#but “we can't give you a diagnosis until it gets worse”

[sm64mario]

My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

Mamma mia! That'sa quite a story! I'm'a sorry you've had to go through all that, Walter.

But hey, cheer up! Life is'a like a game. Sometimes you get stuck on a really tough level, but you just gotta keep trying until you beat it! Don't let Bowser - I mean Hank - get you down. You're the hero of your own story!

Remember, no matter how bad things seem, there's always a way to overcome it if you stay determined and never give up. That's the Mario way!

[smytherines]

☠ agent curt mega pretty pleaseeee

Ooooohhh angry/violent headcanon for Curt. This is an interesting one. I wrote waaaay too much here and I'm probably gonna end up in fandom jail for this one, but...

I mean we've talked about this before, but I genuinely do not see the horrible toxic manipulative Owen/little innocent cinnamon roll Curt dynamic that a lot of people seem to get from A1P1. It just doesn't track for me with what actually happens in that scene. Interpretation is an art, and everyone's art style is different, I just personally can't see anything to support it.

For me, pre-fall curtwen is a relationship of equals. Equals who often irritated each other because they were very different people (but also because they were very similar people), equals who didn't have any real concept of how to have a healthy relationship (especially with another man), equals who individually had a lot of flaws and messed up coping mechanisms and (in my headcanon at least) neurodevelopmental disabilities that made them uniquely suited for espionage, but also gave them all sorts of weird problems that they had no way of understanding or fixing. For me, they each gave as good as they got. For better or worse.

So keeping that in mind, I think about that part of A1P1 where Cynthia is insulting Curt while trying to recruit Owen to A.S.S., because that interaction, and what comes after it, is very important for my understanding of who pre-fall Curt was as a person.

Even though Owen doesn't entertain the idea of working for A.S.S. for even a second, Curt gets jealous, and pissed off, and hangs up on Cynthia. I think Owen's line is "What are you, jealous? You know I'd never work for the Americans," and its incredulous, like its a silly thing for Curt to get upset about because Owen would never even consider it. Curt pulls his flask out as soon as the call is over, and he responds to Owen pretty sharply by saying "Oh I do know that you couldn't handle it." He responds as if Owen has threatened his status at A.S.S.

We see this dynamic again when Owen chastises him for drinking, and Curt mocks his accent while saying "not until the jobs done." We see it again when Owen gestures to the banana peel like "what are you doing," and Curt responds fairly harshly with (I think, I'm doing this off memory) "this whole place is about to be garbage anyways, who gives a shit."

Those moments, for me, imply that Curt gets embarrassed easily, he gets jealous easily, and that he reacts very defensively when he is criticized, which is just Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria 101. It couldn't get more typical RSD than that. And each criticism, even though they're individually pretty mild, just seems to make him act more recklessly during A1P1, like he's trying to show that actually he's a badass and Owen just worries too much. Again, very RSD.

The thing about RSD is that- especially when you don't know you have it- sometimes your first impulse is to get furious. Not annoyed. Not irritated. But like blood pulsing in your ears, seeing red kind of furious. Your heart rate elevates. It's like your body goes into fight or flight, and more often than not your body is going to pick fight. And because ADHD is a lifelong thing, unless you're getting treatment or at least a diagnosis and information, you literally have no concept that this is not how other people react emotionally, so you justify your own behavior because you truly do not understand that this isn't normal (ask me how I know hahahaaa)

As much as we love them, and as much as I truly believe they loved each other, they probably got into a fair few fistfights over the years. These are two men who are accustomed to violence. Who are very good at violence. Who have a flirty torture scene and then tell the guy whose knees Owen just shot out that "you've just been used for sport" (Owen), and "I hope you had fun- I know we sure did" (Curt).

To me, pre-fall Curt seems like the type to put Owen down a lot with relatively minor digs "as a joke" (aka he is bad with feelings), and to some degree it doesn't bother Owen that much because that's just how they are. They banter. But sometimes, maybe when Owen is tired or feeling particularly sensitive that day, he'll go straight for the jugular- zero in on the thing Curt is most sensitive about. With Curt its death by a thousand cuts, with Owen its a laser guided missle.

I've talked about this before too, but I think that by the time we get to A1P1 Curt probably already has a bit of a drinking problem. After the fall, drinking is just how he manages to survive his grief. But I think before the fall he could get miserable and sour and petty while drunk, take out his insecurities on the people around him, and probably on occasion just start fights because he's bored and will take any stimulation he can get.

I don't think this is just a thing he does with Owen either, I think this has probably been a problem for him his whole life. He feels things very close to the surface. He is very emotional, which is a thing you're not allowed to be as a man, as a boy/teen/man in the 30s, 40s, and 50s, and a thing that is very dangerous if you are a gay man during this time period.

He also has a big fucking ego. During the 54 Below concert spoken intros they describe what happens in A1P1 as "when these two spies are together they are gay and unstoppable- until Curt's ego gets in the way." And I think a big part of that ego is wrapped up in his performance of his gender. That if he's the very best at this extremely hypermasculine profession then nobody will notice any of the stereotypically feminine traits he has, no one will think he is actually sensitive and tender-hearted and more vulnerable than he appears. He thinks that performing stereotypical 1950s masculinity will insulate him from anyone ever finding out his secret- that he likes men, that he's in love with a man.

Also, ADHD can make you very impatient, easily bored, and Jesus let me tell you I know from experience that when an ADHDer gets too bored for too long, they get irritated. At everything, at nothing. So the combination of these factors makes me think that he probably was the kind of kid to get into scraps (especially at any suggestion that he was not masculine enough), the kind of adult who felt too much and got it out with aggression. He was a brawler. Spying helped focus his aggression. He got to still have it, but he got to feel like it was serving a noble purpose.

I do also think that, even if he gave Owen a lot of shit (particularly for the crime of not being American), if someone insulted Owen in front of him, or if one of their enemies hurt Owen, I fully believe Curt would go full-on berserker mode to defend Owen. So it isn't entirely a negative thing. He can utilize his anger and violence to protect people he loves too.

[stardustedknuckles]

This beta blocker is wild and definitely doing more than "treating the physical symptoms of anxiety." All of my pain for the last many years has come with a kind of parenthetical pain on top of it - like if I pop a zit in that sensitive place between my skin and my cheek it hurts the normal amount AND there's an extra little sauce on it that lingers and takes me from a 4 to an 8 on the pain scale. When my cat walks across my ribs it doesn't feel like lil cat feet, it feels like someone slowly frogging me over and over and each little starburst of pain lasts for several seconds. Doctors keep shrugging and saying that if it's musculoskeletal, it must be fibro, a diagnosis of exclusion for which no tests were done to exclude anything. Assholes.

Anyway I can't metabolize most/any usual anti anxiety meds so I brought up a tiny dose of beta blocker to my doctor and I feel awake for the first time in years. The last med to do this for me started ruining my life four days in, so I guess this post is in celebration of the fact that we are on day 4 and very little has changed from the first time I took it. It's absolutely wild.

This thing doesn't help anxiety btw. It just stops your heart from racing when you are anxious. And yet my anxiety has all but vanished. I look around at the circumstances that have been causing me so much angst and damn near curl my lip at how they never once deserved that much of me, actually. I can feel my emotions the way you might see through a camera lens clearly after wiping off vaseline. I DO have joint pain, it turns out, I just couldn't pinpoint that it was my joints because again, diffuse layer of vaseline made it impossible to know where the feeling (not exactly pain) was coming from. Muscles? Tendons? joints? No idea. Just sore. ish.

So what the fuck was slowly getting worse that this thing reversed? No idea. Hopefully there will never be a reason to find out. I was worried a bit about T thickening my blood and causing heart problems nobody would look into until they tried to take me out, and that worry is gone now too because I am on the thing they would give me to fix it. I have spoken my mind more in the last three days than the last three years - not because I had thoughts I was keeping in before, but because I had not been able to identify that I was having thoughts or what they were. I'll probably trip over my own ass at some point and have to apologize or take something back or change my view on the spot when given new information. That's literally fine.

My manager installed an air freshener in the dog daycare (where customers don't go) yesterday and while that was an extremely shitty thing for her to do knowing it's my one guaranteed migraine trigger and I AM mad about it, I also learned pretty quickly that this med has also apparently eliminated the migraines themselves. I was locked in a room with an air freshener for six hours and all it did was give me the standard headache of being stuck surrounded by a strong smell (guess I'm wearing a mask to be in a room with no other humans from now on. It was a nice freedom while it lasted).

I have gone from treading water to stay afloat and feeling compelled to dwell on old damage and what could potentially happen to staying in the moment and feeling pretty damn steady quite literally overnight. My stomach growls now. Food tastes better. When my chest randomly hurts I don't have to run through a list of harmless things it could be. It's gas. It's fine. I can breathe again when I bend over to tie my shoes.

Wild stuff. I feel like...not like the last few years have been a dream, necessarily, but that I've been waiting in some undefinable way. And now I'm not waiting anymore. Apparently this is what I was waiting for. Now we just hope that it continues to work for forever or, if not, that we'll at least be able to figure out what the med has been helping and find another thing to pick up where it leaves off.

[chiimeramanticore]

Mike isn't sure exactly why he took this job. Maybe a haunted house based on Freddy's isn't exactly worth his time. That is, until he sees a familiar face during his shift.

——

Mike and Springtrap meet for the first time and it sucks lol. 3859 words, slight TW for references to child abuse/neglect and gore 👍

Read it on AO3!

——

Mike isn't really sure what he expected taking this job. Sure, a haunted house about Freddy's. Real respectful. It's probably not even going to help him get any evidence on his father. But the dude that hired him swore up and down they'd gotten "real authentic shit, y'know?" for the attraction. It's possible, he figures. Mike knows well enough about the teenagers that try to raid the closed Freddy's locations for proof the rumored murders really happened. He also knows well enough that if he hasn't been able to find any solid evidence yet, they definitely haven't. Maybe there isn't any evidence at all. Maybe he's just going crazy.

Sitting in the office now, Mike definitely feels crazy. This is a waste of time... The whole building feels like it's held together by glow-in-the-dark paint, duct tape, and good luck. The ventilation in here is awful. He can't go two seconds without something breaking. Night shifts are supposed to be easy, damn it.

What's worse, Mike finds himself hallucinating a lot more when he's here. When he complained about seeing stuff that wasn't actually there, his doctor handed him a slip of paper with a schizophrenia diagnosis and a prescription for antipsychotics. Mike brought the pills home, but didn't last long actually taking them. He knows whatever he's got, it's not a disorder. It's from that damn gas his dad used to love messing with when he was a kid. He'd inhaled enough of that garbage to probably give him permanent brain damage, he figures. And the stuffiness of this office often makes Mike feel like he's back home, breathing it in again. Whatever it is, his doctor wouldn't be happy about it.

Mike sighs, eyeing the new cassette left on his desk, labeled "Tuesday." His employers are way too committed to the retro thing– they can just call him or talk to him in person. Surely this is more work than it's worth, right? Whatever. He pops it into the player and hits play.

"Hey man– okay, I have some awesome news for you!" His employer's voice begins. "First of all, we found some vintage audio training cassettes. Dude, these are like pre-historic! I think they were, like, training tapes for, like, other employees or something like that. So I thought we could, like, have them playing, like, over the speakers as people walk through the attraction. Dude, that’d make this feel legit man." Mike groans. He isn't sure what's more annoying, this guy's voice, or the prospect of having to listen to Freddy's training tapes every night on loop.

"But," the voice continues, "I have an even better surprise for you, and you’re not gonna believe this! We found one. A real one." Mike furrows his brow hearing this. A real... what? There's no way it's what he thinks it is.

"Uhh, gotta go man. Look, i-it’s in there somewhere, I’m sure you’ll see it. Okay, I’ll leave you with some of this great audio that I found. Talk to you later man!" The casette goes quiet for a moment before a new track starts playing, one of the training tapes in question.

"Welcome to your new career as a performer-slash-entertainer for Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. These tapes will provide you wi–" Mike stops the tape. He's not interested.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'a real one'?" He mutters to himself. He looks to the security monitor to his right. Everything looks exactly the same as it did yesterday and last week. Mike switches between cameras quickly but deliberately, scanning each room for discrepancies. There's no way they found a real animatronic, right? There's no way. They were all dismantled and scrapped. Mike knows they're haunted, or at least were at some point. Maybe if he can just find it on the cameras, he can assess if it's actually going to be a danger to him.

He clicks over to the last camera, eyes flicking around the screen. Nothing's different. Maybe he's freaking out over nothing.

But right as he clicks back to the start, Mike sees something move in the bottom left corner of the screen.

He clicks back over.

Nothing.

If there was anything, it's gone. And he's not sure there ever was anything. Maybe he's going crazy. Maybe he's just crazy. That'd be the most reassuring thing to learn, he figures.

Mike realizes his heart's beating at a mile a minute right now. He leans back in his chair, trying to breathe slower. He's just hallucinating, he tells himself. It's fine. He's fine. The panel to his left beeps, signaling the ventilation needs to be reset. See? He's just freaking out. He turns his attention to the panel, waiting the seconds it takes to reset the ventilation.

It doesn't take him long after this to settle back into the routine he's found in the few days since he started this job. Check the cameras idly, get spooked by something that isn't actually there, fix something that inevitably broke, repeat. He continues like this for about an hour, still somewhat puzzled by what he was told on the tape. Maybe he wasn't even referring to an animatronic– it could be anything, really. And these cameras are so grainy, it's not hard to miss something small.

Mike stares idly at the static on Camera 04, feeling like his mind is turning to fuzz, too. It definitely takes him too long to notice, but... there, on the left side of the screen. A pinprick of light that Mike knows for sure doesn't belong. Is that... an eye? It's dark, but he swears he can make out the right half of a head surrounding it. He blinks a few times, unsure if he's making it up, but the half-hidden face remains. And it looks like it's looking at him.

The panel beeps at him. Mike doesn't want to look away, but he does, resetting the ventilation once again. When he gets the chance to look back again, the face is gone.

"Sssshit," he hisses. "Shit. Shit." He clicks through the cameras again, trying to find the thing in here with him. It's too dark to recognize it easily, but the shape of the head seemed like an older mold. Even then, he's not really sure. He just wants to see it again. But there's nothing on the cameras that looks like it. He sighs, sitting back in his chair to refresh his eyes.

When he looks up at the window to his office, the animatronic is there. Staring at him.

Mike's blood runs so cold it damn near freezes over. He's paralyzed– all he can do is stare back. He recognizes this animatronic, or at least he thinks he does. It's so worn down now, but... it's Springbonnie. How could he ever forget Springbonnie...? His father's favorite.

The rabbit moves. It shifts its weight, then slowly starts to shamble to the left of the window. Mike doesn't know what to do– it's not like he's got a door to shut on the thing. He watches it appear in the doorway, using a hand to brace itself on the frame. It struggles to move, not unlike how Mike's seen the haunted animatronics move, but this feels different. It's not bound by its mechanics. But... the only way it'd move organically like this is if someone was inside.

Even if he's just being fucked with, he's not about to gamble on it. He'd much rather get laughed at for falling for it. He grabs a screwdriver from his desk, just in case he needs to defend himself against it. He presses himself up against the back of the chair he's in as the creature gets even closer, far too close. Like it's curious about him, too. It smells awful– like death and mold. From here, Mike can see clearly that it's not in costume mode. Tears and rips in the fabric expose its mech, which he wouldn't be able to see if it was in walk-around mode. He isn't sure what he's dealing with, but his heart is pounding so hard he's sure it can hear the sound too.

The rabbit puts its face mere inches from Mike's, and makes an odd noise, somewhere between a wheeze and a moan. Mike grips the armrests of his chair tightly, certain he's moments from death.

Then, with another wheeze, "...M... Michael," it says in his father's voice.

Mike doesn't wait for anything else to happen. Almost automatically, he springs out of his chair, pushing the thing over, and bolts for the door. He doesn't care what it is. It's not a hallucination. It's not an animatronic. It can't be his father. Please, don't let this be his father. It won't matter if he can just get out of here. Leave and never come back.

Mike hears the thud of footsteps behind him, still somewhat slow but much faster than before. He doesn't dare look back at it.

He refuses to lose speed as he whips around a corner, but he doesn't look where he's going– he crashes into a prop mannequin, bringing both tumbling to the floor. Mike scrambles to stand again, but he's not fast enough. The rabbit has caught up to him. He tries to take off again, but it grabs him by the wrist with an iron, mechanical grip. Mike strains against it, frantic, like a trapped animal, to no avail.

"Calm... down," the rabbit says sternly.

"No! No, you– You're not real!" Mike shouts, still struggling to escape.

"You're being...!" The rabbit stops to cough and wheeze some more, but the grasp he holds on Mike is unwavering. "Y– You're being ridiculous," he says finally.

"N- no, you–" Mike pulls again, and the rabbit presses his mechanical claws into his arm, just enough to hurt. Only now does he remember he's still holding the screwdriver. He swings it at the rabbit, unsure which parts of him are flesh over metal. He gets lucky, the metal tip landing in his upper arm and hurting him enough to let go of Mike. Mike takes this chance to tackle the rabbit, pinning him to the floor and wielding the screwdriver over him.

"You–!" The rabbit says. "Y– you won't kill me."

"Oh yeah? Give me one good reason I shouldn't stab you in the fucking throat right now!" Mike says, though the way he's trembling betrays his attempt at sounding menacing.

"Language," the rabbit says. "You won't kill me, b- because... I have information. I have... the answers you've been looking for." The way he speaks is labored. His voice is raw and tired, like he hasn't used it in ages, and he sounds continually out of breath. He sounds pained... Mike knows he's weaker now. Mike knows it would be easy to kill him in this state. But he also knows he's right. Everything Mike has been working toward has been for this– for information like this. Information enough to convict his father for the murders he knows he committed. Could they even convict him looking like this...?

"What happened to you?" Mike asks. That's never been what he'd envisioned asking his father.

"Take me back to your office," he says. "I'll talk there."

Mike's suspicious, but... an interrogation while he's still got him pinned to the floor isn't exactly comfortable for either of them. "Fine," he says, moving off of him. "You walk ahead of me."

"Scared?" the rabbit asks, a teasing tone in his voice. Mike doesn't grace it with a response. He watches him stand, then start to move back toward the office. He walks with a limp. Mike studies him from the back, trying to parse what's come of him. It's hard to tell where exactly the man ends and the machine begins. His hands and feet seem metal, but between the crossbeams and wires he can see in the torso, there's what looks like flesh inside. Old, rotted, disgusting flesh, but flesh nonetheless.

They re-enter his office, and Mike sits down in his chair. The rabbit finds a place to sit on the desk. Mike doesn't move his eyes from him for a second.

"What happened to you?" He asks again.

"I had a... lapse of judgement," his father says. "I couldn't get my mind off the old place... the pizzeria. I had left it standing all those years... I wanted to go back. Put... put an end to everything. I meant to dismantle the– the animatronics." Mike isn't sure how much of this is truth, but he lets him continue.

"This... old thing," he says, looking down at himself. "I'd almost forgotten about it. I just wanted to... put it on again. Old time's sake." He chuckles, it sounding just as terrible as the rest of him. "I'd forgotten safety protocol. It was old... wet, moldy."

"You–" Mike hadn't wanted to believe he'd springlocked himself, but that's exactly what he's telling him, isn't it?

"I know," he says. "What a fool I was."

"You didn't," Mike says. "There's no way."

"I did," he insists. "What would I gain from... lying to you about this?"

There's usually something– even if Mike doesn't know what it is. Regardless of how it happened, though, it's undeniable what's happened to begin with. He definitely got springlocked, whether by his own hand or someone else's. And these things usually were mistakes. He just never thought he'd... be so stupid about it. If anyone would remember how to avoid a gruesome death in one of those suits, it should be his father. What could've caused him to forget? There's something he's keeping from him, he's sure of it.

"If you were springlocked, you'd be dead," he says finally.

"But I'm still here," William says.

"How?"

The rabbit shifts in place, as if he's considering whether to tell Mike this. "I found it," he tells him. "The secret to eternal life."

"Bullshit," Mike blurts.

"Language," William says. "Don't act like... you don't want to know."

"Just tell me."

William sighs. "I call it Remnant," he says. "It's... a lot of explanation. It can bind a soul to metal. It can..." He tries to laugh again, doing slightly better this time. "...It can make a man immortal, Michael."

"Is that what you'd call yourself?"

"No," he says. "It's what I almost was. I had... been building up enough, still. But what was in me already was enough... enough to save me when this happened."

Mike studies him a moment longer before finally asking. "How much of you is even human anymore?"

William seems to ponder this for a moment before answering. "Does it matter much?" He responds. "I am more than human now. More than machine. I'm... something new. I am the two combined."

"But your body is still in there, isn't it?"

"I am not just the body. I am not just the suit. I'm not just the metal. I'm it all, Michael. All of it." He seems proud of this, proud of the monster he's become. At least he's finally got a look to match him.

"...All because of this Remnant stuff," Mike mutters. He wonders if, somehow, that's the reason the animatronics were haunted, too. Remnant kept their souls there. But how would he have made that happen? How long has been working on this?

"Last time I saw you, Michael, you were..." William trails off.

"I was seventeen," Mike finishes. His father had just disappeared one day. He was known to do that when Mike was younger– usually because he was out somewhere drinking. Some nights he'd come home late, or just not at all. But when the days began to pass without him, Mike left completely alone in the house... What else was he supposed to do?

"And now, how old are you?"

"...Fifty-two," Mike says. Thirty-five years had passed since they'd seen each other. After this long, Mike had begun to hope he'd just find his father dead. In a way, he has, he figures.

"Mm." William stares at him, and now Mike feels like he's the one being studied. "It's... been quite some time," he says. "You've grown up well."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mike says.

"It means exactly what it seems it means," William says, a touch annoyed. Then, calming down again, "You're resilient. You're tough. You aren't a coward. Otherwise... you wouldn't be here. Would you?"

Mike says nothing.

"I raised you with the hope of you... becoming strong," he continues. "That, when life knocks you down, you don't stay down. I believe you're... Well, correct me if I'm wrong."

Mike doesn't know what he wants him to say. He glances the rabbit suit up and down, as if that'll somehow give him an answer. He's not going to "admit" to how great his father says he is, because it's clearly leading toward something. Going with it would just be walking directly into whatever trap he's planted. But denying it is an even more obvious fail-state.

"...Cat have your tongue, Michael?"

"No," Mike says finally. "What do you want?"

"What makes you think I... want something from you?" William asks.

"Why else would you be talking to me?" Mike says.

"Do you think I... I– I hold any sort of power like this?" William insists. "Look at me, Michael."

Mike's been looking at him. "You look awful," he says quietly.

"I've been down there for over thirty years," he says. "I lost the ability to track time. All I could... do was wait. Finally someone found me."

"To make a mockery of you." Mike can't stop himself from saying it. He rests an elbow on an armrest and uses his hand to cover his mouth, hiding the smile he also can't stop himself from.

William sighs. "It's... unfortunate. Yes."

Mike's never seen him look... dejected before. Not that he's exactly looking at his father right now, anyway. But still, as much as Mike hates to admit it, he looks genuine. Maybe he really is weaker like this.

"...Did it hurt?" Mike asks him.

The rabbit slowly lifts its head to Mike. "It still hurts," he admits. "This... is not the body I had planned to spend eternity in."

"So you are immortal," Mike says.

"I don't know the limits of it. But I went thirty years without food, water, much sleep... must count for something. I don't think I age... but there's not much way to tell."

Mike's weighing the possibility of killing him. He didn't seem that afraid of death when he'd been threatening him– but that doesn't necessarily mean he can't be killed. It just means he doesn't fear it. Mike still has half a mind to set this whole dump on fire with his father inside. It'd be so easy... electrical fires nearly start every night here anyway. He could let everything burn and rest with the knowledge that nothing inside would survive.

If he knew his father would die, at least.

"...Michael," William says, the silence between them too long now. "I... I've had time to sit with my regrets. There's more I wish I could have done... More I still need to do. I can't like this."

"Whatever it is, you can get it out of your system here," Mike says. He's expecting him to give some bullshit non-apology for the kind of father he was. Being touchy-feely one time, decades after he'd just disappeared one night, is never going to fix it. But Mike will let him say it, at the very least. It's not like it'll matter.

"I can't do it here," William says. "She's not here."

"...She?"

"Elizabeth," he tells him. "I still have to... go back for her."

Mike remembers the day Elizabeth died. Even now, he can easily recall the sight of her remains pouring out of Circus Baby's chest... the blood, the gore, the smell. The way he'd felt his whole body freeze over at the sight of it. The way his father had tried to save her, even thought it was clear she had long passed that point. The way he'd cried... the way both of them had cried. He could never forget losing her. Then... how could he talk about her like she's still alive?

"Where... where is she?" He asks, cautiously.

"Circus Baby's," William says.

Mike shakes his head. "She can't be." He'd visited the place again years ago, though still years after the incident. He had wanted to find Circus Baby there, thinking his sister might be possessing the robot– but the place was devoid of animatronics.

"Not the restaurant. She's in storage," William says. "The rental company... Only I ever knew where the storage was." He leans in toward Mike, as if they aren't the only two people here. "It's under the house. Always has been."

"Under...?"

The rabbit nods. "Our home," he says.

Mike had returned there too, years ago. He'd never thought, in a million years, that there'd be anything more than bad memories there. He'd never thought he'd have passed over something so important... so close, and yet so far from seeing his sister again– even if she wasn't quite herself.

"I can show you how to get there," William tells him. "I need you to do it, Michael. You're the only one who could."

"Wh– why me?"

"You're family," he says. "You're the only one I trust."

Mike feels something deep inside him stir upon hearing that. He exhales.

"Is she...?" He starts. "Is she... in Baby?"

"She must be," William says. "You need to find her. You need to set her free."

Set her free... It's something Mike's been trying to do with the other possessed animatronics for years. Put their souls to rest. But they've all been so... uncooperative. Animalistic. Maybe their programming had interfered with their true personalities. He should expect it to be the same with Elizabeth, then, but... She's family. She would have to recognize him eventually. That's why he has to be the one to do it, isn't it? She wouldn't trust anyone else. She needs him.

"I..." Mike feels that same deep ache inside him. He misses her, he realizes. He's missed her terribly. And now, he can see her again– and save her. "...I'll do it," he says finally. "Show me how to find her."

The rabbit finally leans back again, laughing. "Good," he says. "Don't let me down, Michael."

"I... I wont." Mike isn't sure this is the right choice to make. He can't shake the feeling he's being pulled into something bigger than him. But how could his father have planned something for this long if he's been stuck in this state for thirty years? And how could he miss his only chance to see his sister again– especially knowing that she's been just as stuck for just as long? How could he not want to help her?

He still wants to burn this place down with his father inside. He will soon, he tells himself. Once he saves Elizabeth, then he can come back here, and put an end to everything.

He just hopes he'll make it back here at all.

[garnetholy]

The First post.

Hi. I've been thinking about starting a blog for a while now. A few things that stopped me were: firstly, I was absolutely not sure that I would be interesting to anyone (to be honest, I still have this feeling, but I decided that this would be my archive of notes, which would be useful to me in any case), and the second reason is that I know for sure that I won't be able to keep any blogs regularly due to my mental state. And I also couldn't choose a nickname... Um... This is definitely the main reason :D

I don't know much about how people usually start blogs (frankly, I don't know much about how to start anything), so I'll just use the first post to introduce myself and experiment with hashtags. So if you happen to see this post, it's nice to meet you.

I won't give my name, but you can call me Garnet.

I'm a girl studying programming in college. I don't really want to be a programmer, but I entered college just to get into something, because I don't know what I want anyway.

English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes (I combine my knowledge with a translator).

I live in Russia, so I often experience different types of discrimination, because it's quite common here. I'm especially personally affected by misogyny and mental health stigma. In my country, we have a little (or not so little) punitive psychiatry, so I can't decide to visit a psychiatrist for a long time, and all my mental problems cannot be clearly named (although I have suspicions). Recently, I finally dared to go to a CPT psychotherapist, but this experience was negative. Maybe I will write about it in one of the next posts.

Next, I would like to write about my health and how I feel.

I will be hashtag all my posts #undiagnosed until I have a medical confirmation of my mental state. So what do I suffer from?

Well, I have been suffering from depression for over five years now (obviously no diagnosis).

I have also always been anxious and withdrawn since I was a child, as far back as I can remember. I had obsessive compulsions as a child, and I still have them now, but in a different form.

I seem to be sociaphobic, every interaction with people brings me some amount of stress.

I am very anxious. I'm not sure if I have panic attacks because I have a hard time understanding the concept. I constantly feel like I don't suffer enough: my "panic attacks" aren't strong enough to be panic attacks, my "depression" isn't strong enough to be depression, my problems aren't problems enough to be problems, etc... I feel like people around me are facing much worse symptoms, even if they describe them exactly the same way I do.

I struggle with compulsive thoughts that pop into my head due to certain triggers or circumstances I find myself in.

I have bouts of derealization and depersonalization (again, no diagnosis, like everything else). I don't know what's happening to me, and it used to scare me in the past, but now I've gotten used to it. I have bouts of terrible fear of death, alternating with... The opposite thoughts sometimes, I don't want to write this directly.

Oh, and the main thing is that for about ten years now the strongest escapism has been my way of life. I don't want to be in reality, I don't want to feel this world, so I spend most of my time (and life) listening to music and immersing myself in my fantasies.

I could describe in detail each of my mental states that I just listed, but I'm afraid it would be too much text for one post. I think I will write about my experiences and symptoms in future posts, gradually revealing more details and nuances if I have something to add.

I don't know if anyone will stumble upon this post of mine, but if they did, I think I would be happy and scared at the same time :D

And please forgive me if I clutter up the hashtags with ADHD and OCD and other diagnoses, because I'm still not sure if I have them, all I have for now is just my own observations. I hope I can find a good private psychiatrist and learn something about myself.

12-01-2025 (dd-mm-yyyy) 04:04 GMT+3

[isnt-it-pretty]

So we all know I love Cyno with Eleazar. I was thinking of a concept where Cyno is a vessel for Hermanubis because he had Eleazar, and (similar to Collei's residue) it was a way to slow its progression. Cyno was chosen because of it. Maybe it was the research that inspired Dottore.

When the priests from The Temple of Silence brought Cyno to the Akademiya, they told Cyrus:

"If you can find a way to manage Hermanubis, he will years years instead of months."

"And if I can't?"

"Then he will die either way."

Cyrus' first course of action was taking Cyno-- small and sickly-- to the Bimarstan, where his Eleazar diagnosis was confirmed. The doctor gives him months, maybe a year, if they're lucky. But if the priests are right, if Cyrus can find a way to help him manage Hermanubis, then it may be enough to prolong his life.

Until then, Cyrus suddenly finds himself caring for a sick, vulnerable child. He sits up with Cyno, reading storybooks he manages to find while Cyno lays silently, unmoving because even breathing hurts. There's medicine and IVs and doctor's appointments. Cyno is often too ill to get out of bed, curled up among the blankets and sheets in feverish pain. Even convincing him to eat is a struggle. As time goes on, his Eleazar does seem to get better, but the power of Hermanubis is crushing him in exchange. Sooner rather than later, one of those will kill him.

Eventually, Cyrus and Cyno find a way to manage Hermanubis-- at least better than Cyno had been doing alone. All of those who know the truth about Cyno's Eleazar and Hermanubis decide that it's something better left hidden. The public doesn't need to know about a potential treatment for Eleazar, especially when it's so dangerous. The sages want to look deeper into Hermanubis and how it's keeping Cyno's Eleazar in check, but Cyrus refuses. He didn't hold Cyno through painful aftershocks and nurse him through fevers only to hand him over to the Akademiya to do with what they will. It becomes a point of great contention, but Cyrus refuses to back down. Cyno is his, and damn anybody who says differently.

Cyno's Eleazar still flares sometimes, and he goes through a few days or weeks of illness before it retreats again. The worst happens when he's a student in the Akademiya. He was stressed and doesn't pay close enough attention to his body. When he starts feeling sick, he just assumes it's regular sickness. The flare hits him all at once, and Cyno lays curled up in bed, unable to move from a mix of pain and fatigue. He misses a day of classes before Kaveh comes looking for him, but he can't make himself get up to answer his door.

Worried, Kaveh goes to Cyrus, who has no problems unlocking Cyno's dorm room. They find him in bed, feverish and ill, and it's a shock to Kaveh to see the grey scales on Cyno's skin.

They get him to the Bimarstan, where Cyno spends days recovering, and Cyrus explains to Kaveh at least a part of what was going on: episodic Eleazar flares kept chiefly in check by the spirit dwelling within him. Kaveh doesn't really know what to think about it, and he can tell there's something more going on, but he doesn't ask. Instead, he spends all his time outside of classes at Cyno's bedside alongside Cyrus.

Afterward, both Cyrus and Kaveh tend to fuss over Cyno. They mutually ensure he's taking his medication, remembering to eat or sleep, and not throwing himself into his studies to the point of illness again. It's something that becomes a little harder after he joins the matra, but they do the best they can to ensure Cyno is taking care of himself.

The next person to find out is Tighnari, years later. They've been together for some time, but Cyno never felt the need to bring it up. His Eleazar is rarely an issue anymore, although he knows it will one day kill him if an injury doesn't do it first. Perhaps, then, it shouldn't have been surprising for Tighnari to find out because of an injury.

Cyno hates doctors, a feeling that was made worse by having such severe Eleazar as a child, so he goes to Tighnari when he's injured (it's better than patching himself up from serious wounds, which he has done but always earns worried fussing from Cyrus or Kaveh). It's one such time that he has a flare while in Tighnari's care. Tighnari takes the discovery that his partner has Eleazar surprisingly well-- mainly because Cyno's well-being comes first. Afterward, when the fever is gone, and the grey scales of Cyno's skin have once again disappeared, he tells Tighnari the truth. In the grand scheme of things, it's one of the less weird problems with Cyno's health-- his metabolism is far more odd. It does mean that he now has Tighnari fussing over his health.

He never tells Collei the truth about his condition. It doesn't seem necessary, and she doesn't need to know the intricacies of his health. She'll be dead long before he will, anyway-- it isn't worth upsetting her over things she can't change.

The flares become more frequent, though. He's good at working through them, but showing up at Cyrus' house feverish and in pain is an increasingly common occurrence. Despite being an adult, when Cyno is sick and hurting, he wants Tighnari or Cyrus.

It's pure luck he's already gone from Sumeru City during the Sabzeruz Festival. Thinking back, nobody wants to know what would have happened if he wasn't. Instead, he's already headed toward the desert by then.

Cyno never expected his Eleazar to be cured. Even if it somehow was, he certainly didn't expect to feel any different since it was suppressed most of the time, but he does. Nahida and the Traveller cure Irminsul, and in doing so, cure Eleazar and the Withering, and for the first time in his memory, it feels like Cyno can breathe. He hadn't realized the ways it affected him even without the worst of its symptoms, but he notices its absence. It's a relief he can't quite put into words, and one he can only share in quiet conversation with Tighnari, Kaveh, and Cyrus.

[i-am-a-garganacl]

My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

I am not reading all that, that makes me nervous

Though I'm glad I'm starting to get stuff like this

I'm twost away from 200 followers

[siffrin-stardust-traveler]

Ok ok some of them have a few so like

Cyn: "Am I pretty enough to lie to/I wish I could be a girl, and that way/You'd wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend/Just little old me in a big, big world/Little old me in a big world/I wish I were a girl", "We're so alike/But if the shoe fits, then I won't try it on/You'll be walking out early, but the show must go on/No, I know that I'm wrong/But I love how you're on my side when I cross that line/It's been a point of contention between myself and this/Body that they stuck me in", "Say my name like a slur, but I've been called worse/And I've heard it all before, no this isn't a first/Let me be the void you fill with/Taxidermy fingerprints, taxonomize our differences/I am quantum physics/My witness brings me into existence"

Jayden: "You draw a line in the sand where it ends and you begin/But the tide rolls in, so who knows? Oh well/And a little identity never hurt nobody/But lately you've been focusing too much on yourself/So how many milligrams of you are still left in there?", "Who makes the call? What's a symptom, what's a flaw/Can it be both? Well I suppose that's an answer/Would you give up your humanity for just a touch of sanity/Cause God knows it's not like it's cancer", "And a little conformity never hurt nobody/But lately I've been worried that you're losing yourself/So how many milligrams of you are still left in there", "What can I say, except don't heed no evil wills of moral nihilists/I said, "Back in the days of lobotomies and shock therapy and mad scientists/Oh don't you make me waste my breath. God damn it"", "You're not your thoughts, you're not your brain/You're just the character you've made/Up in your head, down in your heart/What seem like separate body parts/Come together to believe they're you/And not just chemistry/It's not the way that you were raised/Or what the advertisements say/Not what you pay for, what you pray for/What you want, or what you say/And I see your tendency to redefine disease by what you need/And I'm afraid I can't prescribe the diagnosis that you seek"

Veldt: "It doesn't take a killer to murder/It only takes a reason to kill/We've all got evidence of innocence, it's "everything's coincidence"/The difference twixt fate and free will is whether you're singing", "So if you wash your hands of where you've been until you flood the second floor/Neatly fold your skeletons, but still can't shut the closet door/The only ones in need of love are those who don't receive enough/So evil ones should get a little more", "You, could you take a look at me?/Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad?/We're singing, ooh/Whatever you think of me/If you were in my shoes/You'd see I wear the same size as you"

Needle: "Where the television's broken and the campfire's smoking/And we're hopeful for tomorrow 'cause we know we had today/We're laughing and we're joking with no criticism spoken/If the clouds come out and drown the town, we'll still go out and play/I can feel the hands that I can hold already", "Well, I know the day is far away/And if it comes, it will not stay/But I can't chase the flavor from my mind/Well, this is my lysergide daydream/It's not a plan, not half a scheme"

Doll: "Stranger things than death can happen/To lab rat girls and pretty white rabbits but/Everybody knows that nobody knows that/Everybody's in on everybody's business", "Cigarette burns, laugh lines, wide dimples/If they could see the future back when times were simple/Would they kiss your cheek or yank the bandage off/Let you speak or take advantage of how/If everyone's sick, well then nobody can catch it, and if/Everybody's different how could anybody match/And we're looking through the pockets of the hand-me-downs we've laid out/Wondering if we'll fit into the yesterdays we've played out", "And the big dream sequence where you're found/Guilty of your innocence and gently sent right back to bed/Everybody knows that nobody knows that/Everybody's all up in my motherfucking business/This isn't my first anything. This isn't my first anything/Everybody knows that nobody knows that/Everybody's in on everybody's business/This isn't my first lyric, I know exactly how I should finish it"

Uzi: "Aye aye, I eye my eyes, I’m taking action/Aye aye, I eye my eyes, I’m gaining traction/Aye aye, I eye my eyes, no more distractions/I’m done relaxing, I am a chemical reaction.", "I’m tripping like a klutz and/I’m rolling like thunder/I'm a snot nosed pothead playing with matches/A rotten spot of mold with/My hands on a cactus/My mouth is dry and my eyes are red/I’m chewing on sand ‘cause the/Desert’s in my head", "I might be a saint worth steeples/I might be the brain of evil/Bad things happen to good people/Good things happen to me."

OH YEAH I LIKE THESE SO MUCH SJSJS-Bibi

[icepixie]

I love it when medical types treat the chart--or even the guidelines from some professional organization--instead of the person sitting in front of them.

My gyn retired this year, so I got assigned to a new one. Who promptly took me off the low-dose birth control I've been on for almost 10 years post-hysterectomy to control the bits of endometriosis still littering my abdomen. This is because I'm 40 and have (controlled!) high blood pressure. Apparently. Probably the "migraine" diagnosis that's going to follow me around forever despite not being true, never having been true, the problem was an infected tooth that presented weirdly doesn't help.

I get the existence of the guidelines (albeit they were devised before low-dose estrogen pills, which seem to have way fewer risks, but whatever). I do not get the unilateral application to me despite my earlier gyn's prescribing them, the decade of history that I do well on them, and that knowledge that progestin-only pills, which were the only other alternative offered, were a complete disaster.

(I took them in an effort to not get labeled uncooperative, but I've had them twice before and each time it not only didn't reduce pain, it made it happen twice as often.)*

The constant repetition of "But a hysterectomy always cures endometriosis!" was obnoxious too, because NO THE FUCK IT DOESN'T, READ SOME PAPERS, and it definitely didn't for me. Is that week of the month better without That Uterus Bitch and The Evil Ovary? Sure. Doesn't mean it's pain free. Also, a delay in filling my bc prescription earlier this year made my arthritis flare, so that may or may not now be a monthly (or every-two-weekly, on the minipill) thing. I wonder how the low-dose combined pill compares to a week of steroids every month for...every health measure out there? Favorably, I'd imagine. Maybe I can get my rheumatologist to weigh in on this.

Anyway, I'm obviously never going back to this person, but I'm not looking forward to auditioning gyns until I find someone who can do more complex risk/benefit assessment than "guidelines say bad." I guess I'll give the minipill a month to "work," because you gotta put up a facade of pretending you don't know more about this extremely specific issue than the doc. I'm debating whether to actually take it or just say I did, since, you know, it makes things worse than doing nothing.

Tangentially, if we could have these doctor-patient talks BEFORE I have to take all of my clothes off and sit there holding a gaping gown closed, that would be awesome.

I'm just so tired of things in my body breaking. (Or, in this case, not breaking, just having the tool that keeps it from breaking taken away.) Also, I can't help wondering how godawful menopause "treatment" is going to be, whenever that happens.

* Almost forgot, Lupron was mentioned as an alternative, and FUCK, no. My last boss was a gyn and when it was being bandied about for my endo before the hysterectomy she told me point blank to never go on it. Brain damage is a side effect I'd like to avoid, thanks.

[lost-spoons]

Hi.

My younger sibling (15) was just diagnosed with VCD, after years of struggling with an inability to breathe we thought had to do with their chronic asthma. They're really struggling, because their speech pathologist has banned them from soft drinks, caffeine, yelling, and singing loudly, the last two hitting them especially hard because the only two things they really enjoy doing are singing loudly as a stress reliever and taekwondo (black belt!! instructor until they had to drop out because breathing issues), which requires near constant yelling. They're really upset, and I guess my question is just is there anything I can do to help? I feel really helpless and hate seeing them struggle like this. their mental health is already not the best, with their depression and anxiety disorder getting a lot worse since dropping taekwondo. I wanted to ask someone whose been dealing with VCD for longer.

Hey there.

First off, congratulations to them on receiving the diagnosis. It sucks, but knowing what's wrong is always helpful as it makes it easier to find the lists of do's and don't's so they don't have to find them firsthand at random moments. I'm honestly not sure how much help I can be. I've technically only had the diagnosis for a year or two, but have been dealing with it since 2018 or 2019.

I think it's great that you want to help, and I'm happy to help you help your sibling, but I have two rules when it comes to people helping those with medical issues:

1) Their medical issues aren't about you. I don't mean that rudely or negatively. Like I said, I think it's great you want to help, and I am in no way trying to belittle your feelings because your feelings are valid, but your sibling's medical issues are first and foremost about how they feel, not you. Some people like receiving help, and some like their independence/doing things themself. Sometimes helping is seen as hovering, and giving them space to be independent is seen as isolation or abandonment. I'll trust you to know which one your younger sibling is, and how best to handle that.

2) Don't assume anything. Communicate with each other. I have an older and younger sibling so I know that you both love and annoy each other, but adding medical issues to the dynamic can cause issues, so communicating with each other is the best advice I can give.

With that said, here's the information I got.

VCD is annoying as hell and can be very frustrating, especially as time goes on. You have to limit yourself because your body has given you a new, smaller limit of abilities, and it's hard to follow those. This will cause a spiral of some sort. Usually into anger or depression, unless they've got 'lucky' and are neurodivergent/mentally-ill in the way that they, don't process emotions properly. I'm 'lucky' so I don't feel those things, other than being horribly annoyed, but if your sibling isn't 'lucky', as it sounds like they aren't, help them out of the spiral. Introduce them to a new hobby. Maybe a joint hobby you can both do, maybe a hobby they can do on their own. See if you can get them a companion, a fish, a lizard, a cat, a dog, just something else to focus on. Distractions are great, but it's a balancing act. You can't ignore the issue, incorporate things they need as accommodations into your normal day, but don't point out the accommodations unless they ask or talk about them.

Being mindful is really the best thing you can do.

My suggestion for them is to look up ways to KT-tape to reduce strain on their voice box. Another two are blowing raspberries (buzzing your lips) while going up and down the vocal scale, and blowing bubbles in water while humming. The two exercises use physics against you to help strengthen the voice box, and could also be a temp replacement for singing.

I love the well-deserved, subtle bragging, but am unsure what to do about the no yelling issue that limits them from teaching. I also don't know anything about taekwondo, other than it is an activity that requires a lot of discipline, so would it be possible for the kids/students to accommodate your sibling by being quieter or pausing for instructions so your sibling doesn't have to yell to teach?

If they want someone to relate to, here you go:

I've had VCD for around 6 years, and only 1 or 2 of those years have been with the diagnosis. At first, they thought it was just my asthma acting up. The fact that I have the cough variant of asthma did not help at all. My breathing doctor overmedicated me and I ended up in the hospital for a weekend stay. I've done the breathing tests that make you lightheaded, make your chest hurt, and set off your asthma. I've done those tests repeatedly. I've had the camera slid down my nose to see my vocal cords multiple times, with the first doctor saying everything looks fine and sending me to neuro, which I've learned, is often the doctor before they send you to psychic.

I've also had to cut carbonated drinks out, almost completely. The only one I still drink is ginger beer, not the sweet sugary stuff, but the strong spicy real ginger ones in bottles that do look like beer. It's good for upset stomachs and nausea so I drink it every once in a while. I've switched to decaf coffee and have limited my caffeinated teas and chocolate consumption. Key word, limited, not cut out. I still eat and drink stuff I technically shouldn't, but I'm prepared to offer every once in a while. I also can't actually speak more than a handful of strained words a day, because my VCD causes my subconscious to use my false vocal cords instead of my true vocal cords, which is very bad in the long term, so there's definitely no singing or yelling for me either.

[heightjoke]

if it's "just anxiety" then I go up my antidepressant dose even though it makes me sick so I don't ill start propranolol at high doses again and have a dissociative episode so I won't

what if I did therapy?

2 rounds of CBT + 3 lots of counselling + Intensive CBT with ERP + mentoring and several self help books haven't helped- but sure, be my guest. Give me awful therapy again, only to tell me I'm self aware and that scares you as a therapist.

maybe it's my adhd meds so I stop them and can no longer take care of myself and get depressed and hate myself and watch all my potential shrivel away from me.

maybe I change the adhd meds to short release and forget how many I've took because of adhd so end up at A&E getting my stomach pumped.

maybe it's my birth control so I come off it and my debilitating secondary dysmenhorrea comes back which makes me scream, pass out, and vomit.

maybe I'll switch birth controls - the coil? makes period cramps worse. The one that goes in ur arm? I have Intrusive thoughts I think that would kill me to know it was there, in my arm, always. A patch? We don't know if or which hormones it could be or even if this is the culprit, so I can't just change to the same thing.

maybe I'll just continue as I am, maybe I can manage - oh but silly me, untreated acid reflux can result in cancer.

Don't worry, they did an endoscopy and were happy to let me know there was no cancer. I wasn't going in for a cancer check though. good to know I guess.

PPI did nothing, Antacids barely do much, if anything. Chewing gum helps but dehydrates me.

I have to do something. It's every single day for the past what, 3 odd years? That's before I started half the bloody meds I'm on now.

but you know what the funny thing is?

I don't even have a differential diagnosis for myself. I Don't Know what it is. I think it's GERD/GORD I guess. But then why did 2 months of a high dose PPI do nothing? Why was nothing found on the endoscopy? WHY AM I HAVING TO BECOME A DETECTIVE FOR MY OWN BODY.

I was gonna go to a sexual health clinic, but they're all either 1☆, private, or miles away.

I have to get this all out somewhere. but God does it make me so depressed to realise it'll probably take until I'm puking every day for me to get listened to. Even then I'm not fucking sure. I could puke blood and some misogynist doctor prick could be like "ah I know! you're on your period aren't you. here wear this pad as a mask and fuck off, woman"

👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

[sincerecinnamon]

@edgingattheedgeofauniverse

Not everyone gets that my name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

[cyanomys]

Recovering from almost having to go to the er for a blockage last night. I just wish I actually knew why I have these lifelong issues with constipation.

And every time I think l'm in remission sort of I have a horrible episode. Every time I make a lifestyle change that I think has solved it, it returns. I have missed out on so much of life from dealing with this.

I feel like there's not even any point in doing more tests about it because there's nothing to diagnose me with. I went through the misery of a barium swallow and all they did was say “huh….you don’t seem to maintain peristalsis normally….sorry about that” and didn’t even give me a real diagnosis of slow transit constipation or IBSc until I later begged a doctor to put something in my records.

They just don’t fucking care. They just tell me to eat more fiber when I try to tell them that too much makes it worse. I’ve been this way since I was A TODDLER. When I was a child they told me it was anxiety (as if I, a child, could fix that), or scolded me for not using the toilet enough (???) and said I would grow out of it. Now that I’m an adult it’s my fault because I must not eat enough fiber (I’m fucking vegan), or I must not exercise enough (I walk or do yoga every day), or I must need to meditate about it (I work constantly on my anxiety every day).

Some people with slow transit constipation have to get fucking colectomies and we STILL DONT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT

It's the equivalent to being like "wow your arm hurts so bad and is so nonfunctional that we have to amputate it, but we can't be fucked to do research as to why this happens to people." Also “you know it's probably your fault anyway"

Constipation stigma is not only attached to unhealthy and obese people but also to drug addicts. I think that’s why the medical system leaves us behind. We’re constipated so we must be less than human like all the other people they ignore.

[hauntedselves]

hi, do you think it would be possible/even make sense for undiagnosed/untreated autism to get worse as someone ages? perhaps not even wholly due to internal processes but because of the expectations of adult life, work, and all that?

absolutely, diagnosed or not. as you age through the stages of life expectations and your situation changes, and as we all know autism hates change. even without major changes, sometimes your old coping mechanisms no longer work, or small changes & stress piles up until you just can't deal with it anymore, or you're chronically burnt out, or any number of other factors.

getting support - not necessarily in the form of a diagnosis and treatment, but that can absolutely help - is the best thing right now. take care of yourself, limit stressors, keep an eye out for comorbid anxiety & depression, make sure you give yourself plenty of time alone to recharge but also don't isolate yourself. work with a professional if you can!

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Heya! Can I get agni with a so who gets sick suddenly and he just feels so frustrated cause he can't help her? And none of the doctors know the problem

Thank youuuuuuu!

man oh man I watch a lot of Mystery Diagnosis and Mystery ER and Monsters Inside Me and all that jazz I LOVE me a good medical drama *rubs my evil lil hands together*

Frustrated is definitely the word to describe how he feels. This is the first time in a long time that he’s felt so… angry, and it’s anger on her behalf. His beloved priya was the picture of health and life not so long ago, then out of the blue she’s ill and in pain and suffering. And no one can tell the two of them why? Part of him (the part of him that used to be Arshad) thinks it’s ridiculous, that nobody they visit for help can explain the problem. Can anyone even come up with guess? All these highly educated, trained physicians, and no one can so much as take a stab at what the issue may be? He pushes that part of himself down, least of all because his snapping at the doctors won’t get the two of them anywhere. Instead he focuses every spare bit of energy he has in being there for (Name). She never has to doubt that she has his support. Even if he seems tired from helping Soma or from doing things around the house, he still offers to do anything that might ease her discomfort for even a moment. He’ll make her tea, try Indian folk remedies for whatever is bothering her, rub her shoulders… If there’s nothing he can actually do, he’s still there. As long as it doesn’t make things worse, he holds her, and kisses her forehead, and murmurs, “It’s going to be alright. I’ll take care of you. We’ll figure this out. We won’t give up until we have an answer and a solution.” No matter what, he absolutely refuses to leave her side. (Even if he sometimes has to take a minute to cry in private, terrified that no one knows what’s wrong. He doesn’t want to lose her… he can’t.)

[veggiefritterz]

My name is Walter Hartwell White. I live at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87104. This is my confession. If you're watching this tape, I'm probably dead, murdered by my brother-in-law Hank Schrader. Hank has been building a meth empire for over a year now and using me as his chemist. Shortly after my 50th birthday, Hank came to me with a rather, shocking proposition. He asked that I use my chemistry knowledge to cook methamphetamine, which he would then sell using his connections in the drug world. Connections that he made through his career with the DEA. I was... astounded, I... I always thought that Hank was a very moral man and I was... thrown, confused, but I was also particularly vulnerable at the time, something he knew and took advantage of. I was reeling from a cancer diagnosis that was poised to bankrupt my family. Hank took me on a ride along, and showed me just how much money even a small meth operation could make. And I was weak. I didn't want my family to go into financial ruin so I agreed. Every day, I think back at that moment with regret. I quickly realized that I was in way over my head, and Hank had a partner, a man named Gustavo Fring, a businessman. Hank essentially sold me into servitude to this man, and when I tried to quit, Fring threatened my family. I didn't know where to turn. Eventually, Hank and Fring had a falling out. From what I can gather, Hank was always pushing for a greater share of the business, to which Fring flatly refused to give him, and things escalated. Fring was able to arrange, uh I guess I guess you call it a "hit" on my brother-in-law, and failed, but Hank was seriously injured, and I wound up paying his medical bills which amounted to a little over $177,000. Upon recovery, Hank was bent on revenge, working with a man named Hector Salamanca, he plotted to kill Fring, and did so. In fact, the bomb that he used was built by me, and he gave me no option in it. I have often contemplated suicide, but I'm a coward. I wanted to go to the police, but I was frightened. Hank had risen in the ranks to become the head of the Albuquerque DEA, and about that time, to keep me in line, he took my children from me. For 3 months he kept them. My wife, who up until that point, had no idea of my criminal activities, was horrified to learn what I had done, why Hank had taken our children. We were scared. I was in Hell, I hated myself for what I had brought upon my family. Recently, I tried once again to quit, to end this nightmare, and in response, he gave me this. I can't take this anymore. I live in fear every day that Hank will kill me, or worse, hurt my family. I... All I could think to do was to make this video in hope that the world will finally see this man, for what he really is.

((you'll neva figure out who this is bbg))

i- man, hope things get better for you.