#after years of therapy working medication and talks with me she’s doing much better than she was.

[peachpitlover]

Vulnerable

In which Y/n is JJ’s anxious girl but he’ll always protect her.

Pairing: JJ Maybankx Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Swearing (just a little), talk of anxiety and ocd, mentions of medication, mentions of physical abuse (not reader or jj), and smut

My Masterlists

~~~

JJ learned early on in their friendship that Y/n was much more reserved than the rest of the group. Don’t get him wrong, she was fun and outgoing and silly, but the smallest thing would have her shrinking into herself. It was only when they started dating that she opened up to him. She explained that she was diagnosed with severe anxiety when she was twelve, as well as OCD. Her mom tried every possible remedy in the book; therapy, OCD clinics, meditation, and natural remedies but nothing worked. She got put onto medication after a year of no relief and the dose was slowly rising until about a year ago. The medication did a great deal to help her, but her thoughts were still often clouded with anxiety. While the severity of Y/n’s OCD died down a lot, she still found herself needing to check her pockets and bag multiple times before leaving the house, and opening and closing the fridge door more times than she can count “because it didn’t sound right.” The Pogues knew better than to disturb her antics and waited patiently for her to sigh in relief and look up with a smile.

Once Kiara had tried to interrupt Y/n’s trance of opening and closing the front door of the Chateau, but it only ended in Y/n cutting into the palms of her hands with her nails as she tried to control herself and tears from the anxiety she felt because once again “it didn’t feel right.” JJ had also once tried to stop her from the never ending cycle of Y/n tapping each side of her arm to make it “feel even.” Then, she had snapped at JJ and locked him out of his own room. She’s well aware that this only exists in her head, but it doesn’t do much to make the feeling any less real.

JJ is against the headboard of her bed with Y/n on his lap. His hands roaming from her shoulders to her hips and back as he kissed her. With both hands in his hair, Y/n panted and squirmed in his arms while her hips gently ground into his.

“You want to do something tonight, angel? Don’t have to, I just think you’re a little needy,” he smiled as he broke away from her swollen lips.

“Um,” she mumbled. “maybe. I don’t know, like what?”

“Anything you want, maybe just putting my hand inside your shorts and rubbing you? Hm, how’s that sound?”

“I don’t know J,” she whined as she picked at her nails.

JJ only frowned and took her hands in his.

“Don’t have to do anything you don’t want, ok baby? Just tell me you don’t like it and we’ll stop,” he’s heard the story of her friend in high school who beat up his girlfriend. He was the last person you would expect to do something like that, and the thought constantly haunted her mind when surrounded by men. She trusted JJ with her whole heart, but her brain told her that she could never know for sure.

“Like, how?”

“How I would rub you?” He clarified.

“Mhm,” she whispered.

He smiled at her shyness: “Just over your panties sweet girl, unless you want more. Just play with your little clit and make you feel good,” he spoke as he held eye contact with her.

“Yeah,” she murmured as her eyes dropped to their intertwined hands.

“Yeah? You want that?”

She nodded with a shy smile before hiding in his neck and he tsked at her.

“Gotta use your words. I’m not gonna do anything until you say what you want.”

“I want that, JJ.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yes please,” she whined.

“That’s my girl, kiss me baby. I’ll do the rest,” he smiled as she surged forward and her hands went straight to his hair.

JJ continued to kiss her and rub her back as his right hand crept lower and lower until it was resting over her hip, massaging at the skin and pulling at the band of her sleep shorts.

“Can I, baby?” He spoke against her.

“Yes,” she whined and connected their lips again.

As his hand dipped into her shorts the slightest bit, her stomach tensed involuntarily.

“It’s ok,” she whispered almost immediately.

He continued until his fingers were resting just above her clit and his wrist submerged fully into her shorts.

“Just focus on kissing me, baby,” he whispered into her mouth and moved his left hand to her lower back.

Once his fingers rested on her clit, she jumped and gasped, he felt her lashes flutter against his skin as her eyes shot open.

“It’s ok, angel. I’ve got you, I’d never hurt you, my baby. You’re ok,” he whispered.

“It’s just…” she cut herself off as she pulled her head back.

“I know, you’re ok. You’re my sweet girl, I’d never hurt you. Not ever, if you want to stop we can.”

“I know that, it’s just new, is all.”

“I know, and you’re doing so good for me, do you wanna keep going?”

“Yes please.”

He smiled against her lips and kissed the corner of her mouth. Moving his lips to her cheeks and jaw, and eventually her neck. JJ pressed his fingers into her gently and he felt her thighs tense; “I’m ok,” she whispered.

“You’re ok,” he confirmed in between kissing. He began to circle his fore and middle fingers against her as gently as possible.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Oh?” JJ smiled into her neck.

“I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, feels really nice,” she breathed out an almost moan as he pushed his fingers against her mound with a little more pressure.

“Must have been aching, huh sweet girl? I can feel how warm you are.”

“Needed it,” she whined.

“Yeah? You needed me to touch you?”

“Mhm- JJ!” She sucked in some air as he let his hands dip until his fingers rested over her slit, still over her panties. He pushed slightly, not enough to push his fingers in, but enough to satiate that ache and draw out a loud moan.

“I know, I’ve got you,” he whispered before his lips found hers once again and his left hand on her back pulled her impossibly closer.

“I liked the other thing, can you do that again?”

“You liked when I rubbed your clit?”

“Mhm,” she moaned and bucked her hips when his fingers rested on her covered clit.

“Words, baby. Or I’ll stop,” he reminded gently.

“Yes, J! Please,” JJ couldn’t get enough of the sweet moans and whimpers that came from her, they made his stomach flip as an ache settled between his legs.

“More please,” she whimpered and ground her hips down into his hand.

“Can I touch you under your panties? Is that what you want?” Y/n couldn’t help the way her stomach fluttered when he called them panties.

“Yes please, I really want that,” she whispered and smiled shyly.

“Ok sweet girl,” he smiled and slid his hand into her panties. “God, you’re so fucking wet, baby.”

“Oh fuck!” She cried and closed her hand around his hair and tugged.

“Feels good?” He teased her.

“S-so good. Please, please,” she didn’t know what she was asking for, her mind too muddled with pleasure to think of anything else.

“Gonna cum for me?”

“Yes, yes J, please.”

“Cum for me, angel, I’ve got you.”

Her moans became louder and more frantic as her head fell back and her thighs began to shake.

“Oh my god!” Y/n came with one final mewl.

“Good girl, so good for me.”

“Thank you JJ,” she smiled as she nuzzled her head into his neck.

“Don’t have to thank me. I hate to make you get up but I have to go to the bathroom.”

“No, just a few minutes, please?” She pouted and whined.

“I gotta go take care of myself then I’m all yours.”

She stared at him for a moment before her eyes widened in understanding; “Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’ll be quick I promise,” he kissed her one last time before standing up.

“JJ?” She called just before he entered the bathroom.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you, thank you,” she smiled.

“I love you more than you know, angel girl.”

[krash-and-co]

so i just woke up from anesthesia afew hours ago but

yeag i agee wirh you one hundred percent you are so right ive said it before i will say it again amd again UYOURE RIGHR HE IS YEAH i’m going to sleep now btw

LISTEN, Kaz Brekker, W.W. Hale V and Antony Lockwood are three points on the same triangle. Don’t ask me how i know this but they are.

[the-guilty-writer]

Headcanons for Hotchner!daughter Service Dog

No one asked for it but here we are.

Inspired by the headcanons done by @ssa-thotchnerr on hotchner!reader emotional support dog

As someone who is a service dog handler, this topic is near and dear to my heart, especially service dogs who do psychiatric work. It's also important to me to address the differences between an ESA (emotional support animal) and PSD (psychiatric service dog) as they are two seprate things.

If you have questions about ESAs or Service Dogs send me an ask or a message! It's something I love to talk about and educate on!

Here we go:

CW: Foyet, Haley's death, counseling, medication, PTSD, PTSD symptoms, meanings to names

The whole thing with Foyet was traumatic. Being pulled away from your dad, being in witness protection, being told your dad was dead only to find out that he wasn't, your mom being killed- it was all too much.

Hotch was very proactive about getting you and Jack into counseling. Jack recovered from the events far faster and easier than you did.

After evaluation from a psychologist, they concluded you had severe PTSD.

You were talking to a therapist multiple times a week, taking medication, being open with your dad, even peer support groups, but after a year you still struggled immensely.

Panic attacks, nightmares, hypervigilance, depressive episodes, and avoidance still ruled your life.

Your medical team brought forward the idea of a service dog as an addition to the rest of your treatment.

You and your dad looked into it and decided it would be a good idea.

Until you looked at the price of training or getting a program dog and it was going to be upwards of $15,000 (really closer to $25,000) or at least two years on a non-profit waitlist. Some options were both.

Thank god for the "anonymous donation" from Uncle Dave.

You and your dad met with the program. They had you meet a few different dogs that were ready for task training, but ultimately you were matched with a solid black female german shepherd.

"She's from our outer space themed litter. Her name is Comet, after Halley's Comet."

That had you and your dad in tears.

It would still be months before she would complete her task training, but you got to see her when you went to do handler training.

She finally finished her training with the program and got to come home to complete it with you!

At first, having Comet almost made things worse.

People would point and stare, little kids would scream, rude people saying things like "you don't look disabled", "I thought only veterans could have PTSD", access issues, even some of your friends who didn't want to bring you along on activities anymore since you'd have Comet with you.

But it forced you to be a bit brave and learn to stand up for yourself and her.

And her tasks made your life so much better and gave you so much more independence.

Comet would "search" the apartment for strangers before you entered, so you could come home alone without Hotch or Jessica having to be there.

If you were home alone, she would bark when someone came into the apartment and go check to see who it was. If it was someone she knew, she would stop barking and come back to you, but if it was a stranger she would continue barking so you could call your dad and ask who was supposed to be coming to the apartment.

When you had nightmares, she would wake you up before they got really bad. This improved the sleep quality of everyone in your family.

Comet would alert you before you had a panic attack so she could perform deep pressure therapy and you could use your coping skills to try to make it less intense.

If your panic attack did get intense, she would do a "take down" to put as much pressure on your body as possible and gently lick you until you calmed down.

In the after-fatuige of an attack she would take you to a quiet place to recover and continue to provide pressure therapy.

If it happened when your dad was home she would get him to help you through it.

She would annoy you at certain times of the day to remind you to take your medications, sometimes even fetching the bottles for you.

When you would cry alone she would just starting bringing you anything she could find - water bottles, papers, pillows, dirty laundry (usually bras because it made you laugh) - so you didn't have to be alone with your feelings.

She would stand behind you and alert to people approaching so you didn't get startled.

Sometimes would provide "checks" around corners if you were having a really bad day with hypervigilance.

Having Comet opened up an entire new world for you, making you feel safe without having to have your dad or your aunt with you.

She wasn't a replacement for your therapy or medication, and the public could still be extremely rude. Sometimes you did leave her at home if you were going somewhere that it would be hard to accommodate her and you had your dad to help you incase anything happened.

But she gave you independence that you didn't have before and made your life so much better.

[veronicaphoenix]

Her attention had shifted from the movie to my neck, where she was staring intently at a spot I couldn’t see. Before I could ask, her index finger found my skin and traced a tiny tattoo that was there. “Lia,” she said, reading the tattoo I had gotten years ago. “My favorite girl,” I replied, wondering immediately where those words had come from because I couldn’t remember intending to say them.

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: best friends to lovers, ptsd, therapy, Lia is on medication, a lot of angst but a lot of fluff, too. Noah and Lia are on dangerous grounds. Noah can't help but being a flirt. Lia is dealing with too many things and is very confused and feeling like shit. A lot of alcohol consumption that will lead to inevitable consequences. | Word count: 3.1k | Cross posted on AO3 | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

I had been in the studio for about an hour and a half, hashing out details of our upcoming tour and listening to Matt’s heated discussions over the phone.

The first hour was all about work, but then my thoughts drifted to Lia, as it had been happening very often lately. Before heading to the studio, I’d dropped her off at her therapy session, agreeing that she would give me a call once it was over so that I could pick her up and bring her here. But thirty minutes had passed since the session should’ve ended, and there was no call or message from her.

I excused myself and stepped out into the hallway to call her. She picked up on the second ring.  

“Where are you?” I asked, my voice edged with concern.

“Making my way home. To your home. Or mine. I’m not sure,” her voice sounded subdued, a common post-therapy tone.

“I thought we said I’d pick you up,” I said.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just... I’m not feeling well,” a sob escaped her lips, small but audible. “I dont feel like going to the studio. I dont want to be cooped up within four walls again."

It took me a moment to think about what to say next, what solution to propose to her. I didn’t like the idea of her being on her own after an hour spent talking about her traumas, worries, and vulnerabilities.

“Where exactly are you?”

“Out on the street,” Lia replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty because she probably didn’t know its name.

“It will take you an hour to get back home on foot, Lia. At least.”

“I don’t care. I could use a walk around the city. It’s what I need. I feel…” her voice trembled, and she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I can’t be okay knowing you out there alone when you’re feeling unwell. I’m coming to get you. Then we can decide where to go from there, alright?”

“Noah, I don’t want to keep burdening you with my problems. You’re already doing enough. You don’t need to worry so much about me, please. I’ll feel better in sometime. I have to take my next pill before lunch, I’ll feel okay after that.”

“Lia, if we have to have this discussion again, we will. Your well-being matters to me, and I’ll keep worrying about you until I’m an old grump. So, tell me where you are, and I’ll be there in less than fifteen. We can go wherever you want. The rest of the tasks here can wait. Besides, all Matt is doing is arguing with different people over the phone,” I pointed out, still hearing his voice through the door. I let out a sigh.

On the other side of the line, a mixture of tears and laughed escaped Lia, a sign of her acquiescence.

“Alright… I’ll send you the address. I’ll wait for you outside the Starbucks on the corner.”

“Good, grab yourself a coffee, and I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?”

She didn’t get herself a coffee.

When I pulled up at the spot, Lia was leaning against the wall between Starbucks and the 24-hour mart on the right. The beer can in her hand had probably been bought there. Before getting in the car, she took one last sip and chucked it in a waste bin.  The beer scent lingered as she settled into the seat, but I didn’t care. I reached out instinctively to her, running my fingers through her hair. Her eyes met mine, a bit downcast.

“Thanks for coming,” she murmured softly.

“Where to?” I asked, still inadvertently playing with her hair, that fell in soft waves over her thin grey jacket.

Lia shrugged.

I kept on checking on her until it was obvious that it wasn’t her best day. I thought of what to do, where to go. I dug into my brain until I remembered a place. We had been there before, but that was many years ago.

I started the car and veered away from the city.

“Where are we headed?” she asked, noticing we were going the opposite way of home.

“Surprise,” I replied with a grin.

Lia frowned.

“Noah, surprises aren’t really my jam right now. I want quiet and…” she muttered clearly exhausted, but I stopped her.

Her tired eyes and dark circles showed she hadn’t been sleeping well, and her therapy session probably didn’t help her current state.

“I know. You’ll like this one,” I told her. “Have I ever surprised you with something you disliked?”

I looked away from the road briefly as Lia hesitated, which prompted me to urge her to answer, even though I knew what she’d say.

“Never,” she eventually replied.

“Exactly. So, relax while I drive. We’ll grab some food on the way.”

We made it to Upper Franklin Canyon Reservoir in les than forty minutes. Since it was a weekday and just past one o’clock, the place was blissfully uncrowded. The parking lot was only occupied by two other cars, and as we stepped out, the refreshing scent of nature filled our lungs. Lia’s face lit up as she took in the surroundings, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

I walked around the car and offered Lia my hand, just like we used to when we were kids. She took it, and together, we strolled along the wooden path on the left. After a few minutes, we found ourselves at a spot by the river, sheltered by the trees and the branches above us.

I released Lia’s hand, allowing her to approach the edge and take in the serene view of the water and the ducks gliding peacefully.

“I thought you’d like this,” I said, staying a couple of steps behind her.

“Thank you”, she said, her voice barely audible over the tranquil sounds of nature.

“Maybe someday we can go back to the lake where we grew up,” I suggested tentatively, unsure of how Lia would feel about the idea.

For me, that place held memories of happiness, of being with her. It was the place where the troubles of the world had felt distant.

But perhaps Lia didn’t share the same sentiment. Maybe she didn’t want to reminisce about our childhood, about hers. Maybe she didn’t even want to hear the name of our hometown. She had made it clear a few nights ago when she confessed that the memory of our kiss had brought back many other memories that she didn’t really want in her head right now.

As I reached out to comfort her with a gentle touch on her shoulder, Lia’s hand grasped mine and pulled me close until my chest met her back. In an instant, I found myself holding her from behind, my chin resting atop her head. I felt her trembling, and a solitary tear landed on our intertwined hands, resting on her stomach.

“Lia…” I felt helpless in the face of her pain. I couldn’t bear to see her like this. But I had no idea how to ease her burden.

It was clear she was grappling with thoughts of Mitch. She was haunted by the scars he had left on her life. His actions had intertwined with the memories of her mother and childhood, and now those were huge stains on her heart.

“I’m just so tired of thinking…” she confessed, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “I just want to shut off my mind, to stop remembering, to stop considering if I should’ve done things different, if I could’ve avoided this… I just want a break, if only for a few hours…”

Unable to find enough words to calm her, I hugged her tighter, pulling her closer and resting my cheek against her hair.

“And you’re so good to me...” she said then, making me furrow my brow.

I understood what she was going through, but I couldn’t comprehend why she couldn’t accept what I gave her. I had reassured her countless of times that she was my priority, regardless of any other relationships or relatives I had scattered across the globe. Lia was everything. She had practically been my beginning, and she would be my end.

Suddenly, Lia slipped from my embrace, not to escape, but to face me and return the hug, burying her head in my chest.

“I dont deserve you,” she sobbed.

“Says who, huh?” I countered.

“Me.”

“Well,” I lifted her chin with a finger, “you’re wrong, Lia Parker. So, get that stupid thought out of your head.”

With a hand, she rubbed her nose before sniffling and keeping her grip on me, her hands tied at my back.

“I want to do so much,” she began. “I want to write, and draw, help others. I want to be useful, make something meaningful. I don’t want to feel lost again.”

“You’re not lost, Lia. And if you were, I’d always find you.”

We stood in silence, holding onto each other, her body pressed to mine, the gentle breeze embracing us. Lia’s eyes sparkled brighter with tears, but I didn’t want them there. I craved her smile, the laughter lines around her eyes, the dimples and flush on her cheeks.

Lia was not a child anymore; she was a stunning beautiful woman whose past shadows lingered, echoing with the pain she struggled to silence. But despite the weight of her struggles, she was strong, and nothing could keep me from seeing that resilience that she refused to let be extinguished.

Yet, every time I looked at her in those quiet moments made for affection, I saw the little girl I had taught to play guitar, the one who had tried to teach me to make flower crowns, the first girl I had let sleep in my bed and the first to bless me with my first kiss.  

I couldn’t stop myself.

Brushing aside the strands of her hair that danced in the wind, I tucked them behind her ear and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

She didn’t recoil or startle, but rather furrowed her brow and playfully protested, “Don’t be so sweet,” which only made me laugh. “Keep it up, and you’ll end up kissing me again.”

“Would you mind?” I asked with a grin. “Because I certainly wouldn’t.”

She huffed and swatted my chest.

“Bad boy,” she said, but then she nestled into my neck, finding a comfortable spot between my shoulder and chest. “When was the last time you hooked up with someone, anyway?”

“I honestly can’t even remember,” I admitted with a chuckle. It was the truth. “I might as well go celibate at this point.”

“Oh, sure,” her laughter reverberated through me, a beautiful sound that warmed my heart. “With whatever other books you must be reading about sex I doubt that’s something you would achieve.”

“Don’t underestimate me. I can read about sex and still be celibate.”

“Stop it,” she pleaded as her laugh increased. “I hope it’s not because of me,” she said next in a hushed, quieter, and serious tone.

“It’s not because of you,” I replied, though I wasn’t entirely convinced of that myself. “Don’t worry,” I said, brushing my lips against her head again. It felt comforting, her hair was soft, and it smelled so good. What wasn’t to love about this moment with her in my arms?

“I shouldn’t have let you leave the studio for me,” she continued, taking a deep breath against my shoulder. “They guys will hate me for keeping you away when the first show is just around the corner.”

“The guys understand what you’re going through and couldn’t care less if I’m in the studio with them today or not. I’m sure some of them are relieved not to have me bossing them around.”

“You are pretty bossy…”

“Hey, getting sassy again, are we?” I retorted, pulling away slightly to meet her gaze, which she tried to hide in my hoodie, holding tightly to my back to avoid letting me see the grin on her face.

Her laugh filled the air as she squirmed in my hold, and I couldn’t help but cherish the moment, silently hoping and praying that moments like these would bring some healing to her.  

Come afternoon, we settled into comfortable hours lounging on the couch, each engrossed in our own tasks. Lia was focused on completing song lyrics while I worked on my MacBook.

Eventually, we waved Jolly and Jesse off, who had their own plans for the evening. Jesse was going to visit his parents for his mother’s birthday and would stay with them for a few days, while Jolly was heading to Emery’s place after finally deciding to take things further in their relationship.

Lia and I couldn’t resist teasing him, a constant since the night Emery had stayed over and slept in his bed. While there was no 3am chicken wing date for me and Lia, it was clear that Emery and Jolly had hit it off, evident in their flirtatious interactions the next morning while prepping breakfast.

When Jesse announced he was leaving, Lia asked to check on the plants he had bought for his mom one last time. Jesse expressed his gratitude for her care of the plants since he had acquired them from the botanical gardens.

Once Lia and I were alone, it was already past seven, and we found ourselves back on the couch. Lia’s feet rested on my lap while I massaged her toes, watching another episode of Attack on Titan on TV as she worked on coloring some design on her iPad.

After the episode ended, I suggested Lia that we could video call Grandma. It had been a while since we last spoke to her, and we hadn’t mentioned anything about Lia’s situation with Mitch, only that they had broken up when things stopped feeling right. Grandma was aware of their relationship but knew little about what had happened later. Despite my efforts to downplay the situation when I spoke to her —Lia was in no condition to tell her—, Grandma always seemed to sense when something was going on. It didn’t matter how good I could pretend to make it sound as if Lia was fine and over it.  Even if she wouldn’t address it directly, she could feel when something was broken. And when she saw Lia that afternoon, their conversation shifted to a somber silence after the initial joy of seeing each other on the screen, and Grandma’s eyes grew teary.

Lia and Grandma had a special connection that allowed them to communicate without words, and soon, Lia was seeking comfort nestled against my shoulder, trying to hold back her tears.

To lighten the mood, I smoothly transitioned the conversation to our upcoming trip to Japan, scheduled for a month after our tour in the States. Grandma was eagerly anticipating our visit and couldn’t wait to have us in her little house in the village after our shows in four different cities across Japan concluded. I shared her excitement, looking forward to spend some time away from home and submerged in a different country of a different culture with Lia.

After our videocall with Grandma, Lia and I turned our attention to dinner. Given her low spirits, Lia persuaded me to order takeout.

With a tray loaded with Chinese food and beer, we headed to the studio, setting up the bed on the pull-out sofa and deciding to watch a movie while we ate. That night, after seeing how down she’d been all day, I couldn’t refuse her anything.

It was dawning on me that Lia was my weakness, and I feared there might be no turning back from that realization.

As the night went on, Lia’s mood seemed to lift. The alcohol played a part, but so did I.

We were snug while watching the movie, the empty tray now back in the kitchen and two more beers back with us in the studio, in our hands. Lia was practically nestled against my side, wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts that looked oversize on her and dark panties underneath. I noticed, but I kept that knowledge to myself.

One of my arms was draped around her shoulders, and she was casually sipping her beer as if nothing had troubled her earlier.

I realized I was starting to feel a little drunk when I noticed that Lia was already drunk.

Her attention had shifted from the movie to my neck, where she was staring intently at a spot I couldn’t see. Before I could ask, her index finger found my skin and traced a tiny tattoo that was there.

“Lia,” she said, reading the tattoo I had gotten years ago.

“My favorite girl,” I replied, wondering immediately where those words had come from because I couldn’t remember intending to say them.

With a wide smile, Lia shifted and straddled my lap, her hands landing on my shoulders, mine on her hips.

“I’m going to get another beer. Do you want one?” she asked, speaking as if a beer were candy and she were an excited child allowed to indulge in something sweet.

I made a face, letting my head fall back on the headrest of the couch.

“Come on, pleaaase!” she pleaded, starting to play with the short strands of hair at the nape of my neck. She was doing a pretty good damn job trying to convince me. “It’s just you and me tonight. Can we get drunk and have some fun?”

“We’re already having fun.”

She pouted, and I would have fallen to my knees had I been standing.

“Alright,” I conceded, dragging out the word and giving in to her.

“Yaay!” she cheered, hopping over my legs to get up and fetch another beer. “I’ll also get a bottle of water.”

As if that would make any difference…

When she returned, she had the bottle of water clutched to her chest with one arm and two more cans of beer in her hands. I looked at her disapprovingly, but I couldn’t say no when she gave me puppy dog eyes again.

Jesus Christ, what was that woman doing to me?

The second beer turned into a third, and the third, somehow, turned into a fourth.

By then, Lia was completely drunk, and me... I was drunk, too, of course. Some common sense remained, but I was starting to feel sleepy and a bit dizzy, and if Lia just looked at me with those big brown eyes again and asked for anything else, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second before giving it to her.

Author's note: for the ones that have been following this series since I posted the first chapter, which is actually chapter 19, you know what happens next 😣 but I'm currently rewriting it and I'll be positing it in a couple of days, which will finally mean I've completed Koi No Yokan :)

[firesnap]

Using this blog as a. well. blog. tw weight loss tw diet talk tw pain management or whatever you need there.

Last year when I went to see Lvjy in Scotland and England with Mia, I hurt my leg. Badly. I had strained it before I left and during the trip just completely fucked it up. My doctor warned me I had done pretty severe damage to it. Tore a muscle, the muscle now irritates my sciatic nerve and can cause intense pain. I went to physical therapy and it slowly got better but I still had trouble standing for long periods of time in October .

After everything happened in February, I decided I needed to get my shit together. I started exercising regularly. Drinking less. Changed my diet. I started working on losing weight. And I had really quick results. I've lost 18 pounds right now.

But almost 2 weeks ago I hurt my bad leg. I don't know if it was on the rowing machine or when I took the nephews to a trampoline park, but over the course of a weekend, my hamstring got incredibly stiff and I started getting this electric shooting pain down my leg that made it hurt to stand and walk. The act of getting out of bed or sitting (and standing) would hurt so much that I wanted to just stay in bed the whole day.

I immediately got a doctor appointment. My normal doctor was out of town so she sent me to someone in her practice. I needed pain relief and a rec for physical therapy. I went in knowing that and just had a humiliating experience where the doctor implied she didn't believe my medical history and acted like I was wanting pain killers (when I hadn't requested ANY pain relief other than last year when I was traveling and then I ended up fucking up my leg so bad that it didn't help). But I got a prescription for tramadol for a week (and I've been skipping doses to stretch that out), an order to take 800mg of ibuprofen on top of that, and a referral for physical therapy.

But I'm still in just. Intense. pain. At first, I couldn't get the physical therapist to understand that I can't do a lot of these exercises and stretches without crying. Yesterday she seemed to get that and we tried cupping(???) and some heat massage to try and get my hamstring to relax but fuck man. I'm in so much pain today that I laid in bed and cried just from trying to get up

I just don't understand how to convince doctors that I can't heal when I can't even walk down the stairs or through the grocery store

[vtforpedro]

long life update - TWs in tags

It feels like it's been ages. I'm so exhausted and in a lot of physical pain. Going on two months of it being the worst it's been right after a couple of months of the best it's been. Chronic pain + grief + trying to get help from doctors who should have their licenses revoked + dealing with a shit relationship with my mom + a good, decades-long friendship ending + the ongoing disability process with the SSA + LAW FIRMS.

I'm so fucking tired. I don't remember if I updated that the appeals council decided not to review my case because the 'judge followed the law' except that he didn't. So, as it turns out, my original attorney (and he did not tell me this) before he left, wrote that if they denied me, it should go to federal district court.

I'm now working with a NY law firm to take my case to federal court because my current law firm believes it has merit, and I guess they do, too. That's how fucked the decision was, and I'm glad my initial reaction of bewilderment and anger was spot on lol

The good news is, it should only take another year! ._.

My neurologist is the worst doctor I have ever come across and I'm quite literally stuck with him with nowhere else to go. I wish him upon no one. I'm so tired of calling the SSA, getting documents to them, signing things for law firms, contacting law firms, getting no responses, and contacting them all over and over again. I am in incredible physical pain, like this actively makes my neuro stuff worse. Everything makes it worse. I have autonomic testing in a few days, and idk if I'll get through it b/c I have to stop the meds that keep me out of the ER two days prior, and it scares me.

My relationship with my mom is fractured and I don't feel like family therapy is actually helping. I had to end a friendship with someone I love and care very much about but who was growing too comfortable mistreating me and I was giving them too many passes 😞 I've known them for the better part of two decades.

It's been over seven months since my cat Isis died. I don't know how. It feels like she was here just yesterday. Yet, all the nights I've sat and talked to her and wept are all too real. I miss her more than I can say. She was my soul cat. I keep thinking about tomorrow and how she'd be so nosy getting into EVERYthing when gifts are opened at Christmas. Having to stop her, move her, laugh because she was just so n o s y and it was hilarious. And she's not gonna be here for that ever again.

I'm having a really fucking hard time tonight. It's just hitting me how god-awful this year has been and how I have a bad week to look forward to before even getting to the new year lmao I have to stop taking so many of my medications 48hrs before 1.5-2hrs of testing to see if we can find out Yet Another Thing Wrong With Me but knowing my luck it'll be 'no findings' and the mystery of why my core body temp plummets to 93.9 in the blink of an eye won't be solved until I have suffered juuuuust enough.

It never ends. Never. I want to give up. I'm so tired of doing this. I don't want to anymore. It never. fucking. ends.

I absolutely cannot say it's all been bad, though. I've met incredible, warm, welcoming, giving, kind people this year. Y'all have helped me more than you know and I'm so so so lucky to be able to call you my friends. This year has sucked for so many of us, but I want to say I'm proud of you, and I love you all very much.

My fic is gonna be printed in a hardcover zine early next year. I participated in a Big Bang for the first time and that'll also go out early next year. I'm hosting a tiny event in my tiny fandom server that I'm super excited about. I have a raffle prize to write (bagginshield !!!! SO EXCITED to revisit the og otp) and a Valentine's gift to write for another fandom.

I posted 401,000 words this year and wrote many more unfinished wips, plus a long one (90k) that I am very invested in finishing.

I painted and drew so much this year. I improved a lot, too! I got a couple of portraits printed from inprnt to see how they looked, and it was MY art, and they were GORGEOUS. I thought I would hate seeing my art professionally printed, but no! I almost cried. They looked so lovely.

My cat Lilly had health issues almost immediately following Isis's passing, but she is doing so well right now. She's blossomed into another cat, and while she's not my constant companion, she is with me so much more than she used to be. When she walks onto my desk I am to stop everything and hold her like baby in my arms until she decides that's enough (or I really need to move) lmaaao she's such a goober. My heart cat. <3

I'm not doing well right now--my MH is bad. Especially tonight. But it felt good to write the good things.

I'm sorry for my lack of replies and kinda disappearing. I'm running on fumes. I hope next year will bring physical relief so emotional relief can happen.

For those of you facing difficulties of any kind, I am holding your hand in spirit.

[girlvinland]

I guess this is a bit personal, and it’s not good in and of itself, but in a way it is? I didn’t actually mean to get so long-winded, so apologies for that.

I recently learned that a huge reason I was struggling so much for the past couple of years wasn’t because I just sucked at dealing with hard things (I admittedly did), it was because I was also dealing with having unmedicated bipolar 2. I’ve been on the appropriate meds for ~2 months, and that plus therapy (not talk therapy but like, CBT + DBT + narrative therapy) have really saved me from myself wrt to me having no idea how to deal with what I was feeling. I think the best way to describe it would be that I was trying to climb this hill of things I was dealing with, but with massive weights attached to me, and now those weights have been mostly removed, which makes it easier to climb the hill/deal with things.

My therapist now was the one who initially pointed out the specific ways in which I was struggling, and then I was able to discuss it with my doctor, and it’s like. I knew this was something that a family member dealt with, but I didn’t learn that until people told me after she had died. I had no idea that hypomania was a thing or that there was a form of BD that didn’t include outright mania, and learning about the symptoms/seeing them in myself over the years explained so much. It feels scary to me, but then I also feel some kind of relief or like, better prepared to deal with it. I still do admittedly have some symptoms even on medication, but they’re much less intense and it’s easier for me now to know what to look out for and recognize if I need to get extra help or reach out to someone or if it’s something I can manage on my own.

I do feel kind of weird posting about this now bc I know it’s not really the business of other people, but maybe being transparent about it could be helpful if other people are struggling and don’t know why? It’s interesting bc in the past I’d actually been on the same types of meds I am now, and I didn’t like them bc it felt like those specific ones were just numbing me. When I came off of them I went into this months-long period of creativity and hyperfocus and excitement and was like I feel amazing!!! My therapist was like. Yeah. That was the hypomania lol. I stayed off meds at all for a few years and had waves of that + waves of being intensely suicidal, and finally this year it got to a point where I was self-destructing and taking on more than I was capable of and lashing out at people I cared about and it was really bad. Like I had to get help. Finding the right combo of what I needed has been extremely helpful to me, and I know therapy/meds aren’t for everyone, but I do highly suggest looking into them if you’re really struggling. It’s still admittedly kind of hard for me to be like, yeah, this is an issue that I have, but then knowing there are methods of taking care of it just like with physical ailments (which. I guess it kind of is a physical ailment) does make me feel a lot better. And there is still a lot of stuff I personally have to work through with past memories/experiences, but I feel much more capable of handling that now.

[castielspahdehrah]

Post-Therapy Vent

Keep reading or don't. Either is fine, but just know that my therapist gives y'all her seal of approval.

So, I told her about my experience w/coming back to Tumblr and how empty and meaningless it seemed.

First, she was proud of me for being vulnerable enough to take that step of even logging back in. She knows how isolated I've purposely kept myself for a long time now, so the fact I'm even back here and talking to people is a giant leap in the right direction.

Second, I told her what I write and why. Believe it or not, it's not just for the smut lol. The angst stuff I've written was me workin' through things, maybe not specific to my life, but workin' through general pain nonetheless. She said it beats her advising me to start a journal because she can see the value in writing fanfic and bringing about catharsis via fictional characters which is a safer, baby step towards IRL catharsis.

Like you guys have all said, she also hopes I keep my foot in the door, at the very least, because shutting this door and locking it back up now would only unravel the progress I'm making on my own, even without her help. She's told me before it's not so much that I need therapy, per se. I know very well where I stand and I know what's wrong and why it needs fixed. I just need a support system to keep going forward and she'll gladly be that for me.

Now, for the heavy.

When I first started seeing her, I told her I wanted to start fresh. I didn't want to tell her about my past history with therapy; the good, bad, or ugly, and I wanted her to give me her 2 cents after getting to know me. Now, without me ever saying a word, she knew I've already been or damn well should've been diagnosed w/C-PTSD.

She was absolutely correct on that one and I told her that I am ready and willing to do what's necessary to start working through it. She was surprised and impressed that I'm open to EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) and/or DBT (Dialectal Behavioral Therapy). I do draw the line with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Group Therapy though. Even without giving my reasoning, she's not a fan of them either, but at this point I'm open to almost anything that will allow me to feel again, instead of shutting down like a damn robot. I don't even care that I could potentially feel 12-24 years of trauma all at once...at least I won't be both numb AND heavy at the same time.

Today, I felt comfortable enough to give her another breadcrumb...a diagnosis I was given at 16 yrs old and believed wholeheartedly that I had up until about 10 yrs ago. Like she said, it's like my symptoms had upended themselves and did a complete 180. Well, not only is that diagnosis "fluid" or "transitional" or can go into "remission" in a sense, it can also exist alongside a diagnosis that my surrogate sister thought I had. This is all to say that she agrees with me that a "re-diagnosis" is in order especially considering it's been 30 fuckin' years since the last one.

So, here's where we stand...

I'm gonna get referred to a psychologist for the "re-diagnosis" testing. In that same building, there should be a psychiatrist who can not only handle the C-PTSD therapy, but take over for my Primary Care Physician and put me on some meds that might actually help me.

Don't get me wrong, my PCP gets major points because he thought ahead enough to do a GeneSight test to see what medications I can metabolize and what ones I can't which is a damn sight better than anyone else has cared to do...however, he still didn't quite pick the right ones, as far as she's concerned.

In the meantime, she wants me to channel my inner nerd and really research my previous diagnoses compared to how I feel now. She's adamant (and correct) that nobody knows my body as well as I do and if I have a general direction to go in, the psychologist that "re-diagnoses" me won't waste anyone's time by looking in the wrong places first.

This is my healing era and it's been a VERY long time coming...but I had to be ready and willing to face it in order for it to do any good. The fact that I recognize this speaks volumes on how much I've already healed and just didn't realize it.

I'm no longer upset with myself for waiting this long to get back into therapy. I'm proud of myself for recognizing that it was finally time.

[wromwood]

Something happened in therapy recently that has definitely happened to me before, and I wanna think about it for a bit.

So, I'm transitioning from one social worker to another because the new one will likely be a better fit for me. During our last session, I answered a few final questions in the previous social worker's assessment of me. In a past session, I'd mentioned that I was autistic, so she asked if I'd had any specialized learning plans or teachers/tutors during elementary/grade school, particularly after any evaluations I'd had. I answered no, but whether or not I needed that kind of help, an evaluation would've been amazing to have at that time.

The social worker looked a little surprised and asked when I had my autism evaluation. She got even more surprised when I answered that it happened a couple of years ago.

"But that's so recent," she said, double-checking my age to confirm that I had, indeed, been a legal adult two years ago.

"Uh, yeah," I said. I explained that I'd only gotten my evaluation at all because I was fed up with failing to convince my parents to do anything since I'd started asking about this in my teens, and finally realized "Wait a minute, I'm a legal adult now. I can schedule my own damn autism evaluation."

After confirming that I'd been evaluated in a legitimate medical setting (in fact, it was a research center in the clinic's own larger medical system), she asked what sort of autism I had. I had to explain where on the spectrum I was, how I didn't have "special needs" as most people understood them, how I could be independent, the whole thing.

I guess the reason this stuck out to me so much is that she didn't ask all these questions when I first mentioned that I was autistic, or when we discussed how an ideal social worker would be one who was experienced with autistic people. We talked about this, but she only asked further questions when she realized I wasn't someone who had been diagnosed in childhood. I suppose the assumption was that if I'd been diagnosed in childhood, then it would've shown in my schoolwork or social life in a very noticeable way, but as an adult, I would've worked through it and become the relatively-not-very-autistic seeming adult I am now. Or that I only would've sought out an evaluation as an adult for more "severe" signs of autism that would be more apparent when talking about my life.

I dunno, I'm not upset about it or anything, and otherwise, the social worker is great at her work. I just it's just a clear sign that there's still a stigma (perhaps lighter now than it used to be) about when and why someone would get evaluated for autism.

[nightsjod]

Since your "Friends" want to check up on this blog instead of you facing up to your own actions of bringing this up and proposals for "discussion" yourself and see i actually did message you PRIVATELY like this should have been. here

you are one of the most self centered emotionally controlling and manipulative friend i have ever had. the fact you keep COUNT of every time youve "helped" me through my "Troubles" and act like i have never once done anything for you is utterly insane behavior. i am EXHAUSTED from it. you wanted to end the friendship and im simply trying to honor that. im not fighting it. there is no point in fighting because i refuse to bend over and allow you to control every fucking thing i do again and you will not give in to see your own behavior EVER.

sorry i didnt want to TRAUMA DUMP on an anon like you so much like to do and try to remain optimistic and positive on my public blog but since you want to air out my own PERSONAL LIFE ON TUMBLR which you are very much in the wrong for doing so, ESPECIALLY using it as a weapon against me, fine. and especially since you want to go into fucking discord servers to claim i was lying about getting help after your messages, and publicly trying to call me a fraud then fine. i will also be public and honest like you want.

i tried to kill myself over this. i sincerely could not take it anymore and i felt like everything fcking shattered because no matter what i did no matter how hard i tried and what i did it was never good enough for you. you could never accept that i had a full time job, i had other friends, i had my own issues THAT DONT INVOLVE YOU and my own ENTIRE life and it was NEVER good enough for you. mad at me because i "dont follow through with plans" like we arent 24 years old and i work 50 hours a week? when have u ever once texted me "lets play this together tonight. lets see a movie tonight" you didnt. you are mad i didnt make the effort for YOUR life. i DID go to therapy because of it. you want to see the hospital and medical bills ive been paying because of it? because i will. call my fucking mother and she will tell you what SHES had to go through from this because she is also done with you and you airing out every issue youve ever had on her every time youd come over and never ONCE asking her how she is doing after losing her husband. call HER and tell her i was "obviously lying" when i said i would get help.

i wasnt going to fight it. i didnt want to bend over and "Just listen and change my behavior" because i didnt need to change. i was DOING my best. friendship isnt a transaction, unlike you keeping count every time you helped me apparently i didnt bc it wasnt things i Expected returned or expected PRAISE for. i bought games for you i WANTED to play together so wed have something else to talk about other than Negative Topics because i wanted you to desperately feel better and happy with something but you COULDNT because you could not stop being obsessed with your own misery and nobody likes being around that. thats the bitter truth. so i said bye because it wasnt worth it and if ending our friendship was something you TRULY thought was the best course of action then like fine. whatever.

so please continue telling everyone you meet every day the rest of your life about the horrible bad friend you once had. who never did anything for you ever because i know you are going to. and continue to surround yourself with equally controlling people who validate your feelings. i will be enjoying my life and continuing to ignore any further messages as well. ok, bye

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

What I'm Becoming

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x M!MC (Jensen Valentine)

Rating: T

Warnings: in-depth talk about contamination obsessions/compulsions, therapy, medication, and depression

Word Count: 3681

Summary: The year after book three, Jensen's taken over the diagnostics team. For a few months, things were great. Work was great, his friends were great, things with Bryce were great. That is, until he gets a particular piece of news from his therapist that has him disrupting all his routines, making poor decisions for his health, and starting a slow downward spiral into a pit he has visited one too many times. It clouds his vision more than he's willing to admit, but, maybe, with the help of his loved ones, he can make it back through.

A/N: prefacing by saying that i know the therapy session is not accurate, nor are some of kolleen's behaviors/methods professional or safe; i do not give a shit. i just needed it to progress the plot, accurate or not. also, i know this is a long read, and thank you to anyone who even opens it. i know this is not everyones cup of tea with how much this focuses on jensens ocd, but im very appreciative to any of you who have an interest

title is inspired by "what im becoming" by cage the elephant, so def give that a listen before, during, or after the fic (only if you want ofc)

while i had the idea sitting for a while, thanks go to this ask for making me get off my ass and finish it

~~~

Kolleen was talking, blabbing on about something they were discussing a moment ago but he had lost all interest. He was timing his breaths to every other tick of the clock, thumbs alternatingly tapping on each thigh until they felt even. Teeth clenched tightly, he tried to muscle through the crawling feeling working up his back and far enough that he could feel it in his gums. The room was practically silent other than their chatter yet somehow still too much. He tried taking a drink from his water bottle, the ice cold water grounding him enough to pull him back into the conversation.

She noticed, of course, stopping what she was saying and giving him an up-and-down appraisal.

“What is it?” she asked, knowing how much he hated the niceties and getting straight to the point.

He shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets, then back in his lap, then crossed over his chest to avoid touching the couch. By now, she knew his “I don’t know” shrug meant he didn’t know why everything felt off, not that he didn’t know what felt off in the first place. He was perpetually overstimulated, OCD holding on with a tight grip to all his thoughts and actions, and intrusive thoughts making the worst of appearances. Shocker, he could diagnose the problems just fine, but there wasn’t a cure.

It was never as serious as the bullshit Travis pulled; it never would be. Sure, death wasn’t looming over him, but sometimes it felt scarily enticing. It’d be so much easier if he didn’t have to worry about it at all, didn’t have to spend his only day off in a little office that made him want to vomit. There was never a way for him to just “get better.” He was stuck like this—with this—for the rest of his life, and sometimes that seemed too long.

He had been doing so good. Not perfect by any means, but better than normal. It probably helped that he was taking his meds consistently, but the second she broke the news last session he couldn't bring himself to take them at all. 

The last time he was here they talked about alternatives, other methods and mechanisms to try and relieve some of the stress and pressure while he went through the process of switching to the new prescription she had to put him on. They even talked about how cathartic crying could be and almost, just for a second, he started to laugh. He should probably be concerned that it had been over a decade since he shed a tear, remembering the numbness during the trials, the funeral, and his own near-death, but couldn’t bring himself to. Whether it was just an inability or his own subconscious refusal was none of his business. 

Kolleen had gotten up to collect a pamphlet and a stapled packet of papers from her desk, offering them to him before sitting once again. They were all informational pieces for a range of new antidepressants, from Anafranil to Paxil.

“Usually I’d just pick one myself, but, given your position, I assumed you’d want to take a look through the options.”

He scanned over the papers, reading the bolded headers and at least flipping the pamphlet over.

“Do you want an answer right now?” he asked, knowing he didn’t have the energy to read through any of them.

“No, of course not. Just try to have an idea by next week, or I can just prescribe what I think would work best.”

He nodded at that, folding up the papers and tucking them in the inside pocket of his jacket. They sat in silence for another minute before she let out a small sigh.

“How would you say the withdrawal has been?”

He knew it would have to come up eventually. He was a medical professional himself, for fucks sake—he knew damn well going cold turkey was not the way to come off of them. All things considered, it wasn’t as bad as it could be, only mild nausea here and there and depression manageable so far (if you could count collapsing into bed after every shift as “manageable”).

“Average.” She gave him a look, and he shot it right back. “It’s not severe but it’s not too mild; just sporadic nausea and the expected depression.”

She accepted that after a moment, nodding and jotting something down. “If there is a next time,” she looked up, “I’d appreciate a call or text before you stop taking them.”

“I know,” he replied, unable to feel anything other than guilty. “I didn’t really try to. I just didn’t take the first one…and then the first turned into the next six.”

She nodded understandingly, asking, “Did you think about it again when the symptoms started?”

He only shook his head, watching her, expectedly, writing something down. He took the moment to check the clock, an involuntary, impatient sort of sigh falling from his lips when he saw that they still had a whole twenty minutes left. Yes, he made the appointment, but, fuck, sometimes they could last forever. She had made the recommendation that they start meeting every week during this transition period, and it was making him hate every bit of it even more.

“Have you gotten out at all? With your roommates or Bryce?”

Again, he shook his head, hopelessly adjusting to try and find some comfortable position while touching the least amount of the couch he could. At most, he said hello to the roomies on his way to his room, and at least waved to Bryce a few times in the halls of Edenbrook.

“How about your hobbies? Have you done any cooking, music?”

And this is always where the depression hit him the hardest. He couldn’t remember the last time he took his AirPods out of the case, not opening Spotify in at least a week and eating no more than an energy bar a day.

“Not really, no.”

She nodded understanding, scrawling something out before looking back up to him. 

“That’s going to be your assignment, alright?” she said, point-blank. “Even if it’s just making toast, or listening to a song before bed.”

He nodded. That sounded easy enough. Hell, he didn’t even have to pay attention.

For the first time all meeting, he saw her gaze flick to her watch, taking a breath and clearly thinking over something. After a long minute, she turned to him again.

“Jensen, are you comfortable with me telling you something you don’t want to hear? Or would you rather I wait? I know you like to know our next topic in advance, but if it’s going to be a source of anxiety over the next week, I don’t want to add on more.”

He debated for a long minute. It couldn’t get much worse, but he also knew if she was giving him a heads up, it probably wasn’t great. She knew him well enough by now that he trusted that it was something bad, potentially bad enough to even cause another spiral. 

It couldn’t be as bad as the first time, though, right? The first time when he got his heart broken and lost his only hobby—only point of happiness—all in a month. He barely even remembered the weeks following, lost somewhere between the time spent in bed and in appointments to figure out what the fuck was wrong with him while ignoring the emails from professors and notifications about missing assignments. It could never be that bad, right?

“Go ahead,” he said, maybe against his better judgment, but needing to know if he could handle it or not.

She gave him a beat to reconsider. Reluctantly, she started with, “If the new medication doesn’t work how we plan, and your symptoms don’t improve…” She paused, letting out a sigh and clearly debating on whether she should have even offered the chance or not. “…we’ll likely have to start exposure therapy.”

Nothing. Not a thought went through his brain for a whole minute, quieter than it had ever been.

When he finally came to, all he could do was give her one, short nod, looking anywhere but at her.

“Jensen?” she asked, shifting to the edge of her chair.

“I’m fine,” he interjected before she could go anywhere. “It’s just—again?”

He looked back up at her. Technically, he didn’t have to go, right? He didn’t have to do another three hours a week in a tiny room surrounded by the things that made him want to peel his skin off (and he meant that literally). 

How much would it take for him to get fucking better?

He took a breath, knowing it was the lack of his meds talking. He tried to talk himself out of it, Kolleen giving him a long minute to try and sort it out himself. It took him a moment, but he managed to sort his thoughts for the minutes, breaking it up by things that were going to happen and things that only had a chance of happening. 

“How are you doing?” she asked after a long beat.

He just nodded, taking another breath before answering, “Good. Fine. I’m okay with that.”

She gave him a small, proud grin, settling back in her chair.

It only took them a few moments to finish up after that, Jensen feeling much better and, frankly, pretty damn proud of himself.

Unfortunately, that high didn’t last as long as he hoped it would. He told himself one bus ride would be okay, he would only have to wash one hand. But, what if the seats were open? Wouldn’t it be weird that he was the only one standing? It was the late afternoon on a Tuesday and, though Boston’s public transit was usually bustling, there was too much of a chance that he’d have to sit down, mind already buzzing with the thought of dead skin cells and contaminants and—

His feet started retracting his steps before he could get any further, taking a sharp turn down the route to his apartment.

A long walk later, he took out his keys to the front door, unlocking it and shedding his jacket before he even got it closed again. He pulled the pamphlets from the pocket, tossing it up on one of the hooks and walking straight to his room.

It was dark when he entered; he hadn't bothered to open the curtains that morning. He quickly stripped off his pants next, not letting them touch the floor and tossing them into the hamper in the corner with the rest of his clothes that had been worn outside already. He threw his shirt after it, pulling on a pair of joggers and a hoodie that hadn’t left the house since they'd been washed last. Next, he grabbed the disinfectant spray from the top of his dresser, sending a puff of it over his phone before wiping it off with the designated cloth.

He tossed the papers from his dresser to his desk, not letting them come anywhere near his bed. He was about to sit himself down there before stopping, face feeling particularly oily and knowing his hair would be next to follow.

Instead of falling into bed like he planned, he walked across the hall to the bathroom, washing his hands before coming back to grab another new pair of clothes, and a new set of towels from the closet.

God, when did it get this bad?

He took a quick shower to wash off anything from the outside before collapsing into bed, throwing everything else into the hamper to worry about another day. He managed to grab his laptop from the floor before crawling under the blankets, feeling utterly clean for the first time all day. After turning on some documentary, he pulled the blanket up to his shoulder, letting the mental exhaustion settle in after having to navigate himself to Kolleen’s office, withstand an hour of conversation, then get himself all the way back home. Even thinking about it made him more tired, enough for sleep to take him out in less than twenty minutes.

Hours later, when his slumber came to an abrupt halt, his laptop was still playing through an endless cycle of documentaries, onto one he didn’t recognize by now. Light from the nightstand illuminated that side of the dark room, daylight replaced with a yellow sliver between the curtains from the street light outside. Numbly, he let his hand find its way out of the blanket, tilting the phone screen toward him. He watched it ring for another minute with Bryce’s name displayed on the screen, eventually swiping to decline and letting it thump back onto the nightstand. 

As he pulled the blanket back over his shoulder, it buzzed again. Picking it up, the new message read, “totally spoiling the surprise but i brought you dinner and your front door is locked so,,”

“and don’t pretend you didnt ignore that call on purpose.”

He let out a short, soft sigh. The thought of prying himself out of the covers sounded completely exhausting, walking to the front door nearing on impossible. Faintly, and after pausing his laptop, he could hear Jackie’s voice from her room. He sent her a quick text to let Bryce in, sliding the phone back and pulling the blanket up again.

His eyes weren’t even focused on the screen by the time a blinding bright light spilled in from the hallway. After the room darkened again, there was some rustling and shuffling among Bryce’s greeting, the bed dipping down behind him as he kissed his shoulder then temple. Rubbing his eyes, he could only hope that he could pass it off as tiredness.

Somehow he managed to turn around, feeling a lot like jello or pudding or some other lifeless form of sludge. He let his arms wrap around Bryce, pulling him in for a sleepy sort of hug and burying his face into his neck. He, thankfully, smelled strongly of his stupidly expensive shampoo and soap, roots of his hair still wet from a shower. Bryce let out a content little hum, happily pressing a few kisses along his face before reaching over to click on the nightstand lamp.

“Do you want your dinner now, or wait a little bit?” he asked quietly, thumb gently grazing over his waist after he settled behind him contently.

He let out a feignedly-sleepy hum, letting his head fall back into Bryce’s chest. Even having to get a word out seemed like a herculean task.

Bryce pressed a few more kisses behind his ear and down his shoulder before squeezing him in tight. His hands mindlessly wandered up and down as he rested his chin on top of Jensen’s head.

Ah, shit. Jensen didn’t even know what he did to give it away, but Bryce being this snuggly and this quiet meant he figured that something was off.

Not saying anything at all was probably the way to go; it had worked all those years prior with his mom and other relationships.

In all honesty he didn’t exactly know when it started. He would have to use both hands to count the amount of events that could have triggered it, everything from childhood sickness, to moving to a new country, to the college mental breakdown he liked to describe as “minor.”

College was the first time he had gotten anywhere with his diagnosis, at least. The court-mandated sessions years prior were pretty much bullshit, just making sure he didn’t plan on murdering anybody but having nothing to do with his own wellbeing. 

That was also the first time he had to sit through exposure therapy, hating every goddamn second of it but knowing it would be worth it in the end—because it would just be over with.

But things could never be that simple, could they?

At least, before all this, he could pretend it wasn’t happening. He had it down to an art form, masking all the racing thoughts and uncomfortable situations. Nobody had caught on for years, his mom never picking up a trace and past partners probably not giving enough of a shit to ask. It was easier like that—keeping people at a distance through easy conversation and practiced redirection—and he knew he was giving his friends the same treatment.

But then there was Bryce, always studying him a little too long and caring enough to make sure a round-table question got to him, too. The lingering gazes and smiles somehow managed to fall his way. They melted into something more sincere, more loving, than Jensen had ever seen him give someone else. Bryce’s unfazed, unbothered, completely overconfident attitude simmered down to something heartfelt and genuine for him. 

And what the fuck was he doing to him? He never asked for this, never wanted whatever the fuck this was. Sure, Jensen skipped a few doses here and there, but nothing like this. Bryce wanted something—someone—fun and spontaneous, and, yeah, he said he fell somewhere along the way, fuck knows Jensen did too, but he never signed up for this. Nobody wants to deal with the self-sabotaging fool who decides to quit the only thing keeping him in one piece.

Jensen didn’t even notice Bryce had been talking to him, eyes unfocused and staring somewhere across the room, sickening guilt settling in the bottom of his stomach. He could feel Bryce’s hands warmly wrapped around him, coming undone as he leaned back and gently pulled him by the shoulder. Jensen finally managed to look up at him as he asked, “Jensen, what’s going through your head right now?”

He could only muster an, “I’m sorry,” instead of answering the question. 

What kind of fucked up person could leave him in the dark like this? Jensen hadn’t told him anything, about not taking his meds, about the increased therapy sessions, about any of it. He was supposed to love him—he did—but did he even have the right to say that when there was so much he wasn’t saying?

Bryce gave him a confused little look, and Jensen should’ve started apologizing again. “Sorry for what?” he asked, still with a little smile on his lips.

Jensen managed to sit himself up, putting a little more space between them. He considered his words but wasn’t quite able to make eye contact when he finally got them out. “I’m not taking my meds.” That didn’t seem to clear up any of the confusion on Bryce’s face.

“Okay…?” he answered, clearly knowing that this was a much bigger deal to Jensen than it was to him.

“I have to change my prescription, and I stopped them too fast. I’ve been going to therapy every week now and I can’t even fucking ride the bus and now I might have to start exposure therapy again.”

Bryce considered for a long moment, giving him an understanding nod but still not wiping the confusion from his expression.

“Thank you for telling me,” he answered, but the tone of a question lingered on the end.

Jensen looked up at him for the first time since the start of the conversation. “I should have told you earlier,” he said defiantly, like he was saying exactly what Bryce was thinking.

Bryce only gave him a look. “No?” His hand moved to Jensen’s knee, thumbing over it while continuing, “If you weren’t ready to tell me, you didn’t owe me anything.”

“But I do,” he answered practically before Bryce could finish. “You should’ve been the first person to know. You’ve done so fucking much for me, and you shouldn’t have to deal with all of this shit; you’re already throwing away time you could be spending with friends to sit here and listen to me whine—”

“Hey,” Bryce interrupted with a soft tone, hooking his finger under Jensen’s chin and tilting his head up so their gazes matched. “Jensen, I’m not ‘throwing away’ anything because of you. I’m not obligated to be here, I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because I love you.”

And maybe Jensen didn’t deserve that much.

“…But what if you don’t love this version of me?”

Jensen had never seen Bryce’s face fall so fast. He was utterly still for all of a second, looking for something, anything, in Jensen’s eyes that said this was some sort of joke. He tried to start talking a few times, stopping over and over again before finally going with, “Jensen, I have loved every version of you since I met you, and I will love every version of you for the rest of my life.” He didn’t break eye contact the whole time. “I don’t care how bad things get. What matters is how I can help and if I can make any of this easier for you. Nobody could get through this without at least a hiccup, and you sure as hell aren’t magically going to go from point A to point B unscathed.”

Even though it took Jensen a long, endless moment to realize it, Bryce was right. He needed to get out of his own head for long enough to realize that, taking in and replaying every word until Bryce leaned towards him, Jensen nearly tackling him in a hug. Bryce held him, letting him crumble against his shoulder and squeezing as tight as he could. He easily hushed the apologies Jensen mumbled into him.

They stayed like that for longer than either of them would’ve imagined. Jensen felt like a wreck, both worse and better than before, but knowing he was safe enough in Bryce’s arms to let it all go for one breathable moment.

Bryce finally broke the silence, asking, “Would dinner help?”

Jensen let out a shaky breath and nodded. He sat up, stopping Bryce from getting off the bed with a hand on his waist. His other tucked under his jaw and around his neck, pulling their lips against one another in a sweet, slow kiss, all admiration, reverence, affection, and love underneath.

~~~

tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations @cariantha @ofmischiefandmedicine @jerzwriter

[medicus-felini]

ᓚᘏᗢ Small (actually not so small) vent below. [Depression tw]

I don't know how to describe it exactly why but I got a massive mental burnout the other day. It may be not my bestest decision to share it here but I feel writing it down is better than keeping it for myself.

All the bad things that happened and still happen to me caught up. I feel awful. I lie awake the whole night only to break out in tears when my partner woke up. There was too much in my head to even spell out what exactly made me break down.

I am looking for a job for years, trying to get a normal daily shedule only to never get an answer and to fuck up my sleep shedule for the 100th time. I am getting 25 this year. My depression and panic disorder I developed when covid began seemed to 'heal' in a way. I went to group therapy, got medication which I still take to this day. I am stuck because I have trouble doing phone calls. Trouble TIPING IN numbers for real therapists.

Time is awful. When will I be done with learning a job? I will be 28 if it happens someone recruits me this year. And then I work. I will have so much less time for things I like. Speaking of which: I catch myself falling into the 'I don't enjoy the things I normally enjoyed' loop again. That was one of the main reasons for taking antidepresants and it now seems to crawl back.

I want to at least do something I enjoy. Writing, drawing, playing video games. I started to feel little joy in it again. It makes me angry to not be happy with my time. I don't want this.

I text my family less and less not because I am mentally exhausted but because of their believes. All except my dad (which I always had little contact to) openly and proudly boast about how they vote right wing parties in Germany. You can't discuss with them. I can't. Because I instantly start crying like some trauma haunted 12 year old back in the day when my mom raised her voice. This party I am speaking of actively stands for traditional beliefs, inbetween against lgbtqia+ (which, surprise, I am part of).

They only see points they like. "Oh, they won't get this through, you will be fine." BUT YOU VOTE FOR THESE BELIEVES. You actively support these anti lgbtqia+ shit only because you are racist and intolerant towards NORMAL PEOPLE who live their lives in Germany like everybody else for years.

Next thing is they hate my partner. Something that really only was a question of time passing. My mother always seems to dislike my and my sisters partners after some time. Finding little things she can pick on and passive aggressively point them out. Making everyone awkward and feeling unwelcomed. I feel unwelcome. It is my partner. My choice. You despite my choice and thus insult me with it. Family gatherings became horrible. My partner doesn't want to say anything because he is scared to 'mess up' and my mother getting fuel for her hatred. My sister is young and living with her. She took on my mother's believes politcal wise. I love her dearly but I feel like she also only plays mirage only to talk bad behind my back, which she usually does with other people.

I feel so alien. I don't even want to drive over there to my birthday. I would love to but it doesn't feel like my family anymore. It feels all so forced. My dog gets older too. He is the reason I still look forward a little bit when visiting them.

Writing this feels good in a way tho. Even if I know the majority of my moots only as little guys in my screen, I feel loved. I will observe my mental state these next weeks. If it doesn't get better, I'll call my doc and ask if we can higher my dosis. Just so I can think clearly and focus on important matters.

*Siiiigh* okay okay thanks for being lovely babes ♡

[nyrator]

Got the Rotten Nyan tumblr queued up with art I've neglected to post on there.. keeping a few more sketchy doodley art still on Twitter/the website, but should be all up a little after midnight my time~

... still feel really self conscious with the kind of content I've been making vent art of lately, please don't be afraid to message me with any concerns or criticisms... I tried tagging it all with a custom warning tag (that way it won't nuke the post, I think...) hopefully that's enough... if not hopefully people let me that as well

In other life news, I'm seeing a therapist, got a job, etc~ More in the cut

So, yeah. Life.

Still a vtuber, but feels like I've stalled lately... Not in terms of growth (if anything I keep growing), but in terms of motivation. I have a list of games to play, but I just can't focus on playing games anymore, it's rough.. mostly do zatsus, but even those are pretty hit or miss and sometimes I spiral into really dumb personal unprofessional rambles...

My art commissions are picking up- more than I can handle, honestly... My clients have gotten pretty big and it's getting me recognition, I have a few big offers in store once I can get around to them and I'm excited about it... but commissions are hard. I'm going to raise prices in January, and I try to accept five a month... but I can't keep up. I can't even do one a month it feels like... And yet I keep getting dozens of requests..

So in spite of this, because of my own doing and lack of doing, I've been bleeding a lot of money. I'm at a dangerous point of money... so I finally got a seasonal job at a local chocolate shop.

Haaaaaaaa.....

It's rough... I was in a huge depression over it, and I still don't want to work... The people are nice, the hours are light, and the pay is better than expected, but it's still so stressful... My social anxiety is terrible lately, it makes me want to curl into a ball and cry. I can't stand it, I can't stand being seen, I can't focus or memorize anything on the register, I can't handle dealing with customers or fast-paced environments...

They say the season lasts until Easter because of the nature of the store, but maybe I'll leave after Christmas time if it doesn't work out.. It's really a pain, and also could affect things like my food stamps and subsidized rent. Plus, the gas I have to spend, the clothes I had to buy, etc etc.. I wonder if it'll be worth it (probably, but nyeh)

I'm in need of money, though... one, my phone is on its last legs. The battery barely lasts an hour, it's very slow and unresponsive, and the 32 GB of storage is becoming more and more unwieldy.. Going to maybe buy one tonight...

My throat is also been a mess lately- I've had trouble swallowing, to the point I was unable to eat anything without a 50-50 chance of just choking on it. Drinking water was like waterboarding, it was like I was drowning. After raising my mattress, it's helped a lot, but not entirely, so I think it's something to do with scarring thanks to acid reflux- been trying to get an endoscopy for a year and finally have one scheduled in mid December. I'm worried how much it might cost.. hoping insurance covers it, but I still had to pay almost a thousand for my colonoscopy a few years back, which terrifies me...

Other small things- items I'd like to own, taking care of Bootsie (she's fine but overdue for a checkup and she's like 13 years old), etc.

But yeah, therapy. Also started taking that- we're trying to avoid me taking any medication, but I'm afraid I might need it.. I see her every week and I've been going since early October, and she seems like a decent therapist- she's the same age as me and understands a lot of internet culture, which.. is weird to talk to someone like that who "gets it" (she's a cosplayer, for example, and knows of vtubers), but it's nice.

Been reliving a lot of past stuffs... Been trying to improve, had some good phases, but fell back apart recently and not sure how far I can really get... keeping my apartment clean is hard, feeding myself is hard, drawing and doing anything is hard. I don't watch any media these days besides some indie vtubers I know, I don't really do much of anything but be depressed.

My biggest issue, as always, is my complex/trauma/whatever you want to call it... I've started trying to embrace it the past year. I've openly admitted to it, I made an alternate Twitter account for vent art of it, etc. But it makes me hate myself so much... It's become an addiction it feels like. Do I let it consume me and fully embrace it, even though it will push people away and make people think worse of me? Even though it will attract strange people who want creepy things from me? Even though it's expensive and gross and exhausting and uncomfortable to manage?

Or do I try to quit cold turkey? Get it all out of my system, and then never talk about it again. Delete the vent account, stop drawing it, stop being paranoid without things to take care of it, and just move on. I don't know. It's a part of me. But I hate it. And I really hate myself for it, it's my biggest tool to hate myself with.

But I've tried to embraced it, and that's what the RN update will have, and I apologize for it. I don't know how to move forward now. Therapy reopened a lot of thoughts about it- it really is a weird trauma, and a lot of it stems from my childhood... I want it gone. I want to be okay and not hurt myself mentally...

But such is life I supposeee. Again, I apologize that most of my art lately has been venting about it.. even if I embrace it, I don't want to be exclusively that kind of artist, you know? It's just one of many aspects. But it's invasive. And I don't want it to be invasive, but I don't know how to handle it.

The main goal of therapy is to get me drawing again. To give me what I've lost- a drive and motivation to continue. It feels like I just go through the motions when I draw. It's awful. I can't picture anything, no ideas. Rotten Nyan is completely stagnant lately. I don't know what to do about it. Life is just empty and depressing, it feels like. I gave up on myself, and now I don't know how to un-give up. But that's what therapy's for. Hopefully it helps... She brought up medication again, and I wonder if I should try it at this rate...

My anxiety is very bad. I end up relying on my complex trauma coping methods a lot when anxious. It's embarrassing and gross. And it just fuels my anxiety more using those things. I can't stand driving, or being around people, or crowded situations. I can't handle stress, or excitement, or being praised, or anything. My nerves are shot and I just have to curl into a ball. I don't know how I'm going to improve, but I have to try...

And then my focus, which I just can't focus at all anymore.. I don't know if it's depression/anxiety, ADHD, or what, but I just can't focus at all. It's awful. Very forgetful, very not-able-to-draw.

Otherwise, not much different. Got the new Nagata Kabi manga (I still worry about her a lot... she's so relatable though, she speaks to me, but she flares my anxiety like crazy too...) Still obsessed with my Disney anime boy gacha game, it's great, Vil's great. Vil, Cater, Lilia, Jade... so many good characters....

I guess that's all for now. Hope everyone has a happy thanksgiving- will keep doing what I can to try to improve.

And again, I'm really sorry about my art output and that most of it is just gross vent art about a gross personal trauma... I'm sorry...

[the-rockstar-lestat]

How is the aspect of gender dysphoria handled in your kind ? I can imagine it must be miserable at times if hormone replacement therapy treatment dosent work ?

Fascinating question! Off the top of my head I don't believe I know any vampires who have attempted a medical transition, weather before or after their turning. So I will answer this question as best I can by telling you about my mother, Gabrielle.

What, did you think Gabrielle's cross dressing was merely for convenience? It may have started that way, but it didn't take long for my mother to begin preferring men's clothes to women's clothes, and it didn't take long after that for her to realize that it wasn't because men had more freedom, SHE simply felt more free in them.

This was around the time my mother abandoned my company, and society completely, to live in the forests or whatever it was she did for two hundred years. She tells me she reentered the human world around the time I left it, the 1920s, and with it came a new gender expression. (Before that, she says, they didn't really DO genders in the gobi desert. )

Gabrielle was a very early adapter of trousers on women, inspired by the likes of Greta Garbo and Katherine Hepburn. But she still identified as a woman. By the 1950s, she tells me she had found the lesbian scene, and that glorious word butch and for a long time, that was her identity. ("oh Lestat, you don't know how many beautiful women I ate back then," "....in what sense of the word --never mind, Mother, I don't want to know.")

Anyway, I believe that is what she was identifying as when I met her again, a butch woman. She had short hair for a while, cutting it off every night to better fit in with her subculture, but she, like myself, is a child of the 18th century, and didn't find her long hair a detriment to masculinity, despite her famous attempt to cut it. For a long time she wore it in a braid, along with simple, masculine clothes, mainly athletic wear, to suit her athletic lifestyle, although she occasionally donned female clothes, often simply to show off that she COULD. Sometimes a feminine touch was added, a pearl necklace, a high heel. But these were objects of our time as well, and not necessarily out of the bounds of masculinity. I don't believe she was ever truly comfortable presenting femme since the night I brought her into the blood. This was how I knew my Gabrielle.

Recently, however , led by the newest thought from the queer community, Gabrielle has begun rethinking her gender. She heard the term non-binary, and I don't think I've ever seen her REACT to something as much. There was something between man and woman, male and female? Something that didn't require her to confirm to either her assigned gender or the one she still had some resentment towards?

Since that revelation Gabrielle has talked a lot to me about her gender. Dysphoria was a term she used for the feeling when she was alive of "this isn't right" and may have been one of the (many) reasons she was such a cold person in life. Something was bothering her deep in her soul she didn't have a word for. Since she was able to present more masculinly she's been a much happier, much warmer person, she talks much more and is able to connect to people more than she ever could. (though she's still vice president of the introverted vampire society, second only to my Louis.) Gabrielle feels most at home in the queer community, and it's one of the few, though growing number of things we share. We invariably wish each other happy pride month.

As for how she dealt with it, her changes were minimal. She changed the clothes she wore, and occasionally her haircut. Gabrielle has yet to ask anyone to call her by a different name or pronoun, and she certainly doesn't mind when I call her Maman, though I most often call her by her name these days. Of course if she were ever to change her mind about this, we would all certainly oblige.

I don't believe she has any desire for surgery or hormones. If she had, I would have to ask Fareed if such a thing were possible. Our flesh is very difficult to pierce, but he has invented specialized needles before, I don't see why he couldn't invent a specialized scalpel. Our healing process is almost instantaneous, so the removal of flesh for what is commonly known as top surgery ,while painful, would probably be relatively simple to do and heal from. The adding or changing of it I imagine would be more difficult . Our bodies default to homeostasis (look at that beautiful science word I know!) as Louis once told you. I can see us rejecting any surgery or implants. Although it may be worth noting we can reattach our own amputated flesh. I've seen it happen and it's not a pretty process. I'm not sure what that signifies but perhaps....something.

I imagine , though, if a human was taking hormones before they were turned their body would maintain THAT amount of change, unable to be affected further or to revert. Like all vampires, they would be frozen as they were the night they were changed.

Anyway, that is in the realm of science poetry, but I can ask Fareed more about it if you like. It simply hasn't been tried. But I would be excited to watch it happen! I don't personally know any vampires who desire this, but it's a matter of time before we meet one, isn't it? And I have plenty of time.

@askblog-with-the-vampire will you ask Fareed if you see him?

[imathers]

Anaïs is 36 today! Everything I said for our anniversary of course holds true, but naturally that occasion is a bit more about us and I want to talk a bit more about her.

After a really tough couple of years on a personal/household level (and don’t get me wrong, I know that in a macro sense things continue to get tougher), somehow we’ve emerged on the other side in better shape than we’ve ever been. But while we both changed jobs in ways that are really positive for us, Anaïs changed careers in a really profound way. She’s still a student therapist working her way towards being a registered psychotherapist (and already seeing the maximum number of clients you can at that step). To give you some idea, this is roughly like trying to start doing some of the toughest, most emotional, most rewarding work out there you can do, one-on-one with people who are often just straight up not having a good time, while at the same time opening your own small business. I would be relentlessly proud of her for it if she was handling it, like 1/6th as well. And all of that is while she’s still in school, and I have to say that experience is a lot more intense, edifying, and life changing than I think “in school” really covers. It’s definitely school, but it’s also.... really intense group therapy, partly? I don’t directly experience what school and seeing therapy clients is like for her (of course), but I have gotten to see up close the amazing growth Anaïs has had as a result of them, and I’m profoundly lucky I get to do so.

AND all of the above was also during a year where she got a belated (and pricey lol) ADHD diagnosis and I’ve also gotten to see what a profound difference the medication for that has made as well. It’s been a real banner Anaïs year, to tell you the truth. She’s gone through things I’m not sure I could hack and has reached 36 in far better shape than pretty much anyone else I know, and she’s still getting better, sometimes it seems like every day. Selfishly, as her partner, it’s just such a joy and an inspiration to live with and be close to her.

Also she’s a huge goofball and I love her so much.

[ficfanatictrf]

hi, same anon that wrote before

Don't feel bad for sharing your feeling on YOUR blog, I get some people might not like that and you had other intentions regarding your blog, but everyone have struggles and if ranting a bit helps you to feel at least a little better go for it

I am really sorry about your situation, I also had rough school year and faced some injustices and teachers that love to prey on downfall of their students, it's really frustrating

Hang in there, I hope it all ends well

Thank you- truly.

I am hopeful that I will be able to remain at the school next semester (some work that I needed to do on my part), but our OARS office (Office of Accessibility Resources & Services) and our Student Health Center - Therapy Department, is working with me on making sure that I can have options when it comes to next semester and housing accommodations for my concerns.

They also want to help with me finally being able to get a formal testing diagnosis. My physiatrist is giving me medication and says I have all the symptoms of ADHD, but she can not give me a formal diagnosis without testing- which the OARS office needs for legal reasons on their end.

After spending 2 days with my cats, I am feeling a ton better - they always make me feel better.

Before anyone asks though, I would never want to take them with me to school even as a support animal. Simply because currently the situation they have at my parents house is SO much better than anything they would have at my dorm (where they would be limited to such a small space compared to my parents home + my mom being able to let them go outside because we live in a wooded area) Plus, I would only be able to take one with me if I requested it...and the two of them have been together since they were born. Even when Sunny (the boy) was away for a day due to an injury, Jaci was a crying mess without him. I couldn't even imagine what multiple days would be like.

About my ranting- I vocally process. Where my stresses need to be aired out to feel better. Normally I would be able to talk about these things with my mom, but during all of this she and my dad were on their river boat trip in Europe- which they have been looking forward too for months!

The most I could do was text, but I didn't want to ruin their vacation because of my own stressors. Which meant that I was bottling it up without meaning too.

Thank you to everyone who sent me such kind messages and checked in on me. It was greatly appreciated and I will be working on getting things out again.