#if i'm not on my meds i would barely be able to function

[zegrasdrysdale]

“who did this to you?”

with jamie drysdale

part of the 1k celly event

summary : after an encounter with an ex that leaves her with some bruising and feeling unsafe, she finds herself in Jamie's apartment, where her best friend is there for her like he always is

warning(s) : mentions of abuse / an abusive event, a past toxic relationship, oc made up for the plot

author’s note : i felt v inspired to write something for jamie so here y'all go

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She shouldn't have come out tonight. That's the only thing she can think of as she sits on the back of an ambulance. Her friend is talking to authorities while her face, wrist, and hand get checked out. Her ex-boyfriend is cuffed and being put in the back of a police car.

Her cheekbone stings and she can barely see out of her left eye. Her wrist is sore from landing on it awkwardly when she fell, and her hand hurts from being able to land one punch in self defense. She spoke to the same authorities as she was making sure her hand wasn't broken from that punch she landed.

The officer she spoke to made it clear that she wasn't in the wrong. He started everything when he came up to her and harassed her. She gave him several chances to walk away when he approached her. All she did was gently push him away from her when he got too close, and he started going off on her. That's how she ended up with a bruised face, busted up hand, and sore wrist.

It was all worth it though because she's been waiting for her asshole ex to finally go to jail for what he did to her during their relationship. She has all the pictures and proof they would need to put him away for awhile when she sends it to authorities.

For now though, she needs to go home and shower. She feels gross since her ex put his hands on her. Plus, a warm shower sounds like a dream.

Her friend comes over to her when she's done talking with the officer. The EMT looks between them as he finishes up his exam.

"I don't see a reason to go to the hospital tonight," he explains. "The cut on your cheek is superficial so it doesn't require stitches. I don't suspect any broken bones but if things feel like they're not getting any better by next week then head to an Urgent Care or the emergency room. Your neuro function is intact so I don't suspect brain injury. Ice and heat on your wrist and hand, and maybe even ice your cheek and eye to keep swelling down. Over the counter meds like Ibuprofen should be strong enough to keep pain at bey but again, if it gets too painful or things don't improve, seek medical help. Any questions?"

Both girls shake their heads. "Thank you," she tells the EMT. "Glad I'm not going to the hospital tonight."

The EMT packs up the medical kit. "I wouldn't drive until the swelling around your eye goes down," he suggests.

"I drove us here today so no worries," her friend replies. "Thanks for checking her out and keeping her out of the hospital."

He nods and the girls head to the car. She looks at her friend as they approach her car. The duo get in and heat immediately greets both of them as soon as the car is turned on. She hums at the warm air. It was too cold outside in her tiny dress and now broken heels.

She looks out the window as the police car with her ex drives off.

Her ex-boyfriend is probably not happy that he's going to jail, but he'll probably get out on bail until whatever happens next. The thought of him getting out of jail makes her stomach do somersaults. She gets very nervous going back to her apartment all by herself.

As her friend pulls out of the parking lot, she asks, "Can you drop me off at Jamie's instead of my place?"

"Yeah, sure," her friend replies. "Don't feel like going back to your own apartment?"

She shakes her head and looks out the window at the passing buildings. "I don't feel very safe going there by myself," she explains. "Security isn't exactly the best."

"I get it. I'll take you to Jamie's. I was thinking about doing that for the same reason."

The car ride gets quiet after that comment. She plays with her fingers and rubs her wrist when it gets too painful.

She thinks back to the events of the night and thinks that maybe she provoked him. She did shove him away from her so maybe it is her fault that she ended up in this position. It's always her fault anyway. It was always her fault when they were together so why would now be any different?

It wouldn't be any different.

Fifteen minutes after they leave the bar, the car pulls up to Jamie's apartment building. She thanks her friend for the ride and gets out. Shaking from the cold and the night's events, she pushes the buzzer to his apartment.

Hopefully he lets her in because it's kind of late. She has to push the button for a second time and slowly begins to lose hope that he's up.

"Who is it?" Jamie's voice suddenly comes from the intercom.

"It's me," she replies. "It's cold. Can I come up?"

The door in front of her buzzes and she lets herself into the building. She takes the elevator up to the fifth floor. She makes her way down the hallway to Jamie's apartment.

She only has to knock three times before the door swings open.

Jamie's eyes widen as he takes in her appearance. The sight of him is enough to make her lip wobble as she holds back tears. He reaches up and gently cups her face. His thumb grazes the cut on her cheek.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, voice soft. "Oh my God."

"I'm okay," she tells him. "Bruised and in a little pain but I'm okay. No broken bones, no concussion. It was Evan. I went out tonight with a friend and he was there and he-" She cuts herself off. "He got too close and I pushed him away and he attacked me."

"Come here."

He pulls her into his arms and envelopes her in a hug. She buries her face in his chest, ignoring the sharp pain that accompanies her action. Her tears begin to flow, wetting his t-shirt.

The door shuts behind her. Jamie's fingers run through her curls as he just holds her.

Neither of them speak, but his hug is enough to make her feel safer than she ever has. Since their breakup, she's been terrified that Evan was going to pull something like this. She never got a restraining order because that meant she would've had to actually file a report, and that would've only pissed him off.

Being here with Jamie though, she feels incredibly safe. His arms are her home. They've always been her home. She's always wanted them to be her home.

"Let's get you changed and into bed," Jamie says. "I'm sure you want to get into something more comfortable. Plus, you look a little cold. and my bed is nice and warm."

She pulls back and looks up at her best friend. Jamie reaches up to gently dry her cheeks, avoiding the cut and bruises on her face. She leans into his touch and Jamie doesn't move his hands. She wishes she could see out of both her eyes because all she wants to do is look at Jamie.

Feelings have always been there for him. She's had some kind of feelings for Jamie for years, but it was recently when she realized that she loved him. The only place she wanted to be was here after Evan attacked her at the bar.

Her first thought when Evan was landing punch after punch was how much she wished Jamie was there to protect her. He probably wouldn't have gone after her had Jamie been there.

"Thank you for letting me crash here," she whispers. "I know it's kind of a burden with your schedule-"

"You'll never be a burden," Jamie interrupts. "You could've shown up here at three in the morning on a game day and I'd still be up and opening the door for you. You're more important than hockey, and you always will be."

Her vision gets blurry all over again as she looks up at him. "I don't deserve you," she tells him, voice cracking in the process. Jamie tries to say something but she shakes her head. "I don't, Jamie. You've always been here for me despite your crazy life. You've always made time for me no matter where you are or what's going on in your life."

"Because you're my best friend," he explains. "And I-" Jamie cuts himself off, shaking his head. "You're more important than anything that's going on in my life."

The tears fall over and roll down her cheeks. Jamie's thumbs wipe them away. "Really?"

"Really," he softly tells her. "I would drop whatever I was doing to make sure you're okay. I mean it, okay. I'd even leave practice if you called and said you needed me somewhere, even if it meant that I got benched the next game. It kills me that I wasn't there to protect you tonight. I could've prevented this."

That's what she's wanted to hear. She's been waiting for those words to pass his lips. "I wanted you there tonight," she admits. "All I wanted after was you. Jamie, I wish you could've been there to protect me, but you're protecting me now by letting me be here."

He tucks a loose curl behind her ear. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want," he tells her. "Stay until you feel safe going back to your apartment by yourself. Hell, I'd be okay if you moved in if that would help you feel safer."

She nods and sucks on her bottom lip. "Thank you."

"That's what I'm here for," Jamie whispers. "Let's go get you changed, okay? We can talk more when you're more comfortable. I'll go grab you something to wear from my closet."

She nods for a second time and Jamie lets her go to go get her some clothes. Her eyes follow him before her feet begin to move. She follows him into his bedroom and he digs through his closet to grab something for her to sleep in. She leans against the doorframe.

Jamie tosses a t-shirt and pair of gym shorts onto the bed. "I'll let you get changed," he tells her. "Come out when you're done and I'll make you something to eat or get you a snack. Whatever you want, okay?"

"Okay," she agrees. "Thanks."

He nods and pushes past her to leave the room. She grabs his wrist as he walks by. Jamie stops in his tracks and looks at her, eyebrows raised in question.

Without an exchanged word, she pulls him toward her gently. Jamie looks down at her while her eyes scan his face. She reaches up and cups his stubbled jaw, tracing his cheekbones with her thumbs. Her heart races in her chest as she gets on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. She lingers longer than she should before she pulls back and flattens her feet.

Seconds seem like hours as the two of them look at each other in the doorway of Jamie's bedroom. Neither of them have moved in a little bit. She doesn’t think she wants to move at this point.

Jamie makes the first move though. He returns the same cheek kiss and she closes her eyes, taking in his touch. She turns her head before he can pull back. His face is super close to hers, and he doesn’t move.

He mumbles something then crashes his lips to hers in a kiss that makes her head spin. Her fingers slide into his hair and cradle the back of his head.

She used to dream of his kisses when her feelings for him started to develop years ago. She had sweeter dreams where they would share soft kisses. There also were dreams where she would wake up and need a cold shower to calm herself down.

This is nothing like those dreams. She imagined their first kiss thousands of times, but she never imagined it would happen like this. It’s soft, yet heated. He’s being so careful not to hurt her.

That’s Jamie Drysdale.

The kiss is short, but it makes her want more. Just not tonight. It’s already been a long night.

“Get some sleep,” Jamie tells her. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Stay.”

“Not tonight. I want to make sure you’re safe first.”

“I’d be safer with you here with me,” she admits. “Don’t sleep on the couch. Stay with me. Jamie, please.”

He thinks about it for a second before he nods. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

If Jamie is going to do anything, it’s be there for her. He’s always there for her, no matter what.

And that’s what she loves most about him.

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MASTERLIST | 1K CELLY EVENT

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[apathetic-revenant]

uh...hi?

[head pokes around corner]

so...

I've been back to scrolling around on tumblr for a bit now, and have been really wanting to get back to actually, y'know. being here. posting. not just sort of hanging here invisibly like a mournful ghost, observing but never interacting. that sort of thing. (revenants, after all, are supposed to be corporeal undead.)

but I really wanted to explain why I just kind of abruptly vanished in the first place. no one demanded this of me, but it felt like something I had to do. and then, in the typical way of self-imposed obstacles, it became a massive stumbling block. partly because of the nerves and emotions attached to it, sure, but mostly, tbh, because it was a Task. I recently (about 3 weeks ago now?) started seeing a new psychiatrist and got an adjustment to my ADHD meds which basically made my brain boot up again for the first time in way too long. this is great! but it means I am having to kind of slowly rehab my brain into getting used to doing Literally Anything again, one small step at a time. I am not being hyperbolic when I say I had to gradually build up my executive functioning for a while just to be able to write a tumblr post.

but fuck it! I really wanted to just do this already. so, while I'm sure I'll talk about all this in more detail later, for right now I'm gonna strip this down to the bare essentials just so I can get it done at all.

here's what happened:

in 2020 I had a sudden onset of extremely severe OCD.

no, not about the pandemic, actually. yeah I was anxious about the pandemic but it was a pretty normal level of anxiety for a global pandemic, honestly. my OCD took the form of scrupulosity--essentially, an obsessive worry about being a bad person.

tumblr is....not a GREAT place to be if you have a sudden obsessive fear of being a bad person.

now, to be clear: tumblr did not CAUSE my OCD, and leaving tumblr did not cure it. that's just not how OCD works. later on, I learned that atypical antipsychotics--one of which I had been prescribed around that time, for depression--have been known to cause OCD. is there any way to prove that that's what happened? probably not, at this point! so I've just been kind of sitting with that terrible knowledge for a while.

anyway. I would've had OCD anyway, but reading a regular stream of posts going "hey, here's a really terrible thing you might be doing! you might even be doing it without knowing it! you need to think really hard and be constantly vigilant all the time for any sign that you might be doing this thing!" was basically pouring gasoline on the fire.

I never made an active decision to leave tumblr--if I had I would've said something first. I just kind of thought "god, I can't do this right now" one day and didn't open the app, which turned into days and then weeks and then months, and still things weren't getting better.

it's hard to express exactly how harrowing that whole experience was. actually I just started thinking about it and realized I would never finish this post tonight if I tried to get into it just now. so I won't. let's just say: It Was Bad.

but, by an astronomical stroke of luck, I ended up getting referred to not just an OCD therapist, not just the only OCD therapist in the state who took Medicaid, but the only OCD therapist in the state who took Medicaid and also she was really good at her job. I genuinely think that woman saved my life.

OCD therapy is one of those "the only way out is through" kind of things. it's brutal and also quite surreal, but it has a high success rate and is very effective. OCD is not a thing that you can cure, per se, but it went from completely dominating every waking moment of my life to being something that I occasionally have to yell at in much the same way as when the cat starts knocking things off my desk at 3 in the morning.

but, the thing was, it took a year-and-a-bit before my therapist and I agreed that I had probably "graduated" as she put it. so, by the time I felt able to go back on tumblr without my brain catching on fire again, it had been so long that I didn't know how to do it. I felt like I'd pulled a major dick move by just dropping off without saying anything. I still thought about it (usually late at night, at Time To Think About Every Regret I've Ever Had O'Clock) but my brain very easily goes to a place of "well, no one would really notice or care that I was gone, and if they did they'd be mad at me for having left."

well. earlier this year I started on the road to getting past that idea. shoutout to @fordtato for helping with that, btw.

but it took me a while to work up the courage and then, as previously mentioned, even longer to work up the neurotransmitters.

I think I gotta wrap this up for now cause I don't have much concentration juice left. but, for what it's worth: I had a lot of emotions, coming back and seeing the names of people I used to talk to all the time. I don't know how you feel about me anymore, but I really missed yall. I would like to talk to you again.

[starry-eyedblog]

pain meds

ghost/soap/female reader

wordcount: 3,591

warning/tags: 18+ smut, non con, sexual assault dark themes, taking advantage, medications, lying, manipulation, gaslighting, pussy eating, grinding/humping

authors note: first long fic here, woohoo! pls do not read this if it's nae yer cup of tea. i'm trying to write darker themes and nae feel guilty, and here was the first thing my brain made so pls enjoy! also am i projecting a bit? aye, but it's fine!

─── ☆ ─── ☆ ─── ☆ ─── ☆ ───

it’s been a rough, tiring day and your body just cannot handle it anymore. you’re currently sat in the lounge, curled up on the worn out couch. you’ve been wanting to go to your bedroom for twenty minutes now but every time you move to get up, pain spikes through you. seems you’ll have to bite the bullet soon though.

“ye awright hen? yer lookin’ a bit peely-wally.” soap comments as he walks into the lounge with ghost behind him. you don’t bother to move your head up to stare into their eyes, keeping your face pressed into one of the flat cushions.

soap sits across from you, while ghost takes the space next to you on the couch, your knees pressing together due to him man spreading. “am fine soap, just sore.” you shrug him off, desperate to just get into your bedroom where your meds are. “c’mon, tell us what’s up.” ghost responds, his voice gruff and slightly muffled from his balaclava.

you want to shrug him off too, but now that both men are staring down at you with concern, theres no point trying to lie or ignore them. “it’s just my chronic pain. been really bad all day.” you say quietly. both men let out soft exhales at your answer, but soap is first to speak up. “need anythin’?” he asks, not taking his eyes off of you.

a light groan leaves you as you move slightly on the couch and pull your face out of the pillow, looking over at soap. “my pain meds, been wanting to get off the couch for ages now to lay down and take them.” you chuckle weakly and ghost is fast to answer. “want me to grab them and bring them through?” he asks, looking down at you with beady brown eyes.

“no no it’s alright, need to take them in my room.” you say weakly, pushing the blanket off of your body as you try stretch your legs out which sends a sharp pain through you. “why can’t you take them through here?” ghost questions, his eyebrow raising slightly. “long story short, they get me high off my face and i only feel comfortable taking them in my room.” you answer truthfully, looking at ghost.

“fit are ye on?” soap asks innocently, smiling kindly at you which makes you feel warm inside. “codeine, strongest dose.” you tell him, to which soap makes a low whistle. “yer on the proper strong stuff.” he chuckles, glancing at ghost who returns the eye contact. “assuming that you don’t take it often then.” ghost chimes in, looking down at you as you try stretch your limbs out.

“god no, wouldn’t be able to function. only take them when it’s real bad, can barely think let alone focus on them. it’s like my brain goes fuzzy.” you explain, all your words sinking into both mens minds and being stored away. “and you’re all alone when you take them?” ghost asks curiously. “yeah? i mean, the meds make me drowsy and tired so i wouldn’t be good company.” you chuckle before you’re pushing yourself off the couch and stretching with a low whine.

a few of your joints crack loudly as you stretch out a little, the pain spiking and ebbing away a few times. “well, i’m gonna go take them now. i’ll see you in a few hours.” you say softly, waving at both men who watch you. “dinnae be silly hen, we’re nae leavin’ ye alone in that state.” soap responds, standing up and stepping towards you as ghost gets off the couch.

“what are you on about?” you ask with a raised eyebrow and confused expression. “just like soap said, we’re gonna take care of you. would be pretty awful of us to let you suffer alone like that.” ghost answers, his voice stern to let you know theres no way of changing his mind. “that’s very kind of you guys but i can deal with it myself, like i have been for the past year.” you answer with an amused chuckle, but both men don’t laugh or smile which causes you to stop.

neither man speaks, and for a moment there is this uncomfortable tension that has you desperate to scurry away. “we’re teammates, gotta look out for one another.” ghost responds, and you feel your heart flutter slightly. they just want to help, look after you for a bit. and god, does that sound good. even though you can handle it usually, it’s still a whole ordeal to go through, and to have not one, but two of your close teammates help just a bit. it sounds really good.

“you sure?” you ask, wanting to know for definite. “aye hen, we’re sure.” soap responds, taking another step forward to wrap a strong arm around your waist and guiding you back to your room. well, no turning back now you think. ghost follows behind, watching soap support you back to your bedroom. once you make it, you feel soap’s arm pull away and you sit down on your neatly made bed, a sigh leaving you as you fall back and lay down on the clean duvet.

“just tell us what you need, we’ll get it for you.” ghost mumbles, looking around your room and spotting the packets of pills on your bedside table, as well as the full boxes of the codeine that has several warnings in red on it. “you really weren’t kiddin’ when you said they were strong, huh?” ghost comments, looking back at you as you lay on your bed.

a soft chuckle leaves you as you shake your head slightly, not saying anything as you push yourself up and rearrange your blankets and pillows to get comfy. “if you could make a hot water bottle and grab me a bottle of water, that would be perfect.” you say, looking up at both men that tower over your bed. ghost nods, grabbing the empty hot water bottle from your bed and leaving, making his way to the kitchen.

“so chronic pain eh? first time a’ve heard of that from ye.” soap says as he sits down on your bed, next to you but with his legs hanging off the side, feet firmly placed on the floor. you look over at him and shrug your shoulders sheepishly. “just never felt the need to tell anyone aside from price. it only gets really bad when i’ve pushed myself way too far.” you explain and soap nods in response. “were ye born with it?” he asks, head tilting to the side slightly and all you can see is a puppy when you look at him, his big blue eyes staring into yours with curiousness.

“yeah, so not much i can do about it.” you smile, a bit of sadness behind your words that soap notices but doesn’t say anything on. he doesn’t reply, unsure of what to say and instead sits a little closer to you. “well at least we can take care of ye, eh? deserve a break.” he says comfortingly, placing his hand on your thigh to give it a light pat which sends a soft blush across your face.

soon enough, ghost is making his way back into your bedroom with a hot water bottle and a fresh water plastic bottle. he doesn’t say anything, placing the plastic bottle on your bedside table and the hot water bottle next to you on the bed. you thank him softly, sliding the hot water bottle behind your back and pressing it into your lower back as you sit propped up with your pillows.

without a word, ghost is grabbing one of the half empty packets of your codeine tablets and handing it to you, where you pop too white pills out and swallow them down with the water. “so, how long till they kick in?” ghost asks, sitting down on the comfortable chair at your desk you use frequently. “uhm, around fifteen to thirty minutes. and when they hit, they hit strong.” you explain with a chuckle.

“we’ll keep ye company, pet.” soap says with a smile, still sat on the bed near you, his hand no longer touching your thigh. you’ve known these two men for about a year now, worked several missions together and trained together. you’ve gone for drinks, attended parties and events but somehow, never spent time in the others bedroom for more than five minutes. even though you’re nervous, to be around others on your meds, you have an underlining trust with them. after all you’ve gone through in your line of work, you kind of have to.

during the twenty minutes from when you swallowed down your pills, the three of you engage in casual conversation, talking about work and family life. it’s mostly soap talking but ghost chimes in enough for it to feel like a three way conversation that has you relaxing. once it hits around half an hour, you can feel the codeine take affect, your eyes unfocusing slightly and your brain feeling fuzzy around the edges. your body goes limp against the covers, shoulders untensing.

both men notice the change, how your sentences start to become more simpler and how it takes you longer to respond to the conversation. “that codeine kicked in then, hen?” soap asks with a chuckle and you groan, curling into your self a little as the drug starts to dig it’s claws in deeper and make you feel disorientated. “yeah,” you mumble, grabbing for your water to chug the cool beverage that feels like heaven sliding down your throat.

ghost and soap exchange a look that you miss as you chug the water bottle, soon putting it back on your bedside table as you feel weight on your bed beside you. was someone in your bed? when did that happen?

you look over, ghost now beside you while soap stays sat on the edge of your bed. “huh?” you ask, confused as to why they’ve moved closer. “grounding, will help keep you calm.” ghost murmurs as he wraps his strong arms around your frame and pulls you back so his chest is flush with your back, legs entangled on the duvet. a soft whine leaves you, not understanding what’s really happening and why ghost is holding you.

but it feels really nice, god it feels better than that. to have this shred of comfort while you’re in this state, it’s soothing and you’re grateful for it. you don’t answer, instead sinking into his touch as you lay there and let the codeine suck the pain away. soap watches on silently, taking in the sight before one warm hand is being rested on your calf, not moving.

“yer oot of it, aren’t ye?” soap asks as your eyes flutter shut and you press your face into the pillow for the cool relief it provides. “huh? no m’not.” you grumble after the words finally sink into your fuzzy brain, taking longer than normal. both men laugh at this, knowing it’s a lie.

“sure love,” ghost mutters into your shoulder, his balaclava brushing against your skin and causing you to flinch, your sense of touch heightened from the drugs which makes soap grin. “sensitive wee lass.” he says as his hand now moves up your calf and to your thigh slowly, rubbing at the warm skin which makes your thighs twitch and subconsciously try to shut, but soap’s strong hand stops them.

“eager, aren’t you mactavish?” ghost teases, looking at soap from over your shoulder, his eyes showing smugness. “fuck off ye bawbag, ah ken you are too.” he mutters, glaring at ghost as his hand grips at your thigh a little tighter which pushes a confused whine out of you. “shh, you’re okay.” ghost whispers, his voice gravely and sending a pulse straight down to your core.

“wh-what are you guys doing?” you groan, your eyesight slightly blurry around the edges as you slowly open your eyes and push yourself up a little to look over at soap who sends you a cheeky grin. “takin’ care of ye pet, lay back doon.” soap commands in a sickly sweet voice, and who are you to deny him?

ghost presses a flat palm to your chest and pushes you back down into the bed, his arm then coiling around your waist giving you no room to move or wiggle. “just needed someone to look after you, eh?” ghost rumbles quietly, watching the way soap’s hand teases at your thighs, dipping into your inner thigh for a moment or two before pulling back. “go on then, touch her.” ghost orders with stern eyes, which makes soap’s head perk up.

“you heard what i said, touch her.” ghost repeated, his voice a little lower as he watches the words compute in soap’s brain. soap isn’t one to disobey orders, and soon his hand is ghosting over your crotch, lightly pressing on your clit. you gasp and whine, face pressing into the pillow. your meds have always made you sensitive, made you feel like an exposed, raw wire.

soap’s pressure soon becomes harsher, pressing harder and harder onto your clit as you gasp and whine pathetically, trying to writhe in ghosts hold. “want more hen? huh?” soap chuckles, looking up at you as he cups your crotch. the codeine starts to sink in even further, meddling with your brain and for a moment you stay silent, trying to convey a sentence or even a couple words.

“words, love.” ghost whispers into your ear, his balaclava pressing against your flushed ear. “wh-why do i feel..” you trail off, trying to find the word somewhere in your drug induced state. “good?” you finish after a moment, and both men chuckle condescendingly at your words. “wonder why.” ghost comments as soap begins to pull your pyjama shorts off.

it doesn’t take long for soap to get them down and off your legs, thrown to the side without care as he leans down between your thighs and brushes his thumb slowly down your clothed cunt. all that lies between the two of you is your simple black underwear, making the touch even stronger. you gasp out as he pressed down on your clit, his other arm wrapping around your thigh to get closer.

“put that tongue to good use, yeah?” ghost says smugly, looking at soap who growls quietly before he’s ripping your underwear off and delving into your cunt like a starved man. you cry out, back trying to arch as your fingers frantically grab at your duvet. soap runs his wet tongue over your slit, making his way up to your clit while ghost combs one of his big hands through your hair. “feels good huh? you like johnny between your legs, isn’t that right?” he whispers into your ear, his hand thats wrapped around your wait tightening ever so slightly.

you let out a high whine, groaning as you turn your head to the side quickly which causes you to feel dizzy and fazed, panting softly into the pillow. is… is johnny eating you out right now? god you can’t even wrap your brain around that right now, your drugged mind too fried by the pleasure to think much. short, pathetic whimpers leave you as johnny continues to eat you out with no remorse, your wetness dripping down his chin and soaking his face.

your hips buck up several times without you realising, your eyes rolling back as you drool onto your pillow. soap is groaning into your slick cunt, his fingers digging painfully into your thighs so you can’t escape even if you wanted to. his tongue is thrusting into your soaking hole, paying no attention to your clit as he enjoys your whines and gasps. he isn’t doing this for you, he’s doing it for himself.

ghost watches the scene before him, his trousers growing tighter and tighter around his crotch. (he was already hard at the idea of you powerless against him and soap). he slowly runs his big hand up to your chest, sneaking under your t-shirt and bra to reach your puffy nipple that he meanly tugs on. a soft cry leaves you, the touch too rough causing you try squirm away but it’s useless. he chuckles softly at your reaction, resting his chin on your shoulder as his hips roll up and grind against your arse.

a quiet sigh of relief leaves ghost as he grind his hips up, finally getting some touch to his neglected cock as he continues to toy with your nipples. your entire body is boneless between the two soldiers as you take all they are giving you. it’s too much, your mind unable to fully comprehend if this is real or some wet dream you’re currently having after being knocked out by your pain meds.

you’re not sure if it feels like five minutes or five hours, soaking in the pleasure and mean touches while your mind fizzles away from the codeine. soon enough it grows too strong and you’re falling asleep with soap’s tongue inside you and ghost’s bulge against your backside. they watch as the meds lull you into a deep sleep, head pressed into the pillow and mouth agape. this doesn’t stop soap though, he stays between your thighs for several more minutes, his hips soon grinding down into the mattress and humping like a dog in heat until both men are coming in their boxers.

the two of them tidy you up and tuck you into bed with your underwear and shorts back on, not leaving a single trace of themselves as they exit your room and go off to do their own separate stuff. it’s not until a few hours later that you wake up groggy and alone, your room now dark. you squint your eyes, looking to your left and making out the half drunk bottle. you waste no time in snatching it and gulping down the water before clumsily climbing out of bed.

you try to recall what happened before you were knocked out, vague memories of soap between your legs and ghost behind you. they sexually assaulted you… right? or was it all just a twisted wet dream? you’re sure you really felt them touching you but you’ve woken up all alone without a single bit of evidence to back up your accusation.

you saunter out of your room, not looking too good as you try track down both men which doesn’t take long as you find them in the lounge, quietly talking between themselves. “oh, there ye are hen. were ye takin’ a nap like?” soap asks, seeing you walk into the room with a confused expression. they take in how disoriented you are and do their best not to laugh. in their eyes, you look just like a lost puppy.

“what? you knew i was asleep. the both of you took me through to my room and.. and you touched me after i was all drugged up.” you frown, accusing them while you stand in the doorway. ghost chuckles quietly, staring up at you. “bad dream?” he asks, causing soap to laugh.

“fit de ye mean drugged up? did ye take somethin’? is that why yer accusing us of being perverts?” soap asks, a questioning expression on his face as your face contorts to confusion. “huh? i told you guys, how i take codeine sometimes for my chronic pain?” you say, not sounding totally convinced as you slowly sit down on the couch across from them. “codeine? chronic pain? first time a’ve heard of that love.” ghost replies, leaning forward a little to look at you a bit more intently which has goosebumps rising over your skin.

“i told you guys this already, and then yo-you took advantage of me. i remember it.” you mumble, feeling more and more defeated as the conversation continues. “think those meds have scrambled yer brain a tad pet, that never happened. codeine is pretty strong, sure it’s nae just them messin’ wit ye?” soap responds, concerned as he looks at you and it makes you feel even worse, the guilt starting to eat up at you as you see how sincere they are. did you truly just make all this up in a dream? it’s common for your meds to blur the lines between dream and reality, you’ve fallen victim to it many a time.

you feel absolutely mortified now, rushing out of your room to accuse two of your close friends of sexual assault, thank god no one else was around to hear your accusations.“…i gu-guess so. i’m really sorry guys, my meds they always play with me. make things feel real and make other things feel like dreams. im-im so sorry for accusing you of that.” you usher out, the embarrassment washing over you. both of them shake their heads, “it’s okay darlin’. we forgive you, ain’t that right johnny?” ghost says, glancing over at soap who smiles. “course, nae hard feelings hen.” he responds and looks over at you.

you let out a sigh, your hands running through your hair as you close your eyes. “can’t believe i thought that was real.” you chuckle weakly, leaning back into the couch and soap laughs softly. “so you gonna tell us fit happened in that wee dream of yers then?” he teases playfully and you flush pink, shaking your head frantically. “god no,” you utter and soap laughs again at your embarrassment, ghost joining in.

@alwaysshallow

@juvenillia

[schizopositivity]

So I was searching for a new psychiatrist online, and every website filter, every description they have, for individual providers and medical groups will include a whole bunch of different mental illnesses and life situations that they specialize in. Basically every mental illness and stressful life situation you could think of. But I didn't see schizophrenia or psychosis on any list. They had mental illnesses that can have psychotic symptoms (like bipolar disorder or PTSD) and mental illnesses that have overlapping symptoms with schizophrenia (like ASD and ADHD) but didn't have psychosis or schizophrenia anywhere.

And this is so frustrating, because I'm used to therapists not knowing how to treat schizophrenia/psychosis at all, that's been every therapist I've ever had and I've sadly learned to deal with that. But for psychiatrists, I'd really love to be able to be prescribed high doses of antipsychotics by someone who knows how that affects people. Someone who has enough experience to list that as a specialty. I live in a small city with a long list of psychiatrists, I even checked ones farther away that could do online sessions. Still after hours of combing through websites I found nothing. I was even told by my therapist that normal primary care providers regularly hesitate or refuse to prescribe antipsychotics because it's a "liability".

And it feels so unfair. Seeing psychiatrists say "mental health is so important! I can help you find your best self!" while ignoring all of us who rely on antipsychotics to function. For me my antipsychotics are the biggest reason I'm alive today, that I have a job, that I have a long term relationship, that I have friends, that I can even function. Going off of antipsychotics is not a safe option for me.

The pharmacy requires refill approval from a psychiatrist or Dr. so that I can have access to my meds. And I shouldn't have to keep settling for mental health care workers who don't understand my illness, don't want to prescribe my meds, and don't care to try.

I don't understand how there can be such a major gap in mental health care that's never even talked about. For a lot of us with schizophrenia, antipsychotics are extremely important, and going off of them can have major consequences. The fact that medication can dramatically improve our lives is incredible, but the fact that so many mental health care workers don't understand it, don't want to prescribe it, or just guess when prescribing it is horrendous, and has life-changing consequences for us.

It feels so isolating to not even be on a long list of mental health problems, and to speak to countless people who've dedicated their life to the mental health field, yet don't even consider you as an option. I just got rejected by a group of 6 psychiatrists working in an office together. In a quick email they said they wouldn't be able to provide care for me. Apparently all of them, who are available and licensed to care for people with mental illnesses, don't even think it's possible that any one of them could help me. All I need is medication refill approval, but apparently they can't do that. It feels so defeating but I'm going to keep trying because I have to.

I am not an anomaly, I am one small part of a large group of people with my same diagnosis. And we all need care at the bare minimum, but we deserve care that has us in mind for once. One day, I'd like to think, that a profession centered around helping people with various mental illnesses and struggles, would add us to the list. Because we are here regardless.

[dissociacrip]

this turned into a long adhd rant whoopsie

it really does suck how people seem to downplay autism and adhd now lol. autism has been reduced to people who can mask and have low support needs and adhd hasn't really changed from its status as a joke.

i don't talk about adhd much but it probably gets in the way of me being able to function just as much, if not more than autism does (in my personal situation) when it comes to mental disability. not showering enough. not cooking. not cleaning my living space properly. forgetting to brush my teeth. dishes sitting in the sink for so long they start getting moldy. only being able to maybe do 1-3 tasks a day maximum because my brain can't organize itself enough to do more than that. difficulty committing to things and being consistent in overarching ways. being late to things a lot. highly impaired verbal recall so i forget things people say to me, forget verbal instructions, etc. on top of the other acutely stressful situations that come with memory and regulating my attention span (e.g. locking my keys in my car or locking myself out of my house when i have a very limited support network to remediate those situations.)

my meds barely touch this stuff for me and i'm not especially inclined to increase the dosage after bordering on psychosis when i was taking 40mg of vyvanse. i've just become so accustomed to living the way that i do (because my case is pretty bad afaik) so i can't just will myself to be another way. any efforts i make to change or be more organized and routine and consistent end up getting dashed away because i just cannot do it lol. my shit just doesn't work. adhd is a massive barrier between me and being a functioning person or being able to take care of myself. i'm pretty sure would still be a "gross" and unpalatable disabled person even if my muscles worked and i didn't have POTS/etc. that also get in the way of my hygiene and the cleanliness of my living space.

that doesn't even go into how other people react to it. a good chunk of physical and verbal abuse i faced from my family as a child was related to my adhd symptoms. i was diagnosed at a young age but my parents "forgot" it happened and it was never addressed otherwise. i got constantly called disgusting for my hygiene problems and was threatened with violence over it (on top of the times where i was actually getting assaulted.) people take my impaired verbal recall and lack of impulse control irt accidentally cutting people off or interrupting them personally, accusing me of not caring enough when it's something that is extremely difficult to be aware of or manage when adhd is a condition that distinctly involves impaired awareness of your own behavior.

so when i see shit like "just set alarms" or anything else that amounts to "you're not trying hard enough" or adhd not very much being a disability, especially when it's coming from other people w/ adhd, it kinda makes me wanna stab things with knives.

sure, it's not the worst condition ever, but just like most other disabilities, the way it affects everyone who is it is different and some are gonna be able to manage it better than others. sure, there a lot of really fucking annoying people (usually able-bodied) w/ adhd on social media that have large platforms and who very often profit from or encourage liberal pop psych bullshit when it comes to adhd, but it's still very much a disability. it can affect hygiene. it can affect employment or otherwise means of earning an income. it can affect our social lives and whether we have a support system. it can affect whether someone can keep their house from getting infested with bugs or mold. it is very much something that causes dysfunction in ways that aren't nearly as cutesy as the little comics you might see on instagram are drawn.

just remember that.

[kaonarvna]

Going through so much right now. Barely have the capacity to do much of anything aside from work and take care of myself and my spouse.

Autistic burnout is truly a cruel mistress. As is having undiagnosed ADHD, knowing what your unmet needs are, and not having the means to access the support you require.

Big vent below. Workplace ableism. ADHD/AuDHD vent.

My spouse is quitting his job again. It happens every year. We've only just now realised "oh my god, it's the autism. It was always the autism" for why he keeps hopping.

He's leaving the current job because they're failing to give him what seems like the most basic accommodations (written instructions, scheduled meetings/literally any notice instead of impromptu "informal chats" in hallways with no record, basic empathy).

He's being told off for "speaking too loudly" and "speaking too enthusiastically" even though all he's talking about with his colleagues is work. They took away his office to turn it into a meeting room, forced him into the communal office space, and have now told him to stop talking to himself or his colleagues.

It's heartbreaking. It's been slowly creeping in for months and it's taken too long for us to realise "oh my god, you need a diagnosis, this is just fucking discrimination, you need formal accommodations and support".

So he's off on the sick now because his stress has become so severe that he just can't function. Before he got the sick note he'd come home and crash every day, and dreaded going to work. He role-played being a warhammer 40k servitor (lobotomised and obedient worker drone, basically) to help him get through the day of staying quiet and doing nothing but work. He'd come home and need so much sensory input and support. And he slept so much, and so poorly. He started to "fail the speech checks" (massively miss social cues and say the wrong thing) with colleagues at work, and came home embarrassed in ways he never was before. He's a very very social animal, and didn't think he had social difficulties, but now he's so worn down that he's realised he does.

He can't mask anymore. He's so tired.

And now that he got that sick note, and plans to leave, he's not dreading waking up each day nearly as much. He's still in the sensory sock every day, and he's still sad and overwhelmed, but he's feeling better.

We've started the process of getting him a diagnosis, but it's going to take months and months and months. We don't really have months. We're going to start applying for new jobs for him, and hopefully get him out of labs. You'd think a chemical laboratory would be the perfect place for an autistic man who loves STEM, but management has always made it unworkable for him. He's always slowly forced out.

And I can barely take care of him, between working full time and having EDS. And I've finally realised I desperately need that ADHD diagnosis, and I need meds. I haven't felt like a person in so long. I haven't felt like myself in years. I feel like this abstract creature inside this horrible prison, and the controls don't work anymore.

Every mental health professional I've seen has asked me, "Have you ever been assessed for ADHD? You've already adopted all the coping mechanisms and lifestyle changes I could recommend. I can't diagnose you, but yknow, think about it."

I've always suspected it. I know I'm autistic. All signs point to ADHD too.

I looked back on every stimulant I've put in my body, and realised that all of them made my brain emptier. They all gave me more control. I was always more able to make choices and act upon them. But I used to associate that with the pain relief (think kratom, nefopam, etc) not the stimulant.

So when I got my pain mostly under control, and I manage it now, I couldn't figure out why I still had so little control over myself.

It's the fucking ADHD.

How much time have I lost to being undiagnosed and unmedicated? How much of my life has slipped down the drain while I paced back and forth, or laid in place "stuck", or ping ponged from incomplete task to incomplete task until I crashed? How much more pleasure could I have experienced if my brain wasn't full of constant noise and thirty different versions of the same thought?

How much have I hurt myself by going "you're fine, you don't need meds" for so many years?

I don't know how long it's going to take to get diagnosed. I've started the process and now we just...wait. But all the evidence points to "yes", and that "meds will probably work and make a massive difference for your quality of life". I might get to be a person someday, or at least a more fulfilled creature.

[andro-studiesmed]

Teachers/Professors are useless.

Now that is a very provocative title to keep but hear me out.

In my short span of life. I have come to realise that most teachers are equipped to help only those that do not cause any "trouble".

They failed to help me when I was in the worst of my state because they didn't know how to help someone with depression and severe anxiety. They didn't know how to teach someone who couldn't focus and whatever they told me— it would only work for those who didn't struggle with any of it i.e. those students who were normal.

That is the point I'm trying to make.

They don't know how to help those that are not in the bracket of normal and the advice they give, the things they teach of the mundane, their teaching methods none of it helps those who don't fall in normal.

The thing that happens is quite the opposite. The things they do instead harm the individual because now you have a person who would have done better if guided by an individual who went through the same thing.

The ones who don't understand it and have never experienced it will never be able to help as well as someone who has experienced otherwise.

The example I have is a fresh one— I struggled a lot but I somehow made it to med school. It was a joke of a selection really because I barely made it in reality but it didn't matter because all those who mocked me could only see that I had made it and not how I made it. I made it by a miracle that I made to happen because I was strategic in my final moments.

And then I came here and forgot all about who I was and what I struggled with because I was surrounded by those who didn't. I began listening to professors and in all honesty forgot that I was someone who is "barely functional".

And my depression and anxiety came back slowly but surely. That's how it has been for me for a while.

The professors here make me angry because med school is the cesspool of Mentally sick people— cunning, clever, selfish and sick people. People that make you sick to the core.

I had forgotten that I'm supposed to follow my own advice, listen to advice of those people that can actually help me and not work as to how the professors expect me to work.

That is where I failed. I failed when I decided to chase perfection after the professors talked me into it. They addressed the entire class and I forgot that I'm not the majority. It wasn't like they knew anything about me individually and yet addressed in generalization and I forgot that I'm not supposed to follow anything they say regarding performing.

And I wish it was an option— which professor you wanted to be around and which you didn't.

I'm the minority with the struggle and 95% of their "ideals of an ideal student", " how to work", "what to work", "how to be" and anything they say won't help me but will in the long term make things utterly difficult for me.

So I don't know what else to say other than that professors/teachers are quite useless to me because they can't help me, not even if they tried. Their perceptions are too fixed. Their way of working and beliefs cannot change and I'm one of the casualties of it in many ways.

[skiptomy]

Vent post; feel free to ignore unless you have very specific advice for how to live as a disabled artist in an increasingly hostile world.

Feeling less than stellar as of late. I'm trying to come to terms with my disability, but it's so fuckin hard cause I still live in a world that needs so much from me. I feel like I'm constantly dipping in and out of burnout. (Which makes a lot fuckin more sense now that I know I'm ADHD and autistic) But I literally can't do anything to stop it because I can't stop working or anything like that.

Most months I barely make enough for groceries, and I haven't been able to save money in.... Ever. Which sucks because there's so much shit I need to replace or fix. I need a new computer because even after completely factory resetting mine (and accidentally losing about three years worth of files despite thinking they were safe on the cloud) my comp still breaks down every other time I go to draw, and it takes an exceptionally long time to do even basic tasks like open the Internet.

I need to get my car re-registered, get an oil change, probably new tires, and who knows what else. I'm so fucking lucky to have a car at all, but there is kind of no alternative since public transit is barely a thing around where I live. Even if it was, I physically wouldn't be able to walk to the stops.

Almost all my clothes have holes or are from like eight years ago or just don't fit anymore. I have like three pairs of shoes and one is breaking. I don't have money for some of the meds I need and I definitely don't have money for medical aids that could really help.

I think I'm getting extra down on myself about all this because I lost my spot at the tattoo shop I was working at. I completely understand why, they have limited space and need reliable artists who are there all the time.

I can't be.

Most days I can barely wake up. I've got maybe 7- 10 good days out of any month and that's being generous. My health is getting worse and worse and it really doesn't seem like there is much I can do about it, mostly because money is such a problem that any significant improvement (a functioning wheelchair for bad days, some kind of management for chronic fatigue, even just good healthy food) seems entirely impossible.

Getting on disability is technically an option but it takes so long and I don't even know where to begin. And I wouldn't know what to do in the meantime before it kicks in. Plus, who the fuck knows how stable that's going to be, or if it would end up fucking me over if I ever wanted to actually legally marry my partner.

I'm just so scared. About everything. But mostly about being a burden. Being a disappointment. I'm in pain all the time and the only thing I can think about is how much I just want to draw and be able to sit up for a couple hours without feeling like I need to take a nap. I want to do so much, and I can't do almost any of it.

What do you even do with that? How do you cope? "Take it easy, be kind to yourself" Sure, but how do you do that in practice in a world that demands so much and causes so much guilt for failing to give everything you have and more.

I appreciate you so much if you've read this far. It's nice to be able to put it to words even if it's scary and doesn't really fix anything. I'm just scared and frustrated and need to let some of it out in a non-destructive way. And hey, if there are other disabled folks out there dealing with similar shit, I see you and I love you even if I don't know you. Maybe we'll get through this together. Especially if we share any and all tips n tricks.

It's a tough world out there. Be kind where you can.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

How D'ya Like THEM Apples?

So, trying the decriminalized mushrooms in tiny doses for the ADHD (because, in my particular situation, going to a doctor for this might be hazardous to my health in general). The first time I took them before bed, with chocolate, and that upset my stomach a little so I decided to take them with breakfast like they suggested in the instructions (not really a breakfast person). Not an improvement, they upset my stomach more and made me anxious all day yesterday. Can't know if I'm getting used to them or I need to figure out the best way to take them.

Still slightly anxious today, but able to roll with it.

So, here's the deal. A while back, the spouse and I discussed what the prompt "imagine an apple" gets you, in your brain. He can imagine an apple at will. I found out, I can't. I need context. What's it for? Do you want my culture's Platonic ideal of "apple" or are you going to the store and you need to know what's a good one to buy? Do I need to get taste and texture involved here or is it more like set dressing? With some context, I can kinda get you an apple, but it's indistinct.

And I thought, "Ahaaa! That's that 'imagination deficit' they want to see to diagnose the autism. That's what that is! I can't cough up unlimited specific apples without specific contexts for each one, and even then it's not so good!"

But, after that first microdose, while heading off to sleep, I thought to myself, to pass the time, "Hey, wonder if I can imagine an apple any better?" And, uh, I COULD? Unlimited specific apples, no context. I mentioned that to the spouse, and he said, "Can you still do it now?" And, yes. Yes I can. +/-36 hours away from the second tiny dose of mushroom, and I can give you unlimited specific apples, if you need me to imagine that for some reason.

And... It kinda feels nonsensical that I couldn't do that before? Yeah, apples. There's lots. Just pick one. But I know I couldn't. Not even for the sake of a person who would be satisfied with any imaginary apple. Like, I could imagine the shittiest apple and that would be fine, it would be a judgment free zone! But I remember I couldn't do it. I needed a better prompt.

That thing with the apples is not something I've heard about for ADHD, but I did just barely get an internet diagnosis on that (thanks, @kithpendragon), and I only ordered the stuff because my THC vendor has it. I need the THC to keep from waking up from the edge of sleep with a gasp and heart palpitations, fearing to be harmed. If you spend $200 and stock up, they send you more THC as a surprise! That's a good deal! I like not having panic attacks! For months at a time! I'm not liking the stomach ache and anxiety from the mushrooms, but this thing with the apples makes me feel functional and cool. I don't wanna lose that!

I'm kinda concerned I'm gonna end up doing a real Flowers for Algernon here if I can't tolerate the mushrooms, or they go illegal again because politics. Like, I'm not sure how well the brain differences will play with my creativity and productivity. I need to draw things and go shopping and make dinner, ya know? Lots of different stuff. I seem to be able to do laundry and write a long-ass Tumblr post, but I need long-term data on that. In any case, five days a week is the maximum recommended dose and I gotta take breaks or I'll build up a tolerance.

I may end up looking forward to my meds like that one Tumblrite in my feed the other day, even if they make my stomach hurt! Or I may end up trading one kind of imagination for another and going back and forth indefinitely. I'd prefer the former, but I gotta wait and see.😅

[k0r3-h34rt]

sometimes I feel so fucking stupid. So useless. Worthless.

Why can't I just be normal. Why can't I sleep. Why can't I just close my eyes and wake up in the morning. Why and I always up at 1am. 2am. 3am. 4am.

Why do I simply not sleep some nights.

Why can I not remember.

Why do I not remember.

Why can I not be normal.

Why. Why WHy. WHY? WHY AM I LIKE THIS. WHY AM I SO FUCKING MESSED UP.

Why can't I just function properly. Why do I have to have so many issues. Why can't I have a properly functioning body. Why do I always have to be in pain. Why can't my ears work properly. Why don't my eyes see normally. Why do I have to be like this. Why am I in this body. Why can't I be normal. Why can't I just be a girl. Or have a boys body. Why do I have to be this dysphoric, depressed, fucked up epicentre. Why do I have to be a boy in a girls body. Why can't anyone love me for me. Not for my tits. Not for my body. Not for the attention. Not for the pity. Not for the fucked up experience. Why can't someone just love me. Why am I never enough. Why.

Why do I always hurt. Why must I ache so deeply with no cure. Why must I live. Why do I have to care. Why can't I just not care about others. Why am I such a fucking coward that I can't drive a knife through my chest and finish this nightmare. Why can't I wake up from this horrific dream.

Why was I punished for trying to be kind. I simply wanted to give them a friend. I guess I found out why they had none. Why must I be haunted by my actions committed with the purest heart and the kindest intentions.

Why couldn't my attempts have worked. Why did my attempts never work. Why were they all too weak. Why am I too weak. Why can't I just end this nightmare. Why do I have to care that it would hurt others. Why do I care that people would cry. Far more people would never even know. It's getting bad.

I know if I take my meds I'll feel better. But do I even want to.

Life sucks. People suck. I'm lonely, I'm hurt. No one sees me for me. No one thinks of me. They think of the person they want me to be when they look at me.

I want to read and make art and write. But whats the point.

There are days where I can barely get out of bed. There are days I don't. My teeth are yellow. I can't stand in the shower. I don't know how humour works. I bluescreen when people say something I don't have a programmed response to. My limbs feel wrong. I want to tear my ribs from my chest. I want to hurt myself again. I want to feel the comforting sting of my blade instead of this hollow void. this yearning emptiness inside me. this. nothingness I feel.

I keep thinking of what my psychiatrist has said to me. "People see scars like that and go 'oh she's crazy' dont cut, because you dont want people to think you're crazy right?" "You can't have a mental illness till you're in your late twenties, you can exhibit symptoms, but I can't diagnose you silly." "You can't have that issue, it's so obvious in people when they have it" "You're crazy" "You just have to cut people out if they're a shark"

LIKE I FUCKING KNEW SHE WAS A TOXIC PERSON SUSAN. I WAS 10. SHE THREATENED TO HURT HERSELF, TO KILL HERSELF IF I LEFT. IF I DIDNT LET HER TOUCH ME SHE'D CRY AND ASK IIF I HATED HER. IF SHE WASNT GOOD ENOUGH. I WAS FUCKING 10 SUSAN. I CANT FIGHT EMOTIONAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE THAT KEEPS ME IN A SEXUALLY AND PHYSICLALY ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP SUSAN. I was 10. How was I meant to be able to deal with that. I see my friends go through similar things, years later. at an age where they're mature enough not to shatter.

I want to die

I want it to end

I want to kill myself

I want to run a knife through my chest

I want to take all my prescription meds in one go

I want it to be over

I want to be at peace

I just want some peace

please

end me

I want a moment of freedom. from the pain. the memories. the ache. the numbness. the void. the thing eating away at me inside.

I CAN STILL FEEL HER HANDS ON IN OVER TOUCHING ME

i just want it to stop

[suck-mein-pokeballs]

So a lot of big tings are happening soon

I'll be moving out and becoming fully independent within the next two weeks, which is wild because at this point last year my therapist was telling me that I had to phase the possibility that I might need a caretaker and that I might need it for the rest of my life

I'm not the most functional person but it's wild that my recovery has gotten to a point where not only does my therapist not think I need a caretaker but she's giving my independence a green light

It's still a long way until I get discharged but I guess we are making progress after all

I'm nervous about being fully independent though, cause I'm barely scraping by as is and being fully independent will add a lot more bills for me to take care of

I've been thinking about hoarding my meds these last two weeks that I don't need to worry about utilities and such

I know it's a bad idea to play with my brain chemistry specially rn that I'm kind of in a high stress situation with the move and everything

But my meds are my highest expense and I worry about being able to afford them long term

Especially since I know that I'm gonna have a lot of big expenses right after I move cause I have to get all the utilities set up and the contracts have additional fees

It's been on my mind a lot and idk I know it's stupid but maybe it's better to cut my does and stretch them out to make sure I can keep taking them through this process

We'll see what happens

One of my biggest fears with how bad my mental health had gotten was that I would never be able to be independent so I feel like I should feel a lot more excited than I am

But tbh in really nervous and bracing myself for bad times cause I know that I've been able to enjoy a lot of privileges that are out of my reach while I've had support from others

And idk, kinda not excited to face poverty again haha but it is what it is

I've made it through worse with much less tools than I have

And I know it's not ideal that I don't have a support network but I guess I'll make it somehow

[crowwolf]

Blarg

I've not been functional since last week. Stupid fever. It's not even a high fever, just a lingering make-all-your-joints-hurt-like-fucking-hell fever. I'm so tired.

I want to knit and write. I have no bbrrraaaiiiinnnnssss

I need this guy to stop the evil dead eating the last cells in my skull (gods, Ash, I haven't watches that movie in decades (literally and without hyperbole 😳).

Here lieth my brain. Covered in a fog of fever, ne'er to be seen again.

Ok, I'm being hyperbolic now.

I go through phases in my life where I figuratively ingest every piece of literature I can put my hands on. I'll be that way for months at a time. Then, without any rhyme or reason, my brain goes - ya know, we like this stuff, but we're going to stop. Now. For months, eh, maybe years. It's been probably 4 or 5 years or more since I've been able to sustainably read and entire book without external stimuli (I.e. reading to my son out loud).

I hate it. HATE it. I love to read. I love all the fan-fiction I've been reading, but this stupid fever has my brain stuttering.

Speaking of brains. Autistic ADHDers - I was diagnosed ADHD in my mid-30s AFTER my son was. That's pretty normal for women my age, unfortunately, we were the chatter box in class, the you-could-do-so-much-better-if-yiu-tried ones, the lazy, messy, disorganized ones (I always knew where my stuff was!). Now, here's where I'm feeling like more knowledge is wigging me out. There's a website that is designed for people to seek as a resource for autism. I've had some close to me suggest I could be on the spectrum, but I scoffed cause wouldn't someone had noticed? Except, no one would have cause I've always worn a mask - different masks for different situations. The older I get, the harder it is to hold it in place. I used to hug everyone cause people expected me to, now I barely want to touch unless it's family or someone I've known a long time.

So, that website. I went on and did every tests, long or short. I scored high, like very high, on all of them. I can't afford to get tested. And I don't know why I'm sharing this here (Tumblr feels safe, which is nice, I haven't openly talked about this to anyone except hubs and spawn #1).

So, I've basically lived my life jerry-rigging every aspect. Now, loud noises set me off. Hearing someone chew has always bothered me, but it's rage inducing now to the point I have to put on music or leave or cover my ears. It's so bad that I have started isolating myself from extremes of noise (other than music! Music is life!). My in-laws visit and I'm almost in tears the whole time - they're in my space, moving my things, and so so loud.

Are those autistic things? Or ADHD or both? There's more - I used to be very smooth with dealing with the public. Now, I feel like a nervous teen on the verge of a first date any time I have to. I was a a bartender, a food counter person, a 911 dispatcher. I was public admin and technically still am (though I rarely deal with them anymore). I will physically vibrate from the anxiety and get a massive adrenaline rush that keeps me wired all day. Oh, I also can't take ADHD meds as they interact with my depression/anxiety meds and make me super manic and depressive.

There's more, but I'm freaking out cause I don't want my break to stop again and I can feel it starting and I hate it.

I think I just want to know if anyone can relate.

[gattmammon]

OK needing to vent for a moment apologies.

I have mental health issues. These issues often reflect on my relationship with food.

When I am Bad, I stop eating. I don't just forget about it. I deliberately keep food from myself, trying to see how long i can go without nothing but water and chewing gum. I consider eating a very shameful activity and i refuse to do it in front of others. When I'm Good, eating is one of the greatest pleasures of my life. I love discovering new food, I love cooking, I love sharing food with others, I love collecting recipes.

Which means that when I am Bad and I have been Bad for a long time, I'm thin. I was rail-thin and borderline underweight for most of my twenties and I kept getting compliments for how good my body looked. I also was barely able to function as a human.

Now, for the first time in my life, I have been Good for a long time, despite occasional relapses. Which means that I have been gaining weight. Which means that I have started to get people telling me I am fat, I have to lose weight, it's for your health! You say you are well but you don't look like you're well! And those people include my family.

And it's like. Where the fuck where you all people with health x-ray vision when I was suffering and getting continously misdiagnosed. Where were you when I had back pain so bad I couldn't walk and doctors kept telling me it was probably due to weight gain (I was in a healthy weight range for the first time in years. I had just quit smoking. I was also having burnout so bad that I would spend entire nights unable to do anything but lie on the floor and cry). Where were you when psychs refused to prescribe meds, when gynecologists dismissed my pain? Oh wait you all thought I was perfectly fine at the time, isn't it?

The truth is, most people would rather you look "good" and are in deep pain than look "bad" and be happy.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Hi. Can't think of trigger warnings, maybe for crappy therapy and a bad therapist and some mentions of physical illness. Looking for advice. Nickname purple

I'm just wondering if you have any advice on how to get over a fear of/reluctance to seek therapy (and to am extent medical care in general). More and more often I'm starting to think I'll never be able to function normally without some help but I'm so scared to get it. In part I think this came from my mom's own mental illness and how whatever pills she took (no idea what they were or even what they were for besides that there were a lot) left her so out of it all the time and sometimes made her destructive on top of neglectful, and from my dad's distrust of the medical system as a whole, to the point of ignoring his doctors after a heart attack, not seeing care for cancer until it had progressed too far too fix, and generally being reluctant to get me any medical care and being mad at my mom if she took me to the doctor for anything, because it was babying me and would make me think it was okay to be weak and I should be stronger and trust God before 'weird medicine'. Between that and most people in my life growing up basically thinking mental Illness isn't real and anyone who claims to have it is faking maliciously or, especially if they claim to have significant past trauma, flat out delusional (and yes, they applied this to me, even when I was actively suicidal or had visible marks from abuse).

I got sent to a therapist when I was twelve, against my will in a whole court ordered thing, and while I don't remember many specifics of the first session I know I was reluctant to talk and he ended up screaming at me until I shut down. The few additional sessions there were went better, though only because I coasted through and just tried to give the most 'normal' responses to anything he said so I'd be allowed out of it all sooner.

Now, well into adulthood, my issues have only gotten worse and worse. It feels my mind is falling apart and I'm so frequently scared, my emotional regulation and memory are practically non-existent. I can't get away from self harm or disordered eating (though I often doubt a therapist would think those things are significant), can barely keep myself from falling back into substances. I can barely get a job or keep it and sometimes the only thing keeping me here is being scared to die though sometimes that doesn't even work (I'm not actively suicidal right now just to clarify). More than ever it feels like I'm barely real or even alive.

But I'm still scared to even try to schedule a therapy or psychiatrist appointment. I'm scared I won't even be able to talk when asked what's wrong since more and more now I've been having verbal shutdowns, especially in frightening enchantments or under the slightest stress, which I respond to worse than ever lately. I've been thinking of writing down a summary of what's going on but I don't know if they'll accept that, if they'll want me to talk normally. I'm scared they'll want me to go into past trauma but I just can't, not to a stranger or sometimes to anyone at all. I'm scared they'll think I'm just making everything up and turn me away. I'm scared they'll think I'm just a whiny child that can't handle normal life, or I'm just looking for some excuse to not participate in society or get drugs or something (funny, since I'm afraid to take meds and I'd probably just refuse if prescribed something controlled). I'm just scared and I know I won't be able to take it if I get even a fraction of the treatment I did at that therapist back then or most other times I've tried to bring up anything wrong with me to people in my life. I just don't know what to do I'm sorry I'm sorry

Hi Purple, I am so sorry for your experiences, and would like to start by validating your mental health struggles, and trauma history, and commend you for the self awareness it takes to want to develop new coping skills for a healthy functioning base line. We all deserve the space and time to explore what that means for us, and I hope you find yours as well. It makes all the sense in the world to me, that with both your background, and experiences, that the thought of seeking out therapy would feel the way it does for you. I deeply empathize with it, and know it is something that unfortunately does happen within the medical community. I had the opportunity to reply to a previous ask about something similar that I'll link here as well, but essentially, I'd like to copy over two core parts of it: This link about red flags in therapists (not to discourage!) but to help validate your experiences and not potentially self-gas light yourself as you navigate new medical professionals along your healing journey.

But also this part:

"Of course it’s very understandable that without feeling safe, the appointment could feel so jarring that even if you meet a kind one, it could be hard to convey what you’re looking for.  

My first advice would be to ask if someone can go with you, someone you feel comfortable with, and who you might even be able to practice a dialogue with beforehand.  

Even if they can, or cannot come, my second piece of advice is to have your questions written down as well.  Worst come to worst, if you feel unable to verbally share your concerns, perhaps you could slide them over so they can reply.  

My third piece of advice is to ask for a print out of the after visit summary, with clear instructions and follow up to what the next steps might be - something you can refer to in the future as well." Regardless of what you choose moving forward, I hope you find someone who helps you feel seen, heard, and encourages you along your healing path.

Mod Kat

[silent-scribbs]

Too lazy to type again but my sona design for welcome home bc why not

still my first time making a sona specifically for a fandom in so, so very long

Sending the images if u don't wanna open bird-turned-doge site

I'm uncertain about like, the torso ig, but I love the tail head(mostly) and hands

Posting bc I might lose all my stuff if my laptop breaks fully

Personal Complaints under Cut

So my mom is being a bitch (loud and slamming shit and insulting me) but it's partially within reason bc I'm lazy as fuck and have barely helped with clearing stuff so we can go through the storage unit. Plus I generally don't do dishes (it's gross and feels awful for my hands)

But she slammed my laptop shut, and now the screen coloring is slightly off. Like, it flickers when it moves and becomes more desaturated and/or loses red or smth :( Plus I got a headache for a long time today but headache meds seemed to do nothing, maybe even make it worse ;-;

I desperately need to open commissions or sell art only because I don't rlly have much in the way of job options since I can't drive and am very awkward and don't like calling bc ig social anxiety. I'm unfortunately also super worried about how money laws is gonna work out for me. Why can't the U.S. just tell me how much I need to pay in taxes and if I need to 😭

When I grow up (as a legal adult already), I want to be a functioning human being TwT My best friend has been the main force for positive human change in me but I rlly don't want to push him away by relying too much on him and am scared If I don't grow into being able to function, I'm going to actually die bc the US sucks and I don't have many ppl to rely on at all, but I also don't want to burden anyone and they would all get super tired of me fast ;-;

I rlly hope my laptop doesn't get ruined completely, I just got a new charger for it so that I could revive it like a week ago (give or take).

[weabooweedwitch]

to that prior anon: what makes something a disability is how it impacts the life of the person who has it. for example, you use arthritis as an example of smth being "just a medical condition" but without medication that would cost more than $12k/month if I didn't have insurance, I am in constant pain and literally cannot walk or use my hands. my arthritis is disabling, while for others it's just constant low level pain and they may not consider it a disability.

please remember it's up to the person with the medical condition to determine if it disables them, and it varies person to person even with the same condition.

In their defense i think they were just asking a question because it is definitely like, a weird gray area? It honestly brings up a good discussion about, when do you you start calling something a disability, and how, I think, the broken health care system really, uh, falsely categorizes a lot of people based on what insurance is up to. Also different countries apparently have different guidelines, like for example my Canadian friend gets disability benefits literally just for being autistic despite being very "high functioning", putting that in quotes just because I know that can be kind of a controversial term.

But also, I'm so sorry you deal with that, I dont quite have arthritis but I can totally empathize wirh chronic physical pain 🥺 its actually horrifying reading the prices of some of these treatments sometimes and im really glad you have your medicine taken csre of. I often think about what would've happened to me if I hadn't been on state insurance when I was diagnosed with my equinus, I think it was literally like at least 5k per leg (i actually barely remember tbh, it couldve been higher or lower), which, I guess ultimately isn't a lot, but on my income and my moms income would have been so significant I would've felt actual guilt seeking treatment. Like, there was a legitimate possibility that the mere price could have kept me from... walking normally? And like my mom is 58 and she's been told she qualifies for knee replacements but she's literally scared of even getting them because of how long the recovery period can be and the financial loss and also just the price? So my mom could end up in legitimately worse health, although I guess that also has to do with like, America not having good workers rights where she could've taken off laid leave for surgery or something

It's that whole expression about "disability is defined by the environment" or something like that. Sort of like that whole controversy with Mr Beast where he paid for a bunch of people to get their sight or hearing back. Those people had treatable conditions and were stuck living in a way that negatively impacted their lives simply because they couldn't afford it? Like I can't even imagine not being able to use one of my five senses just because I couldn't afford it, but I know that's um already a reality for like, people who can't afford hearing aids and stuff like that

I think I'm starting to ramble here but like, I wish people had more sympathy for the disabled (and im talking about like society, not the last ask just to be clear, I feel like they were legitimately just curious). Like sometimes when you see people like violently hating the homeless, sometimes those people are literally people who got into horrible accidents or had some sort of injury and they wound up addicted to painkillers and had to turn to drugs when they can't afford prescription pain meds or those prescriptions get them addicted. I had a manager who was in a car accident and the painkillers made her eventually switch to straight up heroin. Even our disabled vets don't get good healthcare half the time

But yeah, as for me, I guess consider myself kind of straddling the line between disabled and able bodied, leaning more towards able bodied, but I can still have issues, like my knees are still kinda jacked up and even though i can stand and walk great now, stairs can be really tough sometimes, especially when I'm coming home from work and my body aches. and I still get pains in my back sometimes when I'm bending and leaning to the point I use a menthol roll-on gel for pain relief. Part of me kind of likes that I, I dunno, overcame the challenge and all that, but like, I think I would've preferred a body that didn't hurt lol 😅