#hypersensitivity tw

[sicknessbysalem]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Twenty-Seven

@monthofsick | day twenty-seven: head [ache | pain | injury]

i feel like for as much as i mentioned how novak gets migraines (and how novak has seizured with his migraines), i havent really written a fic about novak having a migraine

tw emeto, migraine, hypersensitivity/overstimulation, seizure (at the end)

*author note: novak’s migraine/seizure relationship is based off my own irl experiences

As the sun rose over the sprawling football field, Novak found himself amidst the hustle and bustle of another day at Mavericks Stadium. Dressed in his customary coaching attire, he stood tall, a figure of authority amidst the sea of players clad in their team colors. Novak loved his team. He loved them when he played, and loved them differently now that he moved to coaching.

Today, however, the promise of a routine practice session was swiftly overshadowed by an ominous sensation creeping into Novak's consciousness. A flicker of light danced at the edge of his vision, like a warning sign. Novak had grown accustomed to these debilitating headaches, each one a relentless assault on his senses. It was always his vision before the pain. Then the pain. Then the fatigue. Then the nausea. Then, maybe the seizure.

As the minutes ticked by, the aura intensified, casting an eerie glow over the field. Novak's temples throbbed in rhythm with the pounding of his heart, his vision blurred by shimmering distortions. Every sound, every movement seemed amplified, a cacophony threatening to engulf him.

At a water break, he took a double dose of migraine medicine. But it had already been an hour before he knew it and the medicine was doing fuck all to help.

Novak gritted his teeth, swallowing down the bitter taste of frustration along with the ineffective medication. He knew all too well the futility of trying to stave off the inevitable onslaught of pain. It was a battle he fought time and time again, a battle he knew he couldn't win, but one he refused to surrender without a fight.

With a weary sigh, Novak forced himself back into the fray, his movements growing more sluggish with each passing moment. The players, engrossed in their drills, remained oblivious to their coach's silent struggle, their shouts and cheers a distant echo in Novak's throbbing ears.

As practice wore on, Novak's world began to narrow, his focus narrowing to a single, all-consuming thought: endure. Endure the pain, endure the nausea, endure the relentless assault on his senses until the final whistle blew and he could retreat to the sanctuary of solitude.

But even as he pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, Novak knew that this was not just about enduring the physical torment. It was about proving to himself, to his team, that he was more than just a victim of circumstance. He was a warrior, a survivor, determined to overcome whatever obstacles stood in his path.

And so, with every ounce of strength he could muster, Novak pressed on, his body screaming in protest with every step.

-

As Novak trudged through the door of his modest home, the weight of the day's exertions bore down upon him like a leaden shroud. The migraine, once a distant specter, now consumed his every thought, a relentless torment that refused to be ignored.

Yuliya greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes betraying a flicker of concern as she took in his haggard appearance. Beside her, Elya bounced with youthful exuberance, her laughter filling the air like a ray of sunshine amidst the gathering storm.

"Hi, Daddy!" Elya chirped, her voice tinged with excitement. "We're making cookies! Do you want to help?"

Novak forced a smile, her joy was a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him, but it made him happy.

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied, his voice strained with effort. "I'd love to."

As he joined them in the kitchen, Novak's senses were assaulted by a barrage of sights, sounds, and smells, each one magnified to agonizing proportions by the relentless onslaught of his migraine. The clatter of utensils, the sizzle of butter in the pan, the cloying scent of vanilla—all threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Yuliya, ever perceptive, watched him closely, her brow furrowing with concern as she noted the telltale signs of his distress.

"Novak," she said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "You're shaking. Why don't you go lie down for a bit? Elya and I can handle things here."

Novak opened his mouth to protest, but a sudden wave of nausea washed over him, leaving him weak and trembling. With a defeated sigh, he nodded, allowing Yuliya to guide him to the sanctuary of their bedroom. He didn't realize it, not at first, but Yuliya was right. He was in so much pain he was shaking.

"Daddy?" Elya asked, "Are you okay?"

Novak forced a reassuring smile, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest. "I'm fine, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "Just a little tired, that's all."

But Elya wasn't convinced. The furrow of concern deepened on her young brow as she watched her father with wide, worried eyes. "But you look sick, Daddy," she insisted, her voice tinged with fear.

Novak's heart ached at the sight of his daughter's distress, the weight of his own suffering compounded by the knowledge that he was causing her undue worry. With a shaky hand, he reached out, brushing a lock of hair away from her face.

"I promise, sweetheart, I'll be okay," he whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Sometimes Daddy's head just hurts a little, but it'll get better soon, I promise."

Elya nodded, though the uncertainty lingered in her gaze. She trusted her father implicitly, but she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her young heart.

Yuliya, ever the voice of reason, intervened once more, her gentle touch a soothing presence amidst the turmoil. "Why don't you finish up the cookies with me, sweetheart?" she suggested, her tone light and playful. "I bet Daddy will feel better once they're ready to eat."

Elya brightened at the prospect, the worry melting away from her features like morning mist beneath the sun. With a final glance at her father, she skipped off to join Yuliya in the kitchen, her laughter a welcome respite from the oppressive silence that had settled over the room.

Alone in the dimly lit bedroom, Novak allowed himself a moment of weakness, the weight of his pain pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket.He laid back, anxiously grabbing the bedsheets.

With a weary sigh, Novak closed his eyes, surrendering to the embrace of sleep as the world faded away around him, if only for a fleeting moment of respite amidst the chaos of his pain. For though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, he knew that as long as he had the love of his family, he would always find the strength to carry on.

-

As Novak stirred from his fitful slumber, a wave of agony washed over him, dragging him back into consciousness with a cruel, relentless force. Every nerve in his body seemed to scream in protest, his senses overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of pain.

Blinking against the harsh glare of the bedside lamp, Novak struggled to orient himself, his mind fogged by a haze of nausea and dizziness. Beside him, Yuliya sat in silent vigil, her fingers absentmindedly weaving through his hair as she read her book. This happened nightly. It was so normal. Novak always fell asleep before Yuliya. He was constantly exhausted, and his girlfriend was much like his daughter, constantly full of energy.

But instead of comfort, Novak found only torment in her touch. Each gentle stroke sent shockwaves of pain reverberating through his skull, his hypersensitive nerves recoiling from the slightest contact as though it were a branding iron against his skin. Her hand stopped, she must've gotten invested in the part of the book she was reading, but her small hand felt like bricks pressing against his head, making it hurt worse. He tried to tough it out for Yuliya's sake. But when she started running her fingers through his hair again, he couldn't take it.

"Yuliya," he gasped, his voice raw with agony. "Please... I can't..."

Yuliya's movements faltered, her eyes widening in alarm as she registered the anguish etched upon Novak's features. With a trembling hand, she withdrew, her touch hovering uncertainly in the air as she struggled to comprehend the depths of his suffering.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with remorse. "I didn't realize..."

But Novak shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips despite the pain. "It's not your fault," he rasped, his words a mere whisper against the oppressive silence of the room. "It's just... everything hurts."

And indeed it did. With each passing moment, the migraine tightened its grip upon Novak's body, a vice-like hold that left him gasping for breath. The nausea churned in the pit of his stomach, threatening to engulf him in a tidal wave of sickness.

"Did you take anything?" Yuliya questioned.

Novak forced himself to nod. Even that was killer. It always was.

"It did fuck all to help." Novak said through clenched teeth.

Yuliya sighed sadly, "That always happens to you. Especially after that game."

As the night wore on, Novak's torment intensified with each passing moment, the relentless onslaught of pain merciless in its ferocity. His head throbbed with a rhythm all its own, a relentless drumbeat that echoed through every fiber of his being, drowning out all other sensation.

With each shallow breath, Novak felt as though he were drowning in a sea of agony, his senses overwhelmed by the crushing weight of his affliction.

Every sound, every movement seemed magnified to excruciating proportions, a cacophony of torment that threatened to drive him to the brink of madness. The gentle rustle of the sheets against his skin felt like sandpaper against raw flesh, the soft hum of the air conditioner a shrill scream in the darkness. His own clothes felt like they were burning his skin. Everything felt so bad.

And through it all, Novak remained hyperaware of the world around him, his senses heightened to a painful degree. The cool touch of the pillow beneath his head sent shivers of agony down his spine, the faint scent of lavender, the spray Yuliya kept in her nightstand for specifically this reason, in the air a sickly-sweet reminder of the normalcy he could no longer grasp. When his headaches started, or when his anxiety was winning out those moments he felt alone enough to allow himself to deal with it. Yuliya put some of the spray on her hands and run her hands through his hair. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it didn't.

Beside him, Yuliya watched in silent anguish, her heart heavy with the weight of his suffering. She longed to offer comfort, to ease the burden that bore down upon him like a mountain of lead, but she knew that there was little she could do in the face of such relentless agony.

And then, just when Novak thought he could endure no more, the nausea struck with a vengeance, twisting his stomach into knots and leaving him gasping for breath. With a choked cry, he stumbled from the bed, his vision swimming with dizziness as he raced to the bathroom.

Barely making it to the toilet in time, Novak doubled over in a fit of dry heaves, his body wracked with spasms of pain. Each convulsion sent shockwaves of agony coursing through him, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of his suffering.

And as he lay there on the cold tile floor, his world reduced to a blur of pain and nausea, Novak couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could take this.

The bathroom walls seemed to close in around Novak, their stark white surfaces pressing in on him. Every tile, every crack in the grout, seemed to taunt him with their pristine perfection, a stark contrast to the chaos that raged within his own body.

The harsh fluorescent light overhead flickered and buzzed. Each flicker sent a jolt of pain lancing through Novak's skull, his hypersensitive nerves recoiling from the assault with a vengeance.

The air was thick with the acrid stench of bile and desperation. Each breath was a battle, a struggle against the suffocating weight of his own suffering.

The pain was intense. And every wave of pain made him vomit again. Every wave of vomit caused more pain. And the cycle felt like it went on forever.

Novak was hyperaware of the taste in his mouth. The acidic bitterness. The faint taste of the green tea he drank at practice before the headache happened, he never drank coffee. He was sure it would hurt and taste a lot worse if he did.

With a trembling hand, Novak reached out, gripping the edge of the porcelain sink with white-knuckled fingers. The cool touch of the ceramic offered a fleeting respite from the searing pain that consumed him. He shut off the light, hoping that maybe, just maybe, that would help. The migraine, relentless in its fury, showed no mercy, its tendrils creeping ever deeper into the recesses of his mind.

He leaned against the wall, sliding down, eventually laying down on the cold tile.

as he lay there on the cold tile floor, his body wracked with spasms of pain, Novak couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could endure. At the very least, how much more he could take before he had to suffer a seizure from the sheer overstimulation of everything.

Honestly, for as much as the seizures hurt, Novak was hoping one would happen sooner, rather than later. As he ran his hands over his face, the sensation feeling as though his face was coming off from the simple act of running his hands over his skin. But usually, seizures meant the migraine would let up. Like hitting the peak of a mountain and sliding straight down.

With each passing moment, Novak's desperation grew, his body a battleground where pain and exhaustion waged a relentless war. He clung to the fragile hope that relief would come, but with each agonizing second, that hope dimmed like a dying ember in the darkness.

Fumbling with the locket around his neck, Novak sought solace in the familiar weight of the pendant against his chest. It was a small comfort, but comforting nonetheless.

And then the door creaked open, revealing Yuliya's worried face peering into the dimly lit room. Her eyes widened in alarm as she took in the sight of Novak lying on the floor, his body trembling with the effort of his fight against the migraine.

"Novak," she breathed, her voice thick with concern. "Are you okay?"

Novak managed a weak nod, though the effort sent sparks of pain dancing behind his eyes.

"I'm trying," he whispered hoarsely, his words barely audible above the pounding of his own heartbeat.

Yuliya stepped into the room, her presence a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos. She knelt beside Novak, her touch gentle as she brushed a lock of hair away from his sweat-drenched brow. It was brief, she knew it would hurt him if she kept it up, but she couldn't help herself.

Both Novak and Yuliya's watches emitted a soft beep. Yuliya checked it, Novak didn't, Novak knew. Novak was at high risk of a seizure, the culmination of his body's desperate struggle against the onslaught of the migraine. This always happened when they got this bad.

A surge of panic gripped Yuliya's heart, but mingled with that fear was a strange sense of relief. For as much as the seizures hurt, Yuliya knew that for Novak, they also signaled the beginning of the end of the migraine, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

Yuliya reached, nudging Novak in such a way his body would reflexively lay on his side.

"It's going to be okay," she murmured, though whether it was meant for Novak or herself, she couldn't say. For a moment, Novak ran his fingers over his locket. But then, his hands stopped. Yuliya knew.

As Novak's body tensed with the onset of the seizure, a wave of helplessness washed over Yuliya, her heart aching at the sight of his suffering. She had seen it before, this cruel dance of agony and relief, and yet each time it struck, it felt like a fresh wound reopening in her soul.

Novak's muscles contracted with painful intensity, his limbs contorting in spasms of uncontrollable movement. It was a terrifying sight, one that never failed to fill Yuliya with a sense of dread, despite the knowledge that it was a necessary evil in Novak's battle against the migraine. Seizures were so normal, now, for Novak. And yet, they never stopped scaring her.

But even as she watched in silent anguish, Yuliya found solace in the knowledge that this too shall pass. For as the minutes stretched into eternity, the tension in Novak's body began to ebb, his muscles gradually relaxing as the seizure ran its course.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Novak lay still, his body limp and exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his pallid skin. Beside him, Yuliya let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of hair away from his face.

"It's over," she whispered, her voice thick with relief. "You're going to be okay."

Novak forced himself to nod.

"You're going to be okay," Yuliya said, rubbing Novak's shoulder. "It's over."

[mascula-sappho]

I have such sensory issues regarding taste and my mom blames me for being "unreasonable" about not eating and being super emotional about not being able to eat most food in the house. She's always blamed and attacked me for my hypersensitive senses, since I was a child. I was a "brat" and "spoiled" and "dramatic" for not wearing certain pants, and now I'm "unreasonable" because I cannot eat most food. She says I simply am trying to manipulate her into buying expensive restaurant food. She likes to paint me as manipulative a lot when I'm just a traumatized autistic person. Please tell me I'm not crazy. We get into huge fights about food now. Twice in the last two days even. I wish I never had to eat again and could subsist on air.

[walkthroughtheforest]

Lila's (and Tula's) grooming alarm is ringing. Is that too dark a thing to say? I guess being a teacher and attending so much safeguarding training means I can't switch off that part of my brain.

An adult taking a child off to one side and telling them they are special, and smarter than them and that they need them for a greater cause is and should be a cause for concern. It doesn't mean necessarily that there is something wrong, but it means there is something that needs to be shared and discussed with another trusted adult- just as Lila chose to do. An eye needs to be kept on the situation and the child needs to be protected from potential harm.

I have worked with particularly vulnerable children, so I've thought about these scenarios more than the average person, so maybe that's why it made me cry to see Lila do the exact right thing to keep herself safe. She knew she could trust her mum to believe her and take her seriously, and Tula believes her and questions and digs so gently without frightening her daughter. It's also important to note that she believes her even though they are talking about an adult and more importantly, someone who is part of their family and holds a position of authority.

I guess my reaction to the scenario took me by surprise, but also it's so important that we as a society, adults and children, learn how to recognise the signs of grooming, so I'm taking to opportunity to share my thoughts.

[jamierthanyou]

neurotypicals are so weird. like yeah im sorry that our voices and the scraping of cutlery are physically painful to you but unfortunately its rude to wear headphones at the table :/ yeah i know you can still hear us but it looks like you cant which is rude. its like you're blocking us out. why are you still pressing the issue. why are you being so difficult just take the headphones off before i take them off for you. why cant you just exhibit basic human decency. what do you mean im being ableist.

actually i said neurotypicals bc this post is specifically about spd/autism (both neurological disabilities) but ive never met a single disabled person who insisted i remove a sensory aid out of this all-important need for good manners. its too loud and it hurts. my pain is more important than these ridiculous, made-up social rules. stop clutching your pearls when an autistic person wears headphones to dinner. you're being rude to us.

[delete-the-kisses]

currently holding back tears because when i was 10 my mom bought me a dress with flowers on it. and i loved it, it was comfortable and nice and i fucking loved that dress. 

but i’d always been different from others, a shy girl who hates being perceived yet wants to be seen.

i rarely wore the dress. 

one day, my mom asked if i didn’t like the dress and i told her that it’s pretty but not my style. in reality i was scared of being judged by the girls at school for wearing something different.

she told me we could sell it. and it might not have been that big of a deal to her, but it was to me. she ordered similar dresses from the same store sometimes. she was so happy that we could match.

i still have the dress in my closet. it’s too small. sometimes i think about it and i burst into tears, just like i did the first time.

but it’s never just about the dress. it’s every time i’ve yelled to my mom when i’ve just been mad at myself. it’s every time i’ve skipped out on doing something with her to rot in bed because i’m too tired for anything. it’s every time i’ve lied about the marks on my wrists. it’s every time i’ve skipped dance class because i just feel too overwhelmed when i know how much it costs her.

i hate my mind and what it does to me. i hate feeling drained and overwhelmed all the time. i hate that i can never hold back tears. i hate that i’m overwhelmed by noises and people and every fucking thing and no one knows this side of me. 

with my friends, i just pretend i don’t care. i care way too much about everything and explaining this to anyone feels like too much to bear.

[just-deppressing-shit]

Have you ever just had to hurt yourself because you don't feel anything and you have to you have to make yourself feel something and have you ever just had to hurt yourself because it was the only thing that could distract you from feeling everything.

[linalibertine]

Yesterday was a breakthrough…

I am feeling awful since a few months already and it‘s building up an getting worse. My working place is bothering me and our apartment is super small and loaded with things and no opportunity to have real „alone time“.

So I just casually googled „jobs for people who feel a lot“.

I stumbled over the term „hypersensitive person“ and started reading about it.

I am 26 years old, was in therapy as a child and teenager multiple times, and you want to tell me I just accidentally found out wtf is happening to me ALL THIS TIME?!

I was flabbergasted. Suddenly I had an explanation for all the problems in my entire life that would leave me in riddles.

The misophonia, which didn‘t make a 100% sense because it would wary from day to day. Some days I wouldn‘t even hear the bothering sounds and on other days they were agonising and noises were bothering me that weren‘t part of it ever before?

Back when I worked as a hair stylist (it was awful there, true horror workplace) and I suddenly couldn‘t walk anymore because my left foot was in so much pain. I spent months going to every. single. doctor. and there was nothing! It was all psychosomatic probably and the hypersensitivity would explain that too!! That I felt so unwell at that workplace my body started making the foot pain up to keep me from going there ever again.

The panic attacks I‘m getting. Everything.

The more I keep thinking about it, things from my past keep popping up in my head that start making sense just now!! It feels good but it is so much to process right now.

And I learned something else yesterday. How miserable my skills are when it comes to regulating and working with my own emotions. I was never taught how to. How to center yourself, how to perceive your own body, recognising early alarm bells, self-management for allowing yourself to take breathing space.

I stand just at the beginning and I have a long journey ahead of me. But it feels kind of amazing.

[dirtycreekwater]

im so tired of being a stupid person. i can’t think clearly and i don’t understand how most things work and i say dumb shit all the time. like genuinely i don’t think its at all possible for there to be a person that is dumber than i am. and sometimes people just make me feel worse about it. so many random people online have been so fucking mean to me about my stupidity/ignorance with certain things :( and hell even if they are nice about it i know they pity me/still think im a total dumbass. its just not fair i already know im incredibly dumb i’ve been very clear about that :/

i feel even dumber crying and nearly panicking over this but here we are. im too damn sensitive. i really wish i didn’t care so much. i wish i could just be smarter. whole thing sucks.

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

Tintin needs to stop being a series where I want to rip my own heart out of my chest, set it on fire and die as a result of it because I already feel very keenly and intensely ever since I was a child and I don't need this series, and especially the 2011 film, to add to it. The things I enjoy shouldn't be causing me this much emotional pain every single fucking time.

[unlostwanderer]

[roses-and-snakes]

It’s stupid to get worked up over some headphones but they mean so much more to me. They are my noise-deafeners. They don’t allow any shrill noise that will make me cry and play cheery music, calming my nerves.

Maybe it’s cuz I am neurodivergent or just hypersensitive in general, but seeing my bluetooth headphones just break overnight made me cry from worry from this…

I hate being so sensitive…

[thegrimcaptain95]

Does anyone else with tactile hypersensitivity find it gets triggered when you see people touching things? Like lightly tapping or lightly touching phone screens? Or is that just me?

[toonyred]

good morning tumblr. I had a spider crawl across my neck and threw it across the room at 2am

[gay-emo-meow-meow]

I have hypersensitivity, it’s basically where my senses are higher then most others and I also have migraines all the time because your standard light in the house is as bright as the sun to me so I also wear sunglasses in house and am highly sensitive to light (and everything else) I’m so mad they just cured his thing away with pills.

But also his signs started showing in early season cuz like you would see him rub his eyes in the background and always carry sunglasses on him which I find it interesting that he showed signs early cuz like I know for fact he showed signs as early as season 3 which could have been mistaken for his addiction

Spencer Reid + Migraines

(Chronic pain as a metaphor for emotional baggage or emotional blocks in media)

TLDR; I hate it when media uses pain (especially irl chronic pain conditions) as a metaphor for emotional trauma and allows a character to be healed once they have gotten over their trauma.

So this is a rant I've had building up for a while now, especially because I've seen quite a few people on my dashboard talking about Maeve/the Maeve storyline, and how she was introduced to the show as Spencer's doctor who magically "cured" his headaches with vitamins? Apparently (I don't remember the details because I haven't seen those episodes in so long, but yikes).

I am a chronic pain sufferer and I have been formally diagnosed with chronic migraines. Because of a medication used to treat chronic migraines, I haven't had an attack in more than three years (save for one outlier).

Migraines are an intensely serious medical problem, and it's weird to me that Spencer was clearly having migraine attacks on the show and they didn't address it as it's own medical problem? They just acted like he was having some light headaches and needed to ignore it and get over the problem or "find the root cause" - aka stop being sad and then your brain will get better???

When I was originally watching the Season 6 episodes where Spencer starts struggling with his "headaches", I have never related to something more in my life. Especially because at that point in my life, I was still have 2 or 3 migraine attacks per month, and seeing him wearing sunglasses indoors, aggressively bouncing his leg to try and distract from the pain while sitting in a hospital waiting room, rubbing his eye sockets, flinching at the light - that was and sometimes still is my life.

When the doctors determined that he didn't have epilepsy, didn't have a tumor, etc. I was like "okay, so they're gonna treat him for migraines and acknowledge that migraines are a really detrimental chronic pain condition."

But no. They just have him the whole "idk. You're not dying so the pain must be cause you're like... sad."

And I totally understand Spencer not wanting to take medication because of his past with Dualdid, but there are so many non-narcotic options for pain treatment. Especially because his character is very into science, it would have been interesting to see him exploring alternative (very traditional) medicine like acupuncture or massage, while acknowledging his past drug addiction as a problem and saying that he doesn't want to relapse.

Hell, it would have even been nice for them to acknowledge that his caffeine addiction could have been affecting his headaches and for there to be a little subplot where he was super irritable because his doctor asked him to quit coffee to see if it made his headaches go away. (Because one of the first migraine treatments is quitting caffeine, chocolate, or alcohol - common trigger foods.)

But instead, the show presented his headaches as a physical presentation of his emotional pain. Which is something incredibly common for shows to do - the other example I can think of is Weeds. But in general I fucking hate the idea that chronic pain is just an embodiment of emotional trauma, and once you get over that emotional trauma, you are "cured". (Because it was narratively implied in the show that part of the reason Maeve was able to cure his headaches is because he was in love with her, not because of the weird pills she gave him.)

For once, I would like to see a show acknowledge chronic pain as a problem that is 100% out of the control of a person, and even though it's not life threatening, it still fucking sucks. And while it might be treatable, it is incurable. Like HELLO

Don't treat it like some emotional arc that the person has to get over and not a problem that people have to realistically battle for their whole lives. I HATE the metaphor that pain is just a manifestation of negative emotions and it will go away once you acknowledge your trauma or battle those negative emotions.

I so badly wanted them to acknowledge Spencer as a chronic migraine patient and treat him as such.

But anyway. That's it

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - period kinks, controlling behavior, LOTS of menstrual blood, and geto suguru (just, like, in general).

might just be my deranged little brain acting up, but i think geto would go absolutely feral when you're on your period.

his taste buds are bound to be a little fucked up after multiple decades of choking down curses, so when he gets a taste of your heady, sweet-tinged blood, he treats it like a fine wine. you'll spend all week on your back, your legs thrown over his shoulders and his face buried between your thighs as he happily eats you out for hour after hour, a mix of blood and slick and saliva dripping down his chin as he lethargically sucks and licks you far past the point of overstimulation. if he can convince you to sit on his face (at least until the first time you lose consciousness), even better. if it was up to him, the world you just be you, him, and your sweet pussy.

medication and heating pads are withheld because he's 'just so worried about the side-effects :('. if you want something for your cramps, you're going to have to either sit in his lap and warm his cock like a good little acolyte or, better yet, let him pump some ribbed, pulsing toy into your cunt and watch as orgasm after orgasm melt away any pain you might've felt. any time you complain that you have things to do that don't involve him playing with your pussy, he'll offer to knock you up and make it so that you don't have to worry about your period for a whole nine months :) you tend not to complain, after that.

it doesn't matter whether or not you're tracking your cycle, he's got it memorized. when he's at his worst (which is almost always), he might even conveniently ""forget"" to restock your supplies. he just thinks it's so cute when you get all embarrassed and teary-eyed, your voice shaking and your hands kneading at your stomach as you reluctantly ask him to run such a personal errand for you. he will, obviously, he'd do anything you asked him to, but he will absolutely might just drag his feet, use your discomfort as an excuse to haul you into a hot bath - but not before he takes it upon himself to clean you up with his tongue, to massage your aching chest with his big, calloused hands. if you're sore and hypersensitive, even better. he might take an extra few minutes just to watch you squirm.

tldr; geto suguru has a menstrual blood fetish and he's going to make it your problem. thank you for coming to my ted talk etc. etc.

[magnoliamyrrh]

that post about how traumatized people are expected to censor their own experiences reminds me of how when people with visible deformities or scarring post selfies, people will get mad at them and go “this could be triggering!! tw body horror!”

people need to develop a sense of shame for their own hypersensitivity and sheltered coddled lives. being shielded from the realities of other peoples lives is not a human right. if you dont wanna see scarred people then avoid looking at photos. if you dont wanna know about peoples life experiences don’t talk to them. I hate this shit so much. “You owe it to me to hide the evidence of your suffering because thinking about it makes me bummed out!!” I lived through the actual experience, I think you’ll survive witnessing the fact that I survived. jesus christ

sry for late reply but this is so damn real i still think abt this all the time. "i lived through the actual experience, i think you'll survive witnessing the fact that i survived" bars tbh. very well put into words