#i know that I have ed symptoms too and it's pretty fucked up

[rapidhighway]

idk, i know ed is common in people with adhd so it's probably a touchy subject to a lot of people, but I'm tired man

[ziracona]

The Darkness really is the best song in the show.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

things aren't the way you planned coming home with your newborn, but you have eddie there to lean on when things get hard (and an unlimited supply of 'munson-style' hugs). requested here. infatuated dad!eddie x mom!reader, 3k.

cw post partum recovery, reader is suffering from some symptoms of post partum depression

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"You're sure you can manage?" Wayne asks, his voice buzzing down the line.

Eddie peers out of the kitchen into the living room quietly. You're sitting on the sofa in a shape that can't be comfortable considering your recent stitches, the baby on your thighs where you've brought them together, your hands delicately posed on either side of his head. 

"I think so," Eddie says, answering Wayne's questions with honesty. "She's feeling a little better today." 

"It's hard, Eds. You take care of her and call me if you need help, okay? I'm proud of you. Both of you." 

It catches Eddie off guard for a moment. He's done enough crying lately, clearing his throat to say, "Thanks, Wayne. Call me tomorrow." 

"You call me, I don't wanna wake anyone if you're sleeping." 

They say their goodbyes. Eddie leans against the kitchen doorway to spy on you and the baby. Babies cry more than he ever could've imagined despite the warnings, but it's quiet, too. There are moments of peacefulness like this one breaking apart the chaos. 

You're whispering something. Eddie stands very still, wishing the dishwasher would magically silence itself. He strains to hear you. 

"I love you," you say. "Sorry I'm tired, honey. I promise I'll be better. You're so beautiful." 

Eddie bites his cheeks, wondering if his family (his family!) aim to make him cry and little else tonight. He gives himself a look in the mirror magnet on the fridge framed by a We Love Michigan border, rainbows and cute elk surrounding something less pretty. His hair is frizzy but that's nothing new, greasy at the top and dry at the bottom. He scrapes it back into a scrappy bun and wipes the oil from his face with his sleeves. He's in dire need of a shower. 

Resigned, he steps out of the kitchen, new socks slippery on old linoleum before finding stability on the crush of carpet in need of a vacuuming in the living room. You look up and bless him with a smile.

You've had a bad case of the baby blues, though the midwife assured him that was normal, and not to worry unless it continued past the first few weeks. 

Well, Eddie will worry. Any depression you experience breaks his heart, no matter the cause, and no matter how temporary it may be. Just 'cos a cut might heal doesn't mean it didn't hurt when you got it. 

"How do you feel?" he asks cautiously. 

You make a face that he knows precedes a lie. "Don't worry about me." 

He sits on the arm to look down at the baby —his baby, his son— in your hold, your face moving immediately to rest on his thigh. 

"I'm okay, teddy," you say.

"How about you?" he asks the baby, taking his hand gently. 

The baby doesn't open his eyes nor answer the question, well and truly asleep. 

"Do you think Charlie was the right name?" you ask, stroking his small face lightly. 

"If we hate it, we can just call him Wayne." 

Eddie's out of this world lucky that you'd liked the name and loved him enough to name the baby after his uncle. Charlie Wayne Munson, born six pounds and two ounces, the smallest baby they saw all week in Hawkins General. 

"He looks more like a Wayne than a Charlie," you say, rubbing your cheek into Eddie's sweatpants. 

"He's so fucking beautiful," Eddie says, getting his hand behind your shoulders. He gives your back a loving rub, up and down the whole stiff length of it. "Would you relax? Or tell me what's wrong? Please?" 

"Nothing's wrong… Look how perfect he is, I'd be a freak to act like something was wrong," you say, the exhale of your words warming his leg. 

Eddie rubs his hand up with a tad more roughness until the cinch between your shoulders has flattened. 

"You're having a biological reaction," Eddie says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. "Don't feel bad about feeling bad, sweetheart. This is a physical thing, that's all it is. You're not a freak for feeling wobbly." 

You relax even more, pad of your thumb swiping Charlie's smooth cheek. 

"Want me to make you feel better?" he asks.

"How?" 

"I'm not sure yet. I was thinking we'd make a list. Starting with a hug, quickly followed by something amazing to eat before Wayne wakes up." 

"Charlie," you correct with a small laugh.

"Is there a nickname for Charlie?" Eddie asks. "What are we gonna call him? Lee?"

"We'll think of something," you promise. 

Eddie isn't worried about it. He figures there's at least five years of nickname time to get one that sticks. For now, he has a list to make and things to do, and the first is making sure you're as well as you can be. He starts with the hug, pulling what you want for dinner from you one soft kiss to your temple at a time. Chicken pot pie? Ramen noodles with a fried egg on top? Sesame chicken? Triple cheeseburgers? 

You can't decide. Eddie chooses breakfast for dinner. It won't take long —he can fry the sausage, eggs, turkey bacon and toast in one pan. 

He keeps the door open to watch you, though nothing is actively wrong. You're deflated now rather than tense, petting and fawning over the baby as much as you can without waking him up.  

"Just as handsome as your dad," you say. 

It's a lovely sentiment but Charlie does not approve. He blinks awake, signified by your saccharine, "Hi, baby boy," followed by ten seconds of awe-filled cooing. Eddie's frying some bread in the pan but dinner can wait, he wants to see the baby with his eyes open again. 

By the time Eddie reaches the couch, he's crying. 

You move him carefully into a rock-a-bye hold and shush him. "It's alright," you say. 

"He sounds like you." 

"What?" you ask between shushes, hand tapping a slow and gentle rhythm into Charlie's swaddle. 

"He sounds like you when he cries," Eddie insists. 

Not your pained screams a few days ago nor your heart wrenching tears when you're feeling at your worst, but your hormonal sobbing. Like when you saw the commercial about the new 'shoplifters exposed' program on CBS that featured an old lady who stole a tangerine from the grocery store and got arrested despite her having alzheimers. She didn't mean to, Eddie, why would they make her cry like that? In fairness, it was a very upsetting commercial, but you cried for four hours, and for days afterward your eyes would well with tears and he'd know exactly what you were thinking of. 

"When you're on your period," he explains. "When you know you wouldn't usually cry." 

"You think so?" you ask. 

"I think the solution is the same, too." 

You nod your agreement. "He's hungry." 

You and Eddie feed the baby with varying levels of success. Charlie doesn't wanna latch even though it's a bottle teat, causing some confusion —is he not hungry? Is he cold? No, sweetheart, he's not cold, he's got two blankets and the thermostat's at 68 Fahrenheit. Maybe he needs a new diaper? You check. His diaper's clean. 

You're looking more and more defeated by the second. Eddie sits beside you to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. Babies are hard to look after, but he knows you'll both grow into it. You're exhausted from nine long months and a turbulent half day stint of pushing and crying and turning the bones in his hands into powder, your hormones are going crazy, and you're having a tough time. This won't be your forever feeling (though if it were to last, Eddie would stay at your side through that, too, that's not a question). 

"You know what else works when you're not feeling good?" Eddie asks, offering his arms. He isn't some muscled herculean shape, but when you hand Charlie over, his arms look strong. Capable. Holding Charlie feels just as perfect as holding you. "A Munson-style cuddle," he finishes, trying to speak to his wailing son in that same bubbly parentese you've started talking in. 

Eddie did a lot of talking to your bump while you were pregnant, but he was usually just trying to make you laugh. There were times where he'd lay with his nose against your hip and his arm under the bump, wondering about moments like this. What was the baby going to look like? What colour would his eyes be? What will it feel like to hold the baby in his arms? 

Charlie feels lighter than Eddie first prophesied. Small. He has eyes like yours rather than eyes like his and he couldn't love it more. 

Eddie takes the bottle when you offer it and sandwiches the baby to his chest. He doesn't want to condescend you, doesn't want to shoo you off, but Charlie's crying around the bottle and you look veritably miserably. 

"Do you wanna go and make sure the food isn't on the turn?" he asks. When he realised the baby wasn't going to go down easy again he put your plates on a baking sheet and put the oven on low to keep it warm. 

You hesitate. "Are you okay?" 

"I don't know. I think so, sweetheart. We're barely a room away, alright?" 

He's called you sweetheart more since the birth of your son than ever before, which is insane; Eddie's called you sweetheart likely twice a day since the day you met. That's a whole lot of sweethearts. 

With the baby's changing mood comes a change in the weather. Eddie pats his little back, a quiet thump thump thump, while rain lashes the closed windows. The baby finally decides he's hungry, and the mood turns from frenetic to ambient almost immediately. 

"You make sure you eat if you're hungry!" Eddie calls to you. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I think…" He drifts off, distracted by Charlie's long eyelashes, the way they skim under his eyes and the tiny noises he makes as he suckles. "Aw, baby," he murmurs, "good job. I knew you were hungry. You sounded just like your mom." He can't help grinning. Eddie is really talking to his kid right now, his real life baby. "You made her super emotional, but you're her whole world now. You're mine, too, obviously, but I'm cooler than this." He sighs. "No. I'm not. This is the coolest thing ever." 

"What do you think?" you ask softly. 

Eddie looks up. You're standing at the door, staring at them like they're made of sparkling diamond, every inch precious. 

"Right. I think that we're gonna have to start eating when we can. Wayne never had a baby, but he said I was bad enough as a teenager, and Steve said he's lucky if he gets to eat a hot meal some days." 

"Steve does have three," you say, frowning. "We really can't eat together anymore?" 

You ask like you're less bothered than you are. Like a gimmicky Oh, man. Eddie knows it hides a real worry, and right now he's trying to give you the world on a silver platter, so he dots a little kiss on Charlie's head and says warmly into his skin, "No, that's not true. You're going to be such a good kid, me and mom will be eating together all the time. Isn't that right?" 

Eddie looks at you with his head still tilted down. "I wanna eat together, okay? Everything's changing, but dinner doesn't have to. I just wanted you to eat 'cos you left half of your waffles at breakfast." 

"I can wait." 

"Then let's wait. You wanna come and hold him?" 

"No, he's settled. I don't wanna mess it up again." 

"You didn't," Eddie says, firm and sweet at once. "Sweetheart, come here. You didn't mess up, okay? I'm serious, come and sit with me." 

You hesitate in the way. You're still unsteady on your feet despite the few days you've had to recuperate. Though your hair is cleaner than his it certainly isn't clean, nor are the clothes you've pulled on. Eddie read up and asked around on what would be comfiest for you, debating nightgowns and silk pyjamas at length, but all you've wanted to wear is a hoodie you've had since you were a teenager and a pair of sweatpants with fraying cuffs. He loves it —you look like an adorable dork. 

Your stomach visibly churns. Eddie thinks you might chuck up, is already pulling the baby to his chest to place in the bassinet when you take a short, quiet gasp for air. 

"Sorry, I don't know why I feel so on and off. I know it's just hormones. I promise I feel happy– I feel happy–" You gesture an open palm toward him. "He's gorgeous, Eds, he's everything I wanted and so much more, I just– I just feel like crying and I don't know why," you confess, blinking to suppress tears, shifting your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. 

Eddie detests seeing you this uneasy, and he swoops in to correct it. 

"Come here," he says again, no hands free to hold out to you. He hopes his voice is inviting enough. 

You shrink into yourself. "I'm being weird." 

"I like when you're weird. I kind of love it. I don't think we'd be in the mess if I didn't love it." 

"It's a mess?" you ask. 

"It's perfect." 

You finally smile, creeping around the bassinet and the needlessly baby proofed coffee table to sit on the edge of the couch with him. Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

"Hear that? He knows you're here," Eddie murmurs, making room for you hopefully. 

You sidle up to his thigh and lean on his arm, careful not to knock his elbow. You watch Charlie drink his bottle for as long as there's milk left, two ounces knocked back like it's nothing. 

Eddie eases the teat from Charlie's lips carefully. With care but a clumsy imprecise manoeuvre, he lays Charlie down in the bassinet. He has a lot of hair for such a small baby, enough to stroke back from his forehead, soft under Eddie's fingertips. 

"He's really, really beautiful," Eddie says quietly. 

"I know," you say, an anxious hand on your cheek. "I can't believe something as good as him could come from someone like me." 

Eddie stands between your legs, resting a loving hand at the slope of your shoulder. "Why would you ever think something like that?" he asks, his voice as soft as it's ever been, but with a smile in case you don't want to talk about it any more. 

"He's… I'm just not…" 

Eddie gives you time. You've needed it ever since you went into labour, time to piece things together.

"I really thought I was ready," you say, looking up at him with a pinch between your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your face. You don't lean into it. "Alright, I'm going to talk for a little while, 'n' I know you won't agree with everything I'm saying but I need you to know that this is how I really feel, yeah? Buckle up." Eddie bends down, unafraid of embarrassing himself because it's you. "I know you think these feelings are your fault… that this is some failing, like you're–" He drops his voice to a whisper, "Like you're being a bad mom already, but it's not the truth." 

You startle at being read so easily. "Eds," you mumble. 

"We knew this might be how you felt afterward, the midwife talked and talked about baby blues and you said–" 

"I said I couldn't understand how I'd ever feel sad once he was born," you say, looking at his neck rather than his face. 

"And that's fine, you know? You're not a bad person for thinking it would be perfect and then changing your mind." 

"But he is perfect," you say. 

Eddie rubs your cheek. "He's perfect, but this is hard. Being a new mom with your stitches and your aching tummy and all the gross fluids–" 

You laugh through a groan, pressing your eye into his hand.

He leaps to keep it going. "This isn't how you expected to feel, but that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you feel like crying and don't feel fucking guilty about it, this sucks. You had to do the world's most tumultuous campaign for the last nine months and suddenly you're standing at the start of a new one that takes up, like, a gazillion pages with half health and an equally useless companion." 

Your lips press into a thin line, but your eyes are soft and bright despite their obvious fatigue. You bracelet his wrist with your fingers and push his hand further into your cheek. 

"My dork," you murmur. 

"You understand it, don't you? Makes you an even bigger dork."

You nudge your nose into his palm. "I understand. Thank you, honey." 

Eddie's not done. "You said you don't know how something good like him could come from someone like you? I don't think bad was a possibility." 

Your second thank you is better. The first wasn't inauthentic, but this one sounds as though you genuinely believe him. Eddie bows down into a crouch to wrap his arms around you, the majority of his weight on your shoulders and avoiding your sore lower region, and the entirety of his love pressed to your cheek, a long, mindless kiss. 

"I love you," you say. 

Eddie tucks his head against yours, ignoring his protesting knees. "I love you, too." 

Your food turns to dry mulch by the time you remember it in the oven. You're too distracted by Eddie's hug, his offering for a shoulder massage, and the subsequent second hug that ensues, your back to his chest, dozing in the sanctuary of his arms. Munson-style cuddles are his expertise.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you for reading!

[inkskinned]

im gonna start a fight; and, at the same time, i need you to take this in the most good-faith way possible, but:

videos that involve body-checking and intentionally (and uncritically) show a mealplan of an unhealthy number of calories are just a revamped version of pro-ana food diaries.

and yeah, i know there's arguments. i address some of them under the cut. but at the end of the day, we're just coming back to romanticizing mental illness; we've just found a better platform for it.

this is already something we've done. we knew it was wrong and tried to stop it. and tbh. it just wasn't enough.

there are people who argue "well, what if you have an eating disorder, you can't help it if you don't eat!" except that as someone with an ED; we are not infants. we know what we're doing. part of having an ED is that you are like, maybe too self-aware. even if we can't help our own food choices, we don't need to fucking romanticize the disorder - something we've been warning you about since 2013. there are hours of setup, filming, and editing that go into these videos. they do not happen to fall into place randomly. there is a reason they are pieced together to be beautiful, bright, inspiring.

there's this woman who pretty much only posts daily plans under a normal amount of calories, and everyone defends her saying but it's better than nothing! and i'm like. except she opens those with images of her showing off her body and provides no context in the video or caption that suggests that she believes what she's doing is unhealthy. she has hundreds of thousands of followers on a platform designed for young kids and teens. i refuse to believe that by accident her content just happens to be cheery advice on "healthy" versions of starving.

for any other symptom of mental illness, we would be incredibly enraged by this kind of placid acceptance of a "tips and tricks" fast-start guide. imagine if people posted pink & pretty videos saying "best places to cut yourself" as if it was a fucking storytime. we, as a society, are so fucking fatphobic that we would rather accept blatantly harmful displays of self harm than admit that we are obsessed with a hyper-thin body type.

i am not suggesting someone never talks about their disorder. i talk about mine. actually, it's a plot point in my book.

here's the difference: i recognize it's a fucking mental illness. i am very careful to never mention a specific weight, eating pattern, or calorie plan. i always make sure to position it as something that ruined my fucking life. i do not put cheery music in the background and hearts and sparkles over my worst moments. i do not film it in bright light. i do not start each passage with an image of a thin body followed by "here's how to look like her."

eating disorders should not be framed as aspirational. and the problem is that society worships the "after" image, so long as you don't get too sick. there is a reason so many people who quit being "influencers" will later admit - i wasn't eating well that whole time; an obsession with food was completely destroying my life.

we let any uncredited, uncertified person write the most backwards, fucked up shit about how to get the body you desire! because the underlying, secret belief is: well, at least they're thin! and the real thing that fucking gets me each time - they make fucking money off of it. their irresponsibility and societal harm literally pays off for them.

"why do you care so much." "don't like it don't look." "so what if people experiment with new ways of thinking of food?"

thank you for asking. we're about to get extremely personal. it's because when i was 18 i discovered "thinspiration"/"thinspo." and it absolutely influenced, shaped, and codified my pre-existing eating disorder. i went from having some troubling habits and traits to being incredibly unwell within what felt like a matter of days. there were actual pages designed to train me on how to have an ED correctly. it was all so suddenly easy. i was sick; and the nature of the illness meant - i wanted to be sicker.

it takes an average of 7 years for a person to fully recover. i know this personally - even now, 10 years from the worst of it, i still fucking struggle. i am so much happier now and i eat what i want and i literally don't think about food at all (19 year old me would shudder) and yet - i still fucking know the calories of plain toast with butter.

an eating disorder is one of the deadliest types of mental illness. over 1 in 4 people with an ED will attempt suicide.

and i'm sorry. i just do not see the exchange rate of "high rate of engagement" versus "the value of a human life."

[ghostr0tz]

You mentioned Vel headcanons in your val disability hc post? 👀👀 Pretty please elaborate <3

sorry this took so long to answer anon than it should have,,,, but I finally have the spoons AND motivation to do Velvette yayyy yippeee !!!!

Velvette disability headcanons lets goooooo!!!!!

I said in this headcanon post that I felt like Velvette was the most able-bodied of the Vees, which i DO still think, But its been a month or so and I've done a bit of thinking over her

I feel like regarding physically, I could see her being hypermobile! LIke Vox, because I headcanon them both with ball joints and kinda weird anatomy but hers is a bit more doll-like obviously. I don't think hers would give her as much pain though, as I feel like she manifested in Hell like that (and I feel like Vox has them via upgrades)

Digging more into that, I could see her having EDS like how I said I could see Vox with it, but with less of the joint and hypermobile pain and more metabolic and muscle-related side of things!

Ex: I feel like she struggles with maintaining muscle and weight, which is a struggle to deal with considering how much of her personality is curated to online spaces and looking perfect, so she tries to stay on top of it!

Velvette only gets as annoyed as she does about Vox or Valentino not caring for themselves because how intense her physical symptoms can get if she doesnt keep up. And also theyre idiots for not listening to their body's alarm signals.

Hoard of snacks everywhere. I know she stockpiles snacks but also just supplies in general. just in case,,

I also feel she's hard of hearing! Maybe not TERRIBLE hearing while alive, but maybe her death spiked the damage? I love thinking about a sinner's death impacting their life in Hell!!!

Vox designed her hearing aids, which she admittedly doesn't use TOO often, mostly because she forgets and also tends to break them when she gets frustrated with them..

Vox gets annoyed about how often he has to fix them but he'll repair them anyways. ONLY because its her and she'll yell at him over them even if she doesn't really want to wear them in that instance

I don't feel like Velvette would get self-conscious over wearing them or posting involved with wearing her hearing aids because shes that #bitch and fuck you stay mad they were designed just for her <333

This one was a little short I apologize but the ask has been sitting in my inbox too long. ALL JUST HEADCANONS DONT TAKE THESE TOO SERIOUSLY OKAYBYE

[gabessquishytum]

Hello, I’m the damsel fantasy anon, I love the no sex-ed virgin dream au, particularly the pregnancy stuff, thought I’d turn it around with Hob instead being the one to get knocked up: Hob’s pretty careful with his birth control and making sure Dream wears condoms, but he decides to ask Dream one night if he’s comfortable forgoing the condom, just this once, he wants to feel Dream cum inside him, and it turns out the stars aligned that night for his birth control to fail.

Dream knows in theory that condoms were for preventing pregnancy, because Hob explained all this to him one of the few times he taught Dream about sex through discussion instead of a hands-on demonstration, but Hob was accidentally a little vague about how it applied to him, so Dream thought the two of them only used condoms for std prevention or for the nebulous “safe sex” or something. He genuinely didn’t think he could get Hob pregnant despite Hob having a pussy, because they’re still both men (learning this reasoning later, Hob has no choice but to kiss him senseless)

So when Hob starts experiencing morning sickness and other symptoms, pregnancy is the last thing on Dream’s mind as he fusses over his sick boyfriend, and he straight up bluescreens when Hob sheepishly shows him a positive pregnancy test. When he reboots (and understands that this is in fact a thing (and after Hob kisses the shit out of him)) Dream is GLUED to Hob’s side, dedicating himself to waiting on him hand and foot, constantly staring at Hob’s growing belly with awe and wonder. Feeling the baby kick is a religious experience, that’s an entire baby in there! Dream and Hob’s baby! Dream manage to put a baby in Hob!

(The pregnancy sex is a whole other revelation, seeing Hob’s changing body day-by-day, the constant reminder that Dream managed to knock him up, oh hello breeding kink nice to meet you)

(If no one minds, is 🪽anon free to take?)

Dream being trans ally icon of the year while also being the most adorably clueless bastard ever? I love it, I'm kissing it. You are so welcome to be 🪽 anon!

Imagine how nervous poor Hob would be! He's not 100% sure that Dream wants to be with him longterm, and with a baby in the middle it's all about to get so complicated. Plus Hob doesn't really have a big family to support him. But he decides to keep the kid either way, and just hope that Dream is on board too.

First Dream is like "How? You're a boy?" And Hob cries a bit and kisses him and tries to explain as much as he can that he still has all the equipment for making a baby. That they have, in fact, made a baby. That he really really wants Dream to come to the first midwife appointment because he wants them to do this together.

And for Dream it's not even a question! There's nothing that's going to stop him from staying by Hob’s side. They're boyfriends, right? They'll get through the pregnancy together and when the baby comes they'll make it all work out, somehow. He kisses Hob’s belly (which Hob thought was so cringy when he saw other people do it but now he just melts).

On Hob’s masculine frame, his belly starts to pop rather quickly. Within a few short weeks his t-shirts are riding up and he has to slink off to the shops and buy a size up. Dream is unashamedly obsessed with the bump and if Hob isn't touching it (He gets this cute habit of resting his hand on his belly) then Dream is instead. Hob dresses in dungarees and big t-shirts, but also leggings and crop tops, because the summer heat is really starting to get to him. Dream buys him the most expensive frappes that he's craving all the time now, and makes him ice packs and gives him ankle rubs.

He also just goes ahead and buys an anatomy book. It's probably time that he should learn about his own body (and Hob’s) before any further happy accidents occur. And Hob definitely still seems interested in Dream’s dick despite all the trouble it's caused! His favourite thing is lying on his side while Dream fucks him from behind, hands cupped around Hob’s belly to keep him from slipping into an uncomfortable position. He can even fall asleep with Dream rocking into him, and claims that its the only time he feels comfortable.

The day when Dream refers to himself as "daddy" for the first time is also the day when Hob's cunt finally leaks through his underwear. Its kind of mortifying for him to explain to Dream that no, his water didn't break, he's just really that horny.

[cookinguptales]

in the continuing adventures of "body, please be normal" I've been dealing with pretty awful GI symptoms for the past month, and they have finally resolved themselves in a frankly bewildering fashion.

it feels gross to talk about, but I guess it was other people being gross and talking about their own symptoms that helped me figure out what was going wrong with me so like. maybe this will help someone else.

(cut for talk about medical issues, particularly gerd, endometriosis, and mcas)

Now... I've been dealing with pretty severe acid reflux for several years now. It seems to be attached to hormonal changes in the body because it flares up when I'm on any kind of hormonal medication (including birth control) or my period is approaching. It tends to manifest in ENT symptoms because the acid gets up into my sinuses and it's a whole fucking mess.

(Best guess is that it's related to the endometriosis and potential internal scarring, but the docs are REALLY hesitant to open me up to see the extent of the scarring because the EDS means that I heal poorly.)

Since I came off hormonal birth control, it hasn't been nearly as bad. I used to have to take fairly high doses of omeprazole at all times, but now it seems to be sufficient to take small doses of famotidine when it flares once a month.

That said! It's been flaring more often and worse since late last year, and I've been experiencing a particularly bad flare that's lasted for about a month now. Not to be too graphic, but I've had pretty severe burns in my mouth and pretty extensive oral bleeding. It's been... not fun!

(plus other GI issues, but they've been relatively mild compared to the... blood...)

I've been taking both omeprazole and famotidine, my usuals, but it's barely made a dent in it. I have been, safe to say, In Hell, but I wasn't able to get an appointment with a doctor until late May so I've just been kind of putting up with it.

Yesterday I really wanted to go to a street festival and I was like... okay, who knows if I'll be able to eat anything because even broth and oatmeal have been making me sick, but we'll give it a try. And I took some allergy medicine because it's spring and -- it went away. All my symptoms went away.

I AM... BEWILDERED... but yeah like I took the allergy meds and my symptoms went from 90% down to like... maybe 10%. Not perfect, but very bearable. And when I took my acid reflux meds, it actually got a little worse...?

So today I am off all reflux medications and on quite a bit of allegra and I feel almost fine. I am incredibly bewildered. All I can figure is that this time, as opposed to my regular flares, things were caused by some kind of allergic reaction...? I'm not sure to what, as I haven't really done anything differently lately, but I guess it could just be environmental.

I googled and Dr. Google says that acid reflux can be triggered by allergies, which has me back in the "wait, is MCAS a thing that's been ruining my life??" place. It's a diagnosis that my doctors have been toying with, but I've never worried about it too much compared to the others. But I guess the GI issues I've been experiencing aren't too unusual to MCAS, where your body has weird heightened allergic reactions to a lot of things, so like. orz

I guess I have been so allergic to the universe that my body was trying to literally eat itself.

I'm still going to go to the GI doc in a few weeks and see what they have to say but like. I guess I just keep mainlining allegra for now. It's a thing I'll have to be careful with (allergy meds give me eye problems, so I guess I'll be doing eye drops 10x a day again) but it's better than the life I've been living! :')

I guess I'm just happy that I've found some kind of solution but like. jesus christ. what the heck.

[shearmouth]

Just a little rant bc it's been bothering me for days and I figure there's some people on this hellsite who know exactly what I'm talking about.

I have h-EDS. I'm lucky– it's mild to moderate compared to what some zebras deal with. I can work, I can do most of the things I enjoy, even though I pay for them in extra pain every time. I don't consider myself disabled. I have a connective tissue disorder that leaves me in low-level pain pretty much all the time, and restful nights of sleep are rare because of sleep apnea and TMJ strain so bad I've broken teeth and sprained my jaw in the night, and generally my noodle ligaments make life hell, but I have been able to retain pretty much all of my function. For that I am intensely grateful, and I try not to be frozen with terror at what the future may hold.

I work a highly physical job. It keeps me strong but it's hard on the body, and I'm working on transitioning to a more balanced work life. I'm a stablehand at a high-end horse boarding facility. Some of the horses there are worth half a mil on the hoof. The board bill per month for the nicer barn is more than double my rent. People there own tack that's worth more than I make in a year.

I try not to be bitter, but as someone who works 2.5 jobs and often does 5 hour walking tours on one of those jobs after working 10 hours in the roaring southern summer heat on the other, and someone who's longed for her own horse and financial security her entire life, it gets to me sometimes. When these women roll up in their BMWs and their $300 Free Ride britches like it's chump change to them, and I'm starting to limp because I've walked 10 miles already today and lifted 400lbs worth of shit as I clean up after their horses for $17.15 an hour.

One of those women commented on my knee the other day. When I woke up, it hurt. I thrash in my sleep a lot so I probably pranged it. I taped it because it hurt.

She asked how I hurt it. I waved it off and said "Oh, I have a joint disorder" like I always do in surface-level interactions because I find it's the simplest way to sum up the most obvious symptoms of h-EDS.

That's all I said. In return, she told me flippntly, "Oh, you have a lot of joints so you have a lot to look forward to. Welcome to life. You're active, at least, so that will help."

I walked away. I had work to do, unlike her, and if I said what I wanted to, I'd get a word from my higher-ups, though they would probably agree with me. One of the drawbacks of charging 2k a month in board–we have to kiss ass to these people often.

I walked away. She walked back to her pair of $50,000 imported warmbloods, oblivious to how I told her to fuck herself under my breath, because how dare she. How dare she tell me "welcome to life" like she had any fucking clue about mine. That I lose more than half my paycheck to rent and medical copays. That I subluxated my shoulder the worst I ever have when I reached into my locker a few months ago. That I can't afford the kind of treatment that would significantly reduce my daily pain because I don't have the kind of money she does. That I grapple all the time with what life may look like when I'm 30, 40, 50– how I may have deteriorated by then, how I may have to heavily modify the things I love, if not lose them entirely, to this disorder I was born with.

Yet here I am, working 10 hours in 90 degree southern heat on a taped-up knee, because it's how I survive. Because it's how I keep a roof over my head. I don't know her life either–maybe there was a time when she had to struggle too. But she sure as shit isn't now, not in the way I do, and in that moment I viscerally hated her for trivializing my pain like that. My stark reality– that every day, on some level, is a fight. That it could get worse, and it probably will, and I'll need to adjust again and again and again and pray that I don't lose what I love. And on some level I still hate her for it.

So fuck her and fuck all of them– the people who tell you "welcome to life." That you're too young to have a bad back or who tell you to "just stop doing that" when you tell them that "that" hurts. Who try to wave it off like it's a minor inconvenience, like the throbbing at the base of my skull and behind my eyes that makes me curl up and cry is no more worthy of attention than a parking ticket.

It's not trivial. It's not inconvenient. It's just "just life." It's my life, and it contains battles won and lost that she had no concept of, and lacked the mental flexibility to even imagine.

So fuck her. Fuck all of them.

[pollencoveredman]

written in pain, written in awe

(cw: mentions of covid, mentions of ED)

“dennis?” mac whispers, craning his head around the half-open door of dennis’s hospital room. “den, you awake, man?”

dennis lifts his head from his pillow and rubs his eyes, yawning. “hey,” he mumbles as mac sits down next to his bed. the lights are off, but through the crack of light coming through the curtains, mac can tell how pale he is. “what… what are you doing here?”

“oh, i work here,” mac deadpans. “coming to see you, dumbass, what d’you think?”

dennis rolls his eyes and sits up, turning the light on next to him. he winces as the room turns bright white, shielding his eyes with a shaky hand. 

“you good?”

“yeah, yeah, just…” he trails off, blinking slowly. “christ, i feel awful.”

mac frowns. “yeah, you sound pretty rough. but at least you’re okay, right? i mean, when dee told me what happened, i was so scared, dude, she made it sound like you died.” he shakes his head, eyes wide as he takes a deep breath. “i’m just glad you’re alive.”

“yeah. guess so.”

“that sheep wool really got to you, huh?” mac jokes, smiling weakly. 

dennis feigns a laugh. he admits it’s a little funny, but he doesn’t want to be laughing at any of mac’s jokes right now. he doesn’t want to encourage him. he’s mad at him. he’s mad at him for not caring enough, for not dropping everything the minute he started showing symptoms of covid, for calling him an idiot for not getting vaxxed (though dennis admits, now, he wasn’t wrong). 

for not being there.

“hey, den, i’m sorry i was a dick before,” mac blurts out, as if he could read his mind. “i was all caught up in being a priest and stuff, i didn’t realise how sick you were and if i knew i totally would’ve come and helped out— i mean, not too much, ‘cause i got shit to do, y’know, and i don’t want all your germs, but—”

“quiet,” dennis groans, pulling the covers up to his nose. “head hurts. stop talking.”

mac blinks. “oh. sorry, man.” he does this a lot. he feels bad about something, tries to apologise, starts rambling, inevitably makes things worse. “i can go, if you want.”

“no, no, stay here,” dennis says hurriedly, voice suddenly thick with desperation. god, how hard is it for mac to understand? he needs him here. just like always. 

“okay, okay, calm down, dude. god.” he catches himself and quickly clasps his hands together, looking up to the ceiling. “sorry, father.”

“thanks for—” he breaks off into a coughing fit, doubling over as he clutches his chest. mac lays a hand on his shoulder, holding him firmly while he waits for it to subside. 

“oh, jesus,” dennis says breathlessly. “thanks for coming here, man.”

mac grimaces. “yeah, of course. that cough sounds nasty, dude,” he comments, his voice a mix of concern and disgust. “you need some water?”

“no, i’m good, it’s just…” he breathes in deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “just really painful. feels like i swallowed a foghorn.”

there’s an awkward silence, bar the sound of dennis’s laboured breathing, as mac runs his hand up and down his back. 

“you can stop touching me now,” dennis mumbles, sniffling. “don’t want you to catch my covid.”

“catch your covid? i don’t know if that’s grammatically correct, den.” mac laughs a little at the sight of dennis rolling his eyes and flopping back down into his bed. “besides, i’m not gonna catch it. i have the power of god on my side; he’ll protect me.”

“sure, asshole,” dennis sighs. “just don’t be an idiot.”

“says the guy who didn’t get vaccinated and then denied he had anything wrong with him until he nearly died.”

dennis groans weakly, triggering another cough and muffling it into his pillow.

“dude, cover your mouth; you’re gonna get all your germs everywhere.” mac chastises. “dee told me some other stuff that happened as well. but i’ll spare you the embarrassment for now.”

“she told you?” dennis says incredulously, sitting up a little too fast. he clutches his head as he feels the room start to spin, tears pricking at his eyes. “oh, fuck… oh, that goddamn bitch. that goddamn bitch.”

mac lays a hand on his knee, patting it awkwardly. “hey, c’mon, lay back down. you look awful, man.” 

dennis glares at him, but obliges anyway. he knows he looks awful. he knows he’s white as a sheet, he knows his hair’s sticking up in all the wrong places, he knows how red his eyes are. he doesn’t need to be told that, to feel even worse about the way he looks when he’s already feeling like this stupid hospital bed should just open up and swallow him whole. 

“den, have you, um… have you eaten today?” mac asks gently. he wants to cry when dennis shakes his head. he knows he shouldn’t be surprised; dennis never has an appetite most of the time, let alone when he’s sick, but he thinks this stupid irish hospital should at least know to keep a better eye on him. 

it’s not like they haven’t tried. they’ve brought him various plates of disgusting hospital food, telling him he needs to eat if he wants to get out of here soon, but dennis has cultivated a wide range of deceptions to get himself out of eating over the past thirty years. those goddamn fools that call themselves doctors should be able to tell, he thinks — not that he cares. 

“please try and eat something later,” he whispers. “you’ll feel so much better.”

dennis chews on his lip, avoiding eye contact.

“please, den. promise me, okay?”

“yeah. promise.”

mac smiles. he knows he probably won’t, but he’ll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. 

“i met this guy at the seminary,” he starts, wanting to keep things light. “he was gorgeous. he looked like an example photo at a barber shop. he was meant to, like, show me around and shit, but i was like, no way, ‘cause how the hell am i going to focus with a guy like that around?” he laughs giddily as he pictures him, but stops himself abruptly as he sees dennis’s eyes starting to close.

“den?”

he clicks his tongue fondly, standing up slowly as dennis falls asleep. he sets a gentle hand on his forehead, slowly moving down to his cheek, his neck, and shit, he’s so fucking warm. though, he supposes, a 105-degree fever doesn’t go down quickly. 

dennis stirs as he goes to leave, and he wonders if he woke him up, but he’s out cold. he’s always been a fairly restless sleeper, so him falling asleep this fast feels like an accomplishment to mac, even if it is a covid-induced nap. 

mac sanitises his hands as he walks to the door, of course, because even if god is protecting him from covid, it’s better to be safe than sorry, especially now that catholic is only fourth on his roster of important identities.

he flicks the light off, making the room eerily dark and quiet if not for the sound of dennis’s snoring. he smiles a little, and even in this state, he’s never been more enamoured with a guy. 

“feel better, den.”

[hearth-and-veil]

I flashed through the five stages of grief in >4 hours today as I once again mourned the life I could have had.

I have gotten an A+ with extra credit in depression pretty much my entire life. My doctors have basically all shrugged and said some variation of either "You're depressed because you have depression" or "You're depressed because you're disabled." Very recently, I learned about a medical condition called Autonomic Nervous System Dysregulation, and I check basically all the boxes for both cause and effect. I started practicing the techniques to manage and correct it, and my quality of life went straight up almost immediately.

So what's with the grief? I should have been told about this 10 years ago, at the minimum.

Denial: Are you fucking kidding me? I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome at 19, comorbid of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. POTS, as the police do not like it to be called, is a type of dysautonomia. I was told, at 19, that it was a cardiovascular disease and nothing else. In the 10 years since my diagnosis, whether I called it POTS or dysautonomia, not one single medical professional ever told me that dysautonomia = dysregulated autonomic. Not one person, out of dozens, in ten years. Are you fucking kidding me?

Anger: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? NOT ONE PERSON MENTIONED ANYTHING IN TEN FUCKING YEARS. Not one cardiologist! Not one GP! Not one ER doctor! Not a military doctor, not a civilian! Ten FUCKING years I have suffered when I didn't have to! Are doctors that fucking incompetent? Even the so-called EDS specialist didn't think to mention it? Didn't bring up that it is EXTREMELY COMMON for people with EDS? That I have almost all of the symptoms and it explains why my life is shit???

Bargaining: If they had just TOLD ME! If they had told me, I could have done something. I could have helped myself. Even if all they had done was say it was a nervous system disorder. I was 19! I was only 19! I didn't know then what I knew now. They could have told me and I wouldn't have gone through this. All they had to do was notice one connection. All they had to do was go just a little beyond "your heart doesn't beat enough." If one doctor had just said six words, my life wouldn't be like this.

Depression: Everything else goes wrong, why not this too? Why would I even expect my life to be any different? Everything in life goes against me at some point. It's really my own fault. I should never have trusted doctors. I should have known, when I was 19, stressed out, in college, in a terrible living situation, completely isolated, in chronic pain, barely able to function, completely depressed...I should have known that I couldn't trust anyone, not even a doctor. I should have done all of my own research. I am the only person I can trust with anything.

Acceptance: Now I know, now I can work on it. It wasn't malicious. Nobody was trying to hurt me. No one is omniscient. I make mistakes, so it stands to reason that other people do too. I wish I had this information sooner. I didn't deserve to suffer the way I suffered. But I know now what I know now, and I can work with it. The past is over and done. I am the one thing in life I can control. I will use this information to help myself, and I will work on disseminating this information to other people so that they can also get the help they need. It still hurts. I am still upset, and angry, and regretful. I am in mourning for the life I could have had if I had known how to manage my disability holistically instead of symptomatically, and that is ok. There is nothing wrong with how I feel, as long as it doesn't control me. I will move forward, like I always do.

[colorstormx]

anyway uh. yeah this has been fucking with me more than I'd like to admit the past couple of days and I think I just need to talk about it for a bit

warning for a few things under the cut - menstruation, medical stuff, disordered eating

so. my last period started at the end of April, and didn't really stop until the end of July. technically I'm still spotting a bit but it's not the absolute bloodfest that it was earlier.

I got a gyno appointment because of said bloodfest and they ended up giving me an ultrasound and sending me in for blood work. the ultrasound showed ovarian cysts, and the blood work was normal except for high insulin. technically they tested my testosterone level too, but that result still isn't in yet. apparently it takes them forever to get it so. shrugs.

they basically diagnosed me with polycystic ovarian syndrome, although they need that testosterone result to really confirm it since I don't have a lot of the other common PCOS symptoms. my period was pretty regular up until this year and isn't usually super painful, and I don't really have extra hair in unusual spots.

my gyno pointed out the high insulin though, and said that PCOS is associated with insulin resistance and prescribed metformin. she also said that diet changes can help, and gave me a handout about it. apparently being at a higher weight can make symptoms worse.

and all of this is coming at a time when I had finally started to accept my body and feel more comfortable eating the way I want to. :')

I've had some rough experiences with body image and restrictive eating over the years, although I guess it was never technically a full-blown ED, just... really bad habits and a lot of excess guilt over everything I allowed myself to eat. and I thought I'd finally gotten past that, but seeing this handout just feels like it validates every harsh thought, every bit of guilt I ever felt about eating stuff that wasn't like. raw vegetables and bland chicken.

and I know that it's not actually advocating for anything super extreme, just moderation, but there's an obsessive streak in me that makes everything feel way more black and white than it actually is. like if I don't follow the stupid "sample diet" listed there I'm gonna get a bad grade in PCOS management. god it's so stupid but at the same time my mental state has just absolutely tanked over this, I'm overanalyzing everything and super self conscious of my body again and I'm just so tired of everything about it

I miss the blissful ignorance, I guess.

everything is just still new and weird to me right now. it's gonna take a while to process everything and I know I'll be fine in the end, I just hate having to get there.

anyway at least we're moving apartments in less than 2 months now. I can't wait to get out of this shithole. god I swear I'm gonna make an official commissions post bc it would really be nice to have some extra funds on hand for the move, and my hours at work are already starting to dip as summer ends. augh. anyway if you want me to draw something just ask and we can figure things out <3

so uh. yeah. good job on reading this far if you made it. I'm... horrible at reaching out to specific people to talk about stuff like this, so having it all out there in a semi public environment for people to reply to if they happen to see it is? a little less stress inducing, I guess. I just hate feeling like I'm bothering people with stuff. that all being said... please at least like this post if you read it all the way through? replies would be nice too, I just. want to be heard I guess.

[chronicallybeee]

I was wondering, if it’s not too much trouble, how old were you when you got diagnosed with EDS? Was it obvious or what tipped you off that you might have it? (Asking for me lol)

hiiii! so long story but i was technically diagnosed at 21 by a rheumatologist (which was pure luck), but i had a diagnosis of “ligament laxity” at 13ish.

it wasn’t super obvious at first glance because it was just something i’d dealt with my entire life. i had constant injuries growing up- i was a basketball player and cross country runner and there was never a day i didn’t have an injury. i had party tricks, like subluxing my hips and shoulders on command and stuff like that and i was weirdly flexible, but not my muscles, it was my joints (which is all stuff i realized much much later lol)

when i was 19ish, the symptoms of my autoimmune disease started, so i went to a doctor and they started all the testing.

my autoimmune disease is seronegative- so it doesn’t show up on antibody tests or anything. the only markers in my blood that showed up positive (until recently lol) was high as fuck inflammatory markers (C reactive protein and sedimentation rate). my doctor was incredible, she was primary care at the student health center at my college but she did so much testing before sending me to rheumatology. she immediately thought autoimmune because of my symptoms, the inflammatory markers, and i’m the 4th generation of my family with an autoimmune disease (my dad, my grandpa, my great grandpa, and multiple aunts/uncles of mine). so they did blood tests and X rays and a colonoscopy (my calprotectin was literally 1.3 units into the “abnormal” range so they MADE me do it) until 2020.

the findings weren’t at all conclusive or definitive. i have a hiatal hernia (common with EDS), slow digestion, really bad GERD. my X rays were negative besides by SI joint, which showed a little bit of sclerosis on one joint, but my MRI was negative. then the pandemic reared its ugly ass head and everything kinda stalled because no more doctor’s appointments and i had absolutely no answers for the pain or the inflammatory markers.

at this point, my friend with EDS was like “bestie are you flexible?” and i was like haha fuck no and then she looked at my joints and she was like “..bro they all hyperextend” and then i fell down the rabbit hole and was like oh fuck lol

so i realized a lot of my symptoms aligned with EDS, and i realized a lot of the “weird shifting feelings” in my joints were subluxations and i remembered… so much shit from my childhood. and all the party tricks people in my family can do, and i asked my dad if he ever experienced subluxations and he has and says “yeah that’s like normal though i just work through it” and i’m like ???? bro WHAT that’s not normal!!!

i almost like,, “gaslit” myself and kept saying “no i don’t have that i’m just dramatic” but i meet criteria and it’s pretty obvious now that i know more about it lol

so i moved permanently to my college town so i got a new rheum and he told me i have EDS visit #1, put it in my file visit #2, and i got a referral to an amazing physical therapist who does amazing work with hypermobility and pain neuroscience education.

unfortunately, no one found the reason for my raised inflammatory marker until the end of 2021, when my rheum left the practice and i saw another rheum.

by that point, i’d had an undetected and unmedicated autoimmune disease wreaking havoc on my poor SI joint and that shit sucked lol

then i went to a geneticist SIMPLY because i wanted to fucking get a connective tissue disorder genetic testing and she said “you have an autoimmune disease so you don’t meet criteria” and didn’t run a single genetic test even though i had tons of symptoms and the autoimmune disease was the only thing that “disqualified” me. even though autoimmune diseases literally are comorbid with EDS sooo often. i hate geneticists.

i did the connective tissue disorder genetic panel with invitae to make sure i didn’t have one of the types that have a genetic marker, and i didn’t have any of those genes, but i do have a mutation on a collagen gene which is a mutation “of uncertain clinical significance”

loooong story but yeah lol feel free to ask more questions if you have any!!

[ky-the-squiddy]

talking health stuff under the cut, nothing super negative, just p brainfogged and text helps

I am Once Again trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me with far too few resources and far too long waiting lists for me to be inclined to actually go to a doctor about any of it

like

been vvvaaaaagguely prodding at ME/CFS with a stick the past few months? because fucking hell, I've just been more fatigued than not lately, to the point that I, a terminal non-napper*, curled up on the couch and fell asleep for an hour a bit before lunch today

*i.e. I genuinely suck at napping, I can only really sleep at night no matter how much I've tried, the only way to make me take a nap is to get me a) medicated, and/or b) extremely sick (anD EVEN THEN-)

But on the other hand, I don't know if this is just an extension of *gestures at all my other health bs*, 'cos it very well could be. I know for a fact that fatigue is a migraine symptom for me, I know it goes hand in hand with depression, I know it pairs wonderfully with the whole my-body-is-in-constant-repair-mode-from-trying-to-cope-with-jello-joints thing that EDS brings, but just...

iunno

just in writing this I've gone from sitting up, to lying across the couch with my head propped on a pillow, to being completely flopped over and grateful for my ability to touch type because now my head's below the level of my laptop and my eyes are closed and dear gods is it hard to think to the end of a sentence

I'd be more willing to talk to a doctor about this stuff if either the NHS was in a better state than it is (found out the other month that there's like... a grand total of five GPs attending to something like a quarter of the whole city), or if I could afford to go private. But it isn't, and I can't, so I'm stuck with medical whack-a-mole with anything acute when it pops up

I've gotta go into the office tomorrow and be a human person and present shit to strangers and probably be on my feet for hours but even right now I'm too tired to care. I'm too tired to even be bored, really. It's bone-deep and it doesn't even feel heavy like the depression fatigue I'm used to feels, it's more like pushing through treacle, or a thousand filamet-fine threads of silk layered over me and oh so gently persuading me back to the ground

I dunno

dunno what the point of any of this was, but it feels better to have put some words to papter I guess

Ah well

(typos fixed after I could open my eyes again: only 4, fuck yeah, nice to know I can still touch type pretty well even when I'm contorted in the weirdest of fucking angles)

P.S. To any of my friends reading this that I haven't really talked to lately, I'm sorry I haven't had the spoons for any kind of socialising the past few weeks (and the same goes to the people who have left stuff in my inbox). I love you and I miss you all and I hope my brain gets unfried enough soon that I can spend time with you guys again <3

[basshole-astard]

well. this is the blog wehre i get up on my soapbox about my experiences with trying to stretch out my neck pains never helped and [gesturing above] how i'm very lucky i didn't hurt myself seriously before i stopped trying to stretch regularly. clears throat. sorry op

[pointing at the picture of that neck] THIS!!!! IS WHY YOU SHOULD BE CAREFUL ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU STRETCH IF YOU HAVE / THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE A HYPERMOBILITY DISORDER!!!!! and why you should consider looking into whether or not you have a hypermobility disorder before you continue with your (assumed) rigorous stretching routine hoping that if you just stick with it that it will totally eradicate your neck (etc) pain!

THERE IS SUCH A THING AS TOO LOOSE!!!!!!

"okay but my neck and shoulders hurt all the time, and i am on my computer all the time, so shouldn't i stretch them frequently like all those infographics say to make sure i don't hurt them?" MAYBE. WITH EXTREME CAUTION IF YOU HAVE/THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE A HYPERMOBILITY DISORDER.

listen. if stretches don't seem to help - and ESPECIALLY if they make you hurt more - then they WON'T HELP YOU and might be hurting you!

shoulder/neck pain is pretty common when you have a hypermobility disorder like EDS! why is that? [gesturing at the above picture] GEE. I WONDER WHY HYPERMOBILITY LIKE THAT MIGHT HURT. your neck is too loose. your ligaments are too loose. it wants to be floppy. as you imagine, that hurts. so your neck/shoulder muscles tense up to try and keep the neck in place and that's why your neck hurts, it has fuck all to do with your computer usage or posture or whatever. the problem is actually that you are TOO LOOSE and that is a GENETIC DISPOSITION and stretching DOES NOT SOLVE THAT PROBLEM. stretching generally just makes you LOOSER.

obviously consult a professional, obviously take my words with a grain of salt, but i'm serious, i'm handing you a get out of jail free card. it sucks taht you are in pain and you can't fix it but if stretching isn't helping then just don't do it. persisting because the internet infographics told you it would eventually get better (hi, me! i'm so lucky i didn't fuck up my wrists!) is likely going to cause you MORE DAMAGE than not doing a stretching routine at all

anyway check out my post on how to guage whether or not you have a hypermobility disorder like EDS >HERE<

or a quick list of symptoms

-> neck hurts all the time

-> you have adhd or autism

-> you get migraines

-> gastro issues that seem otherwise unexplained

-> you are generally very flexible or "double jointed"

-> your joints dislocate easily (even if not as easily as op's - dislocating frequently from trauma is a sign as well - but ESPECIALLY if you dislocate as easy as OP's shoulder). did you know in non-EDS people it's actually really hard to dislocate a joint? and the normal number of dislocations is 0, maybe 1? for life?? my sister fell on her knee ONCE and now her knee dislocates just from walking.

-> check out the beiighton scale. if you hit even 4/9 i would consider talking to your doctor, 5/9 is a basically confirmed diagnosis

thanks! sorry op for hi-jacking your post!!!

simply the neck photo is EXTREMELY [me pointing] THIS IS WHY MY NECK HURTS ALL THE TIME. IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW LONG I SPEND ON THE COMPUTER!!!!!!!! AND NO, STRETCHING OWN'T HELP. BECUASE IT'S ALREADY TOO FUCKING LOOSE

In the never-ending quest to alleviate my migraines, I bought a special angled pillow that lets you sleep on your side while your arm just kind of hangs through a whole in the middle. I did this because I’m a left-sided sleeper, always have been.

Until my neck subluxated and now I can’t sleep on that side without compressing some vital nerves and blood arteries. I also can’t sleep on my back right now because the pressure compresses my occipital nerve. Basically sleeping has been a nightmare recently, but that’s not the point of this post.

The point was I brought this up in physical therapy to talk about how great this pillow is because I can now sleep on my right side without the stupid thing going numb or waking me up because it hurts. And my PT was like wow, great! How did you sleep on your left side for so long without it being an issue?

And I said, oh that’s easy. I just tuck that shoulder out of the way.

And she said, ...what?

And I said, yeah, I just tuck it out the way. Not like my right shoulder. That one doesn’t move as well. It just hurts, I think there’s something wrong with it.

And my physical therapist asked me to demonstrate what I mean when I say I ‘tuck my shoulder out of the way,’ and haha, you’re never going to believe this, turns out I’ve just been casually pulling my left shoulder out of the socket for, oh, let’s see, 30 years? And then napping on it like hmmnm yess comfy.

Anyway. I looked up from my demonstration and my physical therapist was making this face:

[roryfrommybabysittersavampire]

trigger warning I'm complaining about my abusive father and also eating disorder

yesterday I took a bigg risk and told my dad that he was "being mean" to my sister by telling her that it's her fault for exhibiting symptoms of a disorder that she is diagnosed with and no longer medicated for (by his request), and now he has not spoken to me in almost 24 hours. which doesn't even happen when he's out of town. I can not stand to watch my siblings suffer the exact same abuse that i did and now no one cares if I'm not seen eating or drinking? which is a pretty Big Deal because I had a Bad fucking ED and I am not relapsing but my ADHD is so bad now that I can barely feed myself, and I need to eat like really really badly, and I really thought that he would at least realize that he was being ridiculous if he had to come up against that? but no. he is "too mad to look me in the face," because he can't spin this situation so that he's right. he said So many things that I never thought would come out of his mouth, like "oh, you're neurodivergent? you're more Special than Everyone else?" and "oh, so you lost?" when he has always claimed that he neverrr wants to win an argument, he just wants us to understand each other, and he told me that I should be willing to suppress and hide symptoms for the people that I love because he does. he talks over me, he spins my words to mean whatever he fucking wants, and there are still two more fucking neurodivergent kids that need to be raised in this house. and it sucks to know that my sister has to talk about me like she agrees with him, but I guess that's my job now! I am 18 now and for some reason that means that I'm allowed to argue without being told to shut up because I'm a child, so it's my job to try to make things better for these kids that have to be in the house for years. the problem is just that I am fucking disabled, and this is taking all of my energy that I need so badly just to try to stay alive, and keep up with college, and Eat, and there's always the chance that this was the line and he's just waiting to tell me to get the fuck out. apparently he talked a lot yesterday about his friend who kicked his trans daughter out just for being trans, and how much better that makes my dad. that scares me. he gave me a chance, didn't let my transness Ruin me in his eyes, and now I might have made myself too much to justify having in the house.

annnnyways I was too sad to do much else so I finished exquisite corpse and it's one of my favorite books now for sure. which is an upside to this somehow jfdbk

[cookinguptales]

That last post I just reblogged was fascinating to me because it was obviously a joke but it actually lined up so well with a common PMDD symptom of mine that I was writing about it in the tags. Then I kind of thought about it again and realized OP doesn’t deserve all that in the tags of their joke post so like. I guess I’ll put those thoughts here instead.

(under a cut, cw: frank discussion of mental illness)

Like I’ll warn here that I’m about to talk about mental illness in some pretty explicit terms. I have Premenstrual Dysphoria Disorder (in addition to Major Depressive Disorder) and for the most part I have a pretty good handle on it. My depression is treatment resistant, but I did some hormonal treatments for years to help with that, my endometriosis, and my menstruation-induced EDS complications.

(Have you ever had menstrual cramps so bad that it dislocated your hips and ribs? I have! Every goddamn month lmao.)

About a year and a half ago, I had to stop taking the hormones because they were honestly making certain things worse, so I had to kind of just. Figure out other ways to deal with it. Working with a doctor, a regimen of cannabis tea and ketamine has helped a lot with the physical symptoms, and has helped some with the emotional symptoms. It’s still not perfect (still get bad days sometimes) but my suicidality is way better than it was.

(People with PMDD are apparently estimated to attempt suicide seven times more than the general AFAB population so like. I guess that’s something to keep in mind.)

That said, my ketamine regimen was fucked up recently because of some issues at the doctor’s office and uh. Well, I’m still kind of building the levels back up. The past few periods have been very rough for me. Mostly physically, but I’ve had some emotional issues, too.

This month, my PMDD has been… I guess not as severe as it was in the past, but boy is it lingering. I’ve been very jittery, very anxious, prone to bad mental loops, etc. It’s been about a week at this point, which is on the long side, but you just gotta tough it out, right?

(Don’t worry, guys, I do know when to reach out for help when symptoms get bad, and have done it before in the past.)

Anyway… one of my least favorite symptoms has come out to play and I’m Dealing with it but I hate itttt. It’s the one that the post reminded me of! And that’s the one where you feel guilty for wanting people to love you.

I think… when you’re dealing with something difficult alone, it’s very normal to fantasize about someone helping you through it. Telling you you’re not a bad person, that they love you, hugging you, etc. Normal stuff like that. I think people sometimes use fictional characters, sometimes real people who love them (like family/friends), sometimes people they make up in their head, etc. I think fantasizing about comfort is fairly normal.

But when you’re in the trenches, your mind is like No It Is Not Normal It Is Bad. I have to remind myself that like… in some ways, it’s kind of like an abusive relationship. During bad PMDD spells, my mind wants to hurt me, it wants to kill me, and it wants to separate me from my support systems. Your brain tells you that burdening others with your feelings is Bad and you are Bad for doing it.

This makes it hard to reach out for help when you need it (again, I do know how to do that, I am safe, I know that I have people who would come to my house right now if I needed them to — and failing that, I do know how emergency mental health intake works, too) but also like… it often gets to the point where you feel like a terrible person for even wanting to be loved.

Like — this is hard to explain, so here’s a sample spiral.

(cw: mental illness, suicide mention. I’m going to try and be as realistic as possible here and that might be troubling for some readers.)

I am feeling bad. I am sad and anxious and scared and feel like I am worthless. I want someone to hold me and tell me they love me. I imagine a person I like doing this. I then think — no, you are a bad person. They would not want to do this. You are putting the burden of your feelings on some unsuspecting person again. It is unfair to use a real person as a mental support. You are forcing them into a situation they did not consent to, and you are using them as a crutch. You are a bad, selfish person and they would hate you if they knew you were doing this. You are asking for too much from the people around you; how dare you ask for love and support? You are worthless and no one will love you and imagining them loving you is unfair to them and frankly very invasive. You are being parasitical right now. Stop imagining people doing things they’d never want to do, you’re such a bad person. Don’t you care about their boundaries? Of course you don’t, you always hurt people because you’re selfish and bad and no one will ever like you. So stop imagining them liking you! Just kill yourself and get it over with, etc. You are a bad thing and bad things should go away and you should stop existing. Stop writing RPF about the people you like, that’s even worse than the crime of just being you. Just kill yourself.

And honestly, this will probably go on for a couple hours and there will probably be a lot of crying. >.> It’s good to keep electrolyte solution around because dehydration just makes it worse.

I’ve dealt with MDD for almost my entire life, but PMDD is… different. There’s a sort of exhausted doneness with MDD, like you don’t want to kill yourself, necessarily, you just want to stop existing. PMDD is different. There’s a very loud, very manic aggression to it. Your brain is very actively trying to kill you. I don’t know how else to put it. It’s like being in a crowd of people all screaming at you at once until you cry, and then screaming at you for crying. There is a mob in your head and it hates you.

It is… very, very loud and very difficult to drown out. I can usually catch the warning signs and head things off before I get into a spiral. Going for a walk is good. Helps break the cycle. Creating is good, too. Makes me feel productive and useful to others, which is a whole other can of worms, but it is effective. And if all else fails, I usually weaponize my hyperfixations lmao. Start up an old video game that I know will take all my focus, or start a new tv show that I know I’ll get fannish about, whatever.

This month has been hard because, frankly, it took me by surprise. It’s a little earlier than it should be and I haven’t had to deal with it as much in the past six months, so I guess I got out of the habit. I didn’t notice that I was starting to get kind of stressed and anxious over small stuff and was beating myself up for feeling normal human emotions. This is usually the big warning sign to me. I will latch onto a negative feeling I’m having and feel very guilty about it. I scratch at it like a healing scab. Then the spirals starts. So I have to keep a watch out for that.

But… like I said, I do tend to withdraw and feel guilty about talking about these things. I feel guilty for wanting to depend on others because I feel like that’s asking too much, a miserable person like me demanding attention from people who are too good for me. And once I start withdrawing into myself and not talking to those around me, things get worse.

Like I said!!! Your brain is abusive and it wants to separate you from your support system — so it makes you feel like a bad person for even wanting a support system.

(I find that it helps, actually, to frame it like that. I can tell that my thoughts are starting to get irrational and it’s like “oh, THIS asshole is back to say mean things to me again.”)

So… idk, I’m trying to talk about it. I figure that I tagged this post appropriately and put multiple warnings on it, so anyone who is reading this wants to be here. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of support, maybe because they deal with these things, too. idk.

I’m basically telling my mean brain that fuck you, it’s good to talk about my feelings and no one hates me for it.

Because… this is the big thing… I was thinking about that one Tumblr post… the one that was like “the me in your head is nice to you, right?”

I want the me in your head to be so nice to you. I want the me in your head to hold you and tell you you’re a good person and that I love you. Even if I don’t know you. I want the me in your head to be so damn comforting.

I love the idea of being a comfort to people. That’s… why I write so much of why I write, I think. There’s nothing that chokes me up like finding out I’ve managed to comfort someone that I don’t even know. Is there anything more beautiful than comforting and supporting others in this bitch of a world?

NO we gotta be kind.

So… if I want the me in your head to be so, so kind, why do I feel so guilty for wanting the you in my head to be nice to me, too? Why do I feel like I am so innately unlovable that even fantasizing about someone loving me could stain them somehow? Like I will stain their clothes with my own awfulness.

I DON’T. I don’t feel that way. I have been doing so much better lately. I have been reaching out to people and doing fun things and spending time with people and thinking about loving people and them loving me back. I’ve thought about people loving me!!! And I’ve started to have the creeping hope that it could happen! That I am worthy of love.

Guys, I’ve been better. I know that all sounds like not much, but it’s been so easy for me to convince myself that no one will ever love me because I’m sick, I’m disabled, I’m unattractive, I’m unkind, I’m cringe, I’m annoying, I’m selfish, etc. It’s been so easy for me to find a million excuses for why I, out of all the people on this earth, will never be loved.

So… feeling hope that that’s not true is actually a very big thing for me, and something that I’ve been delighting in recently.

All the things in my head are fake and mean and… you know, hormones. That’s all.

Idk, this was meant to be a discussion of one small part of PMDD but I guess it ended up being a ramble about a lot of things. I’ll admit that it’s much more difficult for me to be focused and eloquent when I’m dealing with these symptoms. I had a moment where I wanted to apologize to anyone still reading this, but — instead I’ll thank you for spending your time with my words. For whatever reason you decided to do it, for whatever reason you’re still here, I appreciate that you did it.

I want the version of you in my head to be nice. And I want to thank you for being nice. And I want to be nice to you, too.

In conclusion

Now I’m gonna go take my medication and be quiet for a while.