#bc i was still experiencing symptoms

[dollgutted]

tumblr is just gonna become my thought dump now that i can't use quotev to update everyone abt my interests and how i'm doing: and can i just say, i'm not doing well. i'm gonna throw a FIT actually. my doctor's appointment went pretty poorly, and i'm not really on the road to recovery at all, i'm still at the beginning basically.

crohns fucking sucks and i'm angry about it. it actively effects my daily life and i'm just sick and tired constantly. i want to feel better for once. i swear to fucking god, crohns is making my MDD worse. and to top it off, on these antibiotics i'm taking for my current crohns related inflammation problem, i can't take my antidepressants. so like, i can't even begin to manage my depression alongside managing my physical symptoms. and of course, the steroids they have me on to manage the physical symptoms? yeah that causes insomnia. which also worsens the depression. because i sit up all night thinking about any and everything when i should be sleeping. which in turn worsens my already existing daily fatigue that just comes with the territory of being disabled.

it is pure misery right now boys and there is no sun on the horizon. my doctor basically said there's nothing she can do to help me at the current moment because my insurance won't cover the tests i need, and i can't afford that shit out of pocket either, so it's just a waiting game. waiting until i get so bad i have to go back to the ER and they HAVE to take care of me out of necessity OR waiting for this new insurance to accept me and help me cover the tests. whichever comes first. sigh.

[mars-ipan]

fuck wait guys am i ovulating too. are we all synced

[swollenwithangst]

i hate my uncontrollable need to analyze everything. my inability to only partially devote myself to things that will never be a constant. being too little or too much, exacerbating or not quite enough. i have roused myself with the guise of our friendship, acknowledging now that's all it can be. rejecting my kindness, while bringing tenfold your own. like magnets we push and we pull, all based upon the way in which we chose to orient ourselves that day.

[mashmouths]

sitting waiting for someone to text you bc you wanted to make plans with them almost 4 hours ago but now you've just wasted 4 hours bc you couldn't do anything bc you were waiting for them to text should've been a circle of hell in dante's inferno

[crumbleclub]

there's certain things i want to put in storylines but i keep doing this

[b-blushes]

experiencing what they might call "did some unavoidable activities that were way above regular activity level as an individual with disabilities that Don't Like It When You Do This" and it's not my favourite sensation/dimension to exist in. like i'm fine but also. i feel haunted :P

[ceramicbeetle]

interesting to me when people talk about kirk's fear of getting old in tmp it often seems to be talked about purely in terms of 'not being young anymore' instead of in the context of The Deadly Years where kirk is the only one of those affected to wind up with outright dementia

[vimbry-moved]

saw a really fun show tonight! got home took pee and became an ex-member of the never passed out club

[livefromtheelephantsfoot]

as a person with zero desire to ever be pregnant, the fact that it is possible--through assault, miscalculation, bad luck or some combination thereof--for my body to abruptly change in painful, sometimes permanent ways i have little control over; that depending on where i live i could not only be denied access to medications that would stop it but also find the informed consent that underlies my current treatment plans crumbling; that my body could become no longer mine not only due to the being growing inside me i did not ask for, but societal norms that normalize strangers touching my body without asking and controlling what i eat; that's pretty frightening to think about.

does this impact how i view or treat other people who are pregnant? nope. and i would not consider a straightforward depiction of pregnancy inherently disturbing, or expect other people to find it so. but a work of horror that took that seed of fear and focused in on it, either with a literal depiction of pregnancy viewed from the eyes of someone who doesn't want to be pregnant or a fantastical depiction where the unwanted fetus is a monster or the pregnancy affects the person's body in ways that extend beyond the real world experience? that could be really disturbing, and the fact that pregnancy is not unnatural and many people choose it happily would not disqualify it as "body horror."

I think that there's a very meaningful criticism to be made wrt body horror and how it often can handle disability or disfigurement in an extremely reactionary and prejudiced fashion but I feel like you've lost the plot if you can sincerely say shit like "cancer isn't body horror" like I dont know I think its pretty scary to have cancer. I dont feel like we need to defend the role of cancer as a natural process of the body. Like that's not comparable to people acting like a cleft lip or a guy in a wheelchair are spooky. Pregnancy is pretty scary too like even before the question of forced birth and other such social violence surrounding it are involved. I think you're sort of dancing around the fact that the human body does frightening things to us all the time and the question of what is "natural" should in of itself be actively questioned because sometimes "natural" things are... bad!

[psilactis]

feeling some sort of way about being a late diagnosis autistic adult

[etherealkissed88]

how i manifest when i feel anxious •°. *࿐

i decide i have what i want…

when i feel anxiety -> i let it pass while knowing its only a human reaction

◦ since i am beyond just a human (i am limitless imagination/self), i know any anxiety is below me and it has nothing to do with my limitless self. i have exactly what i decided i have, regardless of any anxiety.

know anxiety usually comes from a fear of failure

◦ so, i cannot limit myself based on what i see or what i negatively assume my future will look like bc i am always beyond the 3d, no matter what feelings/anxiety my human self experiences.

◦ i become indifferent/i dont care about what i see or what i assume i will see because i know everything comes together in the 3d once i change self/know its done. fact: everything always comes together and works out in the end. being indifferent to the 3d = being indifferent to emotions, anxiety and everything that doesnt serve you.

dont fight it, dont avoid it, tackle it head on

◦ acknowledge you are experiencing anxiety bc you are. yes it can feel like shit but it doesnt have to affect who you are being (whatever version of self you are embodying). again, i can choose to be indifferent to this anxiety. you dont have to be scared of the anxiety. it is a natural human response. cry if you need to, let it all out. dont try to suppress it bc that will only come to bite you back in the ass, believe me.

◦ take care of your mental health in whatever ways necessary. when i used to experience anxiety, i used to take walks in the park, clear my head, meditate, express myself and my emotions through art and journaling, etc. remember nothing you do (or feel) in the 3d has to affect who you are being/your state.

"how can i still have anxiety yet still be a desired version of me?"

anxiety has no affect on anything unless you allow it to change your identity. you are the one with power, the anxiety is only an experience, similar to breathing in oxygen and using our sense of touch; its all neutral. when you start surrendering to the anxiety, you are creating and accepting negative stories that you create based on the feeling of anxiety. allowing that anxious feeling to change your state/identity is surrendering to something you view as more "powerful" than you. stop transforming that anxiety into a state that you embody based on the false, negative stories u imagine.

remember a 3d experience or anxious feelings doesnt have to influence who you are being. an example: a model who knows (fulfilled) that she is graceful and beautiful can have anxiety about doing her catwalk. the anxiety is normal, she can experience the symptoms of anxiety (shortness of breath, dry mouth, shaking) but her core identity/state is still a graceful model. the anxiety is only a temporary feeling. usually when we experience these feelings, they occupy all of our attention in that moment which is why it seems so scary but in reality, its not that big a deal. know that anxiety is just a feeling. you are safe. you can still experience shitty feelings while knowing you are a bad bitch!

you dont always identify with everything you experience. for example, a lot of people experience good things and still identify as people who are unworthy of good things. so its really up to you to choose what to identify with.

i know my only job is knowing its done

◦ if i just decided its done, as the operant power, as i say goes, therefore its done. so my job is done. anxiety is part of the 3d, not my limitless self, imagination. so i can be indifferent and experience it without identifying with it, the same way people manifest what they desire while experiencing their shitty circumstances daily (because they do not identify with those shitty experiences).

◦ ive heard/experienced situations where we know its done yet we cried and felt like shit, and what we wanted still manifested into the 3d. bc anxiety is only a feeling. do not allow your feelings to take hold of your state, but if it does, its never the end of the world... just get back in the state. 3d shit/anxiety doesnt have to intervene with who you are being/what you identify with.

kisses, jani ☆

[paracosmicka]

As a trans man I love mpreg as long as it’s not fetishized. I want kids in the future so seeing mpreg is like going oh hey! Another seahorse dad! I don’t get to see myself in media much. It makes me uncomfortable when people don’t separate the 2 mpreg can be fetishized but it’s also a thing a lot of transgender afab go through. I know this is a sonadow account and it’s not that deep lol but thanks it’s cool seeing it :) saying that: more plz 🥹

This actually makes me feel so relieved bc another reason why I’m always hesitant to post pregnant Shadow is I’m worried that it can be seen as disrespectful or that if it might be used for fetishization purposes which isn’t really what I’d like my art to be associated with.

I don’t want to kink shame anyone, as an agender aroace person who does not experience any romantic or sexual desire whatsoever (i think? still learning about the different types of experiences within the aroace spectrum) I feel that I am literally the least qualified to talk about the morality behind mpreg as a kink/fetish.

With all that in mind, I do wanna say that I wish there was more transgender pregnancy representation that wasn’t just fetish. Like just googling “pregnancy symptoms” will give you a wide range of experiences, but when I was trying to look into if there were unique ways that pregnancy can effect trans men, it took a lot of digging so either I’m just stupid and can’t search things on the internet very well or there really isn’t a lot of representation of trans pregnancies.

Although I did recently learn that in the r/pregnancy subreddit, FTM does not in fact mean “Female to Male” and is actually just “First Time Mom” which makes a lot of sense bc for awhile I thought half of the subreddit were just trans guys. Then I discovered there is literally a subreddit r/seahorse_dads and so I spent awhile just reading a bunch of posts in there.

Anyway I’m fine just existing in my own space with sonadow family fluff, but when I share it I get all nervous bc mpreg is cringefail or whatever and I don’t even know if it’s cringe for being cringe or if it’s cringe bc it’s a fetish. Just know that whenever I post any art of any kind, I try to think as little as possible about how people will interpret my drawings, bc at the end of the day I just drew it because it made me happy and thinking about sonadow fluff gives me warm and fuzzy butterflies that I think people are supposed feel when they’re in love but I’ve never experienced that for another person in my entire life and I don’t think I’ll be able to. So thinking about and drawing sonadow is probably the closest I’ll get to that feeling.

And it makes me even more happy when people say they genuinely connected with my art bc then I know that the warm and fuzzy butterflies feeling got through, and I’m just really glad we can all get our little serotonin boost from these stupid gay hedgehogs.

I genuinely don’t think any of this makes sense I’ve spent 3 hours trying to write a response to this ask and then I remembered that I got zero sleeps last night so that’s probably why brain no worky but in conclusion: thank you for the ask Anon it really made my day and I’m spiritually headbutting you like a cat as they say

[sundrop-writes]

oo! I was just unsure of how you could do it for some of the characters but I trust you to come up with good scenarios, you’re always very creative with them.

So, could I ask for how you think teen wolf characters Stiles, Isaac, Lydia, & Derek would react to finding out reader is pregnant? (could be with their baby, or however else you think up bc ofc Lydia can’t get anyone pregnant 😂)

And no you are not alone. I really like pregnancy and baby fics, which is why I was wondering, but I was still a bit worried you weren’t up for it for this particular fandom! It’s very fun to read about having an imaginary family with my fav characters and the variety of diff scenarios that could lead to it.

'I'm sure you could come up with something good' - and the first time I read this message, I came up with something delightfully insane for Lydia. so strap in omg

I am also glad that I'm not the only one who likes pregnancy and kid fics!!! I think they are so much fun because it has elements of drama and fluff and caring. It's such a nice soup of emotions. I really hope you like what I have done here.

Teen Wolf requests are OPEN. Please read my Rules before requesting!

How would the pack react to finding out that you're pregnant with their baby?

Included: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, and Derek Hale.

Warnings: usually I do GN readers for reactions but this one called for fem!reader - the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and has the ability to get pregnant); in Lydia's section, the reader is a werewolf; mentions of the reader having typical pregnancy symptoms; sexual themes (baby making - duh), some sentences that could be considered smutty?; I think Isaac's part is the longest because we know I have a fucking soft spot for him; mentions of unprotected sex (again - duh); mentions of the abuse Isaac experienced from his father (not detailed); umm idk what else - generally mature themes? But no major warnings other than that.

Stiles would freeze up. He would be so unsure how to react to the information that for a while, he wouldn't react at all.

When the words came out of your mouth, he thought he had misheard you.

"Stiles, I - I'm pregnant."

"What?" He gaped in response.

"I'm pregnant." You affirmed gently.

He sat there, frozen with shock, and didn't say anything for a long time.

He was overwhelmed with too many thoughts and emotions. He wanted to be happy, but he felt like he wasn't ready for this. But he also wasn't ready for half the things that had happened to him in life so far - being kidnapped (more than once), having friends die or nearly die around him, being possessed by a thousand year old demon and fighting to be freed.

This was good, right?

It was you. He wanted you, he wanted everything that came with a life with you.

But it was so soon.

His dad was going to kill him.

"Stiles, say something, please-" You begged quietly, and when your eyes began to brim with tears, that broke him free from his horrible shock.

He couldn't stand to see you hurt. He jumped off the bed and swept you into a hug, holding you tight. Instinctively, you squeezed him back, seeking the comfort that always came from his touch.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He said, whispering into your neck. "I'm sorry, I know this is bad-"

"You think it's bad?" You posed in return, misconstruing his words. "So - so you don't want to keep it?"

His heart shook in his chest.

Of all the things he had been thinking, that was not one of them.

"No." He said sharply, pulling away from the hug to get a good look at your tearful face. Your features were still twisted with pain, and he absolutely hated it. "I just - I just meant that you're upset, and that's bad."

"Well - what about the pregnancy part?" You asked urgently. "What do you think about that part?"

"It's scary as hell." He answered honestly. Your lip quivered, and he rushed to say more. "But for once in my life, I think it's the good kind of scary, like - like roller coasters or scary movies where you know nobody actually gets hurt, or - or spicy hot wings." He rambled on. "I'm terrified, but I think this is gonna be amazing. There's nobody else that I'd rather have a baby with than you."

Saying the word 'baby' out loud made it all terribly real.

You gave him a wet, tearful smile, and then pulled him into a kiss.

Isaac would be upset and insecure.

After you told him, Isaac ran - he ditched out of your bedroom window, leaving you alone and tearful, and after you spent days in bed sobbing (your sadness likely multiplied by the pregnancy hormones), you would be determined to track him down. Even if he didn't agree to be a father, even if he didn't own up to it, at the very least, you needed to finish the conversation you had started. You needed closure - the end of the relationship, if that's what he wanted.

After days of him dodging you, you finally managed to catch him at Derek's loft. It was clear that he wanted to run again, but Derek's words about owning up to his responsibilities were ringing in his ears, and he decided that at the very least, he owed you an explanation. He would give you the conversation you so desperately wanted.

"What the fuck, Isaac?" You barked at him, tears edging in your eyes again at seeing him for the first time in a week. "What the hell is wrong with you? I-"

"You really want me to run down that fucking laundry list now?" He snapped, more bitter and rage fuelled than you had ever seen him. His voice caused chills down your spine. "Because I'm surprised it's taken you this long to notice one thing, let alone half of it!"

This was not the man who you had fallen in love with. This wasn't your sweet, loving Isaac. This wasn't the man who had taken you to bed, kissed over every inch of your body, made you so ripe with passion that something like a condom felt insignificant compared to the cosmos you saw in his eyes as he pushed his cock inside of you.

"Isaac, what are you talking about?" You asked, your voice small, barely edging above a whisper as you stared him down carefully, searching through his eyes - wondering if everything before this had just been an act to get you into bed.

All you saw boiling up inside of him was hurt, and it made you ache too.

"I don't expect you to know." He sighed fitfully, shaking his head.

You put a hand over your stomach, a protective instinct, and his gaze focused there. Regret splashed up inside of him, and he couldn't contain his next words.

"When you told me you were pregnant, did you expect the fucking sun to shine down and angels to sing and some fucking - Hallmark bullshit?" He questioned, clearly jaded.

You hadn't expected that, but you hadn't expected him to run away. Part of you expected him to be happy.

"I can't be happy about this." He told you, almost as if reading your mind. "I have shitty, horrible DNA. I'm a monster, Y/N." You gave him a puzzled look, and he continued. "I'm not talking about the werewolf thing - my father was a horrible person. You know that. I can't be around a kid. I can't have a baby. I can't risk it."

He said the last part softly, that terrible regret lacing his voice, and suddenly, in that moment, it all became crystal clear to you. He thought his father's abusive ways would be hereditary.

Your chest clenched with a horrible pain, and you wandered across the room toward him, and instinctively, he backed away from you.

"Don't." He said, continuing to eye your stomach sharply. You realized now that he thought he was protecting your baby by staying away from it, staying away from you.

You inched toward him again, this time managing to snag his hand, which you brought to place flat on your stomach. You were early in your pregnancy, not showing (your stomach not any different than it normally would be) - but something wolfish inside of him flared with protectiveness, something could sense that different thing about you. It was subtle, but he could feel and hear another heartbeat under his palm. He wanted to run again, but feeling this, being so close - it caused him to relax against you, instinctively wrapping his other arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

"Isaac, you're nothing like your father." You told him quietly. "You're not going to hurt our baby-"

"But what if I do?" He argued, his voice cracking with fear.

"You won't." You assured him. "We both know that you won't."

Lydia would be shocked - in denial. Because - what the fuck is happening? This shouldn't be scientifically possible, right? Right?

At first, she was convinced that you cheated on her. She freaked out about that. She screamed at you, threw things. You cried because you hated that she was accusing you of such a horrible crime, even if you understood why (to an extent). She shouldn't be able to get you pregnant, so it was perfectly sane to think that you had cheated on her with a guy during the course of your relationship - even though you hadn't. This was crazy. This shouldn't be possible.

When you had first started feeling the symptoms - the nausea, the irritability, the generally off feeling, something that kept nagging at you and had all of your senses on edge, you hadn't even thought to take a pregnancy test. Even when you missed your period, you assumed that it was stress, not eating right... a laundry list of other things before you would have assumed this.

But then - Derek pulled you aside and asked why you smelled like that. He said the only other time he had smelled it was when he was much younger - before the fire, when one of his aunts was pregnant. You told him that it wasn't possible, and he told you that his nose never lied.

So - driven crazy by the thought, and believing it to be impossible, you peed on the stupid little stick. And then another, and then another, entirely in disbelief. And when you dumped a bunch of pee covered sticks onto Scott's Mom's kitchen counter, much to her horror, asking her if there was any way they could be wrong. She told you it was unlikely, but took you to the hospital to get you a blood test, and when it came back positive, she asked you who the father was.

She gave you that same fish-gaped mouth when you told her.

"Lydia." You sighed. "Lydia is the father. She's the only person I've ever had sex with."

And this left you and Lydia in Derek's kitchen with him and Stiles, with your positive blood test sitting in the middle of the counter, Stiles pouring over every book he could find on the subject - all of you irritably confused.

"How?" Lydia gaped, still in shock. "How?"

"I don't know." Derek shrugged. "You tell me."

"And - and you didn't cheat on me?" Lydia asked you, still believing this to be the most logical answer.

"Yes." Derek answered, cutting you off. "She's not lying. That much I can tell you."

You were glad that he backed you up on this, but it still left everyone confused and searching for answers.

"Look, okay, Lydia - you survived the Alpha bite, you have some weird immunity." Stiles said, pausing between his frantic page flipping. "Maybe... this is what happens when you have sex with a werewolf?"

Lydia scoffed and you hid your face in your hands with embarrassment. You wondered if it had something to do with the full moon. The last time - you had been so full of energy, pulsing with power as the moon came to its fullness overhead, and you had pinned her down, spent hours rubbing your cunt raw against hers. But you never thought that anything the two of you did could result in a pregnancy.

"Maybe it would help if you tell me exactly what you two did?" Stiles suggested - he was thinking of it from a theoretical, scientific standpoint, not realizing how perverted this sounded until after it left his lips.

"Really?!" Lydia glared at him.

You picked up a nearby vase and threw it at him without hesitation, and he dodged it, causing it to smash against the wall behind his head, disintegrating into dust.

"Okay, bad idea!"

"Just shut up and keep reading."

Derek would be intensely protective. From the second the words came out of your mouth, the entire axis of his world shifted. Everything became about you and protecting you and your unborn baby.

"Derek, I think I'm pregnant."

Everything suddenly made sense. The change in your scent, the odd way you had been acting, the fact that you had been sick recently.

He couldn't contain the deep, feral growl he let out - the way his eyes lit up as the news fully overtook him. The flash of red made you mistake him as angry, and your entire body sagged.

"Look, I'm sorry, but this isn't just my fault-" You hissed sharply at him, and he cut you off by sealing his lips over your own, smothering you in an intense, hot, confusing kiss.

Of course he knew that it wasn't 'just your fault'. The two of you had sex plenty of times, but if he wasn't mistaken, he remembered the night vividly well-

You thought it would be funny to tease him by tempting him with a chase through the woods, and it ended with you stomach down in a clearing, your cheek pressed against the dirt while he fucked into you roughly from behind, growling warnings in your ear, telling you not to tease him again. (Which only made you want to do it again, and again.)

"Don't be sorry, moonflower." He mumbled against your lips, using his nickname for you. "Don't ever be sorry about this."

The passion that overtook his voice sent chills down your spine. You were speechless.

"Derek?" You questioned, a quiet chirp that almost died off in your throat.

"From now on, you don't leave my sight, do you understand me?" He said, gently running his knuckles across your face, as sweet and soothing as you had ever seen him.

Before, he had been subtle in his protection of you. Reaching over to snap on your seatbelt before you could do it yourself, always putting an arm around you, especially in the face of danger, making sure that he walked in front of you if thought there might be a threat around. He had never been this outright passionate about his protection of you before.

But he would never risk the life of his unborn child - he would never let anybody come between him and the woman who was going to mother that child. It was a sacred bond now.

"Yes, of course." You couldn't help but to agree.

Then, Derek surprised you when he knelt down in front of you, placing his forehead on your stomach and gently closing his eyes as if partaking in the solitude of prayer. Which, he was - uttering silent promises to your unborn child, worshipping at the altar of the powerful, beautiful woman who was going to bring that baby into this world.

It left you speechless once again, and all you could do was run your fingers through his hair, further adding to his peace.

[chaysreality222]

‧₊˚ ⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.✧˖ °

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐈 𝐒𝓗𝐈𝐅𝓣𝐄𝐃 𝓑𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝓞 𝓐𝐍 𝓤𝐍𝓚𝐍𝓞𝐖𝐍 𝓡𝐄𝐀𝓛𝐈𝐓𝓨 . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

i'm beyond happy to be making a post like this. as you can tell by the title, I'VE SHIFTED! but the catch is i shifted to some unknown reality. still extremely proud of myself and happy, but there's just an ounce of disappointment that it wasn't one of my scripted drs. i've been waiting to tell you guys about it, so let's get into it!

the night of june 24th, 2024, i had chose to take the night off from attempting to shift and just sleep because the previous night i had already attempted to shift through my lucid dream. i fell asleep on accident and woke up at least once, and then fell back asleep.

i fell into a dream where something personal had happened where it caused me to be really sad. to set the setting, it was extremely late at night and i had been coming home. i needed to shower especially to get my mind off things. i checked my phone that was on the bathroom counter before my shower and it switched from 1:30 something am to 3:33 am.

This is when i became lucid. tmi my armpits were extremely unkept. (i feel like this was my dream showing me an insecurity of mine bc i had just waxed and was afraid of the hair growing back weird omg. but after i had stopped feeling insecure and told myself that it's just a dream and it's not like that irl, it went back to normal).

after that moment was passed, i was so exhausted and as i was showering i decided to sit down for a second on the ground of the tub. i was so tired and sad that in my mind i was thinking about how i wanted to just shift so badly. didn't matter what reality it was, i just needed it at that moment.

i laid my head back on the wall of the tub, then my eyes started to drift closed. i started to experience shifting symptoms from inside the lucid dream. there was flashing lights i saw through my eyelids, i felt a sense of floating, numbness accompanied by tingles down my body, and the room felt like it was spinning.

i naturally had woken up. (i'd say i just opened my eyes but it felt like i had woken up like any other time i've ever woken up in my original reality). i noticed i shifted! i didn't even question it, because i didn't have to. just as we are right now, wherever you are reading this, that's how real and natural everything was. you know for a fact you aren't dreaming right now, this is reality. that's the closest way of how i could explain how i knew i shifted.

my surroundings hadn't changed though. it was still the same bathroom setting like i had been in like that dream which i found to be an exact replica of my original reality (or) bathroom. the lights were off but candles had been placed around the bathroom to create this peaceful ambience. it was really nice. i felt the hot water running down my skin as it hit the top of my head, as well as the steam. i could also feel the tiles of the wall and the tub beneath my bare feet.

i also didn't feel the immense sadness and heaviness i was experiencing in my dream anymore. you know when you woke up from being scared or sad in the dream, and you feel a sense of relief because it wasn't real? that's the feeling i had been feeling but also happiness and curiosity from me shifting.

as i was just standing in the water and taking it all in, that's when the ounce of disappointment hit me that i shifted to some place but my actual scripted drs. in which i understand you can shift to unscripted places, but you guys get what i'm saying. i guess it's my fault for not focusing on any of my drs and instead hoping for any reality possible. (please don't take the disappointment i had felt to any offense! i'm extremely happy i shifted, just wish it was to my waiting room dr, etc). but hey, i shifted and that is what matters!

then i decided to shift back! i had no reason of staying there any longer and a part of me didn't want to get out of the shower and open that bathroom door. since it was a random reality, i didn't want to mess around and find out.

i was ready to go back to my or! and even though i had been thinking about my or, i didn't just shift back like i always thought i would or was always afraid of happening when i had shifted to say my hogwarts dr. it was just like every other thought i've had about my drs here! just because you or i think about our drs during the day here, doesn't mean we will just be pulled out of this reality and shifted over there. i hope i'm making sense, but i'm sure you guys understand what i'm saying.

anyway, i set the intention to shift back to my or and said my safeword as i closed my eyes. it's hard to explain but i could feel my consciousness shifting back to my or? then i had woken up back in my or! i checked the time and it was around 4 am on june 25, 2024. i believe i had been in my dr for a total of at least 8-10 minutes. i couldn't believe i had just shifted realities, but i was also dead tired. so i went back to sleep! but i have to say throughout that day, i was exhausted and still processing my shifting experience. so exhausted, i didn't really have the motivation to do much of anything.

first of all, thanks to those of you keeping up with my shifting journey and never failing to continue motivating me. it means a lot to be apart of this community of caring and helpful people <3 next stop is my waiting room dr! also a quick question to the experienced shifters out there, does dealing with the exhaustion after shifting get easier? thanks! as always, happy shifting!

xoxo, c!

[scoutofmymind]

hey babe I’m not the anxiety attack req anon but wow do I need to read that!!!!!

That Funny Feeling — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: panic attacks, anxiety disorder, sweetie boy Luigi, friends to lovers, Disney World (lol), Ms. Anxiety is referred to as ‘her’, Bo Burnham lyric reference, lots of pet names, comfort

Wc: 4,101

Notes: You and Luigi have known each other for over a decade, and in that time, Luigi has found himself rather well versed in handling your anxiety attacks. But what sets him apart isn't just his ability to help you through these moments — it's his perspective on them.

Hello my pookies. This request is super recent but I felt compelled to write it! As someone who struggles with anxiety (especially during winter months) I felt generally responsible for portraying the feeling of anxiety disorder as realistically as possible, and with that being said, please take care of yourself — if you think reading this will cause any anxiety, or trigger you in any way, please do not read!

There’s plenty of other things to read on my bloggy 💕

I deleted this original ask on accident, if it wasn’t already obvious, so original anon (maybe) responded to my Hail Mary with another ask:

Now I’m thinking I had several anons asking about anxiety attack reqs bc the original was just a general request (no mention of an exam or gettin freaky) about reader having an anxiety attack and being comforted by Luigi through being his sweetie self and physical touch.

Anyway, I added a good girl for you, anon. 💋

There it is again, that funny feeling.

That funny feeling.

You still remember the first one.

Where all of it started.

Disney, of all places, where dreams were supposed to come true, or whatever.

You and Luigi were dancing around the Just Friends label, though his willingness to endure a fourteen-hour road trip with your family spoke volumes. He'd claimed the passenger seat next to you without hesitation, making this his third family vacation with yours.

Your parents drove ahead in their own car, leaving you to manage your bickering tween siblings with Luigi as your sole ally.

The separate cars were your mother's idea — a stroke of genius, really.

After last year's catastrophic drive to the beach with everyone crammed into one minivan, personal space had become a priority. Your father had joked it was for everyone's sanity, but you knew it was mostly for his.

Looking back, the warning signs had been writing themselves across your day in bold letters you didn't yet know how to read. Strange sensations you'd never experienced before crept in at the edges — moments where the lines on the pavement seemed to ripple and dance, pulling your focus until the world around you blurred.

There were seconds, terrifying and fascinating all at once, where you felt yourself floating somewhere above your body, so disconnected from the earth that your own name became a foreign whisper in your mind.

The tingling started subtle — a live wire of sensation that would spark without warning, racing up your spine like lightning searching for ground.

It would burst at the base of your skull, sharp and electric, gone almost before you could process it.

These symptoms, these peculiar feelings that should have set off alarm bells, you dismissed as exhaustion, dehydration, anything but what they really were.

Honestly, Disney hadn't exactly topped your travel wishlist — you'd dreamed more of quiet European cafes or hidden mountain trails — but you'd sooner wrestle an alligator than voice any complaint about being at the self-proclaimed happiest place on earth.

Besides, there was something almost supernatural about the way Disney's magic worked its way under your skin, seeping into your bloodstream with each step closer to the kingdom.

The transformation from cynic to believer happened somewhere between the parking lot and your hotel room, as if crossing that threshold stripped away your carefully cultivated teenage skepticism.

Suddenly you were giddy with possibility, enchanted by the little touches that made everything feel surreal — Mickey-shaped waffles that were too cute to eat, chocolate-dipped strawberries appearing like edible rubies on your pillow, and Luigi's laughter mixing with yours as you both sprawled across crisp hotel sheets, talking well past midnight despite knowing tomorrow's alarm would be merciless.

But it was nothing caffeine couldn’t fix.

"C'mon," Luigi's voice carried that edge of concern you'd grown familiar with lately, his elbow gentle against yours as you sat at the hotel's breakfast bar. His dark brows pulled together, creating that little wrinkle you usually found endearing. "That's your second espresso."

You knew exactly what prompted this — either that pretentious health documentary he'd made you watch last week, or those endless conversations with his med school friends.

The last thing you needed was an interrogation before your first ride, especially from someone who'd once tried to survive finals week on nothing but Red Bull and prayer.

"It's basically just a double shot, Lu," you murmured, your voice honeyed with practiced patience. You speared a chunk of pineapple with your fork and lifted it to his lips — a tried and true distraction technique. "People do it all the time." The people in question being you, most mornings before school, but you kept that detail to yourself.

Some lectures weren’t worth inviting, and you were running out of time to get the most out of the breakfast bar, at least with the crammed itinerary your siblings had planned.

The sensation hit you almost the moment you passed under the wrought-iron gates.

The press of bodies, the shuffle-step of crowds being herded through winding queues, it all started to feel suffocating.

That strange disconnection from earlier crept back, stronger now, but you pushed it down. Blamed it on the Florida heat, on too much sun, on too little sleep — on anything but what it really was. But then the world started to narrow, your vision tunneling until all you could see was a pinprick of light ahead, everything else fading to a nauseating blur of color and movement.

You fled.

No destination in mind except away, away, away from the crushing weight of too many people in too little space.

Luigi had been waiting in line for god knows what when he noticed you'd vanished.

He found you later — minutes or hours, time had lost all meaning - wedged between two meticulously manicured topiaries. Donald Duck and Goofy's cheerful forms cast dappled shadows over your huddled figure as you pressed your head between your knees, desperately trying to remember how breathing was supposed to work.

Each gasp felt like trying to suck air through a coffee stirrer, your lungs burning with the effort of simply existing.

The moments after he found you exist only in fragments, like a film reel with missing frames.

Your focus had narrowed to the simple task of staying conscious, counting breaths that refused to fill your lungs properly. But you remember Luigi's panic with startling clarity — the way his usual steadiness shattered into sharp-edged fear.

He'd never seen anyone like this before, and the sight of you — normally so composed — crumpled between cartoon shrubbery sent him spiraling. His voice pitched higher, words tumbling out faster, convinced your heart was stopping or your brain was hemorrhaging or any number of catastrophic scenarios his medical friends had planted in his mind.

It wasn't until you'd gone completely still, retreating so far into yourself that even his increasingly frantic questions couldn't reach you, that real terror seized him.

The last thing you registered was the sound of his footsteps pounding against pavement as he sprinted away, shouting for help.

He'd left you there, alone in your private apocalypse, while the happiest place on earth continued its cheerful orbit around your collapsing world.

Somewhere nearby, a child laughed.

A parade song played.

And you forgot how to exist.

Over the years, you became fluent in the language of your anxiety — learning its dialect of triggers and tells.

Though most attacks still ambushed you without warning or reason, appearing like sudden summer storms in a clear sky, there was a growing anthology of things to approach with caution; hot and crowded spaces, lack of clear exits, too many consecutive nights of poor sleep, too many drinks the night before. Some rules could bend; others were steel-rigid boundaries you'd learned to respect.

Luigi, ever the engineer at heart, remained steadfastly convinced that those two espressos had been the match that lit the powder keg that morning at Disney.

He'd quote studies about caffeine's effects on the sympathetic nervous system, ticking off statistics about heart rates and cortisol levels with the same intensity he once used to memorize roller coaster heights.

You'd let him have his theory — it was easier than arguing, and his concern came from a place of love.

In the decade since that morning in Disney, Luigi has watched you wage war with an enemy he can't see or touch.

For someone whose world operates in binary — in clean ones and zeros, in problems that can be debugged and solved with enough careful coding — watching you battle something so abstract and unpredictable has been its own kind of torment.

"I mean it," he'll say, dark eyes serious in that way that still makes your heart skip, even after all these years. "If I could just understand the variables, map out the function that triggers it..." He trails off, but you know what he means.

Luigi has always believed in learning through data, in breaking down problems into manageable chunks until a solution presents itself.

But you've made him promise never to wish this on himself.

There are some kinds of knowledge that come at too high a price.

Still, watching him move through life without this constant companion of fear sometimes fills you with a complicated mixture of relief and envy; his brain doesn't betray him with false alarms and imagined catastrophes, and it doesn't make him better — you both know that — but God, there are days when you'd give anything to experience that kind of mental quiet, even if just for an hour.

Dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant had become almost routine when organized by Luigi's circle — a mix of brilliant minds who'd evolved from awkward coding camp kids into successful engineers, plus their equally accomplished partners.

The old social anxiety that used to accompany these gatherings had faded to background noise, manageable enough to let you focus on the menu rather than escape routes.

In fact, nothing lately had set off your internal alarm system.

No triggers lurking in dark corners, no unexplained spikes of dread.

For the first time in recent memory, your mind felt.. Well.. Quiet.

Your therapy journal — a habit maintained since the Disney incident — reflected this unprecedented peace.

The past few weeks had been remarkably clear, like someone had finally adjusted the lens through which you viewed the world, even compared to your good years, this period stood out as exceptional. A far cry from that morning a decade ago when you'd found yourself becoming intimately acquainted with topiary versions of Donald Duck and Goofy.

But there she is, joining the table unannounced — anxiety, that vindictive ex who always seems to know exactly when you've finally stopped checking over your shoulder; the moment you dare to relax, to think maybe you've somehow outgrown her, she kicks down your door without so much as a courtesy knock.

It starts in your chest, right after a sip of wine — expensive stuff, carefully selected by the sommelier with his practiced French pronunciation; one moment you're admiring the way the wine catches the light, and the next, your ribcage feels like it's being crushed in a vice.

Oh, fuck.

Your mind immediately launches into its familiar spiral of worst-case scenarios, each thought more catastrophic than the last.

When did you last have wine?

Could you have developed an allergy?

Is this anaphylaxis?

Your throat isn't closing up, but maybe it will.

Should you be able to feel your heartbeat this clearly?

Is this what the beginning of cardiac arrest feels like?

The rational part of your brain — the part that's been through this dance a thousand times — tries to remind you that you're fine, that this is just anxiety's signature move.

But panic has always been louder than reason.

Luigi presses his temple against the side of your head, that familiar gesture of affection he's perfected over the years. Like some oversized, obsessed feline marking his territory, "What you gettin'?" His warmth bleeds into your skin. "You've been here before, right?"

But you're too busy wrestling with your own mind to fully process his presence.

No, you're not dying.

You're not dying.

You are not dying.

But what if..

Stop it.

Please, not here.

Not now.

His words filter through your panic in fragments, like trying to catch radio signals through static.

Been

here,

right?

"Mm-hmm." The sound escapes like a breath you'd forgotten to release, your head bobbing in what you hope passes for a normal nod.

The menu before you becomes your anchor, though the carefully curated descriptions of dishes blur and swim across the page, words dissolve into abstract shapes, then into nothing at all as your vision tunnels inward, focused on the growing storm in your chest rather than the $95 risotto description you're pretending to contemplate.

Around you, life continues its normal rhythm.

Someone laughs at a joke about crypto drama, wine glasses clink, a story about a failed startup makes its way around the table, but you're watching it all through thick glass, separated from reality by an invisible but impenetrable barrier that arrived unprompted and appears to have packed for an extended stay.

"Mm-hmm what, angel?" Luigi's voice cuts through the fog like a lighthouse beam, momentarily illuminating a path back to shore, and you blink to find it again while your shoulders automatically square in an attempt at casualness that feels as obvious as a neon sign. "You with me?"

He's learned over the years to modulate his voice just so — keeping the concern tucked beneath layers of practiced calm. Luigi knows now that panic is a mutiny; your mind's crew turning against its captain, led by powder monkeys convinced each breath might be their last.

In these moments, you're a ship without stars to guide you, your internal compass spinning wild and useless.

He's discovered that once the storm hits, there's no turning back to safer harbors, no amount of retracing your wake will stop the waves from coming.

The panic has to run its course, has to drag you through its depths before it will release you back to the surface.

Like a riptide, fighting only exhausts you faster — you have to let it carry you out before you can swim parallel to shore and break free.

This is what your therapist tells you, what Luigi reminds you, what you know somewhere in the rational corner of your mind that's still functioning.

There's no fighting the abduction when it comes.

Resistance only makes the ship sink faster.

But believing it while you're drowning?

That's still a lesson you're still learning.

Your focus narrows to a single champagne bubble in Luigi's glass, watching it rise with desperate fascination, as if this tiny sphere of effervescence holds the secret to staying grounded. Your chest constricts further, every sense heightened to painful clarity — the scratch of silk against your skin, the too-loud clink of silverware, the overwhelming scent of truffle from three tables away.

Your body screams warnings in a language you're fluent in by now, though you wish you weren't.

The message is always the same.

This is it. This is how you die.

"Just have to go to the bathroom." The smile you manage feels like origami folded from sandpaper, but you place your napkin on the table with practiced grace.

Even as your insides are being shredded by panic, your muscle memory remembers its manners.

You navigate your exit with the poise of someone whose nervous system isn't currently attempting a coup, only to discover what can only be described as panic attack architecture at its finest — a single stall bathroom, complete with what appears to be a leather wingback chair, because apparently this is the kind of establishment where people need to sit contemplatively while powdering their nose.

Some interior designer's questionable choice about bathroom furniture has just become your salvation.

Later, when you're back to being a person who can form coherent thoughts, you'll want to write a thank you note to whoever decided that this bathroom needed a seating area.

Right now, though, all you can focus on is the mechanical process of existing; spine straight against the leather, shoulders rolled back, lungs remembering their one job.

Time dissolves into a blur until a familiar silhouette materializes before you — all black turtleneck and chocolate waves, appearing like a storm cloud in reverse.

Luigi crouches, his words filtering through your panic; a light through murky water. "You didn't lock the door." It's not an accusation, just gentle explanation.

"Worked in my favor, though." His forearms settle across your lap, warm and solid, while his fingers wrap around your torso with practiced care, his thumbs finding their place beneath your ribs, pressing with deliberate pressure — a physical tether to the present. "Feel that?" He looks up at you from his crouch, studying the vacant expression he's come to know like a seasonal forecast. "Where am I?"

Where am I?

Where am I?

Where am I?

The question echoes through the static of your mind like another signal cutting through the white noise.

It's become your lifeline over the years — Luigi's idea, one of his elegant solutions to a complex problem, the kind of simple brilliance that's pulled you back from the undertow countless times.

"You're in my belly." The words come out barely above a whisper, but they're there. You focus on the steady pressure of his thumbs against your skin, the thunderous beating of your heart against them, proof that you're still here, still existing, still breathing.

He hums softly, a gentle "Mm-hm, good girl." that doesn't quite reach through the chaos of your thoughts, but his thumbs pressing steadily into your sternum somehow breach the mutiny of your mind. "Where am I now, darling?"

Your brows knit together as new anxieties stack themselves like stones — the table of colleagues wondering about your extended absence, the inevitable questions about Luigi's disappearance, the mounting social debt of disrupting such a carefully orchestrated evening.

"My chest." The words escape as a whimper, and Luigi's expression shifts with recognition.

He knows exactly where she's made her nest tonight — that malevolent stowaway, that hijacker of peaceful moments, that pirate who turns calm waters treacherous without warning. She's taken up residence behind your ribs, squeezing your heart like it's treasure she means to keep.

"Mm — yeah," he breathes between a gentle nod, one palm spreading wide across your sternum, the other a steady presence on your back.

The pressure feels overwhelming for a split second, like being caught between two closing walls, but then- "Breathe with me, baby." His voice is low, steady. "Breathe in for me."

Through the crackling fizzle of your thoughts, his voice cuts through like a clean line of programmed commands, and you draw air in through your nose, your body remembering this familiar subroutine even when your mind is caught in an infinite error loop.

"Out." He demonstrates, his own exhale warm against your skin as he presses his nose to your cheek. A soft, approving hum vibrating through him when you complete the cycle — one successful execution of this breathing protocol you've practiced countless times.

For the next six minutes, your world narrows to this simple command-and-response; his gentle prompts, your body's gradual remembrance of how to operate its most basic function.

Input, output.

Inhale, exhale.

Reality still feels like you're underwater, everything distorted and just out of reach.

The sensation draws a physical response — your fingers curling into the soft wool of Luigi's sweater, anchoring yourself to something tangible, your brows pinched together. "I'm-" The apology dies as the first tears breach your defenses, and you remember belatedly that Luigi's already witnessed every shade of your darkness.

"Shhh," he soothes, rubbing solid circles into your chest while the strap of your dress slides rebelliously down your shoulder. The scene would be quite the tableau for any accidental witness — especially since Luigi hadn't thought to lock the door after pointing out your own oversight. "We gotta get her out of there." His lips curve into a gentle smile.

The her being that wicked thing that's made a home in your chest, coiled around your lungs like a python, squeezing tighter with each passing second.

"It's always at the worst times." Your voice emerges paper-thin as you stare at the ceiling, fighting against tears that threaten to break free; you know if you let go now, you might flood this whole restaurant with the weight of your shame. "I'm so sorry."

Luigi shakes his head, though your gaze remains fixed upward.

"Look at me," he whispers, nudging his nose against your neck to encourage you to look away from the ceiling while his hands maintain their steady orbit — one drawing circles into your chest, the other tracing constellations between your shoulder blades. When you finally lower your head, he meets you halfway, forehead pressing to yours. "You never need to apologize for this." His nose brushes yours, a gentle reassurance, before his lips find your cheek. "There is nothing to be sorry for."

But there is, and the weight of it sits heavy in your throat.

Because you are sorry.

You're horribly, terribly sorry for all the moments Luigi has sacrificed to tend to you — his hands learning the maps of your distress across chest, head, and belly, working to exorcise that wicked presence.

You've pulled him from meetings, from deadlines, from life itself.

He's tracked your hazard lights down empty highways, found you pressed against brick walls in city alleyways, breathing into paper bags.

He's always been right there, though.

And every episode has refined his expertise, until caring for you in crisis has become as natural to him as breathing — though that knowledge only adds another layer to your guilt.

Sometimes you worry — no, that's not right. You're always worrying — about what would happen if this all fell apart.

If Luigi woke up one morning and decided he was done being your sanctuary, done pressing his thumbs into the spaces where your demons nest, done chasing away the thing that makes your heart hammer and your fingers go numb.

What if one day he craves simplicity — a love story without footnotes, without having to keep a mental catalog of triggers and remedies, without having to scan rooms for exits and quiet corners just in case she decides to visit.

But in reality, Luigi doesn't carry these thoughts at all.

Not even a whisper of them.

To Luigi, loving you isn't a burden — it's as natural as the way his hands know exactly where to press, as inevitable as his instinct to follow when you disappear.

He doesn't see himself as a therapist or an exorcist.

He sees himself as the person who gets to love you, who gets to be there when you're strongest and when you're struggling to remember how to breathe.

Every time he finds you — whether it's in bathroom stalls or behind steering wheels or pressed against alley walls — he’s not thinking about what he's missing; he’s thinking about how brave you are, how you keep fighting even when your mind turns traitor.

He's thinking about how you still show up, still try, still love with your whole heart even though this disorder has taught you how quickly things can shatter.

You see yourself as a compilation of crises.

He sees you as complete.

Where you count the times he's had to rescue you, he counts the times you've trusted him enough to let him in during your darkest moments.

Your fear of being too much is met with his certainty that you're exactly enough.

"You know what I think about?" Luigi murmurs against your temple, his hands still tracing those steady circles. "I think about how strong you are. How you feel everything so deeply, and still get up every morning. Still love so fiercely." His voice drops lower, meant just for you. "Still choose to trust me with this part of you."

One of his hands slides up to cup your face, thumb catching a tear before it can fall.

You're still trembling, but it's different now — like aftershocks rather than the main event. "Remember our first real date? When we decided after three years to stop playing the just friends shit?” He asks suddenly, a soft smile playing at his lips. "When you had a panic attack at the theater, and I found you outside?"

He doesn't wait for your response, knowing how words still feel too heavy on your tongue.

"You apologized then, too. But all I could think was how brave you were, coming back in to finish that awful movie." His forehead presses against yours again. "That's when I knew, you know. That I wanted to be the person that would always find you.” You sniffle gently, reaching your hands to cradle his face into them as he continues, "I'm not going anywhere."

Your breath catches — not from panic this time, but from the sheer weight of his words settling into your chest.

They nestle there, pushing against the lingering tightness, making space for something warmer.

"But I-" you start, the familiar litany of apologies rising to your lips like muscle memory, and Luigi shakes his head, the movement gentle against your forehead.

"No buts," he says softly, firmly. "Remember what we talked about? No apologizing for the way your mind works." His fingers trace the line of your jaw, steady and sure. "I see you surviving. And I see you letting me be part of that. Do you know how much trust that takes?"

"I keep waiting," you whisper, the words barely audible, "for it to be too much."

Luigi's laugh is soft and tender. "And I keep waiting for you to realize that too much isn't in my vocabulary.“

[funnier-as-a-system]

Hi this might be a weird question but. How do you know if there are Other People in Your Head? Cuz. My partner who is in a system has been walking me thru symptoms of DID bc. They think I might have DID or smth similar bc of some Symptoms I've Exhibited. But I've never noticed anyone else in my head. (Tho. I am a Notably Different Person rn but I still have memories?? Like I'm missing some but I remember things! I'm just. Suddenly a Different Guy)

(Sorry this is probably stupid u don't have to answer this)

It's not a stupid question at all, anon. Figuring out such things can be difficult even under the best of circumstances, so I'm happy to help.

First things first, having DID doesn't always present as "Other People in Your Head". Sometimes, it can be closer to what you describe, where you're just Suddenly a Different Guy on occasion. Depending on where you live, this experience might fall under OSDD-1 and not DID, but for simplicity's sake, let's just call it DID.

DID is different from person to person. Some folks have very separate and distinct people in their head. Other folks feel more like one entity who becomes different people over time, or as one person who has several facets to them, each with their own unique identity. Still others are somewhere in-between. This middle option(s) sounds a lot like what you describe; within the plural community, you'd probably find the most similarities with median systems, who experience less separation between selves and often describe switches* as more like "becoming someone else" rather than "someone else takes over". They may not actively perceive other selves as Other People in Their Head, but still showcase multiple identities (which correspond with different selves) at different points in time, and may or may not experience memory issues.

* a "switch" is what it's called when whoever is in control of the body changes

Speaking of, memory issues can vary in DID, too. Sometimes you may not remember anything that happened while a different person/guy/self was in control, other times you may remember bits and pieces, still other times you may remember everything but feel disconnected from it, and sometimes you may even have no problems recalling memories at all. Median systems often report fewer or less severe memory issues, although this is not an inherent rule of being median.

There's also the possibility that perceiving the (potential) Other People in Your Head is just a skill you haven't unlocked yet, and right now you're only able to notice when your current identity is different in some way to how it was previously. That's common among those who have DID. In that case, working on communication can help. But it's also okay if you're never able to perceive anyone else in your head. Whether you are or are not a system is not dependent on mastering every trick in the book – especially as you'd be hard-pressed to find a system who finds all of them useful!

I'd recommend looking into median systems and seeing if any of that is relatable to you. You may also wish to look into OSDD-1, but again, depending on where you live, this may not be a separate diagnosis from DID, and not all those with OSDD-1 are or are like median systems. There's no foolproof way to determine if you're a system, but I'd say that's your best bet if you want to find systems who can understand and relate to what you're experiencing.

I hope this helps, and I wish you and your partner luck in figuring things out, anon!