#in my experience with psychiatrists psychologists and such that's true at least

[sinnettini]

he was 1 minute early and also seems like a good one

could it be this new psychiatrist is actually on time....

[multiplicity-positivity]

Hello there. Was hoping for a little feedback on my experiences, if that is okay. As I don’t know what to think these days. If not, that is also fine. I realize this would probably be better said to a psych or therapist, but I’m quite afraid of going down that road. I began questioning if I was part of a system over a year ago. It took over my every thought. I would think in circles about it from the moment I woke up to moment I fell asleep. It would give me stress headaches. I did tons of research. There appeared to be noticeable switches. Though, I always remained conscious and more felt that I was taking a back seat to what was happening. I experienced no memory gaps during these supposed switches. Those who switched out would act quite different to myself and enjoyed different things. I’d record these switches on Simply Plural. I would experience the physical symptoms of switching. We had little to no communication. I would sometimes talk to who I thought was them and occasionally have inner dialogue with others who refused to identify themselves. I still do the latter. It’s difficult to tell if I’m actually talking to others or just myself, honestly. Was never able to establish a headspace, as hard as I tried. I do experience dissociation. Those around me, including other systems agree I’m a system. I’ve spent time in plural d/iscords and related to their experiences. But one day, it all just kind of vanished. No switching. No comms. Nothing. At least nothing noticeable. It’s been a few months now. I miss the system I thought I was part of. Is it possible it’s in the middle of a dormancy, or does it seem I was mistaken the whole time? Apologies for the text wall and thank you very much for your time. I wanted to provide as much detail as I could think of.

hey! here’s our feedback and advice:

bring this up to a therapist.

even if they’re not a dissociation specialist, they can still help you figure out what’s going on, or maybe refer you to someone who can help you best. why are you afraid to go down the road of bringing this up to a mental health professional? here’s some facts about therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists:

- they are bound by confidentiality agreements. by law they are required to not disclose anything you tell them to an outside party unless you’re threatening to harm yourself or someone else.

- the goal of a mental health professional is to help you improve your mental health. they want to help you, and will likely be more than willing to work with you to understand what’s going on in your mind in a safe, healthy environment.

- it’s true that malpractice happens sometimes. but you have the power to walk out of any session if you’re not feeling heard and respected. it’s okay to go through 3, 5, or 10 therapists while you’re finding one that works for you.

- mental health professionals are people, just like you and me (although to be fair i’m not a human, but i’m still a person!). they may make mistakes, but in general they will genuinely have your best interests at heart.

i say all this because it sounds like you could be struggling. we relate a lot to what you’ve written here, and therapy has been a godsend for us. therapy is the only reason we have decent communication, with coping skills and general knowledge about our system that make living each day a bit more bearable.

many systems go through phases of heavy activity and phases of silence. we used to have that too, and it certainly could happen again. thats not an indicator that you’re faking - it’s an indicator that you’re going through something stressful, are encountering dissociative barriers, or something else may be going on. a mental health professional will absolutely be able to help you figure this out and reach out again to your system.

best of luck to you. we wish you well and hope you’ll be able to receive the help you need! i am always more than happy to discuss therapists, therapy, and finding mental healthcare in more detail. i can also help you figure out insurance, find payment plans, and help in other ways to make sure you’ll be able to afford your care. this is my special interest and the line of work i’d like our system to pursue in the future, after all!

🐢 kip

(posted by 🌸 Margo and 🖋 Cecil. It looks like Kip had finished this so we’re posting it now!)

[thiswasinevitableid]

Number 13 with the OT4

Here you go! I went NSFW with this one. It's set in the 40s.

13: Cat

The clock chimes four p.m as Joseph settles down in his chair, notepad in hand. The fog is already gathering around the city, and the only thing that can distract him from thoughts of curling up in bed at home with a book in his hand and his husband in his arms is the case before him. Joseph specializes in the clients other psychologists find too strange. And no case is stranger than that of Indrid Cold.

“Were you able to try my recommendations?”

Indrid adjusts his red spectacles, the color making for a striking contrast between the pale hair that he wears longer than is fashionable, and says calmly, “It seems to be working. Or, at the very least, I have not yet turned into a savage beast just from holding Duck’s hand.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Should we talk about the next steps?”

“If you please. I’m certain there must be a threshold and I wish to do everything that falls before it. Duck deserves as much.”

Indrid came to him on the arm of a worried husband, chewing on his lip as Joseph reviewed the papers his four previous psychiatrists and sent to his office. They summarized his case as a delusion stemming from superstition that manifests as a psycho-sexual complex.

Put simply: Indrid believes that if he experiences too intense an emotion, particularly desire, he’ll turn into a massive, man-eating cat.

In spite of all the notes mentioning concern for the effect this must be having on Indrid’s husband, Duck Newton’s only worry on their first visit was that Indrid was stressed and frustrated.

“I don’t care if we never even share a bed. I just want him to be happy. To know that I love him.”

Indrid refused hypnosis and any talk of medication. And it was abundantly clear that all his previous doctors told him he was crazy and needed to get over his fear. So Joseph adopted a novel approach; he took Indrid at his word, and focused instead on helping him find ways to express and accept love that didn’t send him into a panic or cause him to shut down.

Indrid still thinks he’ll turn into a huge cat if he gets too angry or aroused, but now he’s less convinced his husband will leave him for being too cold and distant. Joseph doubts that could ever be the case, but arguing that point hasn’t gotten them anywhere. And by the end of the session, Indrid is ready to kiss his husband on the cheek.

Once the other man is gone, Joseph closes up shop and heads home. Barclay won’t be back until after the dinner rush, so he settles in at his desk to work on his paper about Lycanthropy. He doesn’t raise his eyes from the page until a shadow falls across it.

“Hey, blue eyes.” Barclay bends down to kiss him, coat still smelling faintly of butter and onion.

“Hi, big guy. Let me put this mess in order, then I’ll make us dinner.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Barclay is already stripping off layers, and Joseph knows he has until he’s down to his undershirt before his brain stops cooperating.

“I like eating together when we can. And I got caught up in work.”

“Saw your handsome client again?”

“I don’t really notice that about them. After all, I’m married to the biggest hunk of heartbreak in the city.”

“....You saw him.” Barclay grins, tugging Joseph into his arms.

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph tucks his hands into Barclay’s back pockets.

“Can too, babe. You told me about him last month after three belts of gin, and you always work on the werewolf stuff after you see him.”

“I guess that’s true. Without giving away too much, his case brings the idea of unbidden transformation to mind. But I’m trying to think about work less.” He brushes his fingers across Barclay’s auburn beard, “Right now, all I want to think about is you.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

The walk home from Dr. Stern’s office offers two benefits: inspiration for new art and a chance to build up his courage.

He’s once again grateful that Stern doesn’t dismiss his beliefs as a foolish superstition from his homeland. Setting aside all the ways that assumption is insulting to his intellect and his upbringing, it also proves how little past doctors listened. The curse is specific to Indrid’s village, not the entire country of Sylvain, and only applied to people born on the 31st of October. And if he had stayed in his village, the curse would be less of an issue; the land he was born into would keep the curse at bay and he would be able to do everything except have sex with his spouse.

But if he’d stayed there, he would have died of a broken heart.

When a party of scientists from the United States took up residence at the lodge across the street, Indrid found them to be a passing curiosity. But when he was wandering in the woods, distracted as he drew, and literally stumbled over Duck Newton, he knew there was no going back.

Duck, a botanist, initially used his work as an excuse to see him. He’d ask Indrid if he’d seen particular plants, if any of them had interesting properties or stories attached to them, and–if the answer was yes–if Indrid could show him where to find them. But after a month of that, Duck’s inability to lie resulted in the admission that he hated going even a day without seeing Indrid’s smile.

They weren’t children, they each knew what love felt like, how powerful those first weeks of flirtation could be. But there was no escaping the sensation that they had each found a missing piece of themselves.

At the end of the six month research venture, Duck proposed. Indrid shut his eyes and confessed about the curse, keeping them closed so he wouldn’t have the image of Duck leaving him burned into his mind. When warm fingers closed around his own, he looked down to find the other man still on one knee.

Looking back, he curses his own naivete; he was so certain he could still be a tender, affectionate husband, even outside the safety of his home town. But he cannot bear any chance that he’d transform and harm the man he loves. So he withdrew, flinched from touches, hating himself all the while, even contemplating fleeing and leaving Duck to find another.

Finding Dr. Stern, patient and so handsome Indrid can’t help but think of Roger Taylor or other dapper men on the silver screen, has brought him back to himself to a degree. At the very least, he no longer fears Duck thinks he hates him.

When he enters their apartment, Duck is asleep on the couch, book flopped open on his chest. Indrid takes a deep breath, bows, and kisses the top of his head.

“Hmwazat? Oh, evenin sugar.” Duck grins at him, lets out such a charming sigh when Indrid kisses his cheek that Indrid does it twice more.

“Appointment when that well, huh?” His husband sits up, holds out his hand so Indrid will join him on the deep red cushions, “or does seein’ Stern just make you a little, uh, frisky?”

“Of, of course not.” Indrid keeps his hands in his lap, even as he aches to pin Duck on his back.

“Couldn’t blame you if it does. Fella’s got a face that’d stun a bird outta the sky. Not quite as remarkable as yours, though.” He leans in, reciprocating the kiss on Indrid’s right cheek. God, Indrid misses kissing him on the lips, the way his tongue would play between them, slipping his hands under Duck's shirt…

“I, we should stop. I’m sorry, sweet one, I’m getting, it’s too-”

“It’s okay.” Duck twines their fingers together, “bein by your side makes me feel like the luckiest fella in the world. Kissin’ is just a bonus.”

“But I want to. And I can’t want to intensely because even that may set it off but I…all of me aches for you.”

“I know, sugar.” His husband tips sideways, shifts so he can lay with his head in Indrid’s lap. This is safe, they tested it two weeks ago, “we’ll get there. Even if we don’t, I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I promised forever, and I fuckin meant it.”

Indrid studies their linked hands, matching gold bands glinting in the light, “I know.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s not certain they’re correlated, but the more Indrid is able to express his emotions and his affection to Duck, the more he’s able to do all the other things he’d hoped for from his life here. After a few inquiries, he’s been hired to teach painting classes for adults looking to broaden their horizons or take their minds off the chaos of the world.

Better still, the building where he teaches is only a few blocks from the botanical gardens where Duck works. He has an hour to draw, dine, or dawdle on his own before he joins his husband and the front gate and walks arm in arm with him through the park, laughing about their day.

He’s found a restaurant with a view of the duck pond in the park, settles on a corner stool so he can watch the cook at the grill while he eats his apple cobbler. It’s not busy, but he’s still not expecting the man to pause at the counter and smile at him.

“Long way from home?” A smile parts a bearded face when Indrid stares up, surprised.

“How could you tell?” He replies in Sylph.

The man tips his head at the medallion peeking out from Indrid’s shirt. It’s a bright orange stone, native to Sylvain, and wearing a piece of it is said to protect her children when they travel beyond her borders. The cook lifts his wrist, revealing a bracelet with an orange triangle at its center.

Indrid studies his countryman more carefully; deep brown eyes, full lips, and a face that was made to be caressed. Before he can ask his name, a flock of tourists push through the doors and he returns to his station. Just as Indrid is leaving, a baritone voice as dark and rich as fine chocolate, catches his ear.

“You local?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Come back soon and I’ll have something special for you. Something from home.”

Indrid returns after teaching his Friday class. The cook murmurs, “Don’t order” in a tone that makes Indrid want to kneel at his feet. He’s so busy trying not to turn into a mindless panther, the clank of a plate on the counter surprises him. On it are a pair of doughnuts, and when Indrid bites them he’s met with a burst of salty cheese, sweet blackberries, and honey.

“Just like home?”

“Better.” He wipes his mouth, wishing he could unhinge his jaw and swallow both down at once, “Do you make them often”

“Only when I’ve got a good reason to.” Strong arms rest on the counter, “Like when someone walks in here looking like a moonrise on a summer night.”

Indrid notices the wedding ring on the man’s hand and decides it’s safe to tease, “Tsk, does your beloved know you keep the old habits?”

(In Sylvain, it’s as common to have two or three partners as it is to have one).

“His only rule is I have to share” The cook winks and Indrid could swear he feels claws pushing at his fingertips. His face must give him away, because the other man straightens, “Sorry, just nice to have someone from home to joke with. I, uh, I’m Barclay.”

“Indrid.”

Barclay lifts the empty plate, “More?”

“Please.”

They talk on and off as customers come and go, and Indrid tells Duck about it as they walk home. His husband is genuinely excited on behalf.

“If the fella seems nice, we oughta have him and his husband over for dinner sometime. I know you been homesick, and it wouldn’t kill me to practice my Sylph, so if we could make friends with some folks from back your way, that’d be real swell.”

—--------------------------------------------

“This is the place.” Joseph hits the buzzer for apartment 7B. Once they’re allowed in and up the stairs, Barclay knocks eagerly on the door, bottle of wine in his other hand. When the scuffed wood swings open, Joseph sighs.

“I was wondering if this would happen.”

Duck stares back at him, “Didn’t know you were, uh, so intimate with Sylph culture.”

“I…it’s not good practice to reveal personal details to clients.” He smiles at the red glasses over Duck’s shoulder, “Hi, Indrid.”

“This does, ah, explain why you aren’t dismissive of my cultural beliefs.”

“Close mindedness is a terrible thing in a scientist.” He steps back from the door, “but I really shouldn’t have dinner with you three.” He kisses Barclay, “it’s pushing it to even suggest Barclay stay, but you’re not his patient and, well, as I said I don’t talk about work.”

He says his goodbyes and returns to the foggy street. As he stands under a light, contemplating whether to return home or find some other way to pass the time, a shadow falls next to him.

“Figure ‘Drid and I don’t gotta be joined at the hip. And it’d be a damn shame for you to spend the night alone.” Duck smiles, then winces at his words, “uh, I mean, in the, uh, y’know, friendly sense.”

A friendship with a patient���s husband is a terrible idea. But Duck is standing there with his lopsided smile and an ass just begging to be groped and Joseph is only human.

“I appreciate the company, even if I’m not really sure of my own plans.”

“We could walk through the park. They’ve redone some of the gardens and they look damn good.”

“Lead the way.”

They wind around lawns and between trees, under a silently arrived at, mutual agreement to not mention Indrid. It doesn’t take long to discover how charming Duck’s laugh is as it bounces through the air, or for the polite distance between their shoulders to shrink to the barest hint of space.

Duck stops, staring at the mud near a broken sprinkler, “Huh, told ‘em we had foxes here somewhere. Look, you can see the tracks.”

“How can you tell?”

The other man explains the finer points of predator prints, adding, “trained as a tracker before I went overseas on the research trip, just in case.”

They talk travel while circling the park’s centerpiece; a fountain displaying all the signs of the zodiac in marble. When the botanist spies the shape of Leo, he goes quiet.

“Hey, uh, Joe? Thanks for everything you’re doing for ‘Drid. He was so goddamn frustrated by the last fella he saw I was sure he was just gonna give up. That quack even tried to tell him I was the problem, because if I were better lookin surely ‘Drid wouldn’t be so scared of sex.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, “There are so many issues with that. Starting with the fact that anyone with eyes can see how Indrid looks at you and that you have the kind of body that most people would kill to get their hands on.”

Before he can apologize for overstepping, Duck smirks and murmurs, “Startin to see why you and ‘Drid get along so well.”

They steer the conversation into safer waters as they turn back towards Duck’s apartment. As they climb the steps, Indrid’s laughter ringing out above them, Duck links their arms together under the guise of steadying Joseph on the steep stairs. Joseph feels the contact long past the point where they say goodnight.

—----------------------------------------------------------

He’s going to have to stop seeing Dr. Stern.

It was bad enough when Indrid was dreaming of Duck holding him down in bed and demanding he do what a husband should. Or when his sleeping mind conjured images of Joseph pinning him to the couch in his office and promising him he’ll prove it’s all in his head. Now he’s dreaming of slipping behind the cafe counter and dropping to his knees when Barclay tells him he won’t be paying for dinner. Not with money, anyway.

Worst of all, he’s begun dreaming of the four of them together, woken up to a sting of his nails or teeth losing their points, or to the sound of what he fears are fading snarls.

There’s an odd air in the office and a just-visible tension in Joseph’s shoulders when Indrid takes his seat.

“We’re going to try something intense today. I want you to generate and hold onto the kind of intense emotion you’re most afraid of. You don’t have to tell me what you’re picturing, but I have a theory that may crack this whole issue.”

“I, my only fear is that if I do transform I’ll-” His eyes widen as Joseph sets a small revolver on the table to his right.

“I’ll be ready if you attack me. It won’t come to that. I promise. But I know you’ll feel safer trying this exercise if you can be assured you won’t hurt anyone. Now, close your eyes and picture something to generate either anger, fear, or lust.”

It takes him a moment to settle on the fantasy of the four of them camping out in the forests back home, of hands on his throat and hips keeping him in place as they each took whatever they pleased from him. The itch in his hands grows and he whispers, “I can’t, I’m going to become a monster.”

“Stay with me, Indrid. Even as the emotion fills you, remember you’re here, that you’re Indrid Cold, an artist, who’s sitting in my office.”

“I, I” he does as asked, the itch subsiding even as he pictures Duck forcing his head between his thighs while Barclay works his cock into his ass.

“There we go, you’re doing so well.” Joseph’s soft, firm tone may as well be part of the fantasy for what it’s doing to him, “remember to take deep breaths, it will keep the panic away, good, perfect.”

His cock is perking up, a situation that usually shuts him down, but tonight he lets it, uses Joseph’s voice as his anchor as desire swallows him up. Gradually, Joseph coaxes him to leave the fantasy, to return to a calmer state and he does, opens his eyes to find not a claw in sight.

“There never was a curse.” He murmurs, turning his hands this way and that.

“It seems not. I suspected your body was so used to panicking at the thought of passion that you mistook some of its symptoms, like dizziness or a tingling in the hands, as proof of an oncoming transformation.”

“Am I cured?”

Joseph studies him, blue eyes sparkling with pride, “Only you can tell me that.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of all the times for Duck to get the flu. He came down with a fever the night Indrid returned home from visiting Joe with a triumphant smile on his face. Had Duck not been laid up in bed with sweat dripping down his spine, he’d have gladly dragged Indrid under the blankets and made up for lost time.

For the last two weeks, Indrid has looked after him while whispering ideas that are so filthy they’d make a peepshow look tame. Tonight, Duck is finally well enough for them to try some out. Better still, Indrid’s taken on extra art classes, leaving him time after work to do the place up nice before his husband gets home.

“Oh!” Indrid sets his supplies by the door, clapping his hands as he takes in the candles and flowers dotting the apartment, “oh it’s lovely.”

Duck leans against the couch, “Know what they say, gotta keep the spark alive.”

Indrid locks the door and purrs, “So they do. And there is a fire I’ve been dying to start.” He draws Duck into his arms, kissing him hungrily while Duck pushes a coat from narrow shoulders to cup his hands around the back of his neck. Indrid always loved that, when they were first flirting in Sylvain. Now, it sets him melting backwards onto the couch, Duck straddling his lap to grind against him. Indrid pants and moans, already more ruined with desire than Duck’s ever seen him, parting his lips whenever their faces grow close.

“Fuck, I missed kissin you so goddamn much.”

“Likewise” A string of kisses down his cheek, “sweet one, I am going to devour you, you will not be able to get out of bed for days, goodness, please, please kiss me some more.”

Duck obliges, then yelps playfully, “Careful with those lovebites, sugar.”

Indrid pulls back from where he was nibbling Duck’s lip with a put-upon sigh, “Very well, my delicate, American–oh, oh dear I drew blood.” He raises a hand to his own mouth.

They notice the claws at the same time.

“No!” Indrid scrambles up, knocking Duck to the floor, “No, nono, it can’t be, it’s not real-” he doubles over with a groan of pain, face morphing and limbs shuddering.

“Stay with me ‘Drid, please, it’s gonna be okay.”

Indrid doesn’t stay around for more reassurances. There’s a heart-rending yowl as he leaps from the window. Duck calls his name, panicking as he runs to the windowsill. The two story fall didn’t so much as slow his husband down, his still-changing shape fleeing into the park.

He wrenches the phone from its’ cradle, prays that someone is at home on the other end.

“Hello, this is the Stern residence.”

“Barclay, it’s Duck, you fellas gotta help me. That curse ain’t bullshit and now ‘Drid is all alone turnin into god-knows-what! Please, he ran into the gardens, that place is so big I might not find him on my own, if, if someone sees they might hurt him. I know ‘Drid ain’t Joe’s patient anymore but-”

“We’re on our way.”

The phone is barely hung up before he’s out the door and into the night. Scanning the ground with his flashlight reveals strange tracks, too big to belong to anything native. He follows them, nearly loses them twice before they stop in a thicket. He kneels in the dirt, raises the beam and finds it reflected back in two points.

“‘Drid? Do you recognize me?”

“Yes.” His husband creeps into view, pale fur glinting in the light, glasses gone and now-yellow eyes huge with fear, “Why did you follow me? I, I could have been a mindless beast, could, could have killed you.”

“You ain’t mindless. And you ain’t so much a beast as a…werecat? That a thing?”

“Apparently. The stories made it sound like I’d become a panther or somesuch. A monster that still has its faculties is far less terrifying. At, at least on my end.”

A rustle breaks the air, followed by “Duck?”

“Over here Barclay!”

The other two men come into view, both stopping beside Duck to stare at Indrid.

“Oh my lord.” Joseph crouches, “Indrid, you’re gorgeous.”

“Took the words right outta my mouth.” Duck holds out his hand, “c’mon sugar, let’s get you home.”

Indrid wiggles free of the clutching sticks, leaves stuck in his pale fur. His clothes are tattered, his ears are still slightly back, and his tail is lashing.

“What if someone sees me like this?”

“They should consider it an honor. But, uh, since a lotta people are jerks, here” Barclay already has his peacoat off, holds it open so Indrid can put it on. Joseph takes off his fedora, setting it on Indrid’s head to hide his ears and then turning up his collar so his face is mostly hidden.

“Does that work?” the doctor smooths down the fabric.

“Very well.” Indrid purrs, “and wearing things that smell like you both is very comforting.”

They swiftly back to the apartment, none of them breathing easily until they’re inside. As he removes the loaned clothes, Indrid looks at his feline state with frustration.

“Why aren’t I changing back?”

“It could be that being afraid fed some sort of adrenaline reaction that is keeping you that way.” Joseph’s voice loses its professional tone as he adds, “I’m so sorry, to both of you. I ought to have repeated my experiment, ought to have thought about how intensity of emotion only increased with actual interactions instead of imagined ones.”

“Babe, there’s no way you could have known.”

“It was my job to find out. And instead I put you both in distress and danger.”

Indrid cocks his head, then reaches out and takes Joe’s hand, guiding it up so he can rub his fuzzy cheek into the palm.

Joseph laughs, then blushes, “Duck, is it rude to say your husband is wonderfully soft?”

“Ain’t rude if it’s true.” Duck cautiously takes Indrid’s hand, kissing the knuckles as he pets up his arm, “holy shit, you weren’t kiddin.”

Indrid’s smile turns dreamy as he tosses a gaze at Barclay, “Care to get in on the, ah, heavy petting?”

“Uh huh.” Barclay loops his arms around Indrid’s middle, scritching his sides, and whispers something in Sylph that makes Indrid purr louder.

“I’m not sure this counts as that.” Joseph smiles as Barclay leans around to kiss his wrist.

“It could. I, ah, I mean, I, never mind, forget I said anything, please keep petting my soft, soft head.”

“Say more, kitten.” Barclay tightens his hold and Indrid wriggles with a pleased moan.

“I, I may also not be turning back because all I can think of is the three of you taking me. Claiming me.”

“I suppose we did find you..” Joe licks his lips, glancing at Duck with a look that suggests they’ll back off if this isn’t okay.

“That we did. Which means you’re ours. In fact, I got just the thing to prove it. Don’t go nowhere.” He steps into the bedroom, pulling a black box from the bottom drawer of the dresser, “see, ‘Drid had been sayin he wanted to try a different kind of setting for his necklace, and I was savin this for a special occasion.”

“I’d say seeing him in all his glory is pretty fucking special.” Barclay nips the end of one of Indrid’s ears.

“Damn right it is.” He opens the box, revealing the thin, red, leather collar, silver ring at its center that a charm or stone could fasten to.

“It’s perfect” Indrid bites his lip, “will you put it on for me?”

“Of course, sugar.” Duck carefully winds the leather around his throat, slips two fingers beneath it to be certain it’s not too tight. Indrid touches it, then darts forward to kiss him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Duck rests their foreheads together for a moment, then looks at Barclay, “okay big fella, you start figuring out all the ways to make him purr. I got business with the doctor over here who pointed a gun at my husband.”

“It wasn’t loaded.” Joe clearly has more protests ready when he notices Duck’s smile, “but it was very rude of me to do that.”

“He likes being hit.” Barclay rumbles, sitting on the couch and yanking Indrid into his lap.

“That so? Okay doctor, put your hands on the top of the sofa” He shoves Joe forward, grabbing his ass with both hands as the taller man follows his orders. Once he’s stable, Duck swats the right side over and over, laughing as Joe cries out.

“Oh, those are very nice sounds.” Indrid tips forward enough to kiss Joe’s shoulder.

“Guess I better make him make some more.”

“SHIT!” Joe white knuckles the couch, “yes, yes, again.”

His pleas are drowned out by a needy yowl, and they both look over to find Barclay with a tail wrapped around his fingers. The cook grins, tugging it again while hooking his other finger through the loop of the collar. Indrid yowls once more, nearly all the yellow gone from his eyes when they land on Duck.

“Fuck it.” He hauls Joe up by the back of his shirt, “punish you another time, I been waitin a year to fuck ‘Drid and my patience just ran out.”

“Understandable” Joe pants, plants precise kisses along Duck’s jaw, “but I have a recommendation first.” He removes his tie–he must have just come home from work when Duck called–and loops it through the collar, knotting it off into a make-shift leash. He tugs it once and Indrid nearly falls into his arms.

“Good boy.” Joseph kisses him, “take him to the bedroom, big guy.”

They pile through the threshold, stripping clothes off into haphazard piles. Duck grabs a box from the closet, pulling out the spare dick he bought and a harness to fit it in. As he’s wrestling with the straps, there’s muffled moaning from the bed; Barclay has found the lubricant and condoms, thick fingers working Indrid open while Joe holds tight to leash and kisses Indrid relentlessly.

When Duck joins them on the mattress he fists a hand in Joe’s hair, messing up the carefully slicked strands as he drags kisses from his lips to his chest.

Joe is kiss-dazed when he pulls back and says, “Alright, big guy, it’s Duck’s turn.”

“Kitten’s all yours.” Barclay crawls around to join his husband. Duck thinks for a moment, petting Indrid’s back reassuringly.

“Sugar? How do feel about, uh, gettin deflowered by two people at once. Or even three.”

Pointed ears twitch with interest, “I would be lying if I said it was a new idea to me.”

“Then here’s what we’ll do; you’re gonna open that sweet mouth for Barclay, use this” he runs a firm hand up an already dripping cock, “on Joe, and I’m gonna fuck you like you’re an alleycat in heat.”

Indrid flails for a condom, remembers his claws, and hands it to Joe while Duck slicks his cock up. Joe rolls gracefully onto his back, legs spread so invitingly Duck almost suggests a change of plans to shove his dick in there instead. But Indrid is purring, high and delighted, and pounces on him with a joy that makes Duck smile.

“Shhhit, oh that’s good. But you need to stay still, be a good boy so Duck can get into, well, you.” Joe snickers as Indrid nuzzles his cheek.

When Duck pushes in, Indrid gasps, jerking his hips so Joe echos the sound.

“Fuck, ass looks just as good with my cock in it as I thought it would.”

“And if you do not begin using it this instant I will wail so loud it wakes the whole block.”

“Can’t have that.” Duck winks at Barclay, who grabs the leash to guide Indrid’s head up.

“Damn, big fella, every part of you is king sized ain’t it?”

“Heh, yeah.” Barclay blushes proudly, “think you can take it, kittenfuck, ohfuckIndrid” His other hand grips Indrid’s hair as he laps at the head of his cock. Duck enjoys the show, grinding his hips slowly as Indrid’s mouth stretches wider and wider. Barclay is grunting with every thrust, then groans as Joe snakes a hand up to toy with his balls.

“I never can keep my hands off you.”

Barclay blows him a kiss, it’s tenderness contrasting with the force with which he fucks down into Indrid’s throat. He rubs the base of Indrid’s skull, “if it’s too much, kitten, snap twice.”

Indrid gives a thumbs up. Then he yowls, garbled and long, and digs his claws into Joe’s shoulder as Barclay and Duck begin thrusting at the same time.

“LORDalmighty that’s nice, fuck, good boy, scratch as much as you need.” Joe’s feet kick erratically as Indrid fucks him. Duck speeds up his thrusts at the sight, grabs Indrid’s tail and bites down.

“MMMphhhh!”

“Can you do that again? Face is even nicer to fuck when he yowls.”

Duck bites harder, growls as he watches dark claws cling to Joe’s arms.

“Fuck” Barclay grits his teeth, “fuck I’m gonna paint your stomach white in ten fucking seconds, your mouth is so fucking good I can’t even be disappointed it’ll be over so fast.”

“You found him too, big guy, you can use it whenever you want.”

“G-guess that’s true. Fuck, ohfuck, Indrid, kitten, yes.” Barclay groans and Duck can see Indrid frantically swallowing as he cums down his throat, “c’mon, I gave you a treat, be good and finish it.”

When the cook finally releases him, Indrid gasps, begging for something in his native tongue.

“Can have as many kisses as you want.” Barclay replies, all traces of roughness gone as he cups Indrid’s face and peppers it with kisses. Where he feared jealousy might lurk, all Duck finds is happiness that someone else sees Indrid for the treasure he is and wants to treat him right.

“You’re always so thoughtful.” Joe watches his husband with admiration, fingers working his own dick with swift circles. He cums as Indrid sinks his teeth into his chest, looking just as gorgeous doing so as Duck dreamed he would.

Duck grabs Indrid’s hips, forcing him to pull out so Joe can open his arms to Barclay. Then he lets go, Indrid resting on his forearms as Duck blankets him with his body and reaches a hand around to his dick.

“Want me to make you cum, sugar.”

“Yes” it’s nearly a sob, “please, I’ve waited so long.”

It takes three strokes before he’s spilling on the blankets, a strange purrmoan filling the room as he begs for Duck to please, beloved, please, claim what’s his. Duck pumps his hips, humping the texture of the harness and the curve of Indrid’s ass until he cums with a moan that’s months in the making.

He pulls free and tosses the toy to the floor. Then warm, soft fur wraps around him as Indrid holds him close.

“When I was hiding, I was so afraid you would not love me once you saw me like this. I, the fact that you not only love me but want me” Eyes that are fading from yellow to brown meet his own, “I could not have asked for a finer man.”

“Seems to me you got three.” Duck smiles as Joe rests his chin on his shoulder.

“It…it is common for Sylphs to have such arrangements. But only if everyone wishes it to be so.”

“Hell yeah I do.”

“Me too.”

“You already know how I feel.” Barclay kisses Indrid softly, “gotta remind you not everything from home is a weird curse.”

Indrid studies his hand as it returns to normal, then takes in their shared state of delighted dishevelment and replies, “You know, I’m beginning to think it was a blessing in disguise.”

[orangerosebush]

What’s in a name?

[ao3 link]

Juliet Butler was used to sharing. The weight of her last name. Her brother. Her space within the manor. It seemed that just by being born at this time, within this family, she was expected to follow a certain path in life that was so far tangled up in the Fowls as to not really be hers at all.

It didn’t surprise her brother when she sat him down at age 18 and told him she was going to try a crack at something new in America with the wrestling circuit, but it did surprise him when she came back a mere three years later. It was shortly after when Artemis checked into the psychiatrist in Haven — she had come to the clinic with Butler and Artemis, and she took the shuttle back to the manor with Butler.

Butler didn’t want to say anything too pointed. They’d have to talk about if she was here to stay for good eventually, but she had just gotten back; he knew that she was proud enough that she’d pack her bags again if she felt he was suggesting her experiment in the U.S. with carving her own path had failed.

So they didn’t talk about it. They both went on, carefully watching each other as they circled around the elephant in the room.

It had been a week since she arrived at the manor, and it looked like they could avoid the subject altogether if they tried hard enough. Their patterns during the day were certainly different enough that they could rely on their interactions being brief enough to make having a conversation about what Juliet was going to do easy to sidestep.

He was far busy enough trying to explain to Mrs. Fowl why her son was staying with a psychologist a few thousand kilometers under the earth’s surface. Neither the mental health conversation nor the magic conversation was going particularly well, he winced. Of course, Mr. Fowl was significantly out of the loop, but he’d never really been in any loop regarding his son. At least with Myles and Beckett, he could trust that Juliet was enough of a distraction from Artemis’ second leave of the family. Both the boys had noticed, of course, that their brother was gone again, but they were too dazzled by the newness of Juliet to ask either their mother or him about where Artemis was.

Butler leaned back in his chair, looking out of his room’s window at the sunlight. The clouds had cleared for the first time in a while, and the Fowl estate sprawled out across the surrounding acres of land. The wing that his room was in faced the old forest on the grounds, and he could just about make out the distant scene of Juliet and the boys by the pond at the edge of the trees. Juliet appeared to be allowing Becket to sit on her shoulders while Myles sat on the grass and looked at the water.

He smiled to himself, feeling the lines under his eyes crease upwards. From a distance, she could have been their older sister. Pulling his eyes away from the glass, he glanced back at the inside of the room. He sighed. Rolling his shoulders, he reached for the book he’d set down on his coffee table last night.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ The manor was quiet. Juliet paused at the bottom of the staircase, hand ghosting over the handrail. If she looked close enough, she could make out the scuffs that Artemis and her brother weren’t quite able to get out of the wall after the troll wrecked the hallway during the hostage situation. She exhaled slightly, a grin quirking the sides of her mouth upwards as she imagined Artemis getting snippy over her usage of ‘hostage situation’. “Please, Juliet,” she remembered him sighing a while back. “It’s rude to leave out the nuance of it all like that”.

She tightened her grip on the banister. Slowly, Juliet made her way up towards her room.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

There was a knock on the door. Butler set his book on his lap.

“Come in,” he called out, fully prepared to see Angeline.

The door opened cautiously, and there was Juliet, her hand lingering on the doorknob.

“Hey,” she scuffed her feet against the carpet. Butler blinked.

“Er, hi.”

They both stood there, self-consciously waiting for the other to say something.

“I took the twins outside.”

“I saw. They seemed to have a good time.”

Juliet shrugged, finally walking all the way in to the room. Letting the door close slowly behind her, she sat down gently on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, I guess. They like the pond. I remember liking getting into whatever was muddiest on the property when I was their age.”

He grinned. Butler remembered taking Juliet outside to run before dark when she was young — she’d always had a wild child energy to her.

“Beckett reminds me of you,” he smiled. “He’s very determined to find trouble somewhere on the grounds I’ve worked so hard at child-proofing.”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “They’re both troublemakers.”

“True,” Butler laughed, leaning back in his chair. Juliet grinned. She stretched slightly, flopping back onto the bed.

“It’s weird being back,” she sighed. “Like, I’m back in my old room, and what’s still up on the wall? The Spice Girls poster I had when I was, what, eight? It’s like a time capsule I don’t even want.”

“I’m sure most twenty-somethings coming back from university feel the same way about seeing the stuff they plastered up all over their room when they were younger,” he chuckled softly.

At that, she sat back up to look at him, putting her weight on her right arm. “I’m not most twenty-somethings, though. I didn’t even go to uni—“

Butler scrunched his face up in confusion. “Do you even want to go to uni?”

Juliet groaned, gripping the duvet in annoyance. “I don’t know if I want to go to uni, that’s the thing! I thought I wanted to go to America, be a wrestler, but then something happened with Artemis. And, a-and I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria with Mulch, and you know what I realized? I’d tried professional wrestling, and now I was bored! I love wrestling! I love my teammates! I love traveling and seeing new people, and getting to be Juliet instead of Juliet Butler. But I still woke up each day loving the gig a little less than I did the night before, and I can’t live like that. You know that, Dom.”

Juliet’s eyes were shining, and she loosened her grip on the bed sheets. Butler set his book down gently on the floor. Standing slowly, his knees cursing him, he moved to sit next to her.

“I missed you,” he said simply. “I’m sorry about America.”

She reached over, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I missed you, too.”

“I want you to know that you can stay as long as you need. I can also help you find an apartment nearby if what you need to is to be here without being here, if that makes sense.”

Juliet let out a small grin, retracting her hand from his shoulder to rub the wetness from her eyes. “I like my old room, but thanks.”

She grabbed a pillow, holding it on her lap and looking up at the ceiling pensively. “I don’t want to just be a Butler for Myles and Beckett, though. That’s never going to be me, I know that.”

“I know. I think the Fowls know that, too.”

Juliet nodded earnestly. “Cool. That’s good.”

“Thank you for talking to me about this, by the way,” Butler sighed, looking at her.

“I don’t care what happens — at the end of the day, I’m still your older brother. I want you to let me in when you’re hurting—“ Juliet scoffed, but he continued. “I know you’re not a child anymore, I know that! But I hate the idea of you feeling as though you have to go it alone because you need to prove something to the world,” he finished, eyes pleading.

The two of them sat in silence, the sound of birds outside filtering into the room the only noise in the room. Finally, Juliet sighed, leveling her gaze on him.

“Okay.”

He started. “O-okay?”

She snorted, throwing her pillow at him. “Yeah, okay, nerd. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Butler caught the pillow, laughing incredulously. “Okay!”

Suddenly, Juliet’s eyes widened. “I still have to tell my manager that I’m dropping out, shit”

Butler stared at her. “You didn’t tell him?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I think he knows, considering it’s been, what, a couple of weeks by now? But after you showed up,” she jabbed him with a finger pointedly. “I was so caught up in whatever end-of-the-world business Artemis had gotten us caught up in that I never gave my ‘official’ two-weeks notice, or whatever.”

Butler sat there in silence for a moment, thinking. “I… don’t think you should call him, actually.”

“Me neither.”

“I think he’s going to be pissed.”

“Wow, really? Because I think he’ll be psyched one of the best acts in the group just dropped out without letting him know. Dom, obviously I’m gonna get yelled at by him if I so much as look at my phone.”

A side of Butler’s mouth quirked upwards. “One of the best acts?”

Juliet sniffed. “I was being humble. I’m a Butler, it’s clear I’m the best.”

At that, he laughed, and she shoved him. “Shut up! I am going to let him know eventually. I’m telling Sam that I’m not rejoining the troupe tonight—”

“Sam?” Butler frowned, and Juliet stuck her tongue out at him.

“Don’t be annoying. She’s my teammate. You saw her and I sparring before you dragged me off to Haven. We’re scheduled for matches together, so she, out of everybody, deserves to know first about my decision,” she chided.

“I wasn’t prying!” Butler said defensively.

“Fiiiine, you weren’t prying,” Juliet teased. Butler rolled his eyes.

“So, she’s your teammate. That’s nice! I’m glad you have friends in the troupe.” Butler tossed the pillow back to its original place on his bed.

“Yeah, it is nice. She’s cool, you’d like her. It’s… stupid, but I already kind of miss her,” Juliet’s tone softened. Butler’s eyes widened slightly. Oh.

“You could ask her to visit sometime, if you’d like,” he offered, trying to be nonchalant.

Juliet hummed. “Maybe. I’ll see how things go tonight with her.”

With that, she stood up from the bed. “I’m going to get ready for dinner. I think we’ve had enough awkward sibling heart-to-heart conversations for today,” she grinned, and Butler knew that eventually, things would be okay. Maybe they wouldn’t go back to normal, but that was okay. He had his sister back.

Pausing at the door, Juliet turned to face him. “It’s nice to be back home with you, Dom.”

He smiled. “Love you, too, Jules”

Juliet grinned, closing the door after her, and Butler was left alone. The sun was starting to get low in the sky, and the light cast shadows across his room.

He picked up his book again, running his fingers down the spine to stop at the name of the author. Violet Tsirblou. The book was, in all honesty, quite bad. The dialogue was awkward, the plot stilted, and the characters alien-feeling. Butler felt the smile lines on his face deepen. Artemis must have written it when he was about ten.

Butler put his hand on the window sill, his gaze falling on the pond. Myles and Beckett. Artemis and Juliet.

It would all be okay, in the end. It had to be. Butler let his hand fall from the sill. Sitting back down tiredly, he opened the book to where he had left it.

[ireneswanyu]

I also try to grasp of the situation, what I understand is:

KS and Oly committee made a trial and gave her a 3year suspension, for both the drink and assault.

Both drink and assault are allegations (this means legally requires more investigation, these two cases could not be 100% facts, so let's hold our horses cause it's kinda obvious ksu and other media are sensationalizing all three skaters cases, more information will come out soon.)

This leads me to believe, ks and oly committee made a speedy trial and gave penalties to the skaters based on allegations (legally meaning the cases required more investigation cause yes you need more context and to know the motives), so rightly haein's legal representation will seek retrial and aims for leniency. (I'm not sure about the way they will go about it: "this was a mutual attempt to retry being together, young lady was blinded by love and didn't know how to handle the situation, no bad intentions, he was also in love with her, he isn't mature enough for this relationship so why did he try to be with her again, it's both their fault" well... we'll see how that goes, I literally don't know)

This is a morality case, not a pedophilic one. Age gap issues in romantic relationships among teen lovers is normal (to some cultures at least) (even though I don't personally like it, still I understand. Where I come from it's rare but you will encounter this one 17yo teen who has 3years younger gf and though most of us agree this is kinda ew, still no one does a thing and even their parents know, you hear them say: but they're both teens, which it's technically true and okay...then he turns 18 and she's 15 and we all know they're still together... I wonder how these dynamic works...is she/he less mature? Is she/he more mature? What are the boundaries like? To my experience, these relationships don't last but it's the first time I see it going on trial like this so I'm about to learn something new)

In my opinion, so far, it's mostly on haein's fault cause I expect an adult to protect others and be wiser with their decisions, I'm glad she's addressing the issue and apologising and accepting the verdict. I think her legal team will claim he was a willing participant though.

I believe both are good people and good people make mistakes too, hold them accountable but let them learn from thes and move on, because people can and do change.

I do believe this is a bit of modern Romeo and Juliet: they love each other and want to be together but their families don't want that. So they're together in secret, both consent to these.

For what I read so far (I bet I'll change my opinion later for sure), it's clear what's haein fault, we don't need Sherlock Holmes here, but I worry that his family found out and they are the ones after her so his side seems heavily influenced to me. I think this cause he has feelings and wanted a relationship and cause of some translations that had me confused,so... they say he did voice his discomfort, he walked away, didn't like their contact so he asked to stop seeing each other ect. (He did the right thing and protected himself!) And then the translation says he was in shock, he's treating his trauma(not specified) with help of psychiatrist and then the translator adds that it sounds off to them and it probably means therapy but I think "is it or it isn't psychiatrist?" Yes, I think it matters. No one should doubt this has affected him and he seeks help, we assume most people would choose therapy, but I wonder what if he has other more serious conditions that already require a psychologist and no it's even bigger of a shock?or is just something his family is using and exaggerating to fight her?

I read, he can ask for leniency for her.

Also... this case sounds more like sexual misconduct and less of sexual assault/harassment and again, not sure cause of the translations so I think it's more safe for me to wait and not lean heavily on any sides, just general observations and be open to almost everyone's view.

I think what's key here is that both skaters have different understanding and view of their statu. For ex. She thinks they were 100%together, while he is half way there.

Today I read, that there's little room for leniency but I think that's just to create impressions for when they will receive leniency. I hate sensationalision so much.

To me, I have also big issue with the skater who took photos... I don't know if it's creepy or for gossip... Is it for personal use? do you share it with other weirdos? how many people knew and why is this amusing to them?

My brain cannot process what the assault claim and drinking situation among the Korean skaters are turning into.

So Haein Lee is actually the skater accused of assault on a minor but turns out they were dating last year when BOTH minors, broke up because of their parents, and got back together in secret?

She requested a retrial. As well as the skater who took "offensive" pics of her, though we don't know who they are.

So. Who came forward with these sexual assault accusations? Was it her boyfriend? He came into her dorm and their issue with him is a guy entering a girls room 🫥

They never mentioned skater c came forward with it so did they just discover a legal girl with an underage boy and call it sexual assault? Nowhere is it mentioned skater C (so, the boyfriend) accused skater A (so, Haein Lee) of sexual assault and that's where I'm deeply confused.

[justanothersyscourse]

Your theory of "anyone multiple has to have DID or OSDD1" fails on a professional level because true professionals will never diagnose anyone who is multiple with a disorder if they do not experience enough distress, INCLUDING systems that were formed from trauma but have learned to work together in a way that makes them undiagnosable when they go in to get diagnosed. You are turning away people validated by professionals from the community. Please talk to an IRL expert. I beg you.

I have spoken to experts, including people in the field and my own psychologist. My own personal background is in social services (in Canada, this equates to accredited counsellor) and law.

I actually made a post on distress further down (here). It breaks down that portion of the DSM, and I'm not going to rehash it here. Basically, you're viewing "distress and impairment" wrong.

An analogy of tumors works sort of well here. There's benign, premalignant and malignant, and within those there's numerous types and subtypes, some painful, some not, some causing problems, some never being seen or noticed.

You still have a tumor!

My argument in either case is not that everyone needs to be diagnosed, but that the base statements of "all systems are formed through trauma" and "endogenic rhetoric is dangerous" still holds true, and debunking the myth of "distress" is one of those steps. Endogenics frequently talk about how they're not distressed, but this bleeds into the idea that they couldn't have or didn't form through trauma. One does not equate to the other, and they're misunderstanding what the DSM says.

It's absolutely a personal decision to try to seek therapeutic help, and even more specifically, a diagnosis. It is NOT a requirement and I acknowledge and understand that not everyone has access to those sort of resources. Some systems can and do function at a high level, but the DSM acknowledges this and still notes them as disordered.

If you're a system truly formed through trauma and you WANT a diagnosis, you will get one. If you're functioning at a high enough level that you can get by without one, GOOD FOR YOU!! It's by no means required or needed. If you're self diagnosed, you're valid!

But if you're self diagnosed, BY GOD, you had better be reading the entire section of the DSM from start to finish.

On another note, diagnosis =/= treatment. You don't need a diagnosis to get treatment and treatment may have nothing to do with a diagnosis, and not everyone diagnosed (self or otherwise) needs treatment. Not everyone in treatment needs a diagnosis.

Lastly, I also see a lot of posts saying, "my therapist won't diagnose me," or "diagnosed by my therapist". These make me cringe. The only level of "therapist" that can diagnose you is specifically a psychologist or psychiatrist, and the vast, vast majority of psychiatrists don't do therapy. This is a specialist that you'd see only once or twice to obtain a diagnosis and have medications reviewed through. Psychologists are more frequently found in therapy (not by much and they must hold at least a Masters to diagnose) but are significantly more expensive and harder to come by. A therapist or counsellor is the most common and easily accessible and can agree or disagree, suggest and treat, but they can in no way say whether you are or aren't. This would be a violation and could cost them their license.

LONG STORY SHORT, seeking a diagnosis is a very personal decision, self diagnosis is valid when researched thoroughly, therapy and treatment has nothing to do with diagnosis in any way, shape or form (though a diagnosis can be used to GUIDE treatment, otherwise you're playing it by ear), your "therapist" can't diagnose you, the view of "distress" is skewed, and systems only form through trauma.

[cuntess-carmilla]

Update: I stopped taking psychiatric medication because they turned out to have only ever been of “help” because I have POTS/dysautonomia and one made my blood pressure rise (Wellbutrin) while the other kept it from going up too high (Lamotrigine).

Now that I’m taking meds that are for what I ACTUALLY do have (POTS/dysautonomia) not only do I not need the psychiatric meds, but they were throwing off everything else. I hate psychiatry so much. Can’t believe I turned out to be one of those people who had their physical illness mistreated as You’re Crazy for years haha. :) With that out of the way...

Some Many of my Opinions™ on psychiatry, as a psychiatrized person myself who does take medication, but hates the institutions of psychiatry and psychology, and thinks a large chunk of it is white pseudo-science:

A good amount of the issues that the psychiatric institution addresses ARE absolutely real and, as a society, people who’re afflicted by them should by all means receive help and support so they can live happier lives. I experience many of them and take medication to help myself, I obviously don’t think the difficult experiences people seek help for are made up.

At the same time, psychiatry and psychology as disciplines ARE made up (like every other discipline), making them not infallible or objective, AND they were built on eugenics, patriarchy, white supremacy and capitalist exploitation.

Those very real issues addressed by psychology/psychiatry aren’t actual literal pathologies. They don’t need to be literal tangible sicknesses in order to matter or be deserving of help and compassion. Your literal brain as a bodily organ is not physically “ill”, at least in most cases. It doesn’t need to be for your problems associated with an “ill mind” to be real and to matter. Remember, these disciplines were created at a time in history in which (white, male) doctors and theorists were obsessed with turning everything into a material, scientifically tangible subject that could be objectively measured with numbers and shit, hopefully medicalized or otherwise turned into “hard science”. That’s where ethnography came from. It’s called positivism, which is extremely dehumanizing, white supremacist and capitalist.

Psychology should be largely considered as much more of a metaphysical or philosophical discipline than as objective science, which is how most people perceive it to be. It’s mostly pure theory about emotions, thoughts, cognition, relationships and subjective experiences + perceptions -- which isn’t necessarily a bad thing on itself. It not being hard science doesn’t immediately delegitimize it. Get rid of the white capitalist idea that only (western, white) science and “objectivity” are real or of value. Actually, holding psychology to the standards of hard science turns it into pseudo-science, so... Yeah. I genuinely think we’d get so much further As A Society™ regarding psychology's potential to aid people who’re suffering if we treated it as more of a metaphysical or philosophical discipline than as some objective scientific truth.

Psychiatrists often are super ignorant of the actual way the medications they prescribe work or affect patients lmao. I had that almost ruin a whole semester at college because a shrink prescribed me meds that in combination she should’ve known would fuck me up. Not that much is known about how the human brain truly works compared to other human organs, you can’t expect psychiatric meds to be well tried and true. The research on psychiatric pharmacy is very lacking + biased in favor of pathologizing and controlling psychiatrized people, besides attempting to make the most profit under capitalism like any other capitalist industry, so of course they’re gonna prescribe you shit. Plus, like doctors of every other field, many psychiatrists arrogantly disregard the experiences, requests, questions and ideas of their patients, who’re the ones taking those meds.

Psychologists/therapists, just like psychiatrists, also disregard the experiences, requests, questions and ideas of their patients.

There’s such a strong element of power imbalance in how psychiatry and psychology function. The more a patient knows formal information about anything related to psychology/psychiatry, the more the shrink can get upset, distrustful and dismissive of them, saying they’re faking it, or telling them “not to do their jobs” when they so often do said jobs like shit anyway lmao no matter how thorough the research and understanding of the patient is.

Psychological and psychiatric diagnoses are just as made up as any other human construct (such as language, race, gender, etc). They’re not tangible realities as if shrinks had ran into a previously unknown objective fact of nature. In the realm of psychology, someone takes a bunch of traits and behaviors that by their observation they consider to be interconnected with one another, put them in the same bag, stick a label to said bag, and ask other psychologists if they agree with the bag being a thing. These considerations are heavily influenced by sociocultural bias. You can’t tell me it isn’t true that they’re made up and very subjective when “diagnoses” such as drapetomania, hysteria, homosexuality, gender identity disorder, etc, have been seriously considered at least by part of the psychiatric establishment of their times as legitimate mental disorders. Hell, some still consider being gay or trans to be mental disorders. Don’t get me started on "Oppositional Defiant Disorder”, that shit’s just evil.

A lot of the ideas spread by the psychiatric-psychological institution are legit pseudo-science that researches try time and time again to prove and end up coming with nothing, or they end up tweaking their own research or conclusions to maintain the established consensus that just so turns out to be very convenient to the people who make and sell psychiatric meds.

Many of the traits, emotions, thoughts, perceptions and behaviors that are pathologized by psychiatry and psychology aren’t inherently harmful. If they don’t make the patient or others suffer by their very nature (as opposed to like, homophobic parents “suffering” because their child is gay or a gay person suffering because of homophobia) then there’s no need to alter them. “Correcting” them is a measure of social control that crushes individuality and only attempts to mold people into obedient ~productive~ servants of capitalism. Much of psychiatric medical treatment (not just the diagnoses and therapies themselves) focuses on turning the patient into less of a social “burden”, than on their actual happiness. That’s why you have ADHD and autistic kids being given meds that turn them into zombies and that's been considered a good thing for DECADES. Like, why does the stimming of an autistic person or an “unusual” attachment to stuffed animals as an autistic adult have to be corrected? WHOMST does that harm? Nobody! But it makes allistics uncomfortable because allistics are fucking stupid and can’t mind their God damned business to save their lives like normal people do.

Even non-pharmaceutical treatments for psychiatrized conditions are or can be turned into measures of social control. 

Maybe CBT wasn’t meant to be a tool to control people and shit, but it can be misused as such SO easily! It can go from being therapy to help individuals process inner pain and redirect harmful behaviors in positive ways, to being turned into training someone to react, feel and process abuse and oppression in ways that are convenient to the status quo. 

Don’t get me fucking started on ABA as an inherently oppressive, abusive “treatment” for a psychiatrized condition that does nothing to actually better the lives of autistic people, instead punishing autistic traits, teaching autistic people to painfully repress said traits and ignore their needs, and seeking to appease allistics by prioritizing their convenience and subjective comfort.

Behaviors, emotions, perceptions or traits that on a man or white person would be considered a non-issue or given much more compassionate/less stigmatized diagnoses, are pathologized or given much more stigmatized diagnoses when it comes to female or racialized patients, which reaffirms psychiatry and psychology as subjective tools of social control.

While many of the traits, emotions, perceptions and behaviors of what are considered personality disorders are painful, harmful and real (and thus should be helped, with consent, not hammered down), literal personalities aren’t “ill”. They’re personalities. Pathologizing or medicalizing a fucking personality on itself is ridiculous. It is possible to address those problematic traits/behaviors/etc without saying that a fucking personality is “ill”. So much for “you’re not your disorder”.

What shrinks will deem as hallucinations or delusions can be subjective, and it definitely can be deemed as such out of white-centric cultural bias. Plenty of non-white cultures have considered different perceptions of reality as valid and worthy of respect for centuries, at times related to their sense of spirituality. Not to mention how psychiatry has deemed the real anxieties of oppressed people that they’re being followed, spied on, plotted against and all that, as hallucinations or delusions in order to discredit them.

Many patients are given medication to try to alleviate traits/behaviors/emotions that come from circumstance (poverty, ongoing abuse, trauma, oppression...) instead of addressing the root problems. While I 100% understand using medication as a palliative measure because, bitch, you can’t always fix those problems and you still have a life to live (the same way I take clotiazepam when the insensitivity of the allistics around me causes me sensory overload), this puts the burden of the person’s situation on their own body, as if their body was the essential source of a suffering that comes from outside forces they’re not responsible or in control of. This should ideally be addressed through material change in realities that can be individual (removing the person from an abusive situation, giving economic aid, giving proper treatment to an untreated chronic illness) or social (abolishing white supremacy, the patriarchy, capitalism, etc).

So many times when palliative medical treatments for suffering that comes from circumstances don’t work (BECAUSE THE PATIENT IS STILL TRAPPED IN SAID CIRCUMSTANCES, HELLO?) it’s blamed on a supposed defect of the patient’s body/brain rather than, like... You can give me as many anti-depressants as you want but I’m still gonna be miserable if I’m being abused or suffering from unending physical chronic pain lol. And then, instead of at least having the decency of recognizing the real source of the problem if your shrink can’t realistically fix it, they keep trying more and more different meds on you like you’re a fucking lab rat, keeping on blaming a made up defect you were “born” with. Imagine what that does to a person’s self-image! At least when I loathe my body for the chronic pain, chronic fatigue and more that my chronic illnesses give me, it IS actually true that it’s my body that has a defect that can’t be cured. Why convince a person in suffering due to anything, but especially when it’s due to outside conditions out of their control and your job is fucking supposed to be to help them be happier, that their pain refuses to respond to treatment because their BRAIN is so terribly defective? I don’t wish the hatred I hold for my objectively shitty body on anyone, and causing that to someone when it’s not even true...? Incredible.

Lots of genuine difficulties associated with psychiatric diagnoses are much better helped through accessibility and material considerations, or at least through teaching the patient pragmatic methods to better deal with those, than through pills. But guess what solution shrinks usually give you. Hint: it’s easier for them and they can charge you for it monthly.

Society™ medicalized emotions, bro... WE MEDICALIZED FEELINGS!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!

[mar-im-o]

(Sorry in advance for any typos)

Hi! Just wanna say I appreciate the reply. I've had a lot of people come to me without actually providing sources and it makes it really hard to have a legitimate conversation regarding this stuff.

So this post was in response to an anti-endo post I had seen. I wasn't interested in starting an argument hence why I made my own post instead of replying. I referenced the DSM-V specifically because that's what they were claiming stated that DID is definitely caused by trauma.

Also I do understand the meaning behind the word association as well as its implications for discussion of disorder origins. It's not at all something that can be dismissed as illegitimate, but there's a ton (not all) of antis that keep insisting plurality can ONLY form from trauma per the DSM-V's description. Which I was moreso highlighting isn't true.

We cannot prove causation due to ethical reasons, which is exactly what you said. But we DO need to be conscious of the fact that in the field of psychopathology there is no proven origins for DID. If people want to cite the DMS-V as proof that trauma is the only cause of DID, they need to acknowledge the limitations of the source and at the least use similar language. A correlational claim, while significant, cannot be treated as complete fact and truth, which is what I wanted my post to acknowledge.

I also do want to push back against the claim that recognizing non-trauma based DID as a possibility illegitimizes the reality of its existence as a disorder. At no point did I say DID isn't caused by trauma. Just that we cannot say for certain it is solely trauma based. Not only that, but like. Realistically I'm having a conversation with the community on tumblr, not preaching my beliefs to a panel of psychologists. Me saying "the DSM doesn't say DID is 100% trauma based" isn't going to do anything but make other community members reconsider their perspectives. The truth is there is a massive divide between the psychological vs lived experiences of ALL disorders. Acknowledging how the lived experiences differ doesn't equate to advocating for a change to diagnostic criteria. It's just a discussion of like. Well ARE the psychologists right? And how do we know?

Overall, you're entirely correct! And reviewing the information you provided, I don't disagree with anything you said. I simply wanted to acknowledge that the people citing the DSM-V as a bible are failing to consider that psychopathology is a scientific field that doesn't make overarching "this all is 100% how it is" claims. It's a resource that outlines what an average presentation of a disorder may look like. The boundaries between disorders are often unclear and diagnostic cut-offs between normal and abnormal are arguably arbitrary.⁴

Psychopathology as a field simply isn't as cut and dry as other scientific fields (I say speaking as someone who has worked intimately with psychopathology and has studied diagnostic criteria and methods). The DSM-V¹ and DSM-V TR² were both developed by panels of only ~200 experts, most of which were strictly psychiatrists whose only job is diagnostics. There was limited reference to actual mental health professionals who have worked with DID patients and therefore a very shallow understanding of how DID actually presents and exists.

Not to mention the DSM is developed based on literature review, which is a whole other rant about corrupt publishing practices, falsified data, and an over-reliance on "shocking" science.³

Ultimately, my point in this post was to just be like "hey! Stop treating the DSM as gospel! Notice how there isn't causation language used!" I do appreciate you adding to it though! I think it's important to acknowledge that DID-based plurality IS understood to be trauma-based, so long as we also recognize the flaws in over-reliance on the DSM as a determining factor of what experiences someone can or cannot have.

(I apologize for my formatting of references in this post. In-text links weren't working for some reason)

¹ https://www.psychiatry.org/File%20Library/Psychiatrists/Practice/DSM/APA_DSM_People-Behind-DSM-5.pdf

² https://www.psychiatry.org/getmedia/5635958b-ee71-4352-b02a-fb24ecab86c6/APA-DSM5TR-ThePeopleBehindDSM.pdf

³ https://www.apa.org/monitor/2016/06/psychology-literature

⁴ https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2802383/

Because I entertain myself through discourse I went back and reread the DSM-V's section on Dissociative Identity Disorder looking for the paragraph on causation being linked to trauma

And! While I was SURE it was there, it's NOT??

Association claim (not causation based; does not claim trauma causes DID) while acknowledging alternative means of formation outside of trauma

Acknowledgment that trauma can be a source of identity disturbance, but doesn't claim causation

Specification that traumatic factor increases risk of DID. Doesn't claim it as a cause

It's really interesting! It's days like these I'm glad I have a background in psychopathology

Read it for yourself :D

[nicockbig19]

Under the Umbrella

Yesterday I had my first tarot reading. 

I’m someone who has never been spiritual. I never believed in God, in heaven or in hell, and I wish I could say I was happy with that. But that would be a lie. Ever since I experienced my first caress with death I wanted something to support me, but instead I was thrown into the abyss with nothing to hold on to. I was 12 when my best friend passed away in a car crash. It seemed like something out of a movie, because she died right on Christmas day. I remember what all the adults used to say: “God needed another angel in heaven, that’s why He took her away”. I never believed it. “What kind of God would take away something so good, so pure, so perfect, all for himself. Seem selfish, doesn’t it? doesn’t He have enough angels?”. Those were the kinda things that my mind would say. I’m still mad by that terrible excuse, because it didn’t teach me how to deal with death. The last time we spoke, she was dealing with many issues, and the last thing i ever said to her was “don’t worry, everything will be okay, I promise”. This. This last few words. This was the reason I could never let go. I thought for many years, I even think about it now, that it was my fault. That I had promised her a bright future with so much happiness, and instead I killed her. Of course this was a stupid thought, it was a horrible lie that lead me to want to die with her. Many visits with different therapist lead to nothing. I’m not saying people should avoid therapy, not at all. Therapy helped me deal with so many other issues, it is one of the best things I have ever done for myself. Taking care of my mental health has been a very difficult journey, but it has helped a lot. But this tarot reading revealed the true damage of this death in my soul.

So now, thanks to covid-19, I’ve had more than enough time to really connect with my own spirituality. It has been a very confusing journey, I’d be lying if I said it isn’t. It is terrifying, accepting something in your life that you’ve never believed to be true. Dealing with your own sense of nothingness can be extremely hard. Finding a ground to stand on with a blindfold on puts a lot of pressure in your sense of trust. I don’t blame people that believe in God, even if I disagree with many of their beliefs. I understand why some people need to believe in a higher power, in Heaven. I think my experience with death would have been much easier if I believed in Heaven. But i don’t. So instead, I turned to wicca and witchcraft. This helped me find the first step in an extremely long ladder. I don’t even know where the ladder is going, but I need to learn to trust the path. This is another thing the reading helped me connect with. I have always had an issue with control. It gives me a false sense of protection, of comfort. Since I am so terrified of death, I need to control everything around me. But, of course, this is a very false idea. Dealing the cards and connecting with the Arcanes helped me understand that control won’t ever help, it will only damage. Of course, I don’t know how to let go from that need of control, but now I’m willing to try everything in order to finally slip away from the asphyxiating hands that won’t let me move forward. 

The tarot reading went much more personal that I thought it would. TV shows and movies always convince you that tarot readings are for finding your true love, or asking about money, or even maybe asking about death. But no, nothing had prepared me for the truly awfully personal nature of the readings. For two hours the Arcanes told me more about my personal life and my deepest fears more than any session with a psychiatrist or psychologist -and I’ve been to a lot-. Out of everything I have already mentioned, one thing really stood up. Ever since I was born, I’ve had questions about my gender and my sexuality. I’m not going to bore you with all the details about my journey with gender. But what really stuck with me was a moment of realization. I asked about my gender confusion with the Arcanes, to which they responded: “this is a confusion you will deal with the rest of your life, until the moment you die. But, do not fear this confusion, for it is not a problem”. That sentence touch the deepest part of my soul. I know that sounds cheesy, even ridiculous, but it truly resonated with me. Realizing that my gender was not a problem made me very happy. As I have already mentioned before, my problems with death lead to an extreme need to always be in control, and that translated to my gender identity and expression. I am a person who has always been very feminine, and that always seemed to connect with being a woman. But thanks to my connections and amazing friendships with many trans and non-binary people, I started to understand many things about myself. I realized that being feminine didn’t mean I was a woman, but I have never felt as a man either, and somehow, the non-binary label still doesn’t quite fit. This is what I mean when I say “gender confusion”, Nothing ever seems good enough, and my lack of control over the situation only makes things worse. This is why the answer filled me with a new sense of tranquility. 

Knowing that my gender might be confusing, but accepting that it is not a problem, it’s more amazing than everything I have read or heard about. This idea liberated my heart from all the weight it’s been carrying all of its life. I figured out that, I don’t need to find a label or a box were to put myself in. I can roam freely from the weight of definition. That is what I love so much about the lgbtq+ community. We are prepared for situations like this, and we created “umbrella terms”.  This idea that someone may fall under the umbrella and be happy with that fills me with so much joy. Terms like queer or trans have made me realize that I don’t need to try to make everyone around me confortable. I need to focus in what I want, and what I need. Even though the tarot reading made me look at many dark aspects of my life, it also helped me find so much joy and calm. It made me realize that my true path is love. Love for myself, love for others. And that is something that I will always carry with me. Loving myself with my own confusion, letting love tear down the idea that death is something I can control. Knowing that my love doesn’t kill. All this affirmations help me get through the day. It is time for me to realize that I am a Sun, my path is love, my fear is death, and my false sense of protection form it is control. 

I guess I could say that this is one of the most important experiences of my life, and I know it may all still seem scary and extremely confusing. But finding this amazing ground of spiritual connection not only will it help me be the truest version of myself, but It will also allow me let go of my Sisyphean nature. I can’t keep living my life such as Sisyphus, climbing forever with all the weight under my shoulders, never winning the battle against destiny. Now, I can let go of the rock, stop climbing, and finally being able to breath in peace. I still have many doubts, many problems that have always been there, and that I will continue to fight with the help of professionals, of my siblings and my friends. The support system I have right now will help me continue my true path in life. It may sound cheesy, but I truly believe love is the reason I’m on this planet, and saying it out loud -or at least in some tumblr post that nobody will ever read- makes me so fucking happy. 

[johnnyprofane1]

How to Get Diagnosed #ActuallyAutistic in Just 26 Years

First off, this is not a poor-me story.This is a journey to #AutisticJoy story…

I’m a singer/songwriter, pretend Rock Star with a decent following… after at least 5 other careers.

I’m also #ActuallyAutistic. Or my fave hashtag… #AutisticAF.

Two most frequent private-message questions I get?

Not about lyrics, my guitar playing, or even my mohawk…

1. Could I be autistic?

2. Should I get a diagnosis?

Well, here’s my way-long, way-detailed, way genuinely autistic answer…

I was born in 1953. Long before autism or Asperger’s were widely discussed in medicine or popular culture. More or less, just beginning in the 70s.

At least by 1957, at 4, I knew I was “different.” Family and neighbor kids told me so.

A lot.

In kindergarten, a teacher reported I was unusually creative, but “stayed to myself.” After 2nd grade intelligence testing, I was tagged “gifted.”

But my behavior was “odd.” Solitary. Formal in speech, a know-it-all. “Insensitive to context,” liked talking and playing in class. “Inattentive” to lessons.

I had one close friend at a time… In fact, only one I remember in all of primary school. In 4th & 5th grade. Jeff.

Wonder what he’s been up to the last 56 years…

My intelligence: uneven. My reading skills were off the chart, but verbal learning, most of education at the time, was difficult for me. Math tested high, but I was so impulsive on quizzes, I needed remedial classes.

Tests were a silly game to me. It was fun to be the first-one-done. I couldn’t have cared less about grades. I’m a process-, not results-oriented guy.

And most glaring? I was disliked, even hated, by schoolmates, cousins, perhaps even parents.

I was a target for mockery, hate speech, bullying, physical and sexual attack, and later molestation. And universal disappointment: “You’re not living up to your potential.”

A history of dozens of jobs, dozens of relocations, lost years in a cult, lost years in badly matched relationships…

And honestly? A history of causing great pain to others. Inadvertently perhaps, but not always. Then circling back to the couple of decades in what most would label a “cult…”

Something was just not right with this picture.

I first sought diagnosis at 17 following suicide attempt #1 in 1970. The experience was horrific.

I felt badgered by the therapist, “I know you have a secret you want to tell me.” I wanted so badly to please her. But had no idea what I was feeling, much less why.

As still happens under great stress, I temporarily lost language ability. I became mute. Which has several times been interpreted as “resistance,” “guardedness,” or even “passive aggression” by “helping” professionals.

I didn’t try therapy again until my first year in grad school, 1980. The psychiatrist summarily dismissed me without a plan when I didn’t respond to imipramine (an anti-depressant)– possibly I pissed him off. I seem to have a talent for stepping on therapist toes.

But in 1991, I entered the mental health system and essentially never left. Every new psychiatrist, psychologist, therapeutic social worker confidently diagnosed me… with something entirely different.

Between 1991 and 2016, I was diagnosed with adjustment disorder, major depression, type II Bipolarity, rapid cycling bipolarity, malingering, borderline personality disorder, dissociative disorder NOS (including discussion of multiplicity), PTSD….

There have been additional discussions of various anxiety disorders (especially social anxiety), attention deficit, schizophrenia, TIAs, stroke damage…

Pretty sure I’m leaving a few out.

With each new diagnosis, each and every professional confidently told me he or she had nailed it.

This time…

And they could help.

I was medicated accordingly with imipramine, Prozac and all the modern SSRIs, Welbutrin, Effexor, Lithium, depakote, tegretol, gabapentin, klonapin, lorazepam, respirdal, the occasional syringe of haldol, provigil and other narcolepsy drugs, sleep aids, supplements like fish oil, more I’ve forgotten….

And offered suggestions of Abilify, Seroquel, other anti-psychotics, electro-shock (ECT)…

As well as therapies including Jungian, supportive, interpersonal, analytical, psychodynamic, cognitive, task-centered, solution focused, dialectical behavior, cognitive behavioral…

I was myself a counselor from 2001 to 2011. Strange, but true.

Not one of these interventions helped me materially.

Not one.

And I experienced some very concerning side effects: tics, emotional numbness, difficulty thinking, feeling like a stranger in a strange mind. I totally gave up on treatment and medication in 2011. Bouts of suicidality ensued.

A very few friends and one wife threw the term autistic around over the years, but I never followed up. It seemed so unlikely. I was so bright. So articulate. Even somewhat successful… for a few months at a time.

And without conscious awareness, I had become adept at hiding the fact I was actually dysfunctional… perhaps the majority of the time.

Plus, I could pass for “normal” by masking… when not under stress. I learned by junior high to practice my favorite classmates’ neurotypical behavior in the bathroom mirror. Hide stimming, meltdowns, panic attacks, the total autistic burnouts lasting sometimes months, years…

In 2011, the intimacy of the most successful relationship of my life forced me to look inwardly as deeply as I could in order to avoid losing my third wife. (We are still together, deeply in love, but live in separate houses a few hundred feet apart. She needs breaks from my intensity. I find even her company exhausting after a few hours.)

My now-third wife had a family member with “high-functioning” autism, what we used to call Asperger’s (and what we now call, simply, autism). Watching this young boy negotiate his world was like watching myself in a magnifying mirror.

We had so many behaviors in common. Mine were just somewhat better disguised. With my wife’s encouragement in 2012, I began reading articles, books, online forums…

In 2016, when we separated briefly, I finally re-entered therapy. This time, I contacted various experts in adult autism through Indiana University’s Indiana Institute For Disabilities Community (IIDC).

Bingo.

Every symptom…Explained.

Every “flaw” in my character… traced back to this pervasive developmental diagnosis.

I am making progress in a kind of task-oriented counseling. Working on strategies to accommodate characteristics that just ain’t gonna change…

But the key gifts that external, credible diagnosis gave me:

Accepting I really am different, with very different needs from neurotypical folks.

Providing for those needs, as I discovered them. For instance, understanding my “special interests” are not hobbies. They are central to my survival. My job.

Reducing stimulation, sensory & social. Accepting I will have few intimate relationships in my life and becoming cautious about “friendships,” only those few folks who take the long, long journey to know and like me. After a lifetime naively assuming each new stranger was a new friend, my motto became, “Don’t like me? Don’t hang.”

Spending unashamed time… alone. I have a radical need for autonomy, while simultaneous difficulty managing independence when any other human is present. As much as I crave intimacy, I must manage my time with humans. Say less than 5 minutes with a stranger before anxiety or panic sets in, maybe 2 hours with my wife. Which brings me to…

Over the last few years, I’ve not only experienced reduction in anxiety, depression, suicidality, dissociation, night terrors, meltdowns, panic… I’ve come to realize my natural state.

Finding love. My neurotypical wife and I respect, admire, encourage, and desire one another. Pretty much a first for me.

Autistic joy.

Not disease…

Joy.

When I’m creating words or music, walking alone in Nature, watering my garden, cooking, fermenting pickles, making bread, decorating, yard sale-ing, reading, loving my pets, meditating, even shaving…

I’m in the flow.

There is no time. There is no space. No surroundings. No memory. No pain. Just lizard-warming-in-the-sun…

Joy.

Everything that restricts that joy? Gotta go. Good riddance…

So, diagnosis?

Yeah.

That’s my story.

And this time, I’m sticking to it.

[ineedrelationshipadvice]

My boyfriend and I have been on again off again since we were teens. (We're in our late 20s.) I truly love him but my mental health issues (I have CPTSD, which is severe) have been significantly harmful to his life and his own mental health. I keep trying to end things for his sake, but then he wants to get back together and I give in because it's what I wanted all along. I always end up hurting him again and I hate myself so much for it. I have no clue what to do now. Thanks in advance.

Being the source of issues in a situation like this is always rough. It might be hard to think of yourself as "the problem," and of course there is NOTHING wrong with you struggling to deal with your own mental issues on your own. But if those issues do cause problems, then at very least it's important to identify yourself as the source of these issues. Why? Because only through acknowledgement of the difficulties that your inherent way of being - a mental condition that you have little control over by necessity of how these conditions work - can we then leverage the powers we have to do our best to control the issue while keeping those around us safe.

How everyone deals with this is going to be different from person to person. You know what's on the plate having already struggled with your condition. There are only so many practical things that can be done, namely making sure you're seeing doctors for your condition, and making sure that you're appropriately medicated to ensure the worst of your symptoms stays under control.

But in a more practical sense, it's really important to communicate with your partner. You say you're hurting your partner, but you never express how. This leads me to an inevitable conclusion that either you actually are hurting him, or you could be ASSUMING you're hurting him. I can't say for sure, because I only have your words to go by. But an important step is to make sure your actions actually are hurting him. My girlfriend has a lot of chronic pain issues, and a lot of issues with communication in general; this can leave me feeling a bit out of place, like sometimes I'm forgotten about. Does that hurt? Yeah, but I also am totally aware of her situation, so I let her get away with more than I would in a relationship with someone who didn't have the same conditions, because I know she's working through an uphill fight. Perhaps your boyfriend holds a similar perspective, even if you are inevitably hurting him a little bit. It's important to actually see where he stands though.

If he's fine being in a relationship with you after you have a good, honest talk about things, then YOU need to put on your big-people pants and do some hard work. Namely, you need to ask him what hurts him, and how you can limit those particular functions. That could take infinite shapes, because everyone's needs are individual and different. But he will surely know how to prevent pain on his end; we're VERY good, as people, in making sure we don't get hurt (most of the time), so if there's something in particular that affects him or his own mental issues, he'll know what it is, and he'll tell you. Once you learn what his issues with your behaviour are, you have to see if there's some way you can meet him in the middle. Because a lot of your issues, I assume, are out of your control, you have to find the places where you do have control, and see if that's enough to make things on his end easier.

The larger issue in giving any further advice is that I just don't know your situation or your mental disorder. I don't know how it works, so I don't want to give you advice that is either ineffective, or would just be a shitty thing for me to suggest when you literally can't follow the advice or it's just completely useless for you. As such, you should take these same concerns to your psychologist or psychiatrist. They may not be best equipped to help you with relationship advice there, but they are professionals who DO know your situation in a way that I never can, so they are honestly more proficient in their ability to help you than I am.

Whether you should be in this relationship still or if your idea to break things off is the best idea is hard to say. Saying "true love will win out" is super cliché, because the world is more complicated than that. But if he is willing to fight for you, and you're willing to try again in spite of the setbacks you experience as a result of your mental disorder, then perhaps you are on the best timeline at the moment. Work on things as best as you can through communication, both with your partner and your nearest medical expert. Through that hard work, hopefully you can find a resolution.

[pllandcompany]

Logan Displaying Known Symptoms of Depression

Disclaimer: I am not an expert or licensed psychologist/psychiatrist by any stretch of imagination. This observation is based solely on my perspective as someone who struggles with depression and my own research. It is my subjective opinion and interpretation not an attempt at a diagnosis. Also, this post goes into detailed discussion of depression and its symptoms. If that is upsetting or triggering to you, please do not read this.

All right! Without further ado, I present my argument on why I believe Logan may be depressed/an allegorical story for an individual dealing with depression.

In no particular order. 

1) Sadness.

This moment always struck me as odd. Joan!Roman is obviously doing the absolute most with the angst over vase. His "manly tears" are way over-the-top and dramatic; most people would witness that and think he's joking or playing it up. But Logan? He's so moved. He's affected to a point that he looks almost like he would cry himself. This could be a sign of his empathy shining through, sure, but it also could be an indicator of his own pain. In my personal experience, when I'm having a depressive episode, there times where I feel raw, on the edge, and the slightest thing can tip me over. This especially happens to me after a long period of shoving down/ignoring my emotions. They eventually and inevitably demand to be felt (thank you, John Green) and the trigger can be seemingly innocuous but end up releasing a great deal of pain. Maybe this is what Logan is experiencing here.

2) Guilt and/or shame.

While there are certainly times in life in which we should feel guilty for our actions, the difference with depression is the level of guilt that a person feels for a perceived wrong they've committed. The perception of their actions in relationship to their deserved punishment/reaction is warped. Example: A person makes a small, correctable mistake at their job. They then turn around and punish themselves with a self-destructuve behavior like self-harm or denial of basic needs. The guilt they feel and the subsequent punishment they dole out is excessive in relation to the actual consequences of their actions. That guilt can develop for a variety of reasons. Long term guilt can also turn into shame, where a person begins to define part of their identity as the "bad" things they've done. Guilt is "I did something bad." Shame is "I am bad." Logan's overreaction to Patton catching him simply having fun with puns happens because he is ashamed of the fact that he was having fun in the first place. His definition of his role and identity as Logic is so rigid that it doesn't allow him any room for showing any emotions or being silly. He already harshly judges himself for times he lets go and cracks a joke; being caught by someone else in that moment is literally terrifying for him, as we can see.

3) Lack of concentration.

Tbh, Logan seemed really scattered throughout the whole first part of Moving On. Virgil even said himself at one point that he had to be the "taskmaster," something Logan typically does in their discussions. When he gets into Patton's room, he is so confused about how nostalgia works that he doesn't even realize the others have already started. Yet...he suggested it and provided benefits for the act of nostalgia which makes me think he had to have researched it. Someone as thorough as he is suggesting something without gaining a full understanding of how it works? I'm not buying it. And to top it all off, he forgets about the effects of nostalgia on anxiety and doesn't catch it until Virgil is already affected. Logan could be experiencing what some refer to as "brain fog," where a person can't seem organize their thoughts or express themselves clearly due to their internal conflict. I describe it like this: Imagine your brain is a snow globe. There a little town encased in the glass and all of their houses are nice and neat in a row. The liquid inside is still and clear and the snow is undisturbed. Then imagine someone picking up that snow globe and shaking it vigorously. The snow is scattered; the glass is now cloudy and the homes are indiscernible. That is how brain fog feels to me. You could also argue this is an example of excessive guilt or shame. Look at how hard he's being on himself for suggesting something that ended up hurting his friend. It was a mistake, sure, but it wasn't an intentional slight against Virgil and he even tried to fix it once he recognized what was happening. He's not being fair to himself.

4) Agitation or irritability.

This symptom is so often misunderstood as a person just being a jerk when really they're just in pain. Right before this, Roman calls his penchant for going above and beyond with clarity "stupid." But Logan being Logic, that comment had to hurt. Logic is all about being precise and clear. Clarity is essential to Logic; it's what ensures that he is understood. Roman essentially rejects him and invalidates his identity by insulting him in this manner. But Logan can't break down so his knee jerk defense mechanism is to lash out in anger. The fact that he escalates to physical violence implies that a) the verbal wound cut pretty deep and/or b) he has been internalizing all these (sometimes merely perceived) slights against him for too long and he is reaching a breaking point.

5) Repeatedly going over thoughts.

Obsessive or persistent thoughts can be an indicator of depression, especially if those thoughts trend negatively, such as dwelling on past mistakes or failures. We all know Logan hates being wrong. How do we know that? Because any time he is wrong, he either refuses to admit it or expresses in some way that he is uncomfortable with failure/admitting he is wrong. Any. Time.

(Above is Logan after Roman told him he was wrong about nostalgia being good for Thomas.)

6) Loss of interest in activities previously enjoyed.

One thing i think most people that deal with depression will agree on is this: it is exhausting. You're wiped from constantly fighting your mind and your will and that exhaustion can lead to a lack of a desire to do anything, much less something you enjoyed. But another reason one could lose interest in a once enjoyed activity is because the activity itself has a negative association with it. This is what I believe may be happening with Logan. Sorry, but we have literal proof of him having dorky interests and being totally okay with "playing dress-up." Now all of a sudden we're supposed to believe he's past all of that? It's too "childish" for him? I'm not convinced. Look at these earlier moments. He's not uncomfortable at all.

And then we have Fitting In. Sure, he goes along with the sorting for Virgil's sake. But then Virgil doesn't pick a house at all. And we get this moment.

I find it interesting that this happens right after a discussion that revolved around finding your place and defining one's identity. A discussion in which Logan practically loses it anytime someone mentions the possibility of him being defined as something other than "the smart one." Makes me wonder what he's really running from: being seen as childish or the fact that the childish activity may cause him to confront some complicated issues within himself.

If you've stuck around this long, you must really love Logan Sanders as much I do and i appreciate your support in his protection squad! But seriously, I hesitate to view him as a true antagonist in this series. I think that belittles his struggle with his identity and emotions. Am I saying he's canonically intended to have a mental illness? No, not necessarily but it's certainly possible. At the very least, his journey could be an allegory for someone who does struggle with these issues in real life and I would hope that treatment of such subject manner would be done sensitively and with respect to those whose behaviors may be misunderstood.

Tldr; Logan is not a jerk or just unnecessarily mean; he's genuinely and possibly unknowingly hurting and deserves the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. And special shout out to @apologieslogan for spurring me on to do this. It's been banging around my head for a while. I hope I explained everything clearly enough!

[mywildloves]

I found a new (to me) blog that chronicles a person with borderline personality disorder, which I was diagnosed with (among other things like major depressive disorder, and panic attack disorder). I follow a few of those blogs and over and over again it amazes me how exact the sentiments between all of them, us when you include myself, are.

My whole life I knew there was something wrong with me but couldnt pin it. I had seen psychologists and been in therapy since the third grade and it wasnt until my second stay in the hospital (at the age of 34) that they finally gave me a diagnosis that made sense. I used to constantly ask, 'What the fuck is wrong with me? Like, seriously, what?', out loud to people in my family, to Jared, to friends. I knew that Ibwas not "normal". I knew that it couldnt be everyone else because when you go around thinking that everyone else is a jerk, guess what? Youre the jerk. I knew it was me, I just didnt know what it was or how to fix it. Now, when I read these peoples posts I always find at least one somewhere down the scroll road that says something like, 'I could never figure out what the fuck was wrong with me until they diagnosed me.' *FUCKING DING DING DING*

You might be thinking that that's true of *any* physical ailment, but borderline is a really hard disorder to diagnose. To the point where some psychiatrists dont even believe the disorder exists. Some believe that it's a combination of multiple disorders, rather than one specific disorder. Call it what you want, I call it a living hell.

My symptoms have been coming back because I'm not using the skills I learned in DBT (Dialectic Behavioral Therapy) at all. I've got my binder in a drawer and it hasnt seen the light of day in months. I dont even *want* to crack it open I'm so tired of this being an uphill battle and having to fight my way through the muck inside my head while raising two boys (poorly) and desperately trying to summon the motivation to keep my business alive, the apartment clean, and our finances under control. It's almost June and I've made little to no money because I haven't been pushing it at all. I haven't cleaned my bedroom in months, I wait for the dishes to pile up before I wash them, I have THE HARDEST TIME getting out of bed and sometimes I dont. I'm here with two kids and I'm like whatever 😴😴😴. Its not good, it's not healthy, and what's worse is that I dont have it in me to do anything about it. Take your big girl pants and choke on them, ok? Fuck that shit. I'm tired, I'm fucking tired. I dont want to live my life like this. Not the lack of motivation or the cleaning, but the having to pull myself out of the abyss and try to rewire my brain to think differently. And it's all day, everything I do has to come with some kind of skill I'm supposed to practice. I cant keep it all up, so I've just given up entirely. My brain just says no and it tells my body the same thing and theres a part of me that can see all of this happening and still cant win the fight against the others.

Jared asked me if reading other bpd blogs was helpful or if it made me feel worse (he knows how I do the thing where I'll trigger myself on purpose following my compulsions to the limit and having no will power whatsoever, which might include reading other peoples posts about their experiences with bpd) , and honestly it makes me feel better. I think a lot of people with bpd identify with feeling alone in the world, mostly because our behavior and line of thinking makes it hard to maintain relationships, have friends, keep a job, pay bills on time, etc. When you feel separated from society because seemingly every task that most people can do normally (like have a conversation with someone that doesnt turn out totally weird, or behave professionally in a workplace) you fucking cant, it's a lonely feeling. Im smart. Why cant I do these simple things and the majority of other people can??? When you've lost all of your friends and severed relationships over dumb ass nonsense, you feel alone. At some point you've lost everyone and everything and have no one but yourself to talk to, and that can be dangerous when you dont even know who you are and you have triggers and compulsions and recklessness is a part of your routine. So I'm grateful for the others who have the courage to write honestly about what they experience on a day to day basis. It makes me feel like I'm not alone, and it's nice to find comfort somewhere when you always feel uncomfortable.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

oh gosh. oh gosh. I've been thinking about getting evaluated for ADD/ADHD myself recently but I'm scared & anxious. I don't know who to go to - is any regular psychiatrist/psychologist ok or would I need to find one who specializes?? What if I'm diagnosed but they can't do anything about it?? What if I'm MISdiagnosed so they can make money?? What if they tell me I'm just an attention-seeking narcissist and there's nothing wrong with me at all?? 1/2

All I can share is my experience, which is unique to a) me, b) my area, and c) my country’s healthcare system. I mentioned my frustrations with my concentration/focus (or lack thereof) with my primary care physician-- the person who does my annual check ups. They should be your first stop, if you’re in the American healthcare system, as insurance companies often require referrals for specialist appointments, and even if you aren’t in the American healthcare system, your PCP should be able to point you in the right direction of where to go next. 

I have a really great relationship with mine-- she’s been treating me for my entire adult life. She referred me to a neurologist for ADD/ADHD evaluation. When I arrived, the cute intake girl asked me a shit ton of questions about my symptoms. And in talking to her it really hit home how much and how long I’ve been struggling. 

And the neurologist took one look at my intake form and said “you definitely hit the markers for ADD.” (and maybe adhd? It kinda blurred at that point, because ha-hey guess who’s having focus/attention issues?)

Next step? Medication.

Medication is where the stigma kicks in again. Picture this: I am at the neurologist looking for help. There is literally no other reason for me to be there. I am struggling, I need help, and still-- STILL-- when he mentioned Aderall my brain and my heart immediately wanted to bolt. Like, what the hell else did you think he was going to suggest, numbskull? 

So next steps are getting a brain scan/EEG, to make sure I don’t have any other brain issues they need to worry about, and then I’m starting a low dose of Adderall, which is faster acting than some of the other options. By the neurologist’s words, I could be seeing improvement by the end of next week.

Your questions in your first ask are all anxiety, plain and simple (and guess how ADD can sometimes present in adult women? Ding ding ding! Anxiety). 

A specialist will be the best person to help you, so even if they can’t a) they may at least be able to tell you what it isn’t, b) can point you in a new direction, and c) at least you’re taking steps to help yourself-- which is huge. 

Lately I’ve come to suspect that the school fear about “overmedication” is an early split from what eventually became the anti-vaxxer movement, and fuck those guys. And keep in mind-- our conversation here is not about the virtues of forcing kids to sit still in a classroom for 7-8 hours a day, and the need for medication to help them do so. We are adults, struggling to exist as adults. If there is a tool out there to help us function more easily, we are entitled to use it, just as we are entitled to use anti-depressants or pain-relief.

(And PS if you’re wondering if you’re an attention-seeking narcissist, you’re not a narcissist, because narcissists don’t think about that sort of thing. I’ve had similar concerns seeking therapy and that came straight from my therapist’s mouth, so)

If you do seek help for it, I can warn you right now that it’s going to be a mixed bag of emotions. Yes, it’s a relief, to have a name and reason for why you/your brain does X, but at the same time? I had a cry session last night because if the diagnosis is correct, then-- I’ve been fighting it for twenty-plus years. Twenty years where my potential has been throttled by a condition I wasn’t aware of. Twenty years I’ll never get back.

 And that’s heartbreaking.

The one thing about my appointment with the neurologist that sticks in my craw is something he asked me towards the end as we were wrapping up. He asked me “Why did you wait so long to get help?”

He meant it good-naturedly, and I was still reeling and dealing with the anxiety of everything suddenly happening quickly, so I didn’t claw his eyes out right then and there. But it still rankles even now. 

I’m sorry, how in the world was I supposed to know that my wandering brain and hyperfixation on writing and skating (the only two activities in my life I can focus on with zero distraction), wasn’t NORMAL? My doctor asks for my weight every goddamn visit but at no point has she ever asked me how my focus is. No one ever asked me how many times I need to go back to my apartment in the morning to get the keys/sunglasses/breakfast I keep forgetting. 

No one ever asked me how many times a week I forget my wallet in my other bag. Until my visit yesterday, no one ever asked me how often I talk over someone before they’re finished speaking, or finish their sentences for them. No one ever asked whether I fidget in meetings or if I can hold a goddamn conversation without my brain spooling out to think about that one story/movie/figure skating program/”if I have my protein bar early and skip the late session at the rink I can go to that one place I like for dinner tonight I think I’ll get the fish”.

So, someone please tell me how I was supposed to recognize any of this as not normal.

Long story short, here’s my takeaway: If you are struggling with anything that impairs your ability to function on a basic level, you deserve to seek treatment. If you read something online about a condition that rings true to you and your experience, you have every right to mention it to your doctor.

You deserve to live at your full potential.

[tulisantangankanan]

HAPPY NEW YEAR ! WELCOME 2020 !!

Again, I took the same test on different sites. Self-assessment is not recommended for the result may give an uncertainty in some points. You must pay a visit to local psychiatrist or psychologist, people who expert on mental health, clinically or socially. Until tonight, all those self assessment personality disorder that I had done resulting the same and similiar results. That I’m suffering depression, paranoid or more likely trust issue, borderline personality disorder or BPD (by being impulsive and uncertain), Avoidant or AVPD as it seems so true during these days, Dependent and I feel the same way because I always asking for a companion or deep down really needy to friends or family though sometimes I did things by myself and feel super self-sufficient, I also have narcissistic issue and based on my experiences I do feel the same way you know getting famous or at least trying to impress others, got OCD perhaps because I lowkey perfectionist especially to my apetite and taste particularly in food and arts or my writings, but what shocked me most is STPD, yes Schizotypal Personality Disorder, my eccentric style or acts and how I drowning by my thoughts and imagination and sometime it feels so real that I forget where I am and who I am, also the way my complicated spirituality and mind making me looks insane, and how I couldn’t tell all of these amount of words, thoughts, and feelings to others because I may find myself a clown or a literal crazy evil for normal people, and how I covered all of that by accepting or simply agree with others arguments when actually deep down I’m tackling theirs. It’s so bizarre and odd, and hardly explained. And it’s New Year’s Eve, everyone in this house probably are sleeping when I countdown the night by myself while typing this. Happy New Year everyone, may the new decade will open new doors of happiness, prosperity, and love to all of us. And Happy Birthday to my sister !

Please pray for me, that I could encounter all of my problems and overcoming my fears in the beginning of the year, and will starting my new journey this year. Wish me luck !

11:54 P.M.

December 31st, 2019

Home

[physicelie]

p o s i t i v i t y

i don’t quite know how to start this but i just wanted to spread some positivity for everyone who’s currently struggling with mental illness. i want to tell you that it will get better. you will probably not believe me now. so let me explain. there might be some triggering content but i promise the message is entirely positive.

my first memories of having anxiety are from kindergarten. my first memories of almost all my other mental disorders are from primary school. everything got worse when i started high school. the escalation was four years ago. my depression got really bad and i had some bad friends who really pulled me down. my relationship with my parents got worse as well and i did not have functioning support system. i was very suicidal and there were some pretty close shots. it all got topped off with a traumatic experience and there i was, unable to go to school due to anxiety and depression, having flashbacks several times a day, eating badly and hurting myself.

a bit more than three years ago there was no other possibility for me than to go inpatient and i ended up in psychiatric hospital. i got better, slowly but surely, and by the end of my stay there i could at least go to school again, i got put on medication (and i still am on medication today) and i felt better.

from there my whole life went uphills. i made some amazing friends at my new school because i had to drop out of my last high school in tenth grade. i built myself a support system with friends and family and i was in therapy for about two years at that point. i continued therapy until the end of 2018 and i got my first boyfriend in april this year. i just graduated high school a couple weeks ago and today i filed my application for medical school which is a dream i have had for a long, long time. i feel loved my my family and friends and boyfriend.

there will always be some things not working out the way i would like them to but that’s life. i will probably always struggle with my mental health and i will have bad days or even depressive episodes. but i will also always know that it gets better. because it always gets better. life is not all bad. i know you are feeling trapped and depressed and like there is no way you will ever experience anything good in life. but i want to tell you that that is not true. you will see good days. many of them. it just takes some time. and you can take as much time as you need to recover and you are allowed to ask for help. i wouldn’t have made it without the help of various therapists, psychiatrists, doctors, psychologists, my parents and grandparents and friends (the list goes on). the point is, you can always seek help. a person very close to my heart is just stepping on that path of getting the help she needs and i cannot put into words how proud i am of her.

you can do it too. you will survive. you will make it. i believe in you. you are loved.