#dissasociation tw

[mikka-minns]

Okay so im gonna share my headcanon on why kuai liang didnt react to hanzo's death with much emotion (this isnt a theory, and its the opposite of Canon, i Just need to cope. Fuck off nrs, u suck! Fuck Canon too!)

Kuai dissociated when Scorpion told him Hanzo is dead.

He couldn’t proces the Thought of losing another person he loved(platonicly or romanticly, your choice). He disconected from and questioned reality. Felt like what is happening isnt real. Didnt help that Hanzo's past self was right in front of him. And this happened to him so many times, losing people he scared about, ever since he was a small child, that he didnt know how he should feel. Should he be used to this? Cuz he sure wasnt.

He couldn’t belive Hanzo is realy dead for quite some time and when he couldn’t deny it anymore, it broke him.

Then he went to the netherrealm and found him and brought him back and they lived happily ever after

Source? Shut up, Let me be in denial and happy, please.😭

[crows-talking-place]

honestly the way chip reacts to other people's distress is actually super telling i cant lie

like when gillion gets upset about being lied to in ep 11, chip is affronted. offended. because with price never had the luxury of truth, he had to work out what was real and what was a game. he doesn't realise lying isn't usually part of a healthy relationship.

and llike. when ollie is possessed by the existential dread demons fighting ensa's house in ep 96, and is VERY CLEARLY not ok in the slightest, chip doesnt seem to understand. like at all. he takes this as a completely normal thing to happen. this tells us that he has not only experienced this before in some way, but also that he has ENOUGH experiences with completely shutting down that he sees this as Just Another Day.

i think we sometimes forget how fucked his past actually is

[thatkoiboi]

//WARNING: meltdown, dissociation, spiraling//

I'm proud of you and all your accomplishments! Everything will be okay <3

[gollldrush]

She tells herself that she can handle it, that it’s not that big of a deal. The initial pierce of the needle has her tensing, teeth sinking into the leather of the belt. A pained whine lets from her throat as Arthur pulls the needle and thread through her wound – every tug sending a shockwave of pain down her spine.

Flashes of light crowd her vision, and when she squeezes her eyes shut to center herself she immediately regrets it. The memories pile on her like a freight train; the smell of her blood makes it worse. There’s flashes of faces – the paramedic, Nick, that saved her life, talked her through the worst of it as his fingers dug around in her organs to clamp all the bleeders. Leo draws in a sharp gasp and then the belt loosens between her teeth and slips entirely from her mouth, plopping into the water.

Her body goes limp and slides down into the tub. Luckily the water isn’t high enough to submerge her face, especially with Arthur’s dissociated state. She’s out for a minute, as if her body needed time to adjust to the shock and pain. When she wakes back up its subtle, a moaning cry; arm twitching away from xem as she wipes tears from her eyes and drool from her mouth.

The searing pain in her arm has her biting at her other hand and whimpering pathetically. It feels like the process is drawing on forever. She’s afraid she might pass out again, especially with how roughly and loudly her teeth are chattering from the pain. A wave of relief crashes over her when xe says xe’s done.

“O…okay.” Her voice is shaking, head lolled to the opposite side so he can’t see the look of pain on her face. She heaves in a breath through her teeth. “Can… Can I just…” Her head slowly turns back to xem, tongue wetting her lips.

Xe looks so far away. She swallows hard, feet kicking at the opposite end of the tub to shove her back into a sitting position. Her body is fully shivering, the warmth of the water almost entirely gone. Her bloodied fingers twitch at him slightly, like she’s trying to reach for him, but her arm feels much too heavy to really move.

“Arthur… are you okay?” Her cheek rests on her knees that have pulled to her chest, watching him through half shut eyes. “…Babe?”

A low hum at the suggestion of locking Bandit out. She was right, obviously, he hadn't even thought about it. He wasn't used to thinking about a third living creature. A soft whistle as he clambours to his feet, leads the dog out of the room. "Platz. Bleib." The commands come out firmly, but simply, praising the dog when it follows the directions. They shut the door and lock it silently with Bandit on the other side before returning to Leo's side.

The clink! of the belt buckle hitting the tub causes Arthur to jump slightly, but he relaxes once he can situate himself beside her again. A drip of sweat runs down his temple, holding his breath for a moment as he just stares at the blood pooling from her arm now... A hard swallow, licking his lips to try and contain the saliva collecting at the front of his mouth. Eyes flicker up to meet hers again when she speaks, her voice breaking through the haze in the back of his mind.

"I love you too," he mumbles, already shifting their attention back to the task at hand. Once the belt in in her mouth, they nod. "I won't," they assure her a final time before reaching over, cleaning the spot again just to make sure...

"I'm starting now," they warn with a shaky breath. Needle punctures flesh. Everything in them shuts down in that moment, practically disassociating in the moment. They're unblinking, gently, but quickly, stitching up the gash in Leo's arm. There's not a single flinch in their features the whole time, not a moment that their gaze tears away from the wound. They chew the inside of their lip as if to try and self-soothe, though really they're entirely unaware of anything they're doing at this point. Blurred eyes flicker up briefly to check on her--make sure she was still conscious. And yet even if she wasn't, he would finish the job.

Blood stains his fingertip.

He licks it off without thinking, without speaking, without even a blink.

A final pull.

"Done."

[vixensofdeath]

every day it gets harder to live. I get out of bed and don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what I want or need. I simply do not exist.

[stargirlanthem]

every day, i feel less and less real ✶⋆.˚

[sarrowskulz]

I’m a disaster… I’m a fuck up… I’m a disappointment… I’m a disgrace… I’m a poor excuse of a person…

[gollldrush]

Leo swallows, leaning forward to press her hand on the shin of his shaking leg. She scratches up and down and makes sure to steady her breathing – keep her facial expressions neutral. 

“Hey, hey-“ A quick squeeze to their calf. “If it’s too much you don’t have to tell me.” 

The internal struggle was written all over their face. The way Arthur held themselves, the shame they carried. She scoots closer, listening. Close enough that if he decided to lean on her, he could. Her hand finds his and she twines their fingers together; silent, doing her best to be supportive.

A small laugh is given to her dramatic response to him being ready to eat. He had tried to be quick, but waking up was not exactly Arthur's strong suit. "Yeah, all right, I can handle that." He slipped on his shoes and snagged a pack of cigarettes before heading out behind Leo.

The drive was quiet, though Arthur did have a smoke while they went mostly to try and wake his brain up a little bit. It was a bit of a drive to find somewhere to get take out, but eventually they settled on something that served breakfast and lunch at this hour.

Once they were settled in the bed of the truck, Arthur took the chance to dig into his sandwich, though was surprised to find that Leo didn't immediately jump to eating. A sip of coffee, setting down the sandwich on the paper bag and grabbing a napkin. He nearly chokes on the coffee, though, when her question comes up mid-sip.

Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat, setting the styrofoam travel cup down and trying not to wince at the burnt feeling left on his tongue. A long pause, gathering his thoughts and opting to look away from Leo. His leg bounced anxiously at his side.

"Uhhh... My family?" He had wished she had just asked about his family, not what happened. Suddenly, his stomach was tied in a knot, sandwich left behind on the floor of the truck bed. "I was a teenager," they admitted quietly. They scratched absently at their forearm, avoiding Leo's gaze.

"14. I think..." Their tongue pressed against the inside of their cheek, looking up finally. Eyes squinted against the sunlight, brows furrowed in thought. Remembering was hard. He had done so well to push that nightmare to the back of his mind. Back where it only appeared in his worst nightmares.

"I...remember my older sister yelling at me. Shoving me. We were fighting over..." A light clearing of his throat, blinking. A flash of his sister's face. The anger. "I don't know...Sibling shit, I guess..." He was staring at the ground again, hands folded, arms resting against his knees, pulled up to his chest.

"I remember...My brother. Trying to stop me. Covering my mouth." Tension pulsed through their muscles. Another flash of a memory. The vision of his brother's hands on his shoulders. Teeth tearing into his fleshy palm.

"Blood. There was- there was blood. And then...it was like...like I couldn't stop myself." Silence. The words were caught in the back of his throat. "I ripped a chunk of his flesh off..." The screams echoed in his head and he closed his eyes again, hiding his face behind his hands. A sniffle. "And once I'd had that first bite, I--" They shook their head slowly. "Well, I just knew..." A long silence, trying to collect himself, but even his next words came out in a whimper. "I knew I couldn't stop it." He let out a heavy-weighted exhale, a single tear falling down his cheek. "My dad pinned me down then and I...Well, I was like a feral animal in a cage. I shoved him down the goddamned stairs..."

[bookmothic-dyke]

I think I have a depersonalization disorder. I should probably bring that up with my therapist next month.

I’d normally laugh after saying something like that. I’m not like upset, but I don’t feel like laughing at this realization.

That my brain coped with my trauma, by having me not be there. Taking me out of the narrative. Turning me into an reader of sorts, in my own life. For like a decade or so. A childhood as a non real observer. Disassociated. I can’t remember most of it.

And some days. When shit is bad in my brain, I slip back there. Into the fog. I’m still there. I still talk, learn, and create. But I’m not there. Not really. Memories blurred. Sat behind, a layer of narrative.

Fuck. Well, at least I have enough awareness and presence to realize this these days.

But still.

Fuck.

[godofautism]

Various blinkies and stamps I found (Part 4!)

First part: here

[thenightsystem]

sometimes self care is turning on youtube to pretend like youre doing something, then disassociating for an hour

-host

[murdcrofcrows]

"blame it on the el anhelo's famous concoctions, they could make a rabid dog purr like a kitten." raven had seen it first hand more times than they could count. they'd meant it in a good way, certainly. plenty of people would be easily intimidated by the green eyed giant they sat across from. he looked dangerous, like he would tear you apart piece by piece if you wronged him. perhaps with a smile. raven did not feel that danger though, in fact, their usual melancholic interior laced with a heavy dose of paranoia was subdued. this man did not scare them, he made them feel safe - strangely comforted. but why?

their leg bounced beneath the table, anything to distract from the increasing zaps sparking in their brain to remind them a memory was trying to formulate. you would think they'd be used to the electric shock therapy their brain gave itself every time they recognized a smell or a person or a word was said. nothing got easier where their brain was concerned. they've spent so many hours trying to write out the parts that come back and the dreams that play out like a cryptic auto-biography. along with the vague terrors that jolt them awake, leaving them drenched in a cold sweat, trembling like they were naked in the snow, and cheeks damp from forgotten tears. it was impossible to explain without the threat of being institutionalized. just like the way their pupils dilated when he said pigeon.

pigeon. they heard it again, but it wasn't in the man's voice it was someone younger calling them the name. a series of clips and scenes streamed behind the dark eyes that were seemingly blank, staring ahead at nothing in particular. - if I'm a pigeon than you're a duck, a dirty duck. - a dark haired, dirty child shouted back at a pale, blurry figure not much bigger than them. a friend? no he'd said it, a sibling, did they have a brother? - your family doesn't want you. - raven shook that one off, they knew that voice too well. it was getting easier to ignore. a chant followed. - donnie the duck. - "donnie the duck." raven muttered quietly as they broke out of the disassociated state.

"sorry," they cleared their throat and refocused on him. well aware they must look like a basket case. "peacock suits me, you're not wrong," at least outwardly, and it was taken as a compliment whether he meant it that way or not. "I have problems remembering things. i'm not sure if i have or had siblings - i suppose i had a mother and a father, right? i don't remember them." nails tapped in rhythmic fashion atop the table, a pattern meant to keep them calm another distraction for their broken, wandering mind.

"it may sound stupid and maybe it's an imagined thought, but i think someone called me pigeon before. they don't sound like you though, it was a child but so was i." they shrugged, expecting the inevitable 'you're crazy', they didn't even look alike. just tell me i'm out of my mind so i can take my leave and we won't see each other ever again. raven stared at their fingers, while they waited.

the problem with the kowalski siblings were, none of them looked particularly alike. due to, of course, the variation of dads between the three of them but, it meant that in a crowd, a face couldn't be picked out. seeing someone last as a child then an adult was completely different, donovan unable to see his middle sibling in the person sat across from them, talking. "nonchalant and broody? i am not nonchalant," there was a certain level of offense within donnie's voice, however, the drugs and alcohol coursing around his system made it difficult to really care. he'd come here to relax, and that's what he was attempting to do.

was he broody? donovan didn't think so but, was finding it particularly hard to focus. "raven?" they seemed important, why was raven important? it was simply the cocktail in his body, clouding sharp thought and ideas. slightly unfocused green eyes narrowed, the tall man so suddenly sitting upright and lean forwards to really scrutinize them - raven. their name was raven. a bird...a memory, from a hazy brain, you were 10. pigeon. you called them pigeon, when they didn't do what you asked, scabby pigeon, for not staying in their room. for complaining when dinner was bread and butter, when they had to wear donovan's hand-me-downs.

"i had...a sibling. raven, used to call them pigeon. though, between us, you look more like a peacock," it isn't meant as an offence, just an observation. "less like a raven,"

[miramilocamimira]

Mourning

For @z-eusie

Zeus remembers mourning. Back when he was young, just barely old enough for the nymphs and Kouretes to no longer be adequate protection. Back when Gaia no longer let Metis meet him, when the perils of war made him miss its absence.

It was a fact of life. Mortals and gods both weep and grieve.

He frowns as he watches the humans from Olympus. Everyone had scattered after the solstice meeting and he’d found his feet guiding him to the edge. He supposed the break would do him well, taking a moment to look out and breathe.

Everyone had been on edge since Apollo’s return from his quests. Always glancing at Zeus and keeping him in sight lest he turn them mortal as well. It felt a little ridiculous.

It’s not like all of them lost control of something like, oh who knows, Delphi and needed an excuse to fix their domain of prophecy?

It is not until he feels the warmth of his hands on either arm that he realizes they moved from his sides.

He’d come so close to losing two of his children in such a short span of time. The mortals down below start rushing indoors as rain begins to fall. He feels his chest rise and shakes as the air leaves.

“Brother?” He hears and his hands tighten their grip. He’d thought Hades had left with the rest of them. His jaw feels tight and his lips won’t move. He thinks Hades might be saying something but he can't hear it and he just wants him to go away.

It'd be easier, wouldn't it? If Hades would just leave. Or accuse him of being heartless as Hera had done. Of being uncaring or cruel because he does not mourn as she does.

Zeus knows she doesn't mean it. She’s just angry that they couldn't change Jason’s fate.

Just like with Sarpedon.

There's a distant sound. He knows it’s not thunder for he'd have felt it. Something presses into his cheek and he has to blink to refocus.

His brother is in front of him now- and he is kneeling, both hands reach out towards Zeus. He doesn't know how or when or why he ended up sitting down nor how Hades ended up like this.

His brother is still speaking- the sound he’d heard most likely and the hand not against his face is tugging at one of Zeus’ own.

The sky god lets his hand fall to Hades’ grasp and notes the gold around his nails. His other hand is the same way when he moves it from his arm and the stinging starts.

“Ha…des?” His own voice sounds foreign. Its hoarse. Scratchy and so unbelievably dry. He hadn't realized his mouth was so dry. His brother looks both relieved and concerned. “What… what are you doing?”

Zeus watches as dark eyes widen. Hades snatches his hand back and weirdly enough, there's red on it. It trails down his brothers hand and makes him so aware of how wet his face is.

“You wouldn't answer me. I called out and you just… stood there.” Hades’ voice shakes. “When I got up to you, your nails had cut into your skin and you were crying…”

“Blood?” He interrupts, adding in as much sarcasm he can muster. “Think I could score a horror movie role?” The elder god narrows his eyes and Zeus is all too observant of how the other’s hands clench.

“This is serious. You wouldn't respond, Zeus, you had to be dragged over here!” He feels his body stiffen as his brother raises his voice. Hades practically deflates at it. “I don't know what happened but I do know that you only cried blood once before.”

“Then you do know what happened.”

“That doesn't- its not-” The god gestures to Zeus and it is not really hard to figure out what he means. He doesn't have the words to describe it. He doesn't even know what it is anyways.

Hades doesn't look like he believes him when he says so.

A shame but Zeus doesn't speak again.

The silence is uncomfortable as he is now aware of each cut leaking ichor and his face grows sticky with blood. He wants Hades to move so he can get it off. However… his brother hasn't moved and keeps glancing between Zeus’ face and arms.

“Has this happened before?” Zeus nods. Hera was aware of it. As are Hebe and Ganymede. He doesn't think his wife would be very willing to help him right now and he doesn't want to bother her more while she’s grieving.

Ganymede freaks out everytime and makes it a much bigger deal than it is but Hebe… Hebe typically just makes sure they are both sitting and waits for him to come back. Sometimes she just talks and then he joins in or they sit in silence until she’s sure he’s okay.

He's tired. His body feels heavier than it should, the ichor and tears make him want to shower and be clean.

He can see Hades wants an answer. An actual one. He knows that his brother is going to want to talk this out.

He can't. He’s so exhausted that his eyes hurt.

“Hades please,” Zeus says when his brother opens his mouth again. “I don't know what it is. Yes its happened before. And no, I don't want to talk about it now.”

“Will you talk about it later then?”

It’s such a simple question. And he hates it. He has to talk, he knows. Hades wants- needs- no, deserves an answer as to why Zeus ended up scaring him.

And he did scare him. Its clear now, while he can think, from how Hades’ hands are still readied in case Zeus starts hurting himself again. From how his brother still hasn't moved and is still keeping his eyes on his own.

“I will, brother, just not now.” Hades stares and only moves to let Zeus up after he’s found whatever he's searched for.

Zeus waits until Hades leaves and falls back when he tries to stand. It takes a couple tried but when his legs are no longer weak, he heads to his room.

At least he’ll have a bit of peace before everything.

[sprinkleofquirk]

Rather than explain that I cannot have Asperger’s syndrome because that hasn’t been included in the DSM since 2013 since Hans Asperger was, among other things, a fucking Nazi, I used my ✨healthy coping mechanisms✨ (kinda) and made these 🙃

And I say ‘kinda’ because I don’t… exactly… remember? Making them? They just kinda… ✨appeared✨ and a few hours had passed

[vixensofdeath]

my life has just been a series of waiting to feel better and never being able to because someone or something happening. I’m tired of going two steps back every time I step forward. I just wish there were something out there for me, and if there is, I wish it’d come faster.

[incaensio]

her eyebrows furrow at the manner effie comes back to them and, for the first and possibly last time ever, katniss sees herself in her escort. she knows the look: the shell-shocked gaze, when your mind is elsewhere entirely and can barely be brought back. katniss' mind is always far away, so she has some practice returning to her own body, even if unwillingly, but effie who is always on the now, on the it's going to be a big big big day!, simply does not seem to be someone who has foul memories enough to feel trapped in them. what harm could have ever happened to her? for all katniss knows, she had eaten the car backfiring excuse during eleven and slept soundly through all of their troubles. but it's different, when you actually see a dead body, even if it's one brought up from "natural causes" (porter's official cause of death, not that katniss is innocent enough to buy it).

as effie snaps back and confirms her resentment towards katniss' lack of punctuality, however, the victor tenses, straightening her back in an impulse, practice of being scolded for slouching during those annoying five or six months until the wedding. "i'm sorry." she repeats, for good measure, once more without meaning. there are more important things than to adhere to time constricts, katniss means to say, but opts to bite her tongue; the week has been stressful as it is, for all involved, even effie trinket, who must have thought this year was going to be a breeze. "i thought you had it." the room, the prep meeting with chandler, she means. it's no excuse, but it also points out that katniss has realized that no, effie did not have it, and that something is off.

but before she can find words to probe further, effie is the one pressing on a wound, and katniss squints. "word of what gets around? my lateness ain't losin’ us sponsors. last i heard, they like my fire." her petulance, her disregard for what's proper, her rebellion, her sincerity — it had gotten her an eleven, the spotlight, the love of the capitol and beyond; katniss has no intention on bragging about that, not when it all makes her impossibly uncomfortable, but how small such a thing as being late feels in the grand scheme of things. it had to come from someone like effie trinket.

everything feels so quiet. she can't understand why or what it is, but it's like her ears are ringing all the time, muffled, as if she just left a loud environment in favor of a silent one -- which she never does. it's a thought that reminds effie of her parents' home, with her father's solemn ticking clock and her mother's impatient sighs. the eerie sobriety of a home that never welcomed any warmth. even for capitol citizens, they were dull; their curtains and their walls were a dark royal blue. to this day, effie keeps dark blue out of her looks.

she can fake it most of the time, that's what she's always been paid to do. the tug of her lips were a well-practiced mask that hardly ever faltered and hardly anyone could see through. no one ever looked closed enough to see the cracks, and she'd managed to patch them all up pretty quickly, anyway. but now, it feels harder. she feels herself -- regrettably, she thinks -- dull. it's about the worst thing effie trinket can be, but she can't pull herself out of it. like a cloud that hangs around her neck like the tragic version of a feathery boa, there is something clinging to her that she cannot shake. it's the body of porter burned into her eyelids, there every time she blinks. it's lifeless eyes and a limp hand on hers. it's the sound of her own horrified shriek that keeps replaying on the back of her mind.

she's pulled from her thoughts when a familiar voice calls and, uncharacteristically, she flinches as she looks up. effie re-situates herself. there's a plate of half-eaten food in front of her, as her hand mechanically makes the fork push around some potatoes. katniss hardly ever addresses her directly like this, certainly rarely ever calls her by name at all, effie notices it now. the question makes her sigh. "i'm not," she declares curtly. it's the truth, but it feels wrong to admit to it out loud. like she's baring too much of her chest open, a misstep on her usually so calculated dance. she backtracks, clears her throat, and gives the girl a dramatic roll of her eyes. "i mean, of course i am." the lie feels better on her tongue than the truth did. she should be mad. she wants to be mad.

but being mad feels fruitless, ridiculous even, at the face of everything else. she can see hazelle's name being reaped has affected them, she knows that gale boy -- however much she dislikes him -- is suffering and katniss, too. and porter is dead. someone who had just exchanged pleasantries with effie earlier that night. being mad about katniss being late feels like being angry at the sun for shining on, now. it's useless. but the mask stays on, and it fits more comfortably than her real skin, these days, so she puts on the act they all want from her. "i know you lot are worried, i understand that, but being on time is extremely important." a manicured hand fixes one of the pins holding her wig (purple, today) together. "word gets around and it sends a wrong message to sponsors, katniss. and we need them. for hazelle, too."