#and when your response to I have clinical depression is FUCK YOU

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠

part three of do you feel my hand? it is there. | part one | part two | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader's childhood cat suddenly gets diagnosed with cancer, and she has to make a big decision about what to do. this fanfic includes heavy topics like: pet euthanasia, extreme loss/grief, depression, the problems with pet healthcare, and more. there will be some humor/fluff placed throughout, and also smut somewhere along the way. :))

18+ warnings: slight hints of masterbation. sexual fantasies.

word count: 4.2k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

a/n: rewarding you guys with this update tonight as it's my birthday and i was feeling a little generous haha! 🥰 i am seriously SO overwhelmed by the positive response i've gotten on this little series of mine... it makes me incredibly happy to hear that a lot of you are enjoying this. i'm have about two-and-a-half draft chapters left to write to reach completion of this, and i'm excited for the big writing plans that i have in the future, so please look forward to that as well~ 💖

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

 The next six months passed in a blur of emotion and grief. Most days, it was hard to even force yourself out of bed. You just didn’t feel like doing anything - resulting in your dingy apartment growing filthy with uncleanliness. Boxes of takeout were sprawled across the kitchen counter, bottles of soju and wine - which you had been using to drown out your sorrows - were in every corner of the living room, and your bed was perpetually unmade. 

 You felt like you wore the same two outfits every single day - slacks and a blouse to work, and then baggy sweatpants and a hoodie as soon as you got home. But you couldn’t bring yourself to change - to clean, or to switch up your clothes. 

 It was even hard to eat. You felt nauseous most mornings, so you opted to skip breakfast and instead grab a quick snack at lunch which you forced down your dry throat. 

 Because fuck- was your throat dry. 

 It was mainly due to all of the crying, which would commence every time you would arrive home at night and walk into an apartment that was void of her. You saw Nyx in every corner, every surface of your place. The remnants of her life - of her memories - were hidden in the very fabric of your being and your grungy hovel that you called home. From the way that her food and water bowls were still right next to Taffy’s, how the comfy blanket she liked to curl up in was still positioned on the edge of your living room couch, and the box of her favorite treats that were still sitting atop your kitchen counter, opened long ago and left to grow stale from the chilly air. 

 Taffy was somewhat of a comfort, as she could no doubt sense your change in demeanor. Every time you’d break down into a fit of tears when you walked through your front door after a long, arduous day at work, she’d prance over to you and nuzzle her head into your folded-up legs. She’d lay beside you in bed late at night when the tears would finally stop falling but your heart squeezed and squeezed the life right out of you. 

 Because that’s what it felt like- 

 Like life was slipping right out of your hands, 

 From under your feet, you were slowly falling down that deep, dark hole. 

 But you just couldn’t seem to get yourself out of it, no matter how hard you tried. And try you did - as you forced yourself to go an entire week without breaking down. But then you saw an ad on tv that marketed a nearby cat cafe, and you ugly-cried for the next three days straight. 

 And through the worst of it all, you hated to ask for help. You knew that it was one of your biggest problems, the fact that you had a sort of inability to reach out to others when you needed a helping hand. 

 You all but shut down at work, resisting the invites of co-workers that were going to local clubs. You just sat down at your desk every day, forcing yourself to focus on your work before you could finally go home and sob the night away. 

 And the clinic- 

 Fuck, the clinic. 

 You hadn’t been back there since the day Nyx passed. 

 It just felt too depressing, to try and step foot in the place where she had been laid to rest. What once was a warm and comforting place now left a bitter taste in your mouth. You avoided the building at all costs, instead opting to walk side streets in case you ever needed to pass by it. 

 The pain was too real and raw for you to ever try visiting the clinic again, so you decided that you’d stop altogether and instead find a different place, that was just as close to your apartment but didn’t hold so many horrible memories for you. 

 After all, you’d probably die a slow death if something happened to Taffy because of your inability to take her to a vet. So at the six-month mark, you managed to find a nearby clinic that had relatively low prices. The veterinarian was nice enough, but she was quite serious and mainly only talked business with you. Thankfully, Taffy checked out in perfect health and the doctor recommended that you wait to bring her in until she hit her third birthday, which would be in about a year. 

 The doctor was amiable, but… 

Nothing like Dr. Lee. 

 And the thought of him was fresh in your mind the entire time that you visited the new clinic. The staff at Starry Skies also took up a lot of your focus, as you pondered on the gentleness they had all shown you during such a difficult time in your life. 

 But most of all, your previous local veterinarian kept stirring your heart the entire time that you sat in front of your new one. 

 And you couldn't help but compare her to him- 

 And how he’d always greet you with a warm smile and always laugh whenever you told him one of your stupid jokes. How he was so incredibly nice to everyone he came across, and how delicate he treated the animals at his clinic. But especially Nyx and Taffy… 

 He had had a special bond with your two cats, and you hated to take that away so suddenly. 

 However, the pain of going back there was just too much for you to endure. 

 So instead, you decided to work through your feelings about the old clinic - about Dr. Lee - and put everything to rest before you made a mistake that you knew you’d regret soon after… like dropping by the clinic late one night, unexpectedly. Like you had done that one time when Nyx had given you a big scare. 

 Even still, you caught yourself often pondering if he felt the same way… if he missed your presence at all, even a tiny bit. After all, you had been his client for over three years and had grown quite close throughout all of your visits. But the silence on his end was pretty blatant of his feelings on it all - that you were just another client who had lost touch with his services, and nothing more. Granted, the clinic’s front desk had tried to call you a few times after Nyx’s final day, but you had refused to answer any of the calls, and soon, they stopped altogether. 

 In the end, he was just your veterinarian. He wasn’t supposed to be anything else, anything more. The relationship there was supposed to remain stagnant and professional, no matter what. 

 So why, then, did you find it so hard to get over it all? 

 Your mind and heart were acting like the two of you had been dating for five fucking years. When in reality, you had only shared a platonic acquaintanceship for a few years because of your damn cats. It wasn’t like he thought of you any differently than before, nothing had changed… except for him calling you by your first name, and him touching you so many times and- 

 And yeah, 

 You’d admit that sometimes, after a long bout of successfully pushing him out of your thoughts, 

 You’d… treat yourself. 

 Late at night. 

 But only on very rare occasions… 

 When you were so exhausted from work and searching for a release, 

 When your fingers found that all-too-sensitive part of you, your mind drifting off to fantasizing about him. And what he’d feel like, doing such things to do. 

 Afterward, when you’d wake up the next day to face another grueling routine of mourning Nyx and work, you’d banish any pondering that you had about him, shoving all of that darkness into the very depths of your heart until you’d dredge them up again sometime later. 

 You continued to do such a routine for a long time, and slowly, as the months continued to pass, you realized that the pain… wasn’t so bad anymore. It was still there, and you still cried a few times a month about it. But it just didn’t feel as palpable and potent anymore. Things were different now, not like they had been right after Nyx's passing. It felt like a part of you was missing, and everything seemed a little bit darker. But you knew that with time, things would get better. You would keep Nyx's memory alive in my heart, and you would focus on the good times you shared. Life goes on, and you would do your best to honor Nyx's legacy by living your life to the fullest.

Gradually, you noticed a slight improvement in the mending of your heart. Piece by piece, you were putting it back together every day, by doing things that brought you joy. Recently, you picked up the hobby of cooking. And it felt good- to throw yourself into something that wasn’t work or chores or running errands. Already you had made a handful of dishes in your tiny apartment’s kitchen. Granted, they were nothing special and on the bland side of things, but you didn’t mind… it was, fun. And you liked seeing the finished product in the end. It was satisfying and made you feel proud of yourself, for the progress that you were making, little by little. 

 When you hit the one-year mark of Nyx being gone, you came to the sudden realization that in the wake of your grief, you had been ignoring your other cat, Taffy. And you began to notice how, after you’d arrive home from work, she’d no longer happily greet you at the door, and instead stay lounging on the living room's couch. 

 This opened a huge pit in your heart, as it pained you to acknowledge the fact that you had been so focused on Nyx and her leaving your side that you failed to see your other cat, who was suffering from loneliness. 

 Hence, you decided to take her to that nearby cat cafe that had recently opened up in your neighborhood. You had seen the ads for it on your tv, and you liked the idea of Taffy getting out of your small apartment and playing with other cats. She was a young thing, and quite rambunctious, so you were sure that she felt the absence of Nyx just as much as you.

 It wasn’t until Saturday rolled around that you were able to visit the new cafe, as that was one of your only days off from work. The place was quite busy for being so early in the morning, and as you stepped through the front doors, you were greeted with the cloying aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastries. 

 The friendly-looking girl at the cash register welcomed you with a bright smile as you made your way up to the front counter. “Hi there! Welcome to Cats & Cupcakes! What can I get you this morning?” 

 You motioned to Taffy, who was quietly meowing in her carrier to be let out as soon as she glimpsed the other cats that were roaming around the area. She was such a social butterfly - quite the opposite of you. “Uhm- I brought my cat along with me, I hope that’s okay?” 

 The young girl’s smile only grew wider as she caught sight of Taffy. “Oh my gosh, yes! We always welcome a new kitty around here! Just make sure you keep an eye on her during your visit.” 

 “Okay, thanks… Taffy here really needs some social time with other cats,” you laughed nervously, as you bent down and unzipped her carrier. Immediately, she shot out of the small black thing, scurrying over to a few of her furry friends that were playing with a faux mouse just off to the right of you. You couldn’t help the wide grin that bloomed across your face at the sight of her lively personality coming out so quickly. 

 “Will you be ordering anything today?” The girl at the register asked you then, forcing your attention away from your cat and onto the menu board that was hung just above her head. 

 “Yeah- I’m going to have a… lemon meringue cupcake and an iced chamomile tea, please.” With it being so late in the spring, the weather was finally warm enough for you to start drinking cold beverages again, which was one of the few pleasures in your life. 

 In no time at all, you were picking up your order at the front counter and finding a nearby table that was tucked into the very corner of the cafe. As you settled into the comfy armchair, your eyes followed Taffy around the room, as she chased a grey-coated chubby Scottish Fold. 

 You sat back in your seat, taking a sip of your chamomile tea and basking in the sunlight that shone down on you through the window to your left. The cafe was relatively small but bustling with activity. It was decorated with bright colors of violets and yellows, which painted everything in a rather cheerful mood. And of course, the many cats roaming around also helped to add to the atmosphere of happiness. 

 As you studied your surroundings, your eyes landed on the figure of a man sitting in a chair similar to yours. He was by himself, his head turned downward, as he was immersed in a thick book. But he looked so… familiar. From the way that the light blue sweater he was wearing clung to his shoulders, to the way that his brown-rimmed glasses slipped down the sharp bridge of his nose, and the way that his raven-black locks were slightly tousled from the windy morning. A large white cat was lying across his lap, dozing happily as he stroked its back with a hand. The way that his slender fingers gently combed through the kitty's fur lit up a part of your heart with fuzzy warmth. 

 He looked like someone you knew well, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it…

 Just then, a young couple filed through the front doors of the cafe, the tiny bell jingling at the top of the door to signal their welcome. This serene noise prompted the man to peek up from his book and study the newcomers, his eyes landing on the sweet way that they were holding hands.

 And all at once, you completely froze in your place. 

 Spine going rigid, 

 Fingers clutching at your jeans, 

 Heart skipping over itself inside your chest. 

 Because holy fuck- there he was. 

 In all of his handsome, typical glory… 

 No wonder why you felt like you had recognized him. 

 Dr. Lee didn’t look any different from the last time you had seen him, which had already been over a year since Nyx had left your side on that fateful day. He still had that easiness about him, that gentle aura that radiated around him like a faint, glorious halo. 

 But before you could think about anything else, the fear was creeping up in your mind. About what he’d think of you, if he saw you here - at the cafe - after so long of ghosting him and his clinic, even after everything they had all done for you. You were scared that he’d be angry with you for not darkening the doorstep of Starry Skies ever since that past April. 

 And if you were honest, the sadness also played a role in your warring feelings. Seeing him reminded you of so many of your past emotions - of grief and depression and heartache. 

 Before you could do, or even think anything else, he was shifting in his chair again, his opaque, chestnut-brown eyes scanning the cafe around him lazily. 

 Then those expressive irises came across your face, jamming to a stop at the sight of you sitting there, all alone in the corner of the cafe. 

 And your heart sunk into the pit of your stomach. 

 From the way that remembrance automatically dawned on his face, 

 From the way that his eyes lightened in that way that you had been so used to before, 

 From the way that a slight grin cracked across his lips. 

 And suddenly, you couldn’t handle it anymore. 

 Not right then. 

 You didn’t want to face all of the sentiments of seeing him again - of having to talk to him, after everything that had happened in the past year.

 So in a hasty moment, you scooped up Taffy who had been playing near your feet, and gently put her in her carrier ignoring her meows of protest. Then all at once, you were shooting up from your seat and rushing out of the cafe, your shoulders brushing past a woman as she stepped in at the same time you were leaving.

 Since your apartment was fairly close to the cafe, you began to walk down the side street just outside of the restaurant, setting a quick pace. Ignoring the sounds of movement behind you. Trying to block out the sound of someone calling your name. 

 It wasn’t until you felt a hand clamp down on your forearm that you stopped in your tracks. With your back turned you could hear the distinct sound of heavy breathing. The air seemed to constrict and bend around you - shifting uncomfortably and turning irrevocably frigid at the oncoming dread that you expected to appear any second. 

 “Y/N.” 

 The way that he said your name- the way that it rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, compressed your heart in pain. Caused the blood to rush a little harder in your veins. Caused a zap of energy to coarse down the length of your spine, pooling deep in your belly. You felt everything at that moment - the painful heat of breath flowing from your form to the way that his touch against your covered arm burned like fire down to the very depths of your soul.

 “Why- why are you running away?” 

 And as much as you wanted to avoid the confrontation, as much as you didn’t want to talk to him again, you decided that there was no longer another option. Because he had you in his grasp, with his fingers pressing into your skin, stopping you right in your place. And as it would seem, it was quite impossible for you to ever try and fight him when he was clasping onto you so delicately.  

 “It’s… it’s too hard,” you began, voice quaking at the end of your words from the ache that squeezed at your heart. “Seeing you- it reminds me of everything.” You screwed your eyes shut, cringy inwardly at the confession.

 There was a few beats of silence then, and you wanted to turn around. At that moment, you wanted to see what he looked like as you spoke in that quiet, shaky tone of yours. You wanted to know what he was feeling, just by the way that his eyes would land on your face. 

 Then, he was speaking again, but this time, he was a lot quieter than before. “Is that why you stopped coming around?” 

 Coming around to the clinic. 

 Stopped visiting Starry Skies and using his services. 

 And yes- at the beginning, the reason for your absence was because of Nyx and your sorrow from losing her. But as the months stretched on, and you started to heal from the agony of her passing, you came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t just because of her.

 It was also the fact that upon your realization that you- 

 That you had feelings for Dr. Lee, 

 You were reminded of your lot in life, about your two opposite positions... that he was a rich doctor and you were just a poor woman barely scraping by with her 9-to-5 job. 

 Even still, that didn’t stop the feelings from bubbling up every time you randomly passed the clinic on your commute to run errands. That's why you decided to avoid it entirely after a while. 

 It was better that way- than trying to face and acknowledge the storm that had been brewing inside of you for so long, without you even realizing it was stirring in the first place. 

 You hadn’t noticed the warning signs until it was all too late, 

 And you were too head-over-heels for him. 

 For the man that was far too unreachable for you. 

“Yeah, that’s why.” You managed to lie, swallowing around the lump that was beginning to form in your throat. You clutched a little harder at the handle of Taffy’s carrier, and thankfully, she was quiet for the moment - she probably recognized the scent of him. Just like you did. 

 “Well, we all miss you at the clinic… the guys are always asking me when you’ll be back,” Dr. Lee started, still holding onto your arm. Like, if he let go, you’d disappear right before his eyes, never to be seen again. Like you had been doing for the past year. “I miss you… you were- one of my favorite clients.” 

 And there it was. 

 Your worst fear for why you never told him about your true feelings. 

 That he only thought of you as his client. 

 Simply a woman that came around every six months so that he could treat her cats. 

 Nothing more, and nothing less. 

 In an instant, you were suddenly glad that you hadn’t turned around - that he hadn’t forced you to. Because you didn’t want to see his face then. Not when he shoved you into the friend zone without even realizing it. Or maybe, he did realize it. Maybe, he had known about your feelings all along but had been ignoring them this whole time because he wanted to keep things professional. 

  Because he just didn’t feel the same way about you… 

 “Well, I should get going. Taffy here doesn’t like being cooped up in her carrier for too long.” 

 With that, you pulled your arm out of his hold. He hadn’t been gripping you harshly, so it was easy for you to release yourself. Almost like, he didn’t want to trap you at the moment. Like, if you didn’t like speaking to him, you’d easily be able to get away without any such fight having to be put up on your end. 

 As you took a few steps forward, Minho’s soothing voice graced your ears once more.“Y/N- wait.” This time, his tone was soft - possibly the gentlest you had ever heard it before. And it did something funny to your soul, caused a low-lit candle to burn in the chasms of your body. Like an ember that just couldn’t be put out. “I… we’re having a party at my place next Friday night to celebrate the clinic’s fourth anniversary of being open. It’s just gonna be me and the guys, and super chill and-”

 “I don’t know, Dr. Lee… I- I don’t want to invade your special time with your friends.” 

 “You wouldn’t be invading, Y/N.” 

 “Still- I just-”

 “Say you’ll come. Please.” 

 The slight desperation that dripped into his baritone caused a profound stir inside of you, igniting something dark and murky in the pit of your mind. It was confusing yet exhilarating all at once, as this high-caliber man practically begged you to come to his homey party. And yeah- it’d probably be awkward as fuck at first since you hadn’t seen everyone in so long. But… you were off of work, and… it was at his place. Which was somewhere you’d always been curious about, if you had to be honest with yourself. 

“Okay, okay- I’ll go.” You finally said, looking down at your feet to try and hide the smile that crept across your mouth at the thought of spending more time with him. Because even if it hurt you- even if he wasn’t the right one, maybe a single night of partying with him would quell the ache inside of you. Would douse the blaze that was alight in your very being just by the thought of him alone. 

 “Great, I’ll text you my address and the time to be there.” And you couldn’t help to notice how he sounded lighter than before - like he was happy to hear that you were coming. You, who had practically ghosted him and everyone else for the past year. You, who was broke beyond belief and barely surviving in the harsh world around you. 

 You held on a little tighter to Taffy’s carrier, feeling the creep of a smile on your lips at the thought of getting to see him again. At getting to face him, finally, without having your back turned in cowardliness. “Well… I’ll see you then, I guess.” 

 “Yeah, have a good night…” His words faded off into the distance, as you began to make the commute back to your quaint apartment. 

 The entire time you walked down the street, you could feel his eyes on you - practically searing two holes into your skin as he stared you down until you turned a corner and eventually grew out of his sight. 

 But it didn’t terrify you in the least bit, like how it usually did when a man looked at you so intently.

 Rather, it caused butterflies to erupt in the pit of your stomach, 

 Forced your heart to beat a little harder, 

 Urged you to walk a little faster, as you began to ponder on what the party would be like. 

 More importantly, you wondered what you were going to wear to it…  

To be continued...

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[despazito]

like i have such conflicting feelings about the pathologizing of mental illness nowadays and the culture it creates. i think the need to have ones dx, at least in my case, was driven by a fundamental urge for validation that what i’m feeling isn't just a phase or something that will sort itself out. i think women especially have had our pain and struggles so minimized, i had lows wishing i just had a broken leg so others could at least see my pain. i clung to my dx and feet like waving it to the world shouting its not just in my head!! i’m not just lazy!!

in some ways getting the dx is like getting a pedigree for your fucked up brain. like this isnt some backyard bred tiktok adhd, this is PUREBRED adhd with the papers to prove it!!! all these women like myself who were looking for a voice and affirmation through dx to prove they “aren’t just one of those girls who’s too sensitive and googled their symptoms”, but now that’s also created its own trope of “overdiagnosed girl in her 20s” and there’s a whole new stereotype to mock and invalidate. there’s just no winning, it really feels like our pain will never get taken seriously by society to matter which route we take to get heard we are dismissed.

but of course these slips of paper become vital if you need any assistance or accommodations, so they are incredibly beneficial to have.

my issue is the more i reflect, the more i do feel like many emotional disturbances or brain funkiness ESPECIALLY depression and anxiety are the result of, or at least become more aggravated, by unluckiness in your childhood relationships and the narrative we created about it. turns out you don’t need to be textbook abused to have adverse experiences, and a failure to have a healthy secure relationship to your primary caregiver fucks with you for life but nobody wants to talk about that. i do think we live in a society here in canada where parental rights to parent how their want is overstepping on the child’s right to have the healthiest possible environment to be raised in. i had spent years reading about the lifelong effects of parental deprivation or bad socialization in dogs and parrots before reading about it in humans, and i think we forget how much humans are also animals.

but the thing is you can work on relationships, you can begin to process trauma. when i tell myself “i’m a person with anxiety” it feels really loaded with a sense of finality that i will always live this way.. the more i use that language the more futile it feels about ever improving, when so often depression and anxiety are the result of deeper unresolved issues. I see so many people with phobias or fears resign to living painful lives than trying to work on any exposure or processing their fears. i’d still be miserable if i never worked through my intense fears of intimacy, i was perfectly resigned to a life of being alone and thought i was content with that.

turns out growing up with trauma can cause the same unfocused and disorganized presentation as clinical adhd.i’ll admit i didn’t like learning that one, as adhd already has so many deniers my kneejerk response was anger at my adhd being invalidated. but i think a lot of adhd people fall somewhere in between that venn diagram, and rejecting a traumagenic theory for some people’s symptoms means they will be prescribed the wrong treatment plan. and this is why all treatment plans put emphasis on talk therapy just as much as pharmacological intervention.

obviously some things aren’t the result of your childhood! your mom yelling at you doesn’t cause autism, but chances are if you’re autistic and had cruddy support you’ll face more adversities and mental health struggles than a good supportive environment. similarly, you could’ve grown up with all the love and support to thrive but one day your thyroid decides it’s time to make you feel like roadkill.

idk, what i’m trying to say is don’t corner yourself or resign from living life because of your mental health dx or think that you’ll never get better because you “have” this, chances are there’s always room to feel better. the most hurtful thing is our inner voice if it’s internalized negative language, and there’s exercises you can practice to drill more positive or at least neutral nonjudgemental language into your inner critic. because even if you have something that will never be cured, the way we talk to ourselves about it is a variable we have some power over.

the narrative part experiencing trauma is uniquely human. some people will experience horrible things and internalize the negativity or self blame, but resilient people have better prognosis because they have ability to frame things in a narrative that don’t assign self blame, and critiques the behaviour instead of the self. because so many complications and struggles arise out of kicking ourselves when we’re down. but the thing is this usually can’t happen on its own, we need to see this modeled by the people around us. but thankfully if we missed the boat, we CAN retrain that voice

anyway that’s my musings from my perspective. for anyone curious here’s a lecture that really resonated with me, its got some hard hitting truths i didn’t want to hear but sometimes you gotta hear things that make you uncomfortable

[chemicalcarousel]

just finished watching that 2 hr colin ross lecture about DID and it was so good. i had no idea schizophrenia used to encompass DID when it was coined, but it makes so much sense with the name "split mind" and why people mix them up all the time and also why we were suspected to be psychotic at first. it's just scary that modern psychiatrists still can't tell the difference. we really recognised the struggle of "not fitting in any diagnostic box" (what multiple doctors have told us) because our symptoms seem kinda psychotic at first glance if you don't know much about traumatology

it's really wild hearing someone describe a patient with DID and relating so much to it, when you're used to being told by doctors in your life that you're such a weird case and maybe you have thing unique disorder that hasn't been described in literature yet. it's scary because DID is so common compared to what doctors suspect. i have very clear symptoms of being traumatised, i openly tell them i have complex childhood trauma, yet they think i can't have a trauma disorder or at most they might say bpd. i'm so obviously fragmented!! there's a reason i was all over the place symptom-wise when i was hospitalised for depression!!! some days i seemed not depressed and other days i almost killed myself because i'm dissociative!! like i didn't know back then either, but doctors should have noticed. they should have screened me for dissociative symptoms!!! they should do that with all patients, especially when they are fucking hospitalised!!!

i have switched to child alters in front of my psychologist before and she just wanted to see me "do that voice again" while i was so fucking scared because i didn't know what was going on. i know she probably said it to see if it was voluntary that i could change my voice, but it felt so humiliating and like i was a circus freak the way she asked. like she already knew it wasn't voluntary and it was a response to being triggered in therapy because we talked about my childhood trauma!!! she'd said she knew it was an automatic reaction i had to being triggered, still she said i didn't have "real flashbacks" so i didn't have ptsd and it was all just bipolar, which it turns out i don't even have!!!! lol she ended up giving up on me and passing me on to some other therapist, but man... she made me almost kms so many times lol i know she didn't mean to, but she was so fucking bad at her job imho

it was so fucking funny to have entered the clinic in 2018 with my own personal suspicious being that i have cptsd, then getting told no i don't until late 2023 where my 2nd therapist asks me if i know about cptsd and that i seem to have it BITCH I KNOW LMFAO I'VE KNOWN FOR YEARS BUT YALL GASLIGHTED ME INTO THINKING I COULDN'T HAVE IT AND TOLD ME I WAS PSYCHOTIC AND NEEDED ANTIPSYCHOTICS, ANTIDEPRESSANTS AND MOOD STABILIZERS AND DIDN'T LISTEN WHEN NONE OF IT WORKED!!!!!

man.... and now im waiting like 69 weeks for my next psychiatrist bc i gave up on that shit clinic, who didn't want to transfer me to their trauma department because i didn't have war or service related trauma..... even though i found out they also treat other cases than that............ this system is a fucking joke. also the 69 weeks is not for a specialist, this was just the quickest i can see a psychiatrist without trying to kms and being involuntarily hospitalised. i'm just gonna see some normal psychiatrist and idk if she even believes in DID bc i didn't get to talk with her, only her secretary. so maybe when that year and three months have passed i find out she only knows how to diagnose anxiety and depression <333 or maybe she's homophobic or transphobic, bc that's something i've also experienced! <3333333

man.... i was brutally abused by my family and neglected by the system since before i was born and now im just.... stuck here with an illness there's a cure for, but with no access to it!!!! and it's not like i haven't tried getting help - i've been in and out of psych treatment from age 14-27!!! i've read up on shit myself bc here doctors just say "idk take this pill and stfu, hysteric woman" like i've been misdiagnosed so many times now.... at least im almost off all of my psych meds now! like they are good for some, but i was literally just fed pills for shit i didn't have and when i wasn't feeling better, they just upped the dose and told me i'd be more unstable without it when this doctor had never seen me without it and i've been on it for like a decade, still super unstable <3

long rant/vent lol but idk man it's just nice getting some of this out of my system

[kanguin]

You know what, fuck it. I can't sleep, so here's everything wrong with me from my head down to my feet.

In short, I have ADHD, clinical depression, am on the autism spectrum, hypothyroidism, mild red/green colorblindness, photophobia/photosensitivity of both my eyes and skin, hyposmia, constricted sinuses, tongue-tied, Ehlers Danlos syndrome, lactose intolerance, cellulose intolerance, knocked knees, and tibial torsion. And then secondarily as a result of all that I have tactile hypersensitivity, mild anxiety, insomnia, postural-orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, chronic acute muscle and joint pain, irritable bowels, unstable knees, and many, many more issues I'm probably forgetting.

Oh and I'm severely overweight and my immune system sucks.

More descriptions under the cut.

I have severe inattentive ADHD that I've had since at least early childhood, clinical depression that I've had since puberty, secondary anxiety as a byproduct of the two (accelerated thoughts plus predisposition to negativity leads to catastrophizing), and heightened tactile sensitivity due to being on the Autism spectrum, which presents its own set of hurdles. I also have struggled with insomnia my whole life as a byproduct of my ADHD, and am hypothyroid, meaning my thyroid (the organ that produces various non-sex hormones) doesn't respond enough when signalled.

As for my eyes, I'm color vision deficient, specifically having a deficiency in red cones; I get headaches in areas lit only by red light thanks to my rods and cones disagreeing on how dark it is, making my pupils repeatedly dilate and contract. I'm also extremely photosensitive in both my eyes and skin, likely related to ASD, but it's hard to prove that. Being in brightly lit areas hurts my eyes, and being in direct, unfiltered sunlight causes me mild physical pain akin to hovering your hand over an active electric cooktop. This happens even when it's objectively not that hot, but heat does make it worse.

With regards to my nose and mouth, I have an extremely weak sense of smell and have had such for as long as I can remember. This is directly the result of getting multiple sinus infections as a kid, which I still get a few times a year, thanks to the bad sinuses I inherited from both sides. I also get pre-storm headaches like a living barometer thanks to how sensitive they are to atmospheric presure changes. I'm also tongue-tied, which means I can't pronounce some sounds, can't press my tongue on the roof of my mouth, or even stick it out. Also can't move my upper lip independently for what that's worth.

As kind of an "every body region" problem, I also have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, a connective tissue disorder that makes every tissue in my body that uses collagen fibers less rigid, making everything elastic instead, regardless of whether it should be. For me this means I have hypermobile joints that also love to dislocate, flat feet with no arches, unstable blood pressure that drops if my blood vessels expand too quickly (such as from changing position too quickly or having ny heart rate jump suddenly), digestive issues and sudden cases of loose stools, and lots and lots of chronic (recurring) and acute (severe) muscle and joint pain. I've oft described having EDS being like living in a house built from rotted wood and watered down concrete and mortar. The base building blocks of all my tissues and organs are inherently malformed, and there's nothing I can do to fix it.

Down to my gut, aside from the GI issues from EDS, I'm intolerant to lactose and cellulose. For the former it's excruciatingly painful if I consume dairy without a ton of lactaid, and can even take me out of commission for a whole day or two after being exposed. I'll experience bloating, muscle aches, and brain fog to name just a few issues. For the latter, cellulose, which is the plant fiber found in high quantities in celery, lettuce, cabbage, but present in all plants, my response varies from severe cramps to no reaction whatsoever, entirely dependent on my current gut bioflora. Best case scenario, and recent experiences, are that I just cannot digest it at all and it passes through untouched. And yes I mean untouched.

Down to my legs, I have knocked knees, meaning my lower legs bow outward and do not touch when my legs are together, and I have tibial torsion in both tibias, meaning the front bone in my calves twists inwards, making my kneecaps point outwards and my feet point inwards towards each other.

And yeah. Because I have numerous obstacles to exercise and a fucked endocrine system, I'm seriously overweight to the point it's stressing my liver. And my immune system sucks major ass, I get sick multiple times a year and stay sick for days to a week at a time.

My body is just. Shit. I struggle to love it because it brings me so much pain. It's not my main reason for lack of faith, but my own existence makes it difficult for me to believe in a loving god.

[iamthunderhearmehowl]

Let me tell you about the tattoo that my mom hates (this is a long ass post btw)

✨️Trigger Warning✨️

Suicide / Depression

- - - - - -

Hey, hi, it's me. This is the only place I feel really open about sharing things - but with the holidays and cold months coming up I know how hard it can be for people who are struggling with depression/ bi polar / familial trauma, etc. So here's this post to remind you (and me) that we'll be okay. You and me. We will be okay. We are still breathing, and with every breath we take, we still have a shot at living the lives we've dreamed of.

You see this tattoo? I got it as a reminder. Oh yeah, also it's a Dark Souls tattoo. It says "Don't You Dare Go Hollow".

My mom HATES it, but she has come to terms with how much I love this tattoo.

But anyways, I got this tattoo to remind myself to keep going. I got it about 1-2 years after I attempted to leave this earth on my own accord.

Background (skip if you want)

It was 2020. I had been a Veterinary Assistant (technician basically depending on what state you're in, TN treats the assistants the same as technicians). Clients were beating me down dude. I had phones thrown at me. I had death threats. I had people telling me I was a worthless piece of shit. I wanted to help these animal, but to do that I felt like I had to take and accept this slurry of abuse. I was unmedicated. I felt alone. I felt like I was nothing. An empty vessel. So one day I was supposed to go to work and we were working on a skeleton crew. 12 to 13 hours a day, days in a row, sometimes we would still have to go in on our off days. I couldn't do it anymore. I called out. I said I was sick. The response "I'm sorry you're sick, but that puts our team in a hard spot". That was it. The last straw.

I ended up going to the ER. I stayed there for a week. And thrn I ended up in a mental institution for 3 days. I was started on Zoloft.

All was well for a little bit. I stayed in my profession and decided to go to Tech School to brighten my future and make some more money.

It was. The most stressful time of my life. While I did leave my previous clinic I switched to ER and Specialty and lasted only about 6 months there. Before I realized I was spiraling again. I felt like a failure as a tech. I was worthless. I wasn't enough. I got let go. If I had been doing this for 5 years and could do this what fucking good was I? I saw the signs. I understood what was happening. I sought help and went to group therapy at a behavioral hospital.

It was amazing. The people I met, the counselors, I made so many friends and people who believed in me. We increased the dosage of my meds.

Now. I'm at a new clinic. I'm spiraling again. I'm in bad health. The doctors don't know what's wrong with me, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it's stress from my career. I still come home sobbing. I come home feeling empty. No amount of medication can help free me from the unhappiness of my job. At one point I loved it. Somewhere along the way I realized that this isn't the life I want. I love your pets. I love my current clients. But I can't take the pressures of possibly getting hurt or sick. My back is messed up from this job, all of my joints pop and hurt, I have damaged and fractured my teeth from grinding them from stress. I am always tired. Working 10+ hours with just a one hour break isn't cutting it. I am miserable.

So.

I took the fucking leap guys. I'm doing it. I'm switching my career. I'm going back to my roots. I'm being creative and doing what. I started podcasting and realized how much I missed being myself. My VTNE is next month and I don't give a shit.

The game changer was really being inspired by the voice acting in Baulder's Gate 3. Hearing Neil Newbon's speech when he accepted his award made me cry. I took one of Steve Blums voice acting classes and . . . My God it was like finally hearing the affirmation I never got from my parents.

Back to the Tattoo

My point is, no matter how hard it gets, please allow yourself to enjoy the things you love and fuck what everyone else says. You do yourself a disservice if you don't give yourself a break. If you don't be true to yourself, if you don't strive for the life you've dreamed of.

It's why my tattoo is the Bonfire from Dark Souls. In your journey, you're going to fail multiple times. Sometimes, you get hung up on the same damn spot over and over and over again. Sometimes, you have to reface your enemies. DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE BOSS BATTLES. You may fail thousands of times, but you know what you do? You go back to your bonfire- your safe place- and you heal up. You get the fuck back up the next day and do it again. Sometimes your game plan changes. You don't have to fight this boss today. You can fight him when you're ready. You don't have to make huge progress in the game today - you can dick around and look for good armor. You can change the whole path you take if you want to - it doesn't matter. In the end you will eventually accomplish what you've came to do.

I have really been fighting for my life lately, but I don't want to lose hope. If I give up, then I'll never see the end of the game or move on to the next one.

It's hard sometimes. But my favorite quote is:

"So if you ever find yourself in a slump, remember your purpose - whatever it may be - and never stop fighting for your goals, no matter how crazy they may seem. And don't you dare go hollow"

I don't know you guys but I love you. And if you need someone to tell you that personally my inboxes are open.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Honestly this turned into an absolute fuck of a ramble but oh well.

If the black dog is depression, and the dog of insanity is stealthy, perhaps he is a grey dog.

I've had my fair share of "psychosis", and got through the other side. To think back on those times is surreal, and they don't feel like my own memories, but the more surreal part is you can feel it there at the back of your mind, waiting, for another bad day.

For the most part my grey dog is tame now, though there are still bad days where the black dog howls and the grey dog bares his teeth in memory of what he used to be.

And maybe one day he'll howl again and bite at the cage of my mind, those of us that have faced these dogs know how easy it is to fall into. It's never usually intentional, not truly. Just sometimes, after those aforementioned 3 days of no sleep with bad news and caffeine, you open up the door and there he is, looking back at you. The grey dog.

All the while those dogs took control of me without me realising, but these days, its easier to notice the signs before they do, to realise why they are there, so when you open the door and see them, you knew it was coming and you know what to do.

For many of us, we learn to look him in the eye, ask him why he's here, and soothe him down before he bites. I know when I open the door to him, I've pushed myself too far and he and his brother bark at me to stop it and rest. To take time out, to go to the doctors and make sure my meds are working right, to ask for help, to say no to things on my plate and just eat what I can for a while.

And bit by bit, he backs away, with a nod, and a promise, and a threat; "I'll return, if you fall again."

There is definitely a distinct difference between mental illnesses causing chronic psychosis and acute episodes of psychosis. Mine is generally the latter, and I'm more predispositioned to it thanks to mental illness, but my brothers is chronic and much more intense, with daily symptoms.

Both of us had a marked increase in symptoms around the late teens and early twenties, and more recently an increase after experiencing traumatic events like the unexpected death of a very close family member and no-fault homelessness.

The "avoid weed and psychedelics" advice was very true for me, my clinical therapist also warned me. One of my worst experiences with full blown psychosis was because I was around people that smoked weed, and though I never touched it myself, being in the same room was enough. I also had non epileptic seizures. I don't remember much of that time, but I do remember the pushback I got when I refused to be around them when they smoked anymore, no matter than they'd seen the seizures and the affects of the weed induced psychosis- even for weeks after not being around it. I implore anyone who does smoke weed to do it responsibly and not judge anyone who says they can't be around it.

Biology is weird, and brains are weirder. We're still guessing at most of the mechanisms we run by, and still guessing how half our medications work, weed included!

These days, I'm lucky to avoid weed, (Though the fact people smoke it wherever they like still scares the shit out of me!) But I've still been facing off the grey dog recently, with mess ups with my meds, forced to come on and off them each month as they're routinely out of stock.

The only things that help are having people around me- well, one person, right now- that can recognise if I'm not coping with the grey dog myself and can step in.

When I've spent an entire day staring at the wall, trying to make a cup of tea and the side is full of half made drinks that I don't even realise are there, they know to make me sit down and bring me a brew, wrap me in a blanket and let me rest. When I've been talking to the person sat opposite me for an hour, but there's no one there, they sit there instead and let me talk. When I mention walking into the woods and never coming back, in the same tone I'd talk about getting an ice cream, they encourage me to listen to music instead.

Keep an eye out for your friends and family in their early twenties, especially if they have mental or physical health issues, and especially if they're experiencing trauma.

They Grey Dog can visit us all. But neither that or its big brother the Black Dog have to be a death sentence.

99% of "mysterious disappearances" esp of people in their 20s who start acting weird for 48 hours and then vanish are not mysterious, thats just when a lot of reality-obliterating mental illness tends to kick in and it's pretty easy to get a short circuit in your brain that makes you go family guy death pose in joshua tree national park. it's not any less tragic, it's just a documented phenomenon and not particularly predictable. its a big reason the medical advice is for people with a family history of schizophrenia to completely avoid weed and psychedelics. "people just go crazy sometimes" is a principle of human health that used to be a lot more accepted prior to the american midcentury and to a certain extent thats a healthier way to conceptualize and prepare for the risk, as opposed to the modern assertion that anyone acting weird is dangerous and broken forever.

[stillachildatheart]

Thirty and Thriving

An update for the blog.

Hey there. It's been literally years since I came back to this blog again. My life has grown and veered off in so many different directions, it somehow made reading through all my previous posts feel like I was a vapid, air-headed teenager that didn't know enough about life. Haha.. I guess at some point, we all look back at our teen years and cringe. I am thirty this year. Can you believe it? I can't! I have so many white hairs on my head now, I've almost given up trying to color it back. My joints ache on and off. I'm taking supplements to help maintain some vitality (or at least give me the placebo effect that I'm doing something about my vitality). 18 year old me would have been horrified to see how she had grown up. =P

But you know what? I am proud of where I am. I struggled through depression and plenty of mental abuse from my parents to be where I am today. They still do abuse me every now and then but somehow, being 30 gave me the freedom to ignore it and move on with my life. Not to say that the things they say doesn't bug me, but I think I've gained the capacity to move past it and not let it bother me for too long. That fuck it attitude may rub others the wrong way... but fuck it. I worked too hard to gain it, if you don't like it then it's not my problem. As always, paiya was and has been a constant rock and an inspiration for me. Yes, we're still together. We've been married for over a year now, in fact. LDR success story, huh? <3 Over 12 years of being in a relationship (and a long-distance one at that) and just over 6 months of living with each other.. even I cannot fathom where all that time went. After reading through some of my earliest posts about him yesterday, I told him one thing when we were in bed last night. After all these years, I'm living the way I dreamed of. Taking care of our home together, cooking and eating together, exploring the world together.. these were things that the 17 year old me would have been wildly hoping for but would have not believed would eventually happen.

I am happy. For someone who went through clinical depression ever since I set foot into medical school, this statement is like feeling the sun on your face for the first time after a long and hard winter. I am genuinely happy. Of course we have our issues and disagreements. We end up hurting each other at times and also irritating each other. But the love is always there, and we always work our way back to it together. The love we have feels like it has grown and matured into something beautiful and solid. It fills my heart with so much of strength and courage to face the world, as long as he is by my side. It's awesome.. that feeling.

If only my relationship with my parents was that easy. Being in a healthy relationship with my husband made me realize how toxic my own family was to me. I knew they were the main reason I ended up depressed, but I'm still identifying all the trauma responses in me due to the way I was treated when I was young. Trying to unlearn my defense mechanisms and relearn healthier ones has been a major challenge for me since I started living together with paiya. Because my defense mechanisms protect my emotions but are in turn toxic and hurtful to him. I ended up unintentionally straining our relationship a few times all because I didn't know how to regulate my emotions safely. And yes, I blame my upbringing for that. Don't get me wrong. They did their responsibility as parents well. They go above and beyond, in fact. But that comes with a massive pile of expectations that is masked as love and wanting the best for me. If I choose not to conform to those expectations, I am a disappointment and failed them as their daughter. For a long time, the emotional burden of trying to fulfil their expectations drained the life and soul out of me. I worked hard to shed that, but I'm still a work in progress.

To them, the fact that I decided not to specialize is the biggest disappointment. They feel that I'm squandering my education and I'm being very complacent in my position. They hate the fact that I'm not working in a hospital anymore, because apparently doctor's working in a Klinik Kesihatan are not doctors. -_- I survived through housemanship, I survived working as an MO in medical for a year and ETD for almost 2 years. I've never felt at home as much as working in a KK has felt. Not only am I using my medical knowledge more, there is the unbeatable fact that I am working office hours now. I have weekends... after 5 years of working, I am finally experiencing weekends like everyone else. So they can say all they want, but I've come to a point where my sole focus is to keep myself happy.

If I'm not happy, there's no way I can keep anyone else around me happy. So that is my main priority. I struggled to do a degree I didn't like for their sakes. I'm not about to repeat the same thing again for a master's degree, just because they want to see me become a specialist. If I choose to do it, it will be because I genuinely want to put in the effort for it. Not because they want it.

So yeah... as you can guess, a lot has happened in the last 10 years. At the end of the day, I am content with where I am right now and I guess that's all that matters. :)

[lunarsilkscreen]

Mental Health

A lot of people wanna say something like "80% of mental health diagnostics are erroneous" and they're not wrong, but they're not right either.

They don't know what it's like, but they do see something: A lot of children's home lives aren't the greatest, and they have to deal with stressors they shouldn't have to deal with while they're trying to get their bearings in life.

Those stressors lead to mental health issues.

Trauma and abuse have both been linked to depression and anxiety, perpetual and ongoing. They say: "Have you tried just being happy?" In the same way people say "well, if you invested the money you don't have, you'd be set." Thanks, I'll just go buy more money or life stability.

"You have to learn to deal with your feelings NOT bury them under drug addiction! The doctors just want you to be addicts!"

This isn't fentanyl you dipshit. The medication actually allows you to feel and engage with your emotions, something you just can't do when you're clinically depressed.

Or like me, incapable of communicating like a regular ass person face-to-face and not through a fucking screen because being near people physically triggers my fight or flight response.

"well have you *actually* tried being around people?"

No you fuck stick, I was in a military silo kept away from all the other military members for a decade, just trapped in a box under a rock. /s

I can't have downtime without self-isolating, just being around people takes a lot of energy; so much so that I have to carefully take stock of how much time I spend around people. It was part of the reason I could not promote to a higher rank. Literally it was. A lot of promotion requires being around people, volunteer work, and running shoulders.with "supervision" and when you can't do that because you're an doubleplus-introvert; it kinda really sucks.

Now imagine that without being able to feel feelings?

Like asking a paraplegic why they don't just walk. Thanks asshole, I never thought about it *that way* before. I SUPPOSE I'LL TRY.

[killercookie213]

I am still angry at you. I want to say thing that hurt you. Thats what finally made me want to stop being your friend. You made me feel like a bad person. You convinced me I was a bad person. Everytime I thought about talking to you all the words I wanted to say were vengeful and cruel. I wanted so desperately for you to understand, to feel my pain. I still do. I don't want to think that way. Yet silence is still a lie, silence is why I hate you. I am not sure if all the ways I feel hurt by you are true, you made sure of that, but what I do know is true is that the person I call my best friend loves me. I am so thankful she is not you. I am not her therapist, I am her friend. It is not a one way relationship. I feel genuinely safe to express my feeling with her. "Calling is stressful, could you just text?" You blatantly ignored me for 2 months. In those two months I had to tell my family how I was molested as a child while his girlfriend lived in my room. "Well I figured if it was important you would call." Why would I call? Last time I called I sobbed while telling you that I feel insecure in our relationship. Then was told I was emotionally manipulative. Fuuck those two months were more painful than reliving 10 year old trauma.

She has never stepping too far into my romantic relationship. She likes the love of my life. No "like" is the wrong word. She adores them. She doesn't put up with them; she treats them more like one of her siblings than a friend. She has never made me feel incompetent. Maybe that’s why I don't feel insecure in our relationship? She tells me when I have done something wrong. She forgives me when I apologize. We talked about how to fix/prevent problems. And the best fucking part is she apologize when she does something wrong. Part of me still finds it amazing that I can tell her she did something wrong. She put in as much effort in our relationship as I do. God-fucking-damn does it feel good. She is someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. Doing what we do now sitting on a porch smoking, drinking whisky out of tea cups, laughing, crying, and talking shit on you and her lost childhood friend. You and I never could have had that. You would have said that I was a morally bad person for smoking and drinking, yet you think Ben Shapiro makes good points. The difference between you and her is like night and day. When I was at my lowest you and I could barely spend a week around each other. Her and I live together and through the good, the bad, and the ugly we still woken up everyday excited to see our best friend. My sister doesn't tell me in private that she is a sad and toxic person. My best friend has a lot of the same problems as you do. Clinical depression, clinical anxiety, a shitty relationship with her mother, Sexual trauma, childhood trauma as well as different problems, but she still supports, loves and treats me like a person who has problems of my own. She still talks to me when she has a boyfriend, I am not dropped as soon as some broken dog with a sob story shows up to take over filling your emotionally void.

CAN YOU STOP LIVING IN MY BRAIN RENT FREE?? I have tried to systematically remove you from my life. Thank god I had only a few photos of you. I want to tell you all this so fucking bad but the idea of see you again scares the living hell out of me. I don't want to know how you would twist this all on me. How fucking unfair. It not my fault. I took responsibility for my part, as much as I could anyway. You never did tell me what exactly I did wrong. But I did get to spend two months trying to figure it out. I made sure I sent the last text. I wanted to make sure you couldn't convince me that I didn't try

[homosapiennns]

I can’t believe the third year of medicine is over in a month. This year was tiring, a roller coaster of emotions. (My older posts are full of mental illness…) but I really like this year. I have three years more and I will be an intern last year!!!😵‍💫 but then I’ll have an exam and choose my specialty…. I sometimes feel like I’m behind others because people at my age are already finishing their university and they start working!!! But, tbh, I will be a student my whole life. I will always learn new things, adapt to new medications, vaccines, new methods, machines… and I just know AI will be used in hospitals in the future.

Medicine taught me a lot of things. To always search for more, be patient. Looking at the bigger scale of things . Everything is related to each other in a way. (in life too) But one of them might be the most important. Medicine is hard. So hard. Its so fucking hard and its a lot of information. Its really, really , really hard. You will forget, and look again, and again, search for the page in a thick book, and reread what you have learned two years ago. Read the mechanisms again, and think how they affect the cells, the tissues, the organs, and the patients. Nothing is unimportant!! Everything is related to everything, and if you don’t know what a molecule, for example sodium, does to a cell, you have to read again!

At first it doesn’t make sense, at all. Like, why should I learn anatomy if I’m going to work in clinics? What if I just skip it? No, everything is related to everything! And if you don’t know, how will you learn radiology? Cardiology? Pulmonology? Oncolo-

But science is fun!! Its so fun to listen to a pharmacology professor talk about her experiments, different cases, a seminar about a virus, a neurologist’s patients , microscopes…. I never felt anything more satisfying than helping others with their medical problems. I could only do once, but, you know!! I need to learn so sooo much more. And sometimes, I still think about a patient I have seen in my hospital. Sometimes for me its difficult to not be emotional when I see elders in intensive care, or cancer patients… but I know I should accept my feelings. And control my actions as much as I can. Yes medicine is also about controlling, controlling the situation, the feelings of the patients’ family, controlling your words, and your own feelings…

Its a lot of work and responsibilities. But medicine is amazing. Everything, every subject is fascinating. The more I learn the more I love humans body. Everything about our existence. Because I was depressed before. I didn’t know shit about my body, my existence. But now I think we are all miracles!! How can you explain otherwise?

[the-stage-manager]

This is an extremely bad take that does a huge disservice to both people with PTSD and the ace community.

I'm clinically diagnosed with ptsd, I consider myself part of the a spectrum, and I'm studying neuropsychology with an emphasis in trauma. I know what I'm talking about, both clinically and anecdotally. First of all, trauma very much does define every aspect of you. It swallows you whole, it consumes every part of you, and the fact that you don't know this tells me you don't have a whole lot of experience with trauma. Perhaps you shouldn't be making comments about something you know very little about. This idea that "you are not your trauma" is a wonderful statement for people who have reached that point in their healing process.

PTSD is extremely difficult to treat because of how it hijacks the brain—when you're triggered, your prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that controls your ability to solve problems and think rationally, shuts down and energy is diverted towards the limbic system, a collection of structures that deal with everything from emotional control, memory, focus, and a whole bunch of other unconscious functions. When your fight or flight response activates you physically cannot think rationally.

Literally, your brain hijacks your body to protect you from a threat that does not exist. There is no instinct stronger than survival, so trying to overcome your trauma responses takes an extraordinary amount of time and it is extremely painful. When your brain is telling you that there's a bear in the room in your life is in danger, convincing yourself to sit down and breathe through it is agony. And you have to do it over and over and over until eventually you become desensitized to the feeling. It consumes your whole life.

"You are not your trauma" is a wonderful statement for people who have reached a certain point in their recovery, but for people who are still sludging through the middle of it, it's the equivalent of telling somebody with depression to smile more, not to be so sad.

Sexuality is a fluid thing, and trauma does affect it. Sometimes people who thought they were ace, discover that they aren't after they've reached a certain stage and their healing. Sometimes, the exact opposite is true—some people consider themselves to be hypersexual then eventually realize that they aren't as interested in sex as they thought they were.

You do not have the right to decide what is and is not somebody's sexual identity. You do not have the right to tell somebody that their trauma does or does not validate their sexuality. You do not have the right to tell somebody how they are or are not allowed to view a character.

You're right, Astarion being sex repulsed might be a trauma response. When I was neck deep in my trauma, I also considered myself pretty damn sex repulsed. And I wore my Ace label as a badge of honor, because it was so nice to feel like I had a community, to feel like I wasn't the only one who felt this way. You don't have any right to take that label away for me or anybody else undergoing trauma. You don't have the right to invalidate somebody's sexual experiences, or they're traumatic experiences, just because you feel protective or defensive over your own identity.

Before I wore my Ace flag with honor, my biggest anxiety was that I wasn't really ace. That it was just my trauma, because somebody like you told me exactly that: that I didn't count, I wasn't part of the community, because some extenuating circumstances made my feelings invalid. Fuck that and fuck you. My therapist said, "Maybe you're right, and maybe you're wrong, but the feelings you feel right now are real, and right now is all that matters. If you're feelings change, your label can change too,"

Sexuality is fluid. Trauma victims are not a threat to the ace community.

I'm so so tired of seeing ppl label Astarion as "sex-averse" or some version of ace only because of his trauma responses. His trauma and his wariness around sex is not his identity. It's not an inherent part of who he is, it is an sad reality of something that was done to him.

You are not your trauma, you can and should put in the effort to work through it, like Astarion does. Eventually he does work up to a point where he's the one asking for sex again and isn't shy about it.

You take away personal agency from him by saying that he is what his trauma responses are. Defining him by the things that were done to him really grosses me out.

[smth-against-dogs]

hello it is I: sad trans.

[rafescoke]

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Request: The second one I was hoping could be a Rafe x reader based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by arctic monkeys. Maybe something along the lines of rafe only calling and giving the reader attention when he wants to hook up. Finally, the reader gets tired of it their feelings known.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself thinking about a certain boy more than what they had agreed on

Warnings: Hella angst, mentions of sex, masterbating, substance, cursing, toxic relationship

A/N: I’ve been updating a new fic every single day and the amount of love you guys are returning is beyond amazing. I love you so much, thank you for all of your kind words <3

p.s, again, my request box is always open. drop in any ideas and i’ll present to you my best :)

p.p.s, does anyone know why i can’t tag some users? im going crazy.

“I was thinking. . .” Rafe trailed, drawing invisible circles against her soft skin. She hummed in response, her eyes closed, feeling so relaxed under the silk bedsheet wrapping around her body.

“We should do this often.”

“Is twice a day isn’t enough for you?” she asked, hiding her smile. She felt him shift, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She giggled lightly, feeling him behind her, but she was too tired to do anything.

“We should try doing it every minute,” he simply replied, smelling into her scent. She smelt like vanilla and caramel, just the way he likes it. “Is this the perfume I bought?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, feeling so peaceful she could sleep if he hadn’t pulled her closer against his hardening member. She groaned, trying to scoot forward by an inch, but was stopped by his fingers gripping her hips.

“I’m sore.”

“I know,” he replied casually, still brushing against her bottom. Before he could do anything else she turned, now facing him. She looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes and his soft lips. Her thumb grazed over his top lip, and Rafe swore he could fuck her anytime soon if she kept doing that.

“Are you not tired?” she asked, now cupping his face. He stared into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them before giving her a smile.

“No.”

“You’re mental,” she sighed, but she failed to contain her laugh after. She giggled, still cupping his face, and she has never felt so calm and relax before. Just them two, on top of a bed in some cheap motel, sometimes hearing the couple staying on top of them screaming at each other.

“Are you?” he continued, tilting his head into her hands. She smiled when he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. He loves it. He feels at peace.

(Y/N) sighed, loving yet also hating these kind of moments where she knew they would be acting like strangers after, in front of everyone else. She remembered the exact day after she had had sex with him for the first time, and how he acted so cold afterwards.

“Hey,” (Y/N) smiled, standing beside his form as he squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight to inspect his goal. He didn’t reply, swinging his golf club upwards and hit the golf ball. (Y/N) watched as it flew and landed near the goal, and expressed a smile.

“You’re good.”

“Huh?” he looked up to her, as if just noticed her existence. (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart, especially when he had just whispered so many love words into her ear the night before.

“I said you’re good.”

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, already making his way back to where his friends were. Clearly not satisfied, she followed him suit, watching as his friends cheered for him. Rafe groaned even harder, and turned to look at her before they got too close to his friends.

“What are you fucking doing here?” he scolded, his eyes staring at a space beside her. (Y/N) raised a brow, being caught off guard, but she tried to play it cool.

“I’m a member of this country club too, Rafe,” she replied, scoffing. “You’re an asshole, do you know that? Are we not going to talk about last ni-”

“Shut up,” he grunted, looking backwards to check on his friends before pulling her a few distance away. “Look, I was on drugs last night. That was not me. Let it go, okay?”

(Y/N) has never experienced that kind of disrespect, and she swore she hated Rafe Cameron so bad that when she got home, she cried against her pillows until the night sky greeted her. 

She thought about the many other guys who tried to be with her, but she had pushed them all away for a certain rich boy living 6 houses away from her. The fact that her parents are good friends with Ward and Rose Cameron doesn’t make it any easier, not when she is forced to see him every single Saturday night for ‘barbecue night’.

“What are you thinking?” he suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, suddenly scooting away from him. He watched as she turned away, but he didn’t put much thoughts into it.

“I can still smell the weed from you,” she suddenly said, and Rafe let out a laugh. He rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that they are going to repeat the same topic they have fought countless of times before, especially after sex and they had both came down from the high.

“Don’t start, (Y/N), fuck,” he sighed, covering his face with his large hands. He watched as she scooted further, wrapping the covers around her body. “Can you please just lay right next to me?”

“I want to sleep,” she replied, and bit her lips before she could express any tears. Rafe sighed, groaning, and sat up straight, resting on the edge of the bed before reaching for his jeans discarded on the corner of the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and (Y/N) heard the metal bar of his belt clanking against his jeans button. “Since you wanna act like a bitch again.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, still not looking at him. A tear rolled down her cheeks before she could stop herself, and she quickly wiped them away.

“Whatever,” he said, and she heard the door slammed shut. She cursed, unable to stop her tears now that she was alone. The banter between the husband and wife from the room above filled the silence as (Y/N) sobbed against the pillow and she thought about how it resembled her and Rafe’s relationship so much.

He would call her when he’s under the influence, whispering sweet-nothings through the phone, saying how much he’s missing her and longing for her forehead kisses. The fight they had before the phone call will immediately evaporate into thin air, and (Y/N) will make her way to wherever Rafe is. Sometimes they’ll do it in the car in a secluded alley or sometimes in the cheap motel at Chapel Hill. 

But then it was the moments after their brief meeting that had her all moody and depress throughout the week; how he would ignore her, pretending not to see her and forcing himself to say ‘hi’ during their family barbecue.

(Y/N) never thought of herself as someone who’s prone to being in a sneaky relationship, but if that what it takes to be with Rafe Cameron, she was willing to be in one.

It had been a week since the incidence, and Rafe hadn’t call her to meet or anything of the sort. (Y/N) frowned when she thought of this, because the longest fight they had before only lasted for 2 days before he rang her up, asking to meet up. 

(Y/N) shook her head, sipping on her martini before setting it on the side of the swimming pool. She dived into the water, trying to get the heat from the scorching sun off of her, and resurfaced seconds after, her wet hair falling down her shoulders.

“(Y/N), where’s dad?” Topper appeared, squatting in front of her as she took another sip on the martini. Her eyes fell to the figure behind her brother, and she almost choked on the liquid.

“Um, I don’t know,” (Y/N) replied, staring at Rafe Cameron as he took out his phone to check on his messages, ignoring her like always. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that there were no new texts and he was just trying to act like she wasn’t there. She dived into the water again and swam to the other side, away from Rafe and his negative energy.

If Rafe knew she was going to be in the swimming pool, he would have made an excuse to Topper, perhaps saying how he has to take Wheezie to the clinic for an appointment. (Y/N) was almost never home every time he hang out with Topper, so he thought he was safe. But there she was; in the most tempting bikini, swimming and constantly sipping on a martini.

Rafe sat right next to Topper, watching her back from the corners of his eyes as she gazed at the view in front of her. She was laying on her arms, lazily humming to a rock song Rafe plays every time he’s driving.

He jolted when Topper touched his hand. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Topper laughed, “I said, do you wanna eat?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking about good she looked in that bikini. He made a mental note to guess the brand to purchase more of that sort for her. 

“Okay, I’m going in to get myself some food. Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Topper asked, sitting on the edge of the seat. Rafe nodded, his eyes still closed, and heard him walking towards the sliding door into the kitchen.

“Why are you ignoring me?” 

Rafe opened his eyes, and to his satisfaction, the girl with the (H/C) locks stared at him with her face rested against her arms. His breath hitched, seeing how beautiful she was with the chlorine water dripping from her face, down to her neck, continuing to her che-

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” she suddenly said, and Rafe had to shook his head from the involuntary thought that appeared in his mind. He groaned, watching as she dived in the water again, and almost catching a glimpse of her bottom. He smiled.

“Are you still a bitch?” he asked when she resurfaced, crossing his arms. “Because if you are, I don’t feel like fucking you right here and right now.”

(Y/N) halted her movements as she tried her best not to look at the smirking boy, and instead staring into the swimming pool as if there was something interesting in it. Rafe laughed, knowing exactly the impact of his words towards her, and thought about wanting to have a little more fun with her.

“I’m asking, baby,” he said softly, and her eyes landed on his. “Are you still a bitch?”

“I brought cookies!” Topper suddenly yelled, appearing from the sliding door and walking towards them with a bright smile. Rafe cursed, laying his back against the seat again and pretending to close his eyes while (Y/N) dived underwater, trying to hide her red face. He was glad when Topper handed him a cookie, talking about wanting to surf tomorrow - so oblivious towards the sexual tension between him and his own twin.

“What do you think?” Topper asked, munching on the cookies all the while trying to see Rafe’s reaction. Rafe nodded, muttering his agreement, but under his sunglasses, he was watching (Y/N) and she too, was watching him.

“Can I have a cookie, Tops?” (Y/N) suddenly interrupted, and without looking at her, Topper gave her a thumbs up sign. (Y/N) smiled, pulling herself up from the pool and Rafe almost had a heart attack from the sight of her curves donning the bikini and the water dripping off of her.

She walked towards them, hair swept to her left shoulder, and Rafe’s gaze followed her fingers as she grabbed a cookie and immediately putting it in her mouth. He watched as she closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet taste, all the while sitting under the glowing sun that highlighted her features even more.

He could feel himself getting harder.

“Well,” (Y/N) suddenly said, and Rafe had realized he was too busy looking at her to realize that she was already conversing with Topper. “I’ll go. Is Rafe coming too?” 

Both of the siblings’ attention fell towards him, and Rafe found himself clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, where are we?”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Topper asked, removing his sunglasses to look at him clearly. “Do you need water?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Rafe quickly added, “Can I, um, go up to your room? I think I need a nap.”

“Yeah, okay,” Topper replied, not thinking much of it. They had been spending so much time under the sun during the summer, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got sick. “I’ll go upstairs in a second.”

He muttered a thanks, quickly making his way to the top of the house, where Topper stayed. He groaned, feeling himself getting harder, and hating the fact that she was most probably liking the way he was reacting. 

He locked the door of the bathroom he has been using since the first day he became friends with Topper, watching himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes while he tried to picture her in his mind, his fingers trying their best to untie the knot of the band of his swimming shorts.

He held himself in the palm of his hands as he pictured her again, this time with her under him. He started sliding his palm over his hardened member, his other hand safely placed on the sink for balance. He thought of the way she’ll bounce on him when she rides him, and bit his lips before he could let out any sounds.

Fuck. 

He hated how easy she’ll make him hard and how she has him wrapped around her finger. It was true how they would only do the unholy thing when he was under the influence or they were both under the influence, but he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling in his stomach every time he saw her.

“Fuck,” he expressed, his grip on the sink tightening. His movements became faster as he tried to picture her mouth and around him, and felt his end coming. He left a string of curses as he finally released himself, watching the shot dripping off the sides of the sink. He grunted, having to do more work, and grabbed himself the white tissues before wiping his mess.

. . .

“Hey.”

“Hey, Rafe,” (Y/N) said, trying to maintain her normal tone. She bit her lips at the sound of his heavy breathing, missing his voice and also his handsome face. She longed to have his face in her hands again, staring at each other’s eyes and kissing each other’s lips right after.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice slurring. “No, I mean, can I pick you up?” The sound of laughter and booming music could be heard behind him, giving out his location. (Y/N) sighed, knowing the exact request behind the words, and looked at her wall to check on the time.

“It’s 12 a.m., my mom won’t allow me to go out.”

“Sneak out, then,” Rafe replied, and he said something to his friends before focusing back on her. “Please? I missed you.”

(Y/N) sighed, knowing exactly her problem.

This.

“Okay,” she replied, leaning over her mattress to close her laptop now that she had new plans for the night. “What time are you picking me up?”

“I can’t drive right now,” he said, suddenly realizing how sloshed he was. “Can you come and pick me up, please?”

She sighed again, but she had missed him so much. Him and his touches. His and his words.

Him.

“Okay, send me your location, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

(Y/N) thought about how she couldn’t do it anymore. Not when she has spent most of her life trying to make him love her. He had been friends with her brother since forever, but yet he never seemed to settle on her. She heard about the amount of girls he dated and how she tried to become like them, but after a while, she grew bored of it. She was tired of running after someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

Until the night at the party, where they had been smoking and doing coke and god knows what else. (Y/N) had watched him from the corners of her eyes, liking how attractive he looked under the party lights. He was in a black shirt, his hair messily parted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.

“Thornton, do you know how perfect your smile is?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/N) giggled, her back against the wall as she stared into his eyes. 

“You’re mistaking me for my brother, Rafe?” she asked, with that smile again. Rafe licked his lips, looking down to hers before leaning closer to whisper into her ear.

“I’ve got to confess, (Y/N),” he whispered, sending shivers down to her spine. “You’re the hottest sibling.”

When she woke up the next day, laying right next to Rafe Cameron, she had to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was living in reality, but when she tried to approach him that evening on the golf course, it was like nothing happened that night.

It scarred her until he rang her up again, six days after. 

“Rafe,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning over to open the passenger’s door from her seat, seeing how drunk he was. Rafe giggled, getting himself in before shutting the door and staring at her. He leaned towards her and placed a sloppy kiss against her cheeks, down to her neck and stopped directly before her chest.

“Just park in the back,” he ordered, placing his palm on the upper side of her thigh, too close to her heat. She bit her lips as she turned her steering wheel, entering the back alley of the club. Soon after he had texted her his location, she sneaked out through her brother’s porch and stole his car, driving straight towards Rafe.

She turned the ignition off and looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, groaning when he missed one button. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hand away, her face expressing into anger.

“Don’t pull this shit again, fuck,” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back against the seat and covering his face with his hands. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a gold ring, and noticed how it looked so similar to hers hanging around her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, filling the silence. Rafe let out a shrill laugh, still closing his eyes.

“Still a bitch, I guess.”

“This is the problem, Rafe!” she groaned, causing Rafe to look at her fully in the face when he noticed her increasing volume. “What are we?”

“What do you want to hear?” he simply said, staring at her with empty eyes. He licked his lips, “No, seriously. Tell me the answer, and I’ll say it.”

How cold could he be?

“Rafe, do you see how you’re treating me?” she asked, and she could feel her tears threatening to fall. “Do you realize the difference between sober Rafe and intoxicated Rafe?”

Of course he knew. He just chose to ignore it.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rafe said, putting his hands up in defeat. “Can we just fuck, get over whatever fight we’re having right now, and live our best lives the next day? Can we do that?”

He turned to look at her, and noticed her glassy eyes. He sighed, trying to cup her face, but she flinched at his touch.

“You make me feel like a whore,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “One second you love me, the next second you’re spitting on me.”

He just had the worst night of his life; having a fight with Ward about his business, bumping onto the pogues, catching Sarah and John B. . . and now this?

“You think too much,” he said, but his heartbeat was quickening. He stole a glance at her and watched as she stared at him with empty eyes. “I’m sober now. You know what, (Y/N)? You’re right. I can’t even look at you when I’m not under the influence.”

He turned to open the door, getting out while buttoning his shirt back, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t stand it, he knew he’ll be too broken if he sees her cry over him. He didn’t know what to do; he panicked, never preparing for this exact moment where he knew she will ask about the state of their relationship.

He watched as she sped away from the alley, her engine roaring against the silence of that particular Friday night, where his day had been nothing but miserable. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to contain his feelings, but before he knew it, he had kicked on the empty beer can on the side of the road, watching its movement as it hit the opposite wall and fell into the trash can.

He laughed at the strange occurrence, his tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and made his way back to the club.

If there’s one thing he’s so sure about himself; Rafe Cameron hates himself more than anyone else in the world.

-

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[breeeliss]

#LockedTombtober Day 4: First

a/n: bc it’s less depressing to say that ianthe was harrow’s second kiss lol

//

day 4: first 

//

they’re lying in harrow’s bed fully clothed, still drenched in saltwater, when harrow asks probably the most ridiculous question gideon has ever heard leave her lips. “were your magazines entirely pornographic?” 

the delivery is so clinical that gideon is almost sure harrow asked her to confirm a footnote in some godforsaken bone witchery textbook, or whatever it was that harrow studied all day. it’s only because harrow is violently pressing her nails into the meats of her palms that gideon knows she heard correctly and allowed the silence to fester into some pretty spectacular awkwardness. 

gideon grasps for anything to say in response and unfortunately has to remain satisfied with, “i mean, like...y-yeah? mostly?” 

it’s because of the terrible secrets they now shouldered together -- the inability to let the other out of their sight, the need to fill the silence with noise no matter how inane or ridiculous -- that harrow forces the conversation forward. “what do you mean by mostly?” 

“...i mean, i don’t know. sometimes there’s some plot.” 

harrow raises an eyebrow, and gideon swears she’s taking the piss out of her. “porn with plot? fascinating.” 

“you asked!” gideon squirms. “there’s a lead up. you know, warming up the furnace before sticking your hands straight on it. setting the mood. establishing the vibe. getting the--”

“i quite get the point, griddle.” 

“oh shut up, you were the one who asked. why are you even asking?” 

harrow simply shrugs, scratching at the flaking white paint on her forehead. “...you kissed me.” 

it’s said in a whisper, and it takes gideon a moment to remember that...oh...yes, she did indeed. gideon’s body didn't take much instruction from her brain while they were in the pool. gideon only knew that harrow looked wretched begging for her to be punished for every hateful word that ever left her lips, and gideon unthinkingly showed her compassion instead. 

“you looked like you needed it,” she replies. “you were shivering and crying, that’s a normal reason to give someone a kiss.” 

harrow rolls over onto her side, and her hand falls on the mattress in between them. “is there a lot of shivering and crying in the magazines?” 

“no...at least not that kind. and there’s a lot more than kissing.” gideon shakes her head. “why are you asking, nonagesimus, this is super random.” 

the exhaustion from the day rolls over harrow in waves, and she doesn’t have the energy to snap back with anything other than the truth. “i was surprised, is all. your magazines always sounded rather torrid. but what you did was...nice.” 

gideon frowned. “i'm getting the sense you think i'm only capable of being a total horny asshole.” 

“well...not anymore.” 

gideon rolls over as well to watch harrow’s eyes refuse to make contact with hers. harrow doesn’t allow herself to possess anything resembling hesitation or weakness, and yet gideon thinks this is the first time she’s seen her nervous. “it’s not all ripped bodices and sex. like i said, sometimes there’s nice stuff that comes before it. cute stuff.” 

“like forehead kisses?” 

gideon takes a moment to truly think back. “actually...no. not really. i guess it just felt like the right thing to do, that’s all. if you hated it, you could’ve told me.: 

“no,” harrow says hurriedly. “i...i enjoyed it. it was my first one.” 

there’ve been too many sad discoveries about harrow this evening, and gideon feels a sickening pang after hearing one more. she thinks of harrow’s parents, the geriatric nuns forcing her into prayer, and gideon’s fists making her noses bloody all through their childhood. it hadn’t occurred to her that something as simple as a kiss hadn’t been present in all of that. 

“mine too. it’s not like there were many opportunities. kind of figured in some weird fucked up way you’d be my first. just statistically, you know.” 

harrow actually huffs out a weak laugh at the sorry excuse for a joke. “im sure there are more lifted skirts and popped buttons with the kisses you’ve read.” 

“you’d be surprised actually. like i said. it’s not all ripped bodices.” 

“what are they like then?” 

gideon’s breath catches, and harrow’s fingers stretch carefully, slowly, softly across the comforter until just the tips of their index fingers are touching. and god, they could die tomorrow. they really could honestly be stewing in their final hours at the fuck off edge of the universe in a house that was trying to kill them. there was so much poison that gideon could spew, so much revenge she could dish out, and so much cruelty she could finally force harrow to suffer through. and harrow would accept it without hesitation. but the look in harrow’s eyes clenches around gideon’s heart, and it’s the saddest, prettiest thing gideon has ever seen in her short, awful life. 

her other hand comes up to trace the tear tracks left in harrow’s face paint. “close your eyes.” 

harrow obliges, breath hitching and fingers clenching against gideon’s. but gideon has sworn to keep harrow safe and protected until she can no longer pick up her sword, and this is fealty she can be proud of. 

when their lips meet, gideon decides she’s glad that harrow was her first, and she’ll die content if harrow ends up being her last. 

[lululawrence]

Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

[gch1995]

Now, now! Here I thought that Kenobi was Skywalker's incorrigible abuser. In that case, I truly don't understand what your problem is with saying something nasty to poor woobie Vader. You say that Disney is woobifying Kenobi (not sure where or how exactly), but if anyone suggests for him to do something cruel, you cry foul. To boot, that post was a joke perhaps not a very good one). There's truly no way to please you.

Anakin’s not an innocent. He is worthy of punishment for his crimes, though the narrative of the story does that plenty.

However, I don’t understand how you can’t understand that it’s incredibly fucked up for someone to tell anyone that they should go commit suicide to “make the world a better place,” no matter how morally bankrupt they might be as people themselves.

Committing suicide is a serious issue that people with anxiety, clinical depression, C-PTSD, PTSD, BPD, and Bipolar Disorder often commit and/or attempt to commit in real life, especially when they are victims in abusive and oppressive relationships from which safe escape and healthy support is limited to nonexistent. It’s not something to “jokingly” ever tell someone else to go do!

Now, I’ll admit, we don’t have an official diagnosis for Anakin’s mental illness in canon, but he does show symptoms of all these mental health issues throughout canon, both before and after becoming Vader. He also has canonically been an abuse and oppression victim with increasingly compromised agency, limited healthy support, and limited escape opportunities his whole life in slavery, the Jedi Order, and the Sith/Empire. In the comics about him as Vader, a number of which are still considered canon, Anakin has attempted to commit suicide as Darth Vader at times, too.

Nonny, the fact that you would want Obi-Wan Kenobi to “jokingly” tell Anakin to commit suicide is just beyond fucked up, even if it was after he became Darth Vader. The dark side has become an addiction for him that amplified negative traits, he’s dissociated himself from the person he was before out of self-loathing to compartmentalize his guilt, his sanity’s gotten worse, and he’s given up on fighting back his darker impulses and Sidious. However, Anakin and Vader are still the same person. Obi-Wan is one of the people throughout Anakin’s life who is primarily responsible for destroying his self-esteem in the first place throughout his formative years.

Like, I don’t understand how you can’t grasp that no one deserves to be told they should go commit suicide. I don’t understand how you don’t grasp how fucked up and wrong it is to tell people to commit it as a “joke.” It’s like basic human decency to know better than to tell another human being to go kill themselves. I don’t know what issues you have, nonny, but the fact that you can actually think that a character saying that to another character is at all acceptable and “funny,” is just disturbing.