#TRYING TO CALM DOWN ENOUGH FROM A VERY EMOTIONALLY EXHAUSTING THERAPY APPOINTMENT

[altschmerzes]

i feel like it's really extremely typical of Gav Altschmerzes that in the later timeline of the torture fic 'mac gets really into baseball and that is an actual component of his trauma recovery' is a legitimate plot point and consistent Thing. it truly does not get more specifically Me than that.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

How do doctor appointments normally go for the toys?

Depends!

The hospital visit post-rescue went better than expected due to just how exhausted most of them were. Even Catnap didn't have the energy to do much, although he did growl at the doctors and nurses. However, after that, Angel quickly realized the toys hated how similar the hospital was to Playtime Co.'s laboratories, and if they wanted the kids to cooperate, they would need to get creative with it.

Whenever it's possible, Angel has doctors and nurses going to the house instead of the other way around. Lessens the anxiety and helps the toys get used to other humans, but most importantly, starts making them trust said doctors.

Mommy Long Legs is usually agressive. Tells the doctors she's doing better than she is, and is deadly afraid of any injections or taking meds. It takes months for her to not have to get a day or two of emotionally getting ready for an appointment, and some more before she can feel like these strangers won't hurt her.

Catnap is similar to MLL, but he only behaves because his savior (Angel) trusts these people. When he drops the savior thing it's when he finally has a panic attack over an appointment, and when he realizes that yes, he's afraid of the hospital. Dogday is the one who helps him the most with this.

Speaking of which, Dogday is surprisingly calm. He knows these are good people trying their best to help him, and after getting an emergency surgery the same day he left the factory he assigns himself the role of helping the other toys calm down. He treats appointments like a necessary evil, even if sometimes he still flinches.

Miss Delight almost cries every single time a doctor or nurse is kind to her. What do you mean there's genuinely good people out there who don't think she's a monster?! Although a bit fidgety from time to time, she doesn't panic.

Huggy, Boxy, PJ and Kissy are wary at first, growling at the humans when they approach them, but with enough talk and patience, Angel convinces them to trust the medical team. They all get free lollipops and this is their favorite part of any doctor appointment.

Poppy is weirded out, fidgety, and doesn't understand why when she KNOWS she won't be hurt, but then it hits her that she doesn't have to shut herself up and just follow along if she doesn't feel comfortable to. Doctors respecting their patients? Now that's crazy!

KickinChicken is trembling the entire time he's at the hospital, not cooperating at all. He refuses to say it, but after a few weeks Angel finds out he doesn't even understand half the things the doctors are doing. He needs it explained to him in detail and why they're doing the procedures they're doing. After a few months he becomes less aggressive, but he needs someone with him at all times or else he will have a panic attack.

TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF DESTRUCTIVE TENDENCIES AND SELF HARM FOR THIS PARAGRAPH. Picky is strangely lethargic. She lets the doctors and nurses do whatever, thinking that if they are doing something bad for her, it's because she deserves it. Can't believe anyone should help her after what she did to her friends. Becomes better with therapy, and is a very cooperative patient, although quiet.

Bobby is so scared, asking questions and begging that no one hurts her or touches her without warning. It doesn't take too much time for her to get used to other humans, and she easily gets attached to the medical staff. Loves all of then, but is easily hurt if anyone is mean or uncaring.

Hoppy is grumpy. She actually did hit one or two doctors during her rescue, but after that it's a series of "oh how fucking great, what are you going to do to me now, uh? Uh?", almost challenging the strangers to do something drastic. Also doesn't understand what they're doing to her, but only gets grumpier as she knows more and more. "Is this actually necessary?", she asks, time and time again. Only after months to a year she starts cooperating more, and that's only because Dogday or Angel are there following her to a doctor appointment.

Crafty is completely non-verbal for the first appointments, refusing to say anything that could potentially be used against her. That, or she straight-up lies and/or makes up stories for her injuries and how she's feeling. Needs to be explained the procedures, but doesn't care too much for the details, and stops lying after warming up to the other humans.

Bubba knows and understands the majority of the procedures, and is very calm. He uses logic and facts to calm himself down, and is the one that explains what the doctors are doing when a toy asks. Despite his calm exterior, however, he did have more than one flashback or episode during an appointment, and thought he could just tank through it, as if its a normal thing to happen. Needs to be reassured and calmed down, but also demands others to treat him like he didnt just have a flashback or episode.

Bunzo and the mini toys are screaming their lungs out. He's crying and sobbing and clinging to Angel for dear life, afraid they're going to give him away to the scientists Long Legs always told him about. Needs to be calmed down and gently reassured, and refuses to leave Angel's side. After getting used to the idea of doctors not experimenting on their patients, he's very cooperative!

[utterlyinevitable]

After seeing ur explanation for that anon i really want to see a fic or a hc of ethan as a dad and becca as mom can u please do it??

omg okay ahhh my babys having babies. this is gonna be long and idk if it’ll make sense bc imma jot down everything i know about domestic e&b.  

[just finished and... this is long and broken down into 6 categories........... enjoy!]

Ethan & Becca as Parents

The Pregnancy 

They didn’t plan on having children, it just kind of happened. Becca and Ethan took a day for the news to settle before they jumped into excited, expecting parents mode.

The most exciting part was renovating the condo to make the most perfect nursery and shopping for decorations and mentally planning all the traditions and things they’d love to give to their little family. 

All of the happiness couldn’t mask the struggles of pregnancy. 

Becca hated being pregnant. She was sick and nauseous constantly, and her back and feet always ached. 

Throughout the whole thing Ethan doted on her; holding her hair back and learning how to tie it up in the way she likes, rubbing her back, running out to get whatever she was craving. 

He even made copious amounts of notes about her eating patterns. Enough to keep two of everything in the condo. 

If she was having a restless night, he would too; even if she was restless for non-human-growing reasons. 

They were in this together.

And even when she was huddled over a garbage pail, dribble running down her chin, she never looked more beautiful to him. 

There was just something about all this that made him feel all weird and fuzzy inside. 

When her symptoms barely settled throughout the second trimester she overhauled her entire birthing plan. There was no way she was making it to 42 weeks. She was absolutely miserable. So she made a c-section appointment for 40 weeks. 

She had an entire argument with Ethan one evening (she really was only yelling while he nodded his head). Her main points were:  “It’s my body and the baby will be fine. I was born 6 weeks early and I turned out fantastic!” and  “Once the baby’s out of me I’m still going to have to pee. Omg what if she rips me open!? How am I supposed to use the bathroom without worrying about my stitches?”  

All he kept reiterating was:  “I love you. I trust you and your instincts.” 

Becca felt better as he held her face in his large hands, his calming azure eyes boring into hers and letting her know everything will be alight. 

But deep down she spent the next few weeks since making the appointment wondering if she should have given vaginal birth a try. She didn’t want Ethan to resent her for chickening out of her body’s natural function. 

The Birth 

Becca made it to her c-section appointment. Happily rubbing her large belly and glowing:  “I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore! Never do this to me again.” 

All Ethan did was chuckle. 

He was happy she was getting color back and that her symptoms finally settled enough for her to spend the last few weeks enjoying their daughters kicks. But oh my god was Ethan Ramsey terrified of being a father. 

He wouldn’t tell Becca though. She was emotional and worried enough as is. Any and all his concerns were saved for the short conversations he had with his father.  “Don’t overthink it, son. The moment you lay eyes on your daughter you’ll know what to do. It’s instinct. Biology. That was your best subject in school, wasn’t it?” Alan would joke.  

The surgery went off without a hitch. 

All of Becca’s hatred for the phenomenon of pregnancy vanished the second the nurse placed their daughter on her chest. 

Rebecca was in awe. She made that! This little person came out of her! This little pink person that looks like a plucked chicken with a tiny tuft of brown hair was here and she was beautiful. The perfect combination of her and Ethan. 

The embodiment of their love.   

Dakota Dolores Ramsey was completely unplanned. Unplanned but not unwanted.  

The first time Ethan Ramsey held his daughter time froze. The universe needed a minute to process the broad grin and full heart thumping rapidly from this stoic and reserved man. 

The earth was about to spin the wrong way but then Dakota opened her eyes.

Everything was the way divinity had planned it.  

At Home

Although Ethan and Becca lived a 10 minutes drive from Edenbrook, nearly a straight run, Becca forced him to drive as slow as possible. 

Dakota was asleep and she needed to keep it that way. 

Due to her stitches, Becca was forced to take things easy. No matter how many times she argued with Ethan that she was capable of menial tasks around the house. 

Ethan would not let her lift a finger. 

If Dakota needed a change he’d happily do it. if Becca was hungry he’d make her favorite. 

“You had her to yourself for nine months. Let me take the next few days.” Becca went to retort, all she wanted was to hold her baby for the rest of eternity. She’d never tire of looking at her scrunched up potato face and watching as her features changed every moment of every day. “I promise to share.” “You better,” she kissed him as he tucked her into bed for a much needed nap.

The only thing he was forced to share with his partner was feeding duty - Becca was adamant on breast feeding. A bottle would not touch their daughters lips for months to come. 

That in itself brought its own challenges. 

Most nights Ethan laid in bed with Becca curled up at his side in one arm and Dakota resting on his bare chest. 

Parenting was weird, but an exhilarating change. 

Ethan couldn’t diagnose what he could have possibly have done right in his life to be this wholly happy. 

The Second

Once Ethan and Becca had one child they were both itching for a second.

“You know what say: ‘if you have one you have to have two’.” “Is that so?”  “You don’t want Dakota to have a sibling?”  “I was an only child and look how I turned out.”  “Emotionally stunted and certified loner?” she teased. 

Truth be told, Ethan wanted another. He’s been thinking of giving his pride and joy a few siblings for weeks now. He just didn’t know how to tell Becca. 

Becca complained frequently about how happy she was to not be pregnant, and often about how her scar healed funnily. 

All of the signs pointed to her not wanting another. And Ethan was okay with that. He never expected to have one child. He’d cherish every moment of what’s been placed right in his fingertips. 

He’ll let his soon-to-be wife choose their path. She’s dictated everything else thus far. Ethan was elated she chose him to be along for the ride. 

After Dakota’s first birthday, when they made the decision to have another, they tried desperately to conceive.

“I really don’t want to have to deal with diapers for five years,” was Becca’s main reason for keeping the kids close in age.  “We can try surrogacy.” Ethan offered, knowing how much she hated pregnancy. He didn’t want to push her into anything.    “No. I have to do it. I’ll do it for our kids. But you owe me big time.”  

And 14 months later Caroline Marie Ramsey made her grand appearance. 

And Becca got her first push present. 

The Last 

It’s fitting that four years later Ethan and Becca were blessed with another surprise. 

Her pregnancy with James Jonah was the smoothest of them all. 

Of course that meant something had to go wrong. 

At 34 weeks Becca went into premature vaginal labor. 

Within six hours their baby boy arrived. 5lbs 2oz and looking like an alien. 

Ethan almost lost them both after the fact. 

Becca lost too much blood with the placenta and JJ was so tiny.  

But the Lao’s were fighters and they pulled through. Ethan cried at her bedside once the harrowing 24 hours were up. 

Becca stayed at the hospital for a week, Ethan and Alan bringing the girls to visit every single day. 

JJ had to stay a few days longer and Becca refused to leave until she could bring her son home. 

She went through her first experience with postpartum depression. Becca didn’t think anything could be worse than the mental toll her abortion had on her years earlier. But she was wrong.

She was so wrong. 

All their friends chipped in to help take care of the kids while Ethan devoted his time to helping his wife. The couple went to therapy, sometimes together, other times Ethan sat in the waiting room as Becca worked through her emotions. 

Months later, the parents were sitting at home. Ethan held their son and their daughters were curled on their laps: He muttered into his wife’s hair, “I’d like to have one more.”  “Not with me you’re not,” she scoffed. “We’re outnumbered as is.” 

JJ began to cry and the girls stirred. Dakota mumbling, “Tell the baby to shut up, I’m sleeping here.” 

They couldn’t help but laugh and pull apart to put their whole world to bed.  

Old and graying and spending more time at home with his kids, Ethan wanted just one more baby. Four was a strong, even number. He could have a whole daycare full of them - each one the best variations of him and Becca. 

Becca had spent a large portion of her 30s childrearing and she’s done. Done with diapers and formula, especially. She loves her children more than anything but they’re exhausting. She can’t wait for them to be in school full time and she can have some more alone time with her husband. It’s been so long since it’s been just them too.  

“Don’t hate me...”  “I could never hate you,” Ethan said as he brushed a few strands of hair from his wife’s face.  She swallowed and confidently said, “I want you to get a vasectomy.” 

He agreed without further consideration. She made a very compelling argument.  

Parenting 

Ethan is the doting helicopter dad and Becca is doctor drill sergeant. The kids get away with nothing under their mother’s watch. 

Ethan is very soft and adores his children. The grumpy attending could have a whole gaggle of them. He spoils his daughters rotten, picking up the newest doll and toy they’re obsessed with, and making them promise not to tell mommy. 

The women in Ethan’s life get away with everything and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the girls were born, Ethan stepped back at work letting the better Dr. Ramsey have her career defining moments.

He took half days to pick the girls up from preschool and would bring them to the park or museums. He’d even try to teach them to cook their favorite recipes on cold, rainy days. He’d tire them out so that he and mom could tuck them in after dinner.

Ethan’s afraid of his son. He’s afraid the tot is going to turn out exactly like him - he’s the spitting image, except that his hair curls like his mother’s. 

Instead of putting JJ in fulltime daycare, Ethan chose part time preschool. The girls were in primary school now and he’s taken a bigger step back from the hospital after the baby was born. 

He devotes all his free time to teaching his son about all he knows and learning all he doesn’t.  

Becca complains about the state of her vagina and stomach all the time. Never in front of the children but often enough Ethan knows the look on her face right before she says the same two lines.  

Her favorite activity is building forts and taking the kids to the beach. 

The holidays have never felt more alive with the full house. Ethan even became a Christmas and Valentines Day lover. 

Becca loved watching him change over the years. Every new first they celebrated with each child, every one of their kids passions, Ethan would adopt them all and make it his mission to be a connoisseur of every facet.

Dakota sat her parents down one day with a serious topic of conversation: “Mommy, Daddy. I’m going to be a fashion designer.” “Will you?”  “Yes. And I need to dress myself.” “As long as it’s weather appropriate, consider it done.”  “And we need to get supplies.” 

The conversation went on for 15 minutes with Ethan and Becca asking questions and Dakota making demands. Once they’ve settled on an agreement on how to make their daughter’s dream happen, Ethan retired to his office. He taught himself the basics of sewing.     

Even with all the struggles of raising three children in a suburb of Boston while balancing very demanding medical careers, Ethan and Becca wouldn’t have it any other way. The life they carved out of all their complications was worth it.  

All of this was inevitable. 

And they wouldn’t take a moment for granted.    

________________________________________

Um... this became bigger than intended... If you made it this far, thank you ♥

Masterlist

Perma:

@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble e @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @kaavyaethanramsey @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @lifeaskim @otherworldlypresents @therookie @aylaramseycarrera @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious

Ethan:

@udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @hutchereverlark23 @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @claredal424 @caseyvalentineramsey @rookieoh @openheartthot @senseofduties @lilyvalentine @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart t @casey-v @ramseyandrys @peaceinmidstofchaos

[cashtonwoah-blog]

Ashton Irwin Imagine // Escape

Warnings: Swearing, depression/self harm. Individuals may find this triggering., viewers discretion is strongly advised. Please seek support if you feel affected by this. My messages are always open if you want to chat!

Although this imagine is quite sad and personally dark, it does have a happy ending!

"Babe? Please talk to me. " I hear Ashton mutter through the key hole to our bathroom. I couldn't speak, I just needed to be alone right now. I’d had a crap day at work. My boss had a go at me for being 5 minutes late. Like really? The traffic into town was hectic and my car was playing up, even before I left. She shouted at me as soon as I walked into the door, straight away putting me in a bad mood. I then was greeted by an angry customer, who also reminded me that I was 5 minutes late to her beauty appointment. I normally loved my job, however recently I'd become distant. It was now the summer time in LA, which meant I could no longer wear a long cardigan to cover my arms with. Plus my boss was getting funny with me wearing bracelets to hide my wrists. I used to be good at covering my scars. I’d be able to cover them with heavy foundation and powder, so much so that Ashton didn't know I used to hurt myself the first 6 months of us dating. I remember the day he caught me though.

“Y/N, which shirt should I wear to the dinner ton-” he said, carrying two choices of shirts. He stopped his sentence as he walked into the bathroom. He could see the blood in the sink, dripping around the edge of the sick and onto the floor. He then noticed the blood on my wrists, and the blade in my shaky right hand. He ran over to me, grabbing the razor out of my band and throwing it into the toilet. He then grabbed the nearest white towel and wrapped it tightly around my arm. He then grabbed me, pulled me to the floor and pulled me into a deep embrace. 

“Wh-why did you do this to yourself?” he questioned my actions. I sobbed into his chest.

“I don-don't know i-I'm sor-sorry” I sobbed back. I fully knew well why I did it. Just everything had recently been too much. From work, college and family stuff, I wasn't coping. My only release was through hurting myself. If i’d just remembered to lock the door, none of this would have happened. 

“Please promise me you won't do this again” he asked me softly. I looked up at him. His blotchy red eyes were wet just like mine. How could I promise such a big thing? Yet I could see how much it was affecting him,

“I promise” fully meaning it. 

Or so I thought. Sat here after a stressful day. My boss had made me work double the amount of time I was supposed to, my car had broke down, my Mum had phoned to say I had to pay her for some shopping she did for me a while back, and to top it all off, Ashton and I had plans to go out to dinner with the other 5SOS boys to celebrate the release of their new album. I just wasn't up for it. We’d argued just before we were due to go out, over who was going to drive to the restaurant. 

“Ash just let me drive, you’ll want to have a drink and i’m not fussed about drinking!” I huffed.

“You won't, you’ll moan later that you will be the only sober one there” he said, rushing around the room trying to get ready. 

“Well lets get an Uber then!” I suggested, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Ubers are expensive, Y/N!” he exclaimed. 

“Uh you always make our plans so difficult!” I screamed, shutting myself in the bathroom door. 

“Y/N please open the door. I’m worried about you” Ashton said on the other side of the door, snapping me back into reality. I was still laying on the floor, black mascara smudged around my face. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my reflecting made me cry more. I opened the cabinet on the wall and grabbed my hairbrush. Ashton didn't know but I'd hidden a spare razor inside my hairbrush. I took my top off, releasing my bare skin. I admired the scars I already had present on my wrist. I traced a finger along the new and old scars, thinking of where to place my newest addition. I felt further tears fall from my eyes. Suddenly, I heard a loud bang, and saw Ashton barging through the door. He’d actually smashed our wooden bathroom door to get through. I froze, unable to move. Before I could do anything, Ashton once again snatched the razor away from my wrist. He help me tight once again, as I collapsed into his arms. I was so exhausted and emotionally drained, I drifted off to sleep in his arms, on the bathroom floor. 

*A few days later*

“A wellness centre? You're kidding right?” I asked, looking at the leaflet.

“I think it would be a good break for us both! Plus its more of a spa in Holland Y/N, surrounded by beautiful lakes” Ashton said, smiling as he beckoned my body onto his lap as he sat at the dining room table on his laptop. I sighed, reluctant to sit. Since having my meltdown the other day, Ashton had been researching holidays for us, and had come across a wellness centre in Europe. The aim of the centre was to allow individuals to “explore and heal their emotions”. Yuck, I thought. 

“I think it would be a great idea babe. Some time off work. I’ve been able to push back some album promotion stuff too with the guys, they’ll continue it without me” Ashton said. 

“Ash you can't do that, your album has just come out, you need to promote the shit out of it!” I sighed. 

“Yes, but my priority is YOU Y/N” he replied. I smiled at this comment, still feeling bad for him. Him and the other 5SOS boys had been working so hard on the album. I couldn't take Ashton away from that. 

“You won't be taking me away Y/N, I need a break too. And I think you could do with one too” he replied, cocking his head to the side and pouting. You couldn't disagree. You did need a little therapy to help you deal with your depression. You'd been to a therapist and doctor endless times, however no medication or yoga position or music cured you. 

“Deal, but I want the window seat on the plane” I sighed, finally giving up.

“Deal” 

***************

“Welcome, to Escape, a wellness centre” you heard a women at the front desk say to you in a calming voice. You calmly sighed, already feeling relaxed. A bell boy came and took your bags as you checked in. Ashton squeezed your hand and smiled at you, kissing you on the cheek. You were given the keys to your room, and were amazed at how big the room was. You had a king size bed, TV, free mini bar and ensuite, followed by a balcony which had an amazing view of the lake.

“I think I’m going to like it here” I whispered. 

*************

The only downside to being at this wellness centre was the group therapy. I totally got why Ashton was so desperate for us to come here, it was due to the therapy techniques. They had couple counselling, 1:1 therapy and this; group therapy. Ashton had made my go to every single activity on offer. I groaned as soon as Ashton said it started at 9am. I crawled my body there, sitting in a circle with him on my left, and the session leader, a blonde girl called Marissa, on my right.

“Welcome to group therapy, my name is Marissa, and I will be leading this session” she welcomed everyone. Throughout the whole session, Marissa went on about our star signs and have they have emotional connections with one another etc blah blah blah. But towards the end of the session I started to agree what she said. She said that the actions we take out on ourselves are never permanent, and that we should not be reminded of them. She also said that pain was never permanent and that any difficulties could be dealt with closely. I decided to book a 1:1 therapy slot with her straight after. 

“So tell me Y/N, what brings you here?” she asked me in my session. I sighed, just wanting to run out of the room and cry. I hated talking about myself. 

“Well, I don't know if I’m honest. My boyfriend thought it would be good if I came to see you. Al this kinda stuff seems, well rubbish to me”.

“I see. What would you like to talk about?”

I became silent, just wanting to burst open like a balloon, and spill out all of my worries, concerns and fears. I didn't feel confident enough yet, so I decided to open up about the main reason why I was here.

“My attempt to destroy myself a few weeks back”.

“Describe what happened”.

And so I did. I sat there, for 45 minutes, telling Marissa every single detail of how I felt recently. My work stress, my college deadlines, dealing with dating a famous person. I spoke about how my Mum and Dad had gotten divorced when I was young. I talking about the time my Dad and Mum physically fought in front of me. I talked about how my first boyfriend cheated on me, breaking my heart. I was finally able to open up to someone. And I felt so safe afterwards. I finally felt open, and ready to talk to Ashton about how I felt. At the end of the session, Marissa handed me a positive quotes book. At first I sniggered, but turning through the book as I left made me smile. Inside was a small pack of crayons with a colouring page on each page. Each page had a self healing quote. At the front of the book it read

“Every time you find yourself healing a little more, colour in a page”

I decided to colour in the first page, to commence the first chapter of my recovery. The first quote read:

“Healing is an art. It takes time, practice and love”

I walked back into our room, jumped on the bed and started colouring in my first book. As soon as I got comfy, I heard our door unlock, and was greeted by a very relaxed looking Ashton, in a dressing gown, who had just come back from a massage. I giggled.

“Someone looks happy” I said to him. He smiled

“I could say the same for you” he replied.��“Do you fancy hiring one of the boats to go on the lake tonight?”

“Sounds lovely” I replied, heading to my wardrobe to choose something to wear to dinner. 

***************

I hopped onto the boat, and slipped on my 5SOS merch hoodie, noticing the temperature on the lake dip from earlier. Ashton slipped on his black merch hoodie too.

“We have good taste” I giggled at him, pointing to our matching outfits. Dinner at the restaurant in the centre was beautiful. A buffet full of every food you could think of, from meat to salad, pasta to potatoes. Ashton went up and got fifth, probably sixths. I chucked at my boys’ appetite, that boy could compete in an eating contest and thrash everyone, shame he never ate my cooking. I saved room for desert, admiring the chocolate cake. We spent a few hours in the restaurant, discussing our last few days in this beautiful place.

“Hold on tight!” I heard the boat captain shout. He drove us out onto the lake, I could see the bright sun beginning to set around us. I took a few pictures and selfies of our beautiful surroundings. 

“Ash”

“Yeah?”

“I am so sorry”

“What for baby girl?”

“For how I've been around you recently. For feeling low, for doing stupid stuff to mys-” I said. I was interrupted by Ashton wrapping his entire chest around me, kissing my forehead. 

“Baby you don't need to apologise. I’m so sorry you’ve been feeling this way for so long. I wish I knew what to do, I now know how to help you more. That’s why I thought coming here would be good, for the both of us.” he whispered. 

“I feel so much better coming here Ash. I emotionally feel healed. Like when this trip is over, I can go back to work. Actually fuck that, fuck this job. I’m quitting. That place never made me happy” I sigh.

“That's my girl, always grabbing life by the balls!!” Ashton screamed and cheered. I feel a finger trail along my left arm. “What about...this..baby?”. I instantly know what he’s talking about.

I sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m scared Ash. I don’t want to do it anymore. I won’t let myself do it anymore. When we get back, i’m going to go and see a proper psychologist. I want to stop Ash, and I think with you by my side I can”. I sighed, looking at the beautiful sky.

“I won't let you go, Y/N, I'm here. Always”.

Masterlist

[mentallyillblog]

2/17/2021

At about 4:30 am I’m woken up by the cat meowing loudly under the bed beneath our heads. The partner was woken up too and was NOT happy. Immediately they’re yelling at the cat to shut up and trying to find him to kick him out of the room. Apparently he was under their head under the bed. Outside the room the cat continues meowing. The partner gets up and angrily feeds him hoping he’ll be quiet but that’s not really what he wants.

-

I think he has some separation anxiety and if we’re asleep or in the other room too long he starts meowing. On top of being very vocal in general.

-

He doesn’t stay quiet for that long. But it was long enough for us to start falling back asleep which was even more frustrating. The partner says he has to go, they can’t handle it anymore with their mental health and preexisting sleep problems.

At this point after the yelling and meowing I just get up. I’m crying, worried my crying is going to upset the partner, worried about how mad they’re getting at the cat, wondering what do I do about the cat, what if my friend wont take him back upstairs...

So it’s ~5am and I’m sitting by myself in the dark in the living room. Crying, of course. Listening to a podcast (Hey Riddle Riddle) and playing games on my phone.

My presence keeps the cat mostly quiet.

I had an appointment at 9am with a NP at my new Dr’s office. She was nice but I got bad news. Their wait list for individual therapy is as long as 6 months because of the pandemic. I feel like I’m dying, like I can’t make it that long.

My partner wakes up right before the appointment and from the moment I’m free to talk they’re talking about how anxious they are about going to work, then how they have to quit the job (it was their first day) because they’ll get paid too much and lose SSI which they’re not stable enough rn to get off of. Then they switch to talking about their desire to go to school which leads to ruminating about their parents and all the negative they’ve done. I don’t even have the energy to respond with my stuff already on my shoulders I just feel the weight pulling me down to the floor. Like I was literally bent over in my chair, head in hands or laying my head on the desk.

-

I get a call from someone in the behavioral health dept. at my dr’s to figure out my options. It comes down to having to still find someone by myself but doing only 12 sessions w/ them in the mean time. The quickest way I can get any kind of support without waiting months without anything. I feel hopeless but I guess it’s something.

-

After they left I went to sleep, exhausted after the emotional toll of everything plus getting up at 4am.

-

My friend was supposed to be bringing me money for cat stuff. But I didn’t hear anything from her all day. Once I woke up I texted her again and I find out she didn’t go to the bank but had a panic attack at work. But since the morning I had been trying to tell her I needed to talk to her about the cat and it kept being skirted around, so I unleashed it a little on her.

My partner is no longer willing to keep the cat down here. I can’t handle the mental instability the cat is increasing in my partner and I don’t know what to do.

She took the cat. I don’t know if she’s still going to pay us back for the cat stuff.

I miss the cat :(

-

I end up on the phone with my dad because I was a wreck after bringing the cat upstairs. I find out his leg he previously had surgery on might be infected (swollen and hurting, can’t remember if he said red).

Then the partner comes home. Clearly not okay. I faintly smell something I suspect to be alcohol but I’m not sure so I just keep an eye and ear out for things to escalate. They gradually start acting weird and getting loud so I get off the phone because I’m too anxious to talk and I need to figure out what’s going on. And I’m right. They bought a 40oz and downed it on the way home because the day really didn’t work out and they’ve been near a relapse recently. Apparently they called me to stop themselves, but bc I was on the phone I didn’t answer. I can’t feel guilty about that though. There’s no way I could’ve known and it wasn’t my responsibility.

The rest of the night was a roller coaster. They were on discord being loud and weird, and I kept hearing them say fuck you to people. Then they’d go into a manic “goofy” (it was uncomfortable but that’s the best word) mood. Then a drop into depressive apologizing or self-deprecating and crying even.

-

How the fuck am I supposed to handle a relapse while I can barely function every day.

I try to maintain composure as much as possible so they have less swings.

-

Finally they get in bed. And they call me in again. Needing to self-deprecate again and tell me that they’re a loser and I can do better. They’re dragging me down. They’re sorry. They love me. I just want them to go to sleep.

I contain myself. I keep them calm by being playful. I slip away so they’ll go to sleep.

I’m emotionally exhausted and I miss what could’ve been my cat.

[suchawonderfullife]

Update: My progress,pitfalls and EMDR therapy

I checked out of Hansa 73 days ago and recently hit the halfway mark between the day I left and the day I will return for round 2. The journey has been incredibly challenging. I have spent weeks upon weeks being made sick by my treatment, having to continually stop and start various or all remedies, to the point where I could only do 3 days on, 1 day off and still be feeling very ill. At times I was in tears and not wanting to do it anymore. I’ve had days where I was angry that this is my life and 90% of my day revolves around therapies, treatments and exercises. Then I felt guilty for that train of thought because I should be grateful to have been given this opportunity to get well. It doesn’t mean it’s not hard and I can’t vent at times though. 

After those turbulent and horrible weeks, something changed. I worked out that one of my liquid remedies and one of my tablets were both making me herx and I was taking them together in the morning. When I stagger them, I no longer get the same severe reaction. I worked out dosages that don’t push my body over the edge and I’ve just completed 5 and 6 days of treatment in a row, rather than my previous 3 days. 

I’m noticing many improvements as well. My stamina has improved. Everyday I have more energy. It’s not a tremendous amount, I’m not out running 5km or working a full day. But I can pace myself everyday to complete multiple tasks and it (so far) doesn’t make me really sick. I might run an errand and do a few chores around the house, or leave the house for half the day and still be able to come home and cook dinner. Doing those kinds of things consistently is not something I’ve been able to do for over 6 years. I would usually have to do one household chore and that would be my days energy, or I wouldn’t be able to leave the house AND do something around the house. My payback is far lesser as well. I’ve spent days where I’ve left the house for half the day, come home feeling quite exhausted, yet been fine or only mildly tired the next day. 

In regards to my energy, I also realised I have these periods of feeling “manic.” Just incredibly energetic and upbeat. This may last a few hours or half a day. I told one of my friends about my persistent “manic” periods and her response was “maybe you’re not manic though. Maybe that is what ‘normal’ feels like and you’re just not used to it.” That’s a cool thought huh? Because I’m not mentally unstable, I’m not having dips of depression, but these periods of high energy. Maybe that IS what normal feels like? I’ve lived the past 8 years constantly fatigued and unwell, so feeling ‘normal’ would be incredibly foreign.

I haven’t bitten my nails in several weeks. It’s as if my nervous energy has lessened dramatically. Usually, I bite my nails constantly and I could never help it. It was like a subconscious nervous energy I always had and no matter how hard I tried to not do it, I couldn’t help myself. I just don’t feel the urge to do it anymore. My liver and spleen haven’t ached in quite a while, I can’t remember the last time they did. I can’t think of any other specific improvements at this time, but I know I just feel overall better and am slowly improving every day. I still have symptoms that suck and days that I feel shit. But the overall picture is a good one. 

EMDR THERAPY:

Then I started EMDR therapy. My Hansa Dr recommended it due to my limbic system dysfunctions and experiences of various traumas throughout my life. My Dr commented that all chronically ill patients have limbic system dysfunction and that those who focus on repairing this recover far better than those who don’t. EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing. Here is my very basic explanation (not guaranteeing it’ll make sense): You see a psychologist who is trained in this method. You bring up an issue or trauma you want to work on/deal with. After deliberation, your psych will have you pick an image of the memory you are referring to and to just hold that thought while they move their fingers or rod side to side in front of you and you must follow that motion with your eyes for around 30 seconds. Your psych will then stop and check in with how you’re feeling and any thoughts that came up. You do this several times and your mindset begins to change. What this exercise is doing, is the eye movement is making the memory blurry. Once the memory is blurry, your psych then helps your brain reprogram the memory in a more healthy and emotionally stable way. It sounds super weird, but here is a basic 2 minute video explanation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKrfH43srg8

There’s also this 7 minute video of it being done to a guy and I will tell you, I had exactly the same reaction as he did. It goes for longer than this and is a little more complex than shown: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpRQvcW2kUM

So I had my first session with my new psych and I went there in a very bad mood. I felt this resistance to wanting to do the therapy. Understandably too, because who wants to go to consecutive psych sessions just talking about the worst things that have ever happened to them, having to really connect with those memories and work through them? I realised I didn’t feel comfortable with that particular psych either. She was really lovely, but I felt closed off and unable to open up. It took me a few weeks to realise I should make the effort to find a new psych, to make sure I do this therapy right and to give myself the best shot at recovery. 

I booked in with a new woman and had my first session with her a few weeks ago. Luckily, we connected far better and I’m comfortable enough to keep seeing her. Our first session was just the typical get to know you, what’s your life story kind of thing. Then the second session we actually started some EMDR. I talked about how anger was a huge issue for me. My liver is my worst affected organ, which is where anger is stored. I am very reactive and easily triggered, yet I’m not aggressive or violent. My anger becomes something I store in my body and only comes out in passive aggressive bursts. My psych said that the way I deal with anger is something I learnt in my childhood and it would be great to work on something from my childhood that made me mildly angry, just to start. So I had to think of a memory that stirred mild annoyance in me. 

After a few minutes, I came up with a fight I had with my brother when I was maybe 10 years old. He called me fat and I called him a name back. I was hurt by being called fat, so when I went to tell my mum that he had called me fat, I wanted sympathy. Yet I got no sympathy and my mum took his side. Having my feelings dismissed made me angry and my psych pointed out that this would have been one of many situations that taught my inner belief of “I don’t matter.” Low self-worth is one of my limiting core beliefs I have learnt through childhood experiences. That’s not to say in this particular memory that anyone was in the wrong, it’s simply how my brain has interpreted the encounter and processed it. 

So we did EMDR for that memory. She moved the rod back and forth for around 30 seconds each time. At each break she’d ask me what came up. Sometimes my mind would wander off and she said that was fine. My annoyance towards that memory began to fade and the entire image of it in my mind became blurry and hard to remember. That’s when she would have me try and picture that memory and change the limiting belief of “I’m not worthy” to “I am worthy.” The more she moved the rod and I had that snapshot image with those words, I started to feel happy and empowered. After about 15 minutes of this entire exercise, I felt nothing towards that memory and my worthiness was a 10/10 (they do 0-10 and 0-7 scales throughout to gage your progress). 

I honestly was sitting there thinking “what is this witchcraft?” How did she just completely shift my mindset like that? That description doesn’t even do it justice and it was more complicated than that, it’s just very hard to describe. She also had me do a visualisation of a calm place to visit in my mind when I get angry. She had me visualise things in my current life that create a 5/10 annoyance, to really connect with them and then place myself in my ‘calm place.’ It totally worked, I no longer cared about those things. 

Today I had my third EMDR appointment. My psych asked me to write down as many memories I could think of that made me angry or upset. She explained that EMDR is not just for major trauma. We are shaped from a series of small events throughout our lives and it’s important to focus on these small things, just as much as the big things. So even the small argument with my brother and my mum taking his side, has helped shape the negative little voice in my head or taught me how to store and internalise my anger. Work through 30 of those tiny life events and I believe I’d be a whole new person. 

I came up with over 50 events that occurred throughout my childhood, up until the age of 18. Some things may have been a passing comment from 1 person in primary school that just stuck with me, teachers not treating me fairly, fighting with friends, being bullied, deaths in the family, instances of feeling left out, jealousy of a sibling and more. My psych read through them and said I had recurring themes around body image, abandonment and something else (can’t remember). So I need to email them to her in order of age and she will group them into themes. Then we will work through those themes. 

Today we worked on my earliest traumatic memory. This was both my nanna’s (grandmother’s) dying when I was 5. I don’t really have many memories of them or their deaths, but I just felt it may have been a contributor to my abandonment issues and may be trapped in my subconscious. In my first appointment with my psych where I talked about my traumas, I cried talking about losing both my nanna’s. I was really surprised that it made me cry and she said there was obviously some pain there. 

This time she asked me what I could remember about their deaths. There wasn’t much, but the most prominent was the morning my nanna died, I was lying in bed and I heard my parents bring my pop home. I remember hearing him coming in the door crying, almost wailing with grief. My thought at the time I heard that was “she’s died.” I knew that meant my nanna was gone. My psych asked me to think really hard about that specific time and hearing the sound of my pop like that and it made me cry. She asked how that made me feel and I said I felt sad for him and could feel his despair. She pointed out I may have also felt helpless, being 5 years old. Connecting to that memory she started the EMDR, moving the rod from side to side. I had tears rolling down my face as I kept the image and sound in my head as best I could and watched the rod. 

She stopped and started the rod several times, checking in with me. I thought of different things about both my nannas each time she did it. I told her that I had a dream about my nanna the other night and I had never dreamt about her before. In my dream she never died, she actually just fell out with mum and they wanted nothing to do with each other. So I confronted her saying “I thought you were dead! Why wouldn’t you just come see us? It’s so incredibly hurtful that we haven’t seen you for this long.” Relaying my dream then made me cry again. My psych asked why it was upsetting me and I said that I was angry at my nanna in my dream and having a go at her. That made me realise that maybe I’m angry with them for leaving me. Because it’s been pointed out to me before that I was harbouring anger towards one of my brother’s for “leaving me” at a young age and I was upset and saying “I’m crying, I’m not angry, I just miss him.” My psych at the time made me realise, my inner child, on an emotional level was angry and felt abandoned. So maybe my 5 year old self was angry and felt abandoned by Nanna’s. We can all relate to seeing on TV or movies, when a loved one dies and the person left behind is angry and saying “how could they leave me?” Or something similar.   

I cried on and off quite a bit during this session and my psych said “there’s obviously a lot of sadness there. I think you really loved your Nanna’s.” I said “I don’t remember them, but yeah I guess I must have if it makes me this upset.” The more work we did, reverting back to the image of my pop coming home distraught and thinking intermittently about my Nanna’s in general and various other thoughts that popped into my head, my upset emotional state started to lessen. Recalling my memories started off upsetting and slowly turned into feeling nothing, with the memory also becoming hard to recall. So we then decided on a phrase to change and add to the memory. 

Due to my abandonment issues and possibly feeling like my Nanna’s ‘left’ me, we realised one of my core beliefs is “I am alone.” The opposite of this is “I am NOT alone,” however this is a little negative. So we changed it to “I am loved.” That phrase was then added to the image of my pop coming home (being an overall symbol for losing both my Nanna’s) and she moved the rod back and forth for a few more rounds. She then upped the sentence to “I am loveable,” and made me add that to the image. It was to try and teach my brain that I am worth loving, not just that others already love me or that I’m not alone. I really struggled with this sentence though and she said it is something we will work hard on next session. My emotional response to my memory of my pop or nanna’s dying was now a 0, it didn’t make me sad or upset, it was just a memory and my level of feeling towards “I am loved” was now a 10/10. “I am loveable” will be a work in progress though. 

During this process I thought about how interesting it was to do this therapy for grief. It can be done for many things, phobias, mental illness, traumas and more. Time will tell how it works for me as an overall picture as I have multiple major traumas ranging from car accidents to sexual assaults (very different things to psychologically grasp) as well as years of dealing with scary and traumatic chronic illnesses, then many minor negative life experiences such as abandonment from friends, being bullied, getting in trouble at school and more. 

I do feel very hopeful that it will make a significant difference to my mind which will in-turn help  me to heal overall. I really recommend people look into it if they are chronically ill, struggle with mental illness or have traumas 

[semper-prorsum]

Thoughts on psychiatrist appointment yesterday:

I felt more like a collection of symptoms than a human being.  It was “you have this symptom, here’s this pill that can take care of that.”, and didn’t have room for me to have complex opinions about my own recovery.  Like, introduce yourself to me, with your name.  Don’t ask if I have any questions while perched on the edge of your chair, like the appointment is over already.

I don’t ever want to take the pill that’s going to knock me out cold because what if something awful happens again and I’m not aware enough to stop it.  And there wasn’t any space for me to bring that up, or the issues I’ve had in the past with melatonin and not being able to wake up from nightmares.

I was terrified to cry.  I was so scared to look for a second like I wasn’t perfectly in control of my emotions and faculties.  And later M curled up next to me when I was crying and it felt like all the acceptance and validation in the world.

Fear isn’t bad.  It’s not unhealthy, inherently, or unhelpful.  I do better when I give things like fear and anxiety and sadness and grief some space to exist, and don’t pathologize them or treat them like things I just need to get rid of.  It’s perfectly reasonable to be scared.  Some really awful shit happened.  Doesn’t mean I’m really awful shit.

I have some feelings about humanity, and how whatever our other roles in a given situation may be we all continually remain human.  I’m a human, and a psychiatrist or therapist or “case manager” (because apparently now I’m a case...) is a human, and I just want people to act like there are two human beings in the room.  Like I’m a human having a hard time right now, and gentleness and kindness and connection aren’t luxuries only afforded to the fully functioning, and that either of us could be sitting on either side of the table if circumstances were just a little bit different.  And the fact that only one of us is expected to emotionally disrobe is weird and unbalanced and doesn’t mean that leaving our humanity at the door is emotionally cleaner.  

There’s a dog currently sleeping on my legs.  It’s 3:30 am, and the fact that he’s sleeping soundly is the thing that’s keeping me calm right now, because his senses are better than mine and his sleep is lighter and he likes to bark at everything and he currently isn’t barking because there isn’t anything to bark at.  That has been more helpful to me in the sleeping department than anything else.

It seems like I accomplished more on my own than when I’ve been trying to engage with the therapeutic process over the past six months. I found a way to exist in my body, and worked to get my thinking a lot healthier, and did a lot of really productive work around trigger desensitization.  Which is something to non-patronizingly honor, and it’s okay that some of that progress has slipped away now, and it’s okay that I loose my crap when I try to be present in my body.  No one is allowed to suggest that I’ve just been stuck in survival mode; I did some serious work, and that matters.  It seems like trying to be a good therapy client is distracting me from going foraging for my own path through the woods again.

I want to quit therapy.  I want to call and cancel every appointment I’ve ever had, and change my number, and I don’t know if I want to find someone else or just never go back ever again.  I won’t be doing that, but my god I just want to crawl under a rock.

One of the most supportive and affirming interactions I’ve had in this whole process was with the nurse who did my forensic exam.  The exam itself was a small slice of hell, but she’d pause and tell me that I was doing great as I was sitting there hyperventilating and not super responsive, and firmly but without pushing told me it wasn’t my fault it happened, even if I had left the door unlocked, and that people should be able to leave their doors unlocked during the daytime.  And when I was actually up on the table and freaking all the way out, she paused and told me to breathe, and said that she was there with me, and that P was right outside the door, and the entire thing was horrible and I wish I hadn’t had to go through it,  But I don’t think she ever really lost sight of the fact that everyone involved was a human, and I’m very grateful to have that memory to draw on.

And the very fuzzy memory of the car ride after that, when P audibly breathed in and out what I’m pretty sure is the longest breath anyone has ever taken, trying to cue me that my breathing was way too fast, but it felt like an invitation.  Like a small, wordless connection, and an acknowledgment that she knew I was trying so it wasn’t a command.  It felt like we were two humans in a car, one significantly more calm than the other, but still connected.  Like she was just this calm, compassionate presence, and whatever reaction I needed to have was okay.  Didn’t make me weak, didn’t make me unstable, didn’t make me fragile.  We were both just human.

This whole thing dragged up three particular experiences I’ve had in the past with psychiatrists.  The earliest was the time I was actually medicated, by this mouse-y man who looked at me over his glasses and nodded when I talked and I don’t think he listened to a work I said.  The second was with a lady, Dr. V, who I only saw once, because she refused to medicate me because I didn’t want to take medication (which I am very grateful for).  She said to my parents, while I was still in the room, “she’s one of the worst cases I’ve ever seen”, referencing how depression-shut-down I was.  Thinking about that now, I can see that in a much more compassionate light, but that’s a phrase I’ve carried with me for years.  That I’m that broken, that messed up, and she didn’t have a comprehensive picture of me at all, but I don’t think that excuses the fact that she spoke about me for a solid ten minutes like I wasn’t in the room.  The third was the slimeball ARNP I saw for a year and a half-ish, who was an enabling jerk who gave my parents ideas about how to be awful.  The case manager, with his arrogance and frat-bro-ish-ness, kind of reminded me of him.  

Right now, I hold more of the cards than I did when I was younger.  I don’t have someone who looks more respectable and sounds more convincing sitting there saying that I’m a manipulative, destructive liar anymore, but I’m scared because I’ve seen how people can act when I don’t have the power in a given situation.  I’m scared of seeming like I’m not in control, because then other people take the control for themselves.  All of that’s exhausting.

I just want to be able to say a thing sometimes and not have someone feel the need to “address” it.  Sometimes, all something needs is fresh air and some space to exist.  

As I say that, I think that might be a major issue in why therapy isn’t super effective right now.  Every time I say something, there has to be a response.  There has to be some psycho-education, some talk about how we can therapeutically address it, some comment about how it’s normal, and that almost makes it worse.  Especially if I don’t have something else to say at that moment... accepting silence is okay.  Compassionate witnessing is okay.  That goes in therapy, and with myself.

I didn’t like that.  It wasn’t bad, or unhelpful, or counterproductive, but I didn’t like that at all.  I felt like a collection of symptoms rather than a human being, and it was like there wasn’t space for my reservations or questions, and the nature of therapeutic relationships in the first place is weird but I felt poked and prodded more than I felt seen.

A smile.  A thoughtful pause.  Welcoming body language, or a kind comment about how it seems like I’m having a hard time right now... it’s the details that give people dignity.