#cw OCD

[gin-juice-tonic]

Something people might not know about OCD is everything is punishable by death.

Either you, or your loved ones, or your apartment building, or the local children's hospital are gonna die because you ate a potato with a strange spec on it. that you knew you shouldn't have eaten but you were hungry and it's just a potato with a spec on it, it's fine.

Except it isn't fine because now the children's hospital is going to explode. On account of the potato.

[queerly-autistic]

You really can't engage meaningfully with Ed's story in S2 without firmly centring his mental illness and suicidality, because that's inherently what the story is: it's the story of a man having a severe mental breakdown and going to increasingly erratic extremes in order to achieve his end goal, which is to not be alive anymore...and then it's the story of his recovery from that.

And so much of my frustration with the way I see this being talked about (or, in many cases, not being talked about) reflects my more general frustration with how we talk about mental illness and neurodivergence, so buckle in because this got long (also I am going to be discussing suicide here, as well as very brief mentions of psychosis and ocd, so please take care). There's this trend when we talk about mental health: we go 'oh mental illness isn't an excuse' or 'mental illness doesn't make you do bad things' or variations thereof. These are, in my opinion, some of the worst things to ever happen to the discourse around mental illness. It's reductive. Absolutely mental illness can lead you to do things that you would not have otherwise done, even things that you would be absolutely appalled by, if you were mentally well. What do you think mental illness is if it's not something that impacts your brain and how your brain functions? If your mental illness doesn't directly lead to problematic behaviour, then that's fantastic, but that experience is not universal. It's not an 'excuse' - it's an explanation for certain behaviours that's vitally important to acknowledge and understand in order to try and mitigate harm.

There's also this thing that happens with discourse around mental illness where we assume that what you do in the grips of mental illness is reflective of something that's innate inside you. You were violent whilst in the middle of psychosis? Oh, it's because you're an innately abusive person and this just reveals who you really are. You have Tourette's and one of your tics is a racial slur? Oh, it's because you're an innately racist person and this just reveals who you really are. Your OCD is rooted in a fear that you're going to murder your family? Oh, it's because you inherently do want to murder your family and this just reveals who you really are. It's bullshit. What you do in your mentally ill state is not some deep philosophical reflection of your true character, and the idea that it is is something that causes really deep, dangerous harm to mentally ill and neurodivergent people.

So, now that that's over with, back to Ed.

Ed was behaving in ways that were acknowledged in canon as being extremely out of character whilst in the midst of a severe breakdown. Fang himself said that he'd 'never' seen Ed behave this way; even Izzy, who actively pushed for Ed to embody the extremes of his Blackbeard persona, ended up concerned because it became so extreme and out of character that it was impossible not to be concerned by it. The crew who mutinied on Izzy within a day didn't mutiny on him for months, not until their lives literally depended on it, because it's heavily insinuated that they were hoping he would get better. Because this wasn't the Ed that they knew (the Ed that we came to know in S1 - an inherently soft man who is caught in a culture of violence and is tired of it).

The show wasn't subtle about this. It didn't bury the lead. As well as the constant reminders that he was acting out of character in increasingly alarming ways, this was very clearly depicted as a breakdown, an almost total collapse of Ed's mental health. We saw Ed detached and numb and completely dissociated from the world around him. We saw him in private moments of despair, breaking down. We saw him behaving erratically in the grips of mania. We saw him display absolutely textbook warning signs of someone whose made the decision to die by suicide. We saw him smile and say 'finally' at the moment when he knew he was going to die.

The show basically painted a giant neon sign over his head flashing 'THIS MAN IS EXTREMELY UNWELL' in bright lights, and if you miss that, then it's because you're deliberately avoiding looking properly.

(And, important to note, that most of the people that I've watched the show with outside of fandom discourse absolutely took away from these episodes what the show was intending - they saw how unwell Ed was, they were devastated for him, and they desperately wanted him to get better.)

When Ed steered the ship into the storm, and threatened to put a cannonball through the mast, his clear goal was to create a situation where the crew had no choice but to kill him. I've seen people describe this scene as Ed 'trying to hurt the crew', and I think that's very much a misrepresentation of what the show was depicting. It was very blatantly a suicide attempt. He wanted to die, and he didn't care what he had to do in order for him to achieve that goal. That doesn't make it good behaviour, and it doesn't mean people didn't get hurt, but it does make it a very different situation than if causing harm had been his main intent.

There is a fundamental difference between 'he is doing this because he explicitly wants to cause harm to the people around him' and 'he's doing this because he's suicidal and beyond the point of being able to rationally consider who might be getting hurt in the process of ensuring that he ends up dead'. One of those is a bad person who enjoys causing pain - and the other is a deeply unwell person who can be supported and helped to recover and be better (and should be, for the good of themselves and the people around them).

And on that note, the failure to engage with this as a mental health story is also, I think, why I've seen some people get so upset about the show not doing Ed's redemption arc 'right' - because this isn't a redemption arc, and it's not trying to be. One day I'll do a separate post about how much I love that the show explicitly rejected a carceral approach, opting to essentially put him through community rehabilitation rather than punishing him, and even mocking punitive prescriptive measures (that rubbish youtuber apology speech was supposed to be rubbish and unhelpful), but that's one for another day.

The fact is that the show is telling a story about mental illness, and that inherently means that Ed's arc is a recovery arc, not a redemption arc. And if you're expecting a redemption arc, then you've fundamentally misunderstood the story that they're telling (and the revolutionary kindness at the heart of the show).

I have a lot of feelings about this because I genuinely believe that it was one of the best depictions of mental illness and suicidality that I've ever seen. Within the confines of it being a half hour, eight episode comedy show, they told a story about mental illness that was surprisingly realistic (with the obvious fantastical over the top elements of it being a pirate show - and piracy is explicitly depicted as a culture where violence is heavily normalised), and that didn't shy away from the messier, darker, more complex elements of mental illness (particularly of being suicidal).

And then, most importantly, after all that, the show took me gently by the hand said 'you are not defined by what you do in your lowest moment - you can make amends, you can recover, you are still loved, and you are worth saving'.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

imagine Killer being both really touch starved and extremely touch averse especially if he has bad germaphobia.

Everytime Killer feels the brush of someone bones against his own it burns it reminds him of the story of Icarus flying too close to the sky his was wings burn and he drowns in the cold water below. Killer isn't sure if he would rather be burned or drown in the empty cold feeling. Going back and forth to wanting any form of touch and then immediately hating it and wanting them to stop. Its more then just that. He hasn't been touched by someone in so long that every touch feels like too much, it makes him feel vulnerable and weak, along with feelings of extreme disgust and even fear.

Also little extra blurb about Killer with germaphobia as someone who's a major germaphobe it can become more or less intense depending on emotions especially things like anxiety the more anxious I am the more germaphobic I get. Often having to repeat reassuring mantra to lower the anxiety of germs. I imagine it could go anywhere from freely touching things unless especially gross from being Unwilling to touch anything without a feeling if dudgust or fear abd feeling the need to wash anything that touched what was perched as germs which for me can be things like a house key, tables, door knobs, etc I really want some nice gloves to protect my hands cause I keep overwashing them.

Also Killer gives strong ocd vibes or im just projecting and germaphobia is common in those with ocd. I feel like his training and life with Chara would have him develop ocd. He wants things done a certain way or feels like something bad will happen or its just the obviously correct way to be done. Can also see him doing little rituals that he feels increases his luck or things that have to be done to not be cursed with bad luck. Turning the door knob to his room at least three times to ensure its locked, never walking on the opposite side of a pole as someone else, avoiding the first or last step, etc. (These are all things I do lol)

~Musical Anon

Stares at my Stage 4 Killer with OCPD adaptations headcanon. (Definitely not the same as OCD, but the need for order, control, things have to happen like this, you have to follow the rules and the routines, I have to be perfect to be safe/loved/accepted.

When in St4 the rules are the agreements of the Deal and the outlines of the Directive, but the traits would likely show up in other Stages such as 2.

The intense fear of something bad happening if it isn’t done or a rule isn’t followed is moreso from trauma and conditioning and likely indoctrination, although I can definitely see him having some type of compulsions and rituals alleviate fear/anxiety, ones tied to survival and the fear of failure perhaps—such as, in the context of my little directive headcanons—drawing little upside down hearts somewhere whenever subconsciously anxious or fearful (although 2 would deny feeling absolutely anything) or as a mindless automatic habit or whenever prevented from killing a target as if to appease some unseen watching force.

And in lower Stages, doing this absentmindedly when stressed or scared—such as whenever awaiting a punishment for failing a mission in some way (especially if he either accidentally slipped up and killed someone or was trigged into Stage 4, or simply to handle the dissonance of not killing a target) mindlessly drawing little upside down hearts on his arms with his fingers or in the air and not really understanding why. )

I can also see him absently checking and rechecking everything (such as rather obsessively checking up on the gang and that they’re still alive and attended to, not because he really cares too much about the outcome, but because the actions give him a sense of control and makes sure he’s adhering to his duties as Nightmares right hand), and probably forming rituals around the steps of caring for his weapons and tools, and arranging them in certain ways because it feels more familiar that way and he does it almost automatically now.

[gobstoppr]

the most important part of anthro characters is that they can stim and pick at shit in ways we can barely dream of.

fish anthros especially man. can you fucking imagine . all those scales to pick at . gills you can get your hands a little too close to. dorsal fin, something close to hair visually but in practice has nerves all throughout,, delicate but still hard and plenty of spots to pick at ,,

[wrathofrats]

Please please please elaborate on ifrit with OCD

My bait worked time to give ifrit problems

Small warning for descriptions of compulsive and obsessive behaviors, because I know that can trigger some of this stuff to happen. So be slightly cautious if you’re someone who is affected by this!

It’s a big reason why he’s such a caregiver type.

A fair amount of his obsessions and rituals revolve around zephyr. The idea that he has to constantly be there to help them there will be one time he doesn’t and zephyr will be injured because of it. He has to check on them, thinks about their health constantly. Because sure zephyr says they’re fine but what if they’re lying? What if they are really sick and they just don’t know it? What if ifrit is the only one to notice the signs and if he doesn’t say something then something bad will happen to Zeph and it will be his fault?

It eats at him, the constant idea of zeph is in danger or needs him whenever he can’t be physically with him. And the idea that zephyr is annoyed by the constant attention, even if he can’t help it.

Zephyrs really patient with him though, lets him act out his compulsions to give him the peace of mind he needs. Always reassures him that he’s not being a bother to them, that zephyr knows why he dotes and does whatever they can to lessen then obsession. Whether that be with proving they’re ok or just the reassurance that if anything were to happen, it’s not his fault.

He does little things too. When he works out it has to be a certain number of reps or he won’t be able to stop thinking about it until he rights the “wrong”, constantly checks the weights on his bar to make sure he grabbed the right one, even if he saw it, he has to check again because what if he misread it?

He does it while baking too. He tries to have a partner with him so he doesn’t completely lose it trying to be certain he didn’t poison anyone with his batch of cookies. Because sure he read that he put in vanilla, but what if it wasn’t? What if he was lying to himself and now he’s going to hurt everyone?

There’s been a couple of batters that have been thrown away because he’s convinced himself he put something poisonous in there. That’s why he makes someone else stand there, just in case. Puts his mind at ease.

[shaykesqueer]

Whump Month '24 Day Six: Phobia

OCD!Mountain gets paralysed by 'what if's when trying to leave a room...

Thank you @cirrus-ghoulette for organising Whump Month! Prompts here <3

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[seventh-district]

OCD will literally remove your brain's ability to register when a task is Complete and then create 10,000 incredibly ridiculous and extremely specific rules for you to follow in every single aspect of your life (to keep you safe, of course, it tells you.) and then tells you that if you don’t do them Correctly and Completely every single time it tells you to (it tells you countless times per day) then the Entire Fucking World Will End and then it’ll do this fucked up thing where it makes you believe that nonsense.

and then people that don’t have it will make silly little jokes about being soooooo OCD and make t-shirts with fun little acronyms on them like Obsessive Coffee Disorder and tell you how much they like it when things are organized and clean, too!!

and then you’re supposed to just. laugh. like you haven’t been robbed of your entire being and potential and been taken over by a mind and life altering disability

[kas-eddie-munson]

(This is inspired by this fic by @withacapitalp ! ^^ I wanted to do my own take on Steve with OCD ^^)

Content warning for a panic attack, OCD, and intrusive thoughts involving gore!

~ ~ ~

Steve always hated knives.

Well, not ALWAYS.

He was about five or six, and his nanny was in the other room, talking on the phone. He asked her for a penut butter sandwich, but she told him to wait, that this was important. Maybe it had been five minutes, or maybe an hour. His child brain couldn't tell, could only tell that he was hungry.

So he started rooting through the cabinets. He knew where a lot of things were. He'd seen his nanny in here often enough. He managed to pull out a plate, bread, peanut butter, jelly. He grabbed a butter knife, the final instrument, and began to work.

Spreading peanut butter and jelly was harder than it looked. He got frustrated as the bread ripped, and the ingredients barely spread. Eventually, he decided it was good enough and closed the sandwich to take the crust off. He wasn't a big crust fan.

Cutting with a knife was difficult, too. He pressed hard and moved the knife back and forth, but it still didn't cut very well. It also made an obnoxiously loud scraping sound as he worked. He furrowed his brow in concentration.

Suddenly came the clack clack clack of his nanny's footsteps, and, well. She wasn't happy.

"Steve!"

Her eyes were bulging and she lurched forward, yanking the butter knife from his grip. His stomach dropped and he froze. She never talked to him like that.

"Be careful! Knives are too dangerous for boys your age to use without a grown-up! You could have hurt yourself," she set the knife far away on the table, as though its mere proximity was a threat, and crouched down to look at him at his level.

He still felt frozen as he nodded and mumbled apologies.

When Steve was a few years older, and another nanny taught him how to use a knife safely, he was always careful with it. He never cut towards his fingers, as instructed, and he turned the sharp part away from his plate when he set it down, just to be extra safe.

When puberty hit, he taught himself to shave. It was an ordeal, but a necessary one. He worked slowly and carefully. He made sure to push the razor to the very back of the shelf above the skink when he was done, so it was less likely to fall and cut his hands.

Then the upside down happened. He wouldn't notice until years later that his distaste for sharp objects was getting worse. He always made sure to grip the bat tightly when he held it. To be hyperaware of where it was, where it was pointing.

Then he was at work. It was a normal day, until it wasn't, and then he was in the boathouse. He was up against a wall. And there was glass. Sharp. Ragged.

Pressed into his neck.

Dangerous.

And his heart was pounding and he was pushing his head as hard against the wall as was humanly possible and his friends were talking in the background but he could hardly tell what they were even saying because, somewhere in the back of his mind, a dangerous voice whispered, move forward.

He blinked hard. Pushed even further away. What the hell was that? Did he have a death wish or something?

Then Eddie pulled back. And Steve had to shake it off and get back to business.

The next few days passed in a blur of adrenaline and fear. Vecna was dead, but Max was hurt so bad, and Eddie barely made it out alive, and Steve, wracked with guilt that maybe they'd be okay if he had done something different, guarded their hospital beds like he needed the air in those stuffy rooms to breathe.

He didn't sleep much, or eat much, or bathe much, for about four days, until Eddie woke up.

He hated it in there, as much as he knew he wouldn't want to be anywhere else in that moment. Too many sharp things. He often found his gaze drifting to the IV cords inserted into the crook of Max's elbow and the back of Eddie's hand respectively, and he'd clench his fists thinking about the needle.

It was day four when he was doing this, half-eaten cafeteria food to his right from Robin, that he found his gaze once again drawn to Eddie's IV.

Yank it out.

Steve wanted to leave the room. He shook his head a little. Blinked hard. Tried to dismiss the weird thought.

Why did he think that? What if he did that on accident? He didn't want to hurt Eddie. Never, even if he hadn't fought so hard to get him here, would he want to hurt him.

That's when Eddie finally blinked his eyes open and woke up.

They had a tearful reunion. Steve reassured him that the others were okay, that Vecna was gone. He walkied Dustin and the kids in Max's room to come over, and they crowded around him, with hugs and tears in their eyes.

Steve stood on the other side of the room to give them space. He smiled fondly as he watched them catch up. He almost bumped into a poll attached to Eddie's IV. His mind flashed with imagry of him pushing it to the ground and stomping on the cord.

He decided to wait in the hall until they were done.

---

Steve and Eddie start hanging out. A lot, actually. Steve can't shake the feeling that the alternate dimension stuff can't be over yet. When he's not at work, Eddie is over. When Eddie's not over, Robin is over. When they're both busy he's with the kids. He doesn't give his fear the time of day to seep in with how busy he makes himself scheduling movie nights and trips to the arcade.

He keeps getting scary thoughts. Some of them are... new, though.

Steve starts to wonder what it would be like to hold Eddie's hand.

Steve imagines putting Eddie's hand in his mouth and biting down, hard, as he screams.

Steve wants to nudge his foot under the table.

Images flash of kicking Eddie in the balls, him doubling over in pain.

Steve finds himself getting lost in his eyes.

His head is filled with visions of jamming his fingers down Eddie's eye sockets.

He tries not to examine the thoughts too closely. Just shakes them off. Still... he wonders. Where was all this coming from? And is he gay? He goes over old memories. He loves Robin, but it's still a scary thought. Among the other scary thoughts.

All the thoughts get more and more mixed up in his head. He can hardly tell which ones are real anymore.

One night Eddie's over, and they're watching a movie, alone. Steve doesn't even remember which. Mostly they watch long enough for something to happen that prompts further conversation, and they goof around, ignoring the movie until the topic runs its course.

Eddie is wearing a new shirt. The sides are cut open, further than most of his shirts. The angle he's sitting at has it falling open even more, and Steve keeps finding his gaze drawn there when Eddie's eyes are on the screen.

It isn't too dark in the room. They have a dim lamp on, and Steve's eyes have adjusted to the lighting. So he can see a lot of detail.

There are stitches.

Steve digs his nails into the palms of his hands as grotesque images flash through his mind, and the commands start.

Tear them out.

Use your fork like a seam ripper.

Jam your fingers inside and pry his skin apart.

Steve feels like he's about to vomit. He wants to cry. He just wants this to stop. He wants Eddie to leave and he wants Eddie to hold him and he doesn't want any of that but most of all he doesn't want to snap somehow and do any of those horrible things.

He clenches his fists harder and shoves everything down and focuses on the movie.

Steve wonders if the thoughts will ease up as Eddie's wounds heal, since a lot of them are about that.

They do not.

They leave for a walk in the woods. Eddie wants to gather a bunch of rocks. For what purpose, Steve does not know. Steve is charged with lugging the rock bag around, since his bites never went as deep and are much more healed now than Eddie's.

It's ridiculously hot outside. Steve is sure his hair looks like ass in the humidity. Eddie is sweating through his shirt. Steve doesn't mind that part.

They find an open clearing with what Eddie deems "an especially exquisite selection" of rocks. Steve doesn't think they look any different, but he just smiles. Unfortunately, the lack of tree coverage makes it even hotter.

"Hey big sports guy, catch," Eddie calls as Steve feels something hit his backpack. He looks behind him and sees black cloth lying on the ground. He leans down to pick it up, then looks up at Eddie a few yards away.

Eddie is flushed, chugging down water from a bottle, some of it dripping past his mouth and down his chin and torso. His bare chest is covered with tattoos and scar tissue. Most of the stitches have been removed, it seems. Steve feels his face heat up, and then he sees it.

One of the deeper bites is still stitched up, and he has a drain attached to it. No bag is hooked up right now, but the drain is there, under the skin, peeking out. Steve wonders how deep it goes. Flashing images of yanking it out start coming and he feels nauseous as Eddie clears his throat and Steve meets his eyes in horror.

"My eyes are up here, princess," Eddie says as he smirks.

Steve ducks his head and runs his fingers through his hair. God, he hopes Eddie can't tell what he's thinking. About either topic, really. Or maybe he doesn't mind too much, about the one.

He tries to look at him, but his eyes keep trying to snap to the drain, and he knows he needs that out of his sight, fast, before the thoughts get worse.

"Dude, that's not fair." He shakes his head, still ducked down and eyes anywhere but on Eddie, as he makes his way over.

Eddie laughs bright and loud, and he pulls at his curls. "What's not fair, exactly?"

He shoves the shirt back at Eddie's chest, fingers buzzing with something as they make contact briefly with the skin of his pec. Eddie stumbles back a step and his eyes are wide.

Steve leans close and makes eye contact. "If I'm not allowed to be shirtless, neither are you, big boy." He gives his chest two quick pats before turning around and walking back the direction they came. He calls "for your modesty!" over his shoulder. It takes a few seconds before he hears Eddie's footsteps start up behind him to follow.

Eddie tells him he supposes they collected enough rocks for the day, anyway. Steve notes that Eddie didn't put the shirt back on, but he has it draped over his shoulder, and it covers the drain that way too, so Steve doesn't bring it up again. As they chat and walk home, Steve thinks Eddie looks redder than he did before. He looks cute flustered.

Is he flustered? Steve hopes so. Why does he hope so? Steve thinks he knows if he's honest with himself, but he's also scared, so he continues to try not to think about it.

---

"Alright alright! Settle down! I'll be back with snacks in less than five minutes. If you nerds haven't made a decision by then, we're putting on my pick."

Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves the room and the kids' voices raise even higher in pitch, whining that his movies are always boring. The other "adults" chatter behind them on the sofa, as the kids crouch around Steve's VHS collection.

When Steve comes back, The Goonies' cover is flipped open on the floor, and the ads are starting up as the kids flip the lights and fight over the remote, messing with the volume and arguing about whether or not there was a skip button for the ads or if they just had to fast forward through them. He looks around, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes that the only seating choice left is to squish himself right next to Eddie.

Or Mike, but he was absolutely not sitting between him and Byers for two hours, or however long The Goonies was. He doubted they'd stay apart like that for long, anyway.

Eddie smirks at him from behind his hand as he sits down, their thighs pressing together, and Steve is glad it's dark in here because he's pretty sure he's blushing.

That's when he realizes what side he's sitting on. And he freezes.

Oh God.

Oh no.

This is the side with the drain.

It was touching him. It was touching him. It was right there. It was right there and if he moves the wrong way he'll hurt him. It'll catch on Eddie's shirt and he'll rip it out and blood will be everywhere.

Oh my God. He can't move, now. It would be weird. Where would he even go? He can't just sit on the floor.

Oh my God. What if he moves to leave and that's what does it. He's stuck here. He's stuck here indirectly touching the thing under Eddie's skin and his lungs feel smaller than they should and oh God he does NOT want to freak out in front of everyone.

He has to leave. He has to get out of here. How the hell can he leave???

Steve presses as hard as he can into the armrest and away from Eddie, scooting out of his seat, and looking back at Eddie's side to make sure it hasn't started to bleed. His eyes catch Eddie's and the man still on the sofa looks confused, still sitting comfortably against the back of the sofa with his arms crossed as Steve, as discreetly as possible, slips out of the room and up the stairs. He's suddenly grateful he's only wearing socks on his feet so his footsteps are quieter.

He gets upstairs and walks into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him, running his hands through his hair, and taking deep breaths. He runs through the last couple minutes in his head, when. Oh God.

Did he look closely enough? Was he sure Eddie wasn't bleeding? What if it started slow? What if he didn't notice until Steve left and now he's bleeding out? What if he's on some sort of numbing agent and he WON'T notice until he PASSES OUT because it's dark and Steve isn't 100% sure he didn't see blood and he knows he must look feral right now but he just has to go check just to be sure and

He opens his door again to a surprised Eddie, hand half held up like he was about to knock. Steve's eyes drop down to his side and back again.

"Hey, Steve. Are you alright? You looked a little woozy back there." Eddie asks, uncharicatistically softly. Steve realizes he must still look wild and tries to shake away the crazy eyes.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, no worries." He runs his hand through his hair again, realizes that makes him look more anxious, and drops it. His eyes flit back and forth between Eddie's eyes and his side, and then he keeps them steady on his eyes.

Eddie eyes him skeptically. "Mind if I join you for a minute?" He gestures in the room, and Steve steps aside. Eddie closes the door behind him.

"Steve, I'm not gonna lie. I'm worried about you, and I don't think I'm the only one." Eddie steps closer to him and places his hands on Steve's shoulders gently.

Steve racks his brain. "How do you know something's wrong? Wait, what do you mean? I'm fine." Steve tries to shrug and Eddie levels him with a look. Steve feels his lungs shrinking again, and his eyes sting.

Eddie moves his hands up and down his arms a little. "Steve, you've been acting off for weeks. Flighty? You almost never sit next to me anymore. Basically the whole room conspired against you today. Is... did I do something? Did you," Eddie furrows his brows, and shakes his head, "did you, hear something about me?"

Steve shakes his head, very confused. He wasn't even actively avoiding sitting next to Eddie. How did he not notice he was doing that??? What else is he doing without noticing?

Eddie rubs his shoulders again. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Breathe for me. Slowly. Try to breathe."

Steve does try to breathe slower, and sinks to the floor. Eddie follows him, and talks to him as he tries to calm down.

"Stevie, you need to tell somebody what's going on so we can help you."

Steve shakes his head vehemently.

"Why not? I'm not going to force you, but. I'm not gonna judge you or anything. You're my friend, Steve."

Steve looks into Eddie's eyes and sees nothing but sincerity. He isn't sure what he'd see if he told him the truth.

"I don't think you wanna know," Steve says softly.

Eddie bites his lips and looks away for a second. "Are you scared?" Steve nods. Eddie looks back, nods, and looks away again.

"Look, Steve, if it makes you feel better, if you tell me the scary thing, then I'll tell you something scary, too." Eddie looks back at him, lip still between his teeth.

Steve feels something warm inside, and he smiles the tiniest bit. "You don't have to do that, Eds. I. I just," Steve takes a big breath. "I don't want you to hate me. Or be scared."

Eddie shakes his head and looks off into space again. "I kinda doubt my thing is the same as your thing, but either way. Steve, I don't think you can do anything to make me hate you. You're one of my best friends, Steve."

Steve isn't sure that's true, but he leans his head back against the wall. His breathing is more even now, and the tears have slowed. He thinks for a minute.

"I -" he closes his eyes, "I get these. These..." He tries to come up with how to word it. Eddie looks at him with the kindest eyes Steve's maybe ever seen, and he braces himself. "I get these words in my head?" Eddie tilts his head slightly, looking confused, but no less kind and patient. "Like. Someone is telling me to do something I don't want to do?"

Eddie's eyes widen. "Oh. Oh Steve. I'm so sorry. I, I think my aunt had something like that. Do you, do you see things sometimes? Things that other people don't see?"

Steve shakes his head again. He actually laughs a little in surprise.

"No! No, not like that. Not like, halucinations. Like. The thoughts are me. But they're not me? Like, they're the things that I would least ever actually want to do, but they just get stuck there? And they won't shut up? They're like, opposite thoughts. Like I think the opposite of the thing I want to do, and then I don't want to do it so badly but it still is just like stuck there repeating because I don't want to do it so badly?"

He looks at Eddie, who seems contemplative.

"Can I ask what the thoughts are about, Steve?"

He shakes his head.

"No. It's bad, Eddie. It's so weird, and gross. Like," he takes a big breath and continues, "they're about people getting hurt, Eds. People I care about. I just," he starts to cry again, looks at Eddie. "What if I do it on accident? What if I like. What if I hurt you, Eds? I don't want to; I'd never want to, but what if I did? On accident?"

He starts sobbing again. Steve feels Eddie's hands cup his cheeks, brushing away tears with his thumbs. He's honestly kind of surprised Eddie's still here. He probably shouldn't have said that much.

"Steve. I trust you. So much, Steve. I know you would never hurt me. And I can't say I know what's going on in your head, but I know you. You're Steve! You save people! You don't hurt them. And you won't hurt me."

Steve melts into Eddie's hands. He isn't sure Eddie's right, but he knows one thing. He cares about this man, so much.

"Thank you." He puts his hands on top of Eddie's. "Thank you, Eds." Eddie smiles at him, but looks close to tears himself.

"Did you, did you want to talk about it? Your thing?"

Eddie's smile falters. "I don't want to make it about me, but I suppose I did say I would. Do you want to hear it?"

Steve nods. "If you want to tell me."

Eddie nods. "Okay. Well." He closes his eyes. Nods again. "I'm gay, Steve."

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Oh my God." He's suddenly aware that their hands are still on his face. "Eds. I think I'm gay too."

Eddie's eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes.

Steve's not sure exactly what comes over him, but he leans forward and presses their lips together. Eddie kisses back.

They talk more about it, later. About the thoughts. Steve isn't exactly sure why, but just knowing that Eddie knows, and doesn't hate him, helps. And there are times when the thoughts are better, and the thoughts are worse. But knowing Eddie's on his side makes it a bit better.

~~~

Thanks for reading this!!! If anyone doesn't know a lot about OCD but is curious about Steve's presentation, here's some more info:

(He has Harm OCD, so you can also just google that, but this is a p thorough intro ^^)

[snailcubezz]

happy ocd week have . These

[mibkid]

It'll pass - A comic

Not really vent, it's hopeful. To me at least.

Content warning: non-specific intrusive thoughts and anxiety.

feel free to click on pics for better quality.

drawing my mess of a room was certainly something, got to work on screen/halftones and stuff!

Is this the right time? Maybe? I don't know. To be able to do anything at all in life please take care of your mental health; work, relationships, etc, depend on it. Life can't all be apathy and anxiety, i refuse that notion.

While this mainly is a comic about handling intrusive thoughts and ocd, i think this can be lent to all overwhelming despair as well. It serves as a reminder for me personally. But If you find some comfort, or maybe even recognition in these three pages, know you are strong and you aren't alone <3.

And to my friends, please take care of yourselves, no matter what that is for you <3.

[gin-juice-tonic]

today on "that was probably ocd"

remembering a time when I was little where my parents were out to dinner and my sister and i had a babysitter and a friend with us. At some point during the night I "realized" my toenails were too long, but I didn't know where the clippers were.

I ran off and hid in a corner somewhere and called my parents 20 times with the house phone and cried when they wouldnt pick up. Because I couldnt clip my toenails. Because something??? Bad would happen if I couldn't clip them

[the-kestrels-feather]

Harm OCD is great because it targets the thing you love more than anything in this world and suddenly you don't wanna be in the same room as your dog because you have intrusive thoughts about hurting her and it terrifies you

[holder-culture-is]

MASSIVE TW FOR MENTIONS OF DISEASE, PARASITES, AND OCD

——————————————————

OCD holder culture is extreme fear to the point I disrupt the entire system. We ate sushi tonight and now I am frontstuck terrified we are going to die of some kind of parasite or disease. To the point you are nauseous, crying, and barely holding on.

The worst part is reassurance just worsens OCD and makes the fear come back stronger. I feel so scared.

That sounds horrible omg. From one OCD system to another, you have my sympathy /gen. Hope you guys are okay now, that sucks :[

[turtletaubwrites]

I've got the bad brains sometimes, and I hope you don't mind. Please scroll by if you don't want to see a personal/mental health update/vent.

Medical leave is over, and I've noticed that with stress ramping up, my OCD symptoms are also flaring.

I had pretty much stopped using any form social media for the past few years because of OCD. I feel an intense pressure to make sure that every single thing I put out into the world is perfect, and won't hurt or offend anyone, to the point where I will ruminate and fixate over a single exclamation point in a text message for hours/days (and often just give up and decide to never interact again), etc.

I realized lately that since I started writing 4 months ago, I've been super afraid to read fics from my wonderful fellow writers if it involves characters I'm currently writing about because I'm terrified of accidentally stealing ideas. But now I'm feeling guilty that I haven't been as supportive and interactive as I should or want to be, and I don't know how to balance those conflicting feelings without seeming disingenuous. Plus, I'm still so terrified of stealing ideas, I'm not sure how to cope with that one yet.

I've also been feeling guilty because I've gained so many followers so quickly, and I know that it's only because I was on medical leave and hyperfixated on this, and wrote so many things so fast.

I'm trying to work through it, but unfortunately my ADHD diagnosis has prevented me from making a lot of progress since I had to drop my exposure response prevention therapy because I couldn't remember to do the things.

Not to mention the fact that the only reason I was able to start writing four months ago was because I had my first bipolar episode since being diagnosed and medicated for 3 years. The imposter syndrome monster has been growing stronger.

I'm sorry for the vent. I just really love it here. And I'm afraid with my symptoms acting up, I might get too freaked out to be seen by the world.

I'm afraid I'll get even more scared than I already am to try to make friends. I'm afraid I will question everything I write until I can't post a single thing. I'm afraid I'll disappear from here just like I have from so many other lovely places because of the weight that my brain puts on every action, every word, and every inaction, every single thing that I do that could be perceived by others.

Being here, writing, and sharing has meant so much to me, and it saved me during medical leave. Interacting with people here has been wonderful, and I wish I was comfortable enough to reach out more.

Thank you for reading this. I'm just fighting the OCD real bad right now, and I really don't want it to stop me from writing and being here with all of you.

(Posting this and not deleting it will be good ocd work. Just gotta not drive myself insane over it.)

(Come on Lynna, you've read and edited this too many times already. Just post it.)

[lesbianwyllravengard]

So funny to me when I'm explaining to my parents the habits I have that are a result of my spiralling anxiety and paranoia and my father goes "yeah I do that too, that's normal" as if we're not literally both diagnosed with OCD and our actions are very much not normal

[gynaephora]

i will really think there's no chance in the slightest i have ocd and then...

get extremely upset that someone reblogged a post (from me) a "weird number" of times

feel nauseous scrolling past an obviously jokey post saying the reader is obligated to do something nonserious

feel vaguely gross unless i check that i used the right number of exclamation points (it makes sense to me but i have been informed this is supposed to be a non issue)

like. hi?