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thedandelionresistance · 3 days ago

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Adding on that ADHD is pretty commonly comorbid with autism and schizophrenia (actually, if not for the stigma, schizophrenia might be considered as well in the theory that autism and ADHD are two components of an even wider overarching disorder, given the similarities in how it affects social functioning, language, and cognitive and executive function).

The three together are a KILLER combo for executive dysfunction. Add on complex trauma and...

Doctors hear one of those three diagnoses out of the three of them and immediately go, "We could harm you with treatment. We'll either withhold it or go super slow, if your psychosis gets any stronger whatsoever we'll force you onto antipsychotics or refuse to keep prescribing, and may even incarcerate you."

Never mind that I have complex trauma from decades of unmedicated executive dysfunction as I slowly went from being able to at least use maladaptive coping mechanism to struggle through, to explosive burnout and suicidal depression (that was always blamed on a "fault" with my brain but never the right one, and never the abuse nor the conditions that the psychologists themselves created by refusing to treat or often even acknowledge the actual issue, even before the onset of the schizophrenia).

I might more strongly believe that I'm a changeling or that my dolls and plushies and household objects all love me or at worst that the shadow people that flee in the presence of a *nightlight* might make me slightly nervous even with the nightlight or that I might have to remind myself that my parents are not secretly recording me because they have no reason to because for that one, I can effectively reality check myself just fine. Never mind that I might have to say "that is not a reality I live in" twice a month instead of once about the distressing stuff, when not ONCE has any med triggered my psychosis in any noticeable way.

Instead of focusing on how the trio plus complex trauma absolutely kneecaps my executive functioning so my brain has been slowly seceding from my body, filling up with stinging bees that choke out all the air and fill my lungs until they burst out into my chest and the rest of my body; that it has come to causing me actual physical pain - not shortness of breath or chest tightness really, just pain, everywhere, with a silent buzzing that never quiets while I'm still so chronically understimulated that the gnawing hunger never stops and standing under the loudest part of a fire alarm to the point even the high pitched piercing resounds in the deepest part of my chest feels like relief-

That's all metaphor (aside from the clearly grounded literal parts) by the way. Not detachment from reality.

I have slowly been caged by my own ribs, cut off from my supply of dopamine as it ran dry and paralysis crept up my nerves so that a former National Merit Scholar who was going to "do great things" nearly drowned in the bath from catatonia and learnt how to avoid being choked out by a cop for not being able to choke out the right words in the right order. Cognitive functioning, executive functioning - fancy words for the ability to move, to speak, to meet an extrovert's significant need for social interaction during the periods when social interactions inspire feelings from dread to irritability to a kind of misophonia (which I also have on a literal level) of internally hearing someone else's mind and heart, of the ability to interpret the world into meaningful brain data and react to it in the way I want, to be able to want-

Where the periods where the cognitive and negative symptoms recede and psychosis flows in to take its place are relative relief. I still can't move but I can lose myself wandering my mind and thousands of other places not bounded by the constraints of sanity, where with the support I otherwise need anyway I can get my material needs met (or at least, those I'm allowed to receive enough support for by my insurance, which is a material issue in consensus reality). I get to feel like my consciousness is expanding to become one with everything, spread a bit too thin to understand it all but I can choose places to explore understanding and maybe write a beautiful bit in a discord chat with friends about liminality that people I trust say is meaningful, if occasionally a bit over their head in a college physics lecture kind of way (if you see this, thank you, that was very sweet). I get to be blood, pushed to every extremity of existence, before I am sucked back into the heart, in the dark until the next beat.

For what? To paternalistically "protect" us from ourselves, too crazy to see that we'll just hurt ourselves if we're allowed near Big Dangerous Druggos, kiddo, you can't possibly be trusted with the insight to keep yourself safe because no one discloses to us when the psychosis might be becoming a threat or reacts "rationally" when they try to "address" it when it is disclosed - yeah, why might someone tell a helicopter full of machine-gun-wielding hunters that they're worried about a potential lycanthropy* exposure when they've seen the shattered corpses of wolves after the blades' unfeeling mechanical heartbeat receded?

*metaphorical in this case, but some of our delusions involve "clinical lycanthropy" or similar

To be clear, OP, if you want us to make this it's own post (or remove some of the bitterness and rage and terror and sheer luck that we've avoided official diagnosis so far, and just focus on the intersection of the 3/4 things) feel free, we will take it softly and respond kindly.

It's just - we have a complicated relationship with psychiatry and psychiatric trauma, but no matter your relationship with it, what psychiatry and neurology and even fields like gastroenterology and immunology don't yet understand about these things could fill books, and slowly, as veins of understanding are mined out of shafts dug into ignorance, it is filling books. Books and books and books and yet still, the narrative is not quite our own, twisted even with the best of intentions into mild condescension at best and literal imprisonment, literal torture, and death at worst.

I'm not here to attack psych as a field - this isn't even me trying to appeal to people who are moderate or favorable to it as someone who has incredibly complex feelings about it, it's literally just not what I'm here to say.

But I've been thinking so much lately about how no one knows about schizophrenic joy because the people with the cameras have done a close zoom shot fixed only on the tragedy, about how ADHD is often reduced to practically asymptomatic quirkiness and all claims of actual disability dismissed out of hand by anyone and everyone (even the disabled community - I was called an abled attention-seeking invader for talking about how when the control center of your physical body is lit aflame, that can physically bar you access as much as any lack of ramp. I am a barely ambulatory wheelchair user who was housebound from lack of a power chair and often bedbound from a mix of my physical illnesses and medical neglect at the time, with potentially life-threatening nutrient deficiencies only rivaled by my potentially life-threatening reactions to all but oat flour, clean water, and on good days, a little bit of sugar and baking soda. I even lost rice and chicken, the gold standard for my condition. It's unclear if I'll ever get the latter back, as it may even be for reasons as-yet-undiagnosed.

I'm saying this not as a critique, but to celebrate things your thesis. To celebrate our voices ringing out to tell the world our stories. Quite frankly, I think it is a victory wherever it occurs, no matter my complex thoughts towards any field of medicine. (I have many, because I am a believer in science in all its fallible and human-biasable glory, and want to stitch up the wounds left by bias and science-as-gospel as a doctor myself someday.)

Sorry, rambling. Point is mostly just: I'm glad we're talking about this. I'm glad we're finally keening our pain and rage and fear and channeling it into further knowing our own selves - especially in ways that can help amplify our voices and uplift our communities, which I think this is. I've spent years feeling like I've been screaming into the void of a vacuum, only to finally hear sound.

Quite frankly, I could mutter about my thoughts on ADHD being a protogenic and potentially structural neurological phenomenon on the same way as schizophrenia and ADHD, especially given its suspected genetic component, and that I think the paper may be reversing the direction of causality when it comes to especially complex trauma in childhood and neurodivergence, but there's time enough for all that later.

I guess I just... need a moment of hope and joy and above all, community, sharing the highs and the lows of having these wilful, unruly, and stubborn brains.

ADHD is so debilitating and it isn’t talked about enough. Imagine your body doesn’t produce enough of the most essential neurotransmitter. You are constantly seeking this neurotransmitter through any way possible, and it’s why you get addicted to doing things or focusing so heavily on something you forget to meet every single basic need.

You sit there and question what the fuck is wrong with you because it was so easy to study yet you just didn’t do it. It was so easy to do the things you stopped doing but you literally can’t do them.

Like wtf do you fucking mean I was born with a chemical imbalance that makes me incapable of getting up??? Wtf do you mean I have to take stimulants to counteract crippling ADHD symptoms, and then those stimulants actually just make me like everyone else????

Dude. What the fuck.

#what is the brain a stallion? I say knowing full well I picked those adjectives for that vibe #I have horse brain y'all yeehaw #<-okay shutting it down we're going to bed folks #move it along nothing to see here #Rusanya don't look

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the-cookie-of-doom · 1 year ago

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Little bit of trans!Kim smut to start the new year <3

“Are you sure about this?” Chay asks. He’s sweet, all big brown eyes and unsure little smile, like he doesn’t have his hand halfway down Kim’s pants.

Kim, splayed out beneath Chay on the couch with one leg hitched up around his waist and both arms around his shoulders, drags him into a kiss. It’s enough of an answer that it makes Chay shudder. He dips his hand lower, until his fingers brush the gathering wetness between Kim’s legs.

“Oh, P’Kim,” he whispers. “Can I—”

“Yes.” Kim cants his hips up, letting his head fall back onto the cushions when Chay lightly, so lightly brushes against his clit. It’s a heady, torturous feeling. He pushes on Chay’s hand, guides him lower. “C’mon,” he urges. Chay bites his lip as he slides one finger into him.

“Wow, you’re—you’re really wet, P’Kim.”

“Mhmm.” He is so unbelievably turned on, and Chay is so shy, kind of just… sitting there, knuckle-deep in Kim’s cunt. He tries thrusting in and out a few times, but the angle is awkward. It can’t be good for his wrist. Kim shimmies his pants down his thighs—and the action lets him grind against Chay’s hand, too, pleasure licking up his spine—then nudges Chay into action. “Don’t be shy, you’re not going to hurt me.”

“Are you sure? It’s—you’re so tight.” Chay sounds delightfully bewildered. Kim wants to throw him down and ride him so bad. Patience, though.

“I promise,” Kim tells him, smiling, because really, Chay is too good for him, and Kim doesn’t know how he got this lucky. “I’ll tell you if you do. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Chay settles into his space between Kim’s legs. He pumps a finger inside him a few times, still looking overwhelmed, like he’s the one getting fucked, then takes Kim’s cue to add a second. Kim sighs as it slides into him; it’s tighter than he was with just one, pulling at his walls. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it’s a delicious little strain. He doesn’t do this often. Prefers to abuse his clit for the fast orgasms when he wants to get off. But he wants Chay inside him, and that’s something he’ll need to warm up to first.

“Is this okay, P’Kim?”

“Curl your fingers a little bit when you pull them out—yeah, like that, so good,” Kim murmurs. Warm pleasure coils in his belly. He flexes into Chay’s hand, grinding against him, encouraging. “Do that again.”

Chay does. Happy for the direction, he smooths his fingers back in, nice and flat, and curls them as he drags them back out, scraping against that rough palate that makes Kim’s blood pulse.

“P’Kim, can I…”

“Hm?”

“I want—I want to kiss you?” He sinks his fingers in deep and skims his thumb over Kim’s sensitive clit. “Here. If that’s okay?”

“Yes.”

Chay melts onto the floor. Kim kicks off his shoes so that Chay can strip his pants and boxers the rest of the way off his legs, which are then spread around Chay’s shoulders. Chay settles between them like he belongs, like the space was made for him—Kim really doesn’t want to ever let him leave.

Chay is just as slow and sweet here as he has been all night, laying distracted kisses along Kim’s inner thigh as he stares, right at the core of him. Kim would be self-conscious if Chay didn’t look like he was having some kind of religious experience.

Instead he threads his fingers into Chay’s air and gives it a little tug. It’s all the encouragement Chay needs to lean in and press his mouth against Kim, a soft little kitten lick between his folds that makes Kim shudder.

“Oh,” Chay whispers. “You taste so sweet, P’Kim.” Chay is going to kill him, Kim thinks. Thankfully the boy stops talking, then, turning his attention instead to ravishing him. He slides his hands up Kim’s thighs to spread him open with his thumbs, allowing his tongue to delve inside where he’s hot and wet and aching with need.

#cookie writes #kimchay #this is part of the first chapter of my attic wife fic lol #before Kim gets attic wife'd #just having a very nice time with his sweet new boyfriend #no angst here nothing to see move along now #(Chay isn't the one that does the attic wifing btw dw)

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