helping couples navigate these challenges. With online therapy, couples can now consult a relationship therapist online, addressing their issues in real-time. This immediate access to professional guidance can significantly alleviate relationship stress, fostering healthier communication and stronger bonds.

Virtual Psychotherapy: A Modern Solution

The advent of virtual psychotherapy has revolutionized mental health care. It provides a platform for individuals to talk to a therapist online now, without the barriers of geographical location or time constraints. This immediacy is particularly beneficial during times of acute stress, allowing for prompt intervention and support.

Seeking the Best Psychiatrist in Delhi NCR

While psychotherapists focus on talk therapy, psychiatrists in Delhi NCR provide a broader range of mental health services, including medication management. The best psychiatrist in Delhi NCR can offer online consultations, making it easier for patients to receive comprehensive care. This holistic approach addresses both the physiological and psychological effects of stress, promoting overall mental health.

Benefits of Psychiatrist Online Consultation

Psychiatrist online consultations have become increasingly popular, offering several advantages. Patients can discuss their symptoms, receive diagnoses, and get prescriptions without leaving their homes. This convenience reduces stress, particularly for those with mobility issues or busy schedules. Additionally, online consultations ensure privacy and confidentiality, encouraging more people to seek help.

Conclusion

Understanding the physiological effects of stress is essential for effective management. The integration of online psychotherapy and psychiatrist online consultation provides a modern, accessible approach to mental health care. Whether you're looking for the best psychotherapist in Delhi or the best psychiatrist in Delhi NCR, virtual platforms offer a practical solution to addressing stress and its related health issues. By leveraging these resources, individuals can achieve better mental health and improved quality of life.

more information :

[mindmattersclinics]

Elevate Mental Wellness: Secure Psychiatry Consultation in Jagadhri with Mind Matters

Elevate mental wellness will help you find the route to mental health. For your peace of mind, Mind Matters extends an invitation for you to have private, safe psychiatrist consultation in Jagadhri. Our experienced team of specialists is dedicated to delivering customized care while creating a supportive atmosphere for your mental health journey. Get access to a variety of tools and insights to improve your mental health with the ease. Mind Matters, where compassion meets competence, is a proactive step towards a better mind. Your mental health is important, and we are here to support you every step of the way.

[drprakharjain]

Online Therapy Sessions | Psychiatrist Online Consultation

Explore our virtual mental health consultation services. Get the best psychiatrist online consultation and experience seamless online therapy sessions tailored to your needs.

[dr-subhadeep-roy-psychiatrist]

Online Psychiatrist Consultation | Dr Subhadeep Roy

Take the first step to better mind health with an online psychiatrist consultation with Dr. Subhadeep Roy in Kolkata. Enjoy expert advice and personalized care from home. Schedule your session today and start your journey to wellness. Reach out now for a seamless experience. Phone: 097483 70579

Website: https://peaceinmindpsychiatrist.com/

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[ankitasingh12332]

Online Psychologist Consultation: Book Online Sessions Now

From the comfort of your home, connect with an experienced therapist for a convenient online psychologist consultation, who offers personalized support tailored to your needs.

With BetterLYF, you can access professional guidance and therapy conveniently, helping you overcome challenges and achieve emotional well-being. Book an appointment: https://www.betterlyf.com

[dshseodelhi]

Get online mental health counseling for relationships, depression and anxiety by certified psychologists.For online psychiatrist consultation Please Call / WhatsApp : 9013 262626

[engadoctor]

What are the benefits of reading aloud to my 6 months old baby?

Reading aloud to your 6 month old baby has many benefits.

The most important one is the development of a strong bond between you and your baby. Reading aloud helps your baby to become familiar with the sounds of language and the rhythm of speech, which is important for language development.

It also helps your baby to develop listening and attention skills. Additionally, studies show that reading aloud to babies can help them to build stronger vocabulary and language skills.

Finally, reading aloud can help your baby to develop curiosity and imagination, which is important for overall cognitive development.

1. Improved Language Development: Reading aloud to your infant helps develop their language skills. It exposes them to new words and helps them learn the sound and structure of language.

 2. Expanded Vocabulary: Reading aloud to your baby from an early age helps them to quickly and easily learn new words.

3. Improved Listening Skills: Reading aloud to your baby helps them to develop their listening and concentration abilities.

4. Bonding: Reading aloud to your baby helps to create a strong bond between the two of you. Spending quality time together helps to create a secure and loving relationship.

5. Improved Imagination: Reading aloud to your baby stimulates their imagination and helps them to develop their creativity.

Dr. T.R. Ajay Prakaash MD(peds), Fellowship in Neonatology

[findmeinthefallair]

An Uncommonly Discussed Trauma Symptom

Disclaimer: This is in no way a substitute for therapy: it’s only psychoeducation. Please consult a therapist and/or hotline and get the help you need if you are experiencing mental health difficulties, especially if experiencing distress or issues that feel unmanageable.

Warnings: Mentions and discussion of suicidal ideation, death, abuse and violence.

Special thanks to @ashanimus and @childlikegoblinqueen

Ever heard of "the sense of a foreshortened future"?

If you have suffered trauma over a sustained and long enough period of time, you may find that you can't imagine yourself living long. You can't see yourself reaching milestones, because it hardly makes sense to your mind that you can go on for that long...given how much you have felt like you've escaped danger, given just how many close calls you have had in life.

Yet the sense of a foreshortened future is a separate thing from suicidality.

If you have both of those together though, it really isn't fun because they may feed one another in a cycle, in the way that symptoms under the same mental health condition have the potential to do the same.

It isn't a desire for pain to end (which is what suicidality is), more so a generated expectation that takes root, and a framework which a survivor tries to fit their experiences into, with the goal to get things to make as much sense as can be. Because it's often the easier thing to devise a simple formula, to feel certainty and to manage one's expectations: rather than embrace the grey areas of uncertainty about how life will turn out.

It's almost as if this feeling of a foreshortened future is in a tug-of-war match between what appears to be solid reasoning, and a person's natural survival instinct along with the hunger for a meaningful life.

This symptom isn't on the *official* criteria for a psychiatrist or clinical psychologist to make any diagnoses, it is not listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5) or International Classification of Diseases, 10th Revision (ICD-10). But informally it is sometimes categorized as an avoidance symptom under both PTSD and Complex PTSD, and also under longer-term depression.

(however, I think it can extend to other conditions. The key criteria is it emerges from repeatedly experiencing horrible things until it makes sense in one's head to expect themselves not to last much longer)

If you hop onto Google Scholar to find proper research about it, the findings are very scarce because it's hard to define it, empirically measure it and quantify it in the first place.

Again, it's not the same as suicidal ideation because a foreshortened-future view is an expectation, while the latter is about a desire.

I wasn't taught about this symptom in any training and supervision before becoming a licensed therapist, nor did any of my own therapists bring it up as psychoeducation when I saw them. It was only through online articles on informal websites that I stumbled upon the phrase and it all clicked for my long-term experiences.

But I feel it is good knowledge for anyone providing psychotherapy to bear in mind.

In The Owl House, the grimwalker lore weaved into Hunter's arc, can shockingly be linked with this symptom, symbolically and thematically.

But the show's age rating means it would likely be too dark for the writing team to explicitly incorporate it into Hunter's dialogue.

Hunter was a lamb marked for the slaughter early on.

He has questioned his survival and ability to thrive.

The following article on Psychology Today describes Belos's long-term influence on Hunter pretty well and provides info that strengthens the points I'm making in this whole post:

Link

It's bad enough that before Hunter and Luz found Belos's mindscape, he struggled with the fear of failure to the extent that there was already the raging inner battle between his primal survival instinct and the already knackered part of him that sought eternal rest from his suffering (showing up as suicidal thoughts):

Fast forward a number of episodes...and we see the looming horrors in Hollow Mind that culminated in Hunter's discovery of what his predecessors went through:

followed by permanent rejection by his parental figure:

The power held by a foreshortened-future view, and its potential to isolate you - to make you feel like you're invisible, or a ghost - can be strong.

What Hunter said to Gus in the following screencaps sums up what it feels like pretty well:

In the context of having an abuser, it emerges from the negative beliefs they impose on you. It gets tricky if those beliefs are internalized, and which may remain internalized even after you get to safety and away from said abuser. Internalized until they become what you expect of your life.

It's about those thoughts which you know in your rational mind are lies, but you feel their apparent truth. They go more silent when you practice self-care but they return to try and reel you in again, and to a degree, they succeed in getting you to believe them all over again, before you renounce them once more.

Being in the C-PTSD Club along with Hunter, I personally experience the feeling of a foreshortened future as a voice deep down which almost always says that life feels too long and it therefore feels absolutely weird, like it doesn't make sense. Life feels too long, contrary to that commonly heard cheesy quote, "Life is too short to blah blah blah".

When I reached milestone birthdays like my 21st, it was confusing and made me irritable, feeling an itch deep down that I could not scratch.

The voice asks me why the heck I'm still around when it apparently doesn't make sense. It's a pervading feeling which can be pretty annoying, though I have it far enough in the background that it's like noise instead of being a source of distress.

It's not the easiest thing to explain this, but Hunter may have confusing thoughts creeping into his head like "Caleb didn't last long, why would I?" whereby such thoughts have a strange feel to them. They aren't exactly hard rules, nor are they distant enough that they can be easily brushed aside. Brain hurty, emotions spooky.

After the horror of this night:

I can definitely see Hunter wrestling with this symptom from time to time. No doubt. It was a major loss of autonomy and control that would significantly aggravate what was already brewing deep down.

I'm doubtful that the crew even established this on purpose (unless they actually consulted trauma experts and/or experienced mental health practitioners), but...this one symptom ties in with grimwalker lore so perfectly...it's hella fascinating that all Hunter's predecessors' lives (including Caleb's) were cut short. Prematurely.

They came with an expiry date set by their abuser: something very characteristic of this foreshortened future feeling, though not unique to survivors of abusive home environments (e.g. if you experienced natural disasters over many years, yet had a loving family, you could also feel like you may not live long). And Hunter's experience of seeing the grimwalker graveyard in Hollow Mind is a shockingly visceral and visual metaphor to symbolize a concept like this, which matches perfectly with his symptomology as a Complex PTSD survivor.

The battle for inner peace has a high price: it is ongoing, and extends beyond him being physically free from Belos. Because Hunter can't just trim away the Belos-related memories from his earliest years and formative years. He can't forget, but he can choose to give those memories less attention, and choose not to let them take the steering wheel in the long-term.

In my opinion, the possession scenes don't just portray the physical experience of an abuser returning to try regaining control or restoring the status quo of having the survivor in their grasp.

The scenes also represent the abuser's imprint upon the survivor that lasts beyond the duration for which Belos is present in Hunter's life. Belos is the kind of abuser that is so insidious that he knows he could leave some marks that outlast his directly physical presence, in the event that he meets his own end. He would have definitely thought about this. Leaving the kind of grisly reminders that won't ever technically fade away (not to be confused with how they can certainly "fade further into the background" via therapy, new positive experiences and the support of loved ones).

For example, the patterns of the permanent scars on Hunter look so much like the patterns on Philip's own face and body. When possessed, the markings were dark green, later faded to the colour of scar tissue once Belos leaves his body.

As we all know, it's hella sad to imagine Hunter having to look at himself in mirrors throughout the rest of his life. It was awful enough that he had the haircut-related panic attack.

If we tie all that back to the symptom of a foreshortened-future view: Hunter might be left with a spooky nebulous feeling (that will alternate between coming back to haunt him, and subsiding) that he too has some expiry date that is different from how the people around him naturally and confidently expect to live a substantially long life. As a cult survivor with C-PTSD, Hunter can't afford the luxury of those natural expectations.

I don't mean that he might plan a day in the future to end his own life, not at all. But he may have a strange ghostly expectation of how long more he has till his life may come to an end, and he wouldn't be sure of how this subconscious expectation came about.

The darker days of navigating the confusing mess of his complex trauma may feel like exhaustion from paddling and swimming to keep your head above water to breathe.

Speaking of water and drowning, plus the theme of sinking down vs. rising back up above the water surface...the fact that Camila jumped in to bring him back up, his friends helped to pull him out, and Flapjack passes new life to him...this is also some crazy powerful symbolism for surviving complex trauma.

Falling back on a support network, your "tribe", that won't abandon you.

My other Hunter analyses (link) go into more detail about his support network and why he needs it.

I was talking to a friend about all this: she has relevant lived experience and mentioned that poor Hunter would reach a milestone birthday and perhaps cry at least a bit on that day, maybe even during the birthday party: out of sheer confusion. The confusion would be silently screaming "But...this doesn't...make sense?". And he might feel confusing waves of darker emotions along with a strange sense of joy.

He may make a decision to start a family with Willow, and a confused questioning voice will bother him now and then with "How are you still here, doing this and living to see this?".

(...also, when is his birthday...? Is it documented in some Emperor's Coven records that they will find..? Even the mere concept of having a birthday is messed up for him to think about, given the purpose behind his creation)

Complex trauma changes its survivors' relationships with the world, not just with people, and this can even apply to their relationships with things like joy and how joy is experienced.

Flapjack's absence would have bred survivor's guilt. It might translate into Hunter questioning whether he is worth the love and effort his friends put in for him. This feeling could emerge at random moments over the years in his life.

Visually, I feel that these two frames - the lighting (which I'd say is unique among all his scenes because they are parts of his arc that stand out so much), his pose, his expression - somehow capture the experience of how complex trauma is chronic and long-term:

The currently most known C-PTSD memoir out there, What My Bones Know by journalist Stephanie Foo, has some content that I feel matches nicely with what Hunter is experiencing in the two separate scenes above.

The author describes something she calls "the dread" (if you get the book, it's first mentioned on page 51). I would call it the amalgamation of multiple things such as shame, the fear of impending harm, self-doubt where you question whether you did something wrong, fearing that someone hates you, etc.

And basically, good lord my poor boy in the first screenshot..with that expression of suspecting what he thought was Belos's presence in the room: something about it fits the book author's words, feeling like she was "on the precipice of fucking everything up".

That's certainly something that would cross Hunter's mind multiple times as he processes the worst night of his life. That he could have done something to prevent all that.

With so much pre-existing worry that his friends and family might actually hate him, the possession scenes and Flapjack's death would definitely shake his foundation and I'm sure he isn't past this kind of ingrained thought pattern at all:

Second, the book author calls C-PTSD a shapeshifting "beast" (page 316). And when she fights it, she must use a different strategy depending on what form it takes, and that it will keep coming back from time to time in another form. Which is why there is a particular exhaustion one feels from having to adapt to each battle.

For Hunter, the second screencap of him fighting Belos's coercion in a direct physical manner is the first of many battles he has to win in his mind, even after Belos is gone for good. Outlasting whatever invisible assailant is trying to get him, as he faces inevitable episodes of being retraumatized in the future: these are called emotional flashbacks (one of the symptoms of C-PTSD).

Being a survivor of complex trauma who experiences a weird sense of time via a foreshortened-future view, can feel like being on the outside looking in.

But! To end this meta on a hopeful note, I should reiterate something from my most recent long meta about Retraumatization vs. Self-Soothing, the first part of Hunter's important speech in Thanks to Them touches on wild magic and palisman. Wild magic represents freedom, while palismen (quoting the Bat Queen) represent close bonds in relationships, emotion, and conviction.

Applying this to how we can navigate the swampy waters of a foreshortened-future view, Hunter can use his newfound freedom and sense of agency to create the story he'd like to tell about his life. It is pretty much impossible to avoid bringing beliefs from our young formative years into adulthood. But expectations (which have a direct link with emotions we end up feeling) of ourselves and of life can be altered over time, so they become less rigid and instead more open to new possibilities.

He has an inquisitive mind which is a big plus point in understanding the impact of what he has been through, and I have full faith that he'll do just fine in that regard because of the courage we have seen in him.

Among the hobbies he explores in the future, flyer derby will be one example of an excellent outlet for him because of its physicality: trauma and grief are not only emotional battlegrounds but also highly physical ones. The body is also very much involved e.g. feeling the lead-like weight of depressive moods in one's body, feeling the physical tension of hypervigilance, etc.

It's fantastic that he has Luz, Willow, Gus and company, he will have a very meaningful career, and he'll have everyone else in his large found family.

His story...his heart...his resilience and vitality...it's all truly inspirational.

We might learn even more about the grimwalkers in the finale and that would undoubtedly prompt me to do a shorter Part 2 on top of this meta.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 27 - Resurrect

(Story so far)

I mentioned a bit of a rollercoaster before the end didn’t I…?

Sorry Allie…

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Day seven of being dosed up on haloperidol and Virgil felt like a bear woken midway through hibernation by the smell of bacon. Everything but his stomach and that nagging sense of the world moving on outside without him was dragging him back towards blissful slumber. And yet he was SO VERY BORED of lying around doing nothing and that made him moody and petulant… in a drowsy, ineffective kind of way.

Grandma wouldn’t even let him have proper coffee, and no amount of the insipid-brown, barely-caffeinated dishwater he was given in its stead even touched the edges of the lethargy.

It was displeasing.

He’d had a couple of short holocall chats with a Dr George Clifford, highly recommended by Patricia who was consultant psychiatrist to half his family. Scott and Gordon were both keen he talk to Patricia herself, both clearly of the view the woman had Powers unavailable to the rest of humanity. John and Grandma were less convinced it would be appropriate. For Virgil’s part - the idea of talking about Scott to someone who Scott had actually properly talked to, who likely knew more about Scott than he ever would? Well it made his teeth itch.

Clifford seemed to know his stuff, however. He’d been unfazed by the sleepiness and unfinished sentences and had given emphatic reassurance as to Virgil’s prospects of a full recovery PROVIDED he addressed the issues that triggered both episodes. The conditional element made the reassurance hard to swallow, emphatic or otherwise, but he’d nodded and said he’d make a start.

When he was properly awake and able to form coherent sentences anyway. Which felt like it might be never the way this was going.

Scott had seemed to understand the caffeine-deprived rant about how the infirmary made him want to systematically remove his own skin and took pity. Eyeballing anyone who might possibly object (well, Grandma, and she just smiled knowingly) big brother had escorted Virgil slowly upstairs so he could at least be Ursus Iratus by the pool rather than stuck in the bowels of the earth.

It seemed to be working. The edges remained fuzzy and grey but the bright sunlight and the sound of the sea were bringing the majority of his brain back online. He began to wonder if, finally, he might be able to hold a train of thought long enough to have a half-decent conversation.

He glanced over at Scott who hurriedly switched on his trademark Encouraging Smile and tried to pretend the Troubled Eyebrows hadn’t been deployed in Virgil’s direction seconds before.

Virgil bit his lip and tried to hide the sigh. He certainly wasn’t ready for That Conversation yet. Nor was he entirely sure what it was going to be about… exactly… except that clearly Something had been said that he couldn’t remember and his brother was chewing it over like a starving coyote might keep returning to Grandma’s meatloaf surprise…

Selfishly, at the moment, Virgil didn’t really want to know. Well he did, in the same kind of morbid way one pokes at a wound. But he didn’t have the mental energy to know. Last time he’d been this sick he’d done something awful and his relationship with Dad hadn’t ever quite been the same afterwards. The idea that the same could happen with one of his brothers? If he even started to think about it a nausea roiled that he knew had nothing to do with the medication and everything to do with the what if he’d ruined everything?

Maybe if they left it long enough he’d never have to find out?

Ha. He snorted softly. As if Scott and his mental cyclone would ever let something he was worried about slide with time.

Virgil himself was possibly not a brilliant example of someone able to let the past stay in the past either.

Maybe it was genetic?

A distinctly Alan-flavoured screech of rage pierced the humidity of the afternoon and it seemed as if even the seabirds swooping over Mateo were silenced in shock.

Virgil and Scott looked at each other across the pool, the quirked eyebrows of amusement wavered simultaneously as a quieter voice drifted out from the kitchen, quieter but urgent, soft but tainted with panic:

“Breathe! Allie, please it’s ok… please, look just wait. Let me help… no, put it down! Let go, please you’re hurting…”

The first time Virgil was really aware he’d moved was when his shoulder collided painfully with Scott’s as they both tried to run through the narrow doorway at once. The reinforced glass continued to shudder with the echo of that mistake as they remembered how to work together, spun 90 degrees and sidestepped smoothly through into what seemed to be an entirely empty room.

The expected kerfuffle was strikingly absent - all was as it should be. All except for the bright yellow smoothie crawling across the counter top and the gleaming red spots splattered across the tiled floor.

“Alan?! Gordon?!” There was a fragile edge to the Commander’s voice that usually didn’t appear until many hours into an overwhelming Situation. The response came from low behind the kitchen island:

“Could do with a little help over here, Scotty…”

Gordon sounded pale.

That was enough to galvanise Virgil into action and firing on perhaps 3 out of four engines he took one barefooted step forward, noting absently how the floor sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight…

Scott yelped and pulled him backwards, nearly toppling the both of them.

“Glasssssssssssssss…”

The elongated hiss persisted as Scott’s mind raced for a solution and sidelined irrelevant concerns like finishing words.

“Stay.”

Even at full capacity Virgil couldn’t have disobeyed that tone of command.

Scott pressed Virgil’s shoulders down as if trying to ensure his feet were properly glued to the ground and then ducked back outside. A little mild cursing preempted the contents of the pool toy cupboard flying out on to the deck and within moments the two largest foam floats returned though the door, closely followed by his brother. The first quickly became a path to the far side of the counter and the other was flung to the floor only a split second before Scott’s knees landed on top of it with a strangled “ALLIE, WHAT THE HELL?!”

Virgil crawled along the mat as quickly as he could and peered over Scott’s shoulder to see Gordon, jaw set hard and his hands clamped around Alan’s wrists. Their baby brother, colourless and trembling clutched the jagged remains of a tumbler in his bloody fists. He looked up into Virgil’s face, gasped and whimpered:

“‘m so sorry, Virgil, I’m so so sorry.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[beezusvreeland]

dear reader - chapter 7

summary: Miguel took the reader’s love and friendship for granted. Something he learns reading her column, when it’s too late…Or is it?

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader // matt murdock x reader

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 7

“Tell me about this friend of yours”, said doctor Octavius. 

Ultimately, Miguel decided to follow Lyla’s advice. He was getting to a point where he would try anything to make the heaviness in his chest go away. Not that he would ever admit that to the people in his life.

Doctor Otto Octavius wouldn’t let that slide though. He was so traditional that the only option his patients had if they wanted to book a new session or communicate with him was by calling his secretary. No emails, texts or any online contact. 

Miguel chose him because he was one of the best. Doctor Octavius used to be the head of the psychiatry department at Miguel’s alma mater and was highly respected in his field. The man refused to retire, opting to have fewer consultations per week. It was very exclusive. Lyla had to negotiate a very generous sum for him to see Miguel. 

It was Miguel’s second session with the doctor. Miguel was seated on a dark mustard couch, holding a cream colored cushion on his lap, facing the psychiatrist, who was set on a dark brown leather chair. At first, the room annoyed Miguel, who felt it was pretentious — although he was incapable of explaining why when Lyla asked. But it grew on him. It was relaxing to be seated comfortably in peace, no notifications, calls or exterior world to worry about. It was a nice change from his insane routine.

“You’ve mentioned her a few times so far. Are you close?”

Miguel didn’t know what he was expecting from doctor Octavius, but the psychiatrist’s calm demeanor and soft voice surprised him.

“We used to be.”

“What changed?”

“I was a jerk and disappointed her…You see, she is great, really great, but I never paid a lot of attention to that, I just enjoyed spending time with her. And there was this one day when she really needed me and I wasn’t there for her.”

“What do you mean when you say you didn’t pay attention? To her, her gestures?”

“Both”, Miguel pinched his nose remembering the column about his birthday and the book you made for him. His heart sank when he thought about the gift. Miguel regretted  a lot of things, but if he could go back in time, that was the day he would go back to. You were sweet and considerate and he threw the book somewhere — he had turned his place upside down, but never found it. 

“She…has always been there for me, more than our other friends. She would do nice things for me and be supportive and I…I liked it”, Miguel analyzed the cushion on his lap, embarrassed to look back at the doctor. “I guess I never thought about what it meant for her or that I should reciprocate. I’ve never fully learned what friendships entail.”

“How about your other friends?”

“It’s not the same thing. I’ll meet Pav, Gwen and Hobie, hell, now even Peter, at the bar, we drink a lot and have some fun and then we all go home. We don’t exactly get into the deep stuff.”

“Would you be open to that if you had the chance?”

Miguel scratched his head.

“Discussing my feelings in public isn’t very…”

“Very what?”

“Manly.”

“We’re discussing your feelings right now. How does it feel?”

Miguel reached for the glass of water on top of the coffee table. During his first appointment with doctor Octavius, he had been so uncomfortable it made him irritable. There were times Miguel would stay silent instead of answering the psychiatrist’s questions. The doctor didn’t pry, though, and just waited. Afterwards, he felt so relaxed it made him sleepy. He hadn’t had a good night of sleep in years, but that day he did. 

“It’s hard”, that was all he was able to say.

“And do you feel less of a man because of it?”, asked the doctor, crossing his legs and tilting his head.

Miguel was silent. 

“Well, our time is up. We will return to this on your next appointment.”

***

You were the first in your group to arrive at the bar. You went straight to the counter and found Foggy cleaning his station. When he saw you, a smile and a funny look took over his face.

“What?”, you asked, laughing.

“I heard you went on a date so good you are about to go out with him again this weekend.”

“Oh, did you?”, you knew you were blushing, but you just felt so happy. “What else did you hear?”

“Well, I’m Switzerland, so there isn’t much more I can reveal…”

“Come on, now”, you rolled your eyes. 

“What I will say is that you’re not the only one with a dumb smile. And I supposed it’s okay for me to reveal that the words ‘enchanting’ and ‘dream woman’ might have been mentioned…”

You covered your face, laughing. One date. You had only gone on one date with Matt. But it was indeed a fantastic night. 

After dinner and dessert, he walked you back to your home. They said chivalry was dead, but apparently Matt Murdock didn’t get the memo. Before saying your goodbyes, he said:

“I really want to kiss you right now. Can I?”

He got closer to you, his hands on your hips, his nose almost meeting yours. You were about to melt when you came to your senses and turned your face, giving him a kiss on his cheek. 

“Kisses are for the second date”, you whispered in his ear and separated from him and walked towards the stairs of your apartment building. 

“In that case, when are you free?” 

“Saturday night.”

“It’s a date”, he said, with a grin on his face. 

“Yeah, well…I just wanted to thank you for setting us up”, you put your hands on the court to steady yourself, still recovering from your fit of laughter. “Regardless of what happens, I had fun. And God knows I needed fun.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I’m glad it worked out.”

You nodded. 

“Okay, then, what is your order?”

“A dry martini and fries.”

“Fancy. Go sit, I’ll bring it to you.”

Thanking Foggy again, you went to your usual table. It was still empty, except for a leather jacket that you knew all too well on one of the chairs. Miguel was there. And you’d be alone with him. There was no way you were allowing that to happen. You were about to get up when you heard:

“Hi, cariño, arrived early today.”

[cariño: darling]

You felt chills with his voice. And the nickname that he used when he wanted something from you. You fell for it everytime. 

“Hey”, you tried to control yourself as you sit again, brushing your hair from your face. 

He sat next to you. 

“Have you ordered yet?”, Miguel sounded cautious. Like he didn’t know where he stood with you. 

It was better that way, you thought. Dealing with his confident and cocky self demanded a lot from you and you didn’t have the energy for that at that moment. 

“Yes.”

“What did you get?”

Was he for real? Did he forget how to talk to people? That had never been a problem before, especially with women. Except Miguel never saw you in the same way he saw them. You had done your best the past few months to not dwell on your memories of him. At some point, it stopped hurting as much, which made you almost feel like you were over him. But being so close to him and remembering all the times he left you in the cold unveiled the seams of your wounds. 

“The same as always”, you answered, knowing he wouldn’t know what you meant.

“Fries and a dry martini, then?”

Well, that was unexpected. However, your friend group has been coming to this bar for years, you ordered the same thing a million times. Maybe you were just so used to having to explain yourself over and over to Miguel that it surprised he had paid attention. Even a little bit of it.

You saw Foggy walking towards your table holding a tray with the drink and the fries. Never before have you been so grateful for an interruption. 

“There you go, miss enchanting”, he teased, as he put your order in front of you. “Oh, hey, Miguel, how have you been?”

“Can’t complain.”

You closed your eyes for a moment. Why couldn't he just act like a normal person? 

Foggy raised his eyebrows and his eyes found yours. You tilted your head with an apologetic look.

 “Okay, then. Let me know if you need anything.”

Frowning, Miguel asked you:

“What is up with the miss enchanting thing? It��s that your new nickname?”

Before you could answer, Foggy, who was still in earshot from you, stepped in.

“It’s how one of her suitors reviewed a date with her”, said the owner of the bar, going back to the counter. 

Miguel was silent, which, somehow, was even worse than him talking nonsense. He was focused on a napkin he was shedding. You pushed the bowl with the fries in his direction.

“I won’t be able to eat all of that alone.”

“Gracias.”

[gracias: thank you]

“De nada. Pendejo”, you mutter the last word. Your spanish was limited, but Miguel always throwed that word around whenever he was ranting about the executives at Alchemax.

[de nada: you’re welcome/pendejo: idiot]

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that, cariño.”

Miguel then winked at you. That did things to you, more specifically to your body. You wouldn’t fall for that, though, you couldn’t. You can’t go back to your pattern of holding on to every crumble of affection he gave you. 

“Oh, shut up, just eat it!”

He chuckled. 

“Where is everybody? We’ve been here for a while now."

Miguel got his phone from his jeans’ pocket and, tapping a few times, let out a “humpf”. 

“They won’t come”, he said, using a shred of napkin to clean his phone’s screen. 

“What?”

“There was a malfunction in the subway, they are operating with limitations, so the stations are full and the traffic is insane.” Looking at his phone, he adds: “Also, there might be a storm coming our way”.

“Ugh, great.”

You probably wouldn’t be able to get back to your place in time to avoid the storm. The only thing left to do was stay at the bar long enough for the storm to go away so you could get home.

“If we leave now and walk fast, we can get to my place before the rain starts”, Miguel got up, reaching for his wallet in his pocket. 

“Migs, I think I’ll just wait here and then go home.”

“Cariño, the weather forecast is showing that the storm is going to last a while”, he put a few bills on top of the table. “Come on, get up, we have to go.”

“I’ll be fine here…”

“Cabezota, escuchame. You’ll be safer at my place, there's plenty to eat and if it comes to it, you can sleep there. Lyla picked a really comfortable bed for my guest bedroom.”

[cabezota, escuchame: listen to me, stubborn]

The idea of going back to his apartment, a place where every single wall and wooden floor said something about Miguel, was too much. He did have a nice guest bedroom, though. What concerned you was all the time leading up to that. The night had barely started. Being so close to him for so long wasn’t the best idea. But it was the only sensible one. 

Everything happened so fast it took you a few moments to realize you and Miguel were running, his hand holding yours tightly. His other hand held your purse — you had completely forgotten about it. 

You weren’t the only ones in a hurry: people were seeking places to escape the storm. Their movement got faster as a loud lightning appeared in the sky. The cars stuck in traffic were loud, taxi drivers screaming to other drivers, no one quite understanding why it was taking so long to get out of there. 

When you were a couple blocks from Miguel’s house, a pack of dogs started running in your direction, just as desperate as you and him. They seemed to be led by a golden retriever that had a purple bandana around his neck. You looked at Miguel and both of you started laughing, running, holding hands, panting and laughing more and more, probably because of the adrenaline, but also because those dogs had a lot of  personality.

A few drops of rain fell on your forehead. They quickly multiplied and yet another bolt of lightning struck. Miguel pushed your hand, forcing you to run as fast as he was, until you got to the building. Once inside, you were so light headed that you had to press your head against a wall as you waited for Miguel to unlock the door. 

Thankfully, you were able to escape unscathed from the rain, so you took your shoes — that were definitely not made for running — and threw yourself on the couch. You were thankful to your past self that convinced Miguel to buy a comfortable couch for his home. His office, however, ended up with the most pretentious couch in the world — at the time, Miguel didn’t like what you said, but you remembered it made Lyla laugh a lot. 

Miguel came back to the living room after going to the kitchen. He sat on the floor next to you, extending his arm offering you a water bottle. 

“Mi casa es su casa, pero ya sabes de eso”, he mumbled.

[my home is your home, but you already know that]

“Thanks”, you grabbed it and raised your head just enough to drink. “Can we stay in silence for a little bit? We just had a sensory overload.”

“Uhm. I’d like that.” 

The only noise you heard then was of the rain falling outside. The world was ending, but you found shelter nonetheless. 

***

Dear reader,

What is the worst dating tip you’ve ever received? I start: every single one written in teen magazines. I distinctly remember subscribing to one that had a session where they asked boys what they thought about certain trends, what girls wear, etc. There is a specific one that was so silly that even my 15 old self thought “I’m too old for this shit”. The question had to do with nail polish and the colors they like or not on a girl. They destroyed pretty much all options except for french nails. As you probably already noticed, reader, I’m very passionate about the nail polish question. Especially because I read that in the very beginning of my life long obsession with black nail polish. It’s dark and, yes, maybe a little basic, but aren’t we all? It’s reliable, chic if you need to, casual if you want it to be. 

Those boys were obviously clueless. But my point is we won’t get anywhere pretending to be someone we’re not. It’s cheesy in a Disney Channel movie type of way, but my best advice is: be yourself. Doing otherwise will only lead us towards frustration and heartbreak. Because you might be able to hide important parts of you for a long time, but not forever. Our true nature always finds a way to come out.

Sure, wear that cute pink top you bought online, do your hair and your make up if you feel like it, you can even wear heels if you want to. As long as you know that you don’t have to. In my experience, no one is going to like you more or less because of your black nail polish. And if they do, it means that they don’t deserve you.

Before I go, I do have another very important dating tip that can also serve a life tip in general: if you and your date go to eat hamburgers, hot dogs or any other type of sandwich, take two napkins and open them up. Fold them in half and then put them under the sandwich in a cross formation — one unfolded horizontally and the other, vertically. That way you reduce your odds of spilling any type of dressings on your outfit. 

You're very welcome. 

As always, never take advice from someone who’s falling apart. 

Love, 

The writer

______________________________________________________________

<< chapter 6

>> chapter 8

all chapters

______________________________________________________________

dear reader playlist

[deepdive002]

You have a very wholesome energy on this blog.

Very proud of your resilience, I have multiple family members who struggle with bipolar disorder including my brother and he has unfortunately become very estranged, in and out of jail, difficult to be around if not harmful at times and refuses to seek help or medicate despite all the help and rehab over the years. Sometimes it feels very hopeless and sad, especially the fear that I might have those symptoms too one day, but I am grateful and soothed that there are stories of hope and healing and positivity like yours.

Wishing the best for you and your daughter! 💗

Thanks! 🩷

My bipolar has put me in the hospital 10 times. For better or worse I seem to only get manic episodes. This is tricky because being manic actually feels great. The problem is that you don't get anything done.

Untreated mania would have made getting through college or holding down a job relatively impossible. (It's still very hard, even with treatment.)

The key for me was finding help I liked and respected early in my life.

Drawing the line between where I stop and my insanity starts was a very personal question. I believe an objective scientific definition is best, but the answer may be different for others.

When I talk about my illness, I include a personal request: I ask that if people think I'm acting strangely to go online and look up the latest criteria for a Bipolar I Disorder Manic Episode in the DSM.

(As of the DSM-5, there are 7 symptoms and having 3 or 4 for a week is the threshold for a manic episode.)

If I need help, get me help but otherwise: I need to be allowed to get excited about my life without my friends and family worrying "Oh no! It's happening again."

Resources ☎️

I've been seeing my therapist for about 20 years now.

If you are interested you can probably find him by Googling "Harold L. Boerlin MD, Irvine CA". He's been doing phone visits since COVID.

He may be able to help you even if you don't live in California, if you are willing to fly out for some initial consultations. I actually have no idea how that would work but I can't recommend him enough.

Dr. B is both a psychologist and a psychiatrist. (He has a medical degree from Harvard.)

Letting someone change you fundamentally with medication is a big ask. However had I not decided this is what I want all those years ago, I would probably be homeless and perhaps have very strained relationships with friends and family today. (My family is also amazing by the way.)

Political Advocacy 🇺🇸📢

In my opinion, the mental health care system in the US is on the brink of collapse.

Too many professionals are not trained in hard science and some are handing out diagnosis like candy.

Recent "Mandated Reporter" laws are vague, ineffective and shatter the essential sacred trust between a client and a therapist.

Mental health parity laws for insurance companies do not work and I strongly advocate for MH to be a seperate insurance the way dental and vision are (with well-funded public assistance programs.)

While in the hospital I've seen human beings get "processed" and it is horrific.

I am in awe of the limitless compassion of most whitecoats (my name for them). However, publicly available resources are often not as unlimited.

Sick patients come in on a 5150 for a 3-day hold, yelling and hitting people. They get some food and shelter for a bit but refuse further help.

Then sometimes doctors fall short. They give up and just give the patient a heavy sedative so they will stop yelling and hitting people.

Then the patient doesn't voluntarily extend to 14 day treatment. They get tossed out on the street like garbage and the cycle repeats.

[mindmattersclinics]

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[the-idle-woman]

Black Wings at Midnight

Shyly sharing my first Hannibal fanfic: a reimagining of Seasons 1-3 set during World War II in Britain. It comes complete with vintage-style illustrations and links to suggested listening (ranging from Handel to 1940s' swing).

See below for the summary, and under the cut for an extract.

When former detective Will Graham is pulled away from his intelligence work at Bletchley Park in 1942, to consult on a hauntingly familiar crime scene, he feels alive for the first time in years. But when his life begins falling apart, he finds himself thrown into a complex dance of trust and suspicion with the man assigned to help him: an aristocratic Lithuanian flying ace and peacetime psychiatrist, whose intentions are anything but clear…

If you do decide to give it a read, I hope you enjoy it, and would love it if you took the time to leave a comment. Hearing people's expectations and thoughts as they read has been the most enjoyable part of sharing this online. Thank you all, and sending hugs from London.

From Black Wings at Midnight: Chapter 3

‘May I come in?’ 

The voice is deep, with a warm lilt of an Eastern European accent. Crawford’s eyes brighten and he rises from the desk with what Will considers unseemly haste.

‘Aha! Now here’s a familiar face. Come in, come in, old chap. Pull up a chair. This is Will Graham, who I mentioned on the phone. Brilliant mind. Brilliant.’

Will scowls at the praise and turns in his chair, prepared to be combative. He has no great love for the airmen of the RAF. They are nothing more than overgrown public schoolboys, with their chummy nicknames and their maverick flair. In their presence, Will feels his carapace stripped away, exposed as an awkward provincial with a clumsy accent, a different breed from these sauntering gods of the sky. 

The newcomer does little to dispel his prejudices. The flattering RAF uniform makes most men look good, but this fellow seems to have stepped straight out of an advertisement. J.C. Leyendecker in the flesh, Will thinks bitterly, feeling short, and dark, and rustic.

Nothing about this man is rustic: dark blond hair parted with almost surgical precision; a broad chest and shoulders beneath the blazon of the RAF wings; trousers ironed to crisp perfection; tie perfectly centred. Everything about him screams money, from the scent of his cologne to the small gold signet ring just visible on his little finger.

After spending long hours digging into the minds of the Nazi commanders, Will can’t resist a snort. Good God, how they would love you!

Light brown eyes linger on Will for a moment, already looking amused. 

‘Good afternoon, Mr Graham. I apologise for interrupting your colloquy, but Jack is an old friend. I was delighted to hear he was visiting us. May I?’ He gestures to the unused chair before the desk and Will raises a shoulder minutely, neither inviting nor repelling. He settles for glaring across at Jack. He doesn’t wish to spend any longer here than necessary, and he certainly doesn’t want to play third wheel to some back-slapping reunion.

‘Will,’ says Jack, ‘this is Flight Lieutenant Hannibal Lecter – or should I say Dr Lecter?’ The two men exchange a twinkle of camaraderie and Will stifles a desire to stab the table with his pencil. ‘We met before the war,’ Jack continues. ‘Dr Lecter has a private psychiatry practice on Harley Street, and helped us with a profile for the Bethnal Green Killer in ’38.’

Will remembers the case. It wasn’t long after he’d been signed off, still gathering together the shreds of himself in the nursing home. He allows himself a glance sideways.

‘Strange to swap the comforts of Harley Street for a wet field in Hampshire, Dr Lecter. Get tired of listening to rich old ladies?’

‘I “got” patriotic,’ Lecter says gently. ‘My country was invaded last year. Lithuania,’ he adds, for Will’s benefit. ‘I have not lived there for many years, but old affections still linger: a sense of duty, if you will. I learned to fly when I was younger’ – Of course you did, thinks Will bitterly – ‘so why not put my skills in the service of my adopted country?’

‘And he’s become quite the terror,’ Jack says cheerfully. ‘Give him a Spitfire and he’s absolutely fearless. They say Göring’s offered a bounty to anyone who brings him down.’ He dismisses Lecter’s gesture of modest denial and turns back to Will. ‘When I heard he was stationed here, I thought it’d be helpful to have his thoughts – and his support too, of course.’

‘Convenient,’ Will says under his breath, studying his fingers. He feels Lecter’s eyes lingering on him with something that’s uncomfortably close to satisfaction. For a moment he entertains himself, wondering whether he loathes fighter aces more or less than psychiatrists. It comes out as a balance. The airmen are more irritating, but he has bitter personal experience of his own with psychiatry.

‘Come now, Jack,’ Lecter says, ‘you are not being completely honest with Mr Graham.’ He leans a little closer, offering Will a lungful of his expensive cologne, and his voice drops, as though this is a secret to be shared between them. ‘Jack has asked me to have a few conversations with you before you start on this case. Just to help prepare your armour for the field of battle, as it were.’

Will’s eyes snap up to Jack Crawford, who has the grace to look embarrassed.

‘Will, I’ve read your files. It’s my job to make sure you’re fit for duty. I want to help you in any way I can.’

‘I don’t find it helpful to be covertly psychoanalysed!’

‘This is not psychoanalysis,’ Lecter says placidly into the awkward silence, ‘merely a common interest. You have nothing to fear, Mr Graham. Besides,’ he adds, straightening his cuffs, ‘I am not a psychoanalyst. Freud may have some interesting principles, and Jung has made many valuable insights into my field, but I do not ride under their banner. Biological psychiatry is very different from asking you to tell me your dreams.’ Dark eyes dart up and catch Will’s just as he makes the mistake of looking up. Something coils in the pit of his stomach. ‘Though I have no doubt your dreams must be a fascinating place.’ …

‘Just a conversation,’ Will hears himself say.

‘But of course.’ Lecter shrugs in a Gallic fashion. ‘And we can give dear Jack a good night’s sleep. Just a conversation or two among friends.’

‘Associates,’ Will snaps back. Lecter laughs as if he has said something delightful.

‘God forbid we should become friendly. Come with me to the mess, Mr Graham. Let’s get some tea.’

Will feels wrong-footed. He wants to prod; to offend; to get under Lecter’s skin and force him to feel even the faintest echo of Will’s crippling discomfort. He feels like a parcel passed from Jack to Lecter, a fragile curiosity to be wrapped in cotton wool and discussed in lowered voices. He feels lonely and patronised, and because, to his deep-seated disgust, he finds himself wanting Lecter to like him, Will lashes out.

‘I doubt we’ll be friends, Dr Lecter. I don’t find you that interesting.’

A hand falls on his shoulder. To Jack, frowning in his chair, it’ll look comradely, a way to show that no offence has been taken. To Will, the touch is unsettling: part warning, conveyed through the grip of fingers far stronger than he’d anticipated; and part protective caress. I don’t, Will repeats doggedly in his head, find you interesting.

‘Ah,’ Lecter says softly in his ear, ‘but you will.’

[dr-subhadeep-roy-psychiatrist]

Online Psychiatric Consultation in Kolkata

As Dr. Subhadeep Roy, I offer online psychiatric consultations in Kolkata to help you from the comfort of your home. Whether you're struggling with anxiety or depression, my virtual sessions provide personalized, flexible, and compassionate care. Book your session today and start your journey to mental wellness. Phone: 097483 70579

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