#like either the new psychiatrist is wrong (possible but i seem to be the only one questioning it) or they're just Like That

[charliespringverse]

i think it should be possible to scream without making any noise or disturbing anyone or inviting any questions . just sometimes . as a treat .

[cleoselene]

anyone have tips for trying out talk therapy when you've only had horrible experiences with it the entirety of your life?

like, I hate it. I hate it so much. I hate everything about therapy, I hate talking to a stranger who i know is only getting paid to listen to me, it feels like emotional prostitution. I hate dealing with any medical professionals because as a medical sociologist all I can see is everything they're doing that's inappropriate.

I hate uwu shit like "say nicer things to yourself" because it all sounds like bullshit to me. I grew up raised by new age self-help hippie types and I always find it so stupid and lame and boring. I don't think positive thinking makes things better, i think it's about as effective as prayer, which is to say, what you do when you want to do fucking nothing (sorry to any religious people, but I am an atheist and prayer has always seemed to me like a tremendous waste of time that will only end in disappointment because God isn't real and even if he was, he doesnt' give a fuck about us because: look around the planet. If God is real, i fucking HATE GOD. I want to FIGHT God. I think the God that is conceived of in every religion I've ever heard of sounds cruel and sadistic. Like an abusive parent). So religion doesn't work for me for solace. I wish it could, I really fucking wish it could, but it's like trying to convince my brain that the sky is neon yellow, it never is and I've never seen it.

And talk therapy has always felt invasive, uncomfortable, and artificial to me. Also I have trust issues. When I was a kid my therapist gave me this huge fucking speech about how confidentiality is guaranteed and she could lose her license if she told anyone, etc. Only to hear my mother on the phone getting detailed reports from my brother's therapist. So like, I don't know if she got detailed reports on me, she claims not, but if they're willing to betray my brother's trust, why wouldn't they be willing to betray mine?

Or beyond specifically naming me, EVERYONE talks about their job, even people who are beholden to being confidential. They still tell stories about your crazy ass, they just don't know your name. The thought of being hilarious unnamed anecdote at some therapist's dinner party is not appealing, it's right up there with being a headless fat person on the news.

All this to say is if you have any advice on how i can possibly approach this latest attempt at therapy. Last time I tried like seven years ago and she was so fucking incompetent and then kicked me out when I cursed. Like. I didn't curse AT her, I cursed, BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I FUCKING TALK.

When i was getting sick with MS and I knew something was SERIOUSLY wrong with me but I didn't know what, I saw a psychiatrist who told me nothing was wrong with me and googled up "sleep hygiene" because she told me everything would be fixed with better sleep habits.

I'm either not taken seriously, lied to, or dismissed. I don't know how to do therapy. But I'm so fucking depressed you guys and the medicine isn't doing it.

[baguettesandbows]

3

tw!! talk of sa

I know Arkham Knight happened in one night, but i’m spreading it out slightly for the sake of the story.

You suddenly understood why every woman in Arkham looked numb.

As you walked out of Jefferson’s office, you didn’t flinch at the yelling from the office next door, as you usually would. You walked past the group of patients that would make obscene comments about you.

You found yourself in your room, staring blankly at the white peeling wall.

You wanted Jason. You wanted him to find you, to find out what happened. You wanted him to hurt Jefferson, the same way you’ve watched him in his Robin suit hurt men that have touched you.

You grab your pillow, and scream into it, possibly annoying other patients but you didn’t care. All you wanted was for it to get out.

The small visiting room seemed smaller when Dick Grayson was in it.

You looked at the crayons on the table, breaking them in half as Dick spoke to you.

“He’s being investigated.” Dick says quietly, choosing not to sit on the only couch, not wanting to intrude. “But with the luck people have had with Arkhams staff..”

Dick sighs and leans back against the wall, looking at you. “Until he’s gone, we’ve had them switch out your psychiatrist.”

His words make you look up.

“You mean- this wasn’t enough to get me out of here?” You say stiffly, your hands trembling around the broken crayons. “So what, your just going to trust another fucked up staff member? He fucking assaulted me Dick!” Your voice gets higher throughout the sentence.

“We didn’t know an assistant was taking over, Reader. They didn’t tell anything to us about it. We would have- we would have investigated him before he ever came close to talking to you.”

You snort. “Like that makes a difference for me to know that?”

Dicks fists clench. You knew he wasn’t angry at you, he was angry at himself. Mostly Bruce, who hasn’t spoken to you once since he put you in Arkham. Although, you know he’s still a part of it, as you get sent gift baskets from Alfred weekly.

“This.. this is the best place for you right now.” Dick says, exhaustion seeping into his words. He doesn’t sound like he believes it, either.

“I hate you.” You whisper harshly, rubbing the crayons against the table.

“I know.”

The first sign you realized something was wrong, was when security lessened in Arkham.

Staff members were getting fired left and right. You assume it was Bruce, finally taking charge of Arkham and firing all of the twisted staff.

You walked down one of the catwalks, walking down the stairs to look at the lunch tables, driving where to sit, when you heard the television.

“Man charged with biting someone-“ Normal. “In a laundry unit after victim heard him screaming at himself.”

Zombie apocalypse? Gothams probably already had one.

You shake your head and walk over to one of the corner tables, sliding into the seat and setting your tray on the table. A woman sits down across from you, but pays no attention as she keeps to herself.

You stuff the slop into your mouth, because as much as you hated the food, you wanted to look like yourself when Jason came back.

If.

When.

Fuck.

You slam the tray of slop, on the edge of the table, making it fly off the table and onto the ground. The woman’s cross from you flinches but doesn’t react.

You can’t believe that your losing the idea that Jason’s alive. Maybe Jefferson fucked you up more than you thought.

“Oh shit- look how fucked up the guy looks!”

Your gaze moves to the television, where they show the victim of the biting man. Your eyebrows furrow are the image. *Is that allowed on the news*?

“Fuck- imagine being known as the guy who bit someone.”

“Carol, you used to eat your victims hair.”

You scrunch your nose and focus on the television instead of the patients conversations.

The second time you realized something was different, was when they shut off the news in the rec rooms.

You checked with the male block, and one had informed you that theirs was shut off too.

Gothams news was something people were used to. What was so horrific, that they wouldn’t show Arkhams patients?

With the lessening staff, you noticed more and more fights break out. It felt different than the years you’ve been here. There wasn’t the threat of a nurse with a syringe behind you at every problem.

You’ve started tying your doorknob to your bed frame just in case.

At night, you felt your bed frame jiggling. You bolted upright to see your neighbor trying to open the door, and you quickly walked over.

Visiting has gotten usual with her, since her guard had gotten fired.

You let her in before shutting the door behind her, and turn to face her. “What?”

She, Anna, looks at you with a grin. “They’ve given him a name.”

You look at her weirdly before walking over to your bed and sitting down. “Who?”

“The guy whose been dropping fear gas everywhere. Didn’t you hear Steph talking about it?”

Steph- a patient whose boyfriend works as a journalist.

“No- I barely talk to her.” You mumble, watching as Anna walks over to your dresser and grabs a baked good from the gift basket. “So a guy has been behind these weird attacks?”

Anna nods, her lips pursed together as she chooses form your stash. “Apparently no one can find anything out about him. Only knows he’s working with Scarecrow. Do you like these?” She holds up a blueberry muffin and you wave her off to take it. “So he like- calls himself the Arkham Knight. Or at least, that’s what Stephs boyfriend said.”

You snort. “Wonder who he’s after.”

Anna nods, raising her eyebrows sarcastically. “Yet he’s the first villain to name himself after Batman. If I had the money to become a high class villain, that would’ve been my first idea.”

You watch as she bites into one of the muffins. “No one’s as smart as you, Anna.” You say, sarcastically, but she doesn’t ever notice that.

You look at the barred window in your room, and get up, walking over to it. Only the tips of your fingertips can reach it, so all your able to see is the top of a tree growing next to Arkham.

“Arkham Knight.” You mumble to yourself. “Let’s hope your different than the others.”

[prophvtics]

to say that eugene was freaked out was the understatement of the century, he'd always expected that at one point or another he'd find himself in a tricky situation thanks to his job but never in a million years would he have expected it to be like this, mauled by america's sweetheart as she tried to take a chunk out of him. did she have rabies? did he now have rabies? whatever was wrong with her, it was serious and clearly a hell of a lot more confusing than he was able to handle, yet there was no escape now. whether he liked it or not, he'd found pfeiffer and he had to take care of her one way or another, she was his responsibility now as if he left her there and then heard on the news a couple weeks later a sorrowful statement from her parents about her totally not suspicious passing, he would never be able to live down the guilt, even if she had just tried to eat him. once he was back on his feet and pressed up against the furthest wall, he tried not to focus too hard on the sticky feeling of his own blood coating his palm and instead kept his eyes locked on pfeiffer. he'd been terrified of her when she was on top of him, clawing and chewing at him like she wanted to get to his insides but now? now she just looked like a scared little girl. he'd broken into her house looking for answers and he could leave now, not when he'd only gained more questions and the one person who could relieve him of them was sat curled up in the corner, clearly equally distressed by the situation they'd found themselves in, maybe even more so. "it's- it's okay, i-i'm fine." quickly, he wiped the blood that had smeared over his palm down onto his jeans. he was anything but fine, he worried that if he stayed any longer that she might get the taste for blood again and try to lash out again but he knew he couldn't leave her there alone either. "it's fine, but we have to leave. we have to go right now, pfeiffer. okay? please, you- you can't stay here." clearly she was locked up for a reason but whatever it was, eugene couldn't reason with it needing such a dramatic response. she must've been mentally ill and no one in their right mind would lock up a poor girl who needed help in the basement like she were some kind of animal. she needed a doctor and a psychiatrist, if something had snapped within her and she needed proper institutionalising then they could work towards that but her parents reputations were not more important than the well being of their daughter. the smart thing to do would've been do call someone for help, she might've not hurt him too much yet but it seemed obvious to him that the possibility was there and he had no interest in repeating the assault, not when his heart was already pounding in his chest and his knees were trembling like trees nearly ready to fall down. that was the obvious solution to their problem, yet eugene made no attempt to reach for his phone. he stayed completely still and watched the already petite girl make herself even smaller, seemingly dumbfounded by the tears running down her dirty cheeks. "i'm sorry. i'm- i'm really sorry if i-i scared you or something but... but please don't do that again. okay? i'm trying to help. i promise. i won't hurt you."

continued from here

after so long of living like a caged animal, holding onto her humanity had become more painful than anything else. had she retained her former senses, she would've been embarrassed to be found down there with tangled greasy hair and dingy clothes, especially by a cute boy in her age range. perhaps it was lucky, then, that she wasn't able to be fully cognizant of her current state. though it wasn't a satisfying life, embracing her wolf side was a lot easier than trying to live up to the standards set for her by her parents and upheld by all the eyes of the american public she had monitoring her every move. pfeiffer didn't have to think about how she was meant to behave around this altruistic intruder, or worry about what he thought of her. all she had to do was follow those animal instincts deeply ingrained within her, and she couldn't deny how exhilarating it felt to finally have some live prey to hunt again. it was more of an ambush than anything else, though, as he was too caught off guard to properly fight back or even to try and flee before she'd jumped on him. it wasn't exactly her intention to kill him— or eat him, rather— but a few good nibbles would be nice. she just wanted the satisfaction of grappling with her victim for control, the rush of adrenaline that came from a power struggle, and the ensuing endorphins the physical exertion had released were almost intoxicating, making her that much more feral as she clawed at his clothed chest and clamped her teeth down on whatever part of his body she could reach. finally she'd found a spot that wasn't obstructed by fabric, able to sink her fangs into the tender flesh of his neck. it was a good thing his survival instincts managed to kick into gear at that very moment, because as soon as the tiniest pinprick of blood hit her tastebuds, she wouldn't have been able to stop herself from finishing him off. the wound was relatively shallow, unable to get a proper bite in before he was kicking her off of him and sending her flying back, leaving her landing on her ass with a heavy, "oof" from the breath rushing out of her lungs. it was her turn to be caught off guard, taking a moment to process what had happened and why she was no longer on top of him before she could actually react. her expression swiftly shifted from bloodthirsty wolf to befuddled puppy, cocking her head slightly until she registered his horror and disgust. directed at her. though she didn't exactly know why, or why she should care, she understood that she'd done something very wrong, and she did care; a shred of her humanity lingering within her, no matter how deeply buried. with a whimper of distress, she scuttled back towards the opposite corner, trying to put as much distance between her and the cage as she could while also staying away from him. just seeing the dribble of blood leaking from his neck wound and his slashed up clothes was urging her to go back in for seconds, the taste of copper still on her tongue, and she hurriedly wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand to try and clear it away. all of her enjoyment had soured so suddenly, such a drastic shift occurring in such a short amount of time that she felt nothing but overwhelmed now. once again curled in on herself as best as she could, her lower lip began to tremble more violently the more he questioned her, fat tear droplets forming at her lash line and rolling down her dirty cheeks. that physical response somewhat took her out of the moment entirely, letting out a gasp as she pressed her fingertips to her cheek to feel the wetness and confirm that she really was crying. she didn't know she still could cry, and she definitely didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.