#maybe try therapy and SSRIs instead?

[dirtybiowareconfessions]

Confession: I need Kaidan to hug me sooo tight it'd squeeze depression out of me.

[sapphos-darlings]

A certain strangeness has become obvious to me through detransitioning, and it's that for the first time, I'm well and truly aware that other people have very strong opinions about my body and who I am or should be and what that means for how I should be presenting myself.

At home, I have a wonderful bisexual partner who loves me for me, which includes the traits of me that are atypical for my birth sex. Particularly, they love the little facial hair I grow - and, to my surprise, got very sad when I shaved it for a trip to the capital. Of course I did, the same way I'll wear something that isn't my pyjamas when showing up in public for more than a trip to the store, but to them, this was a loss of something, and upsetting on a level that I hadn't expected. A silly thing, from both perspectives, they admit to this and there is no real pressure for me to show up as a caveman to the outside world, and in this case, it was a very positive and reassuring experience of someone having preferences for my body, because hair is something I grow naturally and my partner's reaction reinforced that this is not unwanted or ugly, which is a message I perhaps would expect from most people.

When I brought this up to my mother, however, she immediately reacted strongly in the opposite. She told me, very straightforwardly, that the facial hair that I grow is unsightly and I should get it plucked or lasered. I'm sorry, what? I spent four years of my life taking masculinising hormones so that I could grow facial hair and this is the best I could do and you'll tear it from my cold dead hands, thank you very much. She's also told me that my leg hair, as fine as it is, is horrible and I should shave it off. Why? Why should I? The only venue at which I present my hairy legs at is my own home. The hair that I grow hardly bothers anybody, and if she doesn't want to see it then maybe she shouldn't be looking when she comes over once every two months or so for a couple of days. She's entering my space, voluntarily - I'm not going to shave my legs for my own goddamn mother and if she can't deal with my body existing in its natural state then that seems like something she might need to go to therapy over, not my problem to deal with.

At a doctor's appointment, recently, as terrible as it was, I was trying to have changes made to my SSRI medication because the side-effects of it were driving me up the wall. Instead, this doctor diverted the discussion to her own personal problems with me.

"I was expecting a male patient. Are you changing your sex?"

No, ma'am, I am not. Sorry about the misleading name but that has nothing to do with my medication's array of side-effects. I had to explain to her that I am a born female, tried transitioning but it didn't work out because my body is extremely determined to stay female thank you very much, and that I am not male, never was, and I'm most definitely not MtF, not that it has any goddamn relevance to, again, my medication - which we never got around to discussing, because she did not care.

I ended up lowering my dose without supervision and dealing with the withdrawals to get rid of the worst of it, since clearly the psychiatric unit was not interested in helping me out with the issues I was having.

This is extremely jarring to me, because prior to detransitioning, I never faced issues like this. Now it feels like I'm questioned left and right about who I am and why I have a name like this and why I look like this and people feel entitled to opinions about my body and my appearance in ways that they never did before transition or during transition. When I was transitioning, I had few encounters in terms of people asking about my transition - but when they did, they were positive encounters. The most common one was chatty nurses during my million urgent care visits during that time, where they'd carefully sniff out how I felt about discussing my transition as a topic, and often fell into a casual, friendly conversation about how it all works, because I was never averse to talking about it and they were often dealing with the first trans patient of their careers, so it was the first time for them to be able to hear how it all worked and what it was like. It was never a negative experience, and nobody ever commented on how I looked, how I presented myself, etc.

And now it feels like that has been flipped on its head. Everyone has an opinion on my body, who I am, how I'm showing up. I should be doing this differently, I should look different, I should wear different clothes, I should have a different name.

I'm grateful to the people - my partner, my friends - who truly accept that I am who I am and I look the way I do and this is a positive thing for all of us. The rest of these people, I need them to, frankly, piss off about my body and identity. None of your fucking business how much hair I have on me or what my name is. Deal with it.

[eroticcannibal]

It's like all understanding of access issues and just the fact that we don't really understand all that much of how the brain works immediately leaves people's minds the moment someone doesn't respond well or at all to current available treatment. Like shit. Maybe they can't get the treatment they need bc healthcare systems suck. Maybe the treatment they need doesn't exist yet. Maybe there are a bunch of other reasons but thinking hard rn. Idk. Maybe it's not someone's fault if they can't get better rn.

Like. I do not mean this in a hateful way. But I think this is just the inevitable result of MH spaces and discourse being dominated by people with certain, easier to treat issues that respond well to simple therapies, SSRIs and a bit of hard work. I've long said that I think we need a distinction between like, "average" mental illness and less treatable issues because its inevitable that ppl with complex trauma, dissociative disorders, psychotic disorders etc will get thrown under the bus because god forbid we admit that some CBT and anti depressants and a positive mental attitude cant fix everything. I dont think the egos of proffesionals helps, they CANNOT admit when they don't have the answers and would rather blame the patient than admit they are flawed, and many patients will internalise this instead of challenge it. Plus the whole attitude *everyone* has that "no things will get better if you try" which of course equals "if you arent getting better, its your fault" which is pushed by *every* mental health resource and service and charity....

People will admit access issues when its about statistics about suicide or something. But when confronted with a real person who is struggling? Its all "well just keep trying even though there's nothing! If it doesn't work its your fault!" And then they'll act all shocked when that person kills themselves. *then* they'll complain about funding and postcode lottery and oh why didn't they reach out... I've seen it play out the same way so many times... I honestly feel like shit is just set up to kill off the ones who don't respond to cheap treatment and a cuppa and a chat these days. The outright HOSTILITY and accusations and attacks thrown at anyone who doesn't respond to treatment. That wouldn't exist if people actually wanted them better. Its conform or die.

[redditreceipts]

so i was arguing with a TIM in reddit DMs, and this is what he said when i asked him why he transitioned:

"I hate feeling like a gross predator and not being seen as desirable

I hate being seen as a threat

Growing up, I always had female friends and our friendships would get ruined because everyone would insist I was trying to date them or get in their pants.

I'm the opposite side of the coin of what you have dread over.

My desire to transition goes deeper as I just find male sexual urges gross and don't wanna be ugly, but that is definitely a substantial part of it."

thoughts? how would you respond to this?

hey :) so what I would respond is:

"so it's really a bad experience that your female friendships ended because people thought that you just wanted to get into their pants. these were shitty friends and you should keep looking for people who accept you and your friendship. however, it is essential for women to be afraid of men. it's how we keep ourself alive. maybe you yourself know that you don't want to harm any women, but until we have a lie detector test, we will have to rely on the single most reliable indicator of a sexual predator: being born a man.

I know that it sucks for you that you are put in a category with all of these men who want to harm women, but you not wanting to be a man anymore proves that you don't see it as your task to change anything to really protect women. If it were really your goal to protect women and to change the stigma of male-female friendships, why don't you speak out? Why do you want to become a woman instead of calling out sexism from your priviliged position of being a man? Why don't you engage in political activism to protect women's rights, offer protection to vulnerable women, defend women who are assaulted in public, speak to your male friends about the horrors of pornography and become an educator to young boys to give them a male role model that repects women?

If you actually cared about bettering the world for women, you would do all of the above instead of trampling over women's pleas to not invade their spaces. You are focusing all of your (rightful) disdain of patriarchy on not being seen as the oppressor anymore, instead of actually doing something against the existence of this system.

also, you saying that you hate your male libido seems to speak of trauma. there is nothing wrong with having libido and being a man. this does not make you a bad person, and it's also not disgusting to have desires. If it really stresses you out, you could consider taking SSRIs which lower your libido. but that is likely someting to be solved in therapy. it's not the responsibility or the job of women to make you feel less of a predator. and that you are considering transitioning instead of working to make women less afraid shows that you don't care about women who are afraid of men. you only care about yourself.

you don't want to put work into women's liberation, you just want to get absolved of your status of an oppressor, which proves the fact that you are a man better than anything else ever could."

[firespirited]

Mum thinks the two of us should go to therapy, try and patch ourselves up for the upcoming 'fight'. I agree.

So i'm starting homework, like what's eating at me and what do I actually want to achieve. I think that's what you're supposed to bring to the table for this sort of thing (?)

So:

I want to be emotionally stable enough to handle this like its own fresh unique situation and not losing a family member to mental illness n°5 and life's latest dick move n°103. I'd like that ton of baggage to not mess with a delicate situation. Sis deserves that courtesy.

I want us to be a team, remembering that we're not as uninformed, young and inexperienced as the first time around. It keeps seeping back in, like we're directing pent up anger at each other instead of grounding ourselves. Mum and I had our ups and downs, we've got a good relationship but there's old mess, we've worked as close partners before but actually talking about our own issues is quite new.

I was 32 before I dared broach barely escaping an attack at 12 and how i'd always wondered if she'd have helped me get an abortion if I hadn't been so lucky. That's when I found out that the underground railroad for arranged marriages also included getting abortions for young and less young women who couldn't be pregnant for whatever reason.

Twenty years of not knowing and in like three sentences she's like "you were 12. too young to endure a pregnancy physically or mentally. Oh and your no nonsense sunday school teacher would have been your medical advocate."

Mum's still pretty reserved about her own issues but has started to talk in like the past 5 years about her childhood and how carefully managed her volatile relationship with Granny is. It's a start.

_______

As for what I really want to to say to sis but can't because she isn't well enough to hear it and may never be. I don't even know where to start and maybe it's not the right time to consider what I'd say if she were stable or her old self. I don't know.

She's open to trying new anxiety meds or upping her SSRIs to avoid the waves of dysphoric thought and very powerful anger.

She barely remembers the 4th and 5th, I think it was probably a bout of psychosis: low level paranoid thoughts that went exponential and turned into rage (depending on the person they aren't recorded like real memories, more like a dream which is why some folks keep diaries or want events to be documented).

This doesn't change much, I can't confront her with what happened or know if the regular moments of cruelty are going to become a fixture or just pass after about 6-9 months like her 2021(?) paranoias.

It's wait and see, hope for the best and tackle some serious baggage so we're ready for whatever comes next.

[bleuberrygliscor]

look not to be that bitch. but i spent years of my life in therapy.

i spent years doing things, reading books, trying to fucking fix my own brain due to my body's really cool way of building up tolerance to my medications. Flip flopping between drugs, between therapists, between group therapy locations, between coping mechanisms both "healthy" and "wildly fucking harmful".

i spent blood, money, and tears on CBT (Cognitive behavioral therapy) because the years of talk therapy i did never helped me heal (and im sure my therapist that i lovingly refer to as Miss M got tired of watching me trigger myself trying to explain my fucked up brain). and Neither of those things worked for me. it was fucking crushing going to group, week after week, and watching people who lost spouses, lost jobs, actively threatened to kill themselves, get better and stop coming. to attend an anxiety group session only to have the therapist attempt to remodel one of the exercises in real time due to me being unable to close my eyes for more than a minute, playfully commenting about me cracking the arm of the plastic chair from gripping it so tightly. to watch a rotating cast for almost a year, and still be the only one left, passing them on the way to the pharmacy on the first floor and hearing that they've been doing better. the pure jealousy in watching people who were, by all accounts, fucking worse than me, recovering and yet here i was, getting some other ssri to try for the next six weeks and hope my manic episode doesnt freak out my friends.

but i figured out something recently.

i have been journaling for years, since 2002, very infrequently, at the behest of my second therapist. he suggested that writing things down would be best for me. He was very fucking wrong. i hated doing it. it just made me feel worse, lamenting my dull life, tired of writing that i did the same 3 things again today (went to school - did homework - slept). so i joined journaling subreddits and communities later on, and to the surprise of no one i hated it even more with the added competition from people who wrote nicer than i did, took better notes, led interesting lives, when my highlight was "i downloaded an mp3 from mp3bee today and i didnt get rickrolled :D". but this month (literally the last 3 days) ive been scrapbooking instead. and not just that, I've not even been talking about the nothing that i do, literally today was a nightvale quote, and im excited to do something tomorrow.

This is a really long fucking tangent, but my point is that i spent years trying to be everyone else, trying to do the shit that works for other people, and never doing the shit that works for me. fuck i didnt even know it worked for me until Tuesday of this fucking week.

Maybe opening a window, or changing you pjs doesnt help you, but something out there will. youre worth the time it takes to find it.

[moopsy-daisy]

Wait, it was OCD the Whole Time??

That common moment, all too universal, when you connect a behavior in your present to an event in your past. I've spent YEARS trying to find a spiritual spot to land, trying out deities and faiths in earnest. Every time, I might find a little comfort but ultimately it would ring hollow. I'd move on to the next inspiration.

Last night, at the holy hour of 4am - when all the strangest things happen - some of my neurons fired together and now my self-image has shifted. Even dreamt of earthquakes after, though that might've had to do with my partner climbing into bed while I was asleep.

"Give your worries to God, and if you're sincere, His Grace will free you from your fears."

That's what they told me when I was growing up. I heard it a few different ways, but it always came back to the idea that if your faith is strong enough, you won't fear anything.

Except, I was Always Scared.

No amount of thinking or praying or Bible reading worked for more than 5 minutes, if that. Fear coursed through my veins at all hours, shocked me from my sleep, and began to eat my entire life. I trusted the people who told me that prayer should work, so I Tried Harder. It had to be my fault. I sat on the floor, weeping over my Bibles, and begged the Man in the Sky to take the fear away. Please, make me a better person. (And maybe I could have a boyfriend someday, too? I was shooting for the stars, I guess.)

It never worked. Eventually, I left Christianity behind, and thought I was none the worse for wear. I hadn't grown up Evangelical, after all. My parents followed shortly after, recognizing that the faith wasn't serving them, either.

Still, that ember of belief, the idea if I could woo god into helping, had burned deep into my subconscious. I had to be a better person. If I was righteous enough, I could protect myself from everything, climate change to cancer to capitalism. If I executed Zero waste, vegetarianism, composting, obsessing over every kind of plastic in my life. Second guessing every food, tallying my sins so I could erase them. I wanted to be beyond reproach, to sweep away my carbon footprints and to be a Good Person.

Eventually I figured out that individual action wouldn't fix the problems I saw. No amount of composting would protect me from a snowstorm. The Good Place's Chidi showed me that my worrying wasn't helping. I eased up on myself, kept what worked, and bought some bacon. (Therapy also helped. Therapy's great.)

In recent years, I felt something was missing. I figured that the spiritual people in the world had a peace and joy that I, too, should be able to achieve if I just found the right faith. That little ember of belief still glowed somewhere in the back of my mind. So, I tried again. I've been to temples in the United States and abroad. I had experiences that were beautiful, I learned amazing things and I regret none of it. And I never, ever got what I actually wanted.

I didn't realize it until last night, at 4am, but all I ever wanted was a Cure. Some belief that would make my brain stop hurting me. There had to be some reason God was ignoring me.

Finally, I can stop searching. There is no faith that works the way an SSRI does, or thyroid medication, or a SIBO test. Only medicine can make my brain calm down. Only medicine could tell me that my pain came from food intolerance and not character flaws. (Yes, I believed that excruciatingly painful diarrhea was a weakness of my character. I just needed to learn to relax, I told myself. After all, I could digest milk and wheat just fine. Oh honey, no.)

Now, I've got to come to terms with what being faithless will mean for me. I'll still dabble in witchcraft, because spicy placebo psychology helps while I'm waiting to see my doctors. I'll still read about sociology and culture.

There's a hungry habit that wants to reach for answers, to keep looking. I'm going to treat that like my other compulsions instead of indulging it. The next time I'm tempted to dive into a faith system, I'll go get my coloring books or sewing machine. I'll make my world better by living my life, instead of looking for a God who will finally take pity on me.

I hope reading this long ass post helps someone feel less alone. Fuck, I hope it helps me remember that 4am epiphany when things inevitably get hard again.

[cntrspll]

this is a love letter to my own fic

hi hello hey, this is an essay about my own fic and the feelings i have about it. fic can be found here.

i am going to try so hard to keep this organized but i don’t know how well that will work soooo let’s go!

on the fic overall:

i just... like magnus. i think he is a fan fave for a reason, but i think there’s a lot of missing discussion of his post-canon situation and the development thereafter. when i finished listening to balance for the first time (in february-ish this year, i think?), i remember being super frustrated with where parts of the fandom had landed their focus. this isn’t an uncommon fandom thing, and i totally get where it comes from. some characters are just super relatable and a lot of fun to write about and have like absolute piles of stuff to unpack, so it’s totally fair that some characters get more focus than others, but where i felt that some of my faves got a lot of fandom focus, others... didn’t.

so this fic was in part an attempt to rectify that, because i wasn’t finding the unpacking of magnus and his emotional / mental state that i wanted. that being said, there are a couple fics that i did draw a little bit of inspiration from, the biggest probably being patterns of migration by goodnicepeople. the depiction of magnus as this big strong dude who also has these quiet vulnerabilities that he doesn’t like admitting to people is like, in part just really accurate to canon, but also something that i really wanted to see explored more, and i didn’t find a whole lot of other fics that fit that, so in part i just wanted to set out to put a little more into that.

also, like, i work in food service, and we are in a pandemic, and i moved in the middle of this year and i started hrt this year and have been dealing with the fallout of coming out and just kind of everything, and this fic was a really good way of just like, distracting myself from everything and sitting down for a little every day and thinking about something else and not so much about everything that was happening around me. so there is a good part of this fic that is just like, me coping with everything and trying to reorient myself a little. and it worked pretty well for that!

on process:

ok first things first, this was never meant to be 133k long. when i first sat down to write this, it was going to be a handful of snapshots set across [undetermined amount of time here] of magnus dealing with isolation and insomnia, and it was only meant to be like, maybe a 20k oneshot? that obviously did not happen. i think my original estimate once i accepted that this was gonna be multichaptered was like 60-70k, but then the chapters started getting longer with each one i finished, and then i wanted to add in an interlude, and then i decided i needed an epilogue, and here we are.

i’ll talk about this in other sections too, but as i wrote, i just kept finding more and more things that i wanted to talk about. i was also in the process of relistening to balance i was writing, and i kept running into little things that happened over the course of the show that i was like... oh shit! and that would inspire another scene or an interaction i wanted to write or something i wanted to focus more on, and the whole thing just kept getting more and more and bigger and bigger.

i’ve said it like 50 thousand times now, but i have never written anything this long before. i tried really hard to be regimented about the way i did it, because from the beginning i knew this was going to be an emotional journey for me to write, but i knew that if i let it slide for a week or so then i would never finish it. so to get through it, i wrote almost every day for a minimum of an hour. the process that i’ve found works best for me when i’m writing is using word sprints, putting on some music, and then forcing myself to tune out of social media and everything else for 25 minutes. i try to do between 750-1k words in that time period, then the site gives you a five minute break, during which i usually check twitter or fact check if i need to, and then i go back in and do another sprint. this works really well for me because i wasn’t trying to hit a specific word goal in any given day, just like... trying to sit down and write. i also tried not to guilt myself too much if i missed a day, or if i only did one sprint instead of two, or anything like that, and that’s kind of what helped me get through the whole monster without instantly dropping it as soon as i had another idea.

on mental health and recovery:

so one of my big personal pet peeves in fiction is the idea that trauma recovery is like, a one time single event deal. like, someone has this big horrible thing happen to them or they have some pressing mental health issue and then someone else walks in and they have one conversation and bam, everything is fine. i was exposed to a lot of [fan]fiction when i was younger that kind of supported this kind of narrative, and i get that there is a certain sort of wish fulfillment thing to that, but it also sucks, being an adult and having Problems(TM) and knowing that it absolutely does not work like that.

so when i set out to write a fic about trauma and mental illness and recovery, i felt kind of a responsibility to not fall into that trap and write it like, okay and then magnus and taako talk about it and taako’s like hey dude you’re depressed but it’s okay and then magnus doesn’t have nightmares anymore. also, because this is taz and the canon of like, historical accuracy is complete bullshit, i can put therapists and psychiatry and psychiatric medications in my fic and no one can tell me i’m wrong and it doesn’t exist. elevators exist, so i can make ssris and anti anxiety pills exist.

but also, magnus as a character is not going to jump into that right away. it is canon fact that he doesn’t like accepting or asking for help with stuff like this, and yes there are a couple big moments where he does, but like i bring up a couple times in the fic, mental health struggles are a big jump from like, a physical fight using swords and axes and shit. and this i think is really accurate to a lot of people’s struggles with mental illness, just taking that first step and admitting that you don’t feel okay, and that you need someone’s help to deal with it. that’s super super scary even to admit to like, your closest friends.

so that’s why magnus kind of shies away a number of times from some of the conversations that people try to start with him about mental health. taako and carey and lucretia and pretty much everyone else approach him at some point about opening up about this stuff, but he pulls away because admitting that kind of vulnerability to someone else is super scary, even if you’ve maybe admitted it to yourself already.

i also wanted to make sure that at the end of the fic, he wasn’t magically better. this is something else that i think people kind of forget, like... trauma and the problems that it causes don’t go away just because of therapy and medication. those things help, they help you reform the ways you think about yourself and about the world, but they don’t change the struggles you’ve been through or the sometimes biological problems that are causing whatever issue you’re having. and i remember reading a lot of fic when i was a kid where someone would be depressed, and then they’d fall in love and get magic dick or something and then they’d never be sad again, which... isn’t great.

but at the same time, i didn’t want it to end on this note like, oh everything is still bad even though he worked so hard to open up and get help, because that sucks, too. so it was really important to me that the fic end on a hopeful note, like, magnus isn’t cured. he still has bad days and bad weeks and sometimes he is just as low as he was before, but he also has like, normal days, which is something that i think you kind of forget can even exist when you’re depressed, or when you’re dealing with any mental illness. but like, i really wanted it to be obvious that things did get better and even if he’s still coping with it and it’s not going away, he’s okay. he’s gonna be all right.

on an unreliable narrator:

this kind of plays into some of the mental health stuff, but one thing that i love about taz that i really wanted to play into with this fic is the idea of limited perspective. griffin does some really cool fucking things with this, specifically in relation to the ipre and the big reveal in the last lunar interlude, with the idea of like... a character can only know the things that they know. like, magnus knows that there is a picture of him depicted as a red robe, and barry knows that they’re all red robes, and taako knows that they found the umbra staff next to a red robed skeleton and that the umbrella spelled out lup at one point, but none of them necessarily know all the things that the other person knew, and none of them know all the things that lucretia knows or that fisher knows or junior knows, etc etc.

unfortunately, just because the pace of the story picks up so much in that last lunar interlude, there isn’t a whole lot of space to explore that like, disconnect between all these facts that they each have as individuals. and given the perspective of mental health and the way that plays into your perceptions of yourself and your perceptions of other people’s perceptions, i really wanted to delve into like… magnus’s misunderstandings.

this is not a strictly straightforward unreliable narrator situation, but i did bring in some elements of that. i really wanted to explore the disconnect between how magnus sees and how everyone else sees him and his issues. there are also a couple moments where he flat out completely misinterprets their intentions, which unfortunately i didn’t delve into as much as i wanted to so they ended up mostly being fun easter eggs for, uh… me? i guess?

one of those moments is the scene in ch 4 where barry and magnus are sitting in the kitchen and barry starts to ask magnus something. magnus assumes it’s going to be about his mental health, and that this is barry stepping up as representative for everyone else to talk to him about it, but it’s really meant to be a precursor to their conversation in ch 6 where they talk about barry and lup and marriage and proposals.

magnus gets a little perspective on this later, i think in ch 7(?) where he’s thinking about how maybe their lives don’t completely revolve around him and he’s missing some of their perspective. but like, they all have their own shit going on, and they all love him and they’re worried about him, but also, barry is thinking about lup. lup is thinking about taako. taako is thinking about lucretia. lucretia is thinking about davenport, and davenport is thinking about his own issues, and so on and so on and they’re not all just like… waiting to pounce on magnus the second he shows weakness.

a lot of that plays into the hypervigilance of ptsd, too. magnus is very aware of any perceived threat, and he sometimes treats the people around him as threats, when all they’re doing in reality is thinking like, man i wish he didn’t live out here by himself all the time.

on a more meta note, i also have a tendency to make every character i write just like, a super good judge of character. i don’t think magnus is that, and i really wanted to lean into that. magnus does not read intention super well, even when that intention is genuinely good.

on the ipre and their relationships:

so i… really don’t write gen fic a lot. even when i do, it is almost always tinged with a little bit of background shipping, and there is some of that in this, but whereas in most fandoms i end up being a multishipper, for some reason with taz i’ve ended up pretty much only caring about the canon ships (sorry…). that being said, the platonic relationships in taz (and especially in balance) are some of the most compelling and important fictional relationships that i’ve ever encountered. like, they are just really well fucking done.

this being the magnus love letter that it is, i really wanted to focus on magnus’s distinct relationships with every member of the ipre crew. i don’t know how obvious this is in the actual narrative, but with the exception of the interlude and the epilogue, the story is broken down into one chapter for each member of the starblaster crew (in order, magnus, taako, merle, davenport, barry, lucretia, lup). i did this specifically because it was really important to me that i dive into all of them and their particular issues. i didn’t quite get the deep dive with merle or davenport that i would’ve liked to, but hopefully in the future i’ll get more time to explore that.

anyway, in case it isn’t obvious, lup is probably my favorite fictional character literally ever in any media created by anyone in the history of time. i say this only because a lot of this fic was set up to build to the conversation between her and magnus in ch 8 out on the mountain where he finally opens up for the first time. there are some really incredible unexplored parallels and relationships in taz (unexplored mainly because like, where would it even fit in canon), and while some of them are super self indulgent (ie, lup and mags, barry and mags), i really really really wanted to dig into those a little more. things like the conversation where taako is talking about everyone brushing over his trauma to rush to forgive lucretia, or lucretia talking about trying to learn to love writing again and recognize happy moments, davenport almost admitting that he’s not completely sure about stepping back into the family in his former role… i could write an entire fic on any of these, really.

but ultimately, this being a magnus fic, i tried to filter those conversations through a perspective of two things: first, how does this affect magnus and his mental health journey, and second, what can magnus do to help this. those scenes where magnus is trying to help someone with something and they’re like, backhandedly helping him are some of my favorite interactions in the fic.

the other thing i really really really wanted to explore that i never see enough of in fic is magnus and carey’s relationship. carey is canonically magnus’s best friend, and yet in fic i feel like she gets pushed to the side a little in favor of the starblaster crew. which i get, they’ve got a hundred and ten years of shared trauma, but also, travis flat out states that carey is magnus’s best friend, so… i mean, there is also a little bit of self indulgence here, because i am also a man who is exclusively best friends with lesbians, but you know.

that being said, i really wanted to emphasize that relationship in particular, which is why carey doesn’t have her own dedicated chapter and instead kind of slides in and out of each one and slowly helps magnus along the way. her personality i also feel is like, the exact kind of thing that magnus needs to push him into accepting / asking for help and moving towards recovery.

on real life parallels:

ok, i swear to god i did not intend to make this a holiday fic posted during the holidays. i started writing this in june, and again, it was only meant to be like 20k and not necessarily entirely set during candlenights. that kind of happened, anyway? candlenights just seemed like the best vessel to get all these characters whose post-canon situations i wanted to explore into the same room, and i finished the first draft around mid october and i wanted to give myself plenty of time for editing, so it honestly just ended up coincidentally aligning with the holidays. go figure.

that being said, isolation ended up featuring pretty heavily in this fic. that i think is to be expected to a certain degree given the nature of mental health and recovery and blah blah blah, but i probably unintentionally ended up leaning into it a little more because like… this year. and the holidays tend to be a time that a lot of us feel really isolated, and this year especially, but one of the big things for me this year is that like, all of my friends live out of state. the closest one to me is still a good 2-3 hour plane ride, which i am absolutely not risking. i had like a hundred plans to go see people and do things this year, and those obviously got cancelled.

probably the biggest one of those things was seeing a friend who i have kind of started a new years tradition of seeing, but we ended up calling that off out of safety considerations, of course. and it sucks! it’s not fun! i also moved out this year and i have my own place and in june i was really hoping that things would be okay by now and i could have all my friends come in from out of town for new years and that didn’t happen. and i wasn’t intending for this fic to be a kind of wish fulfillment of like, here’s my new place post-[saving the universe / coming out and becoming a real person], let me show my found family around my hometown and let’s make new holiday traditions together now that we’re no longer [fighting the apocalypse / literal children] and everything will be fun and happy and good, but that is kind of what happened anyway. [insert joke here that goes like “do you project your real world problems and mental health issues onto fictional characters or are you normal?”]

but yeah, magnus’s mental health struggles did kind of accidentally become a little bit of a pandemic / quarantine life parallel. i did not mean for that to happen, but it did help me tease out a little bit of what it is that i feel like i’m missing and what i want in the future when things are better, and i hope it helped some other people figure that stuff out too, maybe?

and in conclusion:

i said this a little bit in the final notes in the fic, but i am so so so grateful and emotional over the comments i’ve gotten from some of you. i’ve said it already, but this was such an emotional rollercoaster for me to write. i put a decent amount of my own mental health issues into the stuff i wrote into magnus, and it was genuinely therapeutic and like… super helpful and important. it was also a big struggle, and there were some scenes i came out of feeling incredibly drained and like i needed to not write for a week.

so that being said, those of you who have commented things about how this fic helped you deal with your own emotional turmoil or helped put something in perspective for you, i am genuinely so happy to hear that i’ve impacted you in that way like, at all. that is so incredible to me, and not necessarily what i set out to do, but it means so much to hear someone say that and also to know that someone felt comfortable sharing that with a stranger on the internet. thank you so so so much.

again, this fic means so much to me. the fact that it’s impacted even a handful of people in that way is absolutely amazing. some of the things you guys have said have had me seriously choked up. i am so glad that anyone even took the time to read all 133k of this, let alone that it affected people like that.

i don’t know if i’ll be writing more about magnus in this universe. i would love to! but i’m also super happy with where i’ve left his story. i have plans to explore the calen thing in the future, but only kind of tangentially in a side mention and not fully, so who knows? there is more though, a lot with taako and kravitz and lup and barry and hopefully one day i will find the motivation somewhere in me to flesh out everyone else’s situations a little more, too. who knows!

anyway, i just want to say thanks again to everyone for reading, and even more so if you are reading this dumb essay. you’re super cool.

[particularemu]

Insanity | A Hwang Hyunjin Series | Part 1

Part: [Prologue] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Epilogue]

Word Count: 5046

Type: Angst

Warnings: violence, drugs, descriptions of anxiety, panic disorders, fucked up hospitals, a sassy Jinnie boi, and corruption.

Author’s Note: Without further ado, I present part 1 of Insanity. Please understand that I’m no doctor, and I have 0 medical knowledge, so if I make a mistake, shoot me a message and school me so I can fix it :3 

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he stepped off the bus, hand tugging his suitcase behind him. There it was — Rosewood Psychiatric Institution — the medical facility he was going to stay and work in for the next couple of years. Hyunjin would stay longer, but he had strict plans to start his own institution after getting some work experience. Judging by the beautiful landscape — it looked like he picked the right place. 

The land rolled smoothly under the thick, luscious grass, the picture-perfect landscape looking as if it was sculpted by the gods. There were several colorful plants and shrubs along the cobblestone path, leading Hyunjin directly to the gates. After being waved through by a couple of nice-looking guards, Hyunjin made his way over to the living quarters for the staff. Thank goodness the way was pointed by various golden signs, otherwise, he’d surely get lost in the big institution made up of several buildings. 

Hyunjin’s lips parted in surprise as several sprinklers turned on, watering the beautiful lawn for the first time that morning. Wow… they obviously had a passionate landscaper who thrives on taking care of all these plants. It must take the man (or woman) all day to water the plants, cut the grass, and pull each and every weed out of the landscape. 

The institution was incredible. Most mental health facilities he visited during his university years weren’t this large — or as aesthetically pleasing. The boy couldn’t help but gawk at the beautiful architecture. 

Hyunjin cursed as his watch beeped, signaling the start of his shift in the next hour. He opened the door to the living quarters, gasping at the luxurious decor coating the walls. This doctor must make loads of money off this place to be able to afford decor this nice. It was nice to know that Dr. Douglas took care of the staff. Hyunjin quickly made his way over to room 108, grateful that he wouldn’t have to drag his suitcase up 3 flights of stairs. Hyunjin tucked his suitcase under the bed, brows creasing when he saw the pure white uniform laying across his bed. 

Fuck, he hated white. Of course, he expected he’d have to wear the typical white coat, but usually, he was allowed to wear blue scrubs. Why the hell were they forcing the staff to wear some 1950s style uniform? Oh well. Hyunjin changed into the uniform. 

Dr. Douglas must be obsessed with the look of white — Hyunjin assumed because all the rooms were coated with white paint, decorated with white knick-knacks, and beds were made with white sheets and comforters. Hyunjin would have to find a poster or something to go on the wall, or he might have to check himself into the institution. 

Hyunjin rushed out the door, checking to make sure it locked before heading over to the main building. From what he could tell on his map, he would be working in the largest building. Hyunjin headed inside, eyes scanning the room for some sign of where he should go. 

“Hello, how can I help you, sir?” A kind woman dressed in some 1950s looking nurse uniform caught Hyunjin’s attention. 

What is with these old-fashioned uniforms? Maybe they were trying to keep things timeless for those who’ve been in the institution a while? Or perhaps Dr. Douglass just enjoyed vintage things. Either way, Hyunjin thought the uniform choice was odd. Throw some dirt, grime, and blood on them and the uniforms would look like they’re straight from a horror movie.  

“Hi, I’m Dr. Hyunjin. It’s my first day. I’m supposed to start today.” Hyunjin couldn’t help but gawk at how clean everything looked. All hospitals should be clean but this — this institution looked as though it was scrubbed top to bottom with bleach. There was no scuff mark, footprint, or speck of dust in sight. 

“Ah, Dr. Hyunjin welcome.” A kind-looking man on the other side stepped out. “Come on over.” 

Hyunjin squeezed through the door and shook the man’s hand. “Nice to met you Dr?” 

“Dr. Henry.” The man smiled at Hyunjin. “We’ve been understaffed for so long. I’m happy they finally have someone to take over the day shift for Miss ______.” Dr. Henry handed Hyunjin a medical chart packed full of your medical history.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he scanned the papers. Twenty-five sedations? In just over two months? “Umm, excuse me for asking, but why has she been sedated 25 times in the past couple of months?” 

“She is a feisty young thing. If she doesn’t get her way she starts hitting and screaming.” Dr. Henry laughed. “So we typically have to sedate her before she hurts one of the doctors or herself.” 

Hmm… That still doesn’t sound right. Hyunjin brushed it off until he spotted an obvious problem in your chart. “Hey, why is she getting a stimulant?” Hyunjin frowned. 

“What do you mean?” Dr. Henry leaned over Hyunjin’s shoulder to look at your chart. 

Hyunjin pointed to a spot. “It says right here that she’s dealing with intense anxiety, panic attacks, manic, nightmares, and I’m not sure why it says etcetera there, we should be listing all her symptoms.” Hyunjin paused and pointed to another section on her chart. “Then over here, it says she’s taking Adderall — a stimulant.” 

“The doctor prescribed it for her ADHD.” Dr. Henry smiled. 

Hyunjin pursed his lips. The chart claimed that she had no memory of her life before the institution — and there were no notes stating she was diagnosed with ADHD. “We might want to consider taking her off of it. Stimulants can increase panic episodes. If she’s still having intense panic attacks, why are we still giving her Adderall?” Hyunjin pulled a pen out of his breast pocket. “We should remove that from her list.” 

“Don’t do anything yet.” Dr. Henry pat Hyunjin’s shoulder. “The doctor has to approve any prescription changes.” 

Hyunjin cocked his head in confusion. They were all doctors… Why did they need to have medication changes approved? All doctors had the ability to prescribe and change prescriptions. Whatever… Maybe it’s just a safety precaution?

“You guys have her on a steroid too.” Hyunjin pointed at your list of medications once more “Betamethasone? What’s she taking that for?” 

“You know what? I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask the doctor about that.” Dr. Henry smiled. “I only started working with her recently, so I’m not aware of her entire medical history.” 

Okay, is this guy really a doctor? Hyunjin sighed in frustration as he scanned your chart. How could this man be taking care of you, and not even care about your previous medical history? Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel grateful that he was taking over your care. Maybe he could give you a fighting chance.

“Ergotamine? Does she get migraines?”

“I don’t know.” Dr. Henry sighed, crossing his arms in annoyance. 

“The reason I’m asking is Ergotamine contains caffeine. Adding prescriptions full of steroids, stimulants, and caffeine is only going to make her anxiety worse. No wonder she’s having such a hard time.” Hyunjin couldn’t help but glare at the man. 

“Like I said. Take it up with the doctor.” Dr. Henry snapped. “Why isn’t she getting a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor?” Hyunjin was baffled. SSRIs are typically given to patients who suffer from panic attacks. The medication prevents serotonin from being absorbed by the nerve cells in the brain. Stabilizing those serotonin levels reduces anxiety and panic. “She should be taking Prozac or Lexapro,” Hyunjin mumbled as he flipped through your chart. 

Dr. Henry scoffed. “She doesn’t need an SSRI. The doctor doesn’t like prescribing those unless the patient has gone through a successful therapy session.” 

What the fuck equals a successful therapy session? 

Hyunjin flipped through your chart, spotting the therapist’s notes over the past few sessions. Sure enough, panic attacks, anxiety episodes, refusal to cooperate, violence — you had it all. Hyunjin decided that he should sit through one of your therapy sessions to see what might be triggering your panic episodes.

“Okay, then give her a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor?” Hyunijn sighed in frustration. “Those prevent the absorption of serotonin and norepinephrine. It’ll calm her down in stressful situations.” 

“I know what they do.” Dr. Henry slammed his hand on the counter.

“Okay, then why aren’t you giving her any?” Hyunjin raised his voice as well.

“There aren’t any that are approved by the drug administration jackass.” He scoffed. 

“Yes, there is dumbass.” Hyunjin sighed and slipped your medical chart in his bag. “Venlafaxine. If you don’t have any in this hospital you need to get some.” 

“We have it, but it’s an SSRI.” 

“No, it’s not.” Hyunjin raised his voice and pointed to one of the computers. “It’s an SNRI. Look it up.” He frowned, “Besides, there are so many other options out there for her. You could give her tricyclic antidepressants, monoamine oxidase inhibitors, or beta-blockers instead of letting her suffer.” Hyunjin spat.

“Take it up with the doctor.” The man yelled back in Hyunjin’s face. 

Hyunjin leaned forward, piercing eyes glaring at the other man as he crossed his arms. “Fine, I will.” 

“First, come meet your patient, then you could see if she’s worth the trouble.” Dr. Henry turned and walked down the hall. 

“What?” Hyunjin asked as he followed the man. Everyone is worth the trouble. Even if you were a psycho looking to attack everyone in that hospital, you were a human being. Besides, Hyunjin could imagine you weren’t being treated the best under Dr. Henry’s care — based on the way the asshole was treating him. 

“Here she is pretty boy.” Dr. Henry gestured in the room. 

Hyunjin’s heart broke at the sight. You were huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around yourself as if it was the only comfort you had in this mental institution. Your room was empty, save for a bed and a thin blanket that probably provided little to no warmth. Your arms were filled with scratches, from what he assumed to be your nails — but in this hospital, there was no telling. 

Hyunjin slowly stepped into the room, smiling at you as your big glassy eyes met his. “Hello there,” Hyunjin spoke in a low even voice, hoping to prevent scaring you further. “I’m Dr. Hyunjin, your new caretaker. I’m looking forward to helping you the best I can.”  

You quickly got up and stumbled towards the man, tears running down your cheeks as you frantically clawed at his chest. Hyunjin gasped and wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you, heart-shattering when you wrapped your arms around his neck and cried, “Please you have to help me. You have to get me out of here, please.” 

Dr. Henry grabbed your arm and practically threw you across the room. “No touching the doctors. Do you want another session in the lightning room?”

You grabbed the bedpost, body shaking as you cried, “No I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” 

“Hey!” Hyunjin yelled, pushing at Dr. Henry’s shoulders. “That wasn’t necessary, she’s just scared.” He darted to your side, resting his hand on your arm to try and soothe you. You flinched away from his touch, mumbling apologies here and there. “Shh, you did nothing wrong,” Hyunjin whispered. 

“What is the lightning room? Is that electroconvulsive therapy? Do you have the right permits to do that?” To say Hyunjin was concerned was an understatement. 

“Of course.” Dr. Henry scoffed. 

“Why are you using it as a punishment?” Hyunjin raised his brow. “Electroconvulsive therapy is quite beneficial if done right. Do you guys put the patients under with anesthesia?”

Dr. Henry crossed his arms over his chest, eyes filled with pure hatred as he looked at Hyunjin. “No, we mainly use it to get their act straight.” 

“So you’re inducing seizures on your patients to get them to stop rebelling?” Hyunjin scoffed. “Smart.” 

“Look smartass, I’m just doing my job. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the doctor.” Dr. Henry stormed off, leaving Hyunjin alone with you. 

Thank God he’s finally gone. 

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” Hyunjin reached his hand out to you, pausing a safe distance away so he wouldn’t frighten you. “When you feel comfortable, I’m right here.” He held his hand out to you, palm facing up, giving you full control over the situation. 

You turned to look at the beautiful man, noticing the way his eyes lit up when you made eye contact. He sure was gorgeous. Most caretakers wouldn’t have stayed this long, but Hyunjin stayed in front of you, hand out for you to touch when you were ready. You slowly lifted your shaky hand and gently pressed your fingers into his palm, making Hyunjin smile brightly.

“That’s it.” His voice sounded like heaven to your ears. You felt safe in his presence, even more so when he slowly closed his fingers around yours. God, it’s been months since you’ve felt such a comforting touch. “Will you let me check your vitals?”

You cocked your head to the side, confusion evident in your features as Hyunjin chuckled nervously. “Oh sorry, you might not remember. I’m going to check your pulse, your temperature, your respiration rate, and your blood pressure just to make sure everything’s okay. After all, you did get thrown to the ground and since we don’t know what triggers your panic episodes I want to make sure you aren’t experiencing any symptoms of anxiety or panic which could be increased heart rate, temperature and —” Hyunjin paused a second. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I do that a lot. I’ll just check your temperature.” Hyunjin pulled a thermometer out of his bag and placed it in your mouth, hand resting on your forehead for a second to make sure you didn’t feel abnormally warm. 

You found the gentle touch comforting as his hand shifted to rest on the pulse point on your throat. His beautiful lips moved as he counted, eyes fixed on his watch. You couldn’t help but notice the beauty mark underneath his eye. That’s not something you see every day — especially in here. It felt like everyone looked the same — well… from the few people, you’ve seen during your various attempts to escape this godforsaken place. You flinched when Hyunjin pulled out his stethoscope, which didn’t go unnoticed by the ebony-haired beauty. 

“You look like you’re breathing fine.” Hyunjin smiled softly as he shoved the stethoscope back into his bag. “Why don’t we skip that for now.” Hyunjin pulled the thermometer out of your mouth and smiled at the results. “Good. It’s normal.” 

You sighed in relief and pulled your sore body up off the floor, plopping on the bed so you could rest. Hyunjin stood up and scanned your knees, noticing the bruises already starting to form. He couldn’t just sit there and let these damn people hurt you like this. “I have a couple of things I need to talk to your doctor about. Will you be okay here?” Hyunjin smiled when you nodded. “Awesome. I won’t be long.” 

Hyunjin slowly closed the door behind him before rushing down the hallway to Doctor Douglas’s office. He was only here an hour and he feels like he’s starting all sorts of trouble. The hospital was filled with incompetent doctors — or so he assumed judging by the information in your chart. And then there was Dr. Henry… 

Hyunjin nearly opened the door to the doctor’s office when a woman stepped in front of him. “Doctor Douglas is busy now sir. Please come back later.” 

Of fucking course. “I’m so sorry miss.” Hyunjin smiled. “He called me down here, so I thought I’d come right away. It sounded urgent.” 

“Oh, I must be mistaken. Go right ahead.” The woman moved out of the way and sat back down at her desk, obnoxiously typing a response to an email. 

Wait, that actually worked?

Hyunjin quickly slipped into the office before she could see the victorious grin on his face. He frowned when he turned around, spotting Dr. Douglas sitting in his chair, playing a random game on his phone. Yeah, okay he was real busy. 

“Welcome Hyunjin!” Dr. Douglas beamed. “I was hoping you’d make it here okay. I trust the drive up wasn’t too bad?”

“Thank you, sir. The drive was fine.” Hyunjin shook Dr. Douglas’s hand. “Pardon me for intruding, but I have a few questions about my patient.” 

“I expected a few.” Dr. Douglas laughed. “Why don’t you introduce yourself first?” 

Hyunjin ignored Dr. Douglas’s request and pulled out your chart. “After. This is urgent. You have my patient on Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine, all three are known to have anxiety and panic episodes as a side effect.” Hyunjin paused, wracking his brain for information. “There was this case study a few years ago —” 

“Hyunjin please.” The doctor gestured for him to stop. “Why don’t we get to know each other first?” He chuckled. “I’m Dr. Douglas. I’m sure you know that I run this hospital, considering I was the one who hired you.” 

“Yes,” Hyunjin shook his hand. “But sir, we —” 

“Hyunjin.” 

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, feeling like a two-year-old ready to throw a tantrum. He felt like his childish nature was justified, considering no one in this damn hospital seemed to care about your condition. 

“I’m Dr. Hwang Hyunjin. I was top of my class at Southfield University and I dedicate my time helping my patients.” Hyunjin’s brows creased as he shoved your chart forward. “The one I have now needs help and I need you to approve some things so I can help her.” Hyunjin’s eyes hardened as the Doctor laughed, acting as if none of this was a problem. 

“Prestigious school Mr. Hwang.” Dr. Douglass sighed and looked at your chart. “What do you need approved?” 

“I want to take her off all the excess medication and put her on Prozac. I believe the mixture of Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine is making things worse for her. She’s already dealing with so much in an unfamiliar place — so let’s put her on Prozac and see if it helps.” 

“And what will Prozac do that Venlafaxine won’t?” Dr. Douglas’s eyes bore into Hyunjin’s, making the boy nervous. 

“E-excuse me?” Hyunjin stuttered. 

“She’s taking Venlafaxine.” 

“Umm, no she isn’t.” Hyunjin panned through her chart and pointed to your list of medications. “She’s getting these six medications, which is way too much for someone without existing health problems.” 

“She’s in a mental facility.” Dr. Douglas chuckled. “They are all to help her.” 

“Yeah? What does this one do?” Hyunjin pointed to a drug on the list. “Peroproxine?”  Hyunjin frowned. “I’ve heard of Proproxen, but that’s an anti-inflammatory drug.” 

“Peroproxine is an anti-anxiety medication.” Dr. Douglas stated as if it was common knowledge. 

Okay, what? Hyunjin couldn’t stop the obvious annoyance taking over his features. He spends a LOT of his free time researching new and existing medications out there. If there was a drug by the name of Peroproxine, he probably would have known about it. “Why haven’t I heard of it?” 

Dr. Douglas laughed. “You’re new in the business son.” Hearing the word ‘son’ come out of that man’s mouth pissed Hyunjin off.  “I’m not your son. Please just approve this so I can help her.” 

“I can’t do that.” Dr. Douglas sighed. “She’s improved drastically since she started taking those medications. I won’t set her back again. It’s just not humane.” He chuckled. 

“Sir, she’s been here six months, and it appears her mental stability has gotten worse. And, Dr. Henry is being violent with her. He threw her to the ground —” 

“Hyunjin enough!” The doctor slammed his hand on the desk, startling the boy. “Give her the medications on her list, or you’re fired.” 

Hyunjin paled — it was clear he crossed a line. 

“I will not have you slandering one of the most trustworthy doctors in this institution. Get back to work.” Dr. Douglas turned in his chair, cutting off the conversation. Hyunjin’s heart dropped as he left the office. 

Sure, he could always quit and work somewhere else that wasn’t fucked up, but he couldn’t leave you. Something told him that you shouldn’t be there — that something else was the problem. He sulked down the hallways until he felt someone grab his arm and pull him into one of the Janitor’s closets. 

The beautiful man flipped the light switch, allowing the dingy old light swinging above their heads to flicker on. So there was a dirty room in the institution. 

Hyunjin scanned the man in front of him, noticing the name tag on his chest that read ‘Minho.’ He could tell Minho worked at the hospital — unless he was a crazy patient who murdered his caretaker and stole the uniform. 

“Look, you’re a very beautiful man, but I have to get back to work,” Hyunjin muttered and tried to push past Minho. 

“What? No, you dumbass.” Minho paused a moment and smirked, wiggling his eyebrows before saying, “But thank you.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and tried to push past Minho once more, only to be shoved back against the brooms and mops hung on the wall. Minho blocked the door with his arm. “I’m trying to help you keep your job because someone is looking to get fired.” 

Hyunjin sighed. “I don’t want to get fired, I just want to help my patient.” 

“I know.” Minho’s mood shifted — a melancholy look replacing his once emotionless expression. “Just listen for a second.” 

Hyunjin nodded and leaned back against the wall. “Ok fine, you have five minutes.” 

“First of all, I’m older than you so you can fuck off with that attitude.” Minho snapped. “Second of all, you need to stop asking questions.” Minho paused, trying to figure out how to word his next sentence. “Just keep your head down and do your job.” 

“How do you know I’m not older?” Hyunjin snickered. 

“Dude really?” Minho sighed. “You look fifteen. Out of all that I said, that’s what you decided to comment on?” 

Hyunjin couldn’t help but chuckle at the older boy’s expression. “Look, I’d be happy to keep my head down if my patient wasn’t suffering.” 

“I know.” Minho paused. “But this hospital isn’t like the others. You have to keep your head down or you’ll be admitted.” 

“What?” Admitted to the hospital? That doesn’t make any sense…

A loud scream echoed through the hallway, frightening the two boys. “Fuck… That sounds like it’s coming from my patient’s room. Here take this, it’s her medication. Please tell her to take it.” Minho opened the door and rushed down the hall. 

Hyunjin stepped out of the closet and stared at the little plastic cup in his hands. From what he could tell, he had two options. One, he could give you the medicine, keep his job, and allow your mental health to deteriorate until you were clinically insane. Or two, he could simply dispose of the medication and see if you improve. His feet took him to your room, figuring it’d be best to give you the medicine for now and speak to Minho later. Perhaps the older boy could give him more information about you.

From what everyone has told him, you were a pain in the ass to deal with. Hyunjin just saw a girl who was confused and scared. He couldn’t imagine you being violent and deliberately trying to hurt someone. 

Hyunjin opened the door, smiling sadly when he saw you curled up underneath the thin blanket. “Hey, it’s time for your medicine.” 

“Don’t want it.” You mumbled into the blankets, turning your back to Hyunjin. 

“I don’t blame you...” Hyunjin trailed off.

You turned to look at him, eyes wide with surprise. Usually, the caretakers would hold you down and force the pills down your throat. They didn’t have any mercy at this hospital — they’d do whatever it takes to get you to take your pills.  

Hyunjin chuckled at your surprise and slid the pills into his bag. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” 

There was something about that smile of his that made you feel like you could trust him. Hyunjin wasn’t forcing you to take anything, he seemed genuinely concerned for your mental health, and he was treating you like a real human being. 

“Can I sit next to you?” His soft voice shook you out of your thoughts. 

“Yeah.” You sat up in bed, giving him space to sit beside you. 

Hyunjin stayed silent, trying to think of questions he could ask you. He needed to know more about your medication and how you feel after taking them, but he didn’t want to trigger any painful memories. “Do you feel anxious after you take the medication?”

You thought about it for a minute before nodding. “It comes out of nowhere. I’m usually fine until I have to take my medicine during the day.” 

Okay, so the medication is definitely giving you anxiety. Was it the mixture of Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine, or was it that new drug… Peroproxine?

“Are you feeling anxious right now?” Hyunjin asked in a low voice. 

You nodded before mumbling. “A little bit. I don’t know you very well.” 

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself.” Hyunjin chuckled. “Would you like me to tell you a bit about myself?”

You nod, noticing the way Hyunjin smiled at your answer. 

“Well, I’m Dr. Hwang Hyunjin. I graduated at the top of my class from Southfield University.” He paused. “My father committed suicide when I was young, so I decided that I was going to study psychology so I could help people struggling with depression. Then I discovered that the medical side of psych would give me the ability to prescribe and help those at a medical level.” Hyunjin chuckled nervously. “You probably don’t want to know about all that though.” 

“No, I don’t mind.” You smiled. “I hear about how crazy I am day-in and day-out, so it’s refreshing to hear about someone else.” 

Hyunjin frowned. “Do they not give you time to socialize?”

You tucked your hands underneath your thighs, “Well, I get to talk to my therapist. The caretakers don’t like us to socialize with other patients. They said that we could get crazy ideas or something.” You frowned. “I don’t really remember.” 

“That’s not normally how things work.” Hyunjin pursed his lips. 

“Yeah?” You cocked your head to the side. “How do they normally work?”

“Typically you live in a room with a roommate — someone with a similar mental illness...” Hyunjin trailed off. “But you’d also have meals with the other patients and usually there’s a rec room where you guys can play games and chat.” 

You bounced on the bed, eyes filling with excitement as you grabbed Hyunjin’s arm. “We have the gardens!” 

Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile at your excitement. “The gardens?” 

“The doctor likes pretty things, so he has a big garden in the back of the asylum filled with all sorts of flowers. He has some exotic ones in there that smell really good.” You smiled brightly. “I like to go see the pretty flowers, but we aren’t allowed without our caretakers. Dr. Henry would never go with me.” 

So Dr. Henry was your old caretaker... Why did that asshole lie about not knowing your information? He’ll have to look into that later. 

“I’ll take you to the gardens as often as you want. I love to look at flowers.” Hyunjin smiled. “Actually do you want to go now?”

You smiled sadly and shook your head. “I’m feeling tired. I want to sleep.” 

“That’s fair. You’ve had a big day so far.” Hyunjin smiled. “Can you answer one more question for me?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips when you saw Hyunjin’s boyish grin. 

“Thank you. You’re such a big help.” Hyunjin rested his hand on yours. “Do you remember how you got here?” 

You closed your eyes, thinking about it for a moment. This was the question you’ve been asked every single day over the past six months. You never had an answer. Your brain only showed you flashes of a van and your cries for help, but the whole memory was foggy and unclear. 

Hyunjin paled when he felt your hand shake underneath his. “Hey, hey it’s okay.” He rubbed soothing circles on your back, smiling when you opened your eyes. 

“I’m so sorry I don’t remember.” You panicked, tears running down your face. “Please don’t tell them I’m not cooperating. I’m trying my hardest.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Hyunjin’s eyes widened when you crawled into his lap, head resting on his chest as you sobbed.  His heart completely shattered with every tear that ran down your face. 

He couldn’t imagine being in your position. Everyone at the hospital sucks, you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone, you were being given horrible medication, and to top it off, you had no one you could trust. Hyunjin felt honored that you trusted him enough to be this close to him on the first day.

“Your missing memories aren’t your fault.” Hyunjin ran his fingers through your hair, noticing the way you melted into his touch. “Some stressful experiences are so traumatic, the memories hide in the back of your brain like a shadow. So they can’t be consciously accessed. There are exercises and treatments we could do to retrieve those memories, but for now, I think it’s best that we get to know each other a bit more.” 

“I don’t feel safe here.” You sniffled and nuzzled into his chest. 

“You shouldn’t.” Hyunjin rubbed your arm, brows creasing as he tried to figure out his next move. 

The door slammed open— the loud noise startling the two of you as Minho ran into the room. 

“Hyunjin! There’s an emergency. I need your help.”

[acedesigns]

Hello 👋 I hope you fine. I have a request. I do picture Sephiroth with a severe c-ptsd. Could you describe him having symptoms and his special someone is taking care of him? Thank you so much for this blog. ❤️✨❤️✨

Yeah, he probably does. You don’t have Hojo as a kind of secret father without that messing you up.

---

- Sephiroth’s issues probably started when he was a child.

- He was always being observed by Shinra scientists. He’d have tests done over and over, without him wanting them.

- It started with him wanting personal space. He doesn’t want anyone to actually get close to him, especially without his consent. Though there is a part of him that is touch starved. It’s confusing for him.

- He decided/was pushed to become a Soldier. He showed signs of superior physical abilities, so it was an easy decision. He never had much control over his life, anyways. A war might be a good escape, maybe a permanent one.

- He wasn’t directly suicidal, but if something happened, well, so be it.

- So he pushed himself to excel in the war against Wutai. He took more risks. Part of it was because he didn’t care if he died. The other part was because everything he did was never good enough.

- The scientists would just mark it down and not say anything. They wanted to see what else he could do. That leads him to being a perfectionist. If what he does is not perfect or beyond perfect, it’s worthless.

- But the traumas of war would take their toll on anyone. He silenced their screams, all of the different deaths and injuries into the back of his mind.

- Everything bad that happens starts stacking. Bit by bit, the straw starts to build up on top of the camel’s back. He thinks he’s a master at hiding his emotions, but it’s only building to him snapping.

- Still, he starts to become hypervigilant. He wonders what else is going to go wrong. His mind jumps to the worst-case-scenario and he’ll start mentally preparing himself for it before he can confirm it’s happened. Did someone not answer their phone? They’re dead.

- Sephiroth also has tunnel vision. He will focus on something without acknowledging there is anything going on. That’s what led him to read on Jenova for days on end without eating or sleeping.

- When it comes to an S/O, Sephiroth is always prepared for the S/O to break up with him. Always.

- And so long as Sephiroth is still with Shinra, he probably won’t get any better.

- The key to re-habilitating is to escape the source of trauma. Shinra has been the source of the trauma and Jenova was the catalyst that made him snap and develop a strong sense of codependence with her body.

- So if the S/O wants to really help Sephiroth, they’ll need to be extremely patient, provide sympathy, and help him develop realistic ways to get better.

- Escape and protection from Shinra would be key. But it may be impossible.

- Getting him to therapy would also be key.

- Being there to meditate with him and reminding him to take medication (probably an SSRI or anti-anxiety) would be one of the best ways. You’d probably have to tell him that he deserves to feel better and that he deserves to take the medication to get there.

- He may develop a co-dependence with his S/O. Developing healthy boundaries while still being there for him would be best.

- When he believes his S/O won’t be abusive or he feels comfortable that nothing catastrophic will happen anytime soon, he’d probably start showing more physical affection. It’ll be more experimental at first, sitting closer, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, or just small touches. Then, he’d probably move on to holding hands, embraces, and whatnot. It’d take a while, but for him, it’d feel like a breath of fresh air. It’d be a wonder that human contact does not always result in pain.

- Sephiroth probably also deals with insomnia. Wutai and just c-ptsd results in him noticing everything. It’d take a while for him to still his mind enough to be able to get any closer to sleeping.

- If you stay up with him, that’d be fine, but he’d be stressed out about your health. Instead, he’d prefer to hold you while you sleep. That way, he can at least feel you breathing while he tries to figure other things out in his head.

- Speaking of other things in his head, he spent a lot of time getting lost in different fantasies. It was a way for him to escape what was going on when he was a kid. And it continues into adulthood. He sometimes zones out when he’s exceptionally stressed out, because he’s trying to escape.

[ariesdisaster]

I DID IT!!!!

I CAME!!!!

I looked up online how I could still orgasm while on antidepressants since its SUCH a common side effect (50-70% of people experience sexual dysfunction while on antidepressants) and I got some tips.

1 tip was try when your meds aren't in your system as much. So since I had to get up at 6 this morning for a livestream I thought I would try (its 19hrs since I took my meds) and BOOM!!! Under 5 mins and I had a big one!! I may have been able to have more if I kept going but I didn't want to risk just being sexually frustrated lol

Last time I was on an SSRI in 2014 I couldn't have one at all. Then once I wasn't on them anymore I tried and had 5 in 10 mins, then a few days later had 5 in 5 mins. So maybe I'll just have to have my fun in the morning before 11am instead of at night lol

I'm so fucking happy I could cry!!!! You know, if my meds hadn't taken away my ability to cry anyway lol but yeah, this was a big issue I was so upset about, thinking I wouldn't be able to for however long I'm gonna be on the meds. But now I'm fine with everything. I know the rest of my side effects will go away soon, so I can just focus on how the meds are gonna help (along with therapy) and not worry about anything!!

[girlboss-enthusiast]

So for some context, I am very critical of the psychiatry/therapy/self-help industries. I am also diagnosed as Bipolar I. I am not unconditionally happy about my treatment, and I think there are other treatment methods that should be used with or even instead of medication, but I take major issue with this post.

Feel free to skip to the bolded part because I definitely wrote more than I expected, and correct me if I’ve misinterpreted you. This is a hot button issue for me, as you can see.

First, for many bipolar women, even if we eradicated men and cruel women from the world entirely, we wouldn’t be safe. I wrote up a huge list of the things I’ve done that have put me and others in danger, and how bipolar disorder has impacted my life, but to be semi-concise, let’s just say that the danger of the unreasonable actions I take during mania, the suicide attempts I’ve made during depression, and my intermittent psychotic episodes are not because of other people or society. They are harmful because my disorder impacts my ability to think clearly or make mature judgments. Even if mania feels amazing, like the most brilliant, creative person in the world, that doesn’t change my likelihood of getting in a car crash while maxing out the speedometer or accidentally burning my house down because I couldn’t make proper risk assessments because I was manic. And that is really fucking scary.

In a perfectly safe world, the presentation of my symptoms would be different, for sure. But they would still exist, because the root cause of them is biological in nature.

(As an addition: I have no history of childhood trauma or abuse. Very few bad things have ever happened to me and I objectively have a great life. I do have comorbid conditions: neurodevelopmental disorders and a hormonal disorder, which have been treated mostly successfully with lifestyle adjustments, medication, and surgery. My point here is that all of these issues have a biological source, regardless of their impact on my bipolar disorder.)

Second, medication has come very far since the 70s and 80s. I’m guessing she was on lithium at that time, something I have also been on — the side effects suck and the best I can say about it is that it kept me from being actively suicdal. But we have a lot more options than lithium nowadays. I take a mood stabilizer called Lamictal and an antidepressant (not an SSRI/SNRI), Wellbutrin. I still feel like me. I do not feel like my creative spirit or inherent personality spark has been dampened. I’ve felt that way on other meds, like lithium, btw — I’m not trying to say that it doesn’t happen. I’m saying that we have viable, affordable options that do not necessarily flatten our experiences of life.

Third, and most important for me — framing psychiatric issues like bipolar disorder as something good and freeing minimizes the damage these disorders cause to those who have them. I cannot tell you how often I’ve heard variations on “But don’t you feel limited? Are you really you when you’re on medication? Would we have Starry Night and Sunflowers if van Gogh wasn’t depressed?”

To which I can only say, if he was on the right medications, probably! And even if not, perhaps he would not have spent his life in misery with periods of self-mutiliation, ultimately ending in suicide. If he had the option to take medication and avoid that life of misery, would he have taken it? Who knows? But maybe he wouldn’t have shot himself at age 37. If I had had the right treatments earlier, maybe I could’ve spared myself a decade of manic depression so severe that I don’t have coherent memories of the bulk of it.

I do have more things to say, including my opinion on the side effects of medication. But I think this is long enough already. Thank you for reading this, if you got this far.

I'm kind of a psychiatry truther these days even though I had a severely bipolar aunt. When she wasn't medicated, she was in a lot of danger. But she was also an artist, fisherwoman, and global traveler. She could show up anywhere and talk her way into any job. She was extremely resourceful. She was the funniest person in the world. But the intermittent homelessness put her in a lot of danger. And when she was medicated, her brilliant life became small. Her life became manageable for her family. At least we all knew where she was at any given moment, right? But she had extremely severe health complications from a lifetime of heavy psychiatric medication. And she got dementia at 60 and died young.

Why did she have to be medicated into a small humble motionless life in order to be safe? Is that really the only way? I understand why she would have periods where she would go off her medication. She wanted to live again. She wanted to be herself again.

If the world was a safer place for women, would she need to be medicated? When she was unmedicated, she wasn't harming others. She was wandering up and down the coast fishing, painting, and picking up odd jobs. She was running for political offices. Her limitless bipolar life was brilliant in many ways. But there were no cell phones in the 70s and 80s so of course her family worried. Now we have cell phones but we don't have a safe world for women. We don't have a world where women can wander on their own and explore life at a rapid bipolar pace. So we medicate them to try and keep them small and safe. But then decades of medication leaves them with dementia. And they're put in care homes where they're extremely vulnerable and not safe at all. So what is the fucking point!?

[deathordecaf]

A (not so) Brief Introduction

Hello to you, entirely hypothetical reader!

My Name is Alessa —or rather that is the name I will be using for the sake of privacy. You see my intention with this blog is two-fold:

To share the information & tools I have learned regarding mental health, in an accessible format for myself, those like me, and those who wish to simply satiate their curiosity.

To keep a record for reflection on my personal journey, in an attempt to provide myself with some perspective on my conditions and appreciate the progress being made, as all too often we are blind to our progress when we need to recognise it most.

As such some of the entries here may be, well, personal. This may not be just so for me, but to those close to me as well. So for the sake of privacy pseudonyms will be used.

But enough waffling! This brief introduction is rapidly growing in length, so in no particular order here are a few key things about me that may provide context to myself as the narrator of this blog:

I am 25 rapidly approaching 26 —making me practically a fossil in Tumblr terms

I come from the land down under

I have a very Australian attitude to swearing in that I often fail to notice I’m swearing at all. Those who to umbrige to so-called “strong language” may not appricate my liberal usage in writting.

I was Diagnosed with Generalised anxiety & OCD at approx. 15yrs

I was also diagnosed with ADHD (ADD at the time) and like many 90′s kids (particularly girls), my parent did not take this to be a legitimate concern and neither treated nor informed me of my condition before they themselves forgot that incident entirely!

I have been on and off a number of antidepressants since my GAD diagnosis. Predominately SSRIs with a couple SNRIs threw in for good measure.

SSRIs and SNRIs show mixed to no results until I was in my early 20s when the newest pills on the block would (after making me disoriented and sick for a week) make me feel fan-fucking-tasic! For About a month or so before my inevitable plumment into my realisation, once again, that i was in fact human garbage & hiding under my desk until the fear subsided in another few month.

I do not like taking SSRIs; it’s not them, it it’s me.

I was bullied ruthlessly in primary school In an attempt to escape the constant bullying we tried changing my school, this was an abject failure and I returned to my previous school and dealt with the bullying I knew.

By the time I reach high school I developed a 0% drama policy, made A number of close friends 

I took a Gap year after high school, to really wallow in depression for the first time and ensure that I cut with as many of my social ties as possible, before they realised the truth that i was actual human garbage.

Despite not correctly completing enough qualifying subject in my senior year of High School to apply for university; I took an “alternative pathway to study” test the year following my graduation and scored in the top 5% percent of participants and then enrolled in an art programme in University the following year.

I began a perpetual cycle of dropping in and out of university and working until I became frustrated with my lack of direction or purpose, then returning to study again.

I studied Sociology partially because it interested my and partially because I thought I was to emotional to study psychology like I wanted.

I realised I would never leave this cycle without ongoing professional help.

I was sexually assaulted and had a complete mental breakdown and finally sought the help I needs.

I was now suspecting my Dysthymic + GAD +subclinical OCD combo I’d been labeled with was less than accurate and went to a Psychiatrist for a differential diagnosis

I was was diagnosis with ADHD (again, but this was news to me) and my Psychiatrist agreed the after somewhere in the vicinity of 6+ variety of SSRI was a good enough sample sizes to say they were a good Fit.

I begin taking dexamphetamine (for ADHD + off label depression treatment) and Mirtazipine (for anxiety + chronic insomnia I have had since childhood)

Thing start getting better 

Now here’s the “good” bit

 I have a job a love

 I’ve decided paying for education is for suckers

 I’m planning to start a new business to run while working this current jobs (i already have 2)

I’m working on two art projects

My partner and I are living together for the 2nd year so I now know he won’t leave randomly (because that’s definitely NOT a thing i have immense fear around as a result of a number of traumatic events that I’m pretending to not be effected by)

I’ve finally committed to being a vegetarian

dropped 10kgs

I’m hardly sleeping

I’m bursting with amazing ideas

Secretly convinced I’m going to change the world or at the very least Australia (because I’ve got to be “realistic”

I feel amazing, people love me, I love me

So because I’m finally “normal”, i decide i don’t need therapy anymore I’ve decided I CAN BE MY OWN THERAPIST JUST AS WELL! 

I’ve even done the “responsible” (please read: deluded) thing and doubled my Mirtazipine dose myself (with out having to waste my doctors time) to help me sleep again, although this doesn’t work so I start combining it with alcohol to knock myself out (this is also increasing)

I’M FINALLY MAKING UP FOR LOST TIME! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?!

I am depressed

I am more depressed than I have even been

I am not eating because I don’t so the point

It takes me an entire day to sit up right

I keep trying to work, but it’s poor, the stripped my hours back to nothing

I’ve been thinking of hurting myself to try and let the negative feelings out, but i settle for writing nasty thing about myself on my skin and hiding them under my clothes as a reminder that I am human garbage.

We can no longer afford our rent so we move in with my partners parents.

I go to the general practitioner near by she doesn’t want to write a mirtazipine script but does, she asks if I’m okay... I confess I had planned on killing myself a few night ago while visiting my father and his new family and that I only stopped myself because I couldn’t guarantee my three half siblings wouldn’t find my body and be traumatised. I confess I still want to hurt myself and that a feel I am a burden. She wan’t me to go to the hospital immediately but I talk her into a referral instead on the provisor i check in a week later.

At first i hide the for my partner but I confess what happened and i week later i’ve packed my bags and gone to the hospital.

It’s a mess, they ignore me, constantly forget my name, and take my medication away until they can confirm with my psychiatrist that i’m telling the truth. At first all I do is sleep

I don’t realised it but this stress triggers another hypomanic episode, and as I am clearly no longer depressed... they let me go. They don’t notice I’m on a power trip and intentionally making them uncomfortable by mentioning their mistakes in front of my family and laughing about it to my partner.

The goes on for another two week i’m increasingly annoyed by people telling me to pace myself “can’t they see i’m fine?”

Until I experience my first mixed episode. I have never been so scared of myself in my entire life

I’m completely unhinged. Even my partner with all the patience in world sits beside me as body is wracked by sobbing and says “maybe your right. maybe you’re not going to get better” a little part of me dies.

But I’m determined, I’ve spent to last few months actually taking care of myself for the first time in years. I’ve gotten back in contact with my psychiatrist and see hm once a week.

We had concluded I have some degree of Bipolarity and c-PTSD in addition to the ADHD and anxiety.

My mirtazipine has been increased again and Yesterday I’ve started taking Limotrigine and a mood stabilisers

I’ve begun a DBT course (which is part of a university trail to verify the affectivity).

I’ve started learning to embrace slow routine, monitoring my moods and have been drinking in all the possible information I can on my condition

This bring us to now.

I’m still a work in progress but I’ve come a long way and I’m already doing so much better than just 3 months ago. I have decided I will study Psychology like I’ve alway wanted. But I’m not rushing myself to be ready and I will do limit myself to three subjects at a time instead of the typical 4.

Until then my goal everyday is to do 4 simple things:

Ride my exercise bike for 30mins a day

Water my plants as I’ve started a small garden to ground me

Shower once a day

Always to my meds

So that’s an overly long overly intamate look at me... so how are you?

[o-blivia]

Depression in 10 easy steps Step 1. I remember coming home from work at 2 am and this wave of utter dejection hit me. “I don’t know how I’m gonna make it through the next two days.” The thought was like a lead weight sinking through my whole body. And then I went inside. Got high and played videogames until I could barely keep my eyes open. Step 2. I wake up again at around 5 am, having gotten barely an hour of sleep. My thoughts are racing and I can’t stop thinking about my life. Contemplating my future prospects makes me start to cry for the first time in years. Trapped in a job that will never pay me enough to live the kind of life I want. This isn’t what I want. I don’t know if I can keep living like this. I wake BatDan up and tell him that I’ll finally go to the hospital. He strokes my hair while I lie crying on his chest until I fall asleep. Step 3. At the ER, I’m asked repeatedly if I’m hearing voices or if I have a plan. To both, I answer no, but what I don’t manage to articulate is that it’s not so much a plan as a series of possibilities. I could take every pill in the house, but I don’t. Or I could throw myself into traffic, but I don’t. And that’s not a plan anymore than saying someday I’ll learn how to drive or knit a scarf. It’s just a thought you have to make yourself feel better before you get up and go about your life. The first psychiatrist I see is still a student. She is kind and compassionate while doing my assessment. Being similar in age to me, I think she understands where I’m coming from. She makes me feel like she’s really listening to me, at least. Her supervisor is a much older man who immediately, and awkwardly kicks BatDan out of the room, just to tell me that I don’t need to increase the dosage of my SSRI because all the pot I’ve been consuming is just making it ineffective. So I should just stop doing pot. And since all my stressors are related to work, I should consider quitting my job. Otherwise, no action needs to be taken. And then he says to me, “you look sad.” I say that I’m just tired, that I’m always tired. What I really mean is that I expected something to happen or be done to help me not want to kill myself anymore. Instead it feels like they’re sending me away empty-handed. So I stop going to work and go sober for two months. Step 4. A week after going to the ER, I have my yearly physical. My doctor doesn’t seem satisfied with the actions the ER Docs took with me. She ups my meds, orders blood work and faxes in a non-urgent referral for therapy to the CLSC. She says to call if I have trouble adjusting to the new dosage otherwise she’ll see me in six months. I’m out of her office in twenty minutes. Step 5. The process of a non-urgent referral starts with a phone call to figure out what kind of services are required and how urgently that care is needed. My call came about a week after seeing my doctor. This time it’s a man who calls at what would be a decent time for most people, but I’ve worked nights for the past decade and don’t keep decent hours. So I’m not awake enough to remember his name. He starts by asking me what my problems are and what I want to work on with a therapist. He listens for half a minute before telling me that the waiting list is very long for individual therapy, but I can do group counselling. At that exact moment, the prospect of talking about what’s causing my depression with a room full of strangers is too daunting so I decline. There are more follow-up questions and then says he doesn’t understand how therapy can help me with my problems. I don’t know how to describe that moment. It’s like everything goes still, or something in me just kinda turns off. This is pointless. The hope I felt when I decided to go to the ER, that something, anything is going to happen — that I’m finally going to get help in changing my life is snuffed out. He asks me if I just need someone to go through filling out job applications and putting my CV together with me. No, that is not what I need. Handholding isn’t going to resolve my anxiety or give me any sense of direction. I think at this point he can tell that I am becoming frustrated because he says to me that he isn’t judging me, just trying to understand what is going on, in a tone that clearly says he’d been told he has to say that. It’s insincere at best and obviously a lie. I desperately want to be off the phone with him. He follows up with trying to bully me into accepting group therapy by reminding me that otherwise the waiting list is over a year long and with private therapy, I’d have to pay for each session. I don’t have insurance. Then he asks what I would like to do? What would I like to do? What would I like to do? What would I like to do? What would I like to do? Just put me on the list and I’ll look into private therapy. It’s that or nothing. He hasn’t exactly done a good job of selling me on group. He goes through the usual preamble before hanging up, but I suspect he never adds my name to the waiting list. Step 6. Sleep forever. The frustration is hard to swallow and dejection doesn’t taste any better. It doesn’t matter that I don’t think my life is worth living or that I’ll never amount to anything more than this unwashed, bed-locked 29-year-old, too scared to apply for a new job. Step 7. Oversleeping isn’t cutting it anymore and BatDan complains that he misses his girlfriend, but all that momentum to make changes has fallen flat. You move through the house listlessly, full of a nerve-grinding restlessness. Nothing is appealing. Is sitting staring into space a good enough hobby? You go shopping with money you don’t have. That rush of pleasure from getting something new is fleeting and ultimately unsatisfying. You move on to spending hours and hours obsessively playing videogames like Minecraft and The Sims to simulate the feeling of being in control of your life. When the binging runs its course, your head clears and you start to feel like you want to do things again. Maybe you were just burnt out and all you needed was a few weeks of rest? You write down lists and plans and outlines; give yourself deadlines and set alarms to get up at a more reasonable hour —to see the sun for more than an hour or two. Tomorrow you’re going to get so much done. You go to bed early and lie awake until 4 am. When you do get to sleep, those alarms don’t wake you like they’re supposed to. It’s 3 pm by the time you drag yourself out of bed and make some coffee. Much too late in the day to really get anything done, especially when you’re too groggy to feel productive. So you go back to gaming and vow to try again tomorrow. That’s how you find yourself tidally locked between fits of manic organization to self-defeatism and apathy. You’re not being productive and you aren’t getting anything done. Everything takes so long to get done and you don’t have the attention to focus on anything for the length of time it takes to finish one project. This is getting you nowhere. Step 8. Step    9. S t e p     1 0. Depression is a marathon, not a sprint. There’s no overnight miracle fix. Some times I don’t know myself or know what it is that I’m feeling. And it’s hard to feel scared or upset by that when I’m numb. I don’t know where to go from here. I can’t see a future for the gaping maw of a void spooling out in front of me. What do you do when the people who are supposed to help you don’t? How do I fix this? I don’t have insurance, I just want to stop feeling like this. Someone hid the instructions on me.                                                                        This isn’t an ending, is it?

“depression in 10 easy steps” by olivia black

[asynca]

Hey asy I've had anxiety and depression for a few years now and was wondering if you had any thoughts on serotonin inhibitors? I want to try taking medication but my family wants me to look for other solutions since they think I'm still too young for medication (I'm 17). I've been taking cbd oil but it doesn't do anything for me.

I actually wrote a really long reply to this, and then my computer crashed before I posted it and I got frustrated and left it for a few days. Apologies about the delay!

EDIT: MY COMPUTER CRASHED AGAIN WHILE I WAS WRITING IT AGAIN UUUGGGHHH

OKAY. Okay, I’m good. Let’s go. 

From personal experience. anti-depressants (specifically selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) and serotonin and noradrenaline reuptake inhibitors (SNRIs) have changed my life. I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression since I was a teenager, and so periodically throughout my life I’ve taken them when things have been really tough for me. They always get me through that period and keep me functional so I can stay at work etc. 

From professional experience, as I work with a lot of people who have depression and other mental illness (gambling is very frequently associated with some level of depression), I see many, many clients do really well on them. 

SSRIs are not a ‘miracle cure’ for depression. You don’t pop them on Tuesday and then live life to the full on Wedneday. It takes 4-12 weeks for you to get the full affect of them usually and it’s a slow, gentle slide upwards from ‘I hate life’ to ‘I guess things are okay’. You don’t usually wake up in the morning and suddenly realise you’re deliriously happy. Instead, over time, the misery slowly fades. You don’t cry as much. You don’t get angry and frustrated as much. You realise things have been easier to manage lately and you’re kind of feeling better. You realise you feel less like a total failure and less lonely. 

Anti-depressants prep you for dealing with what’s triggered your depression in the first place. Do you feel trapped by your parents? Are you unhappy in your relationship? Do you have poor self-esteem because of how people treated you? Do you have past trauma you haven’t dealt with? On ADs, it’s easier to engage properly with therapy and address these issues. I don’t recommend ditching therapy just because you feel better - the issues are still there, you’ll do better in the long term by addressing them. 

In terms of cautions about anti-depressants, they do give young people the energy and motivation to suicide BEFORE their anti-depressant affect has kicked in properly, so if you’re suicidal, make sure you have someone aware of you and helping you during the 4-12 week period you start taking them. 

Furthermore, the 2-4 weeks you’re getting used to them, you feel weird. You might feel nauseous and tired, your head my spin. Your  mouth might be dry and you might yawn a lot. This is completely normal, and for most people does not persist. It goes away. 

Likewise, when you stop taking them, you get that head-spinning nausea again sometimes, and ‘brain zaps’ which are a weird sensation (not painful) where it feels like someone is running a buzzing electrical current through your brain occasionally. You can minimise these by tapering off the drug slowly. 

Sometimes, the first anti-depressant you take doesn’t work as well as it should. Or, the side-effects are not tolerable for you (for example, low libido or problems orgasming is a common long term issue on some SSRIs, or maybe you’ve lost or gained too much weight on a particular med). You may need to switch to another SSRI. 

It’s a process, being medicated for depression. Your drugs may be revised from time to time. You may switch drugs from time to time. You may have drugs added or removed to your regime (I’m on two meds at the moment, for example). You will probably go on and off them for your entire life - and that’s absolutely fine. I’ve been doing this for 20 years, and it’s ensured I remain as healthy as is reasonable for me to expect to be and functional.

Serotonergic anti-depressants appear to be very safe - the first one hit the market in 1987 - 30 years ago - and all we’ve come up with so far is ‘may slightly increase the chance of type 2 diabetes’. There has been some evidence that they may shorten synapses in brain neurons, but it’s not particularly strong. 

Millions upon millions of people take anti-depressants daily. Aside from drugs like tylenol or aspirin, there’s hardly a more tested drug. The safety profile is pretty damn good, even if we don’t really know why they work. 

Look, I don’t know why my car works either, but it does, so I’m pretty happy to drive around in it :3

If you’re considering taking serotonergic antidepressants, speak with your doctor. They’re a good, typically safe and reliable starting point for managing depression. 

[saynotoselfdiagnosis-blog]

How self-diagnosis can be harmful.

When I was 16 years old, I diagnosed myself with schizoid personality disorder.

I had every symptom in the DSM-IV. I didn’t have access to a lot of other resources, but I devoured what I could find. I read my way through my library’s holdings on personality disorders. I read every website about schizoid personality disorder I could find. I went to my local university and found articles in journals with the help of my 18-year-old sister. It all lined up for me--I had this disorder.

Well. Maybe not.

A professor of medicine in Maryland once instructed his students, “If you hear hoofbeats, think of horses, not zebras.” What this means is that if you see a set of symptoms, think of the most common cause first. Could it be a zebra? Sure. But it’s more likely it’s a horse, so that’s where you go first.

Depression and schizoid personality disorder can both, it turns out, cause emotional blunting, disinterest in other people, indifference to praise and criticism, and lack of pleasure in activities.  But in my case, the symptoms I had were caused by severe untreated major depressive disorder plus PTSD, something I didn’t find out until I was  28 years old. 

I know, I know. That’s all well and good. But what’s the harm in self-diagnosis? Yeah, at 16 I had myself pegged with the wrong label, but it wasn’t actually harmful, right?

Wrong.

As it turns out, the treatment for major depression and schizoid personality disorder are different. First line treatment for depression is meds, usually SSRIs or SNRIs. First line treatment for schizoid personality disorder is therapy. And even with therapy, the success rates for schizoid personality disorder aren’t great. So at 16, convinced I had schizoid personality disorder, I decided that trying to treat it was pointless. Personality disorders are treatment resistant. My family was too poor to put me through years of therapy. There was no point in trying.

I suffered for another twelve years because I thought I was hopeless.

Granted at 16, I didn’t have a great understanding of mental health treatments. Still. I decided getting treatment was pointless because schizoid personality disorder was “untreatable.” I decided that treatment was pointless and things. just. got. worse.

Until I got to grad school at age 28. And I just fell apart completely. Finally, I did something that seemed beyond stupid, but I knew I couldn’t keep going like I was. I went to my school’s counseling center. I knew it was pointless, but I was literally on the verge of killing myself. I couldn’t go on.

I got an appointment with the psychiatrist, and I described my symptoms to her. The symptoms which, to me, pointed straight at a diagnosis of schizoid personality disorder. I waited to hear the verdict.

And without any hesitation whatsoever, the psychiatrist put me on Effexor.

Her diagnosis? Major depressive disorder.

Sure, it wasn’t the only thing going on--it’s taken another two years of treatment to get me on a cocktail of meds that addresses all my symptoms. And I’ve been in therapy for two years as well. But one thing that became abundantly clear almost from the beginning is that I do not have schizoid personality disorder. I was just really, really depressed.

So that’s why I always side-eye self-diagnosis. Maybe you’re right, maybe you have everything you diagnosed yourself with. But maybe you’re seeing zebras instead of horses. And maybe your self-diagnosis will do you more harm that good. 

Coming up in later posts: Self-diagnosis from a medical professional’s perspective, why mental healthcare is more accessible than you think.