#and they really named it can't Sit Still And Gets Distracted Disorder

[skywalker42]

What people think ADHD is:

So I went to my room to grab sticky notes to leave my roommate a reminder on the dryer but then I saw my week old mug on my nightstand so I went to put it away and then when I was in the kitchen I realized there's no room for it in the cabinet and now I'm measuring the wall for shelving units.

Which, yeah, it is that. It's definitely that. But it's also this series of texts I sent to my friend this morning:

[chaengluva]

Feelings

Regina George x Fem!Reader: 1.1k words

Regina was really hurt by her friends and she ends up taking out her anger on you.

WARNINGS: Angst, name calling, reader getting hurt and being slightly sensitive, mention of weight gain and eating disorder.

Please leave requests, they help me write when i have writers block! Love you guys!

Regina came home with tears falling down her face; she could barely walk. She felt so belittled by people she once called her best friends. You walked behind her, and you felt bad as you heard her tears. You watched as she hoped on her massive bed. You got on and snuggled up with her. "Baby, it's going to be okay." You say you are trying to calm her, but as she shifted to face you, her eyes were filled with anger and hurt. She pushed you away, unable to trust anyone in that moment of vulnerability.

"R-Regina." You whisper, you look at her and think for a few seconds, and you sigh deeply. "Okay, I see you need time." You say, standing up, "I'll be downstairs." You say, walking towards the door. As you reached for the doorknob, you hesitated, unsure if you should leave her alone in that state. But you knew that sometimes people needed space to process their emotions, so you quietly exited the room, closing the door gently behind you.

As you made your way downstairs, you couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness, wishing there was something more you could do to ease Regina's pain. But for now, all you could do was give her the time and space she needed to come to terms with whatever was troubling her.

You sit on the couch in the living room, and you can't help but feel guilt for leaving. Even though you know that's what she wanted, you scroll on your phone, hoping to distract you. You see the door open, and you smile when you see Ms. George standing at the doorway. She was holding grocery bags. You hop up quickly from the couch and go to help her with the bags.

Ms. George gives you a warm smile and thanks you for your help, mentioning that she brought over some of Regina's favourite snacks to cheer her up. As you both unpack the groceries, she quietly reassures you that Regina will come around in her own time. "Do you want to give these to Regina, then you can come down and help me with dinner?" She asks, her eyes slightly pleading.

You creep up on the Stairs, trying your best not to be too loud, in case Regina is sleeping. When you get to her room, you open the door slowly. You frown when you see that she is still sobbing. You walk up to her and smile, hoping to cheer her up. "I got you some snacks; you love chocolate chip cookies!" You exclaim happily.

Regina turns to you with a massive frown on her face. She looks at the plate and pushes it down, making the plate smash into the ground. It was one of those fancy glass plates; it cut your foot, and you winced in pain, but you tried to ignore it. You sit on the bed and look at Regina, but she doesn't look at you. There were a few minutes of silence before you decided to speak up again. "Regina." You start, but the blonde girl cuts you off. "You are so stupid!" she exclaims, and you are slightly taken back.

"You brought me cookies? Do you want me to gain more weight?" She yells, and you start to tear up because you hate yelling. Regina knows this. "I'm sorry; your mom got them, and I didn't think," you confess. Regina rolls her eyes. "You are a fucking idiot!." You frown, understanding she still needs more time alone.

You carefully get off the bed, trying your best not to stand on the glass that was smashed earlier. You get the vacuum to clean up the class; she doesn't seem bothered; she completely ignores your presence. You go down to help Ms. George with dinner.

After two hours, you were nearly finished. As you were filling the bowls with spaghetti and about to carry the bowl to offer it to Regina, you felt someone put an arm around your waist.

When you turn around, you see Regina standing there with tears on her cheeks. You scowl before turning to embrace her. She cries, and you two just hold each other without saying anything. A few minutes later, Regina pulls away, blotting her tears. "I'm so sorry for ignoring you earlier," she murmurs. “I appreciate you being here for me.” You give her a gentle smile and tell her you'll be there for her no matter what.

As you both sit down at the table, you can feel the tension slowly melting away. Regina picks up her fork and takes a small bite of the spaghetti, her eyes still glistening with tears.

You reach out and squeeze her hand, offering her some comfort. The silence between you is comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding and support. After a few moments, Regina looks up at you and smiles gratefully. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice filled with emotion.

After you finished eating, Regina's mom said that she would clean up, so you took her to the living room and sat her on the couch.

You couldn't even talk; Regina just started crying. It made you so sad to see her like this. "They humiliated me." She starts, more tears in her eyes.

You just nodded, listening closely to what she was saying. "Only tracksuit pants fit me." She said this, looking down at her stomach and frowning at what she was seeing.

You put a comforting arm around Regina's shoulder and gently reassured her that those people didn't matter. "Baby, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I fell in love with you, and I don't care about your body. If you want to lose weight, that's okay, but don't think you need to do it for anyone; you should be doing that only if you want to."

Regina nodded at your words. You pulled her into your arms and played with her hair, whispering sweet things into her hair. You turned the television on and decided to watch a movie. You watch a full movie and a half. You were about to speak up and say something, but you realise that she is sleeping. You smile, taking a picture of it and setting it as your wallpaper.

You wake her up to take her upstairs to her bedroom; she doesn't say anything; she just falls down into the bed. You were about to get into bed with her, but then you see a box of Kälteen bars on her bedside table, and you are very confused. "Regina? What is this?"

She looks up and sighs, "Oh, Cady gave me those; she said they were to help me lose weight." You take a deep breath and say "Regina, these make you gain weight." You say, she looks up, and she has an angry expression; she didn't say anything; she just let out a loud, pricing scream.

The next morning, you woke up with no Regina beside you, and the burn book was missing.

[silly-writes]

Hi! I love your work! Can you do a Mike + alters, Scott, Alejandro (seperate) x reader where the reader has really bad sensory issues, especially with loud noises, and can have panic attacks from them? if your not okay with writing this then that’s totally fine /gen. it’s important to take care of yourself.

Contestants with reader who gets overstimulated.

Aaa thank u for this request anon! Yes i'm totally comfortable writing this kind of stuff! Thanks for being so kind about it! As an autistic person with really bad sensory issues myself I actually find it a thearputic, lol. Okay enough about me, enjoy!

Mike

dealing with a traumagenic disorder (DID) I would imagine he's honestly kind of in the same boat.

He's no stranger to panic attacks, and is pretty well versed by now in how to deal with them.

The first time it happens though he's sort of an anxious wreck, he's just nervous that trying to help might make it worse, but he doesn't want to leave your side.

He gives you lot's of words of encouragement, and helps you through breathing exercises, and gets you plenty of water.

"It's okay, breathe with me, I'm right here," he assures you gently.

If you require pressure/physical contact during your panic attacks, he's more than happy to give you that.

He gets good at catching them too, he'll always be able to identify when you're about to spiral because of too much noise or too bright lights, and he'll find a quiet secluded room so he can work through it with you.

"Sorry you have to deal with this too," you said, after a particularly bad one, you still felt dizzy, and tears still stained your face, but you had come out of it now, and felt a little guilty.

"Hey don't apologize, I don't mind. Not at all."

He's just very caring with this kind of stuff in general.

Manitoba

Maintoba is similar to Mike, and I would think he likes to carry around a backpack whenever he is fronting (you never know when you're going to run into treasure). So he always keeps noise canceling headphones and a pair of sunglasses in there just for you.

Honestly I headcanon him as the caretaker of the system, so I imagine he's used to caring for people during panic attacks.

He's very observant, probably even more so than Mike, so he's better at avoiding them all together by identifying what situations you can handle and what you can't.

He always does a little research before the two of you go out in the environment to ensure that it doesn't seem loud/bright/overstimulating.

However sometimes these things are just unavoidable, and inevitable.

He'll provide you with whatever physical comfort you require, if any at all.

Anything you need, he's there to get for you.

"Take all the time in the world treasure, I'll still be here," he said.

He's all around good at keeping you grounded, and just good at being there with you.

Svetlana

I would think Svetlana is probably the protector/gatekeeper, most of her comfort comes from her just being fiercely loyal.

She'll be there no matter what, and you take great comfort in that fact.

She's not as good with being traditionally comforting, since it's a little out of her element.

Not that she doesn't try of course, she really cares about you, and she wants that to come across.

(I would think she would panic a little and ask Manitoba and Mike for help from the inner world).

But she would absolutely stay with you, coaching you through breathing exercises, talking to try and distract you.

Eventually if you let her know what you need (be it space, a distracting, physical comfort, quiet, dark) you name it, she will get it for you.

She's much better at caring for you after the panic attack honestly, when you feel really tired and put out, disoriented and just overwhelmed.

"Svetlana's here now to melt all your worries away," she smiled at you once.

She'll almost always bring you home, or take you to a secluded room, and just hangout with you. She'll turn all the lights off and sit in silence with you so you can have basically zero sensory input for a little while.

She'll absolutely stay with you until you feel yourself again.

Mal

Okay things with Mal are a little tricky.

He's for sure a former prosecutor and after a bit of system healing, definitely prosecutor turned protector.

Don't get me wrong though, he can still be a little nasty and snarky sometimes, but he's working on getting better.

Which is why he feels sort of out of his element when he's with you when you're having a panic attack.

He's not good at being comforting, and he barely knows what to do when he has a panic attack, so the first time it happens he completely freezes up.

He might even let someone else front to help you out instead of him.

After a while he gets better at keeping up with your triggers, and while he remains pretty awful at being comforting, he's good at grounding you.

He's glad sometimes that being there is enough sometimes, he doesn't know what he'd do if it wasn't.

"Sorry I can't do more..." he said one day.

You smile at him "You being here is enough sometimes."

Scott

Scott is also somewhat of a wreck I would imagine.

Growing up fairly isolated on a farm he's understandably really rough with being intune with people's emotions, he's not really all that good at reading you. Or anyone for that matter.

The first few times, he's shocked everytime.

What could be making you feel like this? He had no idea.

He would definitely need a list of all of your triggers, you have to tell him what helps you and what doesn't outright. Scott doesn't really like playing guessing games, especially when it comes to your safety and comfort.

Clear communication becomes pretty important for the two of you in all honesty, and the two of you work at it all the time.

Eventually he gets better at serving you during panic attacks, or meltdowns, he knows what to do after a little while.

Again I would think he's really good at protecting, so I think he's super good at keeping people away when he sees you're overstimulated.

"Don't touch them!" he huffed when someone was trying to tap you to get your attention.

Overall, he's really really trying for you, and knowing that is comfort enough.

Alejandro

It's no secret that Alejandro is very intune with people, just one of his many skills.

So he can tell right away from his very first meeting you, any loud noises, bright lights, things like that just don't mix well with you.

He steers clear of them when around you, always guiding you more towards quieter, much calmer and secluded dates.

When driving he turns the music down, and makes sure that all audio input looks like its helping you and not harming you.

Plus I feel like (and this is totally me projecting btw) he would carry around stim toys for you to distract yourself with, and headphones for when things are a lot.

But again, sometimes things just happen, and try as he might to protect you, it's not always possible.

He can always tell when things are getting to be a lot for you, he's good at reading everyone but you in specific.

He's really good at covering for you, if someone is asking where you are, or needs/wants to talk to you when you need to be alone he'll keep them away from you.

He'll spend as much time as you need helping you.

"Are you feeling better mi amor?" He would ask.

"Almost-" you said, voice a little course and shaky "-sorry," you said softly.

"Don't apologize, I don't mind at all."

Alejandro can be really nurturing when he wants to be.

He might deny it, deny it to the ends of the earth but he's very good at taking care of you.

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

Ari AU - Part Four

The next segment in my Popstar Grian AU that I have been cooking up with @angeart . Sorry for the wait on this one, life has been getting in the way a bit and writing this AU down is exhausting!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five

Feel free to send me asks about this AU! It makes me insane.

CONTENT WARNINGS for this part: suicide attempt, suicidal ideation, hospitals, serious medical conditions, discussion of seizures, discussion of psych wards, loss of personal autonomy

Hospital, Continued, OR: This is Likely Not An Accurate Representation of Seizure Related Disorders

Things calm down once Grian is stable again. It takes some work, lots of nurses and doctors hurrying around and running machines while Scar sits outside the room terrified. But eventually, she's deemed stable and Scar is given the go-ahead to re-enter the room.

The crew are finally allowed to sit in the room with her too, but it’s honestly kind of boring. Grian is unconscious, and there isn't much more to say. Talking about what happened - the suicide attempt, isn't something anyone really wants to do at the moment.

While they're waiting it turns to late morning. Impulse goes out and grabs some copies of the morning tabloids. They probably aren't the most pleasant thing in the world to read but the crew have to know what's being said about Grian.

Mumbo goes to get them all some breakfast from a vending machine (and comes back holding way too many packets of chocolate and crisps) while Pearl gets coffee and then stays with Scar, putting a hand on his shoulder as they sit together listening to the steady beeping of Grian’s heart monitor.

When Impulse gets back with the tabloids, it at least gives Scar a break from the silence. Everyone starts ranting about how insensitive the headlines are and how they’re going to have to do so much work to fix things when Grian is better and... Scar looks at them fondly, but doesn't really add to the conversation.

He's glad for the distraction. The hope they still carry that Grian will get better. Because Scar can't see that now. He really can't see it. She looks so fragile now, so drained of life, lying in the hospital bed.

It's another few hours before he wakes up.

As soon as they hear the muffled sounds of Grian trying to speak, Scar is right at her side. There had been mutterings between nurses about how worrying it’s getting, more nervous looks being shot her way with each passing hour, but Grian is waking up again. She’s incredibly hazy and out-of-it, but she’s awake.

And Scar is there this time. He's right at her side. Immediately ready to help her with anything she needs.

The oxygen mask is taken away and Grian tries to say Scar’s name, but it barely comes out as anything. Then he just sobs against Scar's chest, too tired to panic, too hurt to speak. Scar holds him as nurses very carefully flit around.

For a while, she’s kind of fading in and out of. When she’s awake and aware, she talks to Scar a little. Asks if she died. If she was kidnapped. Did she take too many pills? Why is everyone here? Is any of this real? Scar answers each question softly and gently with as much clarity as he can. Which isn’t much, because it’s still Scar.

As he gains more awareness, Grian keeps apologising to Scar. For attempting, but also for not succeeding. For burdening him. Scar never stops his reassurances, holding Grian as close as he can while whispering in her ear.

When a doctor comes in and talks about a psych eval, Grian panics. She's terrified, and guilty, knowing exactly what they're going to say. Of course she isn't mentally well. Everyone can see that. She attempted suicide, for goodness' sake.

More pressingly, she thinks she's going to be taken away. That they won't let her go home with Scar. They'll put her in some facility where she'll never get better. The horror stories she's heard from others who have been in the system like that shake her to her core, and that's what really frightens her. That's what makes her want to escape it all.

Attempt Two - Hospital

When the nurses leave, Grian asks Scar to loosen her wrist straps because she’s uncomfortable. The nurses said that they’re for Grian’s safety, but… what harm could it do? Scar doesn’t want Grian to be uncomfortable. The crew have gone home to sleep, while Scar chooses to stay overnight. 

But though Scar falls asleep on the chair next to her bed, Grian stays awake, mind full of loud and terrifying thoughts. She is so afraid, and guilty about what she's putting Scar through, and, honestly, feels like finishing what she started is the best way out. Even if it is scary, it’s less scary than the psych eval. Less scary than the thought of being taken away from Scar and analysed by doctors. Less scary than the thought of it all being leaked to the press.

With the wrist straps loosened, it’s easy for Grian to escape her room and slip out into a hallway. She finds medical scissors in the bathroom. Which is scarier than the pills. More physical and real. 

There is barely an attempt before she’s found by a nurse. She must have made a lot of noise getting out of bed and into the hallway. Even with scissors, there isn't even a scratch deep enough to bleed. Still, she’s told off and sent back to bed.

Scar is given a very stern talking-to by an angry nurse for letting Grian get free and wander off. He’s horrified that he let it happen, the looming ‘what if?’ playing in his head the whole time.

There are consequences. For some time - whatever the doctors decide - he isn’t allowed to see Grian. Which is torture, really. To distract himself, he takes a few much-needed trips between the hospital and home.

The psych eval goes badly the next day. The doctors confirm Grian's fears, wanting to send him to a facility of some kind. She begs not to be sent away, that it would kill her, even if not literally. She wouldn’t last long in a place away from Scar, especially not being observed and evaluated. Hearing her distress, Scar insists that Grian should be allowed to come home. 

It really hits Grian that it isn’t her choice. It’s Scar’s, as his partner and the closest thing she has to a legal spokesperson (aside from, what, her manager?). Ever since she cut her family off.

Grian has no control over his own autonomy. He supposes he forfeited the right to speak for himself after two suicide attempts, but still, it’s horrible. Or, a horrible thought. Grian is somewhat confident that, because of her status and wealth, she could reasonably convince them to listen to her and her alone, if she needed that to happen. Luckily, Scar’s on her side regardless.

He promises to read all the booklets the hospital gives him - especially the ones about what to do if Grian has another seizure - and to lock away all the sharp objects, pills, shoelaces, wires, and glass in the house. Which he does during the time they don't let him see Grian (the biggest chunk of time is when Grian’s therapist visits. That's something they're going to have to keep doing, of course).

But, before anyone can go anywhere, first priority is a brain scan. Because something happened to Grian when she first woke up, and they don’t know what yet. Which is also terrifying! Grian is getting tired of being terrified!

It’s remarkably fast, as procedures go. The doctor and nurses take Scar aside and start talking to him, which Grian sees and really really hates because hello? He's right here? If there's something wrong with him, he wants to know!

Afterwards, the doctor does come up to her and explain that he's been diagnosed with something-or-other (she isn’t really listening, which sort of defeats her previous point) and needs to stay away from flashing lights and high stress scenarios.

Flashing lights. High stress scenarios. Grian almost laughs, that's actually hilarious.

There is also medication. Scar’s been given pills for her to take daily, to prevent seizures.

Oh. Scar’s been given the pills so that Grian can't take them on his own. So she can’t overdose again. He feels like he's being treated like a child. He understands why - he deserves it - but it still hurts. 

Then, that’s it. Grian makes enough of a recovery to be discharged, and it’s time to go home. Prescribed with new pills, more therapy, and a lot of things to read. It feels anticlimactic. Impulse calls and says he’ll bring over a car, so… it’s another waiting game. 

While Scar and Grian sit in awkward silence, Scar runs over the guilt in his mind. The fact that Grian got out of his room and was going to attempt again. Grian being dragged back into the room, arms scratched up, crying as she’s restrained again. Scar pushed out of the room and listening to her cries, being told it’s his fault she escaped… it all hurts.

But it was a mistake. It is in the past. Scar quietly places his hand over Grian's, extending the olive branch to her while trying his best not to cry. It doesn't matter. He has to be there for her now. 

Leaving The Hospital

Impulse arrives with a baseball cap (which is too big) and sunglasses for Grian, to both hide her identity and keep the camera lights away. There are a lot of people outside still, with cameras and microphones. Cameras with flashing lights. Microphones that cause Grian so much stress. 

How lucky.

Heading out first, Impulse distracts the crowds. Then, Scar tells Grian to close her eyes entirely and just let him guide her to the car. Pay no attention to the reporters. It's okay. They don't matter.

Grian’s used to it. He doesn't even complain. He knows he's just a thing to them. An object to gawk at and capitalise off of. Maybe she'll write a suicide note and blame them in it. That'd be a good comeback, wouldn't it?

It’s not a comforting thought, though. She loops an arm around Scar’s shoulder and allows herself to be moved like a ragdoll, stepping cautiously out of the hospital doors with her eyes shut tight and head bowed to the floor.

The light of cameras flash behind her shielded eyes, but nothing happens. It’s overwhelmingly loud, after so many quiet days in the hospital, but she pushes through. As she always does. Within a few moments Scar gets her into a car, and they’re off with no incident.

No seizure. It's strange getting used to the thought. Seizures were something that happened to other people, not to Grian. But now they do. Now there's something else to watch out for.

During the ride, Grian stays quiet. He’s scared to find out what’s waiting at home. Whether their house will be swarmed with people, or if it will be safe. Terrible thoughts crawl into her head like parasites, eating away all hint of positivity and relief from being out of the hospital. Scar seems upset with her. It's uncomfortable.

And then, without warning, they’re home. Like time has slipped past her. The car engine stops running. Grian remembers to breathe.

There’s no one there. At least, no one visible. Once they get inside and close the front door, Grian stands in the hallway, unsure of what to do with himself. He asks Scar, half-dissociated, if she’s still a person. Scar responds: of course, Grian is his favourite person.

Grian thinks she’s a lot of people’s favourite person, and that’s basically the problem. Something bristles up her spine as she thinks about the bar, and that person, the one who drugged her. 

She's so terribly afraid of everything. Of herself. Of the press. Of the stalkers. She doesn't know how to explain that she still has nightmares about being drugged. And that the night he took those pills was both the calmest and most terrified he's felt in months. Because everything was going to go away. But everything was going to go away.

He tells Scar that he doesn't want to kill himself, but also yes, he does. She doesn't want to die but at the same time, how else will everything just stop? There's no other way out. He can't see it getting better. 

Scar doesn't have an answer either. But he asks Grian, quietly, if he could just... try to stay alive. Even if it's hard. Even if it hurts. Try to stay alive, because he doesn't know what he'll do without Grian. Without Grian being there. Experiencing the world with him. 

He can't - doesn't want to - imagine Grian never smiling again, never singing again, never getting another haircut or eating his favourite food or telling Scar she loves him, ever again. Never listening to Scar's Disney rambles or planning to pull little pranks on their friends. Never crying. Never coming up with song lyrics, or designing outfits. Never holding Scar again.

It's haunting, how Grian seems so far removed now from when Scar met her. Only a hint of her past self shining through, begging to be found and held onto. She's changed. They both have. But losing her altogether?

Scar can't think about that. It's maybe all Grian can think about. And they both feel very, very helpless.

[0shewrites0]

Hieeee!!!!

So, I'm not too sure if this is something that has been asked before, but I'm going to go ahead and ask because I'm in a bit of a bind here and as a fellow Lucas stan I would love to hear this from you.

How do you think Lucas would be with an MC who has ADHD? Because sometimes, you know, they think they're a little "too much" for a person to handle or not everyone would have the patience.

But also, everyone is different and not all behaviours and experiences are the same.

I've noticed there's a lot of misinformation and judgement around people who are diagnosed with it. Like assuming it's all about "Lacking focus or getting easily distracted" when sometimes it can be the opposite. Or linking it to intelligence, when I think it would be wrong to assume there's really a correlation between the two.

Hiiii! First of all, thank you so much for this ask and for approaching me with it, I feel so honoured 🥹

I had great fun thinking about it and also did some research, but I need to clarify that I don't know much about ADHD.

Like you said, I agree that ADHD is definitely not just about "lack of focus or being easily distracted". And it's definitely not okay to automatically link the diagnosis to intelligence or any type of IQ.

I'm thinking of Chloe Veitch in THTH, The Circle and Perfect Match, who certainly came across as a bit shallow at first even though she is so much more than that! It actually made me a bit angry that the producers portrayed her that way, because I follow her on Instagram and she's so sweet and genuine and not stupid at all - plus, low IQ and naivety are NOT THE SAME THING!!!!

ADHD can also mean that people diagnosed with this disorder can't sit still and are always doing something, they may even be very physically active, which can help them get rid of some of their pent-up energy. Others act before they think and generally talk a lot.

Overall, ADHD symptoms can be divided into 3 main areas, namely inattention, hyperactivity and impulsivity. It should be noted, however, that triggers such as lack of sleep, certain foods and especially stress can significantly influence the intensity of the symptoms.

Which brings us to the main topic: how would Lucas deal with an MC diagnosed with ADHD?

🤍 tbh I can imagine he finds her impulsiveness kind of cute and, at least at first, mistakes her interrupting conversations or acting before thinking for her being annoyed by the people around her or just being so high energy that she can't keep her thoughts to herself

🤍 depending on whether he meets her irl or in the Villa, there would obviously be differences as I think being part of the cast enforces a certain closeness

🤍 Lucas is a very complex person, so he would really be the last person to judge others who are just as complex or even more complex

🤍 also, I think he's had ADHD patients (mostly kids tho) who came to physiotherapy for minor or major injuries (especially when you think boys and the way they play sports? That’s very likely) - which means he'll recognise the signs quickly and as a physiotherapist he'll also have a basic knowledge of certain disorders, including ADHD, and I think that's defo a plus because he understands what it's about

🤍 of course he'd have to be a lot more patient than with someone else, but I don't think that would bother him too much - plus ADHD isn't Tourette's, for example. I say that because I just feel like he wouldn't be able to deal with someone with Tourette's, and that doesn't mean he looks down on people with that diagnosis, it's just that people need to understand how difficult and challenging such a disorder can be

🤍 once he finds out what specific triggers make her symptoms worse, he will do everything he can to help her avoid them. If it's stress, you can bet he'll be very aware of his moods and how he might affect her mood if he's had a rough day at work and is stressed af. So to avoid stressing her out too, he'd hit the gym first, get rid of all the negative energy and then come home

🤍 he would generally let her talk as much as she wants, while making an effort to listen to her and join in the conversation. I imagine that people with ADHD often feel that other people withdraw from conversations when it gets too much for them, and I imagine that can be very hurtful. Idk I think I would be hurt, especially because there's nothing I can do about it. So he would try to make her feel like she's not too much for him

🤍 if she happens to make careless mistakes or forgets to do certain tasks, I can imagine him trying hard not to let on how much that can annoy him. But because he knows that she doesn't do it on purpose, and especially not with malicious intent, he can learn to deal with it better. And in turn, I could even imagine him becoming a bit more relaxed, which would also lower his personal stress level 👀👀

🤍 and the reassurance she would get - OFF THE CHARTS! He would tell her several times a day that she is perfect just the way she is and that she will never be too much in his eyes 🥹

🤍 if people made fun of her (even if they had no bad intentions), he would be so damn protective and shut them right up, he wouldn't tolerate bs! Other’s might think he's a bit extreme for that, but then again extreme is Lucas's middle name 🙏🏽

[freereignwritingprompts]

The morning after telling Akello about Akuji.

Tiny story about Akello from @tricitymonsters and my oc Mateo

Mateo was already awake long before his lover emerged from his small bedroom. He didn't need to turn to sense Akello standing awkwardly in the kitchen's doorway, filling it with his wide shoulders, like a perfect puzzle piece completing the whole picture.

It already hurt him to know Akello was about to speak to him so he distracted himself by sipping his coffee. But the words "Hi sweets." made him face the man, surprised, because it was said so carefully.

"Morning" he said back, after getting his eyes focused on anything else than his face. "There's more coffee on the counter and some bacon and eggs on the plate in the fridge."

"You're awake awfully early." Akello mused taking a seat right across from him, ignoring what he had just said about breakfast.

'So it begins,' the giddy voice in his head laughed at his crumbling facade to be angry. He ignores it.

"Never really been able to sleep past 4am. The leg usually starts to hurt like clockwork and when I wake up, Akuji doesn't shut up either."

He finally lifted his gaze to the man sitting in front of him Akello didn't say anything like he already knew that long enough silence would do his work for him, and he was right.

It was of course only the second time Mateo had ever mentioned the demon's name out loud, but he forced the word out like a bad taste.

'Less hiding, more talking, we are secret no more. Now let's show him and you open up my door.' Akuji's voice sings to Mateo in whisper like a lullaby but it only makes him bristle and hiss to it.

The sudden sound makes Akello jump a little, even if he had watched Mateo's face the whole time and seeing the hollow gaze that came upon them.

"Did he speak to you?" Akello asked, immediately interested in seeing this new exchange between Mateo and the other one. When they had talked about this last night his first thought had been that it was just a multiple personality disorder. But seeing this would be an insensitive topic for Mateo, Akello didn't wanna push too hard on it.

Mateo was now covering his face, mumbling under his breath things that might have been curse words or nothing at all. Akello lifted his hand carefully from the table and touched Mateo's face, feeling him stiffen he gently took hold of his jaw and lifted it so they were again seeing eye to eye.

"You can talk to me, you know," Akello smiled. "Just focus on me and don't mind the other one."

"Its not like I could ever shut him up." Mateo said trying to not push himself away again. "He doesn't like you, you know?"

Akello blinked in surprise but was happy he got him to talk. "You or the dog?" He asked, making Mateo snort.

He was hesitant but keeping secrets for 6 years would make anyone hesitate to tell about you had a second form and a second mind inside your head. So he ignored the growling he was hearing and let his head rest against Akello's large hand holding his cheek and keeping him in the moment.

"You remember how we met?

"In the alleyway and I had accidentally broken your leg. Yeah I'm still sorry about all that." Akello was sincere even now feeling bad he might have accidentally broken Mateo's already bad leg, making it even worse.

"When you flung us... I mean me up to the rooftops. Akuji was too stunned to say a word for two whole hours."

"Yeah, I've made you speechless too." Akello grinned but Mateo shook his head.

"It's not just that, Akello. He doesn't like you because you made us both forget our contract."

"You said something about heartbeat, right? That it was what would trigger Akuji if you were in danger?"

Mateo nodded. "Akuji works like an airbag in a car accident. He is always ready if my life is threatened or I get jumped in a dark street."

'You can't deny that I keep us alive.' He nodded again like it had been Akello speaking and not the demon.

"He's angry because he didn't have the chance to save me that time. And when you showed up he was even more confused about who to fight against."

"So he doesn't want to lose control over the situation." Akello answered, now knowing more and more about Mateo and his friend he had yet not seen. Then a thought occurred to him, making his mouth twitch up just a tiny bit. "What about during sex?"

Mateo flushed even darker, his eyes focusing and unfocusing, mind fighting itself over words that Akello didn't hear, but when his lover finally let out a sigh he knew who had won.

"His only argument is that we are supposed to be on top."

And that if anything made them both laugh like nothing ever would.

[qianinterprises]

WayV Reaction: finding out their S/O has Borderline Personality Disorder

Pairing(s): WayV x Reader Genre: angst, fluff Warnings: mention of mental health, depression, anxiety, symptom's included in BPD. Trigger Warnings: depression, anxiety, hostility, mention's of self-harm, self-doubt, low self-image Word Count: 3.9k

Author's Notes: I'll be honest and say that I had to research Borderline Personality Disorder. I knew what it was/had heard of it before, but in order to write something accurate, I tried to educate myself. If you believe that you have BPD, please don't be afraid to go to a doctor or a trusted friend/family member. Your mental health is important.

Author's Note 2.0: I also want to mention that (as per earlier request), I am also working on a YangYang fic that features a reader with Borderline Personality Disorder. I'm not entirely sure when it will be posted (soon hopefully), but it is in my WIP's.

Author's Note 2.0: Kun's is a little different, I apologize for the difference and the shortness. Tagging:@treasuretaeil

Kun:

Kun was in the middle of dance practice when his phone began to ring. At first, he let it go to voicemail, but by the third ring, Ten paused the music and Kun grabbed his phone out of his coat pocket, expecting to see your name popping up on the screen. You were at home today after a particularly rough week at work that had left you feeling spent. Kun longed to be home with you, holding you tight in his embrace. As his eyes met your next door neighbor's name on his phone screen, his stomach dropped. Mrs. Huang only called when it was really serious. "Hello?" he asked into the receiver. "Oh thank goodness!" she cried, voice laced with anxiety enducing agitation. "What's wrong?" "It's (y/n)! They've brought me five big tins of muffins! I can't possibly eat all of these! And they've gone to the store twice with ingredients! I think something's wrong! Kun sighed. This morning, you had been so happy. You were practically singing to the birds. He knew it wouldn't last though, especially with the week you'd had. "I'll be there soon!" Kun left practice without another word and when he got home, he found you in the kitchen, covered in flour, vigorously mixing a creamy liquid in one of your metal mixing bowls. The kitchen was covered in ingredients; flour puffed on the counters and floor, broken egg shells on the table, a half empty measuring cup of milk teetering on top of the fridge. It was bad this time. Kun knew you had borderline personality disorder. It had been something you'd told him in the beginnings of your relationship. He had seen you at your worst, and at your best, but it still broke his heart every time he witnessed you at a breaking point. "(y/n)?" You paused in your vigorous mixing, eyes glancing up to meet his. He didn't say anything, eyes locked on yours, but his eyes held no pity. Instead, they held pure, unfiltered love that had you putting the whisk aside. "Do you love me?" you whispered. A small wisp of a smile reflected across his face as he crossed the room, arms wrapping around your body. "More than anything," he whispered.

Ten:

You and Ten had only been together for a short amount of time; three months to be exact. It was an exhilarating three months. Time you wouldn't give for anything in the world, even though you didn't get to see each other often with Ten's very busy schedule. However, after the "Kick Back" album released, WayV was allowed to take a break as SM turned their attention to the scheduled release of NCT Dream's first album. Normally, Ten would then be whisked away for some SuperM promotion, but with Baekhyun's enlistment, SuperM was also allowed to take a break as the company decided what to do. Which ultimately meant you got to spend more time with your boyfriend, which, most would deem as a good thing and, you were happy he was there, however, it became a lot harder to hide your little secret from him. Your best friend, Kun, had introduced you to Ten (and the rest of the members), when Kun officially became a member of NCT. Kun and Ten had immediately hit it off as friends, which meant you also spent a lot of time with Ten, thus leading to a blossoming friendship and later attraction. So Ten lying in your bed snoring softly wasn't that far of a stretch from a common day encounter. The difference was, today, you didn't feel like yourself. Being in a friendship with Ten meant that, yes, you saw him often, but not often enough that you couldn't keep parts of yourself private. Which is exactly what you did, especially as your tiny crush on Ten grew into something mutual, eventually leading to a relationship. The truth you were so afraid of revealing was your disorder. Borderline Personality Disorder. A disorder you'd been diagnosed with since you were a your teenager. You'd been teased and bullied for it when a classmate you'd once called a friend announced your disorder to the entire school. This, in turn, had terrified you of ever telling anyone, which you had gotten away with. Ten didn't know and, if you had it your way, he'd never know. He was an idol. What did he need with a girlfriend with this disorder. However, with him hanging around a lot... "Hey? What's wrong?" Ten's voice snapped you from your thoughts. You'd been so distracted you hadn't realized his soft snoring had ceased. "Nothing," you said softly. His lips pursed, perplexed as he softly reached a hand up to brush across your cheek, something he'd done several times. But today, you didn't want it. You shied away from his hand, curling yourself up on the opposite side of the bed, cursing yourself for acting different than usual, but you couldn't help it. Ten didn't bat an eye. He simply gave you a soft smile and sat up in the large bed, but he didn't try to touch you again. "Feeling sad today?" he asked. You nodded meekly. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked. You paused for a moment to think it over. You truly didn't. You wished you could keep it a secret forever, because Ten might leave you. But you also knew that the stress was taking it's toll on you. "I have Borderline Personality Disorder..." you whispered. He didn't say anything at first and you were preparing yourself for him to call you a freak and leave. Instead, he stretched his arm out and softly wrapped his pinky around yours. "I don't know much about it. But I promise I will learn," he whispered. Tears brimmed your eyes because finally, someone wasn't going to leave you.

WinWin:

You had never been much of a touchy person. Holding hands was one thing, and even then, something you weren't wholly comfortable with, but hugging was completely different. You didn't care much for hugs, especially from complete strangers that often found you rude for rejecting their hug. You barely even hugged your own family, let alone a total stranger. This was possibly what spurred on your relationship with Sicheng who, also didn't care much for physical affection, despite the fact the other members of NCT practically drowned him in it. Your relationship was just... different. At least in the minds of society because you didn't cuddle against Sicheng's chest constantly or plop down on his lap just because he was sitting down. Instead, you preferred wrapping your pinky around his or draping one of his sweaters over your shoulders. This worked for the two of you though others found it strange. However, there was an anomaly that Sicheng, though you had been together for a little over two years, had no idea about. This anomaly included the fact that sometimes, you liked hugs. Sometimes, all you wanted to do was drape yourself over your boyfriends lap and let him hold you until your mind screamed at you for the overload of affection. Sometimes you wanted him to wrap his arms around you in bed and fall asleep with you on his chest. That's what happens when you have Borderline Personality Disorder, and it wouldn't have been that big of a deal if Sicheng had known, but he didn't. It started out you longing to keep it a secret in the early days of your relationship. It wasn't something you advertised very often. However, as your relationship progressed, you knew you should have told him, but as five months turned into six, it became a crushing weight of guilt for not telling him in the beginning. Sicheng had already invested a lot of time and love in the relationship when you had not been wholly honest with him. And the more time that passed, the harder it was for you to get the words out. At this point, it wasn't even your fear of rejection because of the disorder, it was a nagging fear that your dishonesty about the disorder would drive him away from you. That would truly be a crushing point. However, as Sicheng began spending more nights at your apartment, it was getting increasingly harder to hide, especially as your mood dropped or when you suddenly began to crave affection. Times like today. The moment you'd rolled out of bed, you knew you needed some type of affection, but as Sicheng made no advance to give it to you throughout the day, your mood dropped. It really wasn't his fault. He had no idea how you were feeling, but as you finally had had enough and wrapped your arms around him from behind while he was washing the dishes after dinner, you felt him stiffen before grabbing a towel to dry his hands. "What's up with you today?" The question was an honest one, but it still felt as though you were making him uncomfortable by touching him. As your arms slacked from around him, a tear sprang to your eye but you were quick to wipe it away as he turned to face you. "I need to tell you something..." Your voice was wavering. You had no idea how he would respond. He nodded for you to continue, one of his hands gently taking hold of yours, playing with your fingers as a soft sense of relief washed through you. "I have Borderline Personality Disorder." His once blank face morphed into one of confusion. "What's that?" he asked tentatively. You sighed. You had been expecting the question but that didn't make it any easier to define. "Its like having mood swings. One day I feel happy the other sad... Sometimes anti-hugs, sometimes super affectionate." You could tell he was still confused, but as he nodded and wrapped his arms around your body, drawing you against his tall frame, you let out a shuddered breath, body relaxing against him.

Lucas:

Books were never Yukhei's strong suit. He preferred numbers and basic information plotted out clearly in front of him. Books were too all over the place with too much information. He wished they could be like websites that gave him the briefest of explanations with a "read more" feature. Yet here he was, flipping through slightly crinkled pages because he wanted to truly understand, and books were always credited with having the most information. "I have Borderline Personality Disorder," you had explained earlier that day when you had ducked out of the way of one of his mega bear hugs and proceeded to slump your shoulders and beg him to give you time alone. You'd locked yourself in your shared bedroom after that and, although you had texted him to apologize for your behavior, you added that today was just an off day, your disorder really affecting your mood. "Well how can I help?" he had asked. It was your response that prompted him here, pouring over books in the local library hoping to find anything that would help him understand Borderline Personality Disorder in the best way possible. As he flipped through pages and learned, he had begun to feel several different emotions. On one end, he felt sorry that you'd had to go through the disorder alone, but on the other, he questioned why you'd never told him, even after a year of being together. However, a big part of him wondered if maybe you had been telling him, just without words, especially because you'd never tried to hide any of your mood swings. He'd just always assumed you were on your period. As the hours ticked away, Yukhei's eyes remained glued to the startlingly dry books stacked up around him, but as he learned more about the disorder and, by default, more about you, he couldn't seem to stop. At least not until his phone vibrated in his pocket and, as he fished it out, your smiling face met his eyes. He answered the facetime request and gave you a tired smile that quickly morphed into concern when he noticed your bloodshot eyes. "Baby? What's wrong? Did something happen?" "My boyfriend left me! That's what happened!" Were you... pouting? "I didn't leave baby, I'm at the library." Confusion flashed across your face. "Why?" "To learn more about Borderline Personality Disorder." A giggle erupted from your lips and Yukhei sure was glad to hear it, especially after reading texts about BPD leading to depression. "Why didn't you just google it?" His mouth gaped open as he dramatically clutched his chest. "Googling something so important in my significant other's life?! That's scandalous! I should do enough research to write my own 20-page essay!" This time, it was a full blown laugh. "You're a dork!" "I'm your dork!" "Well come home, dork! There's a lot we have to discuss!" Your smiling face alleviated any fears that may have been swirling around Yukhei's chest. With a nod, he slammed a book shut so hard it send a loud, slamming bang throughout the library, prompting nasty looks sent his way. Sheepishly, he waved them off and stood up. "I'll be home soon," he promised, blowing you a kiss before hanging up. Yukhei had taken the hastily thrown news a lot better than you'd expected. You knew he couldn't have learned everything, specifically because it varied person to person, but you knew that he would be there for you, even on your bad days. And that was all you could ask for.

Xiaojun:

Dejun was incredibly perceptive, even if he was incredibly dumb sometimes. He could tell when you weren't quite feeling yourself, even though he often didn't know what was causing it. It was at those times that he did everything he could to put a smile back on your face and make you feel "normal" again. He didn't understand how counter productive that actually was. It was really your fault. You were the one keeping secrets, but as the smile fell from your face the second Dejun traded the couch for the shower, you couldn't help but think that maybe he simply preferred you to be happy rather than deal with you when you weren't. Somewhere in the back of your head, you knew he was just doing what he thought would help, but now, especially in your state of mind, you couldn't shake the aching feeling in your head. "Hey, are there towels- are you crying?" Dejun's voice yanked you out of your thoughts and you brought your hands to your cheeks, rapidly trying to wipe away the clear droplets painting your face, but it was too late. Dejun had already seen. He was shirtless when he perched on the couch beside you, face etched in concern. He opened his mouth, likely to retort off some lame dad joke or tell you some funny story you'd heard a thousand times. "Can you not?" You hadn't meant to snap. The words had simply flown out before you'd had the chance to them. His face fell into a pout that you knew you often fell for, but today, it only upset you more. "Stop Dejun!" The pout fell away. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything!" "You're trying to make me smile!" He blinked, staring at you for a moment. "That's a bad thing?!" You sighed, slumping against the couch cushions, resigning yourself to the fact that he didn't understand. Then again, you didn't let him understand. "Just tell me why I'm upsetting you," he begged, all traces of bad humor gone, replaced with sincerity. "I have Borderline Personality Disorder! My mood fluctuates! And when you try to make me smile when I'm sad or mad makes me feel like you don't like me when I'm not always happy. But I can't always be happy." He stared at you in shock for a moment, mouth opening and closing as if he didn't know how to respond. An appropriate response, you supposed. You'd been friends for a while now and dating for several months, yet this was the first time you'd told him. You were about to get up from the couch, sighing as he didn't respond after several minutes, when he placed a hand on your thigh to stop you. "Why didn't you tell me?" You shrugged. It wasn't that simple. "Can you tell me the best ways to comfort you?" Again, you shrugged. A sigh released from his mouth and your head hung low. "I'm going to do some research. As your boyfriend, I want to make sure I'm making you feel better, not worse. So, while I'm doing that, I also need you to tell me if something I'm doing is making you feel worse. Can you do that for me?" His words were sincere, his intentions true. Another tear fell from your eye, dropping against your cheek, but a smile broke out across your face. "Thank you for caring," you whispered. He pulled you onto his lap and pressed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. "Always."

Hendery:

Waking up this morning had been such a struggle, even as the delightful scent of your boyfriends cooking wafted under the cracks of the door, greeting you. Usually, this would rouse you from your slumber, prompting you to creep into the kitchen and sneak a taste of the delightful breakfast. Today, however, you rolled over in the blankets and pulled the duvet over your head. Today was a lay in bed day, you just hoped your boyfriend would accept that. "Come on sleepy head! It's time to wake up!" Kunhang's annoyingly chipper voice spouted, pulling you from the confines of sleep in a less pleasant way. "No," you groaned, rolling over, burying your face deeper into the pillow. "Come on! Breakfast is ready!" He pulled the blankets off your body and you let out a loud hiss, eyes turning to bore into him. "I said no!" He dropped the blanket and backed off, lifting his hands in surrender, but you could tell he had questions. You never acted like this. "What's wrong?" You grunted, not responding, turning away from him, but he wasn't having it. "Yah! I asked you a question!" he pouted at being ignored. A growl whipped it's way from your throat. "Go look up BPD," you snapped. You could tell that he had more questions, but, after a long moment, he seemed to think better of asking them and, instead, made his way out of the room, leaving you to fall back asleep. It had to have been a few hours later when you were waking up on your own this time, the anger you had felt earlier completely gone now, replaced with your normal, chipper self. You turned over to look at Kunhang's side, releasing he wasn't there and the memories came flooding back to you along with a strong wave of guilt. You shouldn't have treated Kunhang the way you did. There was nothing out of the ordinary with the way he'd reacted to your sleeping for. With a sigh, you threw your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, padding over the floors to the door. You made your way out of the bedroom and down the hall, finding Kunhang sitting on the couch, television with the volume turned down, playing some movie he didn't look too interested in. As the floor creaked slightly under your feet, his attention shifted from the television to you and he was quick to shut off the device. "How are you feeling?" he asked. Your heart dropped into your stomach. Had you really affected him? "I'm sorry for how I reacted..." you mumbled. A sigh rolled past his lips as he patted the couch next to him. You made your way to him, flopping beside him, but keeping your distance, at least until he pulled you against his side. "I understand why you did after looking up Borderinel Personality Disorder," he said. "But you couldn't have expected me to know without knowing." With a nod, you hung your head. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I thought you wouldn't like me if you knew I had a disorder..." you mumbled. Saying it out loud, it felt ridiculous. You knew he loved you. The fact that he waited for you to wake up even after how you'd treated him proved that. But it had been a fear nevertheless. "Now that I know, I can help you rather than making things worse. But in the future, please let me know. I hated watching you so upset without knowing how to help." You leaned against him, burying your face in his chest as you nodded.

YangYang:

(full fic coming soon) YangYang's youth was what truly scared you the most. He still had so much to learn. He was so naive, about some things at least. He could make you feel so good, so loved, when he'd hold you in his arms and kiss your head or when he threw himself across your lap and begged to be pet. You were scared that the second he knew the truth about you, he'd leave, or worse, treat you differently. Your older brother, Kun, had advised you to just be honest with him. To let him know when you had bad days. Yet, here you were, hiding out in your brothers bed, hoping practice would run late so YangYang wouldn't see your crestfallen face. It seemed luck wasn't on your side that day, not entirely anyway, because the door to the room opened and Kun walked in half shirtless, belt unbuckled. "Please don't strip anymore," you'd begged. The boy nearly jumped out of his skin at your words. "(y/n)?! What are you doing here?!" "I missed Yang..." "So why didn't you come to practice? You know you're welcome." Your silence was his answer and he sighed, sliding on another, not sweat-soaked shirt, and sat on the bed beside you, reaching out to gently stroke your arm. "You really should tell him," he whispered. "But what if he rejects me?" "He won't. Sis, I know him. He's not like some dirtbags you've dated in the past. And he might just be able to help you better than I can," he whispered. You knew he was right. He was always right (as annoying as it was). "Will you send him here? I don't want to get out of bed..." "Of course," he said, patting your arm one more time before getting out of bed and making his way out of the room. It was a few minutes later when a sweaty YangYang walked in, searching for your figure before sitting down beside you on Kun's bed. "You wanted to see me?" he asked. "I have Borderline Personality Disorder..." The words just rushed out before you could stop them, but you were thankful. This saved you from yourself. For a long moment, YangYang didn't say anything and you were beginning to think Kun had been wrong for once. "So that's why Kun had me do all that research..." Ok, that definitely wasn't what you were expecting. "Not long after we started dating, Kun made me do all this research on BPD. He even quizzed me once a week! I just assumed it was punishment for dating his sister!" A loud laugh fell past your lips. That was absolutely something Kun would do!

"Are you mad I didn't tell you?" you asked.

"Well, why didn't you?"

"I was afraid you'd leave me like my exes..."

"Then yes, I'm mad!" he said.

Your face dropped.

"I'm sorry..."

"I'll just have to teach you a lesson!"

With that, he threw himself on top of you, pressing his sweaty clothes against you as you shrieked, attempting to get away.

"Guys... not on my bed..."

[stonertransdad]

Life Update since I hadn't been on here in forever

The pandemic was/is wild! Lockdowns started literally around the time we were going to the fertility specialist to get her pregnant. I lost my job to COVID in March shortly before we did the procedure, but we decided there's never really a good time to have a kid. Why not during a global pandemic when one of us in unemployed? (BTW, I don't recommend having a kid during a pandemic. Not being able to go to all of the appointments and having to sit in the parking lot was brutal.)

Let's talk about May friends...it was rough. (TW for mention of suicide btw. I'll post a gif where it's safe to start again if you wanna skip over it.)

So May 1st is the anniversary of my father's suicide. It had been 4 years. I found his body and since he wasn't married, I had to handle his affairs and arrange his funeral. May 1st, 2020 my wife and I had a Zoom game night with our friends and I got drunk because everyone was drinking (except my wife because she was pregnant). After our game night at like 2am, I had a psychotic break. I threatened to kill myself numerous times. My wife tried to talk me down, but eventually called the cops to take me. I thank her for that because looking back, that was the moment I knew something needed to change. I was convinced the cops were gonna kill me because I'm a trans dude in rural West Texas. I legit took the phone out of my wife's hand, hung up on 911, and yeeted her phone across the backyard and tried to hop the fence. Eventually the cops came and talked me down. They took me to the hospital an hour away in handcuffs (for their protection I did nothing wrong). They took me to the religious hospital that I was born in. So when they looked up my info by my name and date of birth from my driver's license (I only changed my middle name) literally all my paperwork and my bracelet had my deadname and wrong gender despite all of my legal stuff saying male with my new middle name. I mentioned it to them and they didn't care. They misgendered me the entire time I was there. I had hit my head hella hard on the bath tub when my wife was trying to snap me out of it, did the hospital even check me for concussion? Nope. I had punched so many things and my hand and wrist were swollen and discolored. Did they check out my hand and wrist? Nope. I was there for over 10 hours before I was able to convince them I was okay and that it was just the alcohol. Did I mention during that 10 hours I was literally out in the hall on a gurney with no mask and this was when COVID was running rampant in Texas (the first time)? I heard people die that night. I had nothing to distract me because they took away all of my personal items and clothes. My wife picked me up and we went home and I have been sober ever since. It's not the first psychotic break I've had with alcohol in my system. Alcohol just doesn't agree with me, but I'm finding new things to replace it with.

TW has been lifted...it's safe now.

A couple of weeks after that I began teletherapy because I had been on the same mood stabilizer and anti-depressant for almost a decade. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I felt like it hadn't been working for at least a year. This is a reminder to check in with your doctor if you feel like your meds aren't working. You may just need a different dose or a new med. There's no shame in that. I bounced around on various medications trying to find the right combo, some side effects scarier than others, but we got there. Before this, I had been diagnosed with ADHD, Major Depressive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. My therapist threw out my Borderline diagnosis and said it was CPTSD instead, which made sense.

Fast forward to December because my wife was pregnant, I was unemployed still, and we did absolutely fuck-all because the global panini was still raging.

Our son was born on December 3, 2020. He weighed 5lbs 9oz and scared the ever loving shit out of us. He wasn't breathing when he was born so they called NICU in ASAP. I'm freaking out because I can hear and see what's going on while my wife was asking if he was okay as they put her guts back in place to sew her up. 5 or so minutes pass and a nurse asks if I want her to take some pictures. I'm like is he okay, he still hasn't cried. She's like "oh yeah, he's chillin." This goon was being held by a nurse and was just looking around not crying or anything. Chillest baby ever (he still is btw). I held him next to my wife's head until it was time to go back to the room. Little dude did have to spend 4 nights in the NICU because he couldn't keep his sugars or temperature regulated, but he was healthy otherwise. He's now 4 months old and is starting to sit up on his own a little bit and he's OBSESSED with standing. He's still a little guy, but very healthy and growing like a weed. He saves my life daily.

So after being unemployed for over 9 months, I started a new job working in a call center. I absolutely hate talking on the phone. It gives me anxiety and throws me into panic attacks, but I had been putting out hundreds of job applications since I lost my last job and this was the first offer I got. I wasn't really in a position to turn it down since my unemployment had ran out 2 months prior. It was 2 months of training, then we'd be on our own. I got thru the training and thought I could handle it...until they started putting us on live calls with someone helping us if we got stuck. My mental health hit the lowest point it had in a few years and my wife was terrified she was going to lose me. She convinced me to quit on February 28th (not because I didn't want to, but because I'm a stubborn ass who felt guilty). My meds got tweaked a little bit more dosage wise during this mess.

Starting about mid-February, I was experiencing severe shakiness, tremors, and spasms. I've always been a shaky person and never really thought too much about it, but at some points I could barely feed myself, or get a drink, or hold my son. On March 7th, I tried to make an appointment with my doctor about the weird symptoms I was experiencing, but she was out of town and her next opening wasn't until the 31st. My body said that won't work and my wife rushed me to the ER on the 9th...I had begun having seizures that day. I had no previous history of seizures. Got to the ER and had a seizure literally as I was walking thru the door, so they rushed me straight back. They took some blood and that was literally it. No MRI. No CT. They pumped me full of Ativan and said it was just a panic attack and to go home and chill.

Spoiler Alert: It wasn't just anxiety. I was having 20+ seizures a day. On the 10th, my wife rushed me to a different hospital...the good hospital over an hour away. First we had to drop off our gremlin with my mom to make things a little easier. Yet again, I had a seizure as I walked in the door and was taken back immediately. I don't really remember much because they kept pumping me full of Ativan and morphine because I had been in excruciating pain from the number of seizures I'd had. I do remember them doing a CT pretty quickly after I got there. Then they weren't happy with the results of the CT, so they took me to get an MRI, which showed possible signs of Multiple Sclerosis (but I didn't find that out until AFTER the notes showed up in my patient portal after being home a few days, so I raised hell...more on that later.) They did a 24 hour EEG on me and it showed nothing abnormal. Also, EEG glue is a bitch on your hair and scalp. After looking at everything and given my previous mental health history, they diagnosed me with Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures, or PNES. It is a subset of Functional Neurologic Disorder, or FND. I couldn't walk well anymore and had to use a walker when I was discharged. I was in the hospital for 3 days.

When I had my follow-up appointment on the 23rd, I asked why the possibility of MS was never mentioned to me since it was very clearly in the notes. The doctor didn't have an explanation. He called in a referral to neurology so I could get a 2nd MRI to confirm MS and marked it as high priority. He also didn't take my pain seriously. My pain levels had been at a 5 or higher every single minute since they took me off of the morphine in the hospital. He told me to keep taking prescription strength doses of ibuprofen and Tylenol, which I had been. I let him know I had been and it didn't even take the edge off the pain. He ignored me. Leading up to this appointment, I had also added urinary incontinence to my growing list of symptoms and was forced to wear diapers so I didn't have to do laundry all the time. The doctor also took me off my ADHD meds because they were lowering my seizure threshold. He also took me off of my sleeping meds and nightmare meds for the same reason I'm assuming.

I kept my appointment on the 31st with my primary doctor because she's been my doctor for 5 years now and I knew she'd take my pain seriously. She did. She immediately wrote me prescriptions for a muscle relaxer and Tylenol 4. She also told me that my referral had been rejected by neuro. She said my case wasn't a good one for what she called a "wallet biopsy" and the doctors in neurology could be real assholes. She immediately sent the referral to other locations to get an approval. I am still waiting on that despite it being marked as high priority. She wrote me a prescription for a wheelchair because we both agreed my wheelchair was not enough for particular days.

Yesterday my wheelchair was finally ready for pickup, so my wife drove me to go get it. I'm still unable to drive due to my seizures and my tremors and twitches as it's predominantly in my legs and arms. I am an ambulatory wheelchair user now. Some days I can go short distances without my walker, some days I can't go without my walker, some days I can't even get out of bed, and some days I will be using my wheelchair. Don't judge a book by its cover, not all disabilities are visible. I have managed to keep my daily seizure count down in single digits and have even had a few seizure free days. They are still incredibly taxing on my body. I feel like I can't ever replenish my spoons fast enough to keep up with anything in my life.

So all in all, life has been chaotic. We are moving from Texas to New Mexico in the next few weeks, which should be interesting considering I can't overdo it without throwing myself into seizures. We will be closer to my mother-in-law so she can help us with our son and I can start resting a bit more on the more difficult days. Being a stay-at-home dad with an invisible illness has been one of the most challenging things I've done in my life, but I wouldn't change it for the world.

Sorry this is so long. I just wanted to update my followers since it's been over a year since I posted before a few days ago.

[1zashreena1]

Trading Trauma -13

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  They share the rough stuff while trying to figure out how to be gentle with each other. And an antagonist?

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Detailed discussion of abuse in all forms- Physical-Mental-Emotional-Verbal*** SERIOSULY HEED THIS WARNING Anxiety attacks, vague hinting at mental-behavioral health disorders, plus size woman+fit man, This one is all feels and 

I Am So Sorry.

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic ​ @symbiont13 ​ @nicke0115 ​​ @bunnykjm ​ @rosee-sensuelle ​ @girlpornparadise ​ @mandoplease ​ @heresathreebee ​ @xxsteph-enrixx ​ @jetiikad ​ @joalsglasses ​ @mutantcookiesecrets ​ @demoncatstone ​ @squidlywiddly87 ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog ​ @poeedamerons ​

I believe gif came from @girlpornparadise​ 

Its a Friday like any other and Bastian picks you up like always. Only, something is wrong. You can tell because Bastian is silent; absolutely, completely, dead silent.

"So," You try from the passenger seat, "What the fuck is going on that you don't want to tell me?" Its raining and everything in New York is shaded in tones of gray. The gray buildings pass by, people in gray coats with gray umbrellas trudge along the sidewalk, even this SUV is gray. It still has new car smell. What happened that he bought a new SUV?

A muscle tics in Bastian's jaw as he tenses under your attention. Pale green eyes dart to you, then back to the road. Finally, Bastian speaks, "Alicia was here today." 

Your jaw drops. "What? Why? Is he okay?" Your immediate concern is Diego, both his physical safety and his mental well-being. Bastian's silence is an obvious negative. After staring at him for an indeterminate amount of time and receiving no further details you go back to the windshield. "We can order food later, just take me to him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Diego is stationed on the sectional when you arrive, working on his laptop. Bastian places your bag just inside the penthouse then retreats back into the elevator. That's never a good sign.

Diego looks up and smiles, its blindingly gorgeous and your heart stutters. The laptop gets dumped to the side in favor of grabby hands going for your curves. You climb into his lap, knees outside his hips, loop your arms around his neck, and fold him down into your softness. With a huge sigh, Diego melts into you.

"Princess. Missed you." His rumble is soft and quiet against your neck. He wraps you up tighter and squeezes your squishy middle. "Stay. Please." What started as an order ended as a plea in under two words. 

You stroke over his hair, kissing his forehead and nodding gently. "I'm here, baby. Are you okay?" The likelihood of getting a straight answer is slim but you have to ask. You need him to know that you care, that you want to take care of him. 

He nods into your neck and settles further. Apparently this is where I sit now. His breathing is normal, he doesn't flinch or jump wherever you pet him, and his clothing is in place. As far as you can tell, he is physically well. The only thing out of place here is his hidden face.

He is surprisingly cuddly in private, your Murder Panther rather enjoys petting, but he has never hidden from you. Its concerning, especially in conjunction with Bastian's hushed announcement in the car. 

"What do you need me to do?" You keep your voice even and quiet because you're not sure how upset he really is. Broad shoulders shrug under you, he seems almost defeated. You try a different tact and ask, "Okay, when did you last eat?" 

"Dish mornin." Diego mumbles into your skin like a kid. In truth, he is like a large child a lot of the time. He gets easily distracted by activity and is frequently lost in whatever task happens to be most interesting to him at that exact moment. He fidgets minutely under you, a tiny bit of his normal reaction to your presence is evident. 

You turn to smirk into his cheek, "I meant food, but if that's what you need, well, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make." His deep chuckle shakes your entire body. "Where's my phone? Lemme order dinner before you go after dessert."

Diego pulls your phone out of the back pocket of your jeggings and passes it to you, then replaces it with a huge hand. You laugh but proceed to order from that steakhouse you like in Brooklyn.

----------------------

By the time dinner has been completed Diego is relaxed and loose-limbed, sprawled on his back across your lap in the corner of the sectional. He is still quiet, but if you keep both hands on your tablet a little too long he makes his displeasure known with a growly whine. You’ve been absent-mindedly petting him for some time when you decide to try again.

"So, can I do anything to help you? Listen? Massage? Cuddle? Err, cuddle more intensely?" You don't look at him in an attempt to not make him uncomfortable. 

Diego heaves a sigh and holds your hand flat to his chest. You can feel his heart, its picking up speed and you feel a little guilty. He licks his lips and finally speaks, "Alicia was waiting for me when we came back from a meeting this morning. She has been questioning my books. I suppose she doubts my math." Diego waves a dismissive hand in the air.

You have seen this man complete statistical mathematical analysis in his head, everyone knows his math isn't a problem. 

"Um. First of all, no. Secondly, n-o-o-o." You draw the word out in your sarcasm and Diego snorts with amusement. "Why do you think she was really here?" You ask soberly.

"It is the math. I need to redistribute my surplus. What is that saying? Use it or lose it?" Diego looks up at you from under raised brows, waiting for you to confirm or correct his language. 

That is fucking adorable. Your chest tightens with his easy familiarity with you and his trust that you have his back in all things, even something as small as a possible mistranslation. You nod in confirmation, but also need some clarification. "So, help me understand here, you have a surplus of what? Profit?" 

Diego nods succinctly. "Technically, it is a deficit of expenses. However, the expenses are paid out of the profits, so I simply hadn't moved the profit surplus into the expense account, which would have highlighted the cost deficit. I attempted to not draw any undue attention to it, but that failed. I must find somewhere to funnel the excess money that would not arouse suspicion."

It takes you a minute to process that whole thing. Diego watches you mentally work through it with amused patience. You now have more questions than answers. "Okay, wait. Rewind further back. Why do you have extra money? Are you not spending as much?"  What is happening? 

"It is two folds," Diego holds up a hand with one finger raised, you don't bother correcting him this time, "I am not consuming my own product, therefore selling more and netting more profits." He raises a second finger and continues, "I am spending substantially less on incidental costs. Not so many bottles or strippers or whatever. So saving more." 

He stares at his own raised fingers in bemusement before muttering thoughtfully, "Julio always led me to believe that women are expensive to keep but you have been saving me money. Hmm." He glances up at you with a small smile, tentative and cautious, so very not Diego-like. 

Your shrug is exaggerated, but your flush is not. "Glad I could help? I mean, its my fault this extra money is sitting around, so its my fault she noticed and then came here. I'm sorry, baby." Sometimes when you open your mouth everyone goes on a surprise trip, including you. It wasn't meant to turn self-deprecating, but here you are. You really do feel guilty. My presence has altered his lifestyle and its a problem.

The worry must be obvious on your features because Diego catches it immediately. He rushes to soothe you, "No, Princess. I chose to do these things, or rather to not. You have done nothing wrong. I would rather have you and this problem than to not have you and not this." His right hand comes up to cradle your cheek and direct your gaze down to him. Those beautiful brown eyes are molten, fierce with some emotion you don't want to analyze. It still fucks you up.

You swallow hard and lick your lips, "So what do we do?" Diego follows the path of your tongue with his thumb while his lips curl up in pleasure at your choice of wording. The way he looks at you sometimes, like he might try to move heaven and earth for you, it hurts. You can't decide if you like it or not.

"We must spend the money." He winks at you. "I will invest some and hide it in offshore accounts. If anything happens it will come to you." His air of finality is chilling.

Looking him over, you can feel tears welling up. "I don't want the money. I mean, don't get me wrong, I enjoy being spoiled, because duh. But if I have to make some ultimate choice between money or Murder Panther?" Your hands fling around with impassioned gesticulation. 

Diego chuckles, "What does," he imitates your sharp movements, "mean, Princess?" His eyes sparkle with the city lights twinkling in through the windows, but so far he is succeeding in suppressing his smile.

"It means, you know!" You flail your hands around faster, as if that will make your point. 

Diego does it back faster, so you interject with even faster movements, and Diego rebuts the same way until you grab his hands to stop him. The both of you dissolve into almost hysterical giggles.

He uses your joined hands to pull your forehead down to his. You can see a dizzying array of emotions swirling in his eyes, its breathtaking. His breathing hitches, brows draw down, and then his eyes close. 

"Baby." You sigh, cupping his cheeks gently, "What?" The question is soft, tentative. He doesn't release the hold on your wrists, but allows you enough space to pet him minutely. 

"When I have you here it blocks out everything else." Long fingers spasm on your forearms as Diego pauses to drag in a ragged breath, he continues, "I want to keep you here."

I don't know what to say. You're dumbfounded. "What? What does that mean?"  Your voice has shrunk down to a quavering whisper.

Diego opens his eyes to look up at you and they are deep enough for drowning. "You are coddling me and I like it. I want you here every day. Give me this whenever I want it." He whispers roughly. Diego studies your form as though committing your features to memory. "You should," that raspy voice hesitates and Diego grips your arms tighter, "You should quit your job and move in with me."  He stares up at you in complete sincerity. 

You're trying to keep it together. Diego is the one who had a bad day here. You're supposed to be helping him, not having your very own freak out. Think rationally about this. He isn’t here all the time, sometimes he's in LA. I'm not hot enough to be a trophy wife. What would I do all day? Just help him? Wouldn't that just be a different job? Oh my god, if I say yes to this… what if he asks me to go to LA? What if--

"PRINCESS!" Diego's bark cuts through your mental tornado and you blink back to awareness. He is still in your lap, cupping your jaw in one giant hand, while he watches you silently freak the fuck out. 

"I'm sorry," you gasp, "I didn't mean to just. Just. Zone out." Your breathing is shallow and you can feel your heart racing. 

Diego just watches you, unreadable. You glance down at him then look away. One of the coffee mugs is missing from the tree. Must be in the dishwasher.

"Hey." That rumble is soft and you cannot ignore it. Your eyes shoot down to his again, then away, and you shake your head 'no' minutely. Diego shifts to sit up (Via only abdominal muscles, your entire pelvis helpfully informs you) but keeps a hand on you. He sits back into the corner of the sectional and beckons to you. When you move toward him Diego spins you so your back is to his chest while you sit in his lap.

He wants to maintain contact but not overwhelm me by being in my face. I wonder if he’s been researching again.

Its enough to crack your heart open a little.

His long legs bracket your hips and you smile fondly, it reminds you of all the times spent in the jacuzzi tub. Diego rests his prickly chin on your left shoulder, wraps huge hands around your middle, and just sits there. Your hands pet over his thighs, his knees, then inward to cover the grip on your rounded stomach. 

"Logically," you clear your throat, "I know you don't mean it this way. But. I, well, I basically gave up my entire self once before and, as you know, it did not go well." Your voice is clear but soft as you continue, "You're not him. You are so very not him. But I still have… scars." Your hands are shaking noticeably so you stuff them under his. Diego laces his fingers with yours and steadies you.

"You never told me what he did to you. I want to know everything about you, Princess. Let us make a deal, huh?" Diego is always just a little bit greedy and you can only respect that as a fellow hedonist.

Tilting your head to the left, you lean your cheek against his nose, then answer warily, "I'm listening…"  You can feel Diego's smirk.

"I will tell you what happened when I was little and you will tell me what happened during that 'relationship'. An even exchange." He stares at you from a few centimeters away and you return the calculating look from the corner of your eye.

Your lips purse while you consider, then offer a caveat, "Only if I can write it out and not speak it." You turn to face him fully. He looks so… soft.

Diego licks his lips, "Deal. Now kiss." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You write out everything you can remember from your ex.

How no one was allowed to know you existed, you could have no title, that it wasn't a 'relationship' despite living together for eight years. 

You worked full time, you cooked, you cleaned, you kept a household budget even when it meant emptying your savings account to pay for his bankruptcy filing. 

The way you paid all the bills but your name was only listed on the lease, the three cases of beer you had to buy every week no matter how tight money was for groceries, you weren't permitted to hang anything on the walls so your ex could cover them with posters of girls half your size. 

You kept your hair dyed strawberry blonde because that was what he liked, because then he would touch you without sneering. The other girls you poached for him to sleep with instead of you. How you were supposed to be grateful that a man would even deem to fuck you at your size.

The wake up call when you argued back the first time after all those years. How he had backed you up to the top of the steep stairs in your second floor apartment and then loomed over you. The way you teetered on the precipice before diving under one of his arms and escaping to the bathroom, the only door with a lock.

How one day while he was at work you stuffed everything that would fit into your car and just left. The way you had to start over from scratch with no credit history or savings. The court proceedings for the restraining order, that you had to recount everything in front of your family, a judge, and the ex himself.

. . . . .

You don't realize how badly your hands are shaking until Diego takes the tablet from them. He sets it down on the neighboring cushion and locks the screen dark before turning back to you. Those huge arms wrap around your middle, on top of your own arms hugging yourself, and pull your back flush to his chest. You ponder his largeness; his thighs are as long as your arms, the stupefyingly huge hands and feet are an endless source of fascination, the biceps are your favorite pillow. You grin dumbly. 

"What?" Even at a whisper his voice vibrates deep in your chest. Its not especially deep, but its so rough, it almost reminds you of a cat tongue. Diego watches your face from an inch away.

Left shoulder raising in a lazy shrug, you sigh, "I love sleeping next to you. And I don't like sharing a bed with anyone." You blush a bit with the confession, but its true. "I feel safe with you even though realistically I know it should feel the opposite. You won't hurt me and you won't let anyone else either." Its a direct contrast to what you were just writing about and you say it with absolute conviction. 

"Of course not! But, but if I do, accidentally obviously, you will tell me?" Diego sounds simultaneously aghast and condescending but not at all offended by your acknowledgement of his potential danger. Amazing.

You turn to face him and lean your forehead against his. Diego sighs softly and squeezes you tighter. "I mean, I might write it, but yeah." 

He makes that adorable scrunchy-thinky face that you love before announcing, "I'll allow it."

Your eyes roll fondly as you sigh, "Oh good. So glad that meets your approval."  His sly smile is mesmerizing. 

"So. Are you gonna read that or…?" You glance down to the tablet then back up at him. "No, wait," you interject before his open mouth can start making noise, "Tell me yours first. Please." You turn solemn as you consider how bad this might be. Watching his face gives you a hint; his forehead smooths and his eyes shutter while soft lips turn down at the corners. Its his poker face, he is hiding from you.

Diego clears his throat quietly and looks away before he begins, "Our mother died when I was young, before I started school. My Lita said she committed suicide, apparently she was depressed after I was born. Alicia blamed me." 

You knew he had grown up without a mom, all of his delighted reactions to your own mother knowing and hearing about him had suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense when he told you. And you already knew that he was close with his grandmother, Lita, that she had looked out for him. And now much of Alicia's behavior made sense, too.

"My earliest memory of Alicia is at age twelve for her. By that point she had convinced our father that it was my fault. I was four the first time he hit me with a belt. The buckle, of course." Diego's jaw grinds, you can see his right eye twitch. You want to reach out to him but he probably won't tolerate it right now. He frequently misreads sympathy for pity. I'm starting to understand why.

"When I was eight she said to get in the car, I was allowed to go to the grocery store with her. The nearest was the next town to the east. Halfway there she pulled over and told me to get out, then she left. A neighbor driving home from the store saw me and took me to Lita. I do not know how long I was out there but I was very hungry." Here Diego pauses and swallows, "Lita said I ate a pound of beans." His wry smile is bitter. 

Brown eyes turn to you, his face is closed and guarded at first. You keep your mouth shut and just look at him. Slowly but surely, Diego's big body relaxes behind you, his eyebrows flatten and his lips soften. 

"When I was ten she pushed me through an open window. He beat me with the metal frame from the broken screen. At twelve I burnt one of the kitchen cabinets trying to make food before they got home. It was a rake that time. Thirteen was a microwave, I did not know about the thing with aluminum foil so it sparked and it was ruined. Also, I somehow got a video tape tangled in the VCR, I have no idea how. I begged my friend not to leave, father would not do anything until we were alone. It only made it worse." You can't take it anymore, your right hand comes up to his far shoulder and strokes up to cup his jaw. 

Diego turns toward you, rests his forehead into your neck, then proceeds to give you more. "I was sixteen when father staged the coup and killed his uncle to take over the cartel. He and Alicia sent me on 'errands'. I learned that these were suicide missions when I turned nineteen. Each time I came home fucked up but alive they were furious. Every time the cartel experienced a setback Alicia convinced everyone it was my fault, that I somehow ruined everything I was given." The seismic effect of his voice has shrunk in correlation to his volume. You can clearly tell that this is the time period when Alicia cemented into his mind that he was a total fuckup. 

Rough beard sears your skin as Diego raises his head to rub a cheek on you. You shudder and fist his shirt in your hand. With a deep sigh he goes on, "I was twenty-two when I made my first deal with a cousin. It took three years but we arranged for a rival outfit to give information to the DEA and they took our father away. Alicia decided this was her chance to take over everything but the men did not all take her seriously as a woman. Thus, she finally had a use for me and so here I am still."

You lean into him, rubbing back. Diego is the first and only person with whom you have actively wanted and enjoyed cuddling. He always smells good to you, even when he should probably shower you still like to bury your nose in his hair and breathe deep. Its gotta be pheromones. 

"She doesn’t know that you made that deal, does she?" You question cautiously, wary of upsetting him. He shakes his head 'no' and brushes fleeting kisses up your neck to your cheek. You take it one step farther, "So could you potentially take over everything by yourself?"

Diego pauses to meet your gaze, his head cocks to the side just the tiniest bit. "Do… do you want me to do that?" His voice is hesitant, cautious even. 

"No." You whisper softly. "I just want you safe. As safe as possible. And I know you'll be safer if she is out of your life." Your smaller hands cup his jaw through their own volition, thumbs stroking over the silver patches in his goatee. Plunging straight into the deep end, you offer an alternative, "Or, if that isn't a viable option, maybe you could quote-unquote 'retire'?" You study his beautiful face as his eyes unfocus while he digests your words. His brow furrows and he purses his lips in concentration. 

"That is worth some deliberation, Princess." Diego admits. Then, with a visible shake, he comes back to the topic at hand. "But now, it is your turn. Turn back, huh? I'll read this." Big hands move you around like a ragdoll and you melt a little inside, I wonder if he could just carry me like a baby all day.

You snuggle back into thick torso and sigh with pleasure. Yes, you're still anxious about this but you trust Diego more. Knees drawing up, you hide in your thighs, he only squeezes you tighter. You can hear him picking up the tablet and. And.

Breathe. Just breathe. My jeggings are soft, the couch is slightly fuzzy, his pants are silky, the blanket is plush. I'm here, with Diego, right now. Safe. You practice the grounding techniques that have worked in the past while he reads silently. His stillness is killing you slowly.

Finally, the tablet goes back to the cushion and the second hand comes back to you. Diego grips your stomach tightly before speaking, "Princess. You understand that you are beautiful, yes? I said I love you because I meant it. You. Just like this. Round and soft and thick. With your glasses and your big dark eyes and these curls in so many shades of brown and silver. Smart, sarcastic, funny, ballsy. You are shrewd and sneaky, that's sexy!" He chuckles a bit and you laugh raggedly, trying to hold back tears. 

"But," he continues in a milder tone, "I understand why you were unnerved earlier. I did not mean to absorb you, or, or erase you. I only want to take care of you. Spoil you how you deserve it. You understand?" That dark voice directly in your ear is incredibly distracting, and then the words register in your consciousness. 

"I, I mean I understand but I don't get it. You know?" Your voice is raspy, you're so tired deep in your soul. This is everything you never allowed yourself to dream of and you're not entirely sure that maybe you aren't in a coma somewhere hallucinating all of this. It certainly feels real, you snort to yourself as you pet over Diego's muscled arms. 

Nuzzling into your neck, he sighs deeply, "Oh, I do. You have no criminal record, you rescue tiny baby animals, I have seen you buy food for other people when their card declines, you sort recycling, woman." Here he laughs wryly and you join him. You see his point, you're both from very different backgrounds and from the outside probably don't seem like a good fit. But still…

"Most of my insecurities come from my size and the way that has influenced other people's demeanor toward me. You have never behaved like that, you always treated me just like all other women. It's both confusing and freeing. Like, at times I don't know how to behave but other times I just run with it." Your confession comes out evenly and sounds logical. Huh, maybe I'm finally getting over some of this.

Diego hums thoughtfully from where he is pressed into your cheek. "And you have always treated me like a person, not a bank or just a good time. Or a path to power." His voice is raspy and low, full of emotion. "As though my feelings mattered. Even that first night. You regarded me as an equal." You chuckle with the memory of forcing him to come to you in the club when you first met. His dimpled smile of delight still has the same effect on you. Recalling the morning after when he wasn't at all fazed upon seeing you while sober and well-lit fills you with warmth, too.

Diego goes on, oblivious to your musings, "I want to take care of you as a partner, not take you over. I want you just as you are, I wouldn't have taken you home, or texted you later, or invited you back if I didn't. I will share everything with you. I have kept you from the business for your own safety, but I, but if, if you want to see or learn, I know you would be an exceptional addition. It would change your life drastically and I did not want to make that decision for you; that would not end well."

You can hear the restrained hope in his words. His serious consideration of leaving the business for you is a revelation. He really and truly wants to share his life with you; to make a life together, not simply add you to his own as an accessory. He values your input and observations but doesn't want to put you in a precarious or dangerous situation. Being with him like this already does that. I'm already in this far, I'm IN LOVE WITH HIM.

"I want to think about it. I can't lie, of course I like the idea of being taken care of, not having to worry about things. But I still need to be my own individual, not a dependent, you know?" Its easier when you can't see him, you're less likely to shutdown and go nonverbal. Diego clearly understands this, and therefore you. Its new and novel and comforting and terrifying. 

With a kiss to your cheek he leans back a bit to whisper, "That is understandable and reasonable. I have been doing research, reading on normal relationships and not so normal women. I have never done any of this before.  But know this: Everything I have, everything I am, is yours, Princess. My wealth, my connections, my power, me, my heart, this dick, all yours."

You snort through tears, "That's like a fucking hallmark card, baby." It hurts underneath your ribs, Is this what love is supposed to feel like or am I doing it wrong? He's certainly doing it right. You giggle unevenly before amending, "Except for the dick. That is all Diego."

His laugh is deep and soft. "I have never bought a card in my life. Is that really what they're like?" He asks incredulously. Your enthusiastic nod only makes him laugh harder, the hoarseness of it giving way to wheezing. "That is horrible!"

"I know!" You crow and then collapse back into him in helpless guffaws. Diego wheezes into your hair, grabbing your hands and holding tight. 

"But," he pauses to giggle briefly, "But, can we try? Will you at least consider more for me? I wasn't sure when to tell you, but... we are going to split the territory and the duties. I am going to stay here, in New York, full time." Diego declares haltingly, his voice quavers with the fear of rejection. "You can come here whenever you wish and I'll be able to reach you in two hours on any day. I want to be as close to you as possible, close for you."

You turn around slowly, openly gawking at him. His big brown eyes are wet, he blinks furiously and licks his lips in apprehension. This dangerous, powerful, stunning man is afraid of your refusal.

 "You… I. I don't know what. That's. No one has ever…" you trail off and gesture vaguely. Your question is thick with shock, "You're rearranging your life for me?"

Diego shrugs half-heartedly. "You are my priority,  Princess. I don't want a life without you. Please tell me that is ok-kay." His voice hitches. For this man that is practically begging. 

You can feel your throat closing up, its all you can do to nod and throw yourself into his arms. That big body sags with relief as Diego crushes you to him. Burrowing into his neck, you choke out fiercely, "I love you, Diego Jimenez." 

His choppy sigh, the soft, "Te amo, Princess." It all shatters you apart. When the pieces come back together again its Diego who fits them into place, Diego who holds you together, Diego who tries to set you free to thrive on your own terms. 

This is like the most ridiculously lovesick puzzle in the universe. Fucking feelings.

[whumpiary]

content warning: food paranoia, disordered eating, pressure to eat, referenced violence, panic attack, drugs/drugging mention,

-

It takes Josiah a few hours to calm down before he tries talking to Cass again. There was no point threatening pain because Cass didn’t fear it and there was no point pretending he was the sweet and caring nurse because Cass didn’t buy it.  

Cass knows who he is. Hard, violent, steel. And that’s what he’ll get.

“Alright, Cass. Enough,” he says, armed with a bowl of soup “Either you eat, or I’ll drive you to the nearest hospital and dump you out front.”

“No you won’t.”

“Try me, Ace.”

Cass flinches imperceptibly at the nickname.

“You hate hospitals even more than I do. There’s no way you’re taking me to one.”

“Didn’t say I’d take you in, I said I’d dump you out front.”

Cass scoffs like he doesn’t believe a word but Josiah sees his shoulders tense, his breath catch. There’s a fear there. He leans on it.

“Two nights ago, you drop at my doorstep, half dead, force yourself back into my life after a year of radio silence. I take you in, I patch you up. I don’t ask who did this, I don’t ask if they’re following you or if I’m in danger of them coming to my goddamn house. Hell, when I try asking, you force your way into my fucking head just to stop me.”

“That wasn’t what h-”

“I’ve dropped my whole damn life just to keep you alive and now you’re planning on starving yourself to death on my couch?” Josiah stands up straight, takes up as much space as he can. “You think I’m not begging for an excuse to get rid of you? Palm you off onto someone else? You think I won’t take you to a fucking hospital? Like I said… Try me, Ace”

Cass is breathing hard. Fuming. When he looks up, he seems to be trying to calculate something from Josiah’s face. Josiah stares him down, crosses his arms, hopes his face is impassive enough to hold down the lie.

“I’ll name you again,” Cass says, voice low in a shaky attempt menace and venom. “I’ll get into your head, make you cut your own hand off.”

Josiah snorts. 

“Go on, then. This time when you pass out I’ll let you choke on your tongue.”

Cass holds his gaze, trying to call the bluff. There isn’t one. 

“I didn’t mean to come here, I didn’t mean to…force myself back into your life,” he blurts. Panicked distraction. “It just happened.”

“I don’t care. You’re here now,” Josiah says, resolute “My house. My rules-”

“And I eat when you say I eat, I heard you. You gonna dictate when I shit as well?”

Josiah just shrugs and passes Cassius the bowl. “If I have to.”

Cass is breathing like he’s just lost a boxing match. He stares down at the bowl like he could scry a way out of here through vegetable broth.

Hair loose and hanging over his face like this, he looks impossibly young. Naive and innocent and wounded.

Young and wounded Josiah could buy. He doubted Cass had ever been naive. Innocent he wouldn’t touch with a ten foot stick.

Cass is shaking. His knuckles are white pearl where he grips the spoon. You’d think Josiah had asked him to swallow glass.

“Come on Cass,” he prompts, after a few too many moments of still. 

“I’m trying,” he grunts. Then a shuddering breath. He puts the bowl down on the coffee table, makes a sound of frustration. “I… I want to eat it.” A breaths. “I do.” A breath. “I’m just…” A breath. “I- I can't… can’t…”

He’s hyperventilating Josiah realises, bent at the middle, fingers gripping in long hair. 

“Cass-”

“I’m trying,” Cass whispers, voice thick. “I swear I’m trying, J. I’m trying”

Josiah had been prepared for the worst. He’d been prepared for defiance and snark and for violence and for a fight. He’d been prepared to be named again for Christ’s sake. He hadn’t been prepared for panic. For terror. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this. He really wasn’t the sweet and caring nurse. He wasn’t the person for that. He sits down next to Cass, touches a hesitant hand to his back. 

“It’s okay, Ace-”

“If you… if you call me that… one more fucking time…I really will make you cut your hand off,” Cass says between ragged inhales.

Josiah retracts his hand. He moves back on the couch to give the other man space. He resists asking what do I do like some moron. He counts in his head ten seconds, twenty seconds, as Cass’ breath slows.

“I’m fine,” says Cass, gripping his hair and resolutely not fine “I’m fine. I’m sorry. This is stupid. I’m just. I’m sorry. I’m fine. Sorry. I’m just tired”

“Yeah and probably hungry,” Josiah says, maybe a little too roughly.

“Yes. I’m hungry, alright?” Cass snaps “I’m fucking starving. Shut up.”

Josiah looks at Cass, stupidly. “Then eat”

“I’m trying you stupid fucking-” Cassius cuts himself off with a frustrated grunt. He looks like he could push Josiah’s stupid fucking head through the stupid fucking wall. He takes a deep breath and tries again “I’m trying, J. I’m just… in my head. In my head it's… not safe. The food, the… this place, the… God, anything. I’m so hungry and all I want to do is eat but every time I try my fucked up head tries to tell me that it's… that the food is…”

Cass trails off, gesturing mutely at the bowl. He can’t seem to say it. As though it’s too stupid, too paranoid. His shoulders are bunched up around his ears and he’s sitting on his hands. Everything about him screams shame and embarrassment.

“There’s nothing in the soup, Cass,” Josiah says after a minute. “There’s not even any stock powder, I ran out. It’s just vegetables and water. You watched me make it.”

“Yeah but I didn’t see wh-” Cass stops himself mid-thought again, clearly realising how stupid he’d sound to finish the argument “I know there’s nothing in it. I know that but I can’t tell my body that and I…”

Cassius takes a deep, deep breath and closes his eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is so small Josiah nearly misses it.

“I need help, J,” he says. “Just. I want to eat. Help me. Please.”

Josiah’s heart stops. Cass is asking for help. Cassius I can do my own damn stitches Drake didn’t ask for help. Ace never asked for help. Ever. 

He’d mutter apologies or thanks. He’d take what was forced on him. He’d allow help if you insisted, sure, but he never asked. Even two nights ago, delirious and barely conscious he’d tried to insist on walking inside himself. 

“J, please.”

Cass’ voice brings him back. It’s a whisper, almost a beg. And what else can he say?

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he clears his throat and reaches for the bowl “I can… look, same as the water, alright? I eat half, you eat half”

“Yeah but what if-” Cass cuts himself up, pulls his knees to his chest. When did he learn to make himself so small?

Josiah raises his brows, “What?”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s stupid”

“Cass. I’m not eating half a bowl of soup just for you to come up with another excuse in five minutes. It does matter. What?”

Cass hesitates, closes his eyes, and then let’s it rush out all at once. “What if you’ve put something in that settles at the bottom and then you just leave the… the bad bit for me”

Josiah stares at him like he’s been struck. He brings his hand up to rub over his face, hand settling on the back of his neck. Is that what Cass thought of him now? “Jesus Christ.”

“Told you. Stupid. Sorry. I know it’s stupid”

“Yeah, damn right it’s fucking stupid,” he says, shaking his head. Everything about this is stupid. But Cass needs to damn well eat. Josiah sighs. “Fine. Alright. Fine, whatever. Spoon by spoon then. I eat, you eat. Till the bowl’s done. How’s that?”

Cassius seems to be trying to think it over, pick it apart, find the trick. Then, slowly, he nods. 

Finally.

Josiah takes a mouthful, taking care to very obviously swallow it. He feels like an idiot magician setting up a trick. Nothing up my sleeves! Nothing in the soup!

Then he holds out the spoon.

Cass is staring at the bowl like a viper might leap out to attack him, so Josiah scoops some broth onto the spoon and offers it out again, hoping some numb part of Cass’ brain registers the gesture. Instead of reaching for it, though, he opens his mouth like a baby bird. Josiah breathes in sharply.

This is fucked. Completely fucked.

He wants to walk away. He wants to punch a hole in the wall.

But Cass is terrified. And he needs food. Whatever stupid thing it takes. So he feeds him.

As soon as Cass closes his lips around the spoon he makes a sound like he’s been hit with pure bliss. It’s enough that he closes his eyes and Josiah feels such fucking relief that he almost forgets how awkward and horrible this is. He’s nearly holding back a smile.

It’s an easy process to repeat. Spoon for him, spoon for Cass.

“Fuck that’s good,” Cass mutters after the third or fourth mouthful. 

“‘Course it’s good,” Josiah says. “I cooked it.”

Cassius takes another mouthful, holding the spoon himself this time. “Since when do you cook?”

“Since when do you care?”

They keep eating. One after the other. Spoon by spoon.

“I’m sorry,” Cass says softly, once half the soup is gone. He doesn’t sound sure on what he’s apologising for.

“It’s okay,” Josiah tells him. 

Its a lie. They both know it. It isn’t okay. None of it is.

“For what it’s worth, I do care,” Cass continues, softer still. “About you. I care a lot.”

Josiah pauses. Despite the knife through his chest, he manages to keep breathing. How dare he? How absolute dare he?

He doesn’t want to eat anymore fucking soup. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to run away. He takes another mouthful.

Everything feels horrible. Everything feels like a cruel injustice and a demand he can’t bare. But he does. And so does Cass.

And they’re both surviving.

And Josiah hasn’t hit anything.

And Cass is eating.

And for now, for today, that’s enough. 

[damn-behzinga]

Will's Friend Otis

Will Lenney Fanfiction

Summary-Will gets an dog to help with some problems he’s having, Will can’t find his confidence to talk to his friends.

Warnings- swearing, my terrible writing, ANXIETY DISORDER AND PANIC ATTACKS

PART TWO

masterlist

The only person who knew was Gee.

She was his roommate so it'd be a bit awkward if he got a dog and didn't tell her.

She had noticed Will's behaviour and how odd he was acting. His mood and energy becoming low. She noticed, as his editor, how many more mistakes he was making in his videos and how many jokes and comments he told her to cut out because he didn't think it was funny enough. But it was. It was always comments Gee knew his fans would find funny.

So, when Gee suggested he got some help, she expected him to throw a fit or something. She was actually presently surprised when Will responded saying he was already talking to someone. When he sat down with her one night for dinner, he explained the idea of an emotional support animal. Gee was over the moon with the idea of Will getting extra support and encouraged an ESA.

So, when Will came back to the flat with a golden retriever puppy (After three searches round their flat and a series of sessions with his therapist), Gee wasn't surprised.

Will explained to her how the small dog's name was Otis and how he helped with his panic attacks and stressful situations.

A week later only Will's family knew about Otis but that was all about to change.

Will was having a particularly bad day and Gee convinced him to take Otis to Alex and George's place for a video. Will didn't want to but knew he would benefit with Otis coming along.

When Will arrived in front of Alex and George's he almost backed out and texted them to tell them he couldn't make it. He felt a little bit of fur at the tips of his fingers and he remembered to take a deep breath. He knelt down and stroked Otis.

"Me and you against the world, huh bud?" Will whispered. He held tightly onto Otis' leash and entered the flat. He immediately saw two heads sat on the couch and he felt his heart rate pick up massively. Suddenly, the toilet flush and James came out drying his hands.

"Hey mate, took ya long enough!" He beamed teasingly. All the other guys turned to see Will but all very quickly got distracted by the golden retriever nudging it's nose against Will's hand.

"Will, not to be that person or anything," George had an awkward smile on his face, "but when the fuck did you get a dog?"

Will felt his throat go dry.

"Are you okay, mate?" Alex asked as he stood up and made his way to Will. "You look a little pale?"

Will's vision started to go fuzzy and he wobbled a bit. Alex reached out to support him but Will flinched. Alex quickly drew his hands away, trying not to provoke his friend any further.

"Will? Can we move you to the couch?" Alex asked instead. Will couldn't hear him properly and he edged back to Wall and slid down it. He felt soft fur run along his hands and under his chin.

All of Will's friends went to help to get the dog off but James quickly stopped them. "Oit!" He had said. "Can't you see it's helpin' him?"

His friends stood back and watched as Otis settled into Will's lap. Will started scratching aggressively at his arm as tears streamed down his face. Otis' paw reaches up and rests on where Will was scratching himself, almost forcing him to stop. The dog starts lightly licking at where Will was scratching himself. Will tugs lightly at the dog's fur, not enough to hurt him, to ground himself.

Will's vision was foggy. He felt the overwhelming panic of letting his friends down and being an over dramatic person. He felt stupid. He was being like he was in secondary school during his GCSEs. Like he had his future on the line and- he felt the soft fur of Otis underneath his fingers. Otis reminded him of summer, of softness, of relaxation. Otis reminded him that he has to calm down. Will slowly felt his breathing even out.

His friends watch in wonder as Will finally settles down and James lightly calls his name hoping to bring him back to reality.

Once Will comes a bit more too, he is praising the dog and stroking him. He doesn't want to look at his friends. The fear of judgment or rejection tugs at his chest.

"Do you want a glass of water or something?" George questioned first. "Maybe a bandage for those scratches? You are bleeding a bit."

Will looked down at the scratches he's made and winces. Gee won't be happy he's reopened some of his previous scars. He nods and George heads off to the kitchen.

"Do you want to sit at the couch it'd probably be a bit more comfortable?" Alex suggested and reached his hand foreward to help Will up. Will accepted Alex's gesture and moved to the couches. George returned with a glass of water and a basic first aid kit.

Will had a drink before cleaning his scratches with a wipe. James started to wrap Will's arm in a bandage whilst Will could feel his friends' eyes on him. Otis rests his head on Will's knee and, as much as Will wants to have Otis on the couch, he's not sure George or Alex would be okay with it.

"So what's going on exac'ly?" George asked and everyone shot him a look. "Sorry, I was just wondering."

Will froze he didn't know how to start. Otis started pawing at Will's leg, desperate to help ease some of his owner's anxieties. Will nodded and Otis jumped onto his laps and rested his head onto Will's shoulder.

"This is Otis." Will breathed out. "He's my ESA." James and Alex nodded whilst George looked confused by this new term.

"Um, what's an ESA?" George asked, rubbing his neck slightly as if embarrassed.

"An 'Emotional Support Animal'." James said.

"Yeah," Will nodded. "So he basically helps me with my anxiety and stress and shit. Like, right now, he's being supportive." Will stuttered over his words.

"If you want an ESA, don't you need to have a therapist for like three months?" Alex asked. Will looked down to avoid eye contact. He felt Otis give his cheek a few licks to try and cheer him up. He stroked the fur lightly.

"It's been a tough five months." Will almost whispered.

"Five months?" Alex exclaimed and George shot him a glare. Will flinched. "Sorry mate but you could've told us."

"No." James shook his head. "He doesn't have to tell us anything. He has anxiety for fuck sake, that drills all your fears and other small, miniscule things to one hundred!"

Will made a mental note to thank James later on.

"So how long have you had him for then?" George asked, swiftly changing the subject.

"One week." Will answered his voice quiet. "He's really helpful though. I had a really bad night on his first time with us. Me and Gee made a rule for him to sleep in the kitchen but he came and slept with me after a panic attack."

"He's a good boy,that's for sure." George smiled. Will nodded and let out a deep breath. He felt a lot more relaxed and smiled lightly. Otis reached foreward and licked Will's face almost asking if he was okay.

"I'm okay, you did a good job bud!" Will praised and ruffled the dogs fur. He took a deep breath and looked at his friends. "Sorry about that-" He waved his hand in the air. "-it was pretty embarrassing."

"No." James stood up and moved next to Will. "You have nothing to be sorry or embarrassed about, you can't help having anxiety and sadness and numbness!"

"Yeah!" George smiled and set next to Will on the other side.

"You're still our Will." Alex said softly and moved closer to Will. "We'll still tell stupid stories about you in videos and shit. Nothing will change."

They all pulled him in when George called, "C'mon Alex, get in here!"

Alex huffed but stood up and joined in on the hug (aka tapping Will's back). "You're still my favourite youtuber you know?"

The other two boys let out a noise of disagreement and all pulled away.

"So, are you gonna tell your fans?" Alex asked. Will shook his head.

"I'd much rather this stayed private." Will stroked Otis. "They can know I have him but not what I have."

"Do you not think it could benefit them knowing that it's okay to get help?" Alex's eyebrows furrowed at Will.

"We won't make it a big thing." Jamss promised and put his hand on Will's knee.

"Yeah, we'll talk about something and you can say, 'So I have this' and that'd be that. You don't need to sit down and make an entire video on it." George explained.

Will thought about it for a second. "I'll do it in a few weeks so I can get used to more people knowing." He commented, trying to convey his feelings.

"Okay." Alex nodded. "We won't pressure you into anything you don't want to do."

"Thank guys." Will smiled softly. "You've really been a help."

"Mate, it's no problem." James grinned.

"Yeah besides, what are friends for?" Alex chirped.

Will felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he was able to be himself more. Even though his anxiety wouldn't go away, Will found himself becoming alot more content with himself.

[thetrek]

My PTSD

Distractions are everywhere.

I could be cleaning the kitchen one moment and the next find myself tending my little container garden on the front porch. The stove, countertops and floor in the kitchen remain untouched.

I can't watch a full movie in one sitting--most of the time.

I'll get up, walk outside, realize I haven't looked for slugs in the garden lately and spend the next hour doing just that, in between playing with Lala and noticing everything that needs to be done on the tomatoes.

My Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is just as unique as the nearly 8 billion people on the planet.

When I do finally make it back inside and look at the computer, that movie I've been wanting to watch for awhile is up on the screen.

How cool is that?

My Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is just as unique as the nearly 8 billion people on the planet. That is; each person suffering from this disorder has a different version, based upon their experience and circumstance.

It's not a virus. We can't get rid of it with antibiotics. Some meds can make it better--others make it worse.

I don't form bonds like most people. Outside my little family unit, I keep people at arm's length. It takes a very long time to be able to feel safe with someone. And even then, if I'm triggered in any way, I cut off contact, because I cannot risk another betrayal… or what I may imagine to be worse.

The meds I'm prescribed deal with the anxiety and depression, because right now those are the most current threats to my well-being.

Besides this, I have short-term memory loss that could be labeled as astounding. Really. It could be.

It can take me days to write a short essay. I lose track of what I'm doing and the original intention of the essay. Then there are days I write a two-thousand word essay in less than an hour.

I fear my memory loss could be early onset Alzheimer's and ask myself, how long will I have before I can no longer form cohesive thoughts or a proper sentence?

Logically, I know it's not Alzheimer's. The idea is a nagging one. It doesn't go away and resurfaces with a vengeance with each little episode of forgetfulness, especially when I forget the names of things. A few days ago I wanted brussel sprouts. I haven’t had them in awhile, but I couldn’t tell my daughter what to get at the store, because I couldn’t remember what they were called and was too embarrassed to say, “you know… those little cabbages?”

There is an upside to all this. Don't believe it? Consider this: You're angry with someone you love because of some off-color comment or something they've done. In an hour, (or three) the slight or comment is gone from your mind. Though you remember you were angry, the reason for the anger is mist. It's great for long-term relationships and keeping family peace.

So, this is my PTSD. It's not a thing that defines me, but it does have an impact on my life and relationships. The lens I look through paints the world gray. I like to think that one day things will look normal again, but realistically, I know that may not be possible.

My doctor said the chemicals in my brain have changed. There are some that don't respond the way they should (hence, the meds) and that will never change. I'll need medication for the rest of my life. Still, I can learn to work with it. Carve out a little space in the universe for myself that gives me some form of meaning.

I think I've done that. But again, it depends on the day. Tomorrow I may disagree with myself. Because that's the way I work now.

[imdekukun]

you wanna kill yourself? imagine that. one day you're coming back from College. you had another terrible day. you're just ready to give up. so you go to your room, you close the door, and you take out that suicide note that you wrote and copied over and over and over and over. you grab a jar of pills and drink them all. you lie down on the bed, pressing the letter to your chest, and close your eyes for the last time. a few hours later, your little brother knocks on the door of your room to call for dinner. you don't answer, so he comes in. all he sees is you lying on the bed, so he thinks you're asleep. he's talking to your mom. mom goes to your room to Wake you up. she notices something's wrong. she grabs your letter and reads it. crying, she's trying to Wake you. she screams your name. your brother, scared, runs to tell dad that "mommy is crying and brother won't Wake up". your father runs to your room. he sees your mother crying, holding the letter to her chest, sitting next to your lifeless body. what is happening, breaks it, he starts to cry. he screams and throws something at the wall. and then, kneeling down, he begins to cry. your mom crawls up to him, and they sit there holding each other, and they cry. the next day it's announced at the College. the Director is telling everyone about your suicide. it takes only a few seconds to realize this news, and once it happens, everyone is silent. everyone blames themselves. your teachers think they were too hard on you. and these greedy popular girls, they think about everything they've said to you. and that boy who used to tease and call you names, he can't help but hate myself for never telling you how good you really are. your ex-girlfriend, who you told everything to and who you broke up with... she can't stand it. she breaks down and starts crying, blaming herself. your friends? they, too, sob, wondering how they never noticed something was wrong with you, wanting to take time back and help you before it was too late. and your best friend? he's shocked. he can't believe it. he knew what you were going through, but he never thought it would be so bad... bad enough for you to end it. he cannot cry. he doesn't feel anything. he gets up, walks out of class, and just drops to the floor. shakes, shouts, but can't cry. a few days later, your funeral. came the entire city. everyone knew you, this boy with a bright smile and a perky personality. the one who was always there, ready to lend a shoulder. many people talk about all the good memories associated with you, and there were many. everyone's crying, your little brother still doesn't know you killed yourself, he's too young for that. your parents just said you were dead. it hurts him, a lot of pain. you were his big brother, you should have always been there for him. your best friend, he remains strong throughout the service, but as soon as they begin to lower your coffin into the ground, it just breaks down. he cries and cries and doesn't stop for days. it's two years later. all your teachers quit their jobs. those popular girls now have eating disorders. that boy who used to tease you is physically hurting himself. your ex-girlfriend doesn't know how to love anymore, and she just sleeps with boys. all your friends are depressed. your best friend? he tried to kill himself. he didn't succeed, unlike you, but he tried... and your brother? finally he learned the truth about your death. he hurts himself, he screams at night, he does exactly what you've been doing for years leading up to your suicide. your parents? their marriage failed. your father became a workaholic to distract himself from your death. your mom's been diagnosed with depression and she's just been lying in bed all day.

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

My Dad Walked Away, Why Can't I?

I've been surviving on fumes the last few days and it's getting frustrating and I'm building a resentment. I'm worried about my mental health and it seems like no one cares, so I'm wondering why I should. I haven't taken any of my medications for the last week and if anyone's noticed, no one is saying anything. And this is where the resentment is building. My husband just worked the last 16 out of 24 hours and he is now in bed, sleeping, at 1pm, after arriving home at around 10am.

And lucky me, I just got a 90 minute break while writing because Ivy decided to scream from her MamaRoo and I had to stop and feed her again, even though she just nursed 45 minutes before. And of course Derrick gets up and I'm torn between guilt because I want him to sleep and resentment because of course he wants to sweep in and be the hero, suddenly, when I've been tired for days--but Ivy wants me, or she wanted my breasts at least.

But at least when I was done nursing her I could put her down and go eat. But even eating is pissing me off lately. I've gained 12 pounds in the last month and I don't know what to do about it. I work the hardest in this house to have the best and healthiest diet; vegetables, fruit, lean meats, nuts, seeds, non-dairy products, whatever I can eat to help with my supply AND be healthy for not just Ivy, but me too. And yet, I'm gaining weight. And fucking Derrick doesn't even have to try and he still looks like he's barely 20 and never had a kid. I look like I'm a tired obese, 45 year old woman, who's definitely birthed a half dozen or more kids. And I'm fucking tired, but it doesn't matter.

I can't remember the last time I had a conversation with someone who wasn't being generic; including my husband. It's funny; when people (my family) come over to visit and they strike up a conversation with Derrick, they always ask him how he is, how he's feeling, how work is treating him and they stir up this bravada in him to be more confident, work harder, ask for more pay, more hours, whatever. They ask about his artwork and what he's drawing lately and his new games, even though they don't understand them. Wanna know the conversation I get? Weight. The kids. And how my house is a mess because I don't know how to get on my kids to do a better job. I'm constantly reminded that I am a fat, lazy mom. Which makes my anxieties worse; because rather than relaxing, I'm more motivated to clean, straighten up, talk about the newest health trend and how even though I'm exhausted all the time, I'm trying to lose the weight. My husband can just grab a beer, or whatever and not think twice. I have to think about the calories, the carbs and the sugar. I usually get so upset about it, I self sabotage.

I haven't been sleeping well, nor taking my medications correctly, but no one asks me. The kids constant ask Derrick, "Dad, does your back hurt?" "Daddy, are you tired?" "Daddy do you have to work today?" "Dad does your shoulder hurt?"

Where's my concern? I hurt. I'm in pain. I'm exhausted.

I've been seeing things--literally--a tall, white man in my shower, spiders and snakes and a vicious wolf in the kids' room. I told all of this to Derrick. The conversation didn't even last 5 minutes. He asked to watch Jeopardy, but while I lay there, half pissed off at an ignored conversation, half pissed off that he was paying more attention to his phone than the show he just asked me to watch with him. I roll over and go to bed.

I've been dealing with thoughts of self-harm and suicide and even running away. I don't feel wanted or needed. I don't feel pursued or active affection. Derrick hadn't realized it'd been probably close to a year since he bought me flowers, until I made a snide remark and rather than him wanting to surprise his wife, he buys flowers the next morning out of guilt and I display them (happily) on Instagram--even though there was no geneuity. But I have to display this facade of a happy marriage because if I don't I'm reminded that all the negativity associated with it is my fault; I'm choosing to be negative, unhappy, displeased, I'm making something out of it. A bill comes up, we're short to pay it this week, because I was adamant to have oysters. We're short on gas money, I shouldn't have went and spent that $30 at NYX. We need more diapers, toilet paper and dish soap, but I was hoping to make new mom-friends and wasted $50 and the only new thing I ended up with was a virus. (Thanks lady who was sick and yet HAD to come ride in our carpool AND sit right next to me at the table, coughing on me all night, whining about her "cold", ya should've stayed home and NOT put me at risk to bring home this illness to my newborn).

I can't do anything about anything for the next few weeks, as we're fucking broke as hell. I can't "escape". I can't go get Starbucks, or walk through Target. I can't go to play dates. I can't even go to a DBSA meeting. The NAMI meeting was this morning, but Derrick got home late and we really don't have the gas money for me to drive across town anyway. I have no one to talk to---because the conversation is either ignored, dismissed or changed. That and I think my own family is full of stigmatic bullshit. They claim they understand my mental illness and how dangerous it could be...bullshit. If they cared about my mental well-being and me working my ass of to avoid PPP, they'd have an open dialogue with me about everything. We would talk about my stressors, insecurities and anxieties and not fall asleep or become distracted or just drop the subject. I'M NOT SLEEPING AND I'M FUCKING SEEING THINGS AND MY HUSBAND CARES MORE ABOUT HIS SHOULDER HURTING AND HIS SLEEP.

The last time I had a Mixed State of both Depression and Mania---I tucked the baby into bed, made sure everyone else was asleep and I got blackout drunk and mutilated my body. You'd think my husband would care about that NOT happening again; but the conversation always comes back around to making ME feel guilty because he has to work--which yeah, he does have to work to provide for the family he helped create--but his responsibilities don't stop there.

Why isn't my sleep a priority? And the guilt of watching him try to stay awake while holding the baby and nodding off or mid snore while his eyes are open, don't help me to relax. And trying to nap with him when he got home from work because I haven't slept either, but the baby woke up, so I had to get up. I had to demand my sleep at 4am Friday morning because I'd spent the previous 36 hours up and awake, feeding a baby nearly EVERY 30 minutes and so when Derrick shoved my shoulder to wake up and nurse her, I snapped and he walked his ass to the fridge to warm her some expressed breastmilk.

I'm the one with the diagnosed, medication-needed-for-stability, mental illness, but me being "okay" isn't a priority. The kids and my family all worry about Derrick all the time; how's he sleeping with a new baby, is he drowsy while driving, does his back and shoulder hurt, how'd his x-rays come out, when does he see the PM doctor, blah blah blah---of course I build a resentment. My mom thinks the band-aid of her watching the baby while I take ONE one hour nap is supposed to "cure" me. I live with Schizoaffective Disorder--my number one medication IS sleep. I'm pushing the envelope and walking the line daily. Fantasizing about both sleep and death. Derrick gets all the sympathy, let him truly run the entire household and then I won't be here to even complain about the sympathy.

I'm so tired of looking in the mirror and hating what I see--a tired, worn out, grouchy bitch. Honestly, I am a bitch--Derrick's bosses say so, but rather than do anything about it, he kisses their ass because their opinions are actually worth something. I think about leaving all the time, and I KNOW if I spoke up about that to either Derrick or my mom, I'd have it thrown in my face that I'm being spoiled. And it's not even about having things my way, it is about FEELING like I am an important part of this family and actually want to be treated like a priority and not a fucking afterthought. I am, as a mother, expected to be a juggler of many balls; it's an expectation of me. Derrick is solely expected to be the breadwinner and head of household. That's it. Do you know how many different hats I wear and the only "rewards" I am rewarded with is adult conversations with my mom--conversations about losing weight, gaining weight, a new waist cincher, new diet pills, OR I am constantly reminded how my kids don't clean right, don't straighten right, don't do this right and I don't get on them enough. I just wanna leave.

But I know everyone will side with Derrick, even and especially my family--because I am "beyond lucky" to have a man like Derrick in my life and I should feel grateful and not have any complaints. The dude takes the time to learn all the special moves of his characters in all his video games; does he even know the name NOT THE BOOK, but the name of the author of my favorite book, nope.

And I keep making the mistake, like a hyper puppy, of TRYING to have a relationship with him; I tag him in articles or blogs I've read and found relatable and would like to discuss with him and I'm literally seen him swipe away the notification and ignore the tag and continue his game playing. I buy him books and they collect dust. Grant my books collect dust too, because I can't really juggle a book with pages that need turning and use my hands to keep my huge breasts off of Ivy's tiny nostrils while nursing her. And I'm so fucking exhausted, that one paragraph makes my eyes blink. But Derrick can spend 4 hours playing a video game.

The priorities in this house and so out of whack and I hate that I'm wavering at the edge of cliff; hanging on just for June 21 because that's my psychiatrist appointment. I can't rely on DBSA meetings because Derrick's fucked up schedule, or I'm just too exhausted, or there's no gas money. And I've been waiting and waiting for the CARES Program to call me back about finding me a new therapist, but nothing yet. SO I sit here, trying to hold on, talking myself down because no one else will, reminding myself that the 21st isn't too far away--but even when the 21st is here, what difference will that make? I don't see any changes within this household on the horizon at all. And that's really heartbreaking.