#maybe that's just symptoms stacking? idk

[thesparklingwriter]

an unexpected surprise

tags: smut, omegaverse, afab! reader, omega!reader, alpha!zhongli, consensual somno, pet names, reader is in heat, zhongli is in rut, reader pregnancy in afterword, idk if genuine excitement to start a family counts as breeding kink, I STILL think this is somewhat fluffy if not vanilla

word count: 4k (side note what the fuck)

a/n: is celeste doing a good job of hiding the breeding kink or no

masterlist | taglist

It’s scarily easy to forget, you concede. It’s too easy to just question why your stomach is killing you all of a sudden. Or why that stack of pillows in the living room is calling out your name like a record player on repeat. Or why letting Zhongli go on that work trip last week almost made you want to fall to your knees and beg him not to.

But once you realise it's your heat breaking, it's almost like your body doubles down. With Zhongli returning from his trip within two days, there’s really no point in worrying him with the information. His ever-righteous alpha urges would have him running home in a heartbeat, and you can't be responsible for that. 

So you call in sick to work for the next week, and if anyone knows why, they don’t question you, and you resign yourself to a horrible few days by yourself. You wear Zhongli’s clothes in the hopes that enough of his scent is left behind to cool your impulses a little. Still, it’s only so long before silk is the only fabric your clammy skin can bear, and since his pyjamas have been freshly laundered, there’s really no point in even trying. 

You reluctantly switch to your own clothes again, a silk night dress you've adored since the day Zhongli bought it for you, and focus on building a nest in the spare room to distract yourself. It works so well, in fact, that you wonder how Zhongli will ever fit between the pillows you've piled up —you subconsciously only made it big enough for yourself. The spare room is good because it's the smallest—in fact, it's so small that calling it a room is almost an exaggeration. It was initially an overzealous store cupboard that you ended up forming an affinity to during your heats, and while it was never a badly kept room, Zhongli couldn’t bear the thought of you using a cupboard when you were most vulnerable, so he had it remodelled. It was worth it to him, even if you were only using it 6 times a year.

This would be the third out of six heats this year, and you congratulate yourself on making it halfway through the year without keeling over and calling it quits. But making it through this one would be tricky. One of the many advantages of married life is not having to go through heat alone, and if Zhongli doesn't return home in time, you might explode.

You try to sleep off the anxiety first, surrounded by cooling silk sheets and everything in the house you can find that smells like your alpha, and it works for the first few hours of the night until a heat cramp rips through you and stirs you awake. Zhongli is many things, but above all, he is a doting alpha, and since he has your permission to help you in any way he sees fit during your heats, he has a very good way of satisfying that part of you before a heat cramp can even manifest itself. But since you haven’t experienced a heat cramp to this extent in what feels like years, you find yourself doubled over and whimpering in pain. The waves of agony even have you forgetting how it was that you managed your heats before you found Zhongli and his cool hands and doting kisses and perfect co—

It doesn’t help to think about him, you realise, as another wave of pain shoots through you. If you can make it downstairs to just grab a hot drink, maybe your symptoms will subside enough for you to just take matters into your own hands like you used to, and then you can decide how you want to proceed. So you wait until the waves of pain are retreating, and you take the opportunity to rush downstairs and rifle through Zhongli's stash of teas. He has labelled them meticulously, and even in your dazed, heat-addled state, you know to not disturb it too much. 

You find one that seems to be labelled appropriately and do the worst job of preparing yourself a cup to drink. You know he'd have an aneurysm if he saw you, but times are tough, and he’s not here to help you. He would probably be even more offended by the way you chug the drink, not even pausing to appreciate the notes and intricacies of the flavour as you trudge back upstairs and hope you find the energy for one orgasm to get you through the night.

It's tricky during this phase. Your body only desires carnal pursuits, but your mind is so riddled with anxiety that it feels wrong when you slide your underwear down past your knees, and your other hand gently brushes your nipple. It feels awkward to slip your fingers between your legs, to pretend that it's him who’s fucking you with his fingers, but it works, so you can’t complain. You tell yourself that you’ll clean up before you fall back asleep, but the hours of no sleep are catching up to you, and you fall asleep as you are.

When you wake up again, it's not from a heat cramp or because you need to use the toilet, it's because your heightened senses can hear the front door opening. You take a minute to listen before you panic—Zhongli isn't supposed to be back for another day, but when you realise that it's his steady but hurried footsteps that you hear, the tension leaves your body, and you relax. You don't have the strength to go to him, so you just hope that he finds you here, and he does.

He pushes your door open and glances inside, spotting you curled up in your tiny nest, stressed and anticipating another wave of pain. He feels horrible.

“Oh, my love,” he whispers, walking over to you and taking you in his arms. He carefully nips at your scent glands first and is relieved that from the way you smell, you're in your late preheat, so even though you may have suffered up to this point, it hasn't been the worst your body has to offer. A grateful hum slips from your lips as your eyes close in bliss, and his cool hands against your stomach seem to calm the heat cramp that was building up. “Love, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were coming back anyway,” you reply, clutching at his shirt and capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss. “No need to bother you.”

“There was every need to bother me,” he whispers, gently adjusting the pillows around you on the bed and stripping off layer after layer after layer. He starts with his gloved hands, and the sight has you clenching on nothing, but you're just happy to finally have him to yourself despite your frustration. “You’re my wife, my mate, my omega. It is my job to take care of you. First and foremost.”

He reaches under you to pick you up, but you protest, grabbing his forearm. “I don’t want to move.”

Zhongli is hit with this unyielding wave of desire, so much so that he has to swallow his thoughts of you round with his child down before he speaks.

“Little love,” he shoots back, gently stroking your hair. “I have to take the contraceptive. Should I leave you here?”

“Don’t,” You say. You’d agreed that the next time your heat and his rut coincided, you’d be more thsn happy to explore the idea of having a child, but with the painful realisation that it might not sync up as fast as you want it to, you’re not holding out on luck.

“Beloved,” Zhongli shoots back, devastatingly beautiful, as you pull out the ribbon that holds his hair back. The image in his mind from earlier shoots back into his mind as he quickly contemplates whether he can take your words as they are, given the stage of your heat. If you were further along, you might say anything to get him inside of you again, but right now, he doesn’t think that’s the case. He takes your hand and gently kisses the inside of your wrist, a familiar action that makes you smile lightly.

“Don’t take it.” you repeat. “I don’t want you to take it.” You gently tug the ends of his hair to pull him closer to you, suddenly over-aware of the fact that your scent glands are begging for his attention. “Please.”

“I don’t want you to have regrets later,” Zhongli says quietly, and this time, when he leans in to nip at your neck again, something in his scent tickles the back of your throat, rich and almost spicy, and it makes you cough. His eyes shoot up to yours as realisation dawns on the both of you.

Zhonglis ruts are less common then your heats, with him experiencing only four a year compared to you. And if the last time they coincided was 2 cycles ago…

“Hm,” Zhongli mutters as you pull him into your nest. “That seems to explain things.” He had returned home early from this work trip for a multitude of reasons. At first, it was your reaction to him leaving, and then it was the dreams and constant thoughts of you that proved difficult to handle during important funeral proceedings, and then it was the thoughts of how you would look pregnant the moment he realised you were in heat. He should have realised sooner, instead of ignoring it and letting you suffer thus far.

“Sleepy?” he asks you, as you bury your face into his chest. But the most you do in the way of a response is make a soft humming sound, your omegan senses calmed by the knowledge that your alpha is close. He is upset by the fact that you didn't feel you could reach him when you needed him, but he knows now you need him more than you need an ultimatum. But for the next few hours, it seems like it’s just a waiting game. He is grateful his rut hasn't set in fully, or else the way you nuzzle into his chest might have driven him half crazy.

He gently strokes your hair, unable to tear his eyes from you for a single second—not only because you're the epitome of beauty to him, but also because he has been away, and he wants to take stock of everything. You once joked that he’d probably notice if a strand of hair on your head went missing, and although he’d laughed it off, he wouldn't be surprised if he could.

Your scent slowly begins to shift to something more sweet as you claw at your husband. You're not awake yet, and you won't be for a while, but you’d given Zhongli explicit permission to do whatever he needed to keep you happy during your heats, and he is always eager to please.

Even still, Zhongli takes his cues from you—if you’re grabbing at his face, he’ll kiss you for as long as you want him to, until you escalate things in your heat-addled slumber. And you do, breathy moans punctuating the kiss until you can take no more, and you're grabbing at his hips.

“What do you want?” Zhongli whispers, as he gently rolls you over onto your back. He’s been ignoring his almost painful hardness in favour of doting on you, but he refuses to forgo his manners the moment sex is on the table.

You whine at him, clawing at him some more, and he chuckles, gently pulling your nightgown up to your waist. He clicks his tongue at the sight of you, practically dripping for him, your underwear nowhere to be found, and as much as he wants to dip his tongue into you, he knows it's cruel to play with you in such ways.

“I know, love. I know.” He whispers to you as he gently enters you. You’re so wet that there's almost no resistance, and the breathy moan that slips out of you is almost too much for him to bear. His mind is almost immediately flooding with thoughts of fucking you into the mattress until you’re both so tired that it will take days to recover, but he would never do anything like that unless you were awake. He may have your permission, but he has his own morals.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispers as you pull him closer, your head thrown back in silent bliss. Your response is in the way you clench around him, the slight whine in your quiet moans, and the way you dig your nails into his back. Gods, he loves it when you do that. And although it drives him near crazy, he keeps a steady pace until he feels his knot growing. He nips at your scent glands again, using the opportunity to whisper in your ear—filthy words that have you orgasming almost involuntarily, and the way you clench on him as his knot settles into place triggers his. 

He pulls you to the side so the both of you can lie down comfortably, and he is convinced that the satisfied look on your face as his knot keeps all of his cum safe inside you is enough to keep it there for another half hour. 

His estimations turn out to be correct, and by the time you begin to stir, his knot is still going strong. He talks to you as you wake, gently reminding you to not move too suddenly. You’re dazed but, more than anything, grateful for him as you pull him tighter.

“Thank you,” is the first thing you say when you wake up, gently planting a kiss on his cheek. The action, albeit mostly innocent, makes his cock twitch inside you, and you've regained enough of your sanity to laugh. “Rut?”

“It seems so.”

“Did you…?” your question trails off as if the process of asking is too tiresome for you. If he had, you would understand, but your anxiety is understandable. If he had taken it, it would mean you would both have to wait again, and Zhongli would be lying if he said that the idea of being a father would be unfavourable to him.

“As per our agreement, I did not.” 

The smile you give him is so… perfect that Zhongli has to look away before his knot returns with a vengeance, and he opts for pulling you into a hug, the cold silk of your dress against his chest. He wants to bathe you before the next round of cramps set in, otherwise, you will be clammy and irritable, and he learned very quickly that you cannot bear any discomfort that he cannot fix by fucking you during your heats.

He wants to run a hand over your belly, but decides against it, for fear of jinxing things, instead settling on pressing multiple kisses to your head. 

“How do you feel?” he asks you. He’s not entirely sure how far into your preheat you were before he returned home and he’s worried that he hasn’t been able to help all of the symptoms as a result.

“Warm,” you whisper. “How come I’m still wearing this?”

“As you remind me every cycle, doing anything but what an omega in heat explicitly asks of you is essentially torture. You didn't ask me to take it off, so I didn’t.”

You pout at him, and he laughs gently at you. His knot has deflated, so he slowly sits up and pulls you into his arms. “Will you fight me if I offer to bathe you?”

You shake your head no, lifting your arms above your head as he carefully drags your nightdress off. He decides to save himself the hassle of trying to get it completely clean and just get you a new one.

The minute your skin is exposed to the cold air, you wrap your arms around your chest, and Zhongli takes personal offence to that, kissing your arms until you move them, and then kissing your breasts, his tongue flicking out to tease your nipples. From the way your nails dig into him, he realises that's just about as far as you’ll let him go with the teasing, so he picks you up and takes you to the bath. It’s easy when you’re as pliant as you are now—any attempt you make to push back is easily combatted with words of praise and a gentle kiss to your head, and before you know it, you’re clean and dry and pressed up against your lover’s cool skin.

“Are you still certain about this?” Zhongli strokes your hair again, gently scratching your scalp in a way that sends satisfying shivers down your spine. “I can still take the contraceptive if you want.” 

“No. I want this with you,” you reiterate, pulling him into another kiss. You expect him to kiss you back softly, the way he usually does, but the fact he’s in rut has slipped your mind, and the way he captures your lips in a fiery kiss has a wave of need rushing through you. You gasp at the way his teeth graze your neck, the way his hands rest against your skin, still so gentle despite the fact you know he wants to be anything but.

A heat cramp comes over you so suddenly that Zhongli barely has the chance to register the change in your scent, but he’s quick to respond to your whimper. It’s cheeky of him, he knows, but he gently slides a hand up your thigh and lets it play with your clit for little more than a few seconds. Judging by how drenched you are, if he’d allowed himself to play for any longer, you might have taken matters into your own hands.

Zhongli whispers your name, although it comes out as more of a growl than a whisper, and you know he’s asking for your permission to take you the way he wants to—the way he craves. And even though he knows you’ll be fine, in fact, when you’re in heat you’re most compatible for a mate in rut, he feels the need to check. So when you reach for him and bite on his neck as hard as you physically can, he takes that as an okay.

It takes every single piece of patience he has to gently place your legs over his shoulder, and slowly sink himself into you. It takes even more for him to maintain a slow pace when you’re looking up at him like that, even more so when you moan his name in the breathy way he loves so dear.

“Safe word?” he asks through gritted teeth, and only when you repeat it back to him does he let himself relax a little. He slides a pillow under your hips, before whispering: “Brace yourself, love.” And even though he warns you, you’re still shocked by how hard his next thrust is—if you hadn't been in heat, it probably would have been enough to send you over the edge. His hands grip your waist so hard that in the back of your mind, you're convinced that it’s going to bruise, but the rest of your thoughts are blank, a dull hum in your head where words are supposed to be.

“Are you still alright?” he asks, as he moves his hands from your waist to your wrists.

“More. please, more,” you reply, and he obliges, quietly pleased with the way your pleas shift from words to loud moans and desperate whimpers.

“You want me to breed you, don’t you?” his voice is impossibly steady, his eyes trained on you in a way that stops you from looking elsewhere, even after he thrusts into you so hard that you want to throw your head back. Your whispered please is so faint that he almost doesn't hear it, but he does feel you clench desperately around him, and he's almost disappointed that he’s knotting you so soon.

The way you look at him is unfair. The way you scream his name as you orgasm is unfair, the way you close your eyes in bliss as he cums inside you is so. Fucking. Unfair. How is he ever supposed to win against you? You could ask him for the world, and he would create it for you.

“Is it safe to assume you’re satisfied now?” he asks you when you’re once again capable of speech.

“For now,” you respond. And even though you know it's bad to keep things from him, you don’t tell your husband that you don’t feel another heat cramp for the rest of the week.

~~~

“It has been less than a second since I stepped over the threshold of this house and you are already jumping on me.” Zhongli laughs as you barrel into his arms. He notes you smell different, but he can’t pick up what he is. As he picks you up, he thinks that you're slightly heavier than usual, but that could just be his muscles being fatigued from moving packed boxes of paperwork all day.

“You’re home early,” you smile, looking down at him. He manages to get his shoes off and walk you over to the living room, where you curl up next to him on the sofa. You have been increasingly affectionate as of the last few months and increasingly horny too, but you have those phases every so often, so Zhongli does not question it.

He very quickly realises you’re wearing the replacement of the silk nightgown he got rid of during your last heat. He made sure it was a one-to-one replacement, but it fits differently on you now. Not a bad difference, it’s a perfect difference, he concludes.

“I missed you, my love.” he kisses you softly. “More than should be humanely possible.”

“I missed you more.” you grin. You sit between his legs, your back against his chest, your head tilted lightly to the side so he can kiss your neck the way he always does. But this time, he hovers before he kisses you, and you use his sudden pause to take his hands and place them on your belly.

Zhongli’s smile is peaceful. he likes the quietness of being with you, especially when youre so soft against him, and you smell so…sweet. sweeter than usual. more perfect than normal.

he blames his reignited obsession on his rut somehow. it isn’t his first, obviously, but it’s the first time he’s been able to truly spend it with a partner. he doesn’t know what else to blame it on, nothing else has changed.

except for when the fruit vendor looked at you the wrong way and he almost wanted to rip the man’s throat out. or when then bakery didn’t have the bread you wanted, and it made you cry and he wanted to destroy it there and then. and maybe crying over the bread was a little melodramatic, but it was about the time where your heat returned, so he couldn’t judge you.

but he could judge himself for wanting to resort to such barbarism.

“how have you been, love?”

“tired. hungry. bored.” you retort, your hands falling over his on your belly.

“then we should find something for us to do.”

“i think we should look at remodelling the fourth room,” you grin, “it’s going to be a really boring 6 months if we use your idea of fun as a bench mark,” you sigh.

“The room that conjoins ours?” Zhongli replies, ignoring your mild insult. his body seems to understand your words faster than he does, as his thumbs gently start rubbing your belly. “so you don’t want an office anymore?”

Your husband's brain has been replaced with a rock, you decide. 

“Li,” you sigh. “how you have survived so long whilst ignoring your instincts is beyond me.” you tilt you head up so you can look at him as you deliver the news. “i’m pregnant.”

You feel his breathing pause for a second, and the silence that descends between you is warm and comfortable as the words register.

“You’re…” Your husband is speechless. He sits up slowly, his eyes trained on you.

“mmhmm,” you reply, as he gently cradles your face and kisses you softly. it’s only when he pulls away from you that you realise he’s crying.

“oh, my darling,” you smile, pulling him into another hug. “you’ll set me off.”

he pulls away to look at you, eyes shining with unshed tears and eternal love.

“i suppose celebrations are in order,” he says quietly, pressing kisses into your hair, your cheeks, and your neck as you giggle at him. "I am certain you’ll be a great mother, deserving of every praise.”

You smile. “And you’ll be a great father.” you reply. “The best father our child could ever ask for.”

© 2023, thesparklingwriter. please do not copy, edit, repost, or translate.

notes: i have plenty of things to blame this on but I wont even start. can smut be fluffy...? is that a thing? is this enough to make u guys forgive my absence ?

[majorbaby]

i would love to hear any and all doctor who related thoughts you'd like to share (tenmartha related or otherwise!)

i'm currently very slowly rewatching s3 for the first time in over ten years so i'm not in a position to give a thorough breakdown but i can speak to my general feelings about her (until very recently) unique experience of a being black woman accompanying the doctor and therefore having to endure being thrown to multiple sets of wolves, the fans and the writers.

cut for essay (sorry)

aside from her just being a gorgeous and amazing character, i think was drawn to her for the same reason i think people were so viciously critical of her - her blackness means she's an anomaly. there was mickey, but he was more of a secondary character and he's also a man and doesn't have to content with the intersection of race and misogyny.... you know all of this already.

all companions deal with the fact that travelling with the doctor is fun and worth it, but it often comes at a terrible cost. it's dangerous, sometimes it's fucked up, but ultimately they still choose to do it.

what a luxury it is for most companions to be able to opt-in to venture to a planet where the systems and people you encounter on a daily basis may be hostile to you for something you can't control. that's the life martha is choosing when she decides to accompany the doctor, but it's also the life she's choosing when she decides to leave him.

for me it increases the stakes every time her life is in danger. the circumstances she finds herself in with the doctor are inhospitable to her but the genre she's in is also inhospitable to her. she deserves better from the doctor but she also deserves better from the story she inhabits and what kills me is she's aware of that! she knows she doesn't belong! her "i'm good" reminds me so much of this moment from my favourite movie, the matrix:

no! no one was expecting or knew what to do with a black woman in a major role in speculative fiction!

it's not clear to me that the doctor knows just how good martha is and that's a symptom of the writers not knowing either. tbf to the production itself, she's got lots of great moments, but the odds are utterly stacked against her and the fumbles (human nature/family of blood i'm looking at you) are painful to watch.

i get that the doctor needing his companions is a founding character trait of his and it was fun to watch martha save his ass but at a certain point it felt gratuitous to me. he spends the whole season fucking up terribly without acknowledging how much hell she goes through on his behalf and i think i'm still meant to feel worse for the him re: rose. and also i'm supposed to buy that that's the main reason martha is upset whenever she's upset, which i find kind of... laughable lol. unrequited love sucks but does it suck worse than all of [gestures] that? idk, maybe i'm just not 14 anymore but i find it pretty hard to believe that my crush not liking me back is worse than being trapped in early 1900s england, to say nothing of... what is it, vampires in that one?

sorry i didn't have more positive stuff to say.... there is at least 42 where the doctor screams that he needs her. yeah you do, we all do!!! that is ultimately how i feel about her.

[restforthe-burdenedsoul]

Struggling mentally today.

I think maybe it’s from my period. My cramps have been awful, I haven’t been sleeping because of it, and now my sleep schedule is a little messed up.

It took two hours to peel myself out of bed this morning. I have so many work tasks to do and I feel so overwhelmed.

I have a bunch of unread messages from friends that I can’t bring myself to open and respond to.

A million personal tasks I need to tackle.

I hate this feeling.

——

In somewhat related news, I’ve been exploring coping mechanisms for ASD. I saw this thing that was comparing anxiety attacks and ASD meltdowns and I relate so much more to the latter. I don’t think I fit the diagnosis by the DSM, but fit most of the symptoms that are thought to be common to women.

Regardless of if I would be diagnosed with it, I’m finding the coping skills to be at least a little more effective.

What I’ve thought for years as anxiety attacks, I think they’re from over stimulation. I had another last night and normally I’d say it was a panic attack. But I took more time to figure out what triggered it and it had nothing to do with anxiety and more to do with just a feeling of being overwhelmed. I say trigger stacked, which apparently is more ASD related? My meltdowns (which I have been calling them that for a while now before this) seem to happen most when it’s been one thing after another in a day.

I’m finding that pressure (being a burrito in my blankets, M hugging me really tightly, melody laying on me) calms me down immensely. My brain wouldn’t stop last night which led to a meltdown. M hugged me for a while and the thoughts calmed down.

Rocking/fidgeting has always been really soothing. Those weird energy panic attacks I get where I need to move, rock, shake my hands, or bounce my leg.

When I’m feeling over sensitive to sound, my sound blocking headphones were magic. I’m buying new ones with the tax return finally.

And when I feel understimulated (which may be an adhd thing tho) my headphones with heavy bass music feels good (which could be sensory seeking behavior)

—-

Idk. My brain likes to think I have everything under the sun. I sneeze and I think I have the flu. But I’m gonna keep researching coping skills regardless because I don’t think I’ve been having panic attacks. I think I’m overstimulated/understimulated.

[aspd-culture]

is it worth it to look into aspd diagnosis? or treatment? ive been questioning it a lot, considering the only person ive ever related to properly about mindset shit has dxed aspd and is convinced i have it. but does diagnosis/treatment really help much? (my roomate currently isnt in therapy, idk if the blog admin is but if anyone reading is maybe they could weigh in?) is it actually worth the hassle and label to get dxed if im pretty good at forcing myself to do shit and act "appropriately" anyway? theres shit other people in my life consider genuine issues, but i dont care myself for it or how they feel about it so itd be a big show in and of itself just making myself get in to see someone. if its not going to do anything for someone treatment resistance id rather just keep on how im going instead.

Oof, tough question. As a disclaimer, I am not a professional and I cannot give medical advice. The following is not in any way an attempt to sway your medical decisions, nor an attempt to discourage anyone from getting help.

I am personally professionally diagnosed and actively in therapy once a week, where I openly discuss my symptoms of ASPD with both my therapist and my psychiatrist.

First off, I definitely think that if someone with ASPD is advising you to look into it, that it is at least worth privately researching. That goes double if you find yourself relating heavily to them in ways you do not relate to prosocials (people without ASPD). Whether or not you have it, and whether or not you decide to seek a diagnosis and/or treatment, understanding this disorder and yourself better are never bad things. If you choose not to seek treatment at this time, knowing what you have or think you have (after a lot of research from many sources!) can lead you to developing safe and healthy coping mechanisms that can avoid you and your loved ones ending up negatively affected by your symptoms.

The question of if it's worth getting diagnosed is a tough one, and again I need to stress this is not medical advice, it is just my opinion. ASPD is a heavily stigmatized and misunderstood diagnosis. If you do not know your providers well, you could end up getting yourself into a situation where a doctor with stigma against ASPD may push you towards emergency treatment that you do not require. They shouldn't, and it's not legal for them to let their bias get in the way of their patients' lives, but it does happen.

If you are going to pursue diagnosis, I strongly advise taking it slowly and only doing so once you have built a strong relationship with your therapist. Mentioning your roommate's diagnosis without in any way implying you relate to their symptoms is a great way to slowly see how they feel about ASPD and make sure you are not entering yourself into an unsafe situation where they may abuse their power.

That said, even if you have a good provider, there are other repercussions to having a diagnosis to think about. The likelihood of adopting children is very low. The likelihood of being able to work in certain fields may be slim to none depending on your area's specific laws about private medical information. In some places, some jobs are allowed to require a full mental health workup from you including your diagnoses. Many of these jobs will not hire someone with ASPD. This is unlikely to affect you at a desk job, but very likely to affect you if you want to work in any caregiving position, or even around animals.

Additionally, if you are ever a defendant in court for any reason, the cards are considerably stacked against you if you are diagnosed with ASPD, even if you did not do anything wrong. The assumption is likely to be that you are guilty and/or a flight risk.

This is definitely not a diagnosis that, in the current state of the world, you want to be open about at work, with landlords, etc. There is little to no social accommodations for ASPD anyway, so keep this diagnosis on a need to know basis if you get it, for your own safety.

Because of all of this, if you are currently able to control your symptoms, you may want to consider if it is worth pursuing diagnosis.

That said, you do not need a dx to get help with symptoms. I honestly think everyone with the privilege to do so should try therapy unless they have particular reasons not to. It has been seriously helpful in my life, as someone with reasonably good control over my symptoms, because it lets me deal with the PTSD that caused the ASPD, and if I really get bothered by a symptom, or someone in my life does and I have nothing else to talk about, it's a safe place to get into that too.

No one ever said you have to tell your therapist everything. It's best to most times, because they are bound by confidentiality, but if you want to go there and only talk about specific things and never bother mentioning certain symptoms, that is an option. In fact, there are many therapists who prefer to work on symptoms directly as opposed to labeling things with diagnoses.

I personally found value in getting diagnosed, even weighed against the risks, because I needed to know what exactly was going on with me and have that confirmed by a professional. If you don't find value in that, there are therapists that agree with you.

Many therapists will have you make goals for therapy, but you can even walk into your intake with those goals and your philosophy on how you want to be helped and find out from day one if that therapist and you are a match in that regard. I would advise anyone looking into therapy to do their own research and find a therapist with good reviews and preferably who deals in the type of therapy you're interested in. I would say that anyone with trauma would likely have better experiences if they only work with trauma/PTSD specialized therapists, as to avoid a lack of trauma informed care.

At the end of the day it's your decision, but I found it can really help the balancing act of pretending to be normal if you have someone who is paid good money to let you unmask, talk openly about your symptoms and feelings on others, and get some advice that might make the whole controlling your symptoms thing easier in ways you didn't expect or think of.

Personally, I think the only way therapy would not help you is if the therapist you talk to is a bad match - and that's coming from someone who swore for many years that I would never go to therapy, and then when I tried it and got a bad match, gave up on it for a year. I'm glad I went back.

[nathank77]

4/10/24

11:24 p.m Edited/Added to 11:42 p.m

Getting all that off my chest helped cause low key I'm freaking out/worried that a positive will make me develop symptoms but thanks to psychosis nothing can be as stressful as the month of October lol absolutely nothing ever. And I mean ever. Unless someone blows up in front of me or something.

Now I'm going to say I had a new Veggie Burger today called Boca Burgers and they weren't as good as the Dr Praeger's California veggie burgers but they were better than the Dr. Praeger's All American veggie burgers. I really enjoyed it. They have more protein too. I stack two on two pieces of bread with two pieces of cheese and it was very good.

I still got to call about the water bottle issue but I'm just not trying to have that conversation until I'm ready.....

I canceled my dentist appt and asked to reschedule to may any week my testosterone shot is not scheduled and I have my doctor's appt with my insomnia doctor in May during a week that is not my Testosterone shot.... I'm really trying to only do doctor's appts once a week.

I'm very much so being medically cared for by my insurance but more than once a week is a lot and I got to get my bloodwork done for my thyroid not just the 16th of April but also sometime in the middle of the month of May bc it's a monthly standing blood test...

I'm really riddled by a million doctors appts. It drives me crazy lol

I actually went to the ENT today to sign a release so that they can receive my hearing test results and the fact that I have clogged eustachian tubes. I've been calling for like a month, "did they fax it?," "can you fax it?," finally someone told me I got to sign a release of Information so I hit the ENT before my testosterone shot and signed it. I can't wait to check it off my list of things to do...

I'm hoping I get my hearing aids soon.....my appt is in July...

I called the eye doctor about pushing my appt for the potential of tepezza, they still said September..... so I'm going to call my endo again and see if he can expedite it.. but maybe that's just what it is.

Beyond that I got my weight today at the doctors I'm 188 still and approximately 6-7 days from 8 weeks/2 Months on methimazole. Usually you gain all the weight within 8 weeks and plateu by 6 months. I've lost 13 points and maintained!

I got to keep this diet going for 4 more months. I can allow myself maybe 2 cheat days a month maximum. If I stay on the ball, I get to keep my body, continue to love my appearance and be HEALTHIER its a win-win.

Although I should stay on this diet forever. Cause I mean I'm 188 barely eating 😆

I think I'm actually going into remission but idk. We will find out on the 16th.

[justtogetthrough]

I'm trying to slowly unpack boxes to make my new place not a disaster, but so much has to go to storage I'm not really making much progress as the unit doesn't become available til Dec 4th thus I can't do anything with the giant things that are in my way.

But this does mean that my cats, who have been used to climbing and sleeping on top of a mountain of boxes for 2 weeks, are now being unpleasantly surprised by jumping onto things they immediately fall into and once or twice a day lately I hear the telltale sounds of a mistaken and potentially painful fall into an open/weakened box after weeks of gentle compression that separates the tape from the box flaps.

The first time it happened my cat got straight up absorbed by a box full of curtain rods whose top was folded 4 ways rather than taped so it just... twisted open to eat him then twisted shut again like nothing happened except he was YOWLING from the terror of what just happened and spent 24 hours glued to my face like he was so happy to he alive.

I take it the cats are getting used to falling into boxes now because I hear the sound of the flaps sliding, the items banging around, and the scrambling back out and not so much a meow of contempt anymore.

To be fair, I haven't built them their cat tree yet. I usually set one up right away for them when we move but my life has been such a disaster that I haven't and so it's my fault they've had to substitute the stacks of boxes for climbing and sleeping.

I need the fucking storage unit so I can make space to build them their tree.

Unpacking is a nightmare. The boxes from my house all fit in the apartment bc I purged so much stuff but it's nice to have them stored in boxes. I don't have that much stuff anymore I guess but I just have nowhere to put them once they come out of boxes because with sloped ceilings, 3 couches I need to keep, plus a kitchen table, I have significantly less storage. I may have to ask them to remove the kitchen table even though I'd love to have one. I will re-evaluate when the storage stuff gets removed though. Maybe they'll indulge me and get a 4 seater table rather than 6. They do want me to live here long term. I have many requests though so I'm trying to pace them and not be a burden 😖

I still don't know where to setup my office. The only place that makes sense is where the 3 couches are right now (due to heat sources) but where the couches need to be moved to set up my office is where the storage stuff and boxes are so I'm at a fucking stale mate and I'm going insane.

I wish I had friends I could ask for help. I wish the friends I did have didn't all live hours away from me. I need to make friends here but social skills are my worst domain of skills and I am so SO bad at it that I have little hope of succeeding and it just makes me stay home and isolate and be miserable about being alone. Nothing about my life lends itself to getting to know people without alienating them right off the bat and it's a really big problem for me.

So. Idk. I'm just... in a new place, in crisis, stressed that my cats are stressed, having a massive flare up of mental illness symptoms, got a fresh IUD yesterday so beginning another hormonal rollercoaster, and I 100% wish I was dead and am full of so much self loathing I am ashamed to exist at all.

Getting out of bed to do anything is hard and I wish I was capable of having multiple close relationships that weren't plagued and poisoned by crippling fear of abandonment.

[qwanderer]

So the answer to the perennial question, "am I getting sick or am I just allergic to everything?" appears to be "yes."

Anyway my expired at-home test says I have COVID and I'm inclined to believe it. It's been stored in the most consistently cool dry dark room in my apartment and is only a couple of months past its expiration. Maybe I'm wrong but it seems like a test that's expired would become less likely to register the antibodies? The control indicator was strong and so was the test line. Anyhoo my next few days seems to have been freed up.

So far it's followed the same route as That Cold I Always Get - only a few times in my life have I gotten distinctive symptoms, my body usually gets a virus and is like "Oh yes we know this one, it's The Cold! Ramp up the mucus production! Make everything worse!" And it always starts with my noticing that my allergies are acting up, like this time it was a bunch of extra musty smelling boxes I was stacking that aligned perfectly with the beginning of my symptoms. So I'm inclined to think that either the allergies weaken up my body and then I get sick, or maybe getting sick just makes me hypersensitive to the allergen sources around me? IDK. Or possibly my immune system just tends to overreact in the same ways to everything. Everything just gives me The Cold because The Cold is mostly my body getting confused and trying to fight everything at once.

Bad news is that there were a bunch of people down from the Connecticut office at work the last couple days, so that's increased exposure. Good news is I've mostly been wearing my mask since I noticed musty boxes=bad, since either the mask would protect me from spores or the mask would protect everyone else from a potential instance of The Cold, whatever it might be. And that was a good plan since apparently it's COVID.

Might have also helped to protect me from spores.

This is making me think I might have also had it back in April 2020 when tests were scarce and I was like "well it might be but I'm moving and everything is dusty so that would explain everything" and overall it was mild so I ended up thinking I probably didn't have it.

If this does follow the usual track of The Cold and if I can stop my nose from trying to dump a half ton of mucus into my lungs and giving me the deep cough, I might be better by Monday. Whenever I feel better I'll get a PCR test to confirm and then get back to my routine.

In the meantime I'm feeling "my face is being annoying and my focus is a little reduced, I'm maybe slightly tired, but otherwise I'm perfectly capable" so I'm hoping to get a lot done in my isolation.

[chicago-geniza]

well i intended to go for a nice evening walk, ended up having a panic attack, ordering a couple of cocktails at the bougie bar, joining a jam session with a bunch of old hippies on the logan green (one of them gave me a handpainted wooden medallion which seems to be carved out of tree bark, strung on a length of yarn???), met a crustpunk train-hopping dude in town for the month (& his dog, in a leather-studded harness) who's lived in 45/50 states & a 44 yr old guy everyone called "the wizard" wearing a tattered, patch-covered robe who shares most of my parents' conspiracy theories & considers himself a latter-day prophet, he bought us sorbet & ice cream, wound up hanging out with them & staying up all night at their indescribably eclectic, cluttered, blood-spattered (!!!) apartment, belonging to 44 yr old guy's art curator father & decorated accordingly, smoking m*th & listening to music & talking (or rather listening to them rant/rave/recount stories from their incredibly wild lives), i gave them advice on applying for unemployment & medicaid & how to appear compliant enough w/ carceral psychiatric intervention so they won't section you without actually submitting to forced medication or institutionalization, especially if they assign you a case worker & do regular "wellness checks." also how to pass off certain aspects of behavioral dysregulation as executive dysfunction, get them to pay for an adhd evaluation, get an adderall IR scrip, sell the 30 mg pills (cite body weight, high doses of other psych meds as reason for higher dose; look sincere; play to systemic biases toward cis white men, unfortunately), & use the cash to buy m*th, if they'd prefer to keep doing that. you can also pass positive psychotic symptoms--agitation etc.--off as severe anxiety, especially if you have a history of trauma, & they will give you benzodiazepines. it is in their best interest to keep you docile, i.e. tranquilized, particularly if your past convictions & involuntary institutionalizations revolve around a pattern of aggressive behavior, & that's On The Record/there's a paper trail. (e.g. one dude got arrested trying to keep cars away from an injured bird on the road, some genre of raptor i think (???) by threatening them with a shopping cart, not hitting them, but like, running at them as if to collide then feinting at the last minute so they'd swerve out of the way. not the safest or most effective maneuver, lotta reckless endangerment, but the motivation was admirable. probably put the fear of god into some drivers, though. he doesn't seem to have, like, impulse control.) it's a lot easier & you have fewer run-ins with the cops if you game the system & appear cooperative. they gave me this coat, which "just showed up in their apartment one day," like i did. 44 yr old guy walked me back to apartment, stole a street sign & tore down a real estate sign en route, lori lightfoot did indeed take down the pride flag in front of her house on july 1st & replace it with an appropriately patriotic american flag, i walked past the idling plainclothes cop car & another marked police vehicle with their Mayoral Guarding Detail inside at like 4.30 am smoking a menthol cigarette (not inhaling), high on m*th, draped in a neon anime jacket, in the company of a visibly insane, unshaven & unshorn middle-aged man in a technicolor patchwork trenchcoat, holding a lit cigarette in one hand & an upside-down traffic cone in the other, which he was using as an ad hoc amplifier for a noise track playing on my phone. he was also carrying the stolen real estate banner &, inexplicably, a stack of mail. i gave him my old backup phone (no SIM card & doesn't hold a charge long, ancient, but still works), since neither he nor the other dude have phones (cops took them), also one hybrid edible for each of them, as a thanks for the m*th & the kindness. their hearts are in the right place but they have some fucked-up beliefs about "reverse racism" being real, while also saying in the same breath that you can tell our country is irredeemable by the way it continues to

treat black people. we were discussing medical weed for seizures on medicaid & 44 yr old guy mentioned one of his close friends, a black epileptic woman, whose seizures were frequent & severe enough they prevented her from working. then he added, in apparent bemusement, they she hadn't spoken to him in some time, & he wondered why. a little while later he relayed their last conversation & i was like "my dude, i can say with 100% certainty she is not talking to you because you said some *appallingly*, jaw-droppingly racist shit & did not even realize it was racist." then i, comma, a white person, explained to this man that he literally thought of their exchange as, like, an abstract argument over insignificant ideas, a theoretical exercise, & therefore considered it simply a smug gotcha to "counter" hotep theories about egyptian origin by claiming that "if that's true, american slavery & the oppression of black people in america are divine retribution for the enslavement of the jews in ancient egypt, an eye for an eye & a deserved punishment." like, first of all, what the actual fuck, if i were that woman i would also never speak to you again, second of all there's the collapse of historical time & mythical time, history & exegesis, an assumption that rests on spurious claims of biblical literalism (zionist colonization logic, btw! him: what's exegesis? what's zionism? me: never mind, not the point. exegesis is the interpretation of religious texts in a religious CONtext, in this case what you would likely call the hebrew bible.)--but most importantly it is 100% irrelevant to this discussion whether or not black americans are Actually Factually descendended from ancient egypt! you just told this woman to her face that the ancestry she claims, of which she's proud, is the reason & justification for SLAVERY & BLACK SUFFERING--not only that, but that if it WERE true, than black people would DESRVE to suffer, by DIVINE DECREE. you are trying to force her to abdicate her claim on this heritage by putting her in a position where she'd be forced to concede complicity in her people's historical & present-day persecution, oppression, & essentially the existence of structural racism. & using The Figural Jew as a rhetorical cudgel to bludgeon her into this corner. what a despicable thing to say. like, he hadn't considered it from her perspective at all, & once he groked why the comment itself was, like, unforgivable (idk, maybe she's more forgiving; she has a virtue-name), i started socratic-method-ing him through why it was particularly unforgivable for *him* to say to *her*--the individual is not responsible for the systems from they benefit, but they are imbricated in them, they are implicated when they actively perpetuate & uphold them, even with speech acts. & finally gave the same "there is no such thing as reverse racism because racism is not an individual act, it is an institutional, systemic phenomenon, & it is an ideology, one which individual acts can bear out or be in accordance with, & to which individuals can subscribe (this bearing it out in their behavior, in their institutional roles, in their interpersonal interactions--here i gave & solicited examples of each) or be subject (also gave & solicited examples). m*th makes me very good at Explaining clearly & he was surprisingly receptive--like, it was astonishing that it had not occurred to him??? but it hadn't, the same way it hadn't occurred to my mother, & she interpreted it as "reverse racist" when their next-door neighbor called her the "white devil" for disputing their property line, & i had to be like "ok but if you called in a random third party to mediate in lily-white [city], oregon, where white supremacists openly drive down the street in pickup trucks with swastika armbands, whose side do you think they would take, statistically speaking, in your property dispute. that's why racism is systemic & institutional, & your rude neighbor calling you a name over a disagreement does not constitute 'reverse racism,' because 'reverse racism' by definition cannot

exist." now this dude wants to like, read books, so i gotta get him some entry-level Intro To Racism primers??? how did i end up here, but better me than his black epileptic (ex-)friend, i guess??? jesus christ. both of these guys have the most chaotic, reactionary politics in a potpourri with these deep commitments to abolition & mutual aid & a kind of proto-anarchist consciousness, none of which would be called by those names, but all of which is borne out in practice & in the politics of everyday life. they remind me a LOT of my parents. i'm loath to imagine how they'd internalize my stepdad's rambling, street-preacher-style libertarian lectures. probably go out & buy guns & invest in gold on the stock market & double down on the conviction that free speech is being curtailed & individual rights are in jeopardy because you can no longer unleash a barrage of harassment against some guy on the street because you think he looked at you funny. these claustrophobic convictions, like the space to express oneself is getting smaller & smaller every day, *other people* are taking it away from you, suffocating you on all sides with their offense demanding your silence, they are *making* the walls close in--when in fact it's more like a holodeck. you're a member of the Hegemonic Group, afforded the privilege of the default, so you don't question the vast verdant expanse that is your domain--ah, Free Speech, the sun never sets on the empire of ~uncensored expression, you can say whatever you want whenever you want without facing consequences because you control all the organs that mete out consequences & you have also determined that those groups who might be adversely affected by your words--emotionally OR materially--are not, well...of consequence. but of course the vast verdant domain is an illusion, photons & forcefields, held together by the all-encompassing TOTALITY of the dominant group's hegemony, power, etc. once that power begins to redistribute throughout the system--however unevenly, however incrementally, however slowly--as even the smallest pieces are appropriated by those deemed inconsequential, who have endured years of systemic, material, institutional violence that allowed the dominant group to become dominant & retain its dominant position--once those 'inconsequential' groups speak up & say "actually, these words bear an indelible imprint of the violence enacted upon us, these words are the legacy of that violence, these words are a tacit endorsement of the ideology behind that violence, which classifies us as subhuman, & even if *you* can't hear those echoes, the words broadcast on two historical frequencies, so now that we're able to broadcast on a frequency *you* can hear, we request you find other language, & consider the implications of the words you've been using for years." well--once The Subaltern Speaks, the dominant group loses its 'innocence,' & becomes aware the vast verdant expanse of language is an illusion of infinite space, aware of the four holodeck walls pressing in behind the simulacrum of the horizon, & suddenly "what one can say without negative consequences"--largely social, sometimes, rarely, if social media goes viral, professional--feels much more claustrophobic. so they get angry. & some of them are just bigots, obviously, but some of them--like my parents, &, even, this weirdly well-intentioned m*thhead who said one of the most shockingly racist things i've heard in my life & *honestly didn't understand why it was racist*, is really riled up about free speech & individual rights, hates the government, hates "FANG" (facebook amazon netflix google) & has a bunch of dystopian conspiracy theories about data harvesting & personal information that only miss the mark in that they get too nefariously biopolitical (billionaires want to put microchips in everybody for surveillance to monitor our movements & sell us more stuff; they don't need to, they already use our phone location & browsing habits to generate the algorithm & sell the information to ad companies lol, it's digital& cast a

single illuminati figure in the role of comic book villain, controlling the operation behind the scenes like an evil puppetmaster (classic conspiracy fare; again, we gotta take that energy, that suspicion, the understanding that they are being taken advantage of & tricked, the idea that power & capital & resources are concentrated among a very small number of people, however it's not an individual wealthy villain with a desire for world domination who wants to turn Free Americans into microchipped drones, it's a *class* of people--or rather several classes, but *who those people are as individuals does not matter*. if you guillotined bill gates, another billionaire would take his place. bill gates qua bill gates is not the problem. it is classes of people who control the means of production & own property & profit enormously from exploiting the labor of a desperate, rapidly increasing underclass, i.e. from the system as it is. therefore it is in their interest to maintain the status quo, because it serves them. 'the rich get richer, the poor get poorer.' the middle class gradually ceases to exist. if you want to compound it by race, consider the GI bill as an example - you learn about it as the leg up that enabled thousands of WWII vets to buy houses, enabling them to enter the middle class. hundreds of thousands of third-gen middle class white americans still reap the structural, socioeconomic benefits of their grandparents' initial upward mobility, including,, very tangibly, those selfsame houses, which can be inherited & then rented out as a second property if the children or grandchildren accrue enough money to buy their own properties. but only about 100 black vets got approved for homeownership loans, despite the staggering numbers of black soldiers who enlisted & applied through the GI bill. anyway! the impulses are there, & they're only being funneled into conspiracy thinking because that makes intuitive sense on a narrative level. these guys have a high school education; so does my stepdad. their reading habits are...eclectic, sporadic, pretty much dictated by occasional recommendations & like, little free libraries around the neighborhood. it's both interesting & frustrating to see like - hey, here are these people, we agree on a lot of things, they're earnest & open & want to learn & would give their neighbor the shirt off their backs as a matter of principle. they'd give a *stranger* the shirt off their backs; they'd share whatever they had. even what chores there are in their collective--they live with two other guys--(dumpster diving, walking the dog, tidying up the apartment) are allocated by ability & inclination. they made advance plans to look after the dog & their roommate with War PTSD on the 4th of july if the fireworks upset them, jokingly called the dog an emotional support animal. you give them the tools, the reading, talk to them like normal people with a stake in society--like, imagine a society that would have a stake in people like you instead of criminalizing you & consigning you to the margins! that's already *political imagination* because anyone who occupies a marginalized position will have their existence politicized, whether they want this or not, so better to become a self-aware, self-reflexive political subject, no?--talk *with* them because tbh i am them, i'm just better at situational masking & also i am very very afraid of cops so i only damage property in groups during planned political actions (not spontaneously, because i feel a flash of rage at my neighborhood gentrifying, & simply do not have a superego, so i tear down the real estate sign for the fancy new apartment complex in a fit of pique, because in this house we believe that spontaneity can & should be developed into class consciousness, again, the seeds of which are there in the initial trigger for the spontaneous reaction, i.e. anger at gentrification. not opposed to a little direct action, but they're just gonna put up a new sign tomorrow, it doesn't advance your agenda or hinder the gentrifiers' progress. now, if

you sabotaged the construction site for the new apartment buildings & painted a few potent symbols + graffiti'd a pithy, written statement expressing your opposition to gentrification generally & these apartments specifically? in a prominent place, large font, eye level, visible & legible from oh, a block away? maybe as a member of a collective, your neighbors, perhaps? & you could sign it "[neighborhood] or [block] residents" to pack more of a punch, the power of a crowd speaking in unison to say "not OUR home, you predatory developers"? that's no longer spontaneous, impulsive, affective violence, & it's also no longer an individual--acting alone leaves you vulnerable. again--i didn't just *intuit* that he tore the sign down because he was mad about gentrification, i asked, in a genuinely curious tone, not at all accusatory, no hint of reprimand or censure, just...interested, "why did you do that?" & he was like "it made me fucking mad." & i was like "what about it made you mad? the apartments? how come?" & he thought about it for a minute & explained. i'm not sure *he* necessarily made the conscious connection until prompted. idk, i know people talk a lot about the fact that breitbart & drudge report are free while NYT & "all the news fit to print" is paywalled, & q-pilled covid hoax sites are free while "reputable" pandemic coverage & public health guidelines & explanations of mRNA vaccines for a lay audience are paywalled & that's true but also We Live In A Society & if you talk to the wingnuts who AREN'T that way because of any far-right ideology, a lot of them are just...autodidacts without much formal education but a lot of raw intelligence that leads to analyzing The Big Picture & trying to deduce a pattern, find a framework that explains why the world is the way it is, profoundly frustrated, deeply aware of American society's, universalized & figured as the world's, exceptional unfairness & cruelty, & *that can be redirected* with reading, discussion, prompting critical thought, introducing community connections, & perhaps most importantly for this genre of person, getting them to see patterns at work in terms of systems & structures rather than individuals, letting go of American individualism's explanatory power & belief in its liberatory potential (see: the sort of ad hoc libertarianism that goes hand-in-glove with much conspiracy thinking, both stemming from 1) mistrusting the government, & 2) ultimate freedom of the individual as the most sacred value, therefore it is what all enemies want to take away), outlining positive, actionable goals rather than just ambient suspicion & anger at authority, & figuring out how those goals can be accomplished more effectively by an organized collective (but this will ultimately benefit the individual). If the world isn't run by a shadowy cabal, if you begin to understand the structures responsible & how they manifest even on the scale of your block (e.g.!!! predatory developers buying up properties during a pandemic, tearing down affordable housing to build expensive condos on the lot, or giving old buildings a "spit and polish" so they can double the rent, pricing all the current residents out, not to mention all the little local businesses, almost all mexican & run by the mexican families who live here, that give our block its culture & will get pushed out by boutique coffee shops & the like, catering to a more affluent & almost certainly whiter clientele)--you can, in fact, change the world, something both of them repeatedly referred to as their purpose on earth. it may not be as a maverick figure, one against an army, but strength in numbers is an aphorism for a reason.

anyway! thse guys were also really weird about jews, in the philosemitic way conspiracy theorists of a certain stripe often are. the itinerant vagabond guy gave me one of his drawings; it's really lovely. i'm going to give them "are prisons obsolete?" & "the wretched of the earth" & some david graeber. 44 yr old guy has this idea that society is atomized & people aren't connected to each other & have lost the willingness or the ability to communicate with each other, also that the overreach of authority has driven some people to violence, & that makes the world feel unsafe to everyone else. he feels guilty because he is acutely aware that language, when wielded adroitly & intentionally, always has the capacity to manipulate; he is afraid of succumbing to the temptation, because he senses the coercive power of language within himself. the other guy was mostly quiet but said 44 yr old guy is one of the best friends he's ever had. he thinks animals are able to sense emotions and to heal, & he thinks they can mediate between people who have become too isolated, who have forgotten humans' innate ability to forge connections, approach others as social creatures seeking to bond instead of mistrustful, apprehensive, rejecting overtures of friendship because they expect subterfuge, or propriety has evolved to deem such overtures inappropriate outside of strictly delineated, artificially orchestrated contexts. deviation from the norm is not permitted. & back again to policing. they have an idea called "the omega family," omega for the end, a group of like-minded people who come together, who encounter each other serendipitously (predicted through auspicious auguries & recognized on sight through a constellation of signs & wonders, because of course we are all psychotic here, it was nice to just be psychotic & discuss these things like they were normal lol), & serve as catalysts to each other's "personal truth." anyway this is why i don't go out when i'm crazy, i always end up in situations like this, see also: the last time i did m*th, in a pizza hut bathroom in tallinn with an art student from glascow named muhammad ali (he went by ali), the son of white muslim converts--we thought it was c*ke but it got lost in translation & that's how i figured out i had adhd. later i got [redacted] by a filmmaker from kazan & he gave me his business card afterward for some reason, which was extremely funny. thankfully these dudes were better behaved. one of them even gave a speech about how men shouldn't rape people??? & also how our society shouldn't construct women as universal victims because in doing so it makes victimhood almost compulsory & shoehorns women into a victim role as part & parcel of womanhood? i was like yes my dude you are almost there, read the essay "abject feminism." (i did not tell them i was trans bc i wasn't sure how that would shake down, to be honest; couldn't get a read on it. did tell them i was gay & they respected it, though one did say he dated a lesbian once, & i explained that many men feel compelled to interject with an anecdote relating an exception to the rule or insist that they will he the exception to the rule, & it's really just bad manners, not even getting into the bad politics. he took it on the chin & talked about how the girl in question came home to find her partner dead of an overdose & his wife had just died of MS, so their relationship was more about grief & comfort than sexual attraction. i was like that's really, really sad, & it's wonderful that you were able to be there for each other at a time of such staggering loss, & i am a person who totally understands what you mean to communicate, but if a lesbian tells you they're a lesbian & you reply that you once dated a lesbian & they get offended & instead of responding with contrition or correction you elaborate on the tragic backstory of the relationship as though that explains the circumstances in which a self-proclaimed lesbian would date a cis man, other lesbians *will* deck you, or at the very least not take you, an unwashed white guy in

his 40s who isn't neurotypical & sits way too close for social convention in a way that could easily be construed as a come-on, in good faith.) tl;dr made some new friends, did some good drügs (i much prefer smoking m*th to snorting it, basically like purer, more potent adderall, & as such will not be doing it again for a LONG time, because i enjoy it FAR too much; slices through the brain fog & the chronic fatigue & the joint/bone pain, makes me able to pay attention, follow the thread of a conversation, actually be *interested* & want to ask *questions* & expand, build, encourage my interlocutor to elaborate, place more kal-toh pieces until the conversation shimmers into a three-dimensional shape, instead of being listless & exhausted & disengaged & *bored* all the time, so obviously i would get addicted immediately if given the opportunity, & i've known this forever lol)--now going to hydrate, refill pill case, write some emails, & meet C at the beach! not how i expected to reboot my brain, but it works! also putting them on limited facebook view because i try to keep some groups of people in my life quarantined from each other & that includes 1) my relatives & my academic ~colleagues (ne'er the twain shall meet), 2) my exes & my family, 3) my relatives, colleagues, & uh. a couple of lovely, but extremely psychotic dudes with very long criminal records i met while doing hard drugs

[mxvladdy]

Little Stardew somethin’ somethin’

*Barges into your house with fluff nobody asked for* In this house we LOVE and RESPECT our sad boi and wish him well. 

Hopeful Fluff of Shane getting better. Idk what to call it but I wrote it soooo-

TW: Mentions of alcoholism and withdrawals symptoms 

Mornings were your favorite. The crisp mountain air coming in from your open windows. Helping erase the slight bitter tinge of mead and wine fermenting in your basement before the next festival. Pouring another cup of coffee you watch the sunrise from your kitchen window. It’s golden rays bounce off the river water flowing lazily outside your garden wall. A few fat salmon jumped out teasingly, scales shining in the cool fall air. 

“Whatca think Salem?” You pat your shepherd's head. “Fishing after herding the sheep? Or a horse ride into town? I think Gus has got some new treats for ya.” Salem woofs, wagging his tail once before trotting to his dog bowl. He eats quickly then eyes the back door expectantly. “All right, herding it is.” Checking the breakfast casserole in the oven and peeking in on your boyfriend’s sleeping form you tiptoe out the house to get your morning started before breakfast. 

Watering and harvesting took longer than usual. The fruit trees hung low and groaned under the weight of their labor. The peaches looked exceptional this harvest too. You pick them, making a mental note to preserve some for Evelyn and Abigail then sell the rest to Pierre. After the harvesting and several trips to the storage shed you go to check on all your babies. 

Several new chickens had hatched overnight too. Three brown, a white, and another void. You tuck the little black chick into your hoodie and give it a smooch. As useless as their eggs were for eating you always had a soft spot for these tiny goth chickens. Taking it to the coop you had specially built for your void-born feathered friends you deposit the little one amongst its brethren. It peeps in thanks before waddling off to peck at the fresh feed.

Morning chores done, you jog back to your house hoping your casserole hasn't burned. The house smelled of spiced ham and fresh garlic when you reentered. The rest of the windows open to let in the river breeze and faint scent of your flower patches. The fireplace roared in its corner, chasing away the frosty nip that clung to your cheeks. “Shane?” You follow the noise from the mudroom to the kitchen entrance. 

“Ye?” He poked his head around the corner. Warm brown eyes blink at you blearily. The corners of which were still crusted over with sleep. He must have just rolled out of bed. “Morin’.” He yawns widely scratching at his rumpled old gridball hoodie. Exchanging a brief morning breath laden kiss you smooth down a few of his more wild strands of bed head. 

“Thought you were taking the day off?” Your lips touch again, pulling a happy little hum from him. 

“I am. Just thought I would finish making breakfast so you could put your feet up faster. Plus, I think I finally figured out your ham recipes.” He drags you to your favorite spot at the breakfast nook before going back to the oven. “It’s the clove to cinnamon ratio ain’t it? Too much of either distract from the flavor of the fat.” 

You nod in approval at his deduction. He pours you another cup of coffee, his hand shakes on the carafe handle. He was jittery today. Whether it was his anxiety spiking or just the jitter after a decent night of sleep you don’t know. But he’ll tell you when ready. He catches you staring when he turns back with two steaming plates of your eggs and veggie casserole and a thick slice of ham. “Tell me what you think.” 

“I’m sure it's fabulous. Gus better watch out or there will be a new chef in town.” Shane practically glows at your praise watching you like a hawk as you eat. You inhale it, the morning exercises catching up with you. He lets you eat in silence, his previous twitchiness evaporating into a nervous silence. “Everything good?” You ask in between bites. You hated to pry or push but sometimes he needed a little nudge to get talking. 

Shane stares into empty space above your head worrying his low lip. His fluffy brows dipping low. “Shit-ye- I got something to talk to you about.” He rose then, shuffling off to your shared bedroom. You exchange a worried look with Salem. He whined low in his throat then followed Shane. Since Shane had moved in Salem had stuck to him like glue. It tickled you, as he was not the friendliest dog to people that took your attention away from him. But, with Shane, he found a couch companion and a late-night walking pal. It worked out great for Shane’s mood and recovery. 

Your boyfriend reappeared with a black binder and several stacks of paper. He places them in front of you. “I’ve been thinking over what you’ve said.” He stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets burrowing himself deeper into the thinning fabric. “Between you and Harvey I-I want to have a go at it.” His eyes are downcast in shame. You riffle through the brochures. 

Brentforest Care Facilities 

“It’s a three-month inpatient care program. Harvey helped me set up the initial psych evaluation and has vetted for it. He’s got some friends that work there too. He-we think it would be good to work on a few hold-ups I’m having.” His stomach turns sour at the downward tug of your lips when you see the zero’s on the page. “Marnie is helping me cover the cost, an’ after the first few weeks I’m even allowed guests.” He pitters out, the overwhelming need to fill the dead air as you read disappeared as quickly as it had come. 

“You got it all sorted out huh?” You look up from the documents. Shane nods. You look back at the books, then him. He forces himself to breathe through his nose. This is it. This was the last straw, it had to be. He couldn’t blame you though- he wasn’t worth the effort. 

No-nope. Not starting this again. He fought with himself shaking the thoughts right out of his head. He trusted you. Dr. Martina trusted you. You were there during the worst of his withdrawal symptoms. The fevers, and shakes; you never flinched from his unwarranted shouting and irritability either. How many sleepless nights had you spent comforting him as he wept over things he wasn’t ready to talk about. You had gone through a lot with him and still was. You wanted to see him healthy. This was just another step. 

“Dr. Martina- my therapist- and I have been working on this for a bit. I just need a few more signatures and to make the initial payment. Then- then I’m good.” He raises his eyes to meet yours, pushing the fear he felt further down in his chest. 

His arms were suddenly filled with you. Your warm body flush with his. Soft skin and fresh windswept hair flooding his senses with your hug. “I’m so proud of you.” You mutter into his jacket. Farm callus fingers grip him close inviting him to hug you back. Shane let out a shaky breath he hadn’t even known he was hiding and reciprocated. He held you close and rocked you both side to side. “What do you need me to do?”

“Mmm?” He pulled you away from his neck. You loved burrowing your face there for some reason. Months ago he had hated when you did that. He always thought he smelt of stale sweat and the recycled air of the JoJo Mart. It had clung to every part of him for years. Hardly attractive by anyone's standards. But now, working out in the coops and fields alongside volunteering at the Community Center, it had all but disappeared. Now you swore he smelled like earth and like the pine trees that grew around your house. You had even admitted his sweat smells better too. Perhaps his alcohol sweats were finally lifting. Or maybe it was the better diet you made him eat. 

“What do you need of me?” You kiss his scruffy cheek. Eyes alight with determination and affection. 

He returns your kiss with a light peck of his own. “A few signatures- to show you can visit. An’ if there was an emergency you would be a contact. If-if that’s ok with you?” He asks.

“As if you had to ask.” You beam putting your forehead to his. “I’ll miss you.” You whisper between feather light kisses.  

Shane sighs in utter relief around your coffee scented lips. “Promise to write?” He asks cupping your cheeks to rub his thumbs over the sun kissed skin. “And feed Charlie too?” You laugh, nose scrunching up in delight at his joke.

You seal the deal with a kiss. 

[sleepynegress]

WATCHMEN thoughts from a black woman fan...

Thought I’d do a quick rundown on all the eps so far, because this show has so much to chew on... 

And TBH, I am starved for a perspective that isn’t a smug white dude yelling “I CALLED IT!!” (yeah, fool that’s what good storytelling does *purposely* lay out crumbs on the path!) or “ugh, too lib.” The fact that we have this wonderful internet or a mass forum, means we lose the organic first watch experience that I remember from back in the day. So, too many try to outsmart shows by cheating and then smugly pat themselves on the back for “getting it”.   I’m saying, the point isn’t the twist or the gotcha. The point is good storytelling, which this show does ably.  So relax. You don’t get a cookie for “calling it” and you won’t get lambasted as stupid for not seeing it.   Just. Enjoy. The show.   ANYWAY...  You know I gotta put it beneath a cut and bullet it because my scatter-brain lays out things easier that way....

First LINDELOF?!  I mean LOST was okay and now I feel like I need to make a beeline to The Leftovers, because acting, writing, visuals, plot, food for the brain... All. here. in a genre (which you know is my favorite) package.

I picked up a copy of WATCHMEN on a whim waaay back in 2006 (?) in a dusty used book store I used to frequent to just chill in my corner and read a stack.  And I remember having the exact same feeling reading it then *galaxy brain food entertainment goodness* as I’m having with this show...but sadly didn’t have with the movie.  The fact that people came away stanning the “heroes”?  Was a symptom of how wrong Snyder got it.

So, setting up this series sequel as a different type of hero deconstruction, using blackness, especially given how fandom swerves to ignore all the story cues to stan a white villain...is a BRILLIANT way to make certain the show keeps the essence of what WATCHMEN is about. Basically, Lindelof used blackness and race as his own Trieu empathy bomb for what WATCHMEN is actually about. It’s harder to stan Rorschach as a symbol for white supremacy

....I’m saying... white men ain’t supposed to be good at this... Hey, IDK maybe being Jewish helps...wow. he actually is handling the all the layers of black experience allegory and ancestral memory/trauma *soooo* damn well.

*whew!* So Yahya, is this gorgeous, amazingly smart black actor who is picking some interesting projects!!  He’s like MBJ, w/o the anime hotep taint, in terms of projects he’s picking. LOVED this reveal. 

Someone posted that they wanted that whole centuries of longing love cliche with a black woman centered... *whelp*  How about one better, where time don’t even exist??

It must be re-iterated that the work and thought put into all the easter eggs of connections is just so much hand-rubbingly, awesome, world-building and minutiae food for fans... and most especially and uniquely... “empathy” in the black experience... such as...

the existence of an actual 70′s blaxploitation movie called, and I shit you not: Abar, the First Black Superman

Her husband being Cal (as in Kal -El)

Laurie always thinking Cal is fine, because her subconscious knew!

Her blue dildo being from a company called Excalibur, --Ex. Cal Abar

Cal’s very straight conversation about atheism with the kids

Cal’s eternal calm

the much more resonant imbued meaning in Hooded Justice’s costume now that he’s actually black

the fact that this show went there, when it comes to specifically, white gays and a twist on that Paul Mooney quote “Everybody wanna be [in with] a nigga but don’t nobody wanna be a nigga.”

the latest with... intra-racial dynamics with non-white people, whiteness and assimilation being touched on with that flash of nostalgia-hazed memory of Angela seeing Will being bagged at the same moment as the bomber who killed her parents... which I think foreshadows both the common cause and complicated morality of Trieu’s ultimate cooperative plan with Will Reeves.

REALLY all of the nostalgia flashes have meaning...they are all narrative underlines for character motives and hints of what is to come.

UM!!! That elephant is such spot-on symbolism because the real Lady Trieu  was said to have ridden a white one, and because all the things they say about elephants and memory are true... 10 pound brains, people (but I did not like seeing an elephant in that state)

Okay... so back to the show: Looking Glass remains the most trustworthy of the whites on the show IMO.  Remember, he joined AFTER the White Night. And he has infiltrated the Kalvary, because one of the masks was missing... And purely because “I would like to see it” (.gif) I really hope they provide a full recount of how he dispatched the Kalvary in his bunker.

Laurie is my girl, with all her elder cynicism and remaining longing for her cosmic fuckboy...(and she should NOT be underestimated I KNOW she has a plan) but I think her feelings for the Dr. may cause a stumble or two (maybe that’s why she was slow getting up off the couch)

Angela remains a Regina King whose character has subverted the whole SBW thing by actually have a fully realized character beyond it (love, children, a damn life!) . HELL, we didn’t even *see it* fully until this last ep but yeah...man... she is the dream and nightmare of her grandfather.

I still really want to know what the adopted kids backgrounds are... I feel like of all the theories online...Everyone has forgotten them and given the heavy theme around fertility, cloning, reproduction, memory as empathy AND her son saying to Angela in the first damn ep. (I hit him because you wanted to hit him) etc... I think there may be more *there*-there. Okay... I’ve written enough for now... So, I’m just gonna call his a placeholder for any thoughts I may have forgotten, because I could do this all day.  I’ll add/edit later as I need to. That said, it bugs me so much that this fandom isn’t thriving as much as other lesser shows featuring black women.  Pleease get onboard with this show!!

I both liked and had complicated feelings about the dynamic between child Angela and Officer Jen (can’t wait to learn more about her) because what she saw in the girl, was the pain redirected into resilience and indifference to the violent end of the perpetrator, w/o a trial(!) mind you... which adds up to potential to be a good cop...*mmhmm*

Adrian Veidt is the least interesting aspect of the show for me, albeit weird and funny (I missed our boy Scar, in Jeremy Irons) his prison is surreal and imaginative and Tom and Sarah are both doing great jobs playing the dim imprints of empty-until-filled clones

Most think HE is Trieu’s father and I have to say what her mother-daughter said to Angela gives credence to that. I could see her having the same kind of conversation with Veidt and coming to a conversational space with Veidt’s plan for humanity. Also “D” is the first letter in “daughter”

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Next I want to question would probably be the Angsty Band AU, because who doesn’t love an angsty band au. Who’s in the band? Playing what? Is this a non-supernatural au?

This is a totally human AU, where Mitch went to college and got a degree in music production, and after graduation Stiles convinced Mitch to start a band with him. I think they started out as just a typical garage band making videos for YouTube, until they got some songs written and started auditioning new members. 

The band name is Sutures, because of course it is ; ) Stiles suggested it and Mitch thought it was cool so he agree, but a split second he Realized, but it was too late to take it all back because the rest of the band already agreed. Stiles is a smug little shit about it lol

Stiles is the singer and Mitch is the bassist/backup vocals. He’s also written a lot/most of the songs, and he’s left handed. Katrina later comes in on the middle of a tour to play keys for them when their keyboardist breaks their hand; her and Mitch dated in college and they haven’t spoken in a while, but he didn’t have anyone else to call, and she was happy to come along. She later (unknowingly) causes Angst and Discontent between Mitch and Stiles, and it’s about  95% Mitch’s fault. (That may actually be from the other angsty band AU....)

Also Stiles, being like 19/20 years old and high strung, suffering from the stress and pressure of his first tour, which is Really Big because they’ve garnered a large fanbase, fully succumbs to the sex drugs and rock and roll lifestyle. Mitch is pissed, because his one condition for doing this with Stiles, fully funding the band and making it actually happen, was that Stiles wouldn’t get into that shit. 

I’m not sure who all would be included from TW, I never decided on who would be in the band or anything. But Lydia is their PR manager/agent? She’s a terrifying force to be reckoned with, for sure lol

heeere is a scene that’s lurking around tumblr, but I didn’t want to go find it xD

“Jesus fucking Christ, Stiles.” Mitch grabbed his brother by the wrist and hauled him into an equipment closet. He backed Stiles against a high stack of speakers, cutting him off from escape. “What did you take? What did you fucking take?” 

Stiles refused to answer, shaking his head with a clenched jaw. There was a tremble in his limbs that he tried to hide. When Mitch grabbed him by the jaw and forcefully tilted his head into the light, his pupils didn’t contract, blown wide till the brown was only a thin ring around the black. Both were symptoms of stimulants. 

Mitch shoved away from Stiles in disgust. Outside were thousands of fans waiting for them, and Stiles was busy getting high. 

“This was your dream,” Mitch hissed. He raked a hand through his hair, didn’t know what to do. Angry, he turned back to Stiles and shoved him back into the speakers. “Your dream, not mine! And you’re just throwing it away. But you’re not the only one that’ll be affected, you selfish brat.” 

“Mitch I’m sorry—I didn’t—it’s not like—“

“Shut the fuck up.” Mitch took out his phone to call Lydia, barking at her to come meet them. She arrived promptly, coming into the room with stern features and cold eyes, clearly unimpressed. “He’s strung out,” Mitch told her, gesturing to Stiles who couldn’t stop scratching himself, like he was jonesing for another fix. Like snorting all he had wasn’t enough. Mitch was seething, couldn’t stand to look at him. Because just like always, now Mitch had to go clean up his mess. “Don’t let him anywhere near the stage.”

“Who will sing.”

“I wrote the damn songs, I’ll do it.” Lydia looked at him flatly, clearly doubting him. Mitch didn’t care.

“You hate singing.”

“Yeah, I hate a lot of things.” Stiles flinched at the venom in his brother’s voice, knowing he was at the top of that list. It made him want to cry but he didn’t want to give Mitch the satisfaction. Not that he would care, as angry as he was. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, his eyes stinging. 

“No you’re not. Fuck. Of all times to pull this shit, Stiles. I thought you were smarter than this.” 

Stiles reeled back like he’d been slapped. But that was all the time Mitch was going to give him. He left the room, running out onto stage to tell their band mates Stiles wouldn’t be able to play, and apologizing to the fans while explaining the situation as best he could without telling them Stiles was getting fucked up in a back room.

After this, Mitch just about leaves the band. Lydia has to track him down and drag him back, because there’s no way they can just leaves the fans hanging like this, they still have to finish the tour. 

Stiles is kicked off the tour though, and Mitch has to take over vocals. Surprisingly, the fans love him, even more than Stiles. Tabloids are reporting that their success is at an all time high now that their mysterious, reclusive bassist is stepping into the spotlight.  

Seeing how much everyone loves Mitch, how much better their doing without him, sends Stiles into an awful depression spiral as he realizes they don’t need him. 

God and there is so much more to this AU that I can’t remember. I need to find a way to download my Tumblr chat because I know it’s in there, but from like. Last February. 

I remember that Mitch completely cuts off contact with Stiles after catching him getting high on the tour, and doesn’t seek him out even when it ends. when he finally tries, he can’t find Stiles, and has to ask Lydia if she knows where he is. 

Stiles did end up going to rehab. He didn’t tell Mitch because he didn’t want Mitch thinking he was the only reason Stiles was doing it; he did it for himself. He knew he was messed up and needed to get help. And Mitch is proud of him for it, apologizes for the way things happened, etc. 

After, the bands gets all back together. And later Stiles finds Mitch acting kind of secretive, clearly working on a new project. He keeps pestering but Mitch refuses to tell him what it is, doesn’t want to show him until it’s done. 

When it is, the group all meets up at the studio (maybe he and Stiles have an apartment or something, and they converted one of the rooms to a recording studio? Maybe not, unimportant.) And Mitch plays the new song he’s been working on, which I’ve low key always imaged as Under Your Scars by Godsmack. It’s an emotional moment, but ends on a bitter sweet note because no one in the band knows just who Mitch wrote it for. They can’t. So the entire time Stiles is just standing there trying not to cry and give anything away. 

Also if you want to know what I imagine Mitch sounding like, I think something like Adelitas Way, with a little bit of Ice Nine Kills, specifically the deeper parts of Stabbing In The Dark. I actually started keeping a list of songs that sounded like Mitch to me, but idk where it is rn. I keep meaning to make a playlist for it xD

I was actually going to do some vocal editing on a couple different songs to make an “album” of how I imagined Mitch sounding, but my software wasn’t cooperating with me >_> But like, I did a whole Thing, taking clips from American Assassin and doing some vocal analysis to separate out the different tones in Dylan’s voice, and then changing the vocals of the songs to match, because I am Extra. Except it was fucking with the instrumental and I gave up lol, but I would love to finish that project some day. 

[credulouscanidae]

i feel so endlessly frustrated at myself because i can see the patterns of my thoughts, know the logical and practical steps i need to take in order to fix them, and i just...cant do it. i acknowledge that these feelings cycle; im a sucker for nostalgia. i look at all of these things ive shared with my friends, all these memories and selfies and fun times, and i know i can have that again. and i know that i just look at these things and think that “things were better then”, because its so easy to trick yourself into thinking that when all youre seeing is a condensed collection of happy times. i think 2016. that was easily one of the worst years of my life, or at least the ones with the most changes. it was the 180 flip from child to adult, the year i lost so much of my identity, and gained a new one. i was mentally and physically a completely different person by the end of that year. and yet, i look through these photos tonight and see just how many jokes and fond memories i shared with my friends. maybe because i was 19/20, i still had that immaturity about me so i was able to let loose. maybe being isolated inside for 2+ months has made these selfies sting more. maybe i miss when we were all in school and not at work, when we could all plan get-togethers a little easier. idk.

but this wasnt meant to be a nostalgia rant, but its definitely triggered those thoughts.

because in all these group selfies i saw tonight i saw how insanely different i looked within a year. it was when i developed my starving-orientated disordered eating, it was when i came out as trans and so changed my hair and wardrobe. 2016 was fucking wild. and i saw glimpses of how i used to be, and how despite being in so much pain, that was the year i took a leap and finally did something for myself that would set me up for success, rather than failure. and i dont do that for myself often. and im prouod of younger me for doing that.

because it shows that, no matter how much pain i have continuously been in for almost my entire llife, that i can take steps to improving my life. even though coming out as trans is not the same as confronting trauma, i think living as a truer reflection of who i am has definitely helped me feel more comfortable and confident.

and i want to lose weight again, because the confidence i radiated at my peak ED/lowest weight was unmatched to antyhing ive ever felt before. Ive gained a bit of the weight back (which funny enough since being on hrt i still look different/different weight distribution), but i want to lose it again in a healthy way. and i know i have to get out of my feedback loops and actualy work for it, as hard as fuck as it may be.

i dunno man. im nearly 24. i know thats still 6 years left of my 20s, but if ive learned anything from the past few years, its that they go by fast and i will be pushing 30 before i know it. and i dont want to be fucking 30 years old and still not have worked myself out. i mean, its ok if me or others havent, but i just. i dont know. i dont want to turn 30 and say “aha cool thats 20 years i have been extremely suicidal and self harming and full of trauma and brain rot”

which is why, as hard as it is, im really trrying to get the ball rolling on geting diagnosed with whatever-the-fuck-i-have. getting the ball rolling for me has taken ...well...ive received it, convinced myself its not worth it, and stop it. i cant keep running away from help. its discouraging when your professional is a bit shit so. idk. i know ya gotta keep trying. 

i need to start an exercise routine, just doing my daily walks again would help so much, because my body is in so much pain from a sedentary lifestyle. 

the most ive done is actually start drawing daily, which was previously really hard for me to do. im proud of myself for that. i want to release my webcomic, i want to consistently do commissions, and i cant do any of my artistic goals with my previous workflow i only have just managed to improve on.

and thats the hardest thing about being mentally ill. you have to put more effort in to survive, the odds are stacked against you, and you have to set up and stick to methods that’ll help, even though that means fighting against symptoms that discourage and impact u so severely. and it also means some days you cant fight it, and you have to give up. relapse happens. im just tired OF it happening.

though, i thankfully feel different. as a teen, i felt there was no way out besides suicide, as a fresh adult i realized there is hope, and i have ambitions and something to give to this world, but i was still very suicidal, and still lived wallowing and unable to get out. but as a young adult, i know i have to set up my life now to pave the path for the future. ive always been screaming for a release,and that release used to be suicide. now? my release is mental wellness. and fuck, its the much harder path to take. bpd, cptsd, whatever, it rots my brain and drags me down and makes me act on bad habits and behaviours, but dammit. one day im going to get that release.

maybe not all of it, maybe not till im 40.

but one day.

im going to look back and see how i am now as how i used to be, not what i still am.

maybe one day i’ll experience that release..

[noblechaton]

okay so this is a post I’ve wanted to make for a lil while now but I’ve been kinda....not huge on talking about what’s been going on with me health-wise bc it’s been so stressful (and writing all of this on mobile would suck lol) but anyway I feel like explaining why I haven’t been writing or even really posting too much

also a lil warning here but it gets a bit gross due to what’s going on lately so uh be careful near the end of this if ur squeamish (like me) and also this is very long bc it sorta recounts the last 6-7 months so it might be a bit messy looking

alright so. on october 28th after getting poor, fragmented amounts of sleep and having nothing to eat besides fast food bc it’s all my family got (mcdonalds in the morning and chinese food for dinner) I had this awful scary pain in my chest (upper left side, at that) and it worried me real bad but I pushed thru for a few days bc i thought maybe it’d clear itself up and stuff

but it didn’t and so after maybe a week or so with it I told my parents and we first went to my aunt’s urgent care place for an EKG (which was normal) but we were soon set up for a doctor’s appointment (my first in like....at least 5 years. probs more tbh) and he examined me but wasn’t able to figure anything out so he set up some further tests at a cardiologist and those came and went (an echocardiogram and a stress test along with some more EKGs) and all of them went well so we still had no idea what the issue is/was but I was put on a lot of medications to try and see if anything helped (plus I got put on antidepressants which was nice for a bit but they caused problems physically so I’ve stopped taking them)

by like mid febuary I think?? (and after totally reorganizing my diet for a few months to include healthier stuff and exercise) the issue started to fade and for a minute I thought it’d worked itself out

but then like two weeks before march started my wrists and ankles started hurting bad enough to cause my hands and feet to twitch and shake which terrified me but I didn’t say anything (mostly bc my family, namely my mom, is/was getting fed up with my medical stuff and I didn’t wanna make her more mad lol) however it stopped a lil before march really started

but then my head started pounding nonstop and it hurt super bad for 5 weeks (urgent care did nothing bc like. they just can’t do anything for that) and near the end of it I went and got an MRI done which came back good, just like the cardio stuff did earlier (tho it pointed out a minor sinus infection which I think is what caused/causes it??)

then near the end of march (and after taking appropriate OTC stuff for sinus infections) it sorta lessened and has since eased up despite some flare ups here and there which might be caused by....whatever’s going on now, which brings me to....

two or so days before the MRI I ended up vomiting up some food which was weird bc I don’t really vomit and then it happened the next day too and I got worried but at first I thought it was food poisoning since my diet had kinda shifted back to bad habits due to the head pains but then the day of the MRI and the day or two after that the puking stopped only to then started back up again

now something I realized after a while was that I wasn’t like actually puking like normal puke but instead it looked like it was just my food (not to be too gross but I could/can see actual pieces of food as they would have looked in my mouth sometimes) which led me to (sort of) figuring out that what I’ve been doing is actually regurgitating for some reason (everything from typical food finely chewed to apples to certain drinks like apple juice and even water sometimes to straight up mucus that runs down my throat/gets sniffled) and my throat has felt weird, like knotted up?? tight?? or something even tho I’ve only had minor difficulties swallowing sometimes (a lot of the pain/issue comes when I speak I think)

so that’s where I’m at now. for w/e reason I can’t get anything besides water and crackers down consistently (and even then those still come up sometimes) and I’ve been looking for solutions myself or to at least figure out what it is since I sort of need to be able to eat more than just once every few days (tho I seem to keep toast down which is nice)

mostly I’ve been leaning towards GERD since there’s no real/overt pains, I’ve had acid reflux all my life as far as I can remember, and it ties in with the upper chest pain and headaches but then I wasn’t doing this for the last ~7 months, this regurgitating thing only just started, so I’m not entirely convinced tho idk what else it could be (the doc I spoke to today mentioned a hernia thingy?? which is what I leaned for at first when it was just chest aches and looking at symptoms now it does kinda fit still but also it doesn’t?? so idk) 

and this entire time I’ve been scared out of my mind bc of various reasons (from not knowing what’s going on to what my body’s actually been doing to my own family members kinda not helping to put it very lightly lol) and that’s kinda why my writing drive has been next to nonexistent and I haven’t been posting all that often (and part of why I haven’t seen the ML finale - I don’t need that kinda feeling rn lmao)

now tho the plan is to get an endoscopy at the hospital sometime soon I think (I’m waiting for a scheduling phone call rn) while taking prilosec (which....isn’t really working tbh) and I’m just kinda trying to hang in there and not freak out too badly but it’s been hard lol

hopefully we can set this thing up today and get it done asap so I can maybe start being myself again sooner rather than later assuming I even can but yea!! I appreciate the patience and kindness that’s been offered to me over the last few months especially since y’all didn’t even know I was going thru anything lmao

also!! real quick!! another (maybe not as major) reason as to why writing’s slowed so much is bc I sorta ran out of room in my room and started stacking stuff on my computer and typing out full fledged fics on my lil ipod (yes, ipod, not phone) is uh really hard!! but I managed to clean some stuff up in between all of this and once I get better I’ll be doing more cleaning in my room to try and have my computer back full time

[fastwalker]

I think this whole identity bullshit is so popular bc of the widespread notion that is propagated as fact, even tho it’s absolute illogical utter bullshit, that body and mind are seperate or even more extremely that YOU, the real you, is a mind trapped inside a body

we don’t see ourselves as as a whole, but as a random amalgamation of parts the real we, the mind, has no control over and this mindset is making us crazy/is a symptom of mental illness. this mindset is what enables us to compartmentalize the body and perceive it as “wrong” and not “our own” (you don’t own your body, you ARE your body!) in the first place.

this is dissociation and it’s pretty frightening that most people seem to suffer from at least a mild form of it.

Idk maybe it’s just the burden of being self aware, of one organ being “too developed” for its own good? or maybe even neurotic by default? I almost said “faulty evolution” but that’s not really a thing, in nature if stuff works it simply works and persists, there are no faults, things just are or they cease.  though advantages in one regard often come with disadvantages in another, disadvantages can be dire and even stack so long as they don’t kill you/your species ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  and obviously humans as a species aren’t going extinct anytime soon.

Idk it’s just ofc I struggle with this mindset myself bc it gets drilled into us since we are little, it’s the premise therapy operates on, I just find it very worrying and... weird for a lack of a better word that one organ is claimed to be the home of “your true self” when it’s nothing but an organ, just like your heart and liver and kidneys, and is treated with such mysticism and worship and honestly like a dictator that should be in control of the rest of your body... when this is just not how bodys work at all

it’s hard to put this concept of being whole into words because the notion that mind and body are seperate is so normalized it’s integral to our language and culture and it’s very frustrating bc whenever I try to talk about this people misunderstand me and ask dumb questions like “so you think the brain can’t control the body, so do you also think that people shouldn’t be punished for crimes?” (smth someone actually asked me irl!!!!) which is not what I’m saying at all!

[rabbitindisguise]

The simple answer is "idk maybe?? Do you have POTS? Do you have anxiety? PTSD? Do you sometimes sweat or get cold for no reason?? Then this might be related!" The longer explanation is really long lmao

When a human person drinks a lot of water at once, it causes the blood vessels to constrict as a response to All That Water in order to maintain homeostasis or the biological balance that helps people be people. This is beneficial for someone who has POTS (rise of heartrate of 30+ or over 120 on standing- after laying down for a half an hour or more) because the constriction causes the symptoms of dizziness, pre-syncope, syncope (fainting), and tachycardia (fast heart rate) to be less awful.

This could be a common coping mechanism in anyone who benefits from constricted blood vessels but is especially obvious in people with POTS because blood vessels play such a huge role in the syndrome. It could help with migraines for example (most migraine medications modify blood vessels, aiming for the ones on the head), or in someone with autonomic problems like autonomic dysfunction or mental illnesses that release stress hormones.

The lore in that is basically POTS, dysautonomia/autonomic dysfunction, and mental illnesses like PTSD, anxiety, and panic disorder all relate to this one system (the autonomic system). Autonomic processes include digestion, sleep, heartbeat, sweat glands, and breathing. The autonomic system has two main settings, "rest and digest" and "fight or flight," and stress hormones (cortisol) put the body in fight or flight mode. On the other hand, POTS can slam dunk someone into "rest and digest" mode by diverting all resources to digestion and not leaving enough for activity, making people with POTS sluggish with carb heavy meals, while also giving huge adrenaline surges atypical to the situation. All of these things benefit from intentionally causing rest and digest to combat the adrenaline spikes. Drinking lots of water can help with that by messing indirectly with the autonomic system, though mostly it's used by POTS folks to directly target the heart rate like breathing exercises target hyperventilating. None of this is Science™ by the way, there's no official paper on this just me cobbling together different theories from different specialists but doctors don't talk to each other so *shrug emoji* it's the best I've got. Each fact is legit (blood vessels, autonomic system, cortisol drip, etc) I'm just stacking them on top of each other.

But basically, disclaimers aside: Drinking lots of water at once might incentivize (like with deep breathing and other breathing exercises for anxiety) going into "rest and digest" mode and combat cortisol, while also for POTS folks, limiting the the blood flow to the extremities (hands and feet) in order to mitigate symptoms. POTS is also heavily comorbid with anxiety disorders, panic disorder, and PTSD so there might some complicated interplay with the atypical adrenaline responses seen in POTS and the cortisol drip problems seen in PTSD that both respond well to similar treatments.

Conventional health advice: you shouldn't crack your neck, you'll get arthritis

Doctors: fixing a subluxation quickly is important to prevent damage that can cause osteoarthritis and it can cause a cracking noise

Conventional health advice: you shouldn't chug water

Doctors: when someone chugs water, they activate a bodily response that can help pots patients mitigate their symptoms

Conventional health advice: you should sit still to say attention

Doctors: fidget toys and drawing can help maintain attention for things like classwork

Conventional health advice: Don't do that thing you do to feel better

Doctors: you should do that thing everyone tells you not to do to feel better

Me: hmm. This is a wild but like. Maybe trying to standardize medicine when the human body can't even agree on what it needs to be a person is bad actually. It's even worse when laypeople self-police and police others using this standardized advice for literally everyone without assuming they've tried it already. We shouldn't have to try things that we know won't work because otherwise we wouldn't have started doing the other thing.

[spencerxreiders]

Never Again (Reid x Reader)

Title: Never Again

Rating: T

Word Count: 1786

Warnings: suicidal thoughts & plans

Summary: When reader decides to finally take her own life, it’s up to Spencer to confront her.

A/N: This can be taken platonically too, I guess? But also not? Idk u have to choose for urself ig &this is an incredibly serious topic, one that although I’m familiar with, I hope I did it justice. If you are feeling this way, please call a hotline, the police, a friend, anyone. Just don’t do it, please. My inbox is always open, no matter what. Thank you for reading, stay strong xoxo

••••• Spencer’s eyes raked over your form hunched over your desk. His brow was furrowed as he studied your monotonous behavior, your usual smile long gone from your lips.

He had noticed it the day it started. Hell, he was sure everyone else had too. They were profilers, and he would’ve been rather ashamed if they hadn’t.

It started off slow.

Your eyes had looked more tired than normal, which Spencer had originally dismissed as lack of sleep. However, the longing gaze became a permanent fixture: one he was none too happy about.

Then, you began zoning out every possible moment. You seemed to throw yourself unhealthily into each and every case, prying your eyes away only long enough to sleep on the way home. There were no more light hearted conversations or water cooler talk. You closed yourself off entirely.

Soon after, you stopped attending all “family” outings, opting for staying in your rather empty apartment. To try and loosen up, you had given away a great number of your possessions to members of the team, each with a heartfelt note attached (he was quite thankful for his Shel Silverstein book collection).

Then radio silence. No real smiles, no conversation unless it pertained to the case, and certainly no “hanging out”.

Truth be told, he missed you. He felt selfish for thinking so, but he craved your presence by his side. Of course he wanted you to get better for yourself, but he wanted it for his sake as well.

Some nights he would wake up in cold sweats after having the nightmare influenced by your state. He knew the possibility of someone with your symptoms having depression, and he knew that that sometimes lead to suicide. The fact that you had a gun at your hip 24/7 did nothing to heal his aching heart.

He also noted how unless you were driving, you never wore a seatbelt (JJ was very clear that she noticed that too). He noticed how often Rossi would scold you for not eating enough and how often he would try and persuade you with his coveted lasagna. You usually took a few bites before pushing it aside, not touching it again until it was time to leave.

As the months wore on, he became more afraid of the likelihood of you committing. Unfortunately, he just couldn’t bring it up. What if he was all wrong? He doubted it, but there was obviously a possibility.

Then one day, he saw it.

It was a paperwork day, nothing too difficult or strange was to occur. You had quite the stack on your desk, and as 7:00 rolled around, you insisted on staying to finish up.

First to leave was JJ. Spencer watched as you hugged her tightly, whispering things he couldn’t understand in her ear. As Jennifer left, a surprised smile on her face, Rossi strolled out of his office.

“Rossi!” you called, jogging to catch him before he reached the elevator. He immediately turned to you, his jacket and briefcase in hand. “What’s up, kiddo?” he asked, rather eager that you were finally talking again.

“I just wanted to thank you.. for the lasagna,” you gushed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “My pleasure. You should come over for dinner next week! The team misses you being there.” You smiled a little wider. “I’ll try my best, sir,” you nodded before walking back to your desk.

Spencer watched as you gave everyone on the team similar treatment, making sure they had a conversation with you before they left. Spencer felt tears in his eyes as realized why you were doing it, what the reason must be.

After complimenting Hotch’s on-field technique, thanking Morgan for having your back, and nearly squeezing the life out of Penelope, you collapsed into your chair. Spencer was the only one left, then you would be free.

Free to swallow the 200 count bottle of pills tucked away in your bag, along with the miniature bottle of vodka to speed up the process. You couldn’t explain why you felt the need to say goodbye in some form, you had made it far to obvious to the agents. How they hadn’t realized was beyond you, however thankful you were.

Your eyes fell upon the man a short distance across the room as you watched him diligently scan file after file. He had tucked his bottom lip inside his mouth, chewing it to keep quiet.

You smiled nostalgically as you slowly made your way to his desk. “Spence, you should go home home and get some rest,” you suggested, placing your hand on the edge of his desk. “I’m gonna finish this first,” he said quickly, avoiding your dull eyes.

“I’ll help you,” you offered. He shook his head. “I don’t wanna put you out.” Your lips pulled up into a soft smile at his kindness. “Please?” you pressed, allowing your fingertips to dance across his shoulder. He shuddered at the touch as heat rose to his cheeks.

“I-it’s fine, I promise,” he countered while gaining enough courage to take your hand in his.  An audible gasp slipped from your mouth as he did so. “Actually, there is something you can do,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. “Anything. What is it?” He rolled an empty chair over beside his desk and smiled. “Care to sit with me?” You nodded and sat down slowly, avoiding his prodding gazes.

It was quiet between you as he signed and initialed his paperwork. Your eyes followed every loop and curve of his signature as he scrawled it out. His handwriting, slightly messy, could’ve passed him as a medical doctor if you didn’t know better.

About ten minutes later, he finished up and rose from his chair to turn them in. Your legs moved on their own accord, grabbing your long finished papers to turn in as well. His cheeks were vibrantly reddened as your hands brushed together.

You both instinctively pulled back in record time as you walked briskly back to the bullpen. Spencer jogged to his desk before packing up excruciatingly slowly. You sat back down in your chair, praying for him to leave soon. Even though he made it incredibly more bearable, life still beat down on you.

Breathing caused your chest to ache, and your heartbeat was just a loud reminder of what you had yet to attempt. After reading up on those who had failed suicide, you realized you that there was no room for failure.

You wondered if anyone knew, and just didn’t say for some reason. Would you say something if it was your friend? Probably. Maybe they didn’t consider you a friend at all. Maybe you were nothing but a nuisance to them, worthless piece of-

“Y/N, are you coming?” Spencer’s soft voice rang out, startling you back to reality. “W-what?” you stammered, looking up to face him. “I think I’m gonna stay a bit longer. I have some cleaning to do,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand.

“Please?” he continued even though he hated the crack in his voice. “Spencer, its fine. I can get home by myself,” you argued. That was all he could take.

He dropped to his knees in front of your chair, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please don’t leave me,” he begged as he hung his head. Your mouth was agape as he sobbed, his hair dangling in front of his face. “Spencer,” you whispered in a watery tone,“it’s ok. It’s alright.”

He clutched your wrist in his large grip as he desperately tried to cling to you. “You’re going to leave me! If I walk through those doors, I’ll never see you again,” he cried. You sunk down to the floor in front of him. With a featherlight touch, you pulled his head to your chest while your other arm cradled his trembling shoulders. “Shh.. you’ll be ok. You’re gonna be ok,” you tried even as tears of your own fell across your parted lips. Guilt flooded your veins as he begged you still, clinging to the fabric of your shirt so tightly you thought it could rip. “Please don’t leave me,” he repeated, his wrecking sobs quieting slightly.

“Spencer, y-you’ll be ok,” you assured unsteadily. “No I won’t!” his voice was hoarse as he screamed. “You can’t leave me, not like this. Please, Y/N!” your heart broke as he shook in your arms. However, another part of you began to heal.

If he cared this much, maybe you should stick around a little longer? God knows you cared about him: hell, everyone knew you cared about him. “Spencer, will you help me?” you asked him calmly. His head shot up at your even voice.

“Anything, anything at all,” he hiccuped as he clutched both of your hands against his chest. “I’m going to give you a couple of things, and if you take them from me, I’ll try to stay, ok?” you asked, slowly reaching your bag. He nodded eagerly, awaiting the prized possessions.

You placed the alcohol in his palm, then the pills. His breath caught in his throat at the surreality of the situation and his glossy eyes met your still leaking ones. “Oh, Spencer,” you gasped before collapsing into him. He quickly and carefully dropped the objects, occupying both arms by squeezing you to his warm body.

This time it was you who cried the hardest even as his tears still dotted your hair. “Shh.. Y/N, you’re going to be ok, I’m right here. I’m not leaving you anywhere,” he assured as his hands rubbed your shivering arms.

“I want to get help,” you admitted after a few minutes. “We’ll get you some,” he nodded. “Will you stay with me?” He nodded again, “for as long as you’ll have me.” You sat there in the floor of Quantico for at least an hour and a half, snuggled up in his embrace against your desk. You drifted off, destined to see yet another morning much to Spencer’s pleasure.

The wooden desk dug into his spine, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His long fingertips ghosted your restful face and your lips twitched into a smile at the sudden contact. As your arm moved to rest over his, already draped across your torso, it was he who smiled.

He meant what he said, every single word. It was true that he couldn’t live without you, it was true that he would get you help; but most of all, he wasn’t going to leave you. The thought of losing you caused too much pain. But you were worth it in every way.