#like anxiety symptoms i havent had for a like long time and usually just one symptom at a time not like 3 all at once | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iconsumeheadcanons · 4 years

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persona characters autism headcanons!

hi im autistic and i started my day with sun so now im !!!!!!!!! some of these headcanons are from elsewhere on tumbr, but i dont know where :((( so i am hoping someone out there knows that n that everybody knows that i love them <3

(also go check out mollypaup and i think hypeswap if you havent already! they post some good stuff autism+adhd hc too!!! i think.. oh! and thieves-in-the-palace!!!)

Joker

there was some artwork from someone on tublr..where they pointed out that he doesnt really talk outside the metaverse so--hes hyperverbal as joker and just near nonverbal as akiren

he stims ALL THE TIME. that phone thing, the pencil thing, the little tappy tap of his foot, pulling at his bangs when hes embarrassed/smug. someone get him a fidget spinner. he’ll prob learn to do tricks with it

he probably sucks at focusing in class, like i know its just the game design but hes always surprised out of his daily “star out the window at the nearby office building” when his teachers ask him questions

mona mentions when the pt is at Wilton for the first time (after they run into shido) that joker eats like shit, and that could have multiple causes at the start of the story of course, but when i first played i thought that joker was a picky eater and that the variety (and amount of food) at the buffet would be an Ordeal...

tho mona makes that comment bc joker looked pale after having a little ptsd moment from shidos voice, but i didnt know that the first time i played

maybe when joker makes a face at ryuji putting so much ginger in his gyudon? joker probably does not like pickled ginger lol

his favortive foods are all spicy, which is why the curry he makes for his friends is always ‘overly spicy’, and why kasumi makes him a curry bento and joker kept going “...?” .... “....?!”

overly reflective glasses have been a great plus for him bc now he never has to make real eye contact every again!

mona Soft. play with Ann hair. maybe Braid. nice

puns (Gorou the Goroumet)

he has so many options to be straight up rude sometimes in game. he probably no clue on his own, which is why he defaults to Not Talking. people probably mention his constant scary face, which is just him being nonexpressive, squinting at all the fucking bright lights, and Tired

executive function who? we do everything last minute folks

high pain tolerance, which is why he was the kid that was always climbing trees in elementary school to get basketballs unstuck from the branches

his sixth sense lets him see treasure and possible places to climb/crawl bc 1. Shiny? Steal it. Steal it Now. and 2. Could i fit in that? Time to Find Out

probalby a bit of a klepto too oops. he’ll return it tho!! but he has to do it dramatically or he’ll die

cant sit properly to save his life

smells and touch are Great, they can keep him grounded when his brain goes off to police or dead rivals or guilt or

if a friend hung out with him and gave him total reigns of the agenda, he would choose to nap on the floor while his friend does something off to the side quietly

hyperfocuses on handy tasks (i.e. lockpicks, coffee brewing, cleaning, his part time jobs) and some things like movies and books. everything else is a tossup

his (normal) navigation app is his most used app bc he still doesnt know where hes going, even though he only goes to the same few places in the city

hates being sweaty, literally cannot stand it. probably double exhausted during the summer

but Needs Compression so hes often Struggling

Futaba

paraphrase from p5d “i have no motor skills so i cant play rhythm games :(” need i say more? (i will regardless)

echolalia all the time, from anime, memes, the PT

those headphones she wears all the time? noise cancelling ear protectors babey

only talks about her interests, “normal” talking is Not Easy, but she is still communicative w others despite her worries. shes not “hard to understand” at all but she feels the anxiety nonetheless

only talks informally, cannot talk ‘politely’ with out imitating someone around her

shes had meltdowns and anxiety attacks in game :( i relate so hard

Technology. thats it

def had an egypt phase that pops up every few months. probably came from yu-gi-oh

has Immune to Bright Lights buff. joker is very jealous

“Time to make like a tree and leave!” and 30 other iterations

video game metaphors are the only ones that makes sense to her

probably relates hard to robot characters in anime for their general androgyny and confusion about human emotions and connections

probably gets told that shes “too smart to be on the spectrum” by teachers >:( she fails their classes on purpose

wakaba’s autistic too that just how it is

the Connection that she establishes with Joker is so Warm. my life goals include adopting an older brother like futaba has lsdkfjslkfj

also eater of 5 foods only, i mean, she brings cup ramen to the beach. i just really admire her...

hides in small spaces for comfort

doesnt she have like uhhhhh hyperthymesia or something like that?

Yusuke

art

his entire social link is learning how humans work, which i relate

talks seriously all the time

“sarcasm? who is that? are you saying I was sarcastic?...how?”

cant remember to take care of his body, and madarame did not help with that either

lot of uncomfortable staring, hes overdoing the eye contact thingy

infodumps all the time, doesnt know hes doing it

needs a lot of support even if he doesnt think he deserves it. no one ever complains about helping him out tho

visual stims my friends

he didnt know that you could look up pictures on the internet but he does know you can stream live videos of waterfalls and fluffy animales!!

I am certainly in the mood

for something salty today.

he and joker are scared of math. numbers do not interact

Yusuke, futaba, and akiren are a trio and i know this bc their first day of non-thievery interacts is Akiren clearing Futabas room w/o permission, futaba hyperfocusing on destroying medjed, and yusuke rearranging futabas figurines so they are more visually appealing

morgana is a support friend for all of them bc igor knows they need it

Souji/Yu

yes, he mostly wears gray semi formal clothes bc parents tell him to, no, he will not changes this

Schedule or Death

“sorry, could you repeat that?” “huh? oh yeah, i was saying that--” “yeah that’d be cool.”

cats, fishing, he just likes to be quiet. you can literally spend a day at the beach just to think if you want, and that is what yu want

has a lot of scripts for things (of which he shares with nanako!) but if he runs out he just stops talking..

inaba is a godsend bc its so fucking quiet and warm

he Yearns to hold his friends hands, but he shies away from a lot of touch (excepting yosuke, teddie, and nanako)

Cooking and Cleaning makes the world better. he and joker vibe together with this

unlike akiren, he strong arms any executive dysfunction into Be Productive or Else. his punishment is feeling the pure anxiety of having to make up for ‘lost time’. (another symptom of his workaholic parents)

writes everything down, notes are very neat, has pages dedicated for bad doodles when hes not feeling his usual Super Classroom Focus

Cannot handle secondhand embarrassment (most often caused by yosuke) and will quietly slip away to random cats or origami folding

hungry, crunch crunch folks. probably needs chewelry bc he used to chew on his shirt collars when he was younger.

cleans up after everyone in the food court, constantly worries about them accidently hurting themselves. likely spends half of group conversations watching peoples hands

he canonically eats expired food, nanako plz help your brother

really clumsy, but people only notice after they decide that he is a cool person

video games are too chaotic for him

exhausted every night from the pure amount of masking he does, if a friend spends the night (or is like yosuke) they will know his more comfortable weirdo self (tho everyone knows hes a weirdo eventually)

hyperempathetic, sometimes just understands animals and children better than peeople his age or older

Yukiko

her jokes

she and souji get in ‘trouble’ together, she and joker commit crimes together

she and chie have to coordinate outfits, its important

actually understands metaphors, but does not understand people

like me, had no clue that creepy kid was flirting with her

she is very angry when she has meltdowns that might involve slamming doors and shouting. her parents call these ‘tantrums’ and ‘unfitting for a polite daughter’ but really thats because her meltdowns tend to be caused by arguments w her family after a long day of school and TV world traipsing

the metronome meme, except hers goes between Loudest Person in the Room to Quietest Pin Drop in the Planet. she is completely unaware of this

her atmosphere brightens when chie appears. that is not only the lesbian energy within her, but also because chie is like her Favorite Person

Cannot wear Pants. No (tho she wants to try it! but she puts them on and her soul instantly squashes)

happy flappy lesbian! watch out!

Naoto

the pouty face. all the time lskdfjlasdkf

hes really snappy sometimes and i love that for him. he and akechi should fight just to see what would happen (please read Bang Bang Shoot Shoot on AO3)

“do not touch me or my hat, thank you”

no one has ever seen him shutdown and no one ever will (except for his grandpa)(and kanji)(and rise)

probably likes certain food textures and will stand for nothing less, probably feels embarrassed about his preferences with friends

constantly jumps between ‘everybody hates me so i should act like them so they dont hate me’ to ‘i refuse to be anything but very comfortable as myself, and i dont care that im making you upset sir’

he and souji are the king and queen of subtle stims, but for unhappy reasons :(

does not make jokes. cannot joke around. understand? yes, do? no.

loose clothes are the only good clothes, but all tags and obtrusive seams will be obliterated by kanji tatsumi

not very empathetic so he probably comes off as an asshole to strangers (like when he throws away his classmates confession letters without reading them) but he tries so hard to sound comforting when his buds are struggling.

his understanding of others emotions/reactions come from his learning as a detective, which seems cold+clinical to others, especially compared to souji, whos completely unexpressive but very introverted people person

Hamuko/Minako/Kotone

big personality!! very people-oriented!! koromaru and her are buddies!! when shes having a real bad time, shes very quiet and expressions turn off

interrupts herself in the middle of conversations all the time. no one knows where shes coming from. her brains is thousands of km ahead of her body

bouncey legs, swingin arms, twirlly skirt, little somersaults! when will she stop? never!

very obvious music stims with her hands and arms! people are like “oh there she goes! happy as usual!” shes listening to minatos heavy metal playlist

switches from exhausted to excited within milliseconds. no one can predict, not even her

SEES has to ask her for context all the time cuz she’ll just continue shit from 2 weeks ago without warning

professionals will assume shes very childish bc of how chipper she is, but she is beyond mature for her age and only feels comfortable enough to have serious conversations if a person has proved themself able to handle it

collects every little thing. her room is a mess and she has to get rid of most of it every time she moves :(

hates cleaning! smells bad, feels bad hhhhhgggg

dont let mitsuru-senpai see her bedroom

gets lost in the middle of conversations with others bc shes thinking about a story connected to one(1) word that was said earlier

no sense of time and place, she just sees her friends and goes “ah, this is the right place, then” but junpei and akihiko are also lost so now theyre all screwed

Minato/Makoto/Sakuya

no talkies, no walkies

his story in the movies is him literally learning how to function around people he cares for

doesnt get jokes, expressions, body language, empathy, subtlety, metaphors, physical contact, or eye contact. aigis is probably the only person he truly understands right away

he is still nice to people because he doesnt see a reason not to be, but also he has very limited energy so only his senpai and old people get his most polite-kindnesses

cannot describe feelings for the life of him. the team wont know hes injured or sick until hes passed out

everything is too loud, time to drown it out with my loud ass music

rocking and chewing stims, ryoji is the first person to point him out for these subtle stims (not accusingly of course, just general pure curiosity and love for the uniqueness of humanity)

likes to cover his face with whatever is available, lives like a bat in a dark dry cave

will wear anything that has pockets and his blue/gray/black palette

sleepy at all times bc he never has much energy

when he was younger he probably needed a lot of support, especially after his parents died, because he wouldnt communicate like a neurotypical and would shutdown for hours in the middle of school without warning. probably missed a lot of lessons and field trips out of pure overstimulation

eating at all times. no preference, just whatevers closest

his meltdowns probalby include humming whining noises and curling up in a ball, which makes people want to touch him, but that is the LAST thing he wants. put a blanket on him! play some music! do not talk and do not expect him to speak

aigis is the only person who can touch him normally bc her hands are cold and he likes cold

never nude, feels mmmmmmmmm without clothes and probalby wears a full robe in the hotsprings

will not do things that take more than one step w/o someone else walking him thru it, which Same

#my writing #p3 #p4 #p5 #persona 3 #persona 4 #persona 5 #ren #futaba #souji #hamuko #minato #vibes straight thru the sun #i sincerely hope the read more works #im so srry for grammar problems #i literally cant read rn

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huphilpuffs · 6 years

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chapter: 25/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3065 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes up on Thursday to a heaviness in his chest.

He groans before he even opens his eyes. His face is squished against a pillow, his ribs pressed too harshly against the mattress. Stabs of pain burst between them, make his muscles spasm and send his breath escaping in a stutter. He has to count, one, two, three, four to keep it from happening a second time.

It eases some when he rolls onto his back.

And he tries to comfort himself further by counting out how long it’s been since he’s been able to sleep on his stomach. Too long, probably.

He’s been getting better, though. Even staring at the bedroom ceiling through his tears, Dan knows that. Knows the he’s helped Phil with dinner the last few nights, and managed to handle the curtains being open for a few hours yesterday.

His hand smoothes across his sternum, and he pokes at the painful spots in his sides until the sharpness dulls.

It’s enough to let Dan sit up, then stand on shaky knees. He tosses Phil’s pillow back to where it belongs and tucks the duvet into place to prove the voice in his head, wondering why he’s suddenly worse again, that he’s fine.

And to ignore the second voice, telling him it’s anxiety that causes your pain, over and over again.

His appointment is in a day.

Dan’s hardly slept for three.

He tries to swallow back a sigh. Whatever rush of adrenaline had dragged him out of bed has faded, left fatigue settling heavy in his bones again. He could drag himself to the lounge, curl up in his blankets and continue his new daily routine of watching people on YouTube for hours.

But his body aches and his eyes burn, and he crawls back into bed instead.

The voice in his head grows louder.

Dan grabs Phil’s pillow, clutches it ot his chest and presses his face against the fabric, breathing deeply.

It smells like Phil.

He holds it until he falls back asleep.

---

The afternoon drags.

It’s past two when Dan wakes up again. The flat is still empty, the bed unmade again. He crawls out without bothering to fix it, makes himself a sandwich, and settles back on the sofa, where he can rest his head against the cushions and ignore the tightness around his heart.

Every time he turns on his phone, it’s too a notification reminding him he has an appointment tomorrow that has his muscles seizing, making it ache to breathe.

And to a reminder he half regrets setting, since he’s ignored it for days.

Call mum.

There’s only a few hours to follow through with it now.

He glances back at the clock that tells him it’s just ticking past three. Twenty-five hours left, says the voice in his head. It sounds like the last GP he saw, who looked him in the eyes and told him to try acting like he had more energy, who told him it would help.

You should try it, his mum had said afterwards. You never know unless you do.

Dan’s thumb swipes across the screen. He finds her contact, sucks in a breath, and hits the call button.

He doesn’t breathe again until she picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, Dan,” she says.

He hasn’t heard her voice since he decided to stay here. It feels like a lifetime ago, suddenly.

“Hi, mum.”

There’s silence for a long moment. He can hear her breathing over the line, low and steady, and wonders if she can hear the shakiness in his.

“How are you?” she asks

“I’m okay,” he says. “I, uh, have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

He swallows, nodding even though she can’t see him. “Just with my new GP, but I’m hoping he might be able to help me,” he says. “With, well, you know.”

“I hope he can.”

She sounds sad. It’s been a long time since Dan’s heard that.

“Me too,” he says. And then, because he can’t handle the silence: “But, uh, I was hoping you could maybe help me figure out my medical history, to prepare? I don’t remember all of it from when I first got sick.”

Back when she was responsible for it, he doesn’t say. Back when anyone could keep track of all of it.

“I’ll text it to you, okay?” she says. “I know your memory isn’t always the best, and your wrists tend to ache from writing.”

“Really?” He slams his mouth shut, the click of his teeth probably audible over the phone. “I mean, thanks.”

She chuckles, quiet, distant, like he can hear the miles between them. “I’m not always heartless, you know,” she says.

Dan’s breath comes out in a rush. Guilt bursts in its place, painful, bringing tears to his eyes. And he wants to tell her he never thought she was, but he can’t. She knows he can’t. He doesn’t even know what he thinks about her now, crying, hands shaking as he clutches his phone too tightly.

“Can I ask you something?” she says. “Without you getting mad?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?” she says. “I know you don’t think your problems are with your mental health, and I’m not implying they are–” the not this time goes unspoken “–but I know you’ve had bad experiences with doctors and you’re my son.”

His breath catches. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his hand.

This is his first appointment without her, he realizes. The first one in six years that she’s not driving him to, waiting outside or sitting next to him for the length of it. The first time she won’t smooth his hand over his knee in the waiting room, telling him it’ll be okay, that doctors can be trusted, even though they’d been proving otherwise for so long.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Phil’s coming with me.”

“That’s good,” she says, like she means it. “I am glad you have him, you know.”

He almost reminds her what she thought of him living with Phil last time they spoke, but his heart aches and his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t want to fight, not this time.

“Me too,” he says. “He’s the best, mum.”

She sounds like she’s smiling when she says: “I’d love to meet him, one day.”

Dan swallows. He can hardly picture it, bringing Phil back to a house filled with terrible memories and people he still doesn’t trust entirely. And yet there’s a tug in his chest, a bittersweet image forming in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t say anything.

Neither does she, for a while.

“I should get going,” is what she ends up saying. “As long as you’re okay? I’ll text you your medical information in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She hums. “And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“You should call your grandma. She misses her sofa buddy.”

He chuckles. It aches. Suddenly, he’s exhausted again. “Okay. I will,” he promises. “And mum?”

“Yeah?”

“No news is good news, okay? If I don’t call you after the appointment, I mean.”

“Okay,” she says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead.

His head falls back against the cushion and his phone drops onto the sofa. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he’s not entirely sure he knows why.

Or maybe he just can’t untangle all the many, many reasons.

---

Phil’s quiet when he gets home.

He takes the smoothie Dan didn’t touch and sets it on the coffee table before dropping onto the empty cushion. His arm is draped across the back of the cushion, his hip just inches from Dan’s, as he turns his gaze to the open laptop, lit up with another Smosh video.

Dan’s been watching them mindlessly since his tears dried on his cheeks.

“This is a good one,” says Phil.

It’s an older one, the production value a little cheaper and humour a tad outdated. Probably more similar to what Phil had watched back at uni, Dan thinks. He tries to imagine it, a younger version of Phil, one with longer hair and a slightly narrower frame, sitting in a uni room like the one Dan moved out of before coming here.

He hardly can. Maybe because his mind is still muddled, hanging onto words he said during the phone call, onto all the things he should have said but didn’t.

“It is,” he says, just as the video ends.

He doesn’t start a new one.

Phil’s fingers sweep across his shoulder. In Dan’s peripheral, he can see Phil turn to look at him, but he doesn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” asks Phil.

Dan swallows. There’s a lump in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes so harsh it aches.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” he says.

Phil squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”

That makes the corner of his mouth quirk up. Of course Phil knows. He was there, arms wrapped around Dan as he fidgeted, tossed, and turned. His hands had combed through Dan’s hair, and his quiet questions about if Dan was okay were mumbled against his shoulder, his reassurance felt in his touch.

Phil usually falls asleep pretty quickly, Dan’s learned. Last night, he didn’t.

The hand at his shoulder tightens. Dan finally turns to face Phil.

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

His eyes are soft, almost sad, as his hand rubs gentle circles against Dan’s skin. He knows. He must know something’s up. Dan has to remind himself that Phil’s seen him after countless sleepless nights, curled up in soft blankets on the sofa and dozing when his mind gets too tired to keep racing.

Today isn’t like that.

Dan reaches out to rest a hand on Phil’s knee, needing to feel grounded, as the first tear rolls down his cheek. Phil draws him closer, so Dan’s head is by his shoulder, his tears dripping down onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt.

There’s no pressure, none but the weight of Phil’s hand on his shoulder, when Dan says:

“I called my mum.”

Phil goes tense. “Oh,” he say. “How did that go?”

Dan swallows. “I don’t know.”

He really doesn’t. His chest feels too full with contradictions, the weight of past accusations crashing up against her understanding tone and he doesn’t know what to think anymore. He’s never been sure how to exist around her, not since pain first settled in his bones and she told him it was growing pains, it would pass, it would get better.

And it never did.

“I haven’t talked to her since I told her I was staying in Manchester,” he says, maybe as an afterthought, maybe because it’s felt heavy on his shoulders since he answered the phone.

“Was she nicer this time?”

He nods. Another tear falls. “She’s texting me my medical history,” says Dan. “She offered, because she– she knew I had trouble writing and remembering.”

Phil hums. His breath has gone even again. His mouth is close to the top of Dan’s head. He sounds hesitant when he speaks. “It sounds like she cares.”

Dan feels that, sharp and painful in his gut. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and his breath catches, and Phil holds him tighter like he’s scared Dan will fall apart.

Maybe he will.

It’s been so long,

He’s been so that sure she doesn’t actually care.

Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

---

His mum texts him.

Dan almost cries. His teeth dig into his lip and his ribs ache and he stares, wide-eyed, at the list of diagnoses and unexplained symptoms he’s had over the years. There’s the migraines they never treated at the beginning, the lightheadedness it took them four years to explain, the instructions to do more exercise that dot the whole six years that he’s been ill.

The first time he went to therapy, and the antidepressants they put him on, and the second time he went to therapy.

And every time he told his doctor he was still sick after that.

Phil’s hand lands on his wrist, gently pushing the phone from Dan’s line of sight. His voice is barely a whisper when he says: “Are you okay?”

Dan swallows. His throat aches.

Laid out like this, it doesn’t look that bad, a distant voice in his head that’s haunted him for too long tries to remind him that maybe he’s just making it all up. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. But Dan can remember the A&E doctor who turned him away because it was growing pains. Can remember the so many times his blood pressure was low before anyone bothered to point it out.

The time his doctor looked at him and said–

“Can we do something?” says Dan. “I want to– I need a distraction.”

Phil nods. In Dan’s peripheral, his phone screen goes black. The knot in his chest loosens, just a bit.

“Wanna play video games?” says Phil.

He shakes his head. “Wanna go out. It’s been too long.”

Phil’s brows furrow, like he’s about to point out that there’s a reason it’s been so long, about to warn Dan that he doesn’t want to make himself sick before such an important day.

Except part of Dan does. He’s done it before, forced himself to be in pain because maybe that way the doctors would actually see that he wasn’t lying. Not that it’s ever worked.

“Please?” he says.

Phil squeezes his wrist. “Okay.” His thumb drifts across Dan’s, careful and comforting. “Where do you want to go?”

---

Dan squeezes into his skinny jeans, even though the fabric burns his legs. He pulls a shirt over his head for what feels like the first time in forever. Though his knees are shaky, he bends down to tie his own laces, as Phil watches from where he’s leaning against the door.

“Are you sure about this?”

He reaches out, without a word, to help Dan stand again.

“I’m sure,” says Dan. “And don’t worry, you won’t need to take me to A&E this time.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up, and Dan knows he’s forcing it. He can feel his worry in the too-tight clench of Phil’s hand around his, the way his gaze trips over Dan legs when he wobbles as he stands.

He squeezes Phil’s fingers, forcing a smile of his own, as he opens the door.

It’s warm outside. The sky’s going purple as the sun sinks below the city. Dan realizes, staring up at it, that he hasn’t left the flat since he trip to A&E, hasn’t enjoyed being outside in far too long.

If his joints would let him, he’d suggest they walk around a bit. Instead, he stares up at the clouds and reminds himself to spend more evenings, when the sun won’t burn his eyes, on their little balcony, just to feel the wind against his cheeks again.

Phil tugs on his hand when the cab pulls up in front of them. They pile in, side by side in the back seat. Dan doesn’t put on his seatbelt. He can’t be bothered to deal with the harsh rub of fabric against his ribs.

His chest is still tight, the quiet buzz of anxiety at the back of his mind growing louder. He can still feel his phone, heavy in his pocket, can still imagine the text he hasn’t yet responded to. He can remember their last movie night, laughing and gasping and falling asleep with Phil’s hands trying to massage the pain away.

They hadn’t even gone out last time.

Dan stares out the window and hopes he can keep his promise that it’ll be okay this time.

They slip out of the car at the cinema. Phil pays the driver. Dan leans against the wall as he waits, wondering if the lines inside are long. It’s been so long since he’s been to the cinema, he can hardly imagine it anymore. The screens usually hurt his eyes and the audio gives him a headache and he doesn’t care today.

“You okay?”

Phil’s smiling at him, standing by the door. He holds it open for Dan, and buys their tickets for a random comedy neither of them particularly wanted to see. He lets Dan go find a seat as he buys them popcorn, soda, and a chocolate bar to share. He hands it over, in the darkness of the theatre, with a smile.

Between them, their knees bump together as the film starts.

---

They’re holding hands when it ends.

Dan’s eyes are starting to burn and his chest aches from laughing, but the voices in his head have dulled just enough that he can breathe a little easier. He doesn’t think about the appointment he needs to show up to tomorrow, or the doctor he hasn’t met yet who might dash his hopes all over again.

He stares at their joined hands as the cinema empties, smiling.

“You ready to go home?” says Phil.

Dan shrugs. He probably should give his spine a break by sinking into the sofa again, close his eyes against the bright lights of the city before a headache wells in his temples. But he doesn’t want to sit in the dark and wait until tomorrow, letting his fears return.

“Can we get pizza?”

“You up to walk?”

He nods. Phil helps him to his feet and leads him out of the cinema. He knows Manchester better than Dan does, and tells a story about coming to watch movies with Ian when he was younger as they find the nearest pizza place. Dan listens, maybe more attentively than he needs to, to keep his mind from going hazy as the city moves around him.

There’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dan wonders if him of a few years ago would have believed that he’d end up here.

The restaurant they end up in is small and quiet, and they slide into a booth in the corner of the room. Dan sinks back against the cushion, realizing that Phil’s smiling, too.

His chest feels warm. His fingers twist in the tablecloth, because part of him misses holding Phil’s hand.

“Thanks for tonight,” says Dan. “I had fun.”

Under the table, Phil knocks their feet together.

“I did too,” he says.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words #sorry I haven't been online much #turns out when irl is going either better or worse than just fine i don't find much tumblr time

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gendertrader · 6 years

Text

Physical Weight - 266 lb Height - 5′9″ Age - 24 25 mg Aldactone 1 month, 50 mg Aldactone 1 month

Because this is the first month that I’m ‘fully’ (due to reports suggesting that passing 100 mg may not be as effective as previously thought) on Aldactone, from here forward, I will report this as my first month.

Skin

Hair (body/head) [hairline, texture, thickness] I have noticed an increase in the amount of head hair that has fallen out over the past month. This was not initially expected, but after some review of anecdotal reports, this is not uncommon. Not enough has been lost to make it visible, but I will keep an eye out.

Face [hairline, cheekbones, facial hair, eyebrows, eyes, acne, skin] I have not noticed much change in facial structure as of yet, which is to be expected, but I’ve started wearing mascara more regularly and I’ve had an increase in acne, specifically around my chin, but it hasn’t been too bad. I’m interested to see how this changes as I was not a particularly acne-ridden teenager. I have started trimming my beard a little differently to further act as contour, and its growth has started to have a more significant effect on my mental health.

Body [fat, taste, libido, hair, calves, nail growth, testes, temperature] I have seen little to no fat redistribution (unsurprising as it often takes up to 3 months of a full hormone regimen to start seeing real changes), but there may be a hint of gynecomastia from the aldactone. I’m also learning to hold my body differently so as to accentuate the breast tissue, so any changes I’m seeing could self-influenced. I have noticed a clear increase in sugar, specifically chocolate, and salt cravings. I have started incorporating a shake of iodized salt during meals to prep for this month, when I anticipate experiencing much stronger cravings. I have seen mental health changes (please see mental health section for additional thoughts), which I imagine have contributed to the sugar cravings. Libido is...something. I haven’t started fully experiencing the loss of libido caused by anti-androgens, but I seem to be getting it in waves that sort of follow my typical ‘horniness fluctuation’ if you will. The primary difference is that everything is stronger: when I’m horny, I’m h o r n y but I can also go weeks at a time without masturbating and the sight of a hard dick does next to nothing for me. I’m interested to see how this progresses. Despite taking a daily 10,000 mcg dose of biotin, I’ve seen a decrease in nail growth speed and a slight decrease in nail strength. I used to be able to keep them rather long (good for painting, etc.) but they’ve been short for almost two weeks now (after I removed the pink fake nails pictured above) and little to no growth has occurred. Finally, and I’m not sure that this is due to Aldactone, I’m having a more difficult time properly digesting food. Part of me believes it’s due to my wearing high-waisted women’s jeans every day, which press on a part of my abdomen that isn’t usually compressed and could potentially disrupt flow of digestion through the stomach, but it occurs even when I’ve not worn those specific pants all day. I suppose this warrants additional observation.

Mental/Emotional Brain Fog I’m creating a new category specifically to mention brain fog. I have definitely seen an increase in what I must assume is the brain fog for which I see so many reports. To me, it feels like when you’ve been high for a really long time and finally start coming down - almost as if there’s a layer of thought that has been suppressed and you have to focus just a little more than usual to process the things happening around you. I imagine that, for somebody who has never been high, this could be rather disconcerting and difficult to navigate. Fortunately, I’ve been smoking for about 2 years straight as this point, so I have very little trouble living with a little bit of brain fog for now. I will make an update if I notice an increase in fog from 50 to 100 mg.

Depression There has been a slight but definite increase in depression symptoms. It feels like it’s primarily due to the energy-sapping quality of Aldactone, and less like I’m extra sad all the time, but the sadness-depression has increased somewhat as well. I imagine this is due to the fact that I’m no longer actively repressing my understanding of self as a transfeminine individual, so the masculine qualities that I dislike are starting to stand out more. Some examples of these include my beard (I used to go 1-2 weeks without shaving as I am a depressed graduate student and don’t always have the time/energy to shave, but I’m now shaving around twice a week), my face (a couple times while really high and having removed my glasses, I’ve seen Alex as she can be with estrogen but it usually lasts for minutes at a time, so I’m then immediately reminded that I do not look like this - clearly the typical trans experience, but I didn’t think it would be this strong for me and it feels like it’s only the beginning, so I’m strapping up), or my internal experience of being alive (it /feels like/ I’m on testosterone, and sometimes that just gets the best of me; during those times, I have to remind myself that wanting to be a girl is a symptom of being a girl. It’s then that it feels like I’m getting a taste of the true Trans Experience and I have to code switch into thinking how lucky am I to have so much room to grow which only helps a little but that’s more than nothing). I had a few boy days recently, which were nice because everything matched up, but it was somewhere closer to 3 or 4 days out of the month so I’m less worried about my boy days interfering with my transition. Finally, as I’ve stated before, even without the effect of the Aldactone, or the drain of coming out to everybody around me, or the strain of an actual social transition, it’s exhausting. Because I choose every day to take this medication that continues to bring me one step closer to my ideal self, I also inevitably must at least briefly consider what I am doing and the changes I hope to see, which is much more introspection on this topic than I’ve wanted to do for a while. I’m nervous that friends are going to find out before I’m ready (I’m in my final months of my master’s program so there’s no reason in my mind to attempt a social transition yet as I have other very difficult things to do already (I have a conference in which I present at the end of the month and I have to finish data collection and create a poster; I have to collect data for my thesis before analyzing said data and completing my master’s thesis before the April 22 (I think???) deadline so I can graduate on time; I have to find a job (lmao this is so difficult brb crying), which will include a million applications and half a million job interviews; I have to complete 2 additional manuscripts for publication (again, once data collection is completed); and I have to move to wherever I eventually get a job) and I don’t need a social transition piled on top because I’m already barely staying afloat as it is.

Anxiety There may have been a very slight increase in anxiety near the middle to end of the month, but I had also been on the same strain of weed for a while, so I wasn’t taken off guard at all.

#mine #updates #transition #trans #transgender #transfem #transfeminine #genderfluid #nonbinary #enby #fem-aligned nonbinary #fem-aligned enby #aldactone #spironolactone #hrt #diy hrt

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masterturner · 6 years

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long drawn out personal post

this is a bit stream of consciousness, so if you’re reading this and trying to make sense of it, im sorry. its okay if youd rather not. its a lot and its emotional labour to even read it probably. it’s been almost a year since the breakup now. every day closer to the anniversary of it, i feel a little more broken. i’ve had two suicide attempts since then, a prolonged IOP thing, and i no longer see a therapist (though i really should start again). im not crying about borderline personality disorder though. this is all breakup shit. still. im still holding together somehow. i dont really know how, some days. ive gone through the whole cycle of grieving multiple times now, cycling again and again through denial and bargaining and all that, ‘til i reach acceptance and think the hurricane is at its end. then i find i’m just in the eye of the storm, and it’ll soon pass as i get caught up in the winds again. then i do the whole cycle over and over again. thats what the therapists in the IOP said it was. a grieving process. you can grieve the terminus of a relationship the same way you grieve a dead person. it sounds so silly when i make that comparison. they also said that progress and healing are nonlinear and that it’s not really necessarily going to be as simple as passing through the grieving process a single time. i said it sounds silly. its not silly though. its real, and i have to remind myself of that from time to time. i dont usually talk about anything personal on here, and its a little weird that im doing it now. but i guess im doing it because i dont know where else to do it. i could do it on facebook, but it feels attention-grabby, needy in a way i always feel weird being. doing it here under a little ‘read more’ thing feels less obtrusive and private, but not so private that im completely trapped in my own skull again. i hate feeling trapped in my own skull. the anxiety bubbled up and got bad again pretty constantly. it got that way tonight. i felt my heart race while i tried to sleep. usually the worst points stemmed from me looking my ex up and seeing how their life was progressing along without me. unlike me, my ex has a drive and interest in the performance of social media that i generally lack. my social media experience begins and ends in shallow ways: i look at cute butts on tumblr, reblog dumb memes and get vague impressions of things going on in the world and such through the sometimes nonsensical things other people reblog. thats about it. my ex, though, shes the kind of person that does things like update her facebook profile picture at least once in a 6 month period, unlike yours truly. i dont even follow her or have her friended anymore on facebook. heaven forbid i had an instagram to see what kind of stuff was going on there. it always got the worst when i saw her with her new SO. now i get to look at that every time i get the nerve to message her. its literally painful to even look to the extent i have to archive or delete every stray line of text we send to one another afterward. i was seriously in denial - i talked myself into believing the SO wasnt an obstacle, wasnt a big deal, he was just a rebound and it didnt invalidate me. it didnt make me lesser, and it didnt mean that i was being replaced. after all, what stranger can replace 5 years of memories and experiences together? but i was a rebound too, and that led to a deep and intense relationship. why couldnt it this time too? i was naive, i think. hopeful and naive, and i really wanted to believe this and that. ‘i know her’ i’d tell myself. ‘i know her, and i know she wouldn’t think this’ or ‘she wouldn’t do this’. but it’s wishful thinking. maybe a part of me always did know better. maybe i stopped listening to that part of my own psyche because i started to recognize how harmful it was. it’s kind of messed up how that works though? like... you can be happy with someone, but also be terrified of that day when they realize they can do better. and then it becomes a sort of twisted, fucked-up self-fulfilling prophecy because that thought sucks the life and passion out of you. it’s insidious and slow. and it’s tempting to look at it like ‘i was right all along, everyone will leave me’, but that’s not really how it necessarily is. thats just the trauma talking, the fear, the part of my mind that’s lazy and resigned to suffering and collapse. it was that fear that made it real. maybe if i’d learned to manage that fear, though, things could have been different. would have been different. it’s pointless to speculate on that though. the reason i say it isnt to speculate though, it’s because im trying to remind myself that it can apply to right now. the friendships and relationships i have now - few and far between as they may be, stretched thin as they may be, damaged and in dire need of repair as they may be - aren’t doomed to failure just because i’m afraid of loss and abandonment. the collapse doesnt have to be inevitable. maybe talking like i’ve learned and figured something out from all this will make me feel better. maybe believing it all had a purpose will make it feel like it was worth it. eventually. right now, though, it doesnt. i’m still so upset. i’m still miserable and i still long for things i can’t have. i miss affection. i miss being touched, even in a plain and nonsexual way. i miss being kissed and i miss being hugged. i miss being wanted, and every day i wonder if ill ever feel that again. and then i get to thinking, would it be enough to feel that from just anyone again? why do i feel so starved for... any kind of affection at all? why do i feel so desperate for something - anything like this? could anyone ever love me the way my ex did? i guess the cynical and plain answer to that is no, but thats okay. and maybe someone else can love me better. and maybe that desperate longing to be loved, cherished, cared about, touched, anything is just a symptom of an addiction that’s yet to pass. kind of a cold and clinical way to put it though, and i dont know if thats really me. yet i dont want someone else because its not enough to just have anyone. my ex left me, and now i still have that feeling of being invalidated, devalued, abandoned, and ultimately replaced. even if someone else came along and professed undying love for me, no matter how i welcomed it, that feeling of being tossed aside would remain. and i dont know how to come back from it. i hate how much my mind... fixates on it. like... everything makes me think of it. i cant make a status on facebook without wondering if my ex will see it, what she might think. i cant leave my house and go somewhere without wondering, what if my ex sees me? what would she think of what im doing? would she approve, or be proud of me? would it impress her? or would it disappoint her? it saps the joy out of almost everything i do. i cant watch an old show without feeling bad im watching it without her. i cant help but wonder if she feels the same, or if shes gotten over it. and a part of me doesnt want to know the answer to that wonder. does she still listen to mili? coheed? does she listen to ‘old flames’ on repeat like i do? when ‘sweater weather’ comes on, does she think of me or someone else? even now as i write this, i wonder if my ex still stops to peer at my dumb blog from time to time for a hint of how im doing and what im thinking. and i dont even know if id want to know, because seeing this message in that light casts a pall over it that makes me feel sick. i didnt want my ex to see how not okay i am. i didnt want her to see the part of me that feels so sick still. and i dont want to know that she doesn’t look at this either. so here i am at an impasse, writing words and tossing them into the void of the internet, hoping for and expecting only silence, while also hating and fearing the very same. id like to think that maybe this is a sign i dont care anymore, but i think i know better than to really believe that. i force myself every day to just... not reach out. not say anything to her thats real or vulnerable - the few times ive talked to her it feels forced and fake. and it feels like ive cut off a limb, because im so used to leaning and relying on her. but i feel like i have to, because expecting that level of emotional labour from someone that has cut those ties with me seems silly and foolish... not to mention selfish. why? maybe a part of me thinks that by hiding it, i’d win her back someday. or maybe im just afraid of being burdensome and difficult. or maybe i just... genuinely do want her to be happy without me. i wish it was that last one. i wish i could just back off and be happy that shes with someone else that maybe will treat her good in a way that i couldnt, or didnt. i dont know what i want, though. i know what i dont want though. i know i hate feeling like this and i wish i could make it stop, but i cant. its not really getting easier. i had the borderline shit before this, and i could end up meeting the criteria my whole life for all i know. the breakup is just a massive complication in that whole mess, but i dont know if id even know what was wrong with me if i didnt have that relationship in the first place. there was a day a few days ago, or maybe a week or two ago (i dont remember) where i wanted to hurt myself (not physically though for whatever reason), and in order to do it, i made myself do something i was starting to break the habit of doing. i browsed her facebook profile and scoured it for anything that’d make it sting again. i succeeded - it didnt take much. a few pictures, a relationship status change, that was pretty much it. my mind filled in the blanks after that because of course it did. it snowballed into full blown catastrophizing. they’re probably madly in love. they’re probably moving in together, if they havent’ already done so. they’re probably making plans to get married. they’re probably this and that and this and that - like it matters. like it affects me somehow. but it doesnt. not really, not physically anyway. i dont have to look, and its like i hope not looking will make it hurt less. but not looking makes me hope, and hope has bred more hurt than anything else in the past year. since i last looked her up in that fog of need to hurt myself emotionally, a lot of that dreadful hope i had that i could win her back drained away, and i want to believe that the pain will go away now. i havent talked to her since then. i still think about her. i still dream. i still fear and i still wonder and reflect. but i havent talked to her. is that good? is it bad? is it anything other than what it is? does it matter? maybe someday ill be over this. a part of me yearns for that. and a part of me is afraid to ever let go, because what if love wins in the end and all the time we had together meant something after all? did it not mean anything if it didnt end up taking the shape i wanted it to take? no, it still meant something, but does that matter now? i dont know. all i know is that to this day it hurts and... that’s all. thats all i know. eleven months later and it still hurts. but i guess expecting it to be all better after 5 years of dating is a little unrealistic. i thought we were gonna be together forever. forever is a long time, though, i guess. she makes it look easy, but maybe it isnt for her either, even if she’s better at making it look a certain way. i have no way of knowing and thats maddening in its own way. if i had the ability to close that distance... hear her out, be there for her, could i do it? could i get over my own fear and hurt to build a connection again? id love to find out. but i cant seem to get that far. it doesnt matter though. its her life, and she has every right to move on without me. its easy to say ‘poor me’, but theres two sides to every story. a lot of pain that led up to the end. questions i still have that will never go answered, and closure i might not ever obtain. ctrl+a, delete, backspace. that’s all it’ll take, tyler. then maybe you can sleep. but no, instead you’re going to post this. for what? why? is it a cry for help? complaining for the sake of complaining? i dont know. i cant leave it all in my own head though. but the silence that i get back in response is liable to be deafening all the same

#do not reblog this

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philsdrill · 6 years

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Chapter 39: Sometimes It’s Okay to Not Be Okay

Fic Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

Genre: a lot of fluff, recovery, really fucking domestic, waiter!Phil

Warnings: eating disorders, anorexia, bulimia, hospitals, panic attacks, references to past abuse, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, a lot of awkwardness, small amounts of smut. This is potentially triggering so for your own sake, please think twice about reading if anything this might affect you.

Disclaimer: I don’t have personal experience with eating disorders, but have done some research. If I have anything about them wrong, feel free to send me an ask and I’ll sort it out.

Word Count (for this part): 8.7k

[Uploads will be hopefully every couple of weeks! (follow @philsdrill-updates to hear when I post)]

A/N: It’s a long chapter so it took me a long time, okay. Partially due to the fact I went to Canada for a week and was super busy (featuring jetlag, dehydration and murdering my feet by walking too far)! It was a good time but it kinda put my writing behind by a week. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERPOST

<= Previous Chapter

Dan’s POV:

I never thought I’d find myself working in a café, not after all my issues with food, but here I was. Phil was friends with one of the staff and when he heard they were looking for an extra employee, he wondered if this would be a good opportunity for me. I didn’t even know what I was looking for in terms of a job, but when Phil said his friend was willing to give me a couple of shifts as a trial, I realised there was no harm in trying.

The probationary shifts went well. I found that I was perfectly capable of making and serving sugary coffees and cakes, so long as I wasn’t eating them. In a way, it made me feel a little better about myself, that what I was eating was pretty good in comparison. I occasionally found the doughnuts staring back at me from the counter, but at least I knew to expect them being there. Surprise doughnuts were another story, but when I turned around expecting to see them, I wouldn’t really feel anxious.

Thankfully, my anxiety had been manageable and my new job hadn’t given me anything to be anxious about so far. Phil’s college was just along the road, so sometimes when he had breaks from his cooking classes he would come along to have his lunch or just a coffee. Sometimes I’d be able to have my lunch with him, but not always. Lunch was a busy time and my breaks depended on the shifts and the other staff I was on with. It was quite calming to know he was just five minutes away if I did happen to need him and I think he felt better too, knowing I was nearby.

The other staff were lovely and I’d even go so far as to say I’d made a couple of friends. I usually worked with Sarah and Andy, or at least one of them was usually on the same shift as me. They were both kind people, and I was slowly opening up to them about some of my issues. Sarah, being Phil’s friend that had helped get me the job, already knew about my eating disorder and was nothing but supportive about it from the beginning.

There was one day, when I wasn’t quite feeling like eating, that the prospect of finishing my ham and lettuce sandwich was just too much. I’d eaten almost half of it, but with every bite I took, I felt a little more nauseous, my skin crawling at the thought of the greasy butter that I could feel on my tongue. I didn’t think twice about tossing the rest of it in the food waste, presuming Sarah was too busy working to notice.

“Dan?” she looked up, making eye contact with me and laying a plate down, “You okay? You not eating?”

“No more, can’t do it today,” I said, feeling my words get caught in my throat a little, “Eating makes me feel a bit sick sometimes.”

“How much did you have?” she asked, flipping the lid up on the bin to take a look, “Half?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, filled with a sudden fear that she was going to make me eat more.

“That’s okay,” she nodded, squeezing my arm a little, “Did you have something to drink?”

I shook my head, realising that no, I hadn’t.

“What d’you like? A can of something? Hot chocolate? Blackcurrant squash?” she prompted.

“Uhh blackcurrant squash would be good,” I said, not bothering to think what else I could have; that sounded the best option out of what she suggested.

“Okay great,” she said, getting out a glass and the bottle of squash, making it up for me, “Now go grab a chair from the back and bring it in here.”

I went to get a chair, appreciating the effort she was making to ensure I was okay. As I carried the chair, I felt a bit weak; I knew I really should eat more, but that wasn’t going to help my mental block on doing so.

“Sit down,” she said softly, “Now here’s your juice.”

I sat down on the chair and took the juice from her, starting to sip on it slowly. I wasn’t too bothered by the flavour, but it washed away the buttery sandwich remains from my mouth, something that I welcomed a lot. Part of me was itching to get the bottle and look at the sugar content, but I could feel Sarah keeping an eye on me.

Sarah handed the plate she’d been working on through the front to Andy, then turned back to me. “How’re you doing with that juice?”

“Good,” I nodded, “I think it’s helping ‘cause I don’t feel like I have sandwich in my mouth anymore.”

“Okay good,” she smiled, “Think that’ll keep you going for the afternoon?”

“Hopefully,” I nodded, knowing that my body probably did need more food, but it had coped on less before, so I knew I could do it.”

That afternoon had been a difficult one as I went through various stages of having energy from my juice, then a gap where I felt tired and awful. I wasn’t meant to have a break but Andy made me a hot chocolate and sent me through the back drink it. Thankfully, I made it through the rest of my shift alright, and by dinnertime I was actually feeling up to eating properly again. I’d let Phil know of my struggle, just to keep him in the loop with my mental wellbeing. So far, that had been the only day where my eating disorder had had any effect on me at work.

There was another day where I opened up to Andy about my anxiety. Not long before ten, we had a customer, who came in, ordered a coffee so sit in and sat down in the corner of the cafe it drink it. Being a quiet spell, I found my eyes wandering slightly, not necessarily intending to watch the customer, but doing so anyway. The woman took some pills with her coffee, maybe paracetamol or something, but I didn’t see the packet. I was hit with a sudden realisation, one of those ‘oh shit I forgot something’ moments. I’d forgotten to take my medication this morning.

In realising this, my eyes remained on the customer, my mind elsewhere but my eyes staring at her. Andy must’ve noticed this because they waved a hand in front of my face, “Dan, you okay? You’re staring?”

“Uhhmm… I…” I said, feeling at a loss about what to tell them, “I just realised I forgot to take my medication this morning.”

“D’you need it urgently or is it something you’ll be okay without until later?” Andy asked, their voice calming.

“I think I’ll be okay, but I should text Phil to let him know,” I explained, feeling I needed Phil’s assurance that I would be okay.

“Right, go through the back and text him or whatever,” Andy nodded, “I’m good out here on my own for five minutes.”

I made my way through the kitchen and into the back room, where we left our outdoor clothes and took our breaks. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened up a new message to Phil.

Umm I just realised I forgot to take my medication this morning. I’ll be fine without it, right?

Shortly after the message sending, I noticed that Phil was typing.

Yeah, you should be fine! but I have a free hour next so how about I drive home, get it and bring it to you?

Feeling a wave of relief at the thought of taking my medication like I should have, I replied to Phil quickly.

That would be great if you don’t mind? I guess I’m just worried I’ll get withdrawal symptoms or be more prone to having an attack because I havent had it

I hit send, waiting for a confirmation that Phil definitely didn’t mind going to get it for me.

It’s fine, honestly :) I’ll see you in like half an hour

Relieved, I slid my phone back into my pocket and made my way back to the front counter, where I let Andy know the news, “Phil’s got a free hour at college next so he’s going to pop home and bring it here for me.”

“Okay great,” Andy smiled, “That’ll stop you worrying.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, relieved.

“Are you sick or something then if you’re taking medication?” Andy asked slowly, a slightly puzzled expression on their face, “Sorry if its personal, you can ignore me.”

“Not really,” I answered, thinking for a minute; I trusted Andy, so there was no reason I couldn’t just tell them the truth, “I have an anxiety disorder and mild PTSD.”

“Oh… Dan…” Andy said, sounding sorry for me, approaching me with open arms.

I let Andy hug me for a moment, appreciating the little bit of comfort after just telling them such a big thing.

“My uh... ex-girlfriend was verbally abusive about my weight,” I explained, trying to get my head around what I wanted to tell them, “I got out of it when it started to go physical, but I was already in a bad place by then. You know about my eating issues, but I sometimes get flashbacks about her and things she said or did… and then general anxiety about my weight, food, eating habits and even things like stress and big life changes.”

I felt some tears welling in my eyes as I opened up to Andy about my problems. It wasn’t something I’d talked about to anyone other than my therapist, and mine and Phil’s families. I took a deep breath and rubbed my left eye with my thumb, trying to appear stronger than I was feeling.

“Dan,” Andy said softly, “Are you okay? Like at this moment?”

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice cracking, “I just want a hug from Phil.”

“He’ll be here soon,” Andy reminded me, squeezing my shoulder slightly, “You want to go take a seat and get yourself a glass of water, as we’re quiet?”

“I’ll get some water,” I said, not really wanting to leave the front counter in case Phil was early.

I grabbed a clean mug and filled it from the tap, leaning against a clear part of the counter to drink it. I took a few deep breaths to calm me, reminding myself that it was okay that Andy knew, in fact it was probably a good idea for me to have opened up to someone at work about my anxiety problems.

Andy must’ve sensed when I was ready to talk again, because soon a carefully worded question came my way, “Has working here affected your anxiety at all, with you having issues with food?”

“It’s okay most of the time because I’m not the one eating it,” I explained, “The only thing which bothers me is the doughnuts, had a bad experience with them, but I can deal with it.”

“You’ll let me know if you ever start to feel anxious while you’re working, right?” Andy asked, “I can’t say for sure I can help, but I’ll do my best. I understand anxiety to some extent, having struggled with my own mental health.”

“I’ll try,” I said truthfully, knowing I would be able to unless I was just suddenly hit by a panic attack, “If anything happens, I’m sure you’ll know about it.”

“Thanks, I’d like to be able to help if you need it,” Andy nodded, taking the empty mug from my slightly shaking hands and refilling it.

When Phil arrived, we’d just hit a busy spell, where Andy and I were both serving customers. Phil looked like he didn’t quite know whether to stand in line or wait around somewhere. When I spotted his confusion, I waited for the momentary gap between two customers and shouted to him just to head through the back, pointing to the ‘staff only’ door at the back of the café. It would take him through to the breakroom come cloakroom, which I would access through the kitchen.

After serving my next customer, Andy told me to go, insisting that they could deal with the remaining customers. I made my way through the kitchen to the back room, briefly explaining to Sarah on the way, as I grabbed myself a glass of water to take my tablet with.

Phil was sat on a chair near to my coat, my box of antidepressants on his knee. He patted the chair next to him for me to come over, “You’ve got some water, good.”

I sat next to Phil and leaned into his side for a moment before taking my medication from him.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked me, sliding an arm around my shoulders, “You seem a bit… jittery?”

“I kind of ended up explaining about my anxiety to Andy and they were good with it, but it was just difficult for me to say, I guess…” I explained, “C-can I get a hug?”

“Of course,” Phil said, softly, his expression going a little gooey. He set my medication and water down on the table, before wrapping his arms around me completely. I rested my head on his shoulder for a moment, enjoying his comforting smell, the feeling of his body wrapped around me, holding me close. I felt warm and safe in his arms, felt that everything would be okay... and that was just what I needed.

I could always hug Phil for longer, but I knew I had medication to take and a job to get back to, so reluctantly, I pulled away and got down to taking my tablet. Pop it out the packet, swallow it, wash it down with water, it was all routine by now. I sighed as I laid the empty glass down on the table, leaning back in the chair to enjoy my last moment before I inevitably had to get back to work.

We finished our exchange with another hug, and a promise from Phil that he would come by at lunchtime. It was comforting to see him again, but at the end of the day, I was fine. It felt good to know that not only was Phil nearby when I was working, but I now had Andy in the loop. They understood to an extent and would help me with my anxiety if it came up at work.

Once he had settled into college and his cooking classes, Phil found that he still had the time to work the odd shift at the restaurant. He had become supply cover now, one of the people his boss would phone up if someone else called off sick or they couldn’t find someone to cover a shift. He had no obligation to take a shift, but he often would presuming he had the time.

Although I was working pretty much full time now, we were still getting financial help from our parents. My parents had reduced their contribution now that I was working, but Phil was getting some help from his now as he was at college and only able to work some of the time. It felt good to know that I was capable of earning a steady income, and I knew that if Phil and I were both working, we could be self sufficient.

For the time being, our schedules were more or less aligned. Phil’s schedule varied a bit, but he was in classes Monday to Friday, give or take the odd day here and there. I too usually worked Monday ‘til Friday, nine until five, but I’d get a short day once a week. Apart from the odd time Phil took on a work shift, it gave us all of our evenings and weekends together. It was good for us to have that kind of schedule, because we got into a better routine with getting up, eating dinner and going to bed at more or less the same time each day. Phil would still crash when he came home from work, but in general he seemed less tired.

I was still attending my therapist appointments regularly and whilst I still wasn’t in a completely stable mental state, I would say I was doing the best I had in awhile. I still had little anxious moments, times I’d need to take five minutes here and there to calm myself, but I found my beta-blocker medication rarely moved from my coat pocket these days. I knew I still couldn’t be without it; something could still trigger a panic attack, but it was nice to be feeling a bit better overall. I had people I could talk to and trust if anything got too much and my life had fallen into a routine where there wasn’t much that could overwhelm me.

I guess it was a given that something would happen eventually, that someday my anxiety would catch up with me at work, however, I didn’t expect it to happen in the way that it did.

You get into a routine of serving customers, some want coffee, some want sandwiches, but the motions are mostly the same. Occasionally someone asks for something you’ve run out of and you have to explain apologetically, would they like something else? Sometimes you get elderly confused people who come in looking for lipstick and you just have to smile and suggest the nearest pharmacy instead.

Some people are regulars and others you never see again, but you never expect to see the people from your past who you hoped you’d never see again. On the day in question, I was working with with Sarah, Andy and Ben. Andy was working from nine to three and Ben from twelve until six. Shifts varied, but it was always important to cover the lunch rush.

Ben and I had been non stop serving coffees for a while, putting the sandwich orders back into the kitchen for Andy and Sarah to make up. Coffees, cakes, sandwiches, cold drinks; everyone would order something different and it could sometimes get a little overwhelming. Even at two-thirty, we still had a queue. My coping mechanism was to focus solely on the person at the front and getting through their order as quickly and efficiently as I could. I didn’t really have much glimpse of who was behind until I called ‘next’ and the next person stepped forwards.

I finished making a man a latte and passed it out to him, calling forward the next person in the queue and looking up to see who it was next. I felt so much shock, so much fear, the instant I saw her face. Face coated in makeup, framed by greasy brown hair. I’d once thought she was beautiful, but now I wanted to throw up just by looking at her.

“Can I get a cappuccino and a chocolate doughnut please?” she asked, her voice almost mocking.

I’m surprised her order even reached my ears, but I managed to put my hands and feet on autopilot and get through the motions of making her a cappuccino and getting a doughnut out of the cabinet. Meanwhile, my heart was pounding, my chest felt tight and I was definitely struggling to breathe as I told her her total at the cash register.

“That’s four pounds forty nine,” I told her, choking slightly on the ‘nine’ and having to repeat myself.

She handed over a five pound note, which I took with shaking hands and put into the till, grabbing her fifty-one pence change. As I dropped it into her hand, something went wrong, my hand shook and jolted, touching hers for just a fraction of a second. That hand had pointed at various parts of my body, poked me in the stomach and slapped me in the face. I couldn’t be near her and now that I had finished serving her, my only logical thought was to get out of here.

I stumbled through the kitchen to the back room, where I collapsed into the chair nearest my coat. Medication, I needed my medication. Fumbling through the pockets, I found it eventually, bringing the tub out of my pocket and grasping it in my hand. I needed water, why hadn’t I thought of that. I needed water to take these. My throat felt tight and that would make it hard enough to get them down.

I barely even noticed I was sobbing as flashbacks started to intrude my mind, particularly one of her holding an empty doughnut box, a look of pure evil on her face. “What the fuck, you fat imbecile. You ate my entire box of doughnuts - you were fat enough already, you worthless piece of flab! Do you not understand the meaning of my doughnuts?”

Then another one, from earlier in our relationship, when unknowingly, things were starting to go downhill. “Dan, maybe you should go to the gym more. Like wouldn’t sex be better if you had a little more stamina, maybe lose a little weight and you’ll be hot as fuck.”

“Dan, I’m not letting you be on top again until you lose some weight, you’re crushing me.”

“Dan, you don’t really need breakfast when you ate so much for dinner…”

“Please stop eating all my snacks, Dan, it’s not good for you.”

“I’m not having sex with you until you’re under sixty kilos.”

At the time, when I thought I loved her, I thought she was just trying to do what was good for me. It wasn’t until she slapped me in the face that it hit me, literally. She’d yelled so much that day, I could still hear it ringing in my ears.

What the actual fuck Dan?

Get the fuck out of my life.

Confusion hit me as a voice broke through the yelling. No one had been there to break it up; it was just me and her to fight it out.

“Dan,” a voice repeated, softly, “Dan, you there?”

It was Andy, I realised as I opened one of the eyes I had scrunched shut in trying to protect myself. They were crouched next to me, looking concerned, lips moving but I wasn’t getting half of what they were saying.

“Dan, are you hearing me?” they asked, this time enough words getting through for me to understand.

“A little,” I choked, nodding.

“Dan, try and take a deep breath or two, okay. What do you need?” they said, slowly moving their hand so it was within grabbing distance of mine.

“Water, these, ‘n’ Phil,” I choked out, opening my hand a little to show my tub of pills.

“Okay, two seconds,” Andy said, hurrying to the kitchen door and shouting something in to Sarah.

“Sarah’s on the water,” Andy said, returning to pull a chair over next to me, “You want to get your tablet out?”

Nodding, I started trying to open the tub in my hands, but with how much I was shaking, it was a struggle. A frustrated sob burst from my throat as I fought with the lid. I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t.

“Dan, can I help?” Andy asked, their hand slowly approaching mine, “Here.”

I let Andy take my medication from me, trusting them to get it out the tub so I could take it. As they were opening the tub, Sarah walked in, holding a mug of water and approaching slowly.

Andy beckoned her over, at the same time depositing a pill into my shaking hand, “Is it just one?”

Nodding, I lifted the pill to my mouth and reached out to Sarah for the mug of water. I let Andy help me with it, because I was completely past the point of trying to do things by myself. I choked a little on the tablet as I swallowed it, but there seemed to be a helping hand rubbing my back as I washed it down.

“Please stop eating all my snacks, Dan, it’s not good for you.”

I shook my head frantically, trying to get her voice out of my head again.

“Please talk,” I croaked to Sarah and Andy, “I need to hear something else.”

“Okay, Dan, we’re going to call Phil now,” Andy started, their voice soothing, “Sarah, could you maybe do that? You’ve got Phil’s number, right?”

Sarah nodded, turning back towards the kitchen, “Of course, yeah.”

“Dan,” Andy continued, “D’you think you could focus on your breathing or is that too hard?”

“Too hard,” I nodded, feeling like I was using all of my mental strength to keep a certain voice out of my head and that I couldn’t realistically focus on anything else.

“Keep sipping your water then,” Andy nodded, rubbing their hand up and down my back, probably as I hadn’t pushed it away. “You’re going to be okay. I’m guessing you can’t really talk about it right now, but you’re safe back here. Sarah’s calling Phil and hopefully he can get down here.”

“What if he can’t get out of class?” I asked, suddenly feeling another wave of overwhelming panic at the thought of Phil not being able to come and help me.

“Phil’s on his way, don’t worry,” Sarah said, poking her head through the door again, “He was in a theory class, so it wasn’t a problem.”

The five minutes that followed were all a blur. Sarah brought me a mug of diluting juice once I’d finished my water and Andy continued to speak to me and rub my back. I was still panicking, chest tight, breathing hard, tears running down my cheeks, but they were keeping me from getting any worse, keeping my mind from any further flashbacks.

When Phil appeared, out of breath, Andy quickly gave up their seat for him. He plopped himself next to me and immediately decided to free me of my apron and my top shirt button. He shed his coat and placed it gently on my shoulders, pushing my hair back off my face. Although his breathing was fast from rushing, I could feel him trying to slow his movements.

“Dan,” Phil said, his voice soothing, slipping his hand between the buttons of my shirt, “What happened? I know you’re having a panic attack and that you’ve taken your medication, but what triggered it.”

“N-no,” I choked, struggling to get her name out.

“No?” Phil questioned softly, “Would be easier to help you if I knew.”

“Nora,” I spluttered, pointing in the direction of the cafe, “Came in, had to get her coffee and doughnut.”

“Okay,” Phil nodded, “You’re safe back here though; I need you to focus on that. It’s just me and Andy in here, no one’s going to hurt you, you’ve got space to breathe.”

I felt the fingers of Phil’s other hand brush over mine, then he gently curled my hand up within his, “Your medication’s going to help you soon, but I need you to keep breathing until then. Want me to do it with you?”

I nodded, feeling too tired to answer in words. I felt Phil undo a button on my shirt, then spread his hand out more. He would tell me to breathe in and he would slowly count for a few seconds, then I would hold my breath, then I would breathe out. The familiarity of the exercise was somewhat comforting; I could focus on one thing at a time and I knew that Phil was ready with the next. I eventually started to fall into a rhythm, started to understand what was coming next. I didn’t stop until Phil stopped, until he was satisfied I had my breathing steady enough. It wouldn’t be perfect, not until my medication slowed my heart rate back to normal.

“One. Two. Three. Four,” Phil paused, “And out…”

When Phil stopped counting my breathing, I relaxed into his side, thankful, but not quite able to express it yet.

“You’re okay Dan, you’re okay,” Phil said, bringing his arms around me in a hug, “Just relax now.”

Phil’s POV:

When Sarah had called me during class, I knew something was wrong. She quickly told me that Dan was having a panic attack and that he needed me. I was pleased to hear he’d managed to take his medication, but getting myself to him was a top priority of mine. I quickly excused myself from my class, explaining to my tutor, Mark, that my soulmate needed me urgently.

Knowing I couldn’t really park any nearer to the cafė, I left the car at the college and ran to where Dan worked. Okay, I was a bit out of breath on arrival, but I was able to help him all the same. Hearing that Nora had appeared was a bit of a shock, but I guess it was kind of inevitable that she’d make an appearance again in his life at some point.

Now that I’d helped him calm his breathing, he was cuddled into my side, still shaking, but on the mend. I leant down to kiss him on the forehead, feeling like he was needing a little extra love. What he really needed was his bed, but I wasn’t quite sure if that was possible yet.

“Could you maybe make Dan a hot chocolate?” I asked his colleague and friend, Andy, “No cream or marshmallows, in a takeaway cup.”

“Of course,” Andy nodded, giving us a small smile and heading through the door into the kitchen, “Give me two minutes.”

I kept hugging Dan until Andy returned, when my duties changed to helping him drink hot chocolate. His hands were shaking, hence my request of a takeaway cup, but if I didn’t help, he was going to get it all down his chin and probably all over his shirt. Dan had his left hand on the cup, I had my right, and between us, we managed to get the drink safely to his mouth. It was never a skill I thought I’d develop, being a pro at helping my soulmate drink out of a cup or glass, but here I was. He needed the help sometimes and I was happy to give it to him.

I knew the hot drink would help him, give him a bit of warmth, a bit of sugar. His body was going to need a lot more than that to recover though. Ideally, he needed to go home, lie down and get some sleep, but he was meant to be working for another two hours.

Looking to Andy for help, I asked my question, “Is there anyone who can take the rest of his shift? I think he really should go home.”

“I'll do it,” Andy said, “I was meant to be finishing up the now, but don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, to be polite, “You've already done so much.”

“It's fine, honestly,” Andy nodded, “I don't mind working another couple of hours.”

Dan looked like he was about to protest, but Andy shut him up before he could get there, “Dan, Phil’s right, I think you should go home. I really don't mind finishing your shift.”

“Okay,” Dan said, still sounding a little weak, taking the last sip of his hot chocolate, then nuzzling further into my side, “Thank you.”

“Phil,” Dan started after a while, “D’you think you’d recognise her? Could you check if she’s still in the cafe? I don’t think I could leave with her still here. I feel kinda trapped.”

“Yeah, I remember her from halloween,” I nodded, “Can we not use the back door?”

Dan looked up at Andy questioningly, clearly needing the authority of someone who had been here a bit longer, “I don’t see why not, but I’ll go and check with Ben.”

“Thanks,” I said to Andy, as they made their way to the kitchen.

Andy came back with the news that yes, we could leave via the backdoor. This came as quite a relief to Dan, as although he was not fully recovered, he was desperate to go. As Dan was already half wearing my coat, I helped him get his arms into it and zipped it up in front of him. I lifted his coat off his hook and put it on myself; it was a bit of a tight fit, but I wasn’t going to steal his warmth.

“You look after yourself Dan, get some rest, and let me know if you’d rather stay home tomorrow because I can take the shift,” Andy said to Dan, putting their arms around him in a loose hug.

Andy’s hug only lasted about a second, then they moved away giving me a small smile, “I know you take good care of him, Phil; make sure he makes the right decision about tomorrow.”

Andy opened the back door for us, and with an arm around Dan, we made our way outside. We said goodbye to Andy, me thanking them so much for all they had done to help Dan. We made our way along the alley that ran behind the shops, not stopping until we had rounded the corner. It was Dan who had stopped first, turning into me for another hug.

Bringing my arms around him and my face up next to his, I mumbled to him, “Something wrong?”

“Just felt I needed another hug, maybe couldn’t lose myself in it so much with Andy there,” Dan mumbled, shakily exhaling against my neck.

“I get that; you said sh-they get jealous of guys hugging, right? That you don’t want to make h-them feel down about it?” I said, stumbling a bit over the pronouns I wasn’t quite used to using.

“Yeah,” Dan nodded, “Andy’s mostly chill with hugging people, but I think they crave the feeling of hugging as a flat chested person. I can’t completely understand, but generally I try to avoid doing anything super masculine or bringing up anything that’ll make them feel feminine or uncomfortable.”

“Speaking of uncomfortable, how are you feeling?” I asked Dan, noticing that he was a bit more talkative.

“Shaky, tired, still a bit scared and shaken up, but alive,” Dan told me, sighing.

“Well let’s get you home and we can either talk about it or I can let you sleep, whatever you want,” I nodded, knowing we would need to figure out what was best for him first. “The car’s still up at the college so we’ve got a little walk, but I think you can do it.”

“Just stick with me, yeah?” Dan asked, a little uncertainly.

“Of course,” I said, giving him a little squeeze, “I’m not going to leave you even for two seconds at the moment.”

As we pulled apart our hug, I found Dan’s hand, interlocking our fingers and giving it a squeeze, “I’m right here.”

We set off walking, back to my college, back to our car, hands joined, shoulders brushing as we stuck as close together as we could. Dan’s hand was a little shaky, a little clammy, and he himself was quite quiet, but I knew he’d be okay, he just needed some privacy and some rest.

On reaching the car, I opened the passenger door for Dan and kept supporting him, with a hand on his back, until he was settled in the seat. I quickly hurried around the front of the car and joined him inside, ready to take him home.

I did the reverse process when we arrived at our flat, opening his door and joining hands again once he was out. We got up the stairs fine, with there not being so many of them these days, but I could see it was still a bit of a struggle.

As I unlocked the door, I gave Dan a couple of instructions so he didn’t go straight off to bed without taking care of himself, “Go and get changed into something comfy, go to the bathroom or whatever you need to do and come to the sofa. I’m gonna get some water and a couple of other things and I’ll meet you there.”

I left Dan at our bedroom door, knowing he would manage to get sorted out by himself. I made my way to the kitchen, filling a mug with water for Dan and flicking the kettle on in case he decided he wanted some tea later.

I sat the water down on a table by the couch, then went to retrieve a blanket from the comfy chair across the room. I couldn’t think of anything else to get him; that would depend how he was feeling. Maybe he’d need paracetamol, maybe he’d want a bath, but I felt he’d probably want to go straight to bed.

“Hey,” I greeted Dan, as he arrived in pyjamas and a hoodie, “Come sit down, let’s talk about how you’re feeling?”

“Not the best,” Dan mumbled, settling himself between my legs.

“Right, let’s start with how you’re feeling physically? Tired? Sore? Shaky?” I prompted him, pulling up the blanket and trying to make sure he was comfortable.

“A little shaky, tired, but I can deal with that,” Dan told me, relaxing into me a little.

“And mentally?” I asked slowly, “D’you want to sit and have a chat for a little bit?”

“That would be good,” Dan nodded, sighing, “I still feel really on edge. I kind of feel like I want to talk to my therapist but she’s probably busy and you’re here so…”

“If you want to call her and see I can help?” I suggested, wanting to do what I could.

“I’m not sure I’m honestly in a state to speak to anyone else,” Dan mumbled indecisively.

“Will I do for the moment and you can maybe call her, say tomorrow when you’re feeling up to it?” I suggested.

“Yeah, that would be good,” Dan nodded, pulling the blanket up to his chin, “Could you pass me that water?”

As Dan took a few sips of water, I thought about what I was going to ask him. I knew that Nora had come in for a coffee and a doughnut, that he’d clearly had a panic attack and taken his medication, but I didn’t know where his mind was during the whole process.

I started the conversation gently by asking Dan if he’d managed to make the coffee for her, how much he had managed before he fled to the back. I was impressed to hear that he’d managed to make her the coffee, get her the doughnut and even do the transaction and change. We then went onto his feelings as he’d gone about that: the utter panic, the realisation that his body was able to go through the motions of making a cappuccino without his mind really being there.

We had to take a break in the conversation, as when Dan started to explain where his mind was during the first few minutes he spent in the back room, it got a bit too much for him to deal with again.

“Breathe,” I said, running my hand over his chest. “You need me to help you or are you okay?”

“M’okay,” Dan nodded, his chest rising and falling rather forcefully beneath my hand.

I stayed quiet while Dan focused on his breathing, letting him focus without distraction for a while. When I did start talking to him again, I decided against picking up where we left off. I had experienced enough of Dan's panic attack to piece together vaguely how he would have felt.

“I think you've maybe talked enough for today,” I said acknowledging his exhausted state, “Unless there's anything else you want to get off you mind?”

“I think I'm good,” Dan murmured, “Thanks for listening. I feel a lot better after talking to you.”

“I think we should get dinner early, maybe watch something and then you can go to bed early,” I suggested, resting my chin on his shoulder for a moment. “Does that sound good to you? I'm just thinking if you take a nap now, you might not sleep so well later.”

“Yeah sounds decent,” Dan agreed, “I think I can manage to stay awake a bit longer.”

“What do you want for dinner?” I asked, “Not got anything planned so it's your choice. What's going to make you feel good?”

Dan looked thoughtful for a minute, but eventually gave me an answer, “I’d like spaghetti? Just make a simple tomato sauce or something?”

“Okay, I can do that,” I nodded, glad he had picked out something quick and simple; it meant I could spend a bit longer just cuddling with him before I had to get up and make it. “I'll start making it at five.”

For the half hour or so that followed, I just sat with Dan, holding him in an embrace that was comforting for him but warm and cosy for both of us. I was glad he was okay, maybe still a little tired and wobbly, but okay.

When I got up to make dinner, I left him with a little kiss, only going as far as the kitchen, from where I could still see him. I set about boiling the kettle, weighing out the pasta, getting out the sauce ingredients. I could feel dan watching me, so every so often I would look up and give him a smile, a little acknowledgement that although I was cooking, yes I still cared about his presence.

We talked a little as I cooked, Dan filling me in on a couple of other, less dramatic things, that had happened earlier on in the day. I told him a little about my day at college; us sharing our days had become part of evening routine, something that helped us stay as close as we could as a couple.

When the pasta was ready, I served it into two bowls and joined Dan on the sofa with it. We usually ate at the table, a habit we’d gotten into in the early days because it was better for digestion, but I felt it really shouldn’t matter now with how good he’d had been doing lately.

We put a episode of a TV show on as we ate, slurping spaghetti but not talking over it. When we finished eating, we sat the bowls to the side and slowly started to curl up together again, the idea of cuddling being too tempting to resist. The TV show ended, so we put the next episode on, but it seemed that Dan gradually seemed to lose concentration, eyes fluttering shut, slowly falling asleep.

As he fell asleep, he fell away from me a little, so not wanting him to fall off the sofa, I managed to get up and let him have the space to himself. I’d let him sleep for a little bit while I sorted a few things out, but I think he really ought to get to bed. I retrieved Dan’s phone from the join in the cushions and thought about how he was doing in terms of working tomorrow. He really should text Andy tonight, and while he probably wouldn’t mind me doing it for him, I wanted to have his word first.

I pocketed his phone, hoping that would remind me to talk to him about it when I woke him up to get him ready for bed. I collected up our pasta bowls and drink glasses, taking them to the kitchen to put in the dishwasher. I got the sink filling to wash up the pasta pot, taking the opportunity to do it now as I knew I wouldn’t appreciate seeing it in the morning. When the sink was full and I shut the water off, I noticed a noise coming from behind me where Dan was; it sounded like choking. I spun around to see him appearing to choke on something in his sleep. I hurried out of the kitchen, grabbing our living room bin on the way because I had no idea what this situation was going to bring.

I rushed over to Dan, pulling him upright and getting his head forward over the bin. I made a judgement and thumped him on the back, hoping that would help because I had no idea what else to do. It must’ve been enough to dislodge the problem, because Dan threw up a little bit, still half asleep and confused.

I rubbed Dan’s back gently now, thankful he had stopped choking, but still feeling a tension there, “It’s okay if you need to throw up more; got a bin here for you.”

Dan mumbled something, but I didn’t catch it as he gagged and threw up a bit more. I continued to rub his back, hoping it was at least a little soothing.

When he appeared to have stopped struggling, I spoke softly, “Are you okay? You started choking in your sleep but I’m not sure why.”

Dan shrugged and looked down into the bin, gagging violently as he saw its contents.

“Dan, if I can help you to the bathroom, you won't have to look at that?” I suggested, knowing it would be best to get him in front of a toilet asap.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dan mumbled, giving me his hand so I could help him up.

With Dan on his feet, holding the bin, I steered him all the way along the hallway and through our bedroom to the ensuite. I left him for a moment to take the bin away to the other bathroom - I would deal with that later - but returned quickly.

I sat by Dan’s side, pushing his sleep hair off his forehead and resting a hand on his back. We were there for about twenty minutes, Dan managing to contain himself and eventually admitting he was feeling okay again. During this time I got him a glass of water, which he sipped slowly on, hopefully helping to soothe his throat and stomach.

We shuffled away from the toilet a little, still sitting on the floor as Dan was feeling a bit weak. I couldn’t quite understand what had caused him to choke and throw up, and neither could he. We eventually came on an idea that maybe he just hadn’t had enough time to digest his dinner properly before he fell asleep. Most people would be fine, but Dan’s stomach just wasn’t quite right sometimes; something that made it clear he was still in recovery.

“I think we should text Andy and ask if they can take your shift,” I said to Dan, “I’d just been thinking about texting them to say you’d make it, but I don’t think you should now.”

“I’ll be fine in the morning,” Dan tried to insist, his weakened voice not helping his case.

“Dan, you threw up, so until you can be absolutely sure you don't have norovirus or something, you're not setting foot in a kitchen,” I told him firmly, “Although we think its your ED, we can’t be sure, okay?”

Dan nodded quietly, making me realise I’d maybe sounded a bit harsh, but it was difficult for me not to with learning a lot of food hygiene in college.

“Sorry if that sounded harsh,” I said softly, not wanting to leave things like that, “I didn’t mean for it to come out so strong.”

I retrieved Dan’s phone from my pocket and opened up a new text to Andy. I typed out a message for him, making clear it was from me, but getting him to approve it.

Hey, it’s Phil. Could you maybe take Dan's shift for tomorrow? He was doing alright, but he just threw up his dinner and while it's probably just his ED recovery, it's probably best not to have him in a kitchen until we're sure.

Dan nodded his approval to the message and hit send himself, handing the phone back to me while we waited for a response.

Of course, I’ve got it covered. I hope he feels better, plenty of rest’ll do him good

It had only taken them a minute to reply, which was quite a relief as I wanted to get Dan to bed and we really needed to know the answer first. I read it out to him and he visibly relaxed, leaning into my side.

“Can we go to bed now?” Dan yawned, sounding so tired that he was almost on the verge of tears.

“Get your teeth brushed and pee and whatever, then yes,” I told him, “I’m going to email my tutor while you get ready, okay.”

I sat on the edge of the bath while Dan did what he needed to do, typing out an email to Mark, my college tutor.

Hi Mark, I think it's best that I don't attend tomorrow. My soulmate’s been sick; I suspect it's nothing contagious as he’s recovering from an eating disorder, but I think it's best to be on the safe side and not come into the kitchen. Will see you the day after, presuming all is well. Thanks, Phil

When Dan was finished, I followed him through the bedroom and helped him get settled into bed. I sat next to him, on my side of the bed, but I had a few things to do first before I would be ready to go to bed myself.

“Get some sleep, love,” I told him, leaning down to give him a goodnight kiss, “I’ll join you soon and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You stayin’ ‘til I’m ‘sleep?” Dan mumbled.

“Yes, of course,” I nodded, running my hand down his duvet-shrouded side.

Dan didn’t say anything else after that, drifting off to sleep and snoring lightly, getting the rest that he needed.

When I was sure Dan would stay asleep, I got up to deal with the few things I had to get done. I finished cleaning the pot I had abandoned in the kitchen sink, I dealt with the bin Dan had been sick in, and finally I locked up. I got myself ready for bed quickly, making the decision to shower in the morning so that I wouldn’t disturb Dan’s sleep just now. I knew when I joined him in bed that I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep yet, so I sat with just my lamp on and read for a while. Dan was feeling fragile and staying with him when he was in a vulnerable state was very important to me.

The next day, Dan was absolutely fine, which was definitely a relief. We’d both stayed home as a precaution, but it proved to be nothing more than what we suspected.

With everything that had happened the previous day, I made sure that this one was calm and relaxed for Dan. In the morning we took a bath together, then throughout the day, I made sure that his diet was made up of simple things: toast, soup, fruit, and that we ate at the table like we usually did.

Dan just had his bad days now and then, that was something that just happened. Sometimes his anxiety would play up, sometimes his digestive system wouldn’t quite function correctly, but this time they came at once. It was a bit of an annoyance for him and put him in a bit of a low mental state for a few days, but as usual, he was okay, he got through it.

He made sure to speak to his therapist about the whole thing, another appointment which I joined him at for support. Having had a few days to process the events, he could now explain it well and I could tell that talking it through again to her helped him to get his thoughts in order.

We all hoped that Nora wouldn’t start to frequent the café, but we would look into options if it became a problem. This possibility would give Dan a little anxiety about going to work sometimes, but in one of his flashbacks she’d stated that she never wanted to see him again. That was something I would remind Dan of when he got down about it, the one memory of her which he didn’t actually mind recalling.

Next Chapter (Epilogue) =>

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #phan au #tw #tw; ed #phan fluff #phanfluff #fluff #soulmates #soulmate au #fandom #phandom #waiter!phil #someday

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sweetnestor · 7 years

Text

odlt extra #1 | a very jet lagged valentine

‘but you havent even finished odlt yet’ shuuuuttt up

idk idk!!!! i was feeling Soft and slightly lonely on v-day for god knows what reason and i just,,,,,,, vomited this out!!! here is a teeny tiny break from all the Angst that the main fic has to offer. enjoy

PREVIOUS FICS (u should read these if ur new here)(srsly this is ethan x oc)

February 2018, aka when the European tour started.

CrankGameplays: “Happy valentine’s day! You’re my favorite person and im glad i get to experience all the things with you. Love you :)”

You’d think he would post one of the many decent candid photos he’s taken of me. You know, one where my highlight was catching the light, or one where I was smiling, or one of the two of us looking disgustingly adorable. But no, Ethan went with the photo he took of me passed out on our bed in our Amsterdam hotel room, my wavy pink hair sprawled out in an ungraceful manner. I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep, nor was he. It just happened. And now my sleepy self was all over Instagram.

Ethan was just as groggy when I shook him awake. Unlike me, he was a very handsy, cuddly being when he was sleepy. He rolled onto his side and groaned in the way he would when he wanted to hold me, so I scooted into his arms and let him.

His skin was warm and weirdly soothing. We were supposed to be getting out of bed… I was supposed to be insomniac due to sheer anxiety. Time zones were out to get us. Yet somehow, it felt like the holiday itself.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I spoke softly into his collarbone.

He squeezed my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. “Did you see my picture?”

“Oh, did I.”

“I meant every word I said.”

Ah yes, that extra bit of validation. I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his waist. I had no idea what time it was, so I didn’t know how much time we had before we had to be in the lobby with everyone else.

“When’s the next time we’ll be alone a hotel room?” I asked, now looking up at Ethan.

He shrugged. “No idea. Why?”

“Do you think we’ll be able to sneak around like we did last time around?”

If he was struggling to wake up before, then my question sped up the process. He met my eyes, red tinting his cheeks. “Oh… I don’t know. Do you want to sneak around?”

“If we can,” I told him as I leaned in to kiss the crook of his neck. “If not then… we're alone now.”

That was all I had to say to make run late. Excuse: jet lag.

I was grumpy and tired when it was time to get up and do the tour thing all over again. I had a rough flight… or, two flights. We had stopped in London between flights, in which I had a panic attack and a case of the nervous shits while everyone else ate and tried not to fall asleep. Then, we were off to the Netherlands, where I fell asleep the second I got to the hotel. Ethan fell asleep too, but not before taking pictures of my sleeping, drooling face. I didn’t really mind that he would do that. I took my own photos of him while we were on the plane.

And that was what I posted on Instagram that morning in the shuttle on the way to the venue. I picked a selfie of me clutching a pillow to my chest on the plane ride over here. Ethan was in the seat next to me, his head tilted back as he slept. As sleep deprived and generally nervous as I was, I was seriously considering captioning the photo with something absolutely cheesy and deep. I actually started writing it out.

bellasanti: “To the guy who found me at my lowest point, who helped me get to where i am now… the person who has always been nothing but kind and wonderful since day 1. My biggest supporter and my best friend… I cant even begin to explain how lucky i am to have found you, and how proud i am of you and how far you’ve come. I love you more than words could describe 💙💖💙💖💙💖”

A small smile was etched on my face as I read the caption over and over again. I looked over at Ethan, who was practically standing as he “touched lenses” with Mark. They were both vlogging and being rather loud about it. More than a year later, and my heart still went all soft and mushy just by looking at Ethan do what he does best. Gross, I know.

Suddenly, the caption felt far too revealing. I had hit two million Instagram followers recently, plenty of which were also Ethan’s. Did I really want to expose bits and pieces of our relationship? I mean, it’s not like we interact a lot online, anyway. We liked to keep some things private. I copied the original caption, and then deleted it apart from the hearts. Then, I made the photo public. I sent the words to him in a Twitter DM instead, knowing he wouldn’t see it until much later.

He sat back down in his seat a couple minutes later, looking back at the footage he just recorded on his camera. I glanced at him once, and then continued looking through my phone.

“Love you,” I said softly and mindlessly.

He suddenly looked up, as if I didn't say that all the time, just loud enough so he could catch it. I saw him look at me through my peripherals, I could tell he was blushing.

“Love you too,” he replied, poking my cheek.

Finally, he put his camera down and pulled out his phone. Neither of us said anything more, but I was somewhat anxiously awaiting him to notice either my DM or my Instagram post. Somehow, just silently sitting next to each other while scrolling on our phones became one of my favorite pastimes.

“Aww,” he mumbled at one point.

I glanced over his shoulder once, only to see a flash of Jack and Signe on his Twitter feed. Why hadn't he seen his DMs yet? What was taking him so long?

Feeling uncharacteristically mushy, I lied my head on his shoulder. He smelled good, and he was soft and cuddly as ever. I was suddenly missing our short time alone back in the hotel room. We wouldn't be alone together until next month, and it suddenly seemed like a difficult challenge.

Last month, when the tour went West, Ethan and I did a full three sixty. Instead of angrily texting each other and crying in bathroom stalls, we were sexting and getting it on in the dressing room, the bathroom, and even once in my bunk when everyone else was asleep. It showed just how strong we had gotten over the last few months. But because of those raunchy activities from not only tour but also when we were home, I went to great lengths to make sure my birth control hadn't failed me. I didn’t have any symptoms, apart the usual anxiety nausea, but I still worked up the courage to schedule a doctor’s appointment prior to tour. So far, my uterus wasn’t occupying anything I didn’t want it to.

Ethan put his arm around me just as mindlessly as when I said I loved him. He was still scrolling on his phone, now on Instagram. This time, I saw him scroll up to my post, and he made a noise of protest.

“When did you take that?” he asked, showing me the plane selfie.

“When do you think?” I asked in response. “You have the best sleeping face.”

He chuckled. “You know you’re the only person who tells me that? Everyone else says it’s creepy.”

“I mean it is,” I said, half joking. “But you’re my boyfriend, and I always think you’re cute. Even when you sleep with your eyes half open.”

Ethan blushed and ducked his head a little. He always grew a little timid when I complimented or praised him. It was equally parts adorable and frustrating, because he never took the compliment.

“Stop,” he said softly.

“Have you checked your DMs?” I asked, unable to wait any longer.

He gave me a look and then went to open the app. “Well, what did you send me now…?” he asked in a funny voice.

I busied myself with intertwining my fingers with his. Then I kissed his hand and waited for him to read my sappy message.

“Aw…” He smiled. He was speaking very softly, like he didn't want the people sitting around us to hear. “That's real sweet… real cute…”

“I was gonna post that on Instagram, but decided that only you can hear things like that,” I replied in a voice just as soft. “And it's not just today, I feel that every day.”

“Aahhhh,” he groaned, now scooping me up in his arms.

Except, he did it in a way so my back was to his chest, and my head hung out in the walkway of the shuttle, capturing the attention of some of the people around us.

“Hey,” I said to Tyler, who was sitting in front of us.

“What’s up?” he replied casually. “Just hanging, I see?”

“Just hanging,” I repeated.

“Whatcha doing, Bella?” asked Mark from a couple of rows behind.

I turned my head and saw him with his vlogging camera. My cheeks reddened a little bit. “I’m not here by choice!”

“She said nice things and deserved hugs!” Ethan said.

“God, we’re gross,” I said under my breath before I was let go.

#crankgameplays x oc #ethan nestor x reader #odlt fic #odlt extra #ylh extra #ethella fic #sweetheart writes #stand back i thINK IM GONNA VOMIT #for real when i was writing this i was like *insert heart emojis*#now im just itching to get back to angsty sad shit lmao #anyway ill make a masterlist of all the extra one shots ive posted that have to do with this series #figured it would be nice to see bella and her boyf and her pals in a moment of Fun and Peace ya feel me #i have bella and ethans whole life all planned out lmao like #ive invested way too much time in these nerds #OH MY GOD i also have to post the angsty belliplier i promised skdhlask #maybe tomorrow or the next day

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innie-s · 7 years

Text

of mental health visibility

As I’m sitting here in a nice apartment, fresh out of a shower with my hair clean and a face mask on, hot coffee in hands feeling content in my life, it almost seems impossible that only six months ago I was a crying ball of sadness lying on the floor and thinking of ending this misery… It almost seems like a dream I had, that it never happened. But it isn’t and it did. That’s how depression works.

I never though I’d be sharing this online (in this manner), you see, so please excuse a bit of awkwardness. I’ve always been rather open about my mental health state, never really tried to hide it, and yet not many people know or realise. I’d blame that on them not being educated enough but that’s not the problem either, I think. The cause of that lies in a much deeper issue – and that is the invisibility.

You see, there’s one thing to say “I’m ill.” while coughing your lungs up or having a broken leg, and quite another to say “I’m ill.” while smiling and generally showing no symptoms of any discomfort. The invisibility of mental illness isn’t always a bad thing, sure, but it is a bit inconvenient when you need special treatment and people simply don’t believe you. You would never question a physically disabled person needing help up the stairs, but when a person who seems completely okay tells you they cannot do a task because they feel terrible, you’d think them lazy or looking for excuses. Oh, how many times have I heard “Just start – that’s the most difficult thing, from there it’ll flow.” Oh yes. If I could only start. For you, as a neurotypical, having difficulties starting might mean that you have to give yourself a little push or simply sit down and do the thing. For me, it means overcoming five different weights holding me down while constantly hating myself for being like this because look at them, they can do it, why can’t I? It’s sitting down in front of my computer with my thesis open and watching it with dread while shaking and crying because I would love to write the thing that’s been sitting in my head for days now but not being able to. There’s a chain on my hands and they just won’t move, no matter how much I tell them to. My head is spinning a little and the words don’t make sense. It’s finally giving up and starting a new episode of that TV show I was watching or scrolling tumblr until I get to my own posts from the day before. I call that procrastination but it’s so much more, really. It isn’t just putting work off until the last moment, it’s also hating yourself for it more and more every day while being physically unable to do it.

We all understand and accept that the society has a bit of a problem accepting mental illness. We all know that it’s still a bit of a taboo, and although it is spread quite wide we still seem to think that it either doesn’t exist or that it only exists in the most escalated forms of “crazy people who belong to a mad house”. This has been changin lately, for which I am gratefull, but the outcome has been confusing to say the least. Neurotypical adults call their children lazy while completely overlooking symptoms of depression or labeling them as a typical pubescent behaviour (When did it become normal for every other 13-year-old to have cuts up their arms and down their legs? When did it become typical for primary school children to starve themselves because of forced body images? When did it become common to oversleep and romantic to be sad all the time?), we have been called adicted to the internet by people who don’t feel that the only way to express themselves and feel accepted and loved is via internet friendships with people who go through similar things every day. We have been told “It’s going to be alright.” by people who refuse to listen to us and help.

I don’t think our parents understand that when you condition us into thinking there’s something wrong with us, it will stick. I don’t think our teachers understand that calling us lazy or stupid will only ever make us believe we really are. I don’t think adults realise that when they dismiss our symptoms we will grow up thinking we really aren’t ill. There’s nothing wrong with us. We are not lazy and we are not stupid. We are ill. And in many cases we battle that illness without any help, support or guidance and sometimes we lose. Sometimes it’s just too much to deal with and we don’t have the strength to do it. And afterwards adults will say “Such a shame!”, “What a brilliand mind that was.”, “Such potential in that young person.”, and “Didn’t they know they were loved?”.

Now I myself am an adult and rather educated one as well. I can’t say I’ve never dismissed mental illness. I can’t say I came to my knowledge because I cared about others so much I started learning. I wasn’t born educated on the matter and I had to go through some pretty bad experiences myself to even start considering mental illness as a real threat. I’ve only come to terms with my own issues 4 years ago when they became big enough for me to actually consider therapy. At that time I knew nothing and it took me a bit to overcome the way I was thinking of mental health issues and accept that I might be one of “those people” as I used to think about them (us). It took me quite some time to battle my own prejudice towards the idea of being mentally ill and I still haven’t made my peace with it completely. And still as I face a task I simply cannot do, I question myself. Am I being lazy right now? Do I actually need help with this or am I just calling for attention? Am I being stupid right now? Isn’t it just that I’m incapable/not clever enough/not strong enough to do this thing? I don’t think I’ll ever overcome this need to be “normal” and to prove that I don’t have this limitation.

Many people have suggested therapy to me. And I have suggested therapy for many people myself. I believe therapy can be a very helpful thing. Yet I never went myself and I’ve been called a hypocrite for it. My deal with therapy is simple – will it help a person who is open about their problems, doesn’t bottle them inside, is honest to themselves even if the truth is sometimes uncomfortable and has trust issues the size of the sun? What can therapy of a self-conscious person do – will it help me if I dont need to talk about it (I vent to friends/the internet therefore I dont need any other person listening to me) and dont need advice (I know what to do with myself and I’ve been helping myself for years now)? Would therapy give me something more, can they help more? I don’t pretend I can do this alone but I also don’t feel the need to pay a professional just to tell me what I already know. There’s also the fact that I will not talk, I will not open up about this, I will not show weakness. I will not trust a person who does this as a job, I will never believe they care about me personally, why would I go there to sit and stare at the wall? The day I will go to a professional is the day I will feel so low I’ll accept that I need medication.

There’s a bit of an issue with medication. Meds are for the crazy ones, yes? The moment you get pills you’re automaticaly labeled as a basket case. The moment you have a note saying anxiety/depressive disorder, OCD, psychosis of any kind, personality disorder, etc, that’s that. You’ve been labeled. It all became real. And people will treat you differently, not because they want to be rude but because they pity you and don’t know what else to do. There’s a popular opinion that you have to get better to stop using the pills, yes? As if your brain has a better chance at healing than, let’s say, your respiratory system (will you tell an asthmatic to try and stop using their inhaler?), your pancreas (will you tell a diabetic to try and stop injecting insulin?) or your eyesight (will you tell me to try and stop wearing my glasses?) Can you imagine coming up to a disabled person and telling them to just stand up and walk, see, I can do it, why couldn’t you? No? Then why do you tell me to just start thinking of nice things and find something to do and soon I’ll be feeling better?

And you know what the worst part of this is? That the people who need the medication live with the same prejudice. And so they don’t go to a doctor or they refuse to take the pills or they stop taking them the moment they feel better because they think the deal is to stop needing them. It is not. You are allowed to need them and there’s nothing wrong with accepting help, be it from a person or a little bit of hormonal boost. God knows sometimes I feel like asking for them (and I just might this year before exams and writing my thesis, actually).

But then I get better, as I am now, and I start questioning whether I’m actually ill or if I’m just pretending. And that’s how I know I haven’t escaped any of the prejudice I just desribed and I will have to try a little bit harder to get rid of the idea that I’m really just a poser. Doesn’t help that my own mental health is fine compared to some of the people I know. I’ve never tried to kill myself. I’ve never thought of hurting myself. I already said I’ve been helping myself for years now – and it’s true. I recognize when I’m low and an episode is about to start and I get help (seeing as I’ve found the source of my episodes I also know how to get rid of them). And sometimes they’re bad enough to last days but usually it’s merely minutes and then I’m okay. And everytime I come out of them stronger and stronger and I havent had one in such a long time I don’t even remember what they feel like.

(February. I had the last one in February when I failed an exam and I realised I wouldn’t be able to finish my bachelor’s this year. That one almost broke me, I’ve always had this idea that uni will be the first thing I won’t fail and then I went and failed it. There was a possibility for me to make it – it would’ve been hard, it would’ve cost me a lot – mostly my mental health. And so I didn’t. I didn’t fight, I gave myself a month to heal a bit and to realise this isn’t the end of the world and I didn’t dissappoint anybody except myself – and then to forgive myself. And I came to the conclusion that it might not be ideal but it’s what it is and it’s okay. Maybe I would’ve been able to fight through it. But I felt like I wasn’t and I gave myself a free pass on that one. And I don’t regret my choice for I feel healthy, calm and comfortable now.)

I still get mild ones, mostly before exams. I’ll never get rid of that, I’ll always have a bit of a struggle with procrastinating and then hating myself for it. I used to hate myself for quite a lot, and then I worked that out. I stopped blaming myself for my problems and I came to peace with the reasons of them. I had issues with many things and I’m happy school is the only one left. I have hope that I’ll get over that one as well, sometime, maybe. It’s fitting, really, as school was the first one I recognized and the rest only appeared once I started digging into it.

I’m a lucky person. I know what to do to myself, how to help myself and sometimes even how to help others. Not everyone has that. Some have pushed the idea so deep into their mind that they simply cannot find it anymore, some think it humiliating to show weakness, some reject the reality and some don’t, they realise what’s happening to them and they don’t know how to ask for help or have conditioned themselves into thinking they don’t deserve help, that they’re not worth it. And the few who come and ask for help sometimes find that the help they’re getting isn’t enough.

What I wanted to accomplish with this text (Essay? Speech?) is not only spreading awareness of mental health issues but also to show the people who have it that they’re not alone and even a person who is presenting themselves as strong as I am can suffer from it. I wanted you to realise you’re not weak for experiencing this in whichever form and strength you do. And that there is help to get and it’s not humiliating to ask for it. And if you read this and you feel like it has nothing to do with you, please consider your friends, parents, coleagues, spouses, children. I strongly believe you have a person who’s going through it somewhere around you, and they might be needing your help.

#confessions #but please pay attention to this #mental health #depression #mental illness #my thoughts on the matter #my experienced #i am in no way a professional #please dont judge me too hard #please dont call me names for this

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pa-eonia · 4 years

Text

i’m going to complain for a bit so i’m sorry in advance

i have lichen planus, i’ve had it since like september 2018. it was hell at first, i couldn’t breathe because air burned my mouth, went to the ER many times just to get diagnosed with herpes and be given herpes medicine which actually triggered the lichen planus even worse. for four months i struggled, away from my parents, and only when i went to a dermatologist, which i couldnt do in germany because my insurance didnt even cover my ER visits, was i diagnosed with lichen planus following a biopsy. i still have (usually painless, sometimes burning) sores in my mouth that may also be herpes, i still don’t know what triggers them. i have quit alcohol and drugs that may possibly be triggering it. but they still come back. they are nowhere where they used to be, like i am usually okay but i am a hypocondriac with even more anxiety than that requires, and i am praying to god i don’t get another serious disease. i was only 20 when i was diagnosed with this weird autoimmune thing that normally older women have. it is annoying. i am fully okay with not drinking, i like being sober and awake and aware, i am only angry that i still have to struggle with it and that there is barely anything i can do to combat it.

but i am more annoyed at something else. my body is not okay. my body is not okay. i have tried telling this to countless doctors, i have been trying since i was 15 and i got shin splints and had to take a break from the only thing in my life that meant anything to me, i could not run for a month and i havent been the same since. i told the doctor that my hips have hurt ever since i can remember, that my lower back hurt as if i was 85 years old, but wow, he said, you don’t have scoliosis, and your shin splints will go away if you rest for a month. i cried in his office in front of my dad and he did not care, my shin splints went away but every other joint in my body is still hurting. hell, even my shin still hurts sometimes. my dad and his sister told me later that as a child i would always stretch my back, go into funny looking poses, reach all the way to the sky. i was 13 when i failed to do a yoga pose and was struck by lightning going up from the base of my spine all the way to my neck. 7 years later a doctor told me i hadn’t herniated a disc but i did have a benign cyst in my spine that might require surgery. 2 years later a doctor examined my fingers and said if it did not hurt it could not have been rheuma. i went from orthopedist to orthopedist, there is nothing wrong with you there is nothing wrong with you, my dad would flinch everything my hips cracked. he spent a year massaging my back for hours every single day after work as i tried to study. 4 years later and my boyfriend is massaging my back every day as i try not to cry. sometimes my shoulder burns as if thousands of volts are going through it. could this have been avoided had someone taken me seriously 7 years ago?

i was almost a senior in college when i said enough, enough, enough, i can’t spend half an hour crying in the changing room every time i go to the gym. i love moving my body. i love pushing my body. and maybe even more important than that, my hips will make me cry at night if i don’t work out at least every other day. so i said enough, i can’t live like this anymore. i went to an orthopedist. a female orthopedist. was given physiotherapy, i cried from happiness on my way home. i went to physio for 4 weeks, 4 weeks of 20 minute appointments, the simplest of moves and i am okay, i am okay, physio has helped me more than any doctor on this earth ever could. i still do those exercises. my hips crack sometimes. they have not made me cry since the end of sophomore year.

just a few months later: my heel started hurting. i blame the 8 year old boots that i loved wearing. i went to the another orthopedist, who said that disgusting doctor who had implied if i didn’t have scoliosis i can’t possibly be in pain was not a good doctor. what a relief. i had plantar fasciitis, don’t run, stretch your foot. don’t run. don’t run. after the shin splints i hadn’t run consistently, i hadn’t run as if i was flying. now again, don’t run.

at the same time something else was happening: my hips, that i was not allowed to stretch since they could just pop out of their socket, would not allow me to practice karate that i had just gotten into. i could not get into position, i could not open my hip without my knee caving in, we look over that when you’re a yellow belt but if you want to go orange, you need to do it correctly.

my hips, that i now loved so dearly, together with my heel, meant that i could not even do karate a couple times a week. don’t run, don’t go to karate, i could barely walk but i had to make it to the gym to combat the pain elsewhere on my body. i told myself i would go back to my orthopedist in germany to get more physio appointments. i gave it my all at the gym - after all, except for some hip stabilising exercises, pretty much everything was out. i told myself i could do a pull up. i did a pull up. then i did two, then three, then four. then five. then one day as i was leaving the house, trying to tie my shoes, my hand stopped moving. my arm froze, a slight movement making me bend in pain. i was convinced i had dislocated my shoulder - a visit to the orthopedist a week later made it clear that no, i hadn’t dislocated my cracking, visibly moving in its socket shoulder, it was simply how it was. my beloved orthopedist was also one of them, i was a medical joke, and did i know, another patient of hers had the same thing. and my heel? eh, get new shoes, only old and fat people get plantar fasciitis anyway.

i got more physio appointments. and for this therapist i am grateful. i am grateful. i owe him my life. because at that point, where i could not run, i could not do karate, i could not do lower body or upper body exercises, i was the closest i could get to taking my own life. i was scared that i would do it - this isn’t whining like oh i can’t workout, ths is a tragedy, no. this was years of medical professionals ignoring what i said, my body being in pain, me not being able to even walk because of it, and medical professionals. still. ignoring. my symptoms. i could not take it at that point, i cried every single day because i could not endure the pain anymore. and my physiotherapist turned all of that around. i remember when germany was hit by a storm and we were encouraged to stay home as much as possible, and i had an appointment, and i left the clinic running home with my f’d up heel in the rain. if anyone was driving near me they saw a crying, laughing, seemingly mental girl running in the storm, but i hadn’t felt that good in such a long time. my shoulder, which was in a way worse condition than the doctor had suggested, was getting better, so was my heel, and so was my back and hamstrings and hips and knees, you see where i am going with this. my ribs crack. they crack into my stomach and it doesn’t hurt, but every time i laugh i fear that i have ruptured something. my back cracks. my shoulders can get dislocated with every movement. my thighs, which help me sprint at 24 km/h for half a minute, that carried the 15-year-old me through 70 mile months, can’t prevent my knee pain. my left glute is still numb. all of these medically irrelevant. fabian, if for some reason you see this, i owe you my life.

then came the next orthopedist appointment. no my heel still hurts no my shoulder still hurts but all getting better. i just need more physio. did i have an appointment with a pain therapist, no because we are in germany and everyone in the medical field is indifferent to patients. i am still waiting to hear back from 2 neurologists. did i make an appointment with a rheumatologist, no because they are making me wait and wait and wait- oh wait i have an appointment two days from now. i see the rheumatologist wearing a mask, do your fingers hurt, no but i feel a vein over my elbow move every time i write, do your fingers hurt, no but every joint in my body makes me wish i was dead, do your fingers hurt when i do this, no but my autoimmune disorder makes me susceptible for others. did i tell you that my joints make me wish i was dead every waking second. we’ll run some more tests but you don’t have a rheuma-type condition, you should be happy, you are okay. everything i have told you is medically irrelevant. medically, i am okay, medically, you can’t experience pain if there isn’t an underlying issue. we don’t treat pain. we don’t treat pain when we don’t look for common diseases. remember when we did not look for anything else when your herpes lingered for four months and made you cry when you drank water.

these words, you are okay, there is nothing we could find, these words that reduced me to whiny, crying little girl, still there. i haven’t seen my physiotherapist since march because my pain is not a good enough reason to risk all the old people visiting that clinic. my pain is never good enough. my heel stopped hurting at the beginning of march and i could get in a full month of running before i woke up with a pinching pain again. i still don’t do karate. i have to modify every workout i do. some days i can barely sit at my desk because of the pain. wiping down the counters makes my shoulders click. i can’t sleep on my stomach because my back hurts, i can barely vacuum the floors before i have to stop and sit down. i am 21. i do not wish to see what the rest of the future holds for me.

#i am sorry this is so depressive #i am not depressed i actually like living and working out #but even laying on my bed right now hurts everything so much #i went for my last run and it was horrible. my shoulders #yes my shoulders #cramped halfway throuhg and i had to walk back home #i just want to be able to run again. without pain #all the other pain like shoulder hip back i can live with those #hell i have been living with those #but the heel is the worst #like when fabian said which pain do you want to concentrate on because we did not have that much time!!! i said heel #it doesnt hurt the most but emotionally i am at my limit #i just want to run again and do my workouts and just breathe without pain #and i never want to see a doctor again :) sorry if anyone is offended but my experience with them has made me want to die #a doctor shouldnt do that. i trust my PT more than i trust any doctor on this world and i will not apologise for that

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