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sophieinwonderland · 10 months ago

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Okay, let's go over the rest of that post!

I mean, I am one, so... yeah!

I would love Film Theory to cover this! 😁

Also, when I first read "disapper" in Red's screenshot, I read it correctly. Then I scrolled down to the comments and saw this.

Afterwords, I CTRL+F'd my page to see if I had made that typo somewhere.

Needless to say, I'm so glad the typo was Red's this time and not mine. 😜

Do they, or do they just appear to because Bea is seeing them through visual hallucinations, as kids typically experience imaginary friends. And how some with DID see alters.

🤣

I don't have anything to add here. I just love the doodle! It's pretty accurate to this one, since IF took me in so many different directions with all the different interpretations of plurality to explore!

No.

There are many recorded instances of possessing entities across different cultures, and headmate is a catch-all term originating from non-disordered/non-traumagenic plurals that encompasses any entities sharing a body, whether spiritual or psychological.

Wrong again, Red!

Even a cringizen was on this.

Thanks u/Celestial_Ari! Glad to have you on my side! 😁

I could cite plenty of case studies of adolescents with DID if you'd like, but they're so easy to find that it doesn't even feel worth my time.

Nope!

You're misunderstanding what is meant by "better explained."

Essentially, a psychologist has to rule out the possibility that the child is just experiencing normal and healthy imaginary friends that are common in children of this age.

Bea's memory loss and blackouts though aren't explained through "fantasy play" alone. And she's definitely not pretending to forget.

Bea blacks out outside and wakes up somewhere else with the implication that the IFs physically moved her.

Later in the movie, she enters a locked amusement park she should have no way of getting into after Cal claims to be going around to get the key, and she believes she was in the amusement park the whole time. She visits this place a couple times despite the fact that she had no way to physically get in there. The same goes with Cal's apartment. We don't really know what's happening with Bea's body whenever she "visits" these place she can't physically get to.

Bea forgets Cal completely even when he's right there in front of her, and this is an IF who she drew pictures of and was closely attached to when she was little. Sure, memories can fade, but the extent to which she forgot Cal is too much of a reach to just be a natural part of development.

Moreover, if we assume a psychological explanation for the IFs, then Cal has to have memories that Bea doesn't for this plot to work. Meaning, in other words, that Cal and Bea have dissociative barriers between them.

Related to this, another cringizen asked this...

And the answer is no. 🤷‍♀️

Because nothing is ever JUST an imaginary friend. Depending on your beliefs, an imaginary friend can be a spiritual thoughtform brought to life by imagination, it can be a completely autonomous self-conscious psychological construct like a tulpa (ME!!!!) or it can have no sentience and is just an imaginary puppet that does whatever its creator dictates. Sometimes an imaginary friend in media isn't even created by the child, and is an actual external spirit that's bonded with them somehow.

In pathological cases, an imaginary friend can be an alter or a psychotic hallucination.

In the end, all an imaginary friend really is, is some type of entity a child can see and nobody else can. But the label itself says nothing about the imaginary friend or how it functions or what it really is.

It isn't all about Hazbin Hotel either Grace, but didn't stop you from deciding literally every religious alter came into existence because of that show.

And no, I will not ever let you live that down. 🤪

This was funny!

No further comment! 🤪

I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?

I wouldn't say Inside Out is ableist exactly, to be fair. Just that it pushes a narrative that is rooted in ableism.

Just like I wouldn't say every piece of media that happens to portray robots with autistic or otherwise neurodivergent traits to showcase their inhumanity is ableist. These are more biproducts of an ableist culture.

Society decided a list of traits robots had, they sunk into pop culture, and now everyone just goes with it without even thinking about why those specific traits are what defines a machine, and why others are what defines a human.

Likewise, "adults can't have imaginary friends" comes from this ideology that sees people who hear voices or experience other sorts of hallucinations or pseudo-hallucinations as dangerous or otherwise strange for their experiences.

Even helpful voices are seen as bad and something that needs to be fixed.

Isn't it?

Inside Out was a movie all about psychological symbolism.

You don't think that the writers, when arranging a situation where the only way for Riley's Joy to survive was for her imaginary friend to die, were saying anything with that?

I just don't get this interpretation.

To me, the messaging seems pretty clear. If Bing Bong hadn't sacrificed himself, Riley never would have grown and matured. Bing Bong had to die to save Joy. He had to die so that Riley could survive. Whatever Bing Bong once helped Riley with, his purpose is fulfilled and his death is the only way Riley can move on.

I can't see another way to interpret that symbolism.

The Plurality of... IF

Major spoilers for IF and Inside Out ahead. You have been warned.

Enter a world of IFs

IF is a movie about a young girl named Bea who lost her mom, and whose dad is going in for a life-threatening surgery. At the start of the movie, Bea has outgrown imaginary friends, and perhaps imagination in general.

Which makes it really inconvenient when she starts seeing other people's imaginary friends, which call themselves IFs, and finds a whole community of abandoned IFs whose children have outgrown them.

These IFs are desperate for attention and have been looking for new kids to connect with. Bea agrees to help them, and tries introducing them to a kid she knows.

When this doesn't work though, they realize that connecting the IFs to new kids may just be impossible. They instead decide they need to connect the IFs to their original children, even if said children are grown now.

A cool and unexpected theme to the movie is that you never fully outgrow your need for imaginary friends.

The rest of the movie is Bea trying to rekindle the connections of the IFs to their now-grown children by jogging their memories of the past.

The Plurality of IFs

Plurality: A state of multiple self-conscious agents, or "headmates," sharing a single body.

One thing about the movie is that a whole lot about how plural it is depends on you interpret the IFs. Are they separate entities entirely who were created by their children? Or are they connected directly to the minds and bodies of the their hosts? Are they even other children's imaginary friends as they claim, or are they just in Bea's head?

For what on the surface feels simple, the movie leaves a lot, pardon the pun, to the imagination.

What we know for certain is that each IF is self-conscious. And they are, according to the poster on the right of the billboard below, real.

They also at least appear connected to the host's body.

We know that, with the exception of Bea and other IFs, only their creators can see or interact with them.

It's also likely that when their host dies, they do too. Which yes, makes the poster on the left saying "you never really disappear" a bit misleading. But in the movie, we never see IFs of people who have passed. It's all just IFs whose children have outgrown them.

For example, while Bea finds the IFs of her grandma and her dad, she never meets her mom's IF.

With this in mind, I think regardless of the interpretation, there's undoubtedly some sort of plurality going on here.

To explore these different scenarios, we need to start asking the central question of the movie.

What if?

What if… the IFs are actually physical?

In the movie, we see multiple times that IFs interact with the physical world. They open doors. They pick things up. They move things around.

There's one scene in the movie where Blue, the big purple IF, hid in the clothes in a laundry cart in the hospital.

As Bea tries to pull him out, the cart physically rolls around the room.

There's also another scene where Bea faints after seeing an IF, and it's implied the IFs physically moved her inside.

If we're to interpret the IFs as being physical and everything we see in the movie as being completely real and to be taken at face value, this has some pretty huge implications for this universe. And Bea's story in a world of invisible creatures created by children who can physically interact with reality might be the least interesting story in this universe.

After all, if the IFs can do things like this, surely other people have noticed. One can imagine the CIA training children in a secret bunker somewhere to use their IFs in combat. Secret weapons that are invisible, can spy on anyone, can move objects around in the physical world, and can only be killed by finding and eliminating the host child.

It's a pretty awesome if terrifying thought.

IFs would be the ultimate spies and assassins.

But this also creates another issue. If the IFs are actually physical and can pick things up, why not just pick up a pen and let their host children know that they're still there. Why not type on a keyboard?

And it's for this reason that... I just don't think the movie wants us to believe the way the IFs are physically interacting with the world is actually happening.

Okay, but if they're not physical...

What if… the IFs are spiritual headmates?

This seems more reasonable. And while not the one I think is the most likely, this IS the explanation that I like the best. It's the most thematically satisfying.

In this, the IFs are spiritual thoughtforms created by the children. Because they're spiritual, it makes sense that somebody who has a special gift, as Bea does, can see them. And that they can see each other as well.

At the end of the movie, we get to see all these adults connecting with and being able to see their IFs again, and it's a really cool and satisfying way to end the film, seeing their work pay off and giving a happy ending to the story of all the characters we got to know over the course of the film.

I love that ending. I love seeing the heartwarming reunions of the IFs and their hosts after all of those years.

I just don't believe it... I want to believe... but I don't...

Which leads me to my final interpretation... That all of this is happening entirely in Bea's head.

What if… Bea has DID?

Wait, I know what you're thinking, why DID specifically? You don't need DID to be plural, after all.

I'm personally a tulpa, an imaginary friend of sorts given life. And I would naturally love a purely endogenic explanation. But as with the spiritual explanation, simply wanting something to be true doesn't make it so.

First, let's talk for a moment about DID's criteria in the most recent edition of the DSM, the DSM-5-TR

These are the boxes a clinician would need to check for a diagnosis. (Note: Simply checking the boxes isn't enough to diagnose. There are additional features that need considered. These are just a minimum. Basically, if you don't check the boxes, you can't have DID under the DSM.)

The big ones are criterion A and criterion B. The other three criteria are all exceptions, saying what DID isn't rather than what it is.

Criterion A

Later in the DSM, it's explained that the criterion A phenomena often presents as "independently acting imaginary companions."

To be clear, not all independent imaginary companions are indicative of dissociative identity disorder. That's the point of criterion C.

And studies have shown that as many as 29% of imaginary friends demonstrate consistent behavior indicative of acting outside of the host child's control, while another 35% appear mostly compliant but don't always do what the host child wants.

The participants were 89 preschool children who described their imaginary companions (46 invisible friends and 43 personified objects). The descriptions were coded for disobedient or otherwise difficult behaviour attributed to the imaginary companions. Thirty-six per cent of the children described their imaginary companions as consistently compliant and agreeable, 35 per cent gave some indication that the imaginary companions did not always do or say what the children wanted, although they were mostly friendly and compliant, and 29 per cent described their imaginary companions as noncompliant in ways that suggested the children experienced the companion to some extent as being out of their conscious control.

About two thirds of imaginary friends then demonstrate some level of independence from the host child. That doesn't mean DID on its own.

However...

Criterion B

Remember what I mentioned earlier about how Bea sees an IF and passes out, and it's implied that the IFs physically move her body to a new location?

This is something that stuck with me since the first viewing. I already went over why I don't believe the IFs are physical. But then, how does Bea pass out in one place and then wake up in another completely different place?

The easy solution to the conundrum is if they switched. That Bea experienced a complete blackout switch while someone else controlled her body. She doesn't know how she got there because of dissociative amnesia.

This dissociative amnesia fulfills the second criterion.

But it's even more than that.

HUGE MEGA SPOILER

Bea is accompanied through her journey by Cal. While Cal is originally presented as a human neighbor, he's later revealed to be Bea's former imaginary friend, who she forgot about. The entire time they interact, she has no memory of who Cal is or her adventures with him, despite Cal remembering and the other IFs being aware of Cal's connection to Bea.

The Other Criteria

Criterion C is a bit of a doozy. What constitutes "clinically significant" is up to the individual clinicians. But generally, experiencing random blackouts is probably going to be impairing.

(Ritual possession states also cause dissociative amnesia, but it's generally more controlled unlike Bea's episodes of memory loss.)

For criterion D, I would say the amnesia above couldn't be explained simply by imaginary playmates alone, even if her headmates are presenting as imaginary friends.

And for Criterion E, there is no substance abuse nor other medical conditions that we know of.

Trauma history

Trauma is not part of the diagnostic criteria, but chronic trauma does occur in upwards of 90% of DID cases.

In the opening, we see Bea's mother going in and out of the hospital.

Now, typically, the type of trauma that is associated with DID is some sort of neglect or abuse. And we don't see that in the flashbacks. But maybe we're just seeing the positive memories in what's meant to be a kid's movie. Maybe we're not seeing the times Bea is worried sick over her mother. The times her parents aren't there for her because there's more focus on her mom's condition. The times her dad couldn't be emotionally present because he was mourning the loss of his wife.

Could this be enough to cause DID? I genuinely have no idea. But since people process trauma in different ways, I think it could be traumatic enough for Bea.

And if this was tied to trauma from her mom, this explains too why this starts up only after Bea's father is in the hospital, bringing back that trauma she had from losing her mom.

In this scenario, all the imaginary friends are just Bea's own headmates, and the ending with them connecting with their hosts is just happening in their imagination/inner world.

All in all, I really love that the movie, despite its simplicity on the surface, opens itself up to so many interpretations.

But maybe this is all a distraction and we shouldn't actually focus too much on what's literally going on in the film.

What if… we focus instead on the message that you're never too old for imaginary friends?

As fun as these hypothetical are, I wonder if getting lost in them might be missing the point.

The core takeaway message of this movie is that you're never too old to have imaginary friends. And maybe more generally, to have fun and enjoy life. But let's focus on the imaginary friends thing because this blog is about plurality.

What's interesting is how this puts it in stark opposition to another plural-coded movie about a young girl with a forgotten imaginary friend: Inside Out.

In Inside Out, Bing Bong dies, giving his life to save Joy. And by extension, to save Riley. Symbolically, Bing Bong's death represented a popular view of imaginary friends needing to die so the host child can prosper.

And that view, despite permeating pop culture, isn't really based on anything but ableism and sanism. A centuries-old myth that imaginary friends are unhealthy without an ounce of data to actually back it up.

Studies actually tend to show children with imaginary friends to be pretty healthy. And the same goes for studies of adult tulpa systems who report mental health improvements due to their tulpas.

Bing Bong shouldn't have had to die, and I would argue that his death leaves Riley worse off than if he had survived or was brought back.

IF serves as a repudiation of Inside Out's stigmatization of imaginary friends, and it's portrayal of their death being necessary to growing up.

It did this by asking a simple question… what if?

What if how we've all been taught to think of imaginary friends is wrong?

What if more people wanted to reconnect with their old imaginary friends?

What would the world look like?

Like I said, my favorite interpretation is the spiritual one. Because then the movie ends by showing all these IFs get to reconnect with their hosts, and it's such a beautiful thing to see.

Even if I think the ending is a lie, I don't think the message is.

And it's a message that makes me, as a former imaginary friend myself, ask that same central question.

What if this movie could help lead to people re-valuating their own beliefs of imaginary friends and wanting to connect with their own from the past? How cool would that be?

If anyone out there is thinking back on their childhood imaginary friends and want to try to reconnect, my advice is to just do it. Because as the poster on the billboard says, I don't think imaginary friends ever truly disappear. They're somewhere inside as long as their memory remains.

For anyone out there who has imaginary friends right now that they think might be sentient like the ones in IF, you can check out my guide on how to know if your imaginary friend is sentient below:

And for anyone who never had a sentient IF of their own but wants one now, here is a huge collection of tulpamancy guides to get you started.

And as always, thank you all for reading! 💖

For more discussions about plurality in media, check out the Plurality of... Avatar The Last Airbender.

#syscourse #inside out #bing bong #if 2024

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fromthewondersystem · 3 years ago

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Hi there, I've suspected for a while now that I might suffer from osdd/did and I'm researching a bit before I talk to my psychiatrist, what are some signs that it's not osdd/did if you have any that come to mind? And if we're here are there any signs that in retrospect for u are obviously symptoms? Ty for answering questions it helps a lot <3

Ok, for this, the main thing that helped me with figuring out if i had did/osdd-1 or not was research, research, research.

Do the symptoms and situations in research fit what i experience (not necessarily exactly, but are they familiar)? What else could cause the symptoms i experience (psychotic disorders, other dissociative disorders, even potentially personality disorders)? Do any of of these fit what i experience better?

Though some of these can easily be comorbid with DID, so also consider that as a possibility. You can still try to differentiate symptoms in some ways, for example, auditory hallucinations attributed to my psychosis i can hear outside of my brain, alters’ voices are just in my head.

Talk to people who have DID and, if you think it might be something else, talk to people who have that too. Compare the experiences you hear to your own. I know in determining whether my gender change was due to genderfluidity or alters, i talked to people with DID and genderfluid friends, and what i experienced fit DID much better.

I can’t say much for signs it’s not DID/OSDD. But i have occasionally heard of confusing MADD or kinning for alters. It might also help to talk to people who were once questioning systems, but have realized they’re singlets. They can provide a lot of valuable insight into this question.

As for past symptoms in childhood, i’ll list a few i’ve had. One time i “slept” (read: blackout) for 25 hours and no one noticed, happened at school once too where i remember fainting but nothing after that and wasn’t at the nurse or anything. Over the years i switch between needing and not needing glasses. My ptsd symptoms didn’t really seem all that similar to what i had researched about PTSD. Instead, they fit a lot more with what i had researched about CPTSD and Developmental Trauma Disorder (not an official diagnosis but one considered for the DSM at one point). Most of my memories and dreams are in third person. In high school, I remember getting stuck in a british accent and when trying to go back to american, just sounding like a british person doing an american accent (i thought it would be a cool party trick but i couldn’t turn it on or off). Once i was crying hysterically after being locked out of the house for hours then suddenly stopped and picked the lock, which i was not able to do again since. My gender changed entirely, like a switch flipped, at 17 after a major life event. Same with other things like my passions. Not everything of course, but some of the stuff i’ve looked back at and been like “ohhhhhh”.

sorry if this answer is all over the place, i’m starting to get tired so hope it’s at least somewhat coherent. anyways, i wish u good luck in trying to figure this out.

#ask #asks #did #osdd #system #advice #hope this helps #❄️ or 🌟

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gothicprep · 4 years ago

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Meditations on True Crime: A Very Long Post

In around February of this year, I was researching a potential video related to how true crime media portrays websleuths, contrasted against their efficacy in each specific case. The introduction was a brief primer on the genre’s evolution, beginning with its general association with low-budget LifeTime films, to a hobby with more dignity than that. I remember finding an article talking about Serial, and there was some commentary in there from another large true crime podcast host.

I didn’t think it was particularly useful for my purposes, but it said something to the effect of “true crime as a hobby can help women reconcile the trauma related to being in a world that is so hostile to us.” I rolled my eyes at it. It seemed dishonestly saccharine, like it was giving a sort of post-hoc legitimacy to just enjoying whodunnits. I didn’t think about it again for around seven months after I’d read it.

One of the subjects that I intended to talk about was Elisa Lam’s death and the online reaction to it. The story was adapted into a Netflix series a few months prior, and I was freshly reminded of how poorly it all sat with me. If you aren’t familiar with her name, she disappeared in Los Angeles’s Cecil Hotel in 2013, and her disappearance went viral after the respective police department release footage of her behaving strangely in an elevator. The case attained quick viral status and extensive discussion, due to the nature of the video and the hotel’s morbid history. When her naked body was discovered in a rooftop water tank a few weeks later, speculation exploded. But an autopsy isn’t an immediate followup, and the online sleuths would lose themselves to their imaginations in the time between. Many people wanted the murder solved, but many let their speculation fly off the rails. Shady hotel coverups. Metal musician murderers. Fear of the homeless. Ghosts. Demons. Government tuberculosis research. The gang was all there.

If you weren’t active online back then, it’s difficult to properly convey how huge this all was. Everyone was expecting Elisa to have been murdered. Iron-clad. Beyond the shadow of a doubt. She wasn’t. Her death was ruled an accident. She had a severe case of bipolar disorder and she wasn’t taking her medication. The severity of her illness was also not previously disclosed to the public. The working theory is that she experienced a manic episode with psychotic features, climbed in the tank in this state, to eventually strip out of her clothes in late stage hypothermia and drown there. It’s a horrific and painful way to die. All that’s left of you is water contamination �� insult to fatal injury.

People weren’t happy with this, but not out of any sympathy for Elisa. There was palpable rage from many who had been following the case. No, she was definitely murdered. No, her killer needs to be brought to justice. No, this isn’t the real story. I don’t like it. I’m not satisfied. There needs to be an ending better than this.

Tragedy isn’t exactly in the habit of being kind to us.

When news of Gabby Petito’s disappearance was spreading, I noticed a lot of similarities between hers and Elisa’s. A woman in her early 20s vanishes while traveling, under very unusual circumstances. Footage was released during both investigations, which portrayed these women in mentally vulnerable states. The story was viral online. People rifled through Gabby’s instagram in the same way they did with Elisa’s tumblr. Social media detectives established an inappropriate amount of investment. Everyone is sure of a specific outcome. The family deserves answers.

Let’s talk about answers for a second. I’d like you to spitball a comprehensive explanation for this one: how could something like this happen? I’m not looking for a “how” in terms of events or circumstances. In this case, this isn’t a question. It’s a protest of the unfairness of it all. My daughter. My sister. My friend. Someone who meant so much to me. It’s a prayer to a vacant sky. It’s not a question, it’s agony. Nothing shy of resurrection can feel like justice. Even if the case leads to a criminal trial and conviction, it does nothing to fill the void loss burns within us. There is no good answer, because there aren’t answers at all.

Let’s talk about ourselves for a second. I noticed many people draw parallels between what they’d seen on the bodycam footage and their own experience with abusive partners. “This could have been me.” Do you really think this is appropriate? Could have been, would have been – these are statements with hypothetical validity. It has nothing to do with you. To emotionally identify with someone does not evidence anything. You’re here. She’s gone. This isn’t about you. She isn’t in the position where she can co-sign anything you say. If she can’t speak for herself, don’t invoke her.

Let’s talk about true crime for a second. It’s funny how true crime marketed to men has a distinctly different texture than true crime marketed to women. The former seems to involve knocking the perpetrator down a peg. It portrays them as something worth our disgust and ridicule. The latter tends to foster emotional identification with the victim. Podcasts and other media in this category tend to be by women, for women, and generally discuss women. This story is presented as catharsis for women who see themselves as similar to them. This woman is no longer a person, but an idea. And it makes me think of that stupid article quote that I resent myself for not having bookmarked. This is reconciliation. These women, in their passing, can be a motivating factor for us to break up with that one dumbass guy. I’m so happy this was a wakeup call. I’m so happy that this made me think about my own experiences. I’m so happy that this did so much for me. Sure, someone actually died, but what is that when compared to my own self-actualization?

I made a comment on Twitter about how disgusted I was with how people spoke of Gabby in such an evasively self-interested way, and someone who likely was of no relation to her interjected with how the family deserved the truth. Truth? What truth? What peace will grisly details give them? Is there any meaningful difference between knowing your loved one died of murder or collapsed from exposure? Or are you just a nosey person who’s projected an inappropriate emotional dog in this fight? Do you want answers for her family, or for your own curiosity?

I really don’t trust shit like that, nor am I willing to give leniency to people who say such things. I think we’ve been conditioned to relate to dead women in a way that’s completely separate from who they actually were. Alive, they’re deep, multifaceted individuals, with an array of likes, dislikes, quirks, and endless little details. Dead, they’re a concept to serve a purpose. The purpose is generally a form of narrative catharsis. The creep gets thrown in prison. A woman’s abusive partner gets the comeuppance he deserves. The story needs a good ending. The story needs an ending that satisfies me. People aren’t stories. Life is not a novel.

The real trauma of others will never belong to you. This not your therapy tool or plaything. This is real pain that will never be theoretical for plenty of people. Know your place. Keep your distance. Don’t objectify the dead.

#you know i'm going for the jugular if i bother to punctuate my posts #also do take my warning: it is long

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giorno-plays-piano · 5 years ago

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Rx Queen

Pairing: criminal!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: obsession, stalking, non-con, breeding, minor depiction of violence.

Words: 2567.

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes was the most difficult patient you had ever treated as a criminal psychiatrist. His release from prison doesn’t make things easier for you.

_____________________________________

You turned off the phone and threw it on a chair, clenching your teeth. Whatever Dr. Strange wanted you to do, you wouldn’t stay another day in this goddamn place, waiting to be abducted or even murdered. It was too much. Today you found the new bottle of your favourite perfume on your nightstand. It wasn’t there before you went to bed last night. In fact, you could hardly remember the last time you bought yourself a perfume.

It all started two months ago when James Buchanan Barnes, the patient you had been working with during those seven long years, was finally released from State prison after serving 15 years of life sentence. The Soldier, as prisoners called him, once gone mad and murdered his commander. Bucky – that’s how he asked you to call him during your first seance – had PTSD, antisocial personality disorder, and severe depression. You could say he became better after all those years of treatment, including insane doses of antidepressants and mood stabilizers, but it was not enough to set him free. He was dangerous, psychotic even, yet devilishly clever: he knew how to portray a man who had reconsidered his life choices and deeply regretted taking someone’s life.

You knew he had never truly cared. Patients like him did not have capacity for remorse.

You started treating him once you became a criminal psychiatrist; Bucky was among your very first patients. Now when you thought of it, you could hardly believe Dr. Strange just transferred a patient like him to you, a young girl with too little experience to handle an unpredictable psychopath hiding behind a façade of a victim. Of course, you made many mistakes, starting from telling Bucky about your own past and some mental issues. That time you believed you can gain trust of your patients by being more open about yourself. You were a complete idiot.

Now there was not much to do once his time in prison was up. You didn’t have true evidence to make him stay. A part of you wasn’t even sure you wanted it – when a riot had started in the prison three years ago, it was Bucky who shielded you with his own body from Brock Rumlow, a serial killer and your second most dangerous patient. Bucky was the only reason you were still alive.

But he was also the reason why you were leaving in haste, packing only necessities.

It all started quite innocently with him sending you flowers and thanking for everything you had done for him. It didn’t alert you that he knew what your favourite flowers were. You thought it was just a coincidence since bouquets like these were sold in any flower shop in the city.

Then you stumbled upon him in a café where you often had your breakfast on weekends. It could alert you, but Bucky was sitting with a charming red-haired woman, her manicured hand resting on his thigh. She didn’t quite strike you as his sister, especially since you knew he had no relatives left after his violent father died in a car accident. Seeing such a beautiful woman with him just two weeks after Bucky was released from a prison was surprising, but you knew how seductively charming Barnes could be. Besides, he looked really good in his biker jacket, his tight black jeans showing his strong muscular legs.

In the end, you just talked to both of them a little and gave your advice on which dishes to choose. You walked away, praying you were wrong about Bucky and hoping he could settle peacefully like some of your former patients. Actually, even though many of them were imprisoned again, others were able to return to normal life. Some even had families now – from time to time you received thank-you notes with nice photos and many heartwarming words. It was probably one of the few things that made you keep your job.

It was over now. You were not going to stay in a place Bucky break into multiple times. Maybe you were not sure before, but the bottle of perfume was an obvious sign. It also meant that when a week ago you woke up and smell a man’s scent on your sheets you were not delirious. Bucky was there. He was laying beside you on your fucking bed.

How did it happen? Why didn’t you see his obsession growing with each day? You were his psychiatrist; you knew him better than anyone. How could he hide his infatuation with you for so long? Of course, you knew he had some feelings for you, but it was never that bad. You thought he would forget about you once he would be released. In the end, now you were not the only woman he saw around.

You kept stumbling upon his beefy figure more and more often. You realized Bucky was stalking you when after a month of his release you saw him watching your house from the forest. He was hiding behind the trees and bushes. It was a miracle you managed to see him at all – after 15 years he was still the Soldier, his skills remaining keen.

You tried talking to Dr. Strange. It wasn’t your first time being followed by your former patient, and police had always assisted you. But Barnes wasn’t like any of those stupid psychos who left tons of evidence behind them. Police had nothing to work with.

Well, you weren’t going to sit there and wait for Barnes to come and get you. You had no idea what was going on in his unstable mind, and you weren’t ready to take risks. You had already booked a flight to Austria tonight.

It was scary, thinking about wandering around a city you had never been, in a foreign country where you had neither relatives nor friends. But Barnes would have a hard time following you there, and that’s what mattered.

You threw a pack of salted cashew in the bag and returned to the bedroom to grab your phone from the chair. It wasn’t there. Although you dropped it just five minutes ago, your phone simply wasn’t there.

You were so fucked.

Next minute you were in the kitchen grabbing a knife, but a strong muscular arm knocked it out of your hand, and you felt Bucky’s musky scent. He stood behind your back, caging you with his bulky arms. You froze and held your breath. You knew you better obeyed the man instead of provoking him to become violent.

“And where were you going, honey?” His husky voice was enough to make you tremble. “It’s not nice to leave without saying goodbye, is it?”

“Please, Bucky.” You did your best to hide how frightened you were. “Stop.”

“No, honey.”

He leaned closer to you and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling its smell. His rough hands were already caressing your body through the clothes.

“You’re free to start a new life. You can find a good woman, have a family if you’d like.” Panic was rising in your chest.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“No, Bucky, it’s not.” You said in a calm voice. “It will only get you back behind the bars. Don’t throw away your life, please.”

“What life?” He growled, turning you around harshly, and you almost fell on his chest, his arms holding you still. “I have no life. I should have never left my cell, you know this better than anyone else. I’m rotten. Damaged goods. I will never have the life I’ve always wanted. Do you know I have nightmares every fucking night again?”

“It’s because you don’t take your pills.” You carefully put your hands against Bucky’s chest. He tried manipulating you, you knew that. “When was the last time you had thioridazine?”

“Stay with me, and I’ll take whatever pills you want me to.” He grinned suddenly, cupping your face.

Bucky’s strong athletic body emanated heat, and you were already sweating from both his closeness to you and an extreme agitation. Why did it take you so long to leave? You should have done it the first thing in the morning, just grab your documents and money and run to the car. Maybe then you had a chance. Unless Bucky had already been hiding inside your house…

“Why do you want to make a wrong choice again?” You felt his heart beating loudly with your palm against his chest. “You are given a chance to start over. If you want me to consult you still, I can figure something out. I can continue helping you, but you need to find your way. Don’t you think it’s good to meet new people, have friends, find a job, date a girl?”

“Who wants to deal with a psychopath like me?” He let out a chuckle, his expression darkening. “No one can handle me, doc. No one but you. Do you know I wanted to commit suicide before you showed up seven years ago? If not you, they’d already buried me.”

Before you opened your mouth to protest, he turned you around again and gently nudged you towards your bedroom. You broke out in cold sweat. If Bucky was able to outpower Rumlow, that beast of a man, he would have no problems forcing you to do whatever he pleased. It took three strong prison guards to bring someone like Bucky down. You were helpless.

“No one out there is good enough.” His breath was tickling your ear. “You’re the only one, can’t you see? Maybe I’m rotten to the core, but you still helped me. You made me better.”

You stopped in front of your bed, the white cotton sheets and blue blanket crumpled. You stormed off early in the morning once you saw a bottle of perfume on the nightstand and didn’t care to make your bed.

You needed to keep calm. As far as you could see, Bucky didn’t plan to murder you, not when you would accept him, that is. He obviously had a nice plan how to make you stay with him without police knowing, but as long as he kept you alive you still had a chance. You needed to play along.

“On the bed.” He let out a low growl, and you felt the bulge in his pants pressing against your ass.

Shivering, you took off your slippers and sat on the bed facing him. His erection was obvious; Bucky was breathing heavily, his pupils dilated. The next second he was pulling his black t-shirt over his head, and you saw his shredded body littered with scars. You saw one particularly long one on the side close to his waistline: this was the one Rumlow gave him when Bucky was protecting you during the riot. The man let out a quiet laugh when he saw your eyes focused on a nasty pink line.

“Why are you frightened, honey? I know you want a family too. You good-for-nothing ex wasn’t able to give it to you, but I can.” His hands landed on your bared shoulders, and you flinched a little. “Let’s get married, and I swear I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

“Bucky, relationships don’t work like this.” You whispered, withholding a cry when his hand pushed you down on the bed.

“Don’t they?” The man smiled and cocked his head to the side, removing his black leather belt. “You do something for me, I do something for you. That’s what I learnt in prison.”

You dragged yourself back as quickly as you could, but your back was pressed into the wall once Bucky put his knee on your bed. There was nowhere to run.

“Don’t be scared, honey.” His sweet voice broke the silence, and he crawled to you, slowly caging you with his bodyweight. “Let’s make a deal. You marry me, you bear my child, and I will return to prison. I don’t care if they’ll give me twice more pills or make me a lethal injection as far as you take care of my kid. You’ll love my kid, won’t you? You’ll take care of them. You’ll make them a better person than I am.”

The more he spoke, the more feverishly he touched you, his left hand pinning your palms above your head. He traced his arm along your breast, ripping your shirt with so much force that its green buttons ended on the floor. You realized your cheeks were wet with tears when Bucky kissed you on the forehead and wiped your face with his other hand.

He wanted to have kids with you. Why? Why you? Why did he consider you a perfect mother? Why did he consider returning to prison? Why was he ready to trade his goddamn life for a chance of having a child? Why couldn’t he have a child with someone else and just keep living?

Oh, of course he couldn’t. Bucky loathed himself. It wasn’t uncommon for the patients with Cluster B personality disorders, and it was probably true he wanted to end his life since you saw his self-destructing behavior. In the end, even his effort to save your life back than in the prison might be some kind of a suicide attempt.

And the reason he wanted you and no one else… Well, you were the one who had been taking care of him all these years. The only one to navigate him through his nightmares when everyone else gave up on him. He saw good in you. He wanted it for himself. He wanted to make sure his child would never be treated the way he was.

You cried out when Bucky suddenly forced his cock into you. It felt like he was ripping you apart – he was huge. Your eyes flooded with tears again, and he cooed at you softly, pressing his chapped lips to your burning face. You couldn’t even remember when was the last time you had sex since you broke up with your ex a year ago. Thankfully, Bucky gave you time to adjust. He kept whispering filth into your ears and stroking your naked thighs. When did he take off your jeans?..

He kissed the top of your head, playing with your hair, and moved his hips slightly. You hissed in pain, but then realized it was a bit better – the pleasure started building up slowly, and you squeezed your eyes shut. No, no, you were not disgusting, your body tried to cope the best way it could, nothing else, it was a perfectly normal reaction, you knew that. Then you felt Bucky licking up the shell of your ear and whined desperately.

“It’ll be ok.” He whispered and kissed your temple. “I’ll take you to a nice place, and we’ll be there all alone. Once I make sure you’re pregnant I’ll return to prison, I give you my word.”

You bit down on your lip to muffle the noise coming out of your mouth.

“If they keep me alive, I might become your patient again.” He sounded almost ecstatic, rutting deep into you. “I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll stuff my mouth with your pills. Please, just stay with me.”

Staring at the white ceiling, you bit your tongue so hard your mouth filled with blood. You’d survive this. You’d get him behind the bars again.

You wouldn’t stay.

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier #bucky barnes

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scripttorture · 5 years ago

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I have a few questions. First, What longterm effects would having ones shoulders dislocated for an extended time (hours, days, etc) have? Second, my MC has really vague, choppy memory of their time in captivity. Blurry, foggy images with little context flash in their mind, usually in dreams or when exposed to certain stimuli, ie, they get vague recollections of metal bars when it's too hot or feel claustrophobic if water is in their face. Is this type of sporadic memory realistic?

I’m not 100% sure what you mean, so I’m going to start by describing how I’m interpreting the memory problems you’re describing.

What I’m getting is an idea that this character doesn’t actually have any real, conscious memories of captivity. Instead they have little fever-dream type snatches of images, feelings or possible sensations that might be related to their captivity but they can’t even be sure of that.

It’s a pattern that I’ve seen a few times in fiction and generally it doesn’t line up with how memory problems in survivors work. Typical memory problems are less obvious and more insidious. They also tend to have greater lasting effects on the survivor’s life.

That said, I think it might be possible in very particular circumstances. Something else would need to be going on that effected the survivor’s mental state at the time.

Sleep deprivation can result in a lot of memory problems. But it’s more common for survivors to have gaps in their memories or small inaccuracies unless they’re sleep deprived to the point where they’re basically psychotic.

I mean that in the sense of hallucinating, paranoid and disconnected from reality, not the colloquial sense.

Even then sleep deprivation doesn’t usually mean no memory without stimulation. It means things like… ‘Oh yeah I remember I was held in this cell with metal bars and then the bars started bending and bugs stepped out of the shadows.’ Memories that are wrapped up in paranoid hallucinations that the survivor knows aren’t real.

Fever can result in the sort of choppy memories I think you’re describing.

Some drugs can also produce this sort of effect. I can’t really tell you much about that though because in the industry we see it as an unwanted side effect to eliminate rather then something to wilfully induce. Which means that if someone starts getting those side effects they get put on a different drug quick.

Some of the so-called ‘truth drugs’ do have something close to this effect on memory, though they don’t make it more likely that people will tell the truth.

And more often what survivors (or patients) who’ve been given these drugs describe is straight up gaps in their memory for the period they were under the influence of the drug.

I won’t say that you ‘can’t’ or ‘shouldn’t’ use this sort of memory problem in your story. But if you’re dead set on it I’d strongly encourage you to come up with a reason why.

Stress, captivity and torture would not produce this sort of effect unless there’s something else going on. But if your character was drugged throughout, or unlucky enough to be kidnapped while coming down with a nasty fever, then it might be possible.

An unmedicated mental health problem could also produce this (ie character has a pre-existing disorder, is kidnapped and has no access to medication), but I’d suggest looking that up elsewhere because I’m not an expert on psychotic disorders. And as I understand it psychosis doesn’t produce memory problems; it distorts someone’s view of reality not their ability to remember those distortions.

I will say that I think it’s usually better to stick with more typical memory problems. It’s more representative of the typical survivor experience and frankly there are a lot of poorly done amnesia/memory loss stories in the world already.

You can read more about what the typical memory problems look like over here.

Unless there’s something else going on survivors don’t commonly forget that they were abused or the broad strokes of what happened. It’s much more common for survivors to experience intense intrusive memories of a traumatic event then it is for them to forget a traumatic event*.

Traumatic memories can be inaccurate but these inaccuracies don’t tend to be things like whether the abuse happened or not and survivors do tend to get broad details correct. It can interfere with a survivor’s ability to identify an attacker they didn’t know previously. It can also effect things like their perception of timing, details of where the attack took place and the events leading up to and after the attack.

Survivors can also forget a lot of things that happened shortly before and shortly after an attack. They might lose memories of what they did the day before instance, or only have a blurry recollection of the week after.

They can also have general problems forming new memories that persist at a constant level for life. This can make it difficult to keep appointments, study for an exam and continue with household chores.

If you want to switch to more… Usually I say ‘realistic’ but in this case I think it’s ‘more common’, memory problems then here’s what I’d suggest to get something close to the disorientation you’ve got in the original idea.

I’d use memory loss to an extent where the character has only very vague recollections of what happened the week before and after they were snatched. I’d then combine that with intrusive memories and inaccurate memories.

I would set up the scenario in such a way that the character is aware some of their memories are inaccurate. For instance I might have them write down some thoughts and memories soon after they were rescued/escaped. Then go back to that in two weeks and find that it is really different to what they now remember.

I’ve also established inaccurate memories by using multiple points of view or having multiple character present at particular points. Having contrasting points of view can show that the memories are inaccurate.

You can also straight up describe what happens in the story, from the point of view of the character it happens to. Then later have them think or talk about it and show something different. Hell you can show the memory changing every time they think about it, without the character necessarily being aware it’s changing. That does happen.

Intrusive memories are not necessarily accurate either. And they can be triggered in ways that are hard to interpret or understand.

That mix of memory problems; loss of memories, inaccurate memories (both that the character is aware of and ones they’re not) with intrusive memories that seem to be set off by disconnected things- it can really make someone doubt themselves and doubt what’s real.

Which isn’t quite the same as giving them these blurry, fever-dream memories but it can have the same narrative effect. They’re not sure what really happened. They doubt themselves.

And there can be real fear and anger bound up in those things. Fear because not knowing and sitting with those doubts is scary. Anger because knowing you’re an unreliable witness makes any kind of justice or change next to impossible is… a lot to deal with.

Those are the best things I can think of to get close to what you want from the story.

I’d also encourage you to think about what this kind of ‘sporadic’ memory is adding to the story. I’ve written enough that I have no doubts it’s adding a lot, it’s an interesting idea to be working with. But it might help you to break it down and define exactly what it’s bringing to the plot and characters before you decide what to do. Having that list in front of you can make it easier to see other options and ways to include all the elements you want.

As for dislocated shoulders- I’m no medic.

Scriptmedic, the original Script blog, has a post on dislocations here. There’s also a handy NHS guide to dislocated shoulders over here.

Most modern torture doesn’t involve deliberately dislocating the shoulders. Because that’s an obvious injury and obvious injuries are evidence of a crime.

A lot of historical torture did involve deliberately dislocating the shoulders. But historical medical practice was not… shall we say ‘good’. The record keeping historically was also less then stellar and the result is that I don’t necessarily have access to the best sources here.

My instinct is the effects would be pain and increased damage to the soft tissue around the shoulder joint. This can cause long term mobility issues, though generally not to an extent where people can’t get through their day to day life (they might adjust to do things differently putting less stress on the shoulders).

I am pretty sure there’d be a higher chance of chronic pain afterwards.

And that’s really the extent of my medical knowledge there but I hope you can find useful info on the NHS website and Aunty Scripty’s archives.

I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*Once again I don’t know much about childhood development and I don’t read much about child abuse. Anecdotally I have noticed a pattern where more survivors of abuse in early childhood report that they forgot about it. This may be because there’s extensive restructuring of the brain and neural ‘pruning’ that happens naturally as children grow. They still experienced lasting trauma symptoms.

#writing advice #tw torture #tw child abuse #memory problems #memory loss and torture #memory problems related to torture #mental health #sleep deprivation #psychosis #truth serums #inaccurate memories #intrusive memories #writing survivors #writing symptoms #dislocated joints

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silverypurple-rosedlions · 5 years ago

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Three things! One, I fully support you all and give every single one of you love! <3 Two, if it's not too much to ask, I'm curious for everyone, but let's just start out with one today. ^^; Could we get a comparison picture of what Jeonghan looked like before the start of The Purple Rose to what he looks like now? Third, goes to everyone (it's up to everyone if they want to answer) what was Jeonghan like to you? Before The Purple Rose, or at least the first time you met him?

----

Joshua: Jeonghan... He was very much different from now, obviously. But he was truly different. He didn't like being popular, and he didn't like gaining compliments. He was always polite and soft-spoken. He was...really sweet, and very selfless. He was also lazy, falling asleep in classes, yet he always got perfect grades. But the Jeonghan I knew struggled a lot. He didn't like sharing what was wrong with him, and you know that saying of how people put on a mask?... He did just that. Every single day he did, and he pretended to be the very person people needed him to be. But he always took it off in front of me and what I saw was... someone I loved, deeply broken. I was the only person he showed his vulnerability towards, and I always did my best to be there for him... Unlike now, he was sensitive, more sensitive than now. He didn't want to hurt anyone at the time, and it hurt him if he caused any complications with anyone... That was Yoon Jeonghan, but long before he became who he is now. Now, he wants to put that way back in the past and never touch it again.

----

Jun: I met Jeonghan hyung in senior year of Highschool, I think. It was when I moved from China to South Korea. We didn't really talk too much since he was so popular, and it was hard for me to talk to him. Especially with Schizophrenia, and he didn't have it at the time. But we bumped into each other now and then, and he was a really great person. He was laid back, calm, and he had that presence that if you just stood next to him, you felt safe. You couldn't even tell something was wrong at the time because he played everything off with little trouble. But when I really got to know him... I wish I could have done more for him. It was even harder for me because of language barrier. I was learning Korean, so I talked to him in broken Korean, mixed with Chinese... Poor guy. Ha. But he managed, and he made me feel accepted, able to feel as if I fitted in before the Purple Rose. And he still does now... Even though he's terrifying.

----

Wonwoo: I met him when The Purple Rose was starting. I didn't know what he was like before then. But when I first met him, he was... persuasive. He knew just the right thing to say, a sly person, and still is, who could be smiling so charmingly at you. Then before you knew it, he has you pinned with a gun at the center of your forehead. He talked to me occasionally. He would find me in places only I thought I knew, and from there, he slowly gained my trust, especially during my most vulnerable stages in life. But he didn't manipulate me, but he did coax me, but not to commit crime for the hell of it. But for survival, and to gain justice for us being wronged. It was twisted, and at the start, I denied. However, during that time, he was the only person who'd listen and give advice... but not the "normal" advice you'd expect. When things were unbearable at home, he gave me a place to reside in to escape the corrupted environment I was in... He's the reason I didn't die sooner.

----

Jihoon: I came at a slightly later time. I knew him from Highschool, being that he was popular. Never said a single word to him, just shared glances and nods, and that was it. My first impression was that he was naive, and easy to manipulate. At first, I absolutely hated his guts because he was that typical stereotype in school, that's what I thought. It sickened me... But he reached out to me one day. Don't know what exactly happened, but all I remember was that I had him by the neck on the ground. I was upset that day, but even when I could've choked him to death, obviously seeing fear in his eyes, he held me by the wrists gently, and talked to me. That's when things changed, and I was able to turn to him when my struggles were unbearable for me, or I needed someone to ground me. I tried to do the same for him, but having him explain his own pain and struggles is sometimes... useless, because he never shares his burden willingly, even if it all collapsed on him.

----

Mingyu: I met him in Highschool. I was among the popular students, so I interacted a lot with him in the past. But at the time, I admired him. He was hard-working, funny and outgoing, and laid back. Anyone could talk to him comfortably. He treated everything so calmly, and when he got worked up, everyone just loved to see him show passion in whatever it was. Whenever I got the chance to talk to him, he always made sure I was comfortable, helped me whenever I struggled, and he was playful. Really playful that he pulled of pranks... Joshua knows this, but I used to really...really like him. It was absolutely hard not to at the time with how loveable he was. Of course I moved on. That was ages ago. But at the time, as embarrassing as it is to admit it, I was basically a lovesick puppy, willing to do anything he told me to. Completely different from how he is now, right?

----

Minghao: Never knew him before The Purple Rose. I never even encountered any of the members because of Jun. With Jun, he requested that I was left untouched, and they did his request with ease. But when I met Jeonghan, it was during a Schizophrenic episode of mine. It was after some things and figuring out I had Shared Psychotic Disorder. Jun brought me to him, needing help since we were close by. Jeonghan did his part, and he talked to me. He eased me and helped me get through my very first episode... Terrifying. I'll tell you that. But when I met him, he was... deranged. He was unique, but made me uneasy at the time. He seemed untouchable. He was intimidating and hard for me to approach even though I joined. He... I couldn't read him. I couldn't get one small clue to use to figure out something, anything about him. All I knew at the time was that he was completely a madman. He was too far gone for any real help, and I was fearful that if I didn't do my best, he'd kill me... Despite this, being cold and distant, he helped me a lot. He was, and is, complicated.

----

Seokmin: Knew him since Middle School! He was really different back then, even when he struggled. Though, the way he struggles now isn't too different from how he coped with struggles in the past. But the Jeonghan I knew before The Purple Rose was truly different. He loved playing pranks and teasing. He was always there for me, and in return, I always did my best to make him laugh and smile. We went out a lot together, explored everything, and attended various events. Those were the highlights of our past together, and even Joshua could agree as it continued into Highschool, but things got serious... To summarize the Jeonghan I knew is that he was amazing, but was hurting as time went on. He suffered a lot, but never told anyone but Joshua hyung. I did what I could... But it was enough or what he needed at the time.

~ Tags ~

🥀// @yourlocal-babybear @aikihades @sophie-svt-13 @waitingwhispers60 @seventeen-chatbot @kpop-shelter @yangomangos @m00n-nim96 @ghoulxbaekhyun @moonlit-jaemin @empress-jiaqi @time-for-confession @xash-axx @fnafnctdream-chatbot @split-jiu @xgodsxtwinsx @artsydahyun [DM for +/-]

#the purple rose #the purple rose answers #the purple rose past #comparison #insane!jun #insane!wonwoo #insane!jeonghan #insane!joshua #insane!mingyu #insane!minghao #insane!jihoon #insane!seokmin #what was he like #he was . . .#he was different #very different

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mysaldate · 6 years ago

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On the topic of BSD mental issues..

Because a lot of people in this fandom just LOVE to bestow their own mental problems on characters and even go so far as to claim not a single BSD character is mentally alright, I went on a little rant to debunk this bulshit of a claim. If you’re one of those who support the “everyone is mentally ill because I said so” theory, don’t even bother reading this, please, and save us both the time.

If you do read, however, please keep in mind those are just my opinions and analysis and why I personally find the claim that everyone is mentally ill bulshit. You’re free to believe what you want but I’ve had multiple people come spurting out insults at me simply for not believing every single character is mentally diasbled.

First, our beloved ADA Atsushi - He's actually doing really well. Sure, he's not 100% ok but we were given no serious childhood trauma impacts (except for flashbacks that don't really... do anything to him mentally except for motivating him to do better which is, you know, not a sign of mental illness), he doesn't have self-destructive tendencies, he doesn't feel like he owes the society anything but he doesn't slip to nihilism either. His motivations are humane and sane and relatable. I mean, if anyone told you your friends would be in mortal danger if you stay with them, wouldn't you try to get away from them too? Dazai - Ok, Dazai is far from stable. He still handles his issues surprisingly well though and his constant suicide attempts are really played off as a joke, which is not the best way to handle them but it takes a lot of seriousness from it and kind of makes it hard to believe it's what he actually wants to do with his life. Especially since there are times where he goes out of his way to make sure he stays alive (Dead Apple being just one example). Kunikida - Arguably one of the most stable characters in the show. Some people claim he has OCD but have you ever seen an actual OCD patient? His love for schedules and hard time when they can't be kept is something that runs in my family and nobody has ever been diagnosed with OCD. People need to realize that having your life planned out is not a mental illness. Yosano - I'm a little more benevolent about Yosano, especially since she has a more psychotic side to her and she seems actually damaged by her childhood but I stiil stand my point that she is doing extremely well for someone who supposedly has a mental illness. It's almost as if the "insane" side of her was purposedly overblown for comedic purposes. Ranpo - I know a lot of people say he's autistic but I don't agree with that hc. Why? Well, I have a classmate who's not autistic and she's exactly like him. She's smart, almost genius, has great deduce skills and brilliant crime-solving abilities (tested multiple times with Black Stories or whatever that game is called in english) but she is unable to live on her own. She knows close to nothing about real life, skills used for everyday functioning and as for public transport, she only learnt how to use it recently and she's almost 19 years old. I also have an autistic friend who specifically said he'd find it insulting to hear that Ranpo is supposedly autistic. Tanizaki - I'm not sure what to say here, Tanizaki is a normal guy. Nothing special about him. He's willing to go great lengths for his little sister but I think anyone with younger siblings can relate to that. At least anyone who cares for their younger siblings. Kenji - Go on and tell me how Kenji of all people has a mental illness, I dare you. And if you pull out his cheeriness, you're obviously just too depressed to fathom that some people might actually enjoy life. Fukuzawa - Again, one of the most stable characters in the series. Say what you will but he's not unstable and his ability to stay calm at almost any situation except for when his kids are in danger is just further proof of this. Kyouka - I'd say she might have issues. My afforementioned autistic classmate pointed out that she feels autistic to him so there's that. Also her childhood visibly screwed her over. However, she's still surprisingly stable and normal despite all of that so while she might have some issues, they are greatly balanced by her strong will and natural personality. Naomi - I wouldn't say Naomi is 100% ok in the head but not to a point where I'd claim an actual mental illness. Sure, I'm not a doctor but nor is anyone who diagnoses her with whatever it is they diagnose her with. Haruno - And exactly what is wrong about Haruno? She's cute, positive, cheery, hard-working and supportive. And she gets scared in situations that invoke this. Literally NOTHING weird.

Next up is our dear Port Mafia Akutagawa - No denying it, Aku has serious issues. Again though, he's doing far better than most people with similar problems but that could just be due to him letting his frustrations out via murder. Chuuya - No issue found here. Sure, he's a little short-tempered but that's about it. A lot of people are short-tempered without being mentally ill. And he could be portrayed with some serious issues due to his origin and past. Gin - Do we even know enough about her to diagnoze her? All we know is that she's silent, a little shy and that she's always on odds with Tachihara. Make me a diagnosis from that. Higuchi - Aside from her massive crush on Aku, there's nothing weird about her. She probably picked the wrong job but she's willing to work hard anyway to earn her place there,, which is not exactly typical for people with mental illnesses. Hirotsu - STABLE PERSON. Just... what else is there to him? He is literally the voice of reason who commands the black lizard solely because he can actually keep them under control. Geez, there is literally nothing linking him to any mental problem! Kajii - This guy's got issues, no denying it. And I won't even say he could do worse because obviously he could but he's fairly close to being the insanest (is that a word?) he can get. Kouyou - Oh look, ANOTHER completely stable person. I mean, come on, she's been an executive since Dazai and Chuuya were 15, that's seven years. Clearly she couldn't hold her position if she weren't stable. Not to mention, we saw her being stable in stressing situations so. many. times. Elise - She's an ability. No comment. Mori - Yes, he has his issues. But he's the hypercompetent Mafia boss who stayed in charge for a very long time already and there's no sign of anyone overthrowing him any time soon, nor planning to because he's just a great leader, something he couldn't be if he was mentally ill. Oda - Do I even need to elaborate on this? Oda is very probably the sanest person we got, one who sees the wrongs of his past and does his best to overcome them and repent, all of which goes without him being depressed or self-loathing in the slightest. Randou - This has been talked about a lot. Randou is sensitive and impulsive and sometimes acts on emotions rather than rationallity. None of that makes him a mentally ill person. It just makes him a person, a human being we can all relate to. Ace - Ace is a selfish human being who thinks too highly of himself and is manipulative and abusive. Is that a problem? Yes, obviously. Is that a mental illness? Not necessarily and more likely no than yes. He does things for his personal gain and everything went his way for far too long for him to expect it to go any other way. And as we all know, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutelly. Q - Does anyone really think Q is sane?

Now for the group that so many people dislike it’s honestly sad, the Guild Francis - Francis is, first and foremost, a very loving husband and father. He goes on this insane mission to Japan to obtain a mystical object he believes is real but never got any deffinite proof of. Is he naive? Perhaps so. And after he loses, he gets depressed and broken because he finds out his wedding ring disappeared, probably because his wife did something. That breaks him. And honestly? He has every right to break down. It's understandable and human and it does not make him mentally ill. Louisa - While yes, she is very shy and some argue she has some sort of anxiety disorder, all of this can be explained by the fact that she's practically a child. She's 18 dammit. Who could leave their home country at 18 only with an organization of older people, who also all seem very sure of themselves, while having no combat ability and nothing to really bring to the table? If she were mentally weak, there's no way she'd go looking for Francis after his fall, it's actually more likely she'd hurry back home, probably with tears and fear of being arrested if she were to stay in Japan for longer. Margaret - Name me one thing that makes you think Margaret of all people would have a mental issue. One thing. Most of her screentime is her being a vegetable. And while that is certainly a health problem, not a mental health one. Nathaniel - Hey, he was completely ok before meeting Fyodor. Being religious is not a mental health problem and f you if you say otherwise. John - Again, nothing unstable about John. He's not even that selfish, doing what he can to support his family and even picking up the remainings of the Guild to keep the people together and give them new hope because, y'know, hope is very important to people. Lovecraft - He's not even human. You can't apply human mental health logic to him. Herman - We've seen him for how much... 2 minutes total? And even from just that, he seemed like a calm and composed guy. No sign of mental problems whatsoever. Mark - He's hyper, that's what people say at least. But is he really? Kind of hard to believe when all we've seen of him is two scenes of adrenalin rush, one scene where he tries to lift the spirits of his coworkers and one scene where he just decides to go back home because this adventure is obviously over. No sign of mental illness here either. Lucy - A little more visible traumatic impact than with Atsushi and some abandonment issues, which are completely understandable and relatable. Not necessarily a mental illness. Poe - Ok so Poe doesn't feel well in company of others and he is a little psychotic when he gets too into his self-assigned role but 1) introverts are not mentally ill and 2) it's completely natural to get carried away when we witness the person we believe wronged us getting some karma back.

The one group that appeared for such a short time, yet everyone seems to love them, the Rats Fyodor - The most obvious god complex, clearly. He's not sane but he's stable so there's that. Nobody says he's ok, he's clearly not. But he's composed and smart enough to not let his issues control him. Ivan - Part of his brain is literally gone. He's not ok. he can't be. And unless part of your brain is missing too, you physically can't relate to him. Pushkin - Actually a stable, understandable character. Weak men are known through all of history to be the causes of major drama simply because their complexes over being weak lead to them finding joy in torturing the strong. It's not a mental illness, it's just bad character. Oguri - Clearly, Ogugu has issues. Call it survivor's guilt or PTSD or whatever you want, he has issues. Nobody is denying that. Still, he's doing fairly well when not desperatelly trying to seem evil.

I do not feel like doing the Hunting Dogs for the sole reason of me not liking them enough to focus on their mental states but they are pretty much lab rats, artificially enhanced humans and that alone should be enough to explain why I don’t believe in applying normal psychology to them. As for the Decay of Angels, there’s still much more to learn about them so I won’t get into that just yet. And when it comes to the governmental agents, I haven’t read the novels so I only know a bit about Ango and I honestly don’t see how anyone could think Ango has a mental illness.

I repeat again, these are my opinions, based on my experiences and what I’ve studied about mental illnesses (because believe it or not, I study about these things quite a lot). It doesn’t fit except for Tumblr romanticised versions of them and even those are iffy. You’re free to agree and disagree with all of this or with just certain parts but please don’t feel required to share your thoughts, I frankly don’t much care.

With that I bid you goodbye, at least until another thing prompts me to make a long-ass analysis almost nobody will read, nor care for.

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blitheringmcgonagall · 6 years ago

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Headcanons for Wolfstar personalities...

I’ve been carefully reading a lot of stuff about Wolfstar and people being unhappy/offended by the portrayal of Sirius (especially, I think?) by other writers. And I think that it’s based on assumptions that may be incorrect.

To explain: in my case, I happen to work as a psychiatrist and obviously I see mental health everywhere, including in characters I see in books. And it interests me to look at how someone is described in canon and what their background is, and to come up with theories as to how it could have affected them from a mental health perspective, in a positive and negative way.

Your upbringing and your early life experiences as well as your genes have a massive impact on your brain development and place you at varying risk for developing mental illness and/or personality disorders. This does not mean you are a weak person, far from it, it just affects how you view relationships, your ability to trust others, your ability to self-soothe, to calm your emotions, your fear of abandonment etc. mental health problems affect both men and women, just to note here. Members of the 🏳️‍🌈 community have higher rates of mental illnesses as teenagers, not surprisingly, due to the higher stress/shit they have to put up with.

Anyway....

So for me, based on canon evidence that Sirius ‘ mother used to scream at him, that he hates his family, that he ran away from home, that he made impulsive decisions and used to get into regular fights/hex Slytherin wannabe death eaters etc, I headcanon him as having borderline personality disorder. It just makes sense to me. And yes this means he experiences very intense emotions that can be overwhelming, he can lose his temper quite badly, he has fears of abandonment and finds it very hard to trust people and can become paranoid/quasi psychotic when very stressed (I’m sorry but if that doesn’t sound like canon Sirius???) - but in no sense whatsoever is that me implying he is in some way “feminine” or the female in the relationship. That’s like implying that only women have traumatic early life experiences???? It’s just me making sense of his background and what little canon info we have, and then imagining how it would have affected him. James is his secure base, that someone he has learnt to completely trust. The Potters seem to be the same for him. He’s way less secure when it comes to romantic relationships so that includes Remus. In my mind he gets depressed after being forced back into grimmauld place, unable to contribute and DO SOMETHING and reminded of the emotional abuse (and probably physical abuse and emotional neglect) he experienced there. He probably has PTSD as well. I mean who wouldn’t after being stuck in Azkaban for 12 years?????

In Grimmauld Place, he gets depressed, and he changes from the very helpful, supportive godfather to Harry earlier in the HP books to then making rash decisions and Hermione is worried about him in canon.

btw Boderline Personality Disorder occurs in males and females, although it is easier to get misdiagnosed as a male because often when you present with drug or alcohol abuse eg professionals don’t recognise the underlying problem which made you turn to substance abuse in the first place.

Okay, so in no sense whatsoever is my headcanon of Sirius as “dramatic” (if you want to call it that), based on misogyny or me thinking he’s the female in the relationship or whatever. It’s simply based on the info from the books, and how I imagine it affecting him. I hope that makes sense. It would be EXACTLY THE SAME if I was writing about a female character who had had the same life experiences.... it’s not based on gender. Sirius being into flying motorbikes, wearing ridiculous coloured t shirts with a Phoenix on it, sticking up multiple muggle women posters in his room - the guy does drama rather well in canon. And I don’t see any of this drama as at all “feminine” ... it’s just him. He’s also described as very good looking in canon. Again that’s not trying to make him feminine it’s just a fact. You can be very attractive and very male, lol!

Then Remus. So we know he suffered a huge trauma aged about 5 which changed his life forever. He thinks he’s too old, too poor, too ‘wrong’ to get married, he’s surprised he makes any friends and that they accept him as he is. In canon, He has low self esteem and won’t stand up to James and Sirius when they “bully” Snape after the exam. Anyway, I headcanon that he has PTSD, probably complex PTSD because each month is traumatic for him. And then after 31st October 1981 he experienced complete loss of all his friends and what he now believes is betrayal by his lover. I guess he probably became depressed for a time and may have drunk excessively to cope. With PTSD, people often feel closed off emotionally and that’s how I see Remus. Don’t get me wrong, I see both Remus and Sirius as being incredibly resilient despite their respective traumas. They are incredibly loyal, to their friends, to Harry, to Harry’s friends, they both risked their lives regularly with the Order to save others, they both die trying to save Harry and the next generation. They are heroes. Remus is a very kind and thoughtful person who the students love. Sirius is willing to live off rats in a cave to help Harry. They are both incredibly likable, strong characters. That’s how I write them and I really don’t see how that is in any way misogynistic at all. I think when you get where the characterization is coming from, then maybe this idea / assumption is not so valid? I mean you can still believe that, but it’s just not accurate.

In relation to who is top/bottom or don/sub etc, I don’t really care. I am quite happy to read either/all the above. Personally I think maybe they switch depending on time of the month?? I don’t think being a bottom equates being less male/masculine at all. I don’t see why it should. In canon Remus seems to be the only person Sirius immediately listens to (“sit down!”) so that may sound a bit dom I suppose. The greater tendency towards dom Remus is most likely also a reaction to earlier fandom ideas where Remus was very wet blankety/passive unpopular guy who has never dated anyone and Sirius was the suave/popular guy who had loads of conquests under his belt!! And to each their own, I personally don’t really fancy that version of Wolfstar.

But I have read fics with Dom Sirius and others with Dom Remus, fics with Blackinnon (even if I’m not usually a fan, I have been won over by brilliant writing @stonecoldhedwig 😍😍😍!), fics with Jegulus (even though Jily is absolutely my favourite but @wolfstargarden your writing is too good 😂!!!) fics with Remus being buff (💕💕💕@confunded-gryffindor !!) and fics with Sirius being a mechanic and others where he’s an artist( @jencala !!! ❤️❤️) or where Sirius is an Indiana Jones type character (@hp-shessocold😍😍!) you can be any of these things and can be either female or a male character. You can be a drag queen or a tattoo artist and be very Sirius (@jennandblitz 😉!) . I’ve read Sirius dying of cancer (ugh!! 💔) fics and Remus having a chronic illness quite a few times. As long as it’s well written and I love the characters , I don’t care. As you know, I read a LOT of fics and I generally let people know what I think about their fics (by gushing about the writing!) so you know I’m not making this up, lol!

There is some research suggesting that people with BPD traits often end up in relationships with people who are quite opposite e.g. don’t express strong emotions/are emotionally repressed/distant etc. maybe they compliment each other. So in my universe Wolfstar do compliment each other. I’m currently refusing to consider canon endings ☹️☹️☹️!

Anyway, that’s enough. I feel good for explaining what I think. You can agree or disagree. I happen to think that many people write characters based on their own life experiences and that this affects the portrayal.

I went a bit overboard with this!! I need a cup of tea or some sleep!! Up early tomorrow!

The Wolfstar fandom is full of incredibly talented people and I hope you can all put these disagreements behind you and move on. Good night❤️

#ideas #wolfstar #representations #why #why sirius #why remus #mental health #characters #i also headcanon james as having a bit of ADHD #cause doodling #fidgety rtc #and speaking without thinking! 😂

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conversationswithmybipolarchild · 6 years ago

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#2: WHAT IS BIPOLAR DISORDER?

FELICITY: Bipolar disorder is a mental illness. Key word one: “illness,” meaning you are afflicted with it. Key word two: “mental,” it being a part of the brain.

F: Mental health is as important as physical health. They are both very important, they go hand in hand. Bipolar disorder is a chemical imbalance in the brain. Whether or not it comes upon you after a traumatic event, or when puberty hits, or if it- if you show signs when you’re born, it doesn’t matter. it is all a chemical imbalance.

F: You are born with it, no matter what. You can go...twenty five years without seeing any symptoms, simply because you never had anything to jumpstart your bipolar disorder. But, if you have bipolar disorder, were properly diagnosed with it...you were already born with it. It was already in your brain.

F: Bipolar disorder is categorized by highs and lows in your mood. That’s why it’s called a mood disorder [edit: it can also be called a psychotic disorder]. Not just simple, everyday highs and lows like everybody has, it’s not just “oh, I feel sad today, it’s not just, “oh, I have a lot of energy.” It’s extreme.

ANJA: That’s why they’re called poles. That’s why it’s bipolar disorder

F: Yes, it’s the two poles, the high and the low.

A: The mania and the depression.

F: So mania, is when you...[trails off]...

A: It’s the high.

F: It’s the high. Mania is the high, that means you have a lot of energy, you are very impulsive, can have a lot of aggression, rage, risky thoughts, risky behaviors.

A: Racing thoughts.

F: Racing thoughts, absolutely. Nightmares, hallucinations, hypersexuality, violence, paranoia...

A: Also, I don’t think this is an official symptom, but coming from myself and a lot of other bipolar people, you get this feeling where you’re like, crawling in your own skin.

F: Yeah. Definitely. I hear that one a lot.

F: So, symptoms of a depressive episode is that you...well, you are depressed. Not just kinda sad, you feel really, really, down. When I’m depressed, and I have major depressive disorder, when I’m depressed I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to take a shower. I don’t want to get dressed, I don’t want to do anything, I don’t want to be anything.

A: There’s no motivation whatsoever.

F: No motivation whatsoever.

A: I don’t get depressive episodes very often because I have bipolar I, and I get manic more than I do depressed. I don’t really- I don’t have to worry about depression, unless I like, unless I have no stimulation in my everyday life.

F: You have to stay busy in order to not get depressed. I’m the same way. If I don’t want to sit in that pit, I have to stay busy all the time. That’s why I’m constantly going, and going, and going, and doing, because if I just sit for more than a couple days, I’m in that pit and I don’t feel good.

F: So, another symptom, another result, of bipolar disorder, is uh, suicide. There is a hefty suicide rate among bipolar people. That is- that is the worst part. And as a parent of a bipolar child, knowing the statistics around bipolar disorder and suicide, it’s enough to kickstart me into a depression. It is- it worries me.

A: The, um, I’m not gonna say the only reason, but it is one of the biggest reasons why I didn’t try to kill myself when I was younger, was because I’m so afraid of death. Maybe not death, but what happens after it.

F: To tell you the truth, me too. It absolutely terrifies me.

F: So, some statistics from the NIMH, claim that 2.9% of thirteen to eighteen year olds have bipolar disorder, and eighty one percent of those kids have it severe. It’s bad enough to be hospitalized, and make their life really difficult.

F: So I was reading earlier...about bipolar disorder, and someone asked the question, “can someone with bipolar disorder live a normal life?” And it says here, “people with bipolar disorder usually go ten years before being accurately diagnosed. Treatment can make a huge difference. It is a chronic health condition that needs lifetime management. Plenty of people with this condition do well, they have families and jobs and live normal lives.” So that ought to give you a little hope for the future.

F: That’s...that’s the other thing. Meds...they are- in my opinion, they are a must. It’s beyond me how people aren’t medicated.

A: I think it’s really funny how, um, how after I was diagnosed bipolar, the last thing you wanted me to do was be on meds. Now, we depend on it. We have to. There’s no choice.

F: As you were growing up and you were being misdiagnosed all over the place, meds were the last thing on my mind. We tried every single thing else. We tried discipline, rewards, I tried diet changes, we tried all sorts of therapy, I tried changing the way that I parent! And none of it worked.

A: Because you can’t just change those chemicals. Without medication.

F: You can’t! Exactly. You can’t change those chemicals. Absolutely. I’m the same way with mine, my MDD. It doesn’t fix itself. I need medication to give me the right chemicals. To balance those chemicals in my brain. That is a must.

F: So, we’ve talked about what bipolar is, now let’s talk about what it is not. It’s not learned. It’s not a discipline problem. It’s not something that you can beat out of a child, teach out of a child, train out of a child, It’s not something that’s going to go away. And it’s not something that’s just going to one day change. It’s an ever evolving illness...

A: But it’s always there.

F: But it’s always there. And unless you’re treating it with therapy and medication, you’re fighting a losing battle.

A: Chronic is the key word.

F: Chronic is the key word. Bipolar disorder is a chronic illness.

A: Which, that really scares me. Because I’ll have to live with this for the rest of my life.

F: Let me tell you something. I’ve described severe depression as rain. Imagine you have to go out in the rain. And you have to change the tires on your car, you have to check your mail, you have to walk your dog, you have to go to work. You have to hoe your garden, mow your lawn. Daily things, but you have to do them in the rain. That’s what my brain is like every single day. I will always live doing everything in the rain. And that’s a daunting thing to think about.

F: I can still do all those daily activities, but you know how when you go in the rain, everything’s just harder? And you’re just slightly more miserable doing them? That’s what it’s like with MDD, I’m constantly having to force myself to do things. And when I do them, I’m miserable. It’s harder for me. It’s harder for me to go take a shower than it is for other people. It’s harder for me to do things because it’s like when you’re out in the rain, everything’s just that much harder.

A: It’s like- I’ve said it before- but it’s like when you do anything, it would be much easier for a neurotypical person.

F: It is much easier for a neurotypical person. They’re not fighting chemicals in their brain.

A: They’re not fighting their own mind on a daily basis.

F: Yeah! And I know that’s exhausting. I know your brain is tired. I know you’re tired. I know you are. But you can’t really think about it that way, because then you’ll get overwhelmed. I can’t think about how I will never not be in the rain. I can’t think about it...because that’s just gonna throw me back in that pit. And I can’t live my life, raise my kids, and take care of everything I need to take care of..if I’m in that pit.

A: And it’s okay to be miserable. It’s okay to rest.

F: As long as you don’t give up. I like Kevin Hines’s hashtag, #beheretomorrow. Today might not have been the best day, but as long as you’re here tomorrow, that’s what matters.

F: Let’s touch on what bipolar disorder means for you- for us. What does bipolar disorder mean for you?

A: I really hate to say this but...bipolar disorder is a part of me. And I can’t change that. I mean, sometimes I really wish I didn’t have bipolar disorder, but I don’t know what I would be without it.

F: Absolutely. I completely agree with you. I feel the same way about myself. I don’t know who I would be. I don’t know who my father would have been, who my grandmother would have been, without mental illness.

F: While I understand your sentiment, I think that because you’re medicated, and nobody else was, you are more you.

A: And less bipolar disorder.

F: Yes! Exactly. When you were eight years old and running away and acting out, being violent and raging, I didn’t know who you were! I couldn’t buy you gifts, I didn’t know what you liked. I didn’t know your personality...all I knew was this child I couldn’t connect with. All I knew was this child that absolutely hated me.

A: I was mostly bipolar disorder.

F: One of the more prominent symptoms that you had was lack of motivation. Smartest kid ever, bad grades. It’s not that you didn’t know the work, you just didn’t turn stuff in. Soon as we got you on medication, that mostly changed.

F: Super energy.

A: Aggressive. Frustrated.

F: Violent. Raging. Yeah, those were scary times.

A: I had anger issues.

F: A lot. Yeah. You couldn’t focus on anything. I know a lot of that are symptoms of ADHD.

A: Which is why I got misdiagnosed.

F: But its the hallucinations and the nightmares that sealed the deal. That turned things around. When we brought those up, it turned things around. That’s when the term “bipolar” came into play, and it fit. It fit you.

F: I know that some of the symptoms in my family, that are or were mentally ill, were definitely instability. Never being able to stay put. Not being consistent. Inconsistency was huge.

A: Even me, now, medicated, I can’t stay on the same routine or the same surroundings for more than a month. I have to change something about my life, whether it be my room, or, hell, my Tumblr blog. There has to be something that changes.

F: I agree. I’m the same way. I get very bored very easily.

F: Money! Money was a huge problem when I was growing up. You know, nobody could save. They would spend wildly.

A: Money? You mean lack of!

F: Yeah. It was impulsive spending. That’s one of the bigger symptoms of bipolar disorder in adults. Impulsive spending. That was a huge one when I was growing up.

F: My family was never very affectionate. They were always very distant.

A: I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t affectionate.

F: Well, that’s the whole reason I am affectionate, is because I was starved as a child. I needed affection and I never got it. So, it was super important to me that I be an affectionate parent. I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’t affectionate either, because I thrive on being close to you guys. And I don’t want to raise you in the same situation. In an angry, distant, impulsive, unstable situation. I don’t want to raise you that way.

F: So, what did we learn today?

F: That it’s a little scary.

A: It’s scary.

F: But it can be managed.

A: It can be managed.

F: And you’re doing a fantastic job. And I’m doing a fantastic job, and your team is doing a fantastic job.

F: Do you remember the time we were standing outside Old Navy and you told me you wanted to buy a gun?

[blank stare]

#bipolar disorder #actuallybipolar #actuallybd #actuallybp #children's mental health #pediatric mental health #mental health #mental health awareness #mental illness

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jaydier-blog1 · 6 years ago

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A Guide to Writing PTSD & Psychosis

Something I’ve noticed over my (too many) years on Tumblr is that sometimes, first-hand accounts of mental illness can be hard to come by. It’s totally understandable, and it took me a long time to get to this point, but it can put writers in a bit of a bind who aren’t satisfied with only the DSM-5 and Wikipedia to accurately portray their muse(s)’s MI. That being said, hi, my name is Holo, and I’ve been living with PTSD and comorbid psychosis for almost a decade at this point, and I’d like to share some of my experiences.

This is by no means a complete or exhaustive guide. The thing about brains is that apparently they’re complicated, and that means that everyone develops MI differently. While there are broad strokes that are generally consistent across diagnoses (and said broad strokes are typically what make up the ‘criteria’ of any MI), not everyone will have every single symptom, and not everyone will display the symptoms they do have the same way. I really do recommend using these sorts of guides as guides to writing MI, rather than actual rules.

I’mma start with some basic definitions. PTSD is post-traumatic stress disorder, which is a disorder that develops after witnessing or experiencing a traumatic event. Not everyone who goes through trauma will develop PTSD, and I believe the actual statistic is somewhere between 20-30% (double-check my factcheck before you quote me on that, please). Comorbid mental illnesses (or comorbidities) are MIs that occur with or alongside the ‘primary’ illness, usually because of said ‘primary’ MI. For example, my psychosis is comorbid with my PTSD; it is because of my PTSD that I have psychosis.

Psychosis itself is more of a broad term than a specific diagnosis, and it will generally assume one (or more) of three forms: 1) delusions, 2) hallucinations, and 3) disordered thoughts. I personally struggle mostly with delusions and hallucinations, and I don’t particularly experience disordered thoughts, so that’s what I’ll mostly focus on.

Before I move on, though, I want to share something that an old psychologist of mine told me and that I’ve never really forgotten: it’s possible, and even common, to experience and exhibit occasional symptoms of MI without ever actually having that particular mental illness. A random delusion or general panic attack does not mean your character has psychosis or PTSD. Again, brains are complicated, and what defines a MI diagnosis is the consistent, pervasive presence of multiple symptoms that interfere with the patient’s day-to-day life. You can have obsessive-compulsive tendencies without having OCD. You can be anxious without having anxiety. You can be depressed without having depression.

Another thing is that a lot of MI have symptoms that overlap (which is why comorbid MIs are, again, pretty common). My PTSD comorbidities include depression, anxiety, claustrophobia, and psychosis. In fact, when I first started displaying my PTSD symptoms, I was diagnosed with depression because that was the comorbidity that showed up most prominently at the time, and it took several more years before my doctors and I realized that my depression was a symptom and not the full illness.

Alright! Let’s see if I can break down things into more manageable chunks to talk about.

PTSD

PTSD symptoms are wide, varied, and incredibly subjective from person to person. In my experience, this variance starts with what exactly was the trauma that the PTSD is originating from. Someone who was in a war, for example, will have different triggers and experience different symptoms than someone who was abused (and even then, someone who was verbally abused will once again have a vastly different PTSD experience than someone who was physically abused). Figuring out what your character’s trauma was that caused them to develop PTSD is your vital starting point.

In my experience, PTSD tends to develop slowly. One of the things doctors look for when diagnosing PTSD is that patients are still suffering after six months have passed from the initial trauma. After my initial trauma, I thought I was fine. I was asymptomatic, until months later when symptoms started to creep up on me (and as I mentioned earlier, at first it appeared primarily as depression, and I didn’t even connect it to my trauma at the time).

I experience hypervigilence with my PTSD. I am always aware of where I am, looking for possible exits and escape routes. I get nervous and anxious if I feel trapped in a room or area. (I tried going to a corn maze once. It was a bad time.) I also have an exaggerated startle response. If someone sneaks up on me, accidentally or otherwise, I’m going to react much more dramatically than other people. It’ll frighten me a lot more than it would someone whose startle response isn’t so pronounced. At worst, I’ve had experiences where someone sneaking up on me and startling me as a joke sent me into a full panicked meltdown. (I’d been having a rough time before that, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.)

To which I’ll segue rather smoothly into things building up! I find it really difficult to ‘destress’ and relax if I have a lot of small triggers and uncomfortable situations pile up on me within a short period of time or without respite, to the point where something rather minor can set off an entire chain reaction and end up with what looks like an extreme overreaction.

Panic attacks can look different from person to person, or even day to day. Sometimes, panic attacks show up for me as in inability to focus, irritation and snapping angrily at every little thing while my hands shake to the point where it’s difficult for me to hold things. Other times, it’ll look like a screaming, crying mess, huddled up in a ball in a corner on the floor. How people express panic attacks varies greatly, and no one way is an ‘incorrect’ portrayal of your character’s panic attacks.

Flashback episodes are an easy, prominent way to showcase PTSD in media, and so it’s something that a lot of people are familiar with, but in a very narrow way. While it’s possible for someone experiencing a flashback to completely lose touch with their current reality and experience an exact repeat of their traumatic incident, that’s rarely the case. More often than not, my flashback episodes feel more like an overlay, where both reality and my flashback are happening at the same time. Innocuous things will suddenly seem much more ominous and dangerous, I’ll mistake the people around me for those who were present during my traumatic incident, and I tend to experience hallucinations (which I will go into more detail about later on). Someone in a flashback episode could even experience age regression, usually back to the age they were during the initial trauma. Flashback episodes and how someone experiences them are extremely personal, and I strongly suggest doing more research on the topic to find more varied accounts, and piece together how your character would respond to these events, if they even experience flashback episodes at all.

I’d like to take this next moment here to mention triggers. Triggers are highly subjective, depending on the person and their trauma, and they can often be obscure and strange. A particular scent or a familiar name could easily be enough to make someone extremely uncomfortable. Sometimes, triggers are only marginally connected to the initial trauma, or not seemingly connected at all. Conversely, something that might seem like an obvious trigger might not be a trigger at all! Brains are fucking weird like that. Also, a very common experience with PTSD (or any MI with triggers) is that day-to-day life is disrupted in favour of specifically avoiding known triggers. Crowded places will trigger my aforementioned claustrophobia, and so I will often avoid social outings, to the detriment of my friendships and familial relationships. (Which is a good example of triggers having nothing to do with trauma, actually. I was alone when my initial trauma happened. Why the hell am I afraid of crowds. @brain explain this) And not only this, but some days a trigger might not affect me at all! Triggers are so, so subjective. They’re a minefield of possibilities and dangers that can shift on what sometimes feels like a daily basis. It can be a real headache to deal with. Taking the time to get into the mind of your character and deciding what triggers them and what doesn’t it another important part of defining how you write their struggle with PTSD.

Psychosis

Since it’s what I have the least experience with, I’ll talk about disordering thinking first. Disordered thinking is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin, and people experiencing disordered thoughts can appear distressed, confused, and have issues articulating their emotions, even to the point of not being able to form full sentences or fully acknowledge questions being asked of them. I strongly suggest doing more research on this topic outside of this post if you think it might apply to your character.

Delusions are, again, fairly self explanatory. Delusions are probably my most prominent version of psychosis that I struggle with on a daily basis. Personally, the most frustrating part of delusions is that I’m well aware that they aren’t real, but I can’t shut them off anyway. In general, my most common delusions is that Person X is out to get me/is trying to sabotage me. Logically, I know that this is ridiculous, but I still have the anxiety and panic that that situation would induce. While I’m sure there are psychotic people out there who cannot distinguish their delusions from reality, and that is absolutely a valid way to portray it, I have personally never met someone like that. It seems to be a lot more common that delusional psychotics are aware that their delusions are not real, and yet we are still forced to change our patterns of behaviour to accommodate for that delusion as if it were real regardless.

Hallucinations are broad and come in way too many forms. Media likes to portray hallucinations as full-bodied apparitions that are indistinguishable from real life, and while that can be correct, I find that I rarely experience those. Most of my hallucinations are tactile hallucinations. These are hallucinations where I feel as though I’m being touched by someone or something, usually in a negative way (these hallucinations can even trigger or be triggered by a flashback episode). There are also auditory hallucinations, visual hallucinations, and even olfactory and gustatory hallucinations, although I’ve never had experiences with the latter two. Often, I find I can fairly quickly differentiate hallucinations from reality, just by doing a quick check around me. If someone is not touching me, the feeling of a hand on my arm is a hallucination. Visual hallucinations (of other people) tend to not interact with the rest of the world the same way a real person would. Auditory hallucinations do not have an obvious source, and those around me won’t react to the noise. And, of course, the usual disclaimer of everyone who experiences hallucinations experience them differently applies here too, this is just my personal experience with hallucinations.

In conclusion

PTSD and psychosis are both broad MIs with a lot of complexity that vary from person to person. I fully encourage you to continue your research into these MIs and discover what is right for your character(s). I’d like to reiterate that this post is non-exhaustive and has focused on my personal experiences with my day-to-day life as someone who has these MIs. This post is absolutely available for you to reblog if you’d like, and my ask box is right here if you have any questions or discussions you’d like to direct to someone willing to be a first-person source on these topics.

I hope I’ve helped! Now go forth and write! :D

#pstd writing guide #ooc;; the universe is a hologram #psychosis writing guide #writing guide

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morningsound15 · 7 years ago

Text

they’re bad at parenting (but they try their best)

Root has this annoying habit of nearly getting herself killed on every other job. After her most recent mission, the Machine orders her to take at least a month off, in order to fully recover. Because she’s a wandering vagrant on the best of days and a borderline-psychotic flake on the worst, she doesn’t exactly have very many options for places to crash. Shaw (reluctantly) agrees to let her stay in her apartment. At the very least, she figures, they haven’t seen each other properly in a while and the sex marathon Shaw has been planning for going on a month and a half now is sure to be a good one (once Root is healed enough, that is.)

So imagine her surprise when a precocious fourteen-year-old shows up outside her front door with a suitcase in tow and a curious expression on her face.

OR: The one where Gen has to live with Shaw for a few weeks and everyone is uncomfortable about it.

Read they’re bad at parenting but they try their best on AO3

Rating: Teen + Up

Word Count: 7772

There’s a knock on the door. Root pauses where she stands in the bedroom, her fingers stilling on the buttons of her shirt. She quirks her head in the silence that follows, wondering for half a moment if she just imagined the sound. Maybe she’s just hearing things. Not exactly an impossibility, given the fact that she only has one good ear and the other one has the voice of an artificial superintelligence constantly whispering instructions to her.

It’s not exactly common practice for people to be knocking on the front door this early in the morning. Or at all, really. Both of the usual inhabitants of this apartment are legally dead, after all. Officially speaking. So it’s not like they’re in the habit of receiving visitors.

If someone did just knock — and if she hadn’t been imagining things, which seems increasingly likely the more she thinks about it — she wonders who it could possibly be. Root figures it can’t be Harry or John, since they always call her for help with a new number — and they’re not exactly the type to stop by unannounced for a quick morning coffee, either. And it can’t be Lionel, since Shaw would rather cut off her own ear than tell him where she lives. And since She isn’t providing Root with a half-dozen exit strategies out of here, then it can’t be any kind of threat, either.

The knocking sounds again — louder this time, and a little more urgent.

So she hadn’t been imagining it.

It could be Shaw, Root thinks as she makes her way across the empty apartment and towards the door. If she forgot her keys, maybe. But that doesn’t feel like something she would do. And either way, Sameen is more than capable of breaking into her own apartment, if need be.

Root grins as she approaches the door. It’s probably a solicitor, or someone who came to the wrong door looking to call on one of Shaw’s many neighbors. Root runs a hand through her hair, and starts to swing her hips with a little more saunter. No harm in having a little bit of fun and putting on a show for whatever poor unsuspecting sap has had the misfortune of trying their front door. He’s lucky she’s the one around to answer it, and not Sameen. With her, he’ll get a very-pleasant-but-very-uncomfortable interaction; but at least he’ll make it out alive and unharmed. The same can’t always be said for Shaw.

She’s wearing very little, as far as these things go: just one of Sameen’s button-down shirts (so of course it’s inches too short on her), a pair of boy short underwear, and a suggestive smirk. She pulls the door open, her smirk turning more lascivious as she practically purrs, “Sweetie, did you forget your keys ag—” She stops immediately, blinking in bemusement at the figure who greets her.

The teenager looks young, with a wild head of unruly hair and a disgruntled frown on her face. “You’re not Shaw,” she says, bluntly.

Root blinks at her. “I’m… what?” She suddenly recognizes her state of undress and immediately pulls her shirt lower, desperately hoping she can cover at least some of her exposed legs. As much as she enjoys putting on a show for consenting adults, she draws the line at standing half-naked in front of minors.

The girl is eyeing her warily. “Who are you?” she asks suspiciously.

“I’m…” Root tries again, spluttering a little and feeling off-balance. “Who are you?”

The girl looks like she isn’t about to answer. “Where’s Shaw?” she asks instead.

Root glances up and down the hall, like maybe if she looks long enough someone will jump out from around the corner and yell: Surprise, we got you! But there’s no one around. “She’s not…” she glances down at the girl again— “here, right now.”

The girl huffs. “Fine,” she says, elbowing past Root, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, dragging a suitcase that’s at least as big as she is through the door behind her. “I can wait.”

Root’s never had much going for her in the way of physical strength and muscle, but she’s still a little rattled by the fact that this literal child is able to push past her without even a second thought. Although, that could also be attributed to how the girl surprised her, and caught her off-guard. Or the fact that she has two cracked ribs, a bum knee, and muscles in her legs that feel like they’re screaming at her, even as she stands still.

Root scrambles after the girl as best she can. “Wait, Kid, hold on,” she tries to say, but the girl doesn’t listen to her. Instead she dumps her bags unceremoniously outside the kitchen and stomps over to the couch. “Who are you?” Root tries again, following after her.

“What are you doing here? And how do you know Shaw?”

The girl shrugs and grabs an apple from the bowl of fruit in the middle of the dining room table (a touch of detail Root had added to the apartment — just to be antagonistic, really, because she knows how much Shaw hates things that don’t have a purpose — but she thinks Sameen might secretly like the decorative flair to that little bowl because someone keeps replenishing its fruit supply and it sure as hell isn’t Root). She flops down onto the couch and kicks her feet up onto the table, her legs crossed at the ankle. “It’s winter break,” she says, taking a large bite from the fruit in her hand. “I appreciate that Mr. Finch is paying for me to go to school, but I got tired of sitting around in that stupid prison while everyone else got to go home for Christmas. And since Mr. Finch is my legal guardian and none of the addresses he has listed on file are actually real, I came here.” She glares at Root and says, defensively, “Shaw said I could come by if I ever needed anything.”

“Um… Okay,” Root says slowly, shaking her head and trying to wrap her mind around all of the information that had just been presented to her. The Machine, for Her part, is being annoyingly silent on the matter. (It feels weird, to not know things.) “I still don’t know who you are. And usually I know everything about everyone. I have a… friend who likes to give me information. But She’s not telling me anything about you.”

The girl squints at her. “Are you a crazy person?” she asks bluntly. “Do you hear voices? Can I record them to see if I can hear them, too?”

“Yes, yes, and no. And I’m not answering any more questions until you tell me who you are.”

“Fine.” The girl crosses her arms over her chest. “I can wait.”

The second Shaw’s key slips into the lock of her front door, it’s pulled open and away from her. She brings her head up quickly in surprise, but immediately glowers at the sight that greets her.

She knew it was a mistake, allowing Root to spend her recovery time with her, in her apartment. What had she even been thinking when she offered? That Root didn’t have a full-time place of her own in which to spend a few weeks of recovery? That without Shaw forcing her to rest she would be off on the next plane to who-the-fuck-knows-where on another life-or-death suicide mission for the Machine? That Root needed a medical professional on-hand 24/7 to make sure she didn’t do something stupid, like tear her stitches or get herself shot again? (Yes. Yes, to all of the above.) If she had known that this was how it was going to be, though…

This whole business with Samaritan has really made her soft. The Shaw of a few years ago — Newly Self-Diagnosed Axis II Personality Disorder Shaw, ISA Government Operative Shaw, U.S. Marine Shaw — would never have pulled this kind of sentimental shit. And she probably would have been a lot more well-rested. As fun as Root can be, she has this exhausting habit of being right up in Shaw’s personal space every minute of every goddamn day.

She’ll never have any peace and quiet for as long as she lives, at this rate.

“Sameen,” Root says, pulling the door open to greet her, “so glad you’re home.” She has a sweet smile on her face — which Shaw knows can only mean trouble. “We have a visitor.”

“What are you talking about, Root?” Shaw asks gruffly, side-stepping the other woman and making her way into her own apartment. All she wants is a nice long shower after the work-out she just had, but Root seems hell-bent on ruining that for her. (She knew it was a mistake to invite her to stay.) “Who—?” Shaw pauses as she catches sight of the girl perched awkwardly on her couch. “Gen?” she asks quickly, her hostile demeanor immediately (unconsciously) melting. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh good, you do know her,” Root says from somewhere near the kitchen. “I was worried.”

Shaw rolls her eyes. “She’s a kid, Root. What did you have to worry about? That you couldn’t take her in a fight?”

“It’s not about could, Sweetie; it’s about would.”

Gen huffs from her spot on the couch and crosses her arms tightly over her chest. “Your girlfriend is weird, Shaw.”

Shaw shakes her head. “Not my girlfriend.”

“I’m her wife,” Root supplies, unhelpfully.

Shaw growls. “She is not my wife.”

“Domestic partner.”

“No.”

“Common-law married.”

“No, Root. Stop it.”

“Well,” Gen cuts in from the other side of the room, “if she isn’t your girlfriend, then why does she live here?”

“She’s…” Shaw shoots Root an unhappy glare, “more like a roommate. Or an outdoor cat you let inside when it rains.”

“She was naked when I got here.”

Shaw whips her head around, her glare only intensifying. Root holds up her hands in self-defense. “Not naked. Just not wearing pants. It’s different.”

“Root,” Shaw hisses.

“In my defense, I didn’t know you were babysitting this week.”

“I’m not a baby,” Gen supplies unhappily. “I’m just too young to rent a hotel room. This was my next-best option.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Shaw holds up a hand, shaking her head. Her eyes narrow at the guilty look that’s slowly taking over Gen’s face. “Your next-best option for what, exactly?”

Gen swallows a little thickly, and Shaw feels a little glimmer of triumph at her undeniable ability to intimidate without even breaking a sweat. That triumph, however, lasts only up until Gen’s next slow, timid sentence: “For… winter break?”

Shaw stands regarding the young girl, a contemplative frown on her face. She taps a finger against her lips with an even rhythm as she thinks.

It’s been quiet in the apartment for a good four minutes, now. Root, loitering in the kitchen with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in her hands, watches the silent stand-off taking place in front of her with barely-contained amusement.

“Okay,” Shaw finally says, and Gen perks up on the couch, straightening in her seat. “Okay, you can stay here.” At the bright smile that immediately bursts onto the girl’s face, Shaw holds up a finger, stilling her instantly. “But it’s only for your winter break, you got that? No longer. And you can’t use me as an excuse to ditch school, anymore. Not without telling me first. Deal?”

Gen nods enthusiastically. “Deal!”

Shaw nods curtly. “Good.” Gen moves to get up from the couch, her hand reaching to grab the bags deposited at her feet, but Shaw holds out a hand to stop her. “Not so fast, Kid. We need ground rules.”

Gen pulls a face. “I’m not a kid, Shaw.”

“If you can’t rent your own hotel room, you’re a kid, Kid.”

Gen pouts and sinks back onto the couch she had only just vacated. “I’m still not a kid,” she mutters despondently.

Shaw glances around the apartment for a few seconds, her eyes flicking over to where Root lounges lazily against the kitchen counter. Her jaw clenches, like she’s fighting the urge to roll her eyes, and Root’s smile only widens. She waggles her fingers just a little bit, and the huff of air that Shaw lets out through her nose is more than a little pointed.

“Okay,” Shaw says without preamble, turning her attention back to the girl in front of her. “Rule number one: no guns. No guns, no knives, no grenades, no throwing stars… no weapons of any kind. If you see any around here, you do not touch them. Understood?”

Gen sighs dramatically, but acquiesces, “Fine.”

“Rule number two: no recording equipment inside the apartment.” From her spot in the kitchen, Root clears her throat loudly. Shaw’s jaw clenches again, and she growls slightly. When she speaks, her voice is low and murderous, and she doesn’t even dare turn her attention to Root, lest she end up doing something violent that she’s sure to regret. “I told you to get rid of that stuff, Root.”

“She needs eyes and ears at all times, Sameen. I don’t make the rules.”

Shaw mutters heatedly under her breath for a few more moments before she stops and inhales deeply. “Okay. Fine. Rule number two: no new recording equipment inside the apartment. And I mean that, Kid. No cameras, no tape recorders, nothing.”

“Shaw,” Gen moans slightly, but Shaw shakes her head.

“Non-negotiable. Can’t risk it. No recording.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Okay, rule number three: no going into our—” She pauses, and if Root believed it was at all possible, she might have thought Shaw was blushing. “No going into my bedroom,” she corrects quickly. “That one’s for your own good; believe me.”

“Okay,” Gen nods. “No weapons, no recording, no bedroom. That all?”

“Um…” Shaw blinks, looking suddenly at a loss for words. “I… guess?”

“No drugs, no alcohol,” Root calls from the kitchen.

Shaw nods along with her. “Yes. Right. No drugs, no alcohol.”

“That one’s easy. I’m fourteen. And not an idiot.”

“Idiot or not, you still have to agree to all the rules. Do you agree?” Gen nods once. “Nope, need a verbal confirmation. Do you agree to all the rules?”

“Yes, I agree.”

“Alright, then.” She nods curtly. “There’s a spare bedroom that way,” she says, pointing down the hall. “Let me know if you need—” she pauses and frowns, like her own hesitance is a particular annoyance— “food, or… something.”

Gen pulls a face at her even as she stands from the couch, shouldering her bag. “I’ve been cooking for myself since I was nine, Shaw. I think I’ll be fine.”

As she disappears into the spare bedroom at the end of the hall, Root sidles up behind Shaw and says, “I think that went well.” Shaw mumbles something noncommittally and turns to stalk back into their — her, her mind corrects — bedroom. “Should I tell her we only have grenades in our fridge, or should you?” Root calls out to her.

Shaw slams the door behind her.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She absolutely, 100%, does not know what the hell she’s doing.

What was she thinking, agreeing to let Gen stay with her for two weeks? How psychotic was that? Root’s one thing. She’s almost a teenager herself, in some ways: computer-obsessed, moody, and prone to sleeping all through the morning, with a tendency to eat Shaw damn near out of house and home. But for all of her childish tendencies, at least Root can fucking drive. At least she can make grocery runs, can communicate with an all-powerful super computer that likely (probably) wants to keep her alive. Gen is… another matter entirely. Root, at least, is a grown ass woman. She can come and go as she pleases; she knows how to shoot and fight; she can buy her own booze; Shaw doesn’t have to worry about her burning down the apartment if she wants to make some eggs.

But Gen…

She doesn’t act like a teenager. Not the way she should. Not the way Shaw thinks teenagers are supposed to act, anyway. For one thing, she’s smart. Probably too smart to be anything but trouble. And she doesn’t talk the way teenagers talk. She’s pretty consistently glued to her cellphone, but the one time Shaw manages to catch a peek at what she’s looking at, she sees that it’s not a social media app (she’s pretty clueless in the ways of the internet but she’s not that clueless) but rather some weird Russian-language news site. Probably on the Dark Web, if Shaw knows anything about precocious, too-smart-for-their-own-good teenagers (which, having at one point been one herself, and currently almost-cohabitating with another, she thinks she has some authority on the matter). Shaw can’t forget that the first time they met, it was because she had to save Gen from mobsters who were trying to kill her for spying on them. (She also can’t forget that Gen, at 10 years-old, was able to spot her on her tail — and the list of people who hold that accolade is, generously speaking, infinitesimal.)

Shaw doesn’t exactly trust her. (Then again, she doesn’t exactly trust anybody.) She’s a teenager; that’s more than enough to make Shaw suspicious. But after a few hours of carefully (and suspiciously) watching her, Shaw comes to the conclusion that, maybe, Gen isn’t going to be the handful she anticipated. She’s quiet, and spends most of the afternoon curled on the couch with her head buried in a book. Shaw keeps a close eye on her just to make sure she isn’t snooping into anything she shouldn’t be snooping into, but Gen truly looks like she couldn’t care less that there’s an arsenal of weaponry hidden in her general vicinity.

Gen goes to sleep about about 11 that night (is that too late for a teenager? Shaw has no idea, but doesn’t really care enough to question it), and Shaw goes to sleep thinking that… well, maybe the next few weeks aren’t going to be as bad as she thought.

She probably has to get a Christmas tree now, though.

Maybe she’ll just make Root do it.

On the very first morning, Shaw wakes up to an empty apartment. This is usually the kind of thing that would fill her with… not joy, exactly — she doesn’t really do joy — but it would usually make her relaxed. Not angry, at least (her usual default state-of-being). Which is about as close to ‘joy’ as she ever gets (except for: drinking a good Scotch; eating a great steak; having better-than-average sex; seeing Bear after a long time away from him; and, though she would never admit it out loud, whenever Root comes back from a mission alive and mostly-well).

And the thing is, waking up to an empty apartment is nice. It’s very nice. She’s able to get in her morning strength training, make a ton of bacon and eggs and share none of them with anyone else, and drink her coffee in peace.

At least, until Finch knocks on her door.

“Miss Shaw?” he calls out from her hallway, and Shaw growls under her breath. He should know better than to announce her name like that where so many people could hear it. Her neighbors might think it’s okay to talk to her, if they know her name.

She rips the door open with a glower prominent on her face. “Finch.” She holds the door open for him, gesturing sharply with her head.

He walks inside slowly, his limp pronounced. “I’m sorry to call on you so early, Miss Shaw,” he says, leaning heavily on his cane, “but I received a call from Miss Zhirova’s school this morning. Apparently, she left for her Christmas break, yesterday, and they wanted to make sure she arrived safely.” He adjusts his glasses quickly. “I’m afraid that something may be amiss, and knowing your relationship with Miss Zhirova—”

“It’s alright, Finch,” she cuts him off. “Gen’s here.”

He blinks at her, his eyes owlish behind his glasses. “She what?”

“She’s here. She’s staying with me for her winter break. She was tired of school and didn’t have your address, so… she came here.” She shrugs. “No big deal. I have a spare room.”

“But… but…” Harold splutters for a moment. “She’s here?”

Shaw nods. “Yes. Well, not right now; she wasn’t here when I woke up. But she’s staying—”

“Are you saying you don’t know where she is?” His voice sounds a little too high, his lips pulled tight.

Shaw frowns. “I guess not. Why?”

“You took on the role of her guardian, Miss Shaw! You cannot just let a child wander around the-the streets of New York City unaccompanied! What if she encounters one of her former attackers? What if she’s in trouble?”

“She’s fourteen, Finch. I really don’t think she can get into that much trouble.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she knows they’re bullshit. This is a kid who almost got herself killed by the Russian mob when she was barely 10 years-old. Of course she’ll find some way to get herself into trouble.

Finch is shaking his head at her like he’s disappointed in her, and somehow that makes it all worse.

“Just…” she makes a sound like she wants to argue, but finally just huffs in annoyance. “Fine,” she grumbles. “I’ll get my coat.”

Finch nods. “You do that. I’ll call Mr. Reese and Detective Fusco and see if they’ve had any unusual reports.” Shaw sighs, already bemoaning the loss of her quiet morning alone. But she grabs her jacket from its place on the wall and pulls one of her spare guns out from under the table. “We should start at her old apartment,” Finch says from his spot by the door, leaning heavily on his cane, “she might have gone there. I’ll send Mr. Reese—” But just then the door is pushed open, and Gen and Root come tumbling inside. A little wind-ruffled and red from the cold air, but otherwise completely unharmed.

They’re actually laughing together, which is almost as disturbing as one of them coming back injured. Root looks up when she notices Finch by the door, and she immediately brightens. “Harry!” she exclaims. “This is a surprise. Did you come by for breakfast?”

Finch doesn’t say anything. Root turns her attention to Shaw, her brow quirked in question, but she’s only met with a glare.

“Gen, go to your room.”

“What?!” Gen splutters. “But Shaw, I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t go out on my own, I didn’t get into trouble. I was with Root the whole time!”

“You also left school without telling Finch. So room. Now.” When Gen doesn’t move for a few more seconds, Shaw points down the hallway. Her face is set in stone, to prove that she means business.

Gen huffs but finally turns on her heel and stomps away.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Miss Zhirova,” Finch calls down the hall after her. Gen doesn’t turn around or answer back, which is pretty much to be expected. Her door slams shut, and Finch winces at the resulting sound and the way it seems to shake the very walls.

Shaw has turned her focus on Root. She stands with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring. To the untrained eye, it would appear that her disapproval has no effect on Root, who continues to shed her many layers of winter wear by the door without flinching. But Shaw knows how to read Root better than just about anyone. She can see the way Root is moving stiffly, the way her ears are pulled back like she’s listening intently. Shaw knows she’s rattled. Good, Shaw thinks. Serves her right.

Finch, too, has seemed to clue-in to the tension simmering between them. He clears his throat, though neither woman turns to acknowledge him. “Well, I… suppose I’d better be off. My deepest apologies for interrupting your morning, Miss Shaw. I see now that everything is alright. Do let me know if you would like to send Miss Zhirova over to me, for the holiday. I’d be more than willing to place her in one of our safe houses, for—”

Shaw cuts him off abruptly. “She’s fine here.”

Finch nods. “Very well. Enjoy your time off. If I receive any new numbers, I will let you know.” He disappears out the door without another word. Neither woman turns to watch him leave.

Shaw takes a deep, steadying breath before she turns on Root. Her words, when she speaks, come out low, as an almost-growl. “What the hell were you thinking, Root?”

“Relax, Sweetie,” Root says easily as she makes her way into the kitchen. “I was just taking Gen out for the morning. Showing her around. Getting to know her a bit.”

Shaw squints at her. There’s something off about Root, the way she’s looking at Shaw with that air of pure innocence. Shaw’s eyes scan her body, looking for any signs of— there. She’s favoring her ribs, like she put unnecessary strain on them at some point this morning. And her left arm looks stiff, like she went shooting without a proper warm-up. Shaw glowers. “Did you take her to a shooting range?”

Something in Root’s eye twinkles mischievously. “A lady never tells.”

“Root,” Shaw growls in warning, “we talked about this. I said no guns.”

“Technically you said no guns in the house. We weren’t in the house. It was perfectly legal.”

If Root’s trying to get back in her good graces by proving she’s clever enough to find a loophole in Shaw’s very practical, very simple rules, she’s chosen entirely the wrong tactic. Shaw doesn’t like being out-smarted. But, not wanting to admit that she’s disgruntled by the disobedience (or maybe the fact that they didn’t invite her to the shooting range with them, despite the fact that Root knows how much she loves a shooting range), Shaw settles on the next best route: guilt. “I don’t want her getting exposed to this, Root,” she says quietly, hoping her voice won’t carry down the hall. “It’s… she’s gonna start thinking she can handle herself in situations she shouldn’t be in. She’s already too smart for her own good. We don’t need to teach her how to kill people, too.”

“I thought you liked killing people?”

Shaw clenches her teeth. “I don’t kill people anymore. You know that.”

Root rolls her eyes. “Fine. Shooting them, then.”

And yeah, okay, fair. Shaw does love to shoot people. But even she’s not so out of touch that she doesn’t understand the fact that exposing children to firearms is almost never a good idea. See: everyone on goddamn Team Machine.

But this is probably an aspect of their argument that they don’t need to continue. Shaw already knows she’s won the is-it-morally-okay-to-take-a-teenager-to-shoot-guns argument (though Root would never admit defeat) because Root lied to her about going. She kept it a secret. And she only does that when she thinks it’s a matter of national security, or when she feels guilty about something.

But it doesn’t make sense why Root would take Gen anywhere. In the very minimal interactions they had yesterday, they didn’t seem to particularly get along. Not sworn enemies or anything, but also not exactly the kind of bosom buddies who wanted to take day trips together. “Why did you even take her out, today?” Shaw asks, because she can’t come up with any even moderately-decent explanation in her own head. The only thing she can figure is that, whatever Root’s intentions with Gen, they almost certainly aren’t good. “What’s your angle here?”

Root scoffs and leans her back against the counter. “What, I can’t spend time with kids, now? I have to have an angle?”

Shaw looks unimpressed. “You hate kids.”

“I hate dumb kids. She’s not dumb.”

“Root,” Shaw says again, flatly. “Seriously. Why.”

Root pauses for a moment, and for that moment Shaw thinks she’s going to dodge the question again. Come up with some lame excuse, or try to change the subject, or flirt and hope that Shaw will change her mind about wanting to know the answer. Hell, she’s half-expecting Root to come onto her, just as a distraction, which is partly why she’s so surprised when she answers truthfully. “I didn’t know about her,” Root says with a shrug.

Shaw frowns. “What?” Of all the answers she had been anticipating (and there had been more than a few), this was definitely not one of them.

“I didn’t know about her. You care about maybe three people in the entire world. Four if you count Bear. Five if you count Lionel.”

“I don’t count Fusco.”

“Right, so… four people. In the entire world. At least that’s what I thought. But… you care about her. Enough where she knows your phone number and your address and feels like she can stop by without telling you first. And she cares about you, too. Enough to visit, at least. Enough to think about you when she needs help. And I didn’t know about her.”

Shaw feels almost… guilty is the wrong word. She doesn’t really do guilt. But she feels something. Something in her stomach that rolls a little uncomfortably, a little uncertainly. She doesn’t like it. It also, absurdly, makes her want to defend herself. “I met her before I knew you.”

Root nods. “I know. But you still never told me about her.”

Shaw huffs, the defensiveness still not wavering. “We don’t generally do a lot of talking, Root. I don’t… share things. You know that.”

Root smiles, but there’s something a little off about it; something maybe a little sad. “Right. I know.” But her voice makes it sound like she doesn’t know, not really; her voice makes it sound like Shaw’s said something wrong, like she’s done something wrong, like she’s pushed against some part of Root she didn’t know was fragile, and now she’s broken it.

Shaw’s frown deepens. “Root…” she starts to say, but Root waves her off and disappears into her — their, her mind weakly supplies — bedroom.

Shaw stares at the closed door and feels, suddenly, very lost. She doesn’t like it.

It’s awkward for about a day. That’s how long Gen continues to sulk in her room, only coming out when she needs food of when she wants to drag her feet around the apartment, trying to make Shaw feel bad for her behavior. It doesn’t work, and she realizes that pretty early on, but still she tries.

Shaw gets Thai takeout as a sort of peace-offering. It’s from Root’s favorite place, but she pretends like that isn’t a factor when she chooses it.

The smell of noodles and peanut sauce eventually draws Gen out of her room, and by the time they finish their meal everyone is in slightly-better spirits. Shaw gets sauce all down her chin and Root even laughs and uses her own napkin to wipe it off, and Shaw feels relieved at the action, though she tries not to dwell on why.

And when they go to sleep that night, Root turns on her side so her back is facing Shaw, but when Shaw kicks her feet out to brush the back of Root’s legs (she doesn’t do cuddling, alright? but a little physical contact with Root during the night does do a lot to settle the nerves she doesn’t admit to having), Root doesn’t pull away from her.

So. A win, she thinks.

Shaw puts Root firmly on bed-rest the next day. (“Bed-rest, Sameen?” she asks with a teasing smirk. “If you wanted to spend the day in bed with me, you just had to ask.” Shaw pointedly ignores her.) After her shooting excursion (so stupid, so foolish, and why doesn’t Root ever think about the fact that she’s injured and shouldn’t do these things?) she wound up with a few torn stitches that Shaw had to sew up last night. And her ribs are hurting her, too, and he knee is still fucked up, no matter what she tries to say.

So. Bed-rest.

The only thing is, that leaves Shaw and Gen alone in the apartment together for most of the day. And she’s a good kid, generally speaking. She’s quiet when Shaw wants to be quiet, for the most part.

But she’s observant, and too smart for her own good. So, sometimes, she asks questions Shaw doesn’t particularly want to answer.

Like now, for instance.

“Shaw?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“Is Root your girlfriend?”

The no is on the tip of her tongue, ready to slip out, when something makes her pause. She stops for a moment, tilts her head to the side, and seriously considers her words. “She’s…” She pauses. “It’s complicated.”

“How come?” Gen asks, barely looking up from her reading. Shaw’s not sure if she actually isn’t interested in their conversation or if she’s just putting on a show to make Shaw more comfortable expressing herself. Knowing Gen, it’s probably the latter. The thought almost makes Shaw want to smile.

But she doesn’t smile. Instead, she says, “I don’t really do relationships. I’m not good with feelings.”

“But Root lives with you.” She says it like it’s simple, but it doesn’t feel simple.

“She’s not around a lot, Gen,” Shaw says, her voice remarkably quiet. Which is odd, because she doesn’t really do quiet. Not unless it’s of the quietly fierce, intimidating an enemy through unexpected and unwavering composure variety. “Not enough to be living with me. She… travels, a lot.”

“Doing super secret spy stuff?”

Shaw, in spite of herself, smiles a little. “Something like that.”

“But when she’s here, you live together? And you are together? And you don’t date other people?”

“In our line of work, it’s sort of tricky to meet people who aren’t either about to kill or about to be killed.”

“But even if you could meet other people,” Gen says, finally looking up from her book, as if she’s almost desperate for Shaw to stop beating around the damn bush and actually answer her, already, “if you could see other people… would you want to?”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions; you know that?”

Gen smiles. “My teachers call me precocious.” Shaw hums, but otherwise doesn’t answer. Gen sighs heavily and keeps prodding. The kid definitely doesn’t know when to quit. “So, do you love her?” she asks loudly (a little too loudly for Shaw’s liking), and Shaw winces.

“I told you, Kid,” she says as she shakes her head, “I don’t really do feelings.”

“But?”

Shaw sighs. Gen’s not going to give up on this, and Shaw knows it. Might as well give her something to shut her up. (And if what she says is more than a little truthful, then… well, it’s not like Shaw is really in the habit of lying to kids, anyway.) “But…” she finally says, slowly “I suppose… Root’s not too bad.”

Gen grins up at her. “Good,” she says.

Shaw can’t help but feel like she’s just missed something.

She figures out what she missed the next day.

“I found this under our bedroom door, today,” Root says as she emerges from the bathroom, toweling her hair dry. She’s holding something out in her hand. Shaw is so curious, so confused about what it is Root might be trying to show her, that she doesn’t correct her on the use of ‘our’ instead of ‘your’. Two months ago, that pronoun choice would have made her clench her jaw so tightly her teeth would have been in danger of shattering. As it is, now she barely even notices it.

“What is that?” Shaw asks, taking a step forward. She’s still dressed in her sweats, the ones she likes to sleep in, because it’s still pretty early in the morning; too early for Root to be finding mysterious things in their bedroom, certainly. Her bare feet pad along the hardwood floors as she finally gets close enough to see what Root’s holding. In Root’s outstretched palm sits a tape; a small one, the kind that fits inside a portable tape recorder. Shaw takes one look at it and rolls her eyes. “I told her no recording in the apartment. What did she do, catch us having sex?”

Root chuckles and shakes her head. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Then why should I care about it?”

“It’s a recording of one of your conversations. The one where you talk about me.”

Shaw freezes momentarily. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before clenching her hands into fists. “I knew she was up to no good.” She growls and stomps toward their bedroom door, already on a tear, ready to give Gen a piece of her mind and remind her about the fact that she’s only allowed to stay here because Shaw had an unlikely and ill-advised moment of mercy. “I swear to God, that kid is dead fucking mea—”

“Did you mean it?”

Shaw stops, her hand already outstretched on the doorknob. “Did I mean what?”

“What you said about me?”

“Wh—” The question is unexpected, and it pulls her up short. She pauses with her arm out for a few more moments before she lets it fall limply back to her side. She runs the conversation over in her head, tries to think if she said anything during it that might have been untrue (or that she might not want Root knowing), but she already knows the answer. She’s just buying herself some time. Finally, she takes a breath and answers. “I… yeah, Root. I guess I meant it.”

Root swallows thickly, and some emotion Shaw can’t quite recognize slips over her eyes. Shaw shifts where she stands, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “That’s…” Root starts to say, but she trails off, her voice thick with something unnamed.

Shaw shifts again. “I just said you weren’t bad, Root. No need to cry about it.”

Root laughs and shakes her head. Her eyes are still wet, her throat still a little clogged. “Right. My mistake.”

Shaw frowns and shifts on her feet and feels… something. Nothing she recognizes, but nothing necessarily bad. “You done?” she asks gruffly, for something to do. “I need to eat something.”

Root gestures to their door, her hand moving in a big sweeping motion that makes Shaw want to roll her eyes. “After you, Sweetie.”

In the end, Shaw buys a stupid Christmas tree. Her abhorrence of plants in her apartment is firm and unwavering, and she absolutely will not budge on that. But after a few days of the combined pouts/puppy dog eyes courtesy of Root and Gen (who Root must be teaching, because Shaw’s never known the girl to be the kind to beg before now), Shaw figures she can bend the rules just this once. So, she buys the dumb tree. But she absolutely refuses to decorate it.

She comes home from a run one day and finds it strung up with lights and strings of popcorn. Root and Gen both adamantly deny that they were the ones to decorate it, but Shaw catches Root winking at Gen later that night, when Shaw kicks her feet up onto the coffee table and starts to read by the light of the tree (it’s kind of nice in a shitty, kitschy, atmospheric sort of way; so sue her), so she’s pretty sure they’re in cahoots.

Christmas morning rolls around and Shaw, of course, finds herself completely out-matched.

Root gets Gen a new computer, one of those fancy PCs that Root likes to use for gaming (and hacking), the kind that have insane memory cores and fucking out-of-control processing power.

Shaw gets her a hat.

After they’ve made breakfast and cleared away the dirty dishes, after Gen has already disappeared into her bedroom to play with her new computer (and probably do something highly illegal, like try to hack into the CIA, or something), Shaw goes digging in her closet for the other gift she purchased a few days before.

When she gets back into the kitchen she shoves it into Root’s hands unceremoniously. It’s not even giftwrapped, really. There’s just a bow on the top of the box. And she didn’t even do that, the store did, so… whatever. It’s not a big deal, or anything.

Root looks up at her in surprise. Shaw refuses to look at her, instead making herself busy with loading up the dishwasher.

She hears Root pull the box open behind her. (She’s moving slowly, a little too slowly, and it’s not like there’s any wrapping paper standing in her way, or anything, so what does she think she’s doing? Doesn’t she know that it’s making Shaw feel nervous and uncomfortable, setting her teeth on edge?) There’s the sound of crinkling tissue paper, and then a little quiet inhale of breath, and Shaw feels something between her heart and her stomach clench tightly. “Sameen…” Root says in that soft, quiet way of hers. That way she gets when she’s brimming with some emotion that Shaw can’t understand nor fathom. That way she gets when she’s about to say something that’s going to make Shaw supremely uncomfortable.

“Whatever,” Shaw grumbles, sparing the quickest of glances over her shoulder. “I know your hands get cold.”

Root looks at her, all wide, doe-eyes and quivering lip, and Shaw almost wants to yank the box back from her, almost wants to pull it away and say, No, sorry, you missed your chance; you fucked it up, so now you get nothing.

But Root doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t start crying, or confessing some deep-seated emotions. She just leans over and kisses Shaw on the mouth, quick and sure and nowhere near the intense, bruising force that she usually likes to kiss Shaw with.

“Thank you,” she says when she pulls away. “I needed new gloves.”

And if there’s something like pride in Shaw’s chest, something like satisfaction… well. It is Christmas, after all. She’s bound to be in a better mood on Christmas.

When the two weeks draw to a close, on the second day of the New Year, Shaw is almost sorry to see Gen go. (Almost; key word there is almost.)

In the end, it wasn’t all that terrible to have her there. It was maybe even kind of nice, sometimes. Their dinners were a lot livelier. And when she finally did manage to hack Amazon’s website and screw up all of the deliveries for a day, that had been pretty entertaining.

But now, it’s time for Gen to go back to school. And Shaw hadn’t particularly liked having a kid around, hadn’t particularly liked having to watch how often she cursed, or where she stashed her weapons. She hadn’t exactly liked that she and Root had to keep their fucking contained to their bedroom, at night. She hadn’t loved the fact that she had to keep reminding Root to keep quiet, to keep her voice down while Shaw was three fingers deep inside her, lest she wake the kid (but watching Root struggle to keep her noises under control had been a little satisfying, gratifying in its own way). Having another mouth to feed and a minor she was technically responsible for hadn’t exactly been how she planned to spend her Christmas.

But it really hadn’t been so bad.

Shaw thinks she might even almost miss her.

Now, they’re standing by the front door, Gen’s suitcase packed and her backpack slung over her shoulder. Shaw’s called a car for her, some private, discreet service — that cost absolutely way too much — to drive her back to school. The driver should be pulling up any minute, now. Which is why she and Gen are loitering in the entranceway, awkwardly stumbling through a goodbye.

“Well,” Shaw says as she rubs her hands against her legs, “uh… don’t get into too much trouble, alright?” she ventures, which is about as close to admitting she cares as she ever gets.

Gen seems to understand that. She’s always just sort of innately understood Shaw in a way so few people do. “Don’t kill Root if she annoys you too much,” she shoots back with a grin.

Shaw has to chuckle. “No promises.”

“Well, me either, then.”

“Alright. How about I agree not to kill Root, and you agree to stay out of trouble with any and all government entities, domestic or foreign.” At the look Gen shoots her, Shaw rolls her eyes. “At least until you’re eighteen,” she acquiesces. Shaw holds out her hand. “Deal?”

Gen cocks her head, like she’s seriously considering the bargain. “Alright,” she finally says, gripping Shaw’s hand tightly with her own. The kid has a good handshake. Shaw is pleased by that. “It’s a deal.”

Shaw’s phone buzzes with a text, indicating that the driver is outside their building, and Shaw looks at Gen one more time. “Well… bye, then,” she says lamely.

“Bye, Shaw. Bye, Root!” she calls into the kitchen.

Root comes striding out. “Bye, Gen. Stay safe. Get good grades. And email me if you ever have any questions about…” she glances at Shaw before whispering, conspiratorially, with a mischievous wink, “you-know-what.”

Gen laughs and steps forward, pulling Root into a brief but tight hug that seems to surprise her as much as it surprises Shaw. “Thanks for Christmas,” she says when she pulls back. “I’ll call you when I’m back at school.” And with one last wave, she’s out the door.

“How come you got a hug?” Shaw grumbles when the door closes behind her.

“Aw, Sweetie,” Root coos as she walks past. She presses a wet, sloppy kiss to Shaw’s cheek, something Shaw should object to, something she should want to dodge away from, or glower in response to. But, if anything, she leans into the kiss. Which is not something she should do. Like, at all. God, maybe she is getting too soft. Maybe this has all been— “You can hug me anytime you like,” Root purrs into her ear, and Shaw’s mind goes blank.

Maybe she should stop thinking so much. After all, it’s just Root. And, most of the time, Shaw doesn’t even think that Root is half-bad.

She can handle a few cheek kisses, she thinks.

She’s undergone worse tortures.

#shoot #root x shaw #fanfiction #person of interest fanfiction #person of interest #fanfic #mine

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