#appointments are hard

[turns-out-its-adhd]

An ADHD morning

7:30 am - First alarm

Roll over to sleepily take meds

Realise I left my water bottle in the kitchen last night when I went to refill it

Have nothing to drink to take meds

Fall back asleep

7:45 am - Second alarm...[third and fourth alarm...]

Manage to wake self enough due to need to pee

Take meds with me to bathroom and slurp water from tap to swallow meds

Hasty wash, brush teeth, makeup

Remove and re-apply smeared eyeliner job

8:20 am [Somehow... what‽]

Bus due at 8:50

*Panic*

Clothes/Dispense food to cat/Dispense love and affection to cat

Keys/Phone/Purse

Am I dressed warm enough? Probably... No? Yes it's fine

Get to door

Realise I forgot to grab cash for bus fare

Run back upstairs, get bus fare

8:42

Leave house

Power walk to bus stop

Get to stop just as bus comes round corner

Success!

8:50 - 9:19

Zone out on bus [except to notice coffee shop we just passed]

9:20

Arrive, disembark bus

Do I have time for coffee....?

9:23

Stand in short but unexpectedly slow queue for coffee

9:26

Power walk to doctor surgery with emotional support coffee

9:29

Arrive at GP just in time for 9:30am psychiatrist appointment

Proud face

Approach reception, check I am at correct reception

Give details

No record coming up in my name

Told to sit and wait while receptionist checks for me

**PARANOIA**

Check phone calendar - appointment today @ 9:30am

****MORE PARANOIA****

Check through phone pictures for photo I think I took of appointment letter

Find photo of letter after many photos of my cat

Letter confirms that :

My appointment was last Monday at 9:30 am

[blueywritespoetry]

I do not write happy poems.

I should probably get that checked out.

My ankle is still a little swollen

I should likely phone the doctors.

I have issues with overcomitting

And problems with abandonment

And my room is a mess I need to clean

And my desk is too dirty to be useful

And I should get my head looked at

And I'm probably autistic

And my heart hurts in a visceral manner

And I want to curl up and die

And I should probably get it checked out

But I don't. And so I won't.

[beautifuldaysarehere]

Perhaps one of the most awkward things about being shoulder deep in a fandom but pretending to be a well adjusted adult is when you are chatting with someone and they bring up a specific scene from said fandom and you refer to aspects of said scene with hyper detail that no one who hasn’t been consuming mass amounts of fanfic would ever say.

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

Why I’ve been so sick and why I might continue to be sick but will still try and work on the blog

@the-other-q made this so I am obligated to use it

[nondelphic]

writing: where i put my trauma to good use because apparently it’s cheaper than therapy

[charmac]

Season 17 premiere date announcement this month please 🙏🏼

[chrisrin]

hi so i got diagnosed with adhd like 6 months ago after continuously insistently denying i had it to everyone who swore up and down that i did have it. then a psychiatrist was "yeah you have it bro" and i've been re-evaluating everything in my life. anyways. that's context, and with that re-evaluating i've realized something about my hyperfixations and i want to know if:

a) people with adhd relate to it. b) how do you. deal with this. because i think it's somewhat ruining how i interact with media.

anyways, under the read more ->

i've come to realize a pattern with media i consume that i get fixated on. typically this happens with longer media. so stuff like homestuck, and currently with one piece. stuff that i cant binge in an evening or two. (i am on chapter 170 of one piece at the moment of writing this, i read 40 chapters yesterday)

i obviously can't be consuming the new piece of media i'm into every second of my day, in fact, that sounds exhausting.

i have other things i need to get done and, in fact, i NEED to be doing other things because even with something i'm hyperfixated on, my brain will get bored and needs to bounce off other types content. however what this does mean is that every thought i have IS still hyperfixated on the piece of media which means i will still seek out that content even if it's not me reading the original source material.

what this MEANS is that i have all these video essays recommended to me about one piece because youtube has caught on that i am liking and enjoying ONE PIECE (same with twitter. my entire twitter for you page is completely consumed by one piece. i dont know who 2/3rds of these people are please im still in alabasta what is happening) and i Want to Watch them all but i'm in the stage rn where Everything Is A Spoiler so i CANT watch the video essays so ill instead watch them RIGHT UP UNTIL im in the danger zone of being spoiled (sometimes actually risking/getting spoiled) or watching random out of context one piece clips and my one piece friends are all telling me i am just like icarus and flying too close to the sun but i also feel like i can't help the compulsion in some ways? it also means i cannot help but talk about it in every conversation i have with everyone but that seems like, minorly connected to all this.

it's crazy because in my head this is the Worst Stage of the hyperfixation, where i can Only consume the media itself and not all the fan stuff around it. but that's Insane because this should be the best time because i'm literally experiencing the cool media i like for the first time. i feel insane. does anyone else relate to this. how do you deal with it?

[collophora]

haha I'll never finish this

but hewwo new followers <3

[liatai]

Question!

Neurodivergent peeps of Tumblr, I have a question.

I know that "nonverbal" or "selectively mute" are specific terms that mean "I cannot force words out no matter how hard I try," so... is there a term for "I can speak if I have to, but right now it requires extra energy?"

Like, I'm autistic. I have times where I can speak and even hold conversations, but stringing a verbal sentence together takes effort, the same kind of effort lifting a heavy load with your body would but in your mind. I can be perfectly eloquent and verbose in text when this happens, and sometimes I'll even make some of the limited signs I know in ASL without an issue, but speaking aloud uses up all my mental RAM and I can feel the metaphorical fans of my mind-computer whirring in overdrive. X3;

It's exhausting, too. Usually if I've been verbally social for a while, that's when it kicks in.

I can understand spoken words just as well as other times when this happens, as long as I don't have to speak to reply. If I have to speak, the mental effort and stamina needed to do it tends to push details aside in an endeavor to save processing power. ^^;

I know autism is a spectrum, and I'm hoping someone might have a name for this "not QUITE nonverbal but verbal words are VERY hard right now" feeling ^^; "Partially nonverbal" or "partially selectively mute" doesn't seem quite right.

Help?

[89cats]

having pets is like … you’re not acting like yourself so I’ll be here obsessing over it until your vet appointment. and no, you may not leave my sight(at least for a little) 🥲

[fbfh]

Imagine topping Leo in a chair?

LITERALLY love you for this. riding Leo in a chair is in like your top 5 favorite ways to ride Leo. your faces are so close together and he can feel every intimate rockwing bouncing squeeze of your tight juicy little hole gripping his throbbing cock like a vise. his eyes are so wide and his grip on your soft hips is nearly enough to leave pretty little fingertip bruises polkadotting your thighs (which he's obsessed with) and your hips (which he's also obsessed with) and your ass (are you sensing a pattern here????) and god everything you do drives him crazy but CHRIST the way you hold his face so sweetly in your pretty hands, so innocent and tender while simultaneously milking his cock for all he's got. and he'll give it to you. Leo will let you ride him in that chair that he can't look at after that without going half mast. he'll let you ride him until he's shooting blanks, until both of your cum drips on the floor, mixing in messy creamy beautiful puddles. Leo will throw his head back in pleasure, panting, chest heaving and giving you the best view of his perfect neck that's just begging to be covered in hickeys and bites. Leo will let you ride him in a chair until he passes out. can't walk. pounding down gatorade and liquid iv to try and rehydrate. and he'll thank you for it.

[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

I'm not saying that Soo-cheol has entirely won me over with his cute stupidity but he has one chance to talk to his wife and he sends English and Korean vaccination records for the kid who might not even be his son? And he reminds his wife to sing baby shark? And we see the appointment and he's crying more than his son? And he's not even mad at her he just wants to know that she's okay?

My poor heart!

[the-one-with-spider-brainrot]

finally i figured out how to draw hekets head shape

she's fat and buff - in fact her body type is based on weightlifters

[rueclfer]

L.o.v running a tattoo parlour hcs

Shigaraki - Tattoo artist and owner, specialises in Surrealism, Blackwork and Irezumi tattoo styles.

Toga - Tattoo artist, specialises in watercolour styles, she especially adores incorporating faces in her works, adds cool face morphs into her designs, the faces are usually pretty women, her portfolio on their website is full of pretty women.

Dabi - Piercer, Assistant Manager

Spinner - Tattoo Artist, another artist that loves and specialises in Japanese style Irezumi

Twice - Tattoo Artist, Trash Polka style tattoos.

Compress - Piercer, AND Tattoo artist, he’s just that talented, his tattoo style is Surrealism, and Geometric styles.

Magne - Receptionist, she ain’t about that life, but she loves making clients feel comfortable and yaps with them.

Mustard - Intern, does some tattoos, but assists the others mostly, he’s still trying to find and hone his style, he has an impressive portfolio though.

Kurogiri - Handles finances.

BEAUUUTTIIFFULLLLLLLLLL oh my fucking god no notes!!!!

love to imagine that if anyone has a cancellation dabi is the first one to be like "dibs! i wanna fill in" for a free tattoo during the summer bc that's when piercing szn is slow HEHE plus he's chill abt it and will let whoever's doing his tattoo to do whatever to add to their portfolio

also everyone working in the shop having matching tattoos????? AAHHH

[bruiisedfawn]

[patchworkcuddlebug]

The Remnant Heart

[This story contains surgery, discussions/depictions of human organs, as well as a general theme of anxiety and horror.]

I don't know if I slept. I can't tell anymore.

It used to be agonizing for me to lay awake at night, stewing in my own restless patience as I try to allow myself to rest. But now I barely notice the time go by.

Perhaps this is stillness? Or the closest I can hope to achieve to it in my current state. There was no clear separation between states, no consciousness and unconsciousness. Was it rest? Or was I performing the task of stillness, awake and aware of my inaction as the minutes gradually slipped by?

I'm shaken from my thoughts by my heartbeat. I need to go see her.

I'm painfully aware of what is left inside me as I try to rise. My heart, lungs, liver, and nerves press uncomfortably against the clockwork filling the rest of me. I'm sure the thoughts of everything getting tangled, ripping me into a gory mess as my machinery ticks away uncaring, would keep me up at night if such thoughts still had a brain to occupy. I choose not to articulate what emotions such thoughts would stir in my nerves, what feelings hide inside the phantom goosebumps. I have something much more pressing to focus on.

My morning routine is easier than it ever has been. My skin was one of the first things to go, so I needn't worry about sweat and grime accumulating as I sleep. Still, the shower is a refreshing way to start any morning, and it allows me to style my hair more thoroughly. Besides the lightened load, it simply feels easier to allow myself to perform as I am expected to. There's no begrudging resistance; I get to make my bed.

The only real concern is sustenance. My body can no longer process food as a human's would, but it is not as magically attuned as a completed doll would be. She's prepared a collection of crystals which should give me enough energy to last 24 hours each without feeling sluggish. The tingling sensation leaves my fingertips as I load one onto my tongue, the buzzing instead refreshingly flowing through my whole body. It melts in my mouth almost as quickly as it enters, leaving nothing but a volatile vapour.

I look down at my outfit one final time before leaving. It's a dress she picked out for me, something she has recommended to many clients in the past. It was inexpensive, but still satisfactorily elegant. An a-line dress with a knee-length skirt that frills to match the puffed sleeves. I think about it for the entire walk to her clinic.

The air isn't as cold as it used to be.

. . . . .

Her back is turned, accounting for her tools. A selection of pristinely maintained surgical implements, most obfuscated by her figure as I try to gaze from my position on her table. Back straight, legs together, hands balled together and resting on my midsection. "Have there been any more mental developments since your last appointment?"

"I'm having trouble sleeping." A second of consideration. "And it feels good to answer you. Better than it did before."

"That's perfectly normal at this stage. Your independence should start getting weaker as time goes on. Do you have someone to oversee you?"

"Yes." I nod, habitually.

I notice it feels bad to lie to her, as well. My heart beats faster.

"We'll be taking your blood today, Mimic." She states as a matter of course. "Are you still comfortable with that name?"

"Yes." Terse, yet polite. Saying just as much as I need to. It's the truth, but it's still not the satisfaction I should feel from responding to my better, something lingering in my mind.

"Do you have any concerns about the procedure?" she says after turning to look at my face. Is it perception, or protocol? I answer regardless, my tone unchanged.

"What will happen to my heart?"

"Well, it won't have anything to pump anymore, so it'll start to atrophy." She says with a practised delicacy. "Since your autonomic nervous system is still mostly intact, this can be a little uncomfortable, so we try to remove it within a few weeks of-"

For just a moment, politeness escapes me. "I want it gone."

She doesn't waver. "Well, you're already scheduled for your next appointment, but I can certainly see if my dolls can move you up." There's a deep compassion in her voice, one used against countless before me. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss before we get started?"

"I'm content." I shake my head, habitually. I want it gone. I will tear myself open and rip it out in front of her, anything to stop this damned panicked beating against my chest. But good dolls obey.

She says something else, a formality of beginning, but I can't respond as I'm supposed to. I allow myself to dwell, losing my thoughts in the ways only a person could. Is this fear, or anticipation? Whatever it is, it can't make me protest. My heart beats all the same.

I'm aware of the expectations, I've looked over the consent form too many times to count, feeling my eyes buzz with anticipation. Beyond the banality of the paperwork, the evaluations, the reiteration of permanence and potential for harm, every detail of this process has been imparted to me without the chance for confusion.

I hold out my arm, and she gently supports it with hers. She struggles for a moment to find the vein hiding in the tangle underneath my porcelain shell, bending my hand as one would pose a doll to force a gap in my wrist's joints. The pain is momentary and negligible. Then, finally, it can begin.

As a person, a proper and fully human being, I couldn't stand having my blood taken. It was dreadfully vulnerable, an exposure, the loss of something that must remain inside at all costs. But now, I can't look away. I stare with rapt enchantment as finally, finally, I can discard another burden. Finally, I can let it go.

First I feel it in my feet. They start to feel cold, almost... drafty. Compared to the feeling of having my skeletal system removed, the feeling of being emptied of blood isn't as visceral as I had anticipated. Although, that may have been from how sudden it was to wake up, fighting through the sedative to revel in my alleviated body. Here, the feeling is more... supplemental. A formality of diminishing returns.

My heart beats faster. I breathe a little more. I think it's finally noticed what's going on.

I fight off a shudder as the coldness spreads to where my stomach once was. I must have stillness, lest I snap the fragile needle between my rigid porcelain.

It's in my hands now. I feel it more in the left arm, the chill spreading from my fingertips unwelcome against my still-full chest. I'm not sure if I could move even if I wanted to. It feels much colder there than anywhere else, much more empty. My proprioception is shot; I need to look at my fingers to confirm they still bend, and their twitching is haggard and clumsy. I was told of this numbness, to expect the recovery period to be difficult. To have the awareness powering the magical movements of my body to dull for an irritating length. But the feeling of undergoing it still induces panic, my heart beating ever faster.

Those worthless human remnants cling to self-preservation. My heart beats and beats as if begging, trying to pump my adrenaline enough to get me out of such a deadly situation with what little I have left intact. So pathetically uncoordinated, I lost my endocrine system long ago. What use is there for something so misguided, so detrimental? It doesn't know what it's doing, acting on blind instinct, flexing without caring why.

It's getting so much faster. The heat is finally receding from my face. What a greedy thing, trying to pump every last drop into itself. Fighting against the one thing I've wanted more than anything for as long as I can bother to remember. Such a stupid, pathetic, worthless organ. Good for nothing but distracting me with its infernal beating when good dolls need to focus. Making me cling to feelings of hesitance and conformity that dolls don't need.

My breath hitches and I flinch as it skips its first beat. I'm going to die. I focus on the consent, the intake, everything rational telling me every doll has felt this before. The last remnants of my past clawing at the comfortable similarity of a life it knew. The dread remains. Can't it see that I was never alive? Can't it know that it's afraid of itself? Can't it accept that this is for its own good?

But hearts can't see, as my eyes were quickly replaced by pretty glass marbles, sculpted treasures full of life. It can't know, the brain that held everything I ever believed was the first thing to be overhauled, before it was ever removed. It can't accept, it's just a heart, never built for anything but trying to survive, to try and stay safe the only way it can.

And as the last of its essence was drained away, left with the last of the strength it will ever have, all it could do was force out the last of its blood. It was weak, fading, but there, finally accepting that it could do no more. It was finally, finally allowed to rest. I can't find it in myself to curse it anymore, just wishing that it knows it served me well.

I breathe, and it feels useless. There's nothing for the air to do inside of me anymore. Still, the act is nostalgically soothing, something to ground me as the witch removes the needle.

"Alright, that's the procedure." The witch smiles to herself as she tends to her tools, discarding used parts and putting things where they belong. "Try to take a second to acclimate to everything, this is usually quite the shock."

I slowly, experimentally, lift a hand up to my chest. I can't feel it as I hold it in the air, trying to blindly guide it into place, until I feel porcelain touch porcelain as it lands over my still heart. Useless as it may be now, that frantic muscle kept it alive long enough to make it here.

The feeling will return. Or perhaps, it will arrive for the first time.

I struggle against my body, worn-out but calmingly chilled, to speak as soon as I can. "There is something I would like to ask for its next surgery."

. . . . .

This one retires to its chambers. It has still found no witch to serve, no purpose beyond preserving itself. Until this is to be fixed, it derives pleasure from such simple acts as maintaining itself and cleaning its surroundings, just as a doll would. The joy it feels is its purpose.

Sometimes this one swears it still hears it beat. That's all its poor heart knows, after all. When this one makes mistakes, has doubts of its rightfulness, looking back at the protected numbness of before it knew what it wanted from its existence. In those moments, it likes to take its heart down from its place on the shelf. It holds the memorial, the tube in which it is preserved, close to its porcelain chest as it finds stillness in its bed.

There is no comfort in this, nothing worth cuddling, no warmth left in the organ's never-decaying body, no more exhausted work to be extracted from the preserved cardiovascular muscles.

It calms the doll nonetheless, its heart resting just a little easier.