#need to reduce my hours at work NEED TO GET A FUCKING DIAGNOSIS need to learn to live with this fucking capitalist hellscape

[mayjeffneverstopyou]

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[kindaspooky-gemini]

TRIGGER WARNING

Eating disorder recovery

THE THINGS THEY DONT TELL YOU.

- EXTREMELY LOW POTASSIUM CAN BE A RESULT OF CONSTANT VOMITING/PURGING - this causes muscle contortions resulting in loss of hand function, feet function and in some cases like mine, loss of function of your mouth/jaw/face - this lasts for HOURS AT A TIME.

- if you a female suffering with ED you most likely ( NOT ALWAYS, AND SOME MEN TOO BUT MORE COMMONLY IN NEURODIVERGENT MISDIAGNOSED FEMALES) have a dual diagnosis and the ED is a symptom of one of your disorders that isn’t getting the right attention.

- When you finally digested your first small meal in 2 and a half years and instead of feeling proud you gotta spend 24 hours awake crippled in pain in the bathroom because your digestive system has no idea how to start working again.

- How it feels ten times worse purging a meal that you have actually half digested and have tried so hard to keep down that as soon as you smell any other food you are reduced to gagging and can’t be taken normal places

- Crying over bloating and covering all the mirrors in the house and hating yourself because YOU DONT WANT TO DIE FROM THIS DISEASE but watching yourself double in size Infront of your eyes is so triggering you cant be left on your own otherwise you’ll purge to the point where you can’t move

- self harming whenever you make any progress because progress means gaining weight and that means you deserve to be punished

-being reduced to tears every time you use the toilet because you have made yourself bleed because your body hasn’t functioned the way it’s supposed to for so long, it’s gotten used to not having normal bodily functions

- the feeling of self loathing that comes with watching the person you love/people who support you deal with your bodily fluids due to needed physical assistance and having to not internalise that so you don’t hate yourself even more

- hearing the heartache in your mums voice when she cries and begs you to get better

- the horrendous taste you get in your mouth when your body starts breaking down food for the first time in 2 and a half years

- MY HAIR IS FALLING OUT.

- the lack of sleep just from how fucking boney you are and even when you do get comfortable you get pressure sores from your bones sticking out in places like hips, shoulders, knees etc

- feeling like giving up because you can’t remember what being healthy even is anymore but your so scared of dying that you have to agree to anything that might possibly make you better

PLEASE SEEK HELP IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU LOVE SHOWS THE EARLY SIGNS OF DISORDERED EATING OR AN EATING DISORDER - this could include restrictions, calorie counting, replaces meals with exercise, laxatives, recreational drugs etc.

Being skinny is not worth dying over, I realise this now ❤️

Recovery is hard ❤️ But I don’t want to die from this ❤️

[mischiefisme-amess]

Okay you know fucking what. I am so goddamn done with the mental health system rn and I cannot even begin to express how annoyed I am. No wait. Yes I fucking can. I probably already complained about this when it actually happened, but the results are upon me and I can't be bothered to try and find the fucking post I made.

So everyone and their mum has at this point heard the "Don't wait until your mental health deteriorates, get help the moment you know something is wrong!"- thing yelled from the bloody rooftops. And that's what I did. I did that, okay? I tried to get help. I went to my school psych like the good little bastard I am, for unrelated reasons at first which amounted to my teacher being a bitch, but I went anyway.

And in addition to getting the pardon from doing presentations that my teacher required, I mentioned my other problems. Like oh yea, there's autism in my family and also I don't feel real like half of the time :)))).

I cannot put all the blame on the psych, I think she did try. But what I didn't know then, is that I am a quite heavily masking person, as is common for afab people. I basically accidentally made her think all was okay automatically, while desperately trying to get help. And then there was like 3/4 year period where I did not know how to unmask at all I was trying to go through the diagnosis. Luckily, I got transferred to youth department of the mental health system. Lucky me.

I was trying to get help because I was getting more and more tired all the time to the point I skipped WEEKS worth of school at a time because I was so tired. I had to leave almost every class "to go to the bathroom", because I kept getting too overwhelmed and then dissociated. I told these professionals this, and they just gave me a sympathetic smile and told me it sucks and then gave me like a slip that lets me leave class to calm down if I want to and use headphones to not get overstimulated. I told them I have to swing for atleast an hour every day just daydreaming, or I'll feel horrible. They just went "well that's totally fine :D". NO IT ISN'T? I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR HOMEWORK?

Then they asked me what I wanted out of the diagnosis. I went "idk what I can get, I guess I just want to know if I have autism or if there's something else wrong with me?". What I needed was help with pretty fucking obvious incoming burnout, but I didn't know how to put that to words well enough I guess. I told them what was happening and guess what they fucking told me? GUESS. FUCKING. WHAT. They told me there are people who need help more than me and that I'm not getting a diagnosis because confirming it takes resources away from people who need help more than me.

...

They said that to my face. In my native tongue of course, but that is what they said. oh...

(That totally didn't make me cry for like 30min at my appointment in front of the psych. Totally didn't make me feel completely humiliated. Totally didn't make me feel like I was just seeking attention.)

I was trying to stop myself from burning out and they told me others have it worse. And then they first reduced my meetings. And then I aged out from the youth department and had to go back to my school psych. It was a different one now, actually changed again once. Now I had like a vague idea of how everything worked. I tried being more open and I tried so fucking hard to tell them what was going on. One of them said I should call a health center to try and kick up the diagnosis thing again. Cool okay yeah. Problem: calls are the one thing that makes me almost as uncomfortable as holding presentations.

It's been over half a year. I graduated. I'm so dissociated it makes me feel dizzy, my head hurt and my vision blurr. I daydream hours at a day, every chance I get I'm either engaging in an activity, or actively daydreaming. The second I stop doing something I'm just gone.

Fucking thanks a lot.

I really should call, but I can't bring myself to do it.

great.

[thessalian]

Thess vs the Bank of England

So the Bank of England has now literally said, “Britons need to accept that they are poorer now”. Now, in very small fairness to them, they have stated that this means that companies should not be jacking up the prices on everything in order to maintain their profit margins. However, it’s also being used to beat the drum of, “Stop asking for wage increases”, and it’s flagged up that a lot of the main companies found that higher prices boosted their sales revenue this year and we’re looking at nearly 20% on food inflation. That’s not even counting the bullshit with the energy companies.

Keep in mind that this statement came from the Bank of England, who is run by a man who makes nearly £500k per year. Said governor, Andrew Bailey, was the first one to say that we have to stop asking for pay rises. The chief economist, Huw Pill, makes nearly £200k per year.

Median salary for people in the UK? £32,300.

So the words, “Easy for them to say” ring rather loudly.

Now, if they were explicitly saying, “Look, companies cannot stunt their staff’s wages to increase their profit margins this way because you will end up with no one being able to buy anything and everyone loses, so suck up the reduced profit margins, for fuck’s sake”, that would be one thing. But of course, that’s not how the economy works anymore. All that matters is that the numbers are higher than last year. There’s nothing backing this money ... except other people’s hard work. And companies are abusing the fact that no one really seems to understand this ... or, if they do, are called socialists or communists or worse if they call it out.

The fact is that people’s labour hasn’t been valued properly in a very long time, because corporations have been devaluing it for decades. We’re more productive than ever, and we have less and less to show for it. We deserve pay rises more than these ultra-wealthy jackasses need a new boat. And people on six-figure salaries have a fucking nerve telling people who are barely surviving (if they are indeed doing that well) that “you have to get used to being poorer now”. Those people this shithead’s talking about? They were already used to being poor. And no one should have to get used to being fucking destitute.

I own my privilege in that my mother took full advantage of every opportunity to get financially ahead in the 80s and 90s and is now reaping the benefits, and is at least understanding enough of current circumstances to help me. I’d be boned if I didn’t have that financial safety net. I mean it - I could not manage. Even with that, there’s a reason I took more hours at work, that reason being I can’t really afford not to. I want and need to manage on my own as much as possible, but it’s difficult because, you know, disabled. The extra five hours a week were a mistake. I am already feeling how much of a mistake that was. But I haven’t really got a choice, so I’m just going to have to spend some of that lovely extra money on painkillers and carry on. Because it’s only going to get worse from here.

So ... yeah. Here’s me, with my fibromyalgia and my dietary restrictions and all of it making life difficult financially. If I had to pay rent, I’d ... I just wouldn’t be able to. If I can barely manage a six-hour workday when I don’t even have to commute, I can’t imagine a standard workday. (I’d say 9-5, but I don’t know if that’s even standard anymore; somehow it feels overly generous for the world today.) Add a commute into the equation on top of that? I remember how it was before I went on long-term sick leave to pursue a diagnosis on all this; how I ended up spending almost half my day near or in tears from the pain. And I think how lucky I am, because without support, I’d still be doing that, and I wouldn’t be living in half as nice a place. And even with that, I’m still pushing myself harder than I should to manage all the stuff that isn’t rent.

And these jackasses with their six-figure salaries are telling people like me - and more to the point, those who are worse off than I am - that they have to get used to being even poorer?

Part of this is being hangry, I admit. Dinner’s in the oven, and tomorrow’s online grocery shopping day, and I am going to arrange my purchases so I have the fixings for quick lunches that I can eat at the “employment” side of my desk. And then I will get in the habit of actually bringing those to my desk first thing so I don’t forget while in The Zone. Anyway, part of this is hangry, but most of it is just ... there’s not even a word for what it feels like to live in this country anymore. There’s anger and there’s sadness and there’s blind panic and creeping terror and this miserable resignation and ... it’s all bad, put it that way.

At least I will feel better after I’ve eaten. I’m just tired of having to feel this fortunate to be eating at all. It’s more than a lot of the people who’ve been told to “just accept that you’re poorer and stop asking for a raise” can do today.

[cakesexuality]

Psychiatrist appointment kept getting rebooked on both our ends and was cutting close to the 6-month mark (when I'd be officially considered discharged if I didn't come back) but it finally happened yesterday

Last time I saw him, he said my main problem was psychosis, which is true and that probably was my biggest problem at that point

This time, he said he doesn't think I have psychosis at all

I asked if we could try a depot, because I'm having issues taking my meds as part of my relapse and a depot would make it a little bit easier

He says he can't do that because I don't have a diagnosis for something an antipsychotic would be used for

I have a diagnosis for something that an antipsychotic would be used for and have had this diagnosis for the last 9 years

I ask why I need a diagnosis of something specific in order to receive a depot

He tells me "I need to tell them why you're taking it"

Who the fuck is "them"?

He wants to increase my Seroquel to 100mg

Even 75mg of Seroquel is too much for me to take on a daily basis and I have to cycle my dose throughout the week between 75mg and 50mg

He wants to change my antidepressant from Wellbutrin to Prozac

I give him the heads-up that Wellbutrin doesn't do anything for my MDD but works for my ADHD, so taking me off it would leave my ADHD unmedicated, but this doesn't seem to bother him

I've taken other antidepressants similar to Prozac in the past and they didn't do anything for my anxiety, sometimes made my anxiety worse, usually didn't do anything for my depression, and were not worth the stuff that would happen to me like hair loss, hallucinations, rapid mood swings, dissociation, etc., but this is fine to him

He wants to give me the liquid form of Prozac because it's easier to control the dose, but oral suspensions have been the hardest medications for me to take right now and I'd fare better with a pill

I just finished taking 28 doses of a liquid medication in 7 days, please give me time to breathe before starting a new one

He wants to change my antidepressant because I'm in a bit of a relapse and one of the potential side effects of Wellbutrin is reduced appetite

One of the potential side effects of Prozac is reduced appetite

The increased hunger caused by my Seroquel outweighs any possible reduced hunger from my Wellbutrin

He says my main issue right now is anxiety and that's another reason why he wants me on Prozac

I ask him what had led him to say anxiety is my main problem so I can clear up any possible misunderstandings, since I don't feel like that's my main issue at the moment and I don't know what I've said or done to make him believe that

He says "Because that's my opinion"

I ask if it's my body language, my tone of voice, my word choices, etc. leading him to that conclusion

He says "None of those things"

I ask, if not one of the things I listed, what else could it be?

He says "Because that's the impression I get"

I ask why he gets that impression

He says "I just do"

I can see that he apparently gives prescriptions based on vibes rather than actual symptoms

After going around in that conversational loop at least 5 times, I say "Okay" and disconnect the video call

I talk to a social worker at CMHA who doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about when he says I need a diagnosis to get a depot and she convinces me to reconsider whether I want to give up on this doctor already

I call his receptionist the next day and she says that he meant he would need to tell my diagnosis to the drug manufacturer

The receptionist also says I'm already officially discharged less than 24 hours after speaking to him, so I guess the decision of whether to go back has already been made for me

I talk to a nurse at CMHA, a pharmacist at my pharmacy, and a receptionist at my GP's office, and none of them know why he would have to tell my diagnosis to the manufacturer

[the1975attheirverybest]

anon with all the symptoms here, I live in a country where typically children will be diagnosed while grown ups are told that they are attention seeking and it is more difficult to get a diagnosis. As to how much it impacts my daily life? I guess Ive been running on about 4-5 hours of sleep for 3 weeks, but as soon as my head hits pillow I need to read something to get myself to be sleepy (or craft some crazy scenario, sometimes I will listen to music and pretend I am in a concert)

it is definitely in this sphere of 'it affects me but i am still alive even if tired sooooo' 💀😭 like the bar is on the floor

it means a lot to just be recognized and know other people deal with things like that. it's difficult explaining away bruises I give myself without even knowing while I write, or watch a movie, or read a book

Oh my god I totally feel you 100% I do ALL of these things every day. Partly where the fanfics come from lmaooo. Like, I know you’re supposed to reduce screen time before bed etc. so I reach for a book instead. But then even after I’m done reading for the night and I turn my lights off and all that, my brain still can’t shut the fuck up and he still. I have to reach for my phone and scroll (which is the opposite of the point lol) or like tell myself a long elaborate story. Or play a podcast or something.

I’m really, really sorry that you don’t have access to immediate help. But if you’re ever able to locate a psychiatrist, it’s definitely worth it.

Is this something that you’ve always done, or has it started over the past 3 weeks? (I’m asking cuz it might be helpful info? Cuz I’ve ALWAYS had those symptoms even as a kid. But I don’t know if there are cases where it’s triggered later, or not?) like did something stressful happen in your daily life that might be on your mind or is this totally random?

Maybe, in the meantime, you can at least try to manage the symptoms? Like maybe go for a walk before bedtime to tire yourself out, or have bandaids on hand? Personally, the band aid thing never worked for me because I would just bite on it or scratch my way through it anyway lmaoooo. But some people like it. I’m so so sorry, babe. You’re doing great by reaching out for help and shaking off the stigma. That, in itself, is awesome. I know it’s not worth much, and ideally, you’d be able to get to a professional, but just know that you’re doing amazing 💗

[rosy-wooyoung]

He needs someone | Park Seonghwa

Words count: 3.3k whoops Pairing: kindergarten teacher! reader x police officer!, single dad! Seonghwa Genre: F L U F F and a squint of angst once A/N: I tried my best, it’s a concept I had in mind for a while and I’m glad I managed to write something :’) I’m sorry in advance if you notice mistakes, English isn’t my first language but at least I tried, right? The gif isn’t mine as usual, all the credits go to the talented creator :)

The first day of the week was coming to an end and you were happy. You loved your job, really, it was a real pleasure to get up in the morning and take care of adorable children your students. They were nice, polite, you had to raise your voice from time to time for the order to come back, but it was rare. However, the past few days were more of a chore than a pleasure, because you were worried about one student in particular. His name was Haneul. He was a 5-year old boy full of energy, kindness and the politest of all your students. Already at his age, he was altruistic, always ready to play with others or help you tidy up things that weren't necessarily his. Despite his good attitude and politeness, you noticed that he was missing something, but you couldn't put your finger on it. Until one afternoon, when you left school, it struck you.

He was one of the few students who didn't have two parents. Yes, some had two mothers or two dads, or their divorced parents came to pick them up each in turn, but for Haneul, everything seemed different. It was always his father who came to pick him up or his grandmother, but it was very rare. You were beginning to question yourself, wondering if Haneul had a mother or other relative that took care of him except for his father. Perhaps his mother was seriously ill, or even dead. You had noticed several times where Haneul was in a bad mood, especially when you asked your students what they had done during the weekend. It was a ritual that you did every Monday morning and many children were talking about their parents. Haneul was always silent during these kinds of moments. Unable to give special treatment, you also asked him questions, especially about the toy cars he loved to take to school, and you tried to get him to talk about his father most of the time. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable or cry in front of the other students, so you carefully avoided the mom's subject.

You were in the school playground, chatting with another teacher to look after the children who were waiting for their parents. It was rush hour, everyone was out of work and the traffic was very heavy, which caused most of the delays for parents. When you noticed Haneul’s father, you excused yourself to your colleague, took the boy’s little hand and walked towards the man. You couldn't lie, his father is a charismatic man. Whenever he entered the yard, single mothers - and sometimes even some married women, in the presence of their husbands - stared at him. He exuded a certain class and a form of serenity which reassured everyone. Maybe it was his uniform that provided that kind of emotion. Yes, his father was a policeman. You have seen him repeatedly patrolling the city or your neighbourhood, even sometimes waiting for his son in his car. At first glance, his life seemed to be devoted to bringing order within the city, but really, it revolved solely around his son. His serious and distant mask fell every time his son ran into his arms or showed him a craft he did in class. He was also one of the few parents who wrote you a kind note for Christmas to thank you for your hard work and it touched you.

When you reached Haneul's father with him, a veil of concern crossed the eyes of the man standing in front of you. He seemed worried and had walked much less assuredly than the other times that you had seen him. "Good evening ma'am. Thanks for calling me. Has Haneul not behaved well?" He questioned as his son, oblivious to the situation, jumped into his arms, kissing his dad’s cheek. "No, your son is a remarkable little boy, full of goodwill and very polite, but there is a delicate subject that concerns him which I would like to talk with you if you would like." The policeman looked at his son and put him on the ground before nodding. "Haneul," he said, crouching down next to his son, "will you play with your friends for a while? I need to speak with your teacher for a few minutes, it won't be long, okay?" Haneul nodded without hesitation and left to replay with his friends, running towards them. "I'm listening," his voice was hesitant, but he tried to keep a neutral expression. "First, I want to tell you that you don't have to answer or take into account what I'm going to tell you, and this is by no means a psychological diagnosis, just an observation me, his teacher." He nodded, a sign for you to continue. "Well, I have a tradition every Monday morning of asking certain students to tell us about their weekend, it's mainly to encourage them to speak in front of others, but the more this discussion advances in the morning, the more I see your child withdrawing into himself, sometimes he's even on the verge of tears when one of his classmates mentions their mother."

The policeman didn't seem shocked by your statement, but your words didn't leave him indifferent. He said nothing but looked behind you, carefully avoiding your gaze. "I don't want to interfere in your private life, but I have always wondered if Haneul had another parental figure beside you because he looks like he wants one…" He sighed as your voice trailed. "But aside from this little detail, Haneul is a golden child, he's always ready to stop arguments or help me tidy up, his education is remarkable, it's also something I wanted to tell you." You were trying to save yourself from embarrassment, given his lack of reaction, and his smile returned when you complimented his son, but it was not as warm as usual. You knew that you had touched a sensitive point and you had decided to cut short the discussion to not make it more uncomfortable. He already seemed pained enough like that, so you motioned for Haneul to come back to his father. "I'm sorry officer, but I have a few more things to do in class, I wish you a very good evening." You smiled at him and he greeted you with a brief whim and an almost inaudible "thank you".

By putting away the last chairs, you deeply regretted your words. It was none of your business, but Haneul's situation gave your heart a twinge. You were thinking of a softer way to approach the subject again, but you could not find any other solution. You didn't sleep much that night, bitterly regretting the discussion.

What did you have to pry in things that were none of your business?

The two days following this discussion were painful because the policeman did not come to pick up Haneul, it was his grandmother. You were almost ready to ask Haneul for his address to go and apologize to his father. Thursday afternoon was finally the day he decided to reappear. When you saw him again, you rushed inside, leaving your colleague alone in the school playground. You pretended to put the tables and chairs back in their place if he looked through the windows. Wanting to give him enough time to leave, you filled the kettle with water and heated it on its base. "Can I speak to you?" A throat clears which startled you, almost making you drop the kettle. You turned around and found the policeman in the doorway. He was not wearing his uniform, but his aura of authority and confidence was still there. "Yes, but I-" "No, don't apologize." "Please, let me. I wanted to apologize, I got involved in things that were none of my business. I was so mad at myself that I haven't slept well for the last few days." "Yes, Haneul told me you weren't as energetic as usual, but don't worry about me. Your words had the effect of a cold shower and I believe it was necessary." He said with a soft smile, scratching the back of his neck. You nodded, gesturing him to take your chair as you sat on one of the tables, keeping a reasonable distance. "I thought my mother and I would be enough for Haneul's education. His... well, his mother left us when he was two years old. When we learnt that we were expecting a baby, we made an agreement together. I promised to reduce my time at work to take care of her and Haneul. However, nothing went according to plan and I ended up working almost twice more. I was terrified that I would not have enough money to support them and because I didn't keep my promise to my girlfriend, she left. I thought she was going to get away with the situation because she was very independent, but it was only after she left me that I realized that she needed me." He paused, allowing you to let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "After your statement, I said to myself that I should try to get her back, even if the two of us wasn't going to work, we could at least try for Haneul, but it's too late. I saw her in the store where I regularly grocery shop. She was with another man and she seemed much happier and more radiant than when she was with me. I simply greeted her, but I couldn't see myself begging her to come back in front of her new boyfriend. I know I fucked up and I regret it now, but I don't know what else I can do." You got up and turned off the kettle, pouring the hot liquid into two cups. You handed him one and leaned against your desk. "I understand that you are in a difficult situation, but now it's too late to get your ex back, that is clear. She moved on but it’s human, you also did it by busying yourself at work, according to what you're telling me. She is certainly mad at you and that is normal, I also understand her reaction, but you must start looking elsewhere, or even around you." "I talked to Haneul about it, and he admitted he missed having a mom. But you know, there aren't many people out there who want to go out with a policeman, so if he also has a child, it's complicated. And I assure you, I tried, I really tried, but they all left as soon as I mentioned my son. Selfishly, I prefer that Haneul does not have a mother rather than having one who does not love him. I need someone who loves me and him." "I understand, he is a part of you. You know, it was just a statement, I never ordered you to look for someone, you must not misunderstand my words. If you feel that you and your mother are enough for the education of your son, then you must follow your gut. But I remain in my position that your little one needs a maternal figure. Otherwise, growing up, he will no longer distinguish his mother from his grandmother, since it will be the same figure, you see?" The discussion was coming to an end, but the officer didn't seem to ready to leave. His gaze was lost into the void and he sipped on his tea. Suddenly, he regained his senses, gulped the remaining of his cup and put it in the sink. He smiled at you and held out his hand for you to squeeze. "My name is Park Seonghwa. Officer Park Seonghwa. And thank you for being so kind to my son, he loves you and it's nice not having to fight to get him out of bed." You blushed at his compliments and squeezed his hand, his grip not as hard as you thought it was going to be. It was firm but had nothing dominant or aggressive. "Y/L/N Y/N, I'm glad your son is having fun coming here, I'm trying to do everything for it. " "And... thank you for listening to me, because you really didn't have to. I think I needed to tell someone neutral. You know, parents are never very objective,” he said, not letting go of your hand. "I'm glad to have helped you, officer... And again, sorry for my mistake, I was just worried about Haneul." "This is a closed matter now, Y/N, don't worry about it anymore. Have a safe trip back home. Good night." You smiled at him and saw him leave with Haneul. Through the window, he greeted you with a wave which you answered with a slight smile.

The weekend had finally arrived, and you wanted to go for a walk in the park. The heat of May allowed you to go out only wearing a big sweater above your casual dress, a light scarf protecting your throat from the light wind. You sat on a bench and took out a book, adjusting your sunglasses and crossing your legs. Later, a group of eight adults with a child settled under the weeping willow, located a few meters from you, in the grass. Your vision wasn't the best, you squinted because you seemed to recognize Haneul. He also seemed to have recognized you because he pulled the sleeve of a man you immediately acknowledged: Seonghwa. He looked up and smiled at you, his son pulling him in your direction. You put your book down and watched, amused by the situation. The rest of the group was looking either at the father or you, which made you bright red. Seonghwa crouched and whispered something in his son's ear. A smile lit up his face and sprinted towards your bench.

"Hi Haneul, how are you?" "Hello, Teacher! I’m okay!! You are alone?" He asked, tilting his small head. "Yes, I'm enjoying the nice weather." "Daddy would like to know if you want to come and join us..." You smiled at the kid and looked up at Seonghwa. He had a tender smile on his face and Haneul pulled you from your seat by grabbing your hand. You laughed and gathered your things, Haneul running to his father.

Seonghwa greeted you and introduced you to the rest of the group, his colleagues. You weren't sure how to behave since they represented the law, but they were all lovely with you. Some asked you questions about your job and Haneul, including a man named Hongjoong, who you learnt was Haneul's godfather, who seemed fascinated by your work. Another colleague, Mingi, was very interested since his sister also worked as a teacher, but in their hometown. The rest of the day went by without problems, the group of police officers quickly put you at ease, abandoning the formalities. Clouds had formed and began to hide the sun, abruptly ending this wonderful day. When Wooyoung felt the first drops of water fall on his skin, you all hurried to pack up and take refuge in their cars. Haneul hadn't followed his father, he had run with Yunho in his car. You were soaking from head to toe, your sweater nowhere to be seen, your dress sticking to your body. You just hoped that your underwear was not showing through the wet material.

"You're beautiful." Seonghwa's deep voice rang out in the car and made you faced him. His hair fell in front of his face, droplets soaking his white t-shirt. Unlike his uniform, it gave you a good overview of his shoulders and his muscular torso. His eyes never left you, something had changed in them. You smiled, a bit embarrassed, watching the rain trickle down the windows, suddenly being very hot. A hand grabbed your chin and your face was now very close to Seonghwa's, his eyes lost in yours. Your heart was pounding, you were sure he could hear it, but you couldn't look beyond his beautiful eyes. Not when you had such a handsome officer in front of you. "May I?" He whispered, almost out of breath, his gaze moving back and forth between your eyes and your mouth. His expression was very intense, you could only accept. When his lips met yours, the tension in your shoulders disappeared and fireworks exploded in your stomach. You responded to the kiss immediately, surprising yourself, but it was too hard to resist. His lips were as soft as if you were kissing a chocolate coulis. The kiss was warm, intense, but filled with tenderness.

To your great disappointment, this tender exchange was shortened by someone knocking on Seonghwa's window. Yunho was there, an amused smile on his lips. You stopped the kiss, quickly pulling you away from Seonghwa's arms. You hadn't even realized in the kiss that he had embraced you, pressing you even more against him. You tried to catch your breath and Seonghwa lowered the window, embarrassed to have been surprised by his colleague. "Am I disturbing something?" Yunho said, refraining from laughing. "What do you want?" Seonghwa dryly replied, not amused by the situation at all. "I'm coming to bring your son back to you, I think he was in the wrong car. But to see what you were doing; I think I'll bring it back to me." "Shut up and bring him up to the back,” Seonghwa ordered. You had found back the police officer, strict and distant, as when he came to pick up his son.

When Yunho had fastened Haneul’s seatbelt and closed the car door, Seonghwa started the car and brought you home without saying a word, just a few glances exchanged on the way as well as apologetic smiles. When your resident building came into your range of vision, disappointment stung your heart. "Thanks for driving me back." You muttered, unsure how to behave with the little one in the back. "No problem." Seonghwa smiled, glancing into the rear-view mirror. Haneul was soundly sleeping and the policeman seized this chance to quickly connect your lips. "Ha! I knew it! Daddy loves Teacher Y/N!" Haneul's frail voice rang out in the car, scaring you both. You hurried out of the car and Seonghwa mouthed you to call him later. You entered the hall without turning around and you heard the car leave. "Daddy, do you like Teacher Y/N?" "Yes, kind of. " "Does that mean she's going to be my mom?" "Only if you want it." Seonghwa watched his son's reaction as the car came to a red light. The child had a neutral face, but he suddenly smiled with all his teeth and looked at his father in the rear-view mirror. "Yes!"

[oriun]

Being in severe pain while having a mental illness and a history of alcohol abuse and having to be so careful about how to ask and what to say when you need meds. I just need something to take the pain down a notch so that I can idk walk? take a shower? carry a plate from the kitchen to my room? I know some painkillers can be addictive but if anything I'm showing that I'm not relying on them for that reason but because I can't walk. I have tried reducing them (now have no choice but to reduce them because they refused to prescribe more) and the only reason I want them is the pain. I hate how sleepy and tired they make me feel, it's not like I'm after any effects outside the pain relief. And just because I'm asking for prescription painkillers with the history I have doesn't mean I am a risk to myself. I mean, the times I overused or overdosed it wasn't anything I got through a doctor anyway. And you know what affects one's mental health? Being stuck resting on the floor for two weeks unable to walk more than a couple laps around the kitchen at a time. But I also have to be very careful about how I say this because I don't want to give them more reason to think I'm asking for meds for mental illness reasons. Thing is, I'm not even asking for meds alone, I'm just asking for them to do something, anything, not just tell me to get on with it and push through the pain when the pain has me in tears just trying to go to the bathroom. I have to sit there for minutes, at an angle because I can't sit straight at all, until I'm able to start peeing because I'm in such pain I just can't relax. I have a lot of dysphoria, for me the bathroom is in and out without thinking, so this whole five minutes to pee nonsense isn't helping that either. Even if I had no mental illness and no other issues, anyone would struggle with spending their days down on the floor unable to work or study or do any normal daily activities or even sleep on a bed. At least when I had more painkillers I was able to get up every half hour and take a few steps. I was making progress. Now I'm back to barely being able to take ten steps. I've seen a private physio a couple times who's been really helpful, but my GP ignores her advice of continuing painkillers so I can't keep doing the exercises that were working because it feels like my leg is being ripped off. And I shouldn't even have to be paying £60 a session when I pay my taxes and national insurance like everyone else. Just refer me to a physio, an actual physio, not someone who talks to you for two minutes on the phone and sends you a link with generic stretches to do. Thing is, they already fucked me up with my mental illness, two years telling me what I had wasn't anything treatable and I had to get on with it etc etc, only to get a diagnosis elsewhere and a treatment that very much works after I nearly died. Obviously not going to die from sciatica here but I know they'll have me unable to move starving on the floor before they decide I actually need some help. There's the issue of the NHS being understaffed and overwhelmed, and I can tell that when I see it, but then there's just straight up incompetence.

[of-another-broken-heart]

I’m just going to copy/paste this because it took me hours and I’m drained. 

I guess I have to format it again if I want it to show up at all... 

I couldn't even make it back home before breaking down crying again.

Driving while chronically sleep deprived, exhausted, fatigued, and dissociating is bad enough. Doing it with all that AND without being able to see? How special. 

I barely had time to sit down, my phone rang. I answered it, begging for someone to hear me. For thirty straight seconds. "Hello? Hello? Hello???" Finally someone spoke, but they couldn't hear me. I'm sobbing. They hung up. I scrambled to call back, from my computer, because at least then I'm not fighting a lack of reception as well as my anxiety. They called again. I didn't answer. I waited for my computer to ring through instead. I'm put on hold.  I'm sobbing. It was just to ask what my pharmacy is. Which I already answered on my paperwork. Which I answered, again, at check-out. And I was forced into a third confirmation via a pointless, needless, anxiety-attack inducing phone call hazing. For something I already answered. 

It's not fucking fun. People don't choose this. I didn't choose this. But does it matter? "Call," the command comes. "Just call." "Call to confirm." "Call to ask." "Call." "Call." "Call." 

I want you to think of something that takes physical hold of your body and brings to you to tears. I want you to hold that and sit with it until it does those things. I want you to choose to reduce yourself to a sobbing mess, struggling to breathe, alone. And I want you to picture a world where you are commanded, demanded, required to do this. For virtually everything. Imagine needing help - but you must first re-traumatize yourself with your most painful memories until your nose is running and your eyes burn from crying. And you're exhausted for the rest of the day, too. Maybe multiple days. Absolutely exhausted. So fucking depleted that taking yourself to the bathroom is almost impossible. Feeding yourself - even eating something out of a can, or microwaved - is a herculean effort. Does that sound fun? Of course not. 

As for the appointment itself: It's the same. Much better bedside manner. But it's the same underlying capitalism-serving "care" system. It's my fault. I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not blacking out alone on the side of the road enough. I haven't dissociated hard enough and/or blacked out while driving yet, so it can't be that bad, right? Not until I'm maimed or dead, right? Why address the root of a problem when we can just plaster on endless band-aids instead? When we can blame you for hurting, instead of the environment that's poisoning you? I'm not medically sedating myself into an obedient little wage slave, and that's the real problem. I should aspire to produce capital for someone with most of the remaining hours of my life. That's the purpose of living, that's the reason for "health"care - not to care about health, no, just to keep the wheels of capitalism well-oiled with wasted human life. Inherent human value? Quality of life? Nah. 

They refused my medical history. I brought the 72-page pdf on a flash drive. Because that's how I was given it. Because I can't afford to buy and operate a personal fax machine and/or print out a chapter book's worth of pages of medical records. I went through the trouble of getting the files, and it took over a month - only to be told "we can't take anything but paper or fax." I filled out a file release form as best I could. But I didn't have the phone number or address memorized. Not even before that place became synonymous with medical neglect and trauma for me. So now they're going to go through the ancient months-long ritual of requesting the self-fucking-same documents from LISH, either by mail or fax, because they "can't" access a flash drive or a pdf or use email. Welcome to 2021. We're back to "normal" and teleheath never existed and the internet is fake and technology is a myth and why do anything efficiently when you can waste time and do damage to people instead? My Aunt called to check in on me during her lunch break. (Thank you again) She offered to get the file printed and try to hand it in for me. I'm too tired to hope. I'm too exhausted to think they'll accept it without fuss. Anything and everything to make things harder.

Top priority order of business is the whole "diseased for life" thing. Hashimoto's thyroiditis. Hypothyroidism. Daily hormones for every day of the rest of forever, gatekept behind eternal doctor visits and prescriptions and pharmacies and copays and and and and did I mention this is forever? I've got a referral to have a thyroid sonogram done. Haven't ever had one of those before. Need to make that appointment. I was able to have my blood drawn for the thyroid testing without needing an additional appointment, which was a nice change of pace. Normally you're supposed to fast for that, but I wasn't expecting that could be done during the visit. Three years of having to make additional trips to the lab for blood work. I ate immediately before getting there, so hopefully nothing had a chance to metabolize and skew the results. Even though it was great not to have to juggle yet another appointment for health shit, it was stressful. The nurse took three tries before she had all the supplies she needed in the room. I already have anxiety spikes (which also raise my blood pressure and heart rate) for all doctor visits now. (White Coat Syndrome, I learned, it's called) I didn't need to have a rubber cable tied around my arm, popped off, tied again, popped off, and tied a third and final time to make it worse. A pro to that con: she was incredibly accurate and gentle. I normally have sub-dermal bleeding and some bruising after having blood drawn, and keep the bandage on for a day or two. The bandage didn't last even an hour after I got home - but there wasn't a single spot of trapped blood, and I almost couldn't even tell where she stuck me.

I have another new diagnosis to add to my growing collection. Hypertension. High blood pressure. I used to have slightly low blood pressure. It stunned the first doctor I ever saw (you know, because I'm fat, so that sort of thing is supposed to be ~impossible~) and it frustrated my last doctor at first, too. But now, with years of building stress and anxiety? It's almost like living with your most basic human needs barely provided (food, shelter, healthcare - let's not bring up social needs LMAO those don't count anyway, right?), and at constant risk of being taken away, for months (years, in some cases) on end, is some form of stress. It's almost like being constantly dismissed and told "you're just not trying hard enough" (WHILE TRYING YOUR BEST JUST TO SURVIVE EACH DAY) is some form of stress!It's almost like perpetual, ongoing, worsening stress has a negative impact on your heart! It's almost like there are decades of data that spell this out, plain as day!It's almost like I noticed my elevated heart rate back in NOVEMBER and mentioned it out of concern to my last doctor - who dismissed it outright because my reading in-office wasn't *that* bad, and also shouldn't I be on 5487 psych meds instead? If I was sedated out of my mind, I wouldn't be physically capable of feeling stress in my body despite the presence of real-world stress factors. That's healthy, right? Don't bother to solve the stressors, just neuter the body's response to them. Super healthy response. (Not) My GYN took note of my concern in December, when my vitals DID show as high in-office. Not that my GYN had the jurisdiction to do anything about it. I'm being put on another medication to try to mitigate this, and potentially also address some anxiety. I haven't picked it up yet. I don't know the name. I don't know if I'll be able to afford it. "Your copay is only a dollar!" Yes well, when you don't have a dollar, you can't afford a dollar, can you?

I was given a list of psychiatrists. To "Call!!"Precisely none of them are a reasonable distance away. Nearly half aren't even in my insurance network. Some explicitly exclude Medicaid. Others are exclusively for children. I was suggested a medication for depression and anxiety. I can't remember which one. Either Abilify or Lexapro? I declined it for now, either way. I wanted to be able to research it. Lexapro is just another SSRI and I already know those don't work for me. Adding a chemical bouncer to my brain to make sure the happy chemicals stay out to play doesn't help when there are no happy chemicals in the first place. A quick search for Abilify doesn't address anxiety at all so it was probably Lexapro. In which case, I am not interested in repeating a different-flavor-Prozac experience. It was not good. I didn't get any notes with that medication, regardless. I got a sticky note with "Valerian Root Extract (tea or tincture)" and "Magnesium Glycinate 2 capsules" scribbled on it, instead. Out-of-pocket home rem-maybes. I can't afford to experiment with snake oils, so mostly I'll probably just spend a bunch of time looking for data and research and studies for those substances, and that's it. If I get around to psychiatric care, I will have to start from scratch in my insurance's shoddy search tool, again. And, frankly, it's not a priority. My mental health struggles are the result of a lot of physical factors and external/social factors, and no amount of artificial chemicals bullying my brain is going to solve any of it. When your car starts leaking oil, you don't just commit to buying more oil forever and dribbling it all over, wherever you go. You fix the fucking leak. If your house has a gas leak, you don't invest in gas masks. You fix the fucking leak. If you end up with a burst pipe, you don't commit to wasting water and money and damaging your environment. You fix. The fucking. Leak. But in these comparisons, I'm getting prescribed oil and gas masks and infinite water damage/waste/bills as long-term care.

I mentioned my fatigue. It was the final straw that made me give up with the last doctor. It just keeps getting worse. It's been getting worse for over 3 years. And I'm so, so fucking tired of it getting pinned fully on the fact that I'm not on psych meds. I WAS on psych meds during part of those 3 years with my last doctor. And it didn't fucking make any difference! A daily chemical lobotomy does not address or restore my lack of physical energy. My decades-old medication-resistant insomnia has never vanished with psych meds before, and it's not likely to do it now. Especially not with yet another of the same family of chemicals that I already know don't work. I want my concern to be taken seriously. I don't want it just brushed into the mental health corner, again. Being too tired to even do the things you used to enjoy - no one fucking wants this! I don't want this! I miss being able to go for walks. I miss going to the gym. I miss seeing how much I could do, and feeling good, and feeling strong. And I can't do any of that now. Not without risking harming myself in the process. 

No one wants this. I keep talking, but it feels like no one listens. At the earliest opportunity, we're back to repeating the same tired old shit that doesn't work. I try to come prepared, and the stress and time and system make sure I fail to stand up for myself anyway. I didn't get to document my disordered eating history. The relapse this year. Restricting, sometimes to the point of not eating at all. I declined to be weighed, because I want my care to be based on relevant data, vitals, blood results - not the shape and size of my body. But I was too tired to realize I needed to dodge a verbal ask for the same information. Which, it turns out, is nearly as bad a trigger as having the scale spit it out for me. Being your own advocate for equal care, when you're already tapped out? I'm not winning that challenge. 

I'm frustrated. I'm not giving up, but I am frustrated and beyond tired. I don't really expect anyone to read this mess. But it's here.

[rotationalsymmetry]

On self diagnosis:

Can people please not reduce self diagnosis to “google”? Like yes, if you spent 5 minute googling your symptoms that is not enough to be confident in what you’ve got. 5 minute of google has a pretty consistent fail mode, and is only a starting point at best. I’m talking about hours and hours of tracking symptoms and trying to make sense of them, and more hours and hours of reading actual books and especially first hand accounts of other people with the condition, over a period of months or years. Often while you’re also trying to get an answer from doctors. Not five minute on google. Ffs.

Break for length, more beneath the cut.

And: professional diagnosis is often a shot in the dark based on, granted, a wide base of general medical knowledge but also about 5 minutes of hearing the actual patient’s symptoms, so relatively little knowledge about the specific patient. Professional diagnosis is often wrong. It is normal and acceptable to seek out a second opinion, or even just quietly go “ok, I got a professional opinion, but I’m still not buying it.” Or out loud going “are you sure? But what about...”

Medical professionals are experts, but they’re not omniscient, and it is OK to argue with them and/or refuse to take their advice.

(Side note: if you don’t brush or floss consistently just tell your dentist that. Don’t lie. Lying interferes with your dentist’s ability to figure out how to best reduce your chances if more cavities. You can tolerate a little bit of disapproval in service to the truth and your health. Only lie if the alternative is you can’t bring yourself to visit the dentist at all. In which case, visiting the dentist and lying is better than not seeing the dentist.)

You do not want to know the absolutely laughable process by which I got officially diagnosed with either CFS or depression I swear to god.

Here’s the thing: if there’s a lab test or some other diagnostic test that tends to give conclusive results, cool, by all means trust that. Lab tests are awesome. (Like when I was anemic — there was a definitive lab test for that.)

(Likewise, when I sprained both wrists and broke my elbow, and my doctor was “well, there’s this really specific fracture you might have in your wrists, and it might not show up on the x-ray, so you need to be really careful, here’s some wrist braces” — there’s some cases where it’s really good to have an expert’s opinion, y’know.)

But if it’s more squishy (as CFS is squishy, as depression is squishy) — if there isn’t a definitive diagnostic test — then sometimes doctors get it right and sometimes they don’t.

And a lot of what doctor base diagnosis on in those cases, is how well a patient responds to treatment that’s supposed to work for that condition. (More so for depression than CFS.) And non-doctors can take that approach too. Does depression self-help stuff ease my symptoms? Do ADHD life hacks make me more organized? Does pacing make my possibly-CFS symptoms better? If things that help the illness/condition/neuro-whatever help you, then “I probably have that illness” is a pretty solid working hypothesis and you should stick with it.

Even if your doctor disagrees.

Unless, of course, your doctor can offer a different explanation that fits better or leads to more effective treatment. If trying out your doctor’s working hypothesis means you might get better treatment, great! Sounds worth trying!

But if your doctor thinks there’s nothing wrong with you when there is definitely something wrong with you, something messing with your ability to live your life. Then either you need a different doctor or you’re back to self-diagnosis.

Personally, I haven’t sought out ADHD diagnosis. I don’t think I want medication or disability accommodations based on it, and I don’t want yet another highly stigmatized diagnosis interfering with my ability to get a doctor who takes my other medical issues seriously. So, professional diagnosis wouldn’t get me much and might harm me. But, as a working hypothesis, thinking I might have ADHD means I can watch YouTube videos and read books and try out random stuff I run across on social media, with the expectation that it might help me because I might have ADHD. It helps me understand why I seem to be more emotional than most people. It helps me understand why I have so much trouble being on time or not putting things off to the last moment or keeping on top of my mail. Self diagnosis has tangible benefits for me. Even with the question mark hanging around.

(And: people with an official diagnosis have access to all of that plus meds. I really hope this doesn’t come across as anti professional diagnosis, that would be weird.)

And I can’t help but assume that criticism of self diagnosis is tied to the idea that the only effective way to handle a medicinal condition is by medication or something else prescribed by a doctor, and that self-help/lifestyle stuff is always strictly less useful if it had any value at all.

Just because, y’know, people shouldn’t DIY their cancer treatment, or get all conspiracy theory ish about the coronavirus, doesn’t mean that ALL situations are doctors-first situations. There’s some situations in which doctor stuff is strictly less useful than the DIY/community support approach. (And other situations where a combination approach is best.) And it can vary a lot from person to person: not just what the condition is but also how their condition manifests, how much of a barrier there is to getting treatment through official channels, etc.

I’m sorry but the official route with CFS has been not terribly helpful for me. (With the exception of the PT, who was pretty cool for a while.) In spite of the fact that I got to see a specialist, and there are very very few CFS specialists and all of them have extremely long waiting lists. I’ve had to go the self help approach because that’s the only thing that helps. And, while I am officially diagnosed, I was self diagnosed first, and the stuff I’ve found that helped (including the PT, my doc hadn’t given me a diagnosis yet) I got from self diagnosis. So, if I didn’t believe in self diagnosis, and moreover if I looked to doctors as the only conceivable source of help, I might still be having frequent days where I can’t so much as sit up straight, like how I was when I was like “fuck it, this seems like it’s probably CFS, I’m going to learn as much as I can.”

Or I might be dead. There was an awfully long period where I wasn’t comfortable telling a doctor that I had suicidal thoughts, but I was willing to read self help books. I mean, in retrospect I don’t think I was all that close to actually doing it. But who knows really. At least, accessing self help books (written by professionals or by people talking about their own experience) meant I got to reduce some of my suffering, and that is a good thing.

[fortunatelycooltrash]

So people love to say that America doesn’t have free healthcare because the quality would sink and the waits would go up. Now, while those are valid worries despite being no excuse for the atrociously high prices of even minior procedures, I’d like to share some bullshit that I’ve experienced involving normal US hospitals and medical branches alike.

My root canal is going to cost 2500 dollars because it is not covered by most dental plans despite it being a completely necessary procedure that directly affects my health. Absorb that then absorb the fact this plan covers some of braces. The crown alone is costing over 1200.

I almost died in a hospital waiting room because my ‘stomach ache’ that was causing me so much pain I was sick with it wasn’t severe enough to qualify for immediate attention. Undiagnosed Appendicitis.

My nephew and sister almost met their end because an incompetent doctor misdiagnosed my sister with a URI. She had type A flu.

My cousins father had a doctor who refused to diagnose him despite him coming back constantly because of lethargy. Said he couldn’t find anything wrong. Her father was poor and had really bad insurance. Finally he went to another doctor and was diagnosed with kidney cancer. He could have lived if he had been diagnosed a year or two prior before it spead but by the time he got his diagnosis, it was too late. He died, I believe, a few months later but I was young so he might have made it a year or longer.

I suffered from chronic nosebleeds as a child to the point that blood didn’t even scare me anymore. The doctor told my mother that it was coming from wounds inside my nose and I was most likely picking at it and there was nothing medically wrong with me. My mother, knowing even as a child I knew not to waste her money, took me to another doctor. Severe Anemia. Still suffer from it too this day. Have to take those horrid tasting red pills🤢.

My aunt constantly butchering her budget because she needs her insulin and it’s cost keeps getting higher despite it remaining relatively the same. Luckily my state is looking to cap it at 100 though if that will actually go into effect isn’t determined yet.

My mom, bless her, repeatedly going in for her back aching only to be told pain was normal for someone of her weight and age. Nope, she is a nurse and turned people that were 300 pounds or more. She had completely blown her back and had a pinched nerve that was so severe she could barely stand without pain. The doctor that diagnosed her was surprised she could even walk.

My sister, having a grand mal seizure in the nurses office of a high school. They told her to stop faking. That bitch wasn’t even a real nurse so this one doesn’t count but I had to mention this because why the fuck wasn’t a registered nurse hired?

My (other) aunt having minor chest pain then suffering a heart attack in the waiting room because they had her wait so long since she didn’t seem serious. I’m sure that’s going to have lasting damage that could have been easily prevented.

My sister giving birth and getting a 28,000 dollar bill for a room and care for her and the baby. She was there for a day and a half. She didn’t even have a long or complicated delivery.

My mother being told she was completely fine to continue working despite having an off feeling about her third pregnancy(about 24 years ago) the doctor told her there were no complications and she could go on as normal. She miscarried her seven month along daughter three days later because her placenta was underneath the baby and tore. That doctor is still in practice.

The nurses in my mothers delivery room ignoring both her and the monitor. Which, if they had been looking at, clearly desplayed my older brother with his umbilical core wrapped tight around his neck. He lived because my moms main doctor walked in and had a conniption fit when he noticed the vitals dropping. He’s the doc my sis uses now. A good man.

(Same bro)My older brother turning blue everytime he cried being brushed off. Hole in his heart that has since closed.

When I was younger, I slipped in the shower and hit my head so hard against the metal lining of it(stall shower) that the skin split open and abscessed. My doc treated the abscess but did no further testing after a 4 hour wait. As we were leaving, I don’t remember much of this week my mom told me, I vomited and passed out in the parking lot. Had a concussion.

My brother being misdiagnosed with the flu, strep, and a few other things over the course of a few weeks before one doctor finally tested him for HIV. It was positive. Luckily he only had one partner. Unluckily, the partner was the one that gave it to him via cheating on him.

Me, almost dying of a violent case of strep throat because they said I had a sinus infection. My fever peaked at 104 then, blessedly, broke. I do not remember this as the memories of the days I was sick are incredibly fever burned but I remember wrapping blankets around me because I was so cold.

The strep attacked so quick and harshly that if I had lived alone it probably would have killed me since I wouldn’t have been able to get help and I would’ve kept trying to get ‘warmer’ and helped raise my temp over 106. You typically don’t come back from that one unharmed. If at all.

My older bro(cord baby) being told suffering from auditory hallucinations was a common thing(not wrong but they should have actually asked about his family history and idk, did more??) he had undiagnosed bipolar disorder. He is medicated and much happier now.

Me breaking my gotdamn pointer knuckle and the x-ray person getting blurry x-rays that she used despite the fact that they weren’t accurate. Thank you bitch, now my abnormally short pointer finger clicks because it began to set wrong.

Theres a few more but I’m currently giving my bro a hard time for texting me a text meant for his bf so imma bounce for now. May add more later. The whole point to this was to show people that don’t want free health care because the ‘quality would go down’ or the ‘wait would be too long’ that the wait is already long enough for you to die anyway and the quality already sucks ass if you’re poor because they will not diagnose you correctly.

Or They will misdiagnose you then blame YOU when you sue(happened to my mom in that miscarriage one but because he hadn’t wrote a release back to work she had no actual proof he’d told her she could.)

Or They will overcharge you for things that have a far cheaper value simply because they can and you can’t do anything about it because you need that procedure or medicine to keep your health good.

I can understand things like heart surgery or transplants, you know, the big major stuff not being free because yeah that shit takes a fuck ton of resources and care so I get it, I do. I can reasonably say “Yup that should cost thousands.” I mean, I’m don’t even avocate for fully FREE healthcare, I just want a limit on their overpricing bull shit to where it matches with economic standards.

You can’t expect someone with an average 7-4 job that pays 10/hr(oooh ya, y’all think I’d go higher? Guess what, young people starting out their careers also get sick!) to drop thousands upon thousands of dollars for whatever. The sad thing is I can say ‘whatever’ and you can actually think of multiple things that aren’t that major or that resource draining yet still cost thousands.

Even someone making 15/hour couldn’t do that and I’d be hard pressed to say even 20-25/hr could do that. They may have it better and be able to pay it off faster but they’d still be in debt for a while or have to work years after their planned retirement to make up for the lost savings if they were lucky enough to have them.

I’ve also heard people complaining about it raising taxes but you’ll spend way more getting something done at a hospital then you’d spend on those taxes in a year.

Besides, if you’re so pissed about taxes then to even it out protest the stupid taxes. Your house? Taxed. Your inheritance that you gain but also leave behind to care for your family? Taxed. Your property that you bought 100% full price paid? Taxed every year. Your car? Taxed.

How bout getting pissed about those instead of getting pissy about people getting their health fixed? There are plenty of ridiculous taxes so I don’t know why people are so against having one that actually helps people.

Sorry for this rant, I know it’s not centered around my profile theme but I am majorly pissed off that I’m about to have to let a tooth rot out of my head because my insurance decided that: covering something cosmetic like braces? Yeah! Covering a completely necessary surgery that can actually harm/kill the person via infection if left untreated? Nope, that costs us more!

I can’t drop two fucking grand on dental surgery. It’s just not happening. I don’t know anyone who can do that shit. Anyone who gets pissed off about me posting this: go slam a hammer against your tooth until it cracks down the middle, exposing your nerve to the harsh unforgiving world then let it develop a cavity around it.

Afterwards, try to eat literally anything: hot, cold, hard, soft, it doesn’t matter. You’ll cry, I promise. Now imagine being told the only way to fix that is to cough up over two grand and if you can’t well then oh fucking well? Kinda hurts ya a bit. Not nearly as much as the tooth but still.

Hell, I know dental probably wouldnt even get covered if they made healthcare reduced or free but this whole situation has reminded me just how fucked you are if you get anything remotely wrong with you in the U.S

[naomixhill]

21 March 2020

And so as I am on a video conference call, you burst into the study screaming and wild. “YOU ARE A CHEATER.” And I see the wide eyes and smirks on the webcams, and all I can tell them is that I unfortunately have a personal situation to handle, and I have to hop off the line. 

So you begin reading texts out loud to me. They are his words. They are my words. 

How do I explain that I have been ricocheting between agonizing fear of abandonment and completely numbness? In this moment, how do I even begin to tell your wild eyes and red face that I have been open and sweet to others because I know your departure is not an if but a when. And then how do I explain on top of that, that these words mean nothing; they are contingency plans I never want to use. But they are my means for survival. I hate myself for not having the fortitude to just communicate these fears to you, to put it all out there and explain my pain. But it doesn’t come naturally for me. If life has taught me anything it is that you can’t show others your weakness and insecurities because they will use them against you.  And that’s exactly what you do. “YOU PROSTITUTE. YOU SLUT.” You scream so loud that I wonder if the neighbors below and above us can hear your slurs.  And I look back at you with the blankest possible glare, and say, “You slept with me on the first night. Shouldn’t that have been an indicator?”  And you turn away and shout, “at least I didn’t have to pay for it.” At least you didn’t have to... pay... for...it? I wonder in this moment if any of my deepest secrets were ever worth mentioning at all, or if they were always meant to be a source of leverage over my head, a nice taunting whip. You have never listened or cared to know the full extent of my pain, and I wonder now if it would even matter.   You often have told me that using a borderline diagnosis is a convenient excuse, but this is my life: I live in these highs, lows, emptiness, fulfillment all day. Every day. 

So you leave, slamming the door behind you. There is no use trying to explain to you that my entire life has been hallmarked by contingency plans or bloody wrists and nothing in between. There is no use telling you that February killed me but I didn’t quite die. There is certainly no use trying to explain that I knew you could never love me; even when I would take a bullet for you even now, my love is not enough for you. My heart was put on a tray for you and you tossed it on the ground. Repeatedly. And it broke me. Totally. 

An hour or so passes. You text me angrily and call me a backstabbing, shady bitch. So maybe I am. Although, I tell you, I would suspect emotional cheating needs to have an emotional element. And when I plan and run, there is so little emotion in these efforts. I am already dead inside. My ex-husband taught me how to manipulate others and hurt others in order not to be hurt yourself, and I have learned the art too well. Cazzo Madre di Dio!  But, I would have hoped you could have seen through all that. Even if it hurt you to pieces. I would have expected you to understand this fear and understand my response. Yes, It makes me a bad person, I am a bad person. I understand all of this. I just thought you did too. 

But I am so sorry for ever thinking we needed a back-up plan. I am sorry for reducing you to everyone else that has hurt me that I have betrayed. People look at me and they see a petite, cute blonde instead of the toxic, vile, destructive fucking human being that I am. 

It is amazing to think less than twenty-four hours ago, you were holding me as I cried myself to sleep. You thought it was work related, but all I was thinking was how weeks ago you told me that your feelings for me faded. And all I could think about was how, as I was falling deeper in love with you and wanting to take your last name and carry your children, you were setting a fire to our home literally just to watch it burn. 

I just couldn’t get over it. You came back to me and told me you loved me and wanted to make it work. But these fears have been here and rampant. I told you I’d give you a clean slate and I didn’t think I was lying at the time. I was just too weak. Call me what you want, call me anything. I am exactly what you think I am. 

[stomachflu]

hey, remember like a year ago when i was like “maybe i’ll write a second part to the story of how lynn and reed met if i feel like it?” well i’ve been struggling with

and i thought that i’d write something Just For Me to get me back in the swing of things. 

VERY long stomach flu-oriented fic (planning for another few parts! this isn’t the last one!!), very self indulgent. warnings for mentions of scat, but nothing explicit. hope yall enjoy!

---

Lynn groaned as she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, every muscle in her body aching as she twisted to grab it. It was nearly too much effort to switch the too-bright screen on, let alone read the message with watery eyes. The first one was, apparently, from an hour ago.

>Reed: hey did u make it back home ok

>Reed: lynn

>Reed: are you ok

Lynn closed her eyes, resting her head against the cool metal side of the bathroom stall. She’d traded numbers with Reed after they’d walked her to the clinic before heading to class, where she’d promised to text them that she was okay prior to receiving an official diagnosis of “godawful stomach flu” with the proposed cure of “wait it out, if you can’t keep water down after a few hours then come back for an IV“.

>Lynn: not rly

Her head swam and her hands were shaking, making it hard to compose a message. Reed was already typing a response to her last text.

>Lynn: my roommate’s apparently a germophobe? and she wont let me into the room unless I’m not gonna puke

>Lynn: so ive just been like camping out in the lounge & now I'm like chilling in the bathroom

>Lynn: not great but

She leaned back, exhaling shakily as the stall swam around her. Fuck. She was pretty sure that her fever was increasing as she leaned back over the toilet seat, holding her hair back with both hands as she gagged softly, opaque saliva falling from her lips. She couldn’t bring anything up still, despite the constant sloshing of her stomach being an ever-present reminder of how much there still was in there. When the wave of nausea finally passed, she had two new texts.

>Reed: >:o!

>Reed: youre in the new dorm right

>Lynn: whats up

>Reed: ok I know i’m just some rando you met today but if you wanna crash on my couch or smth its gotta be more comfy than the lounge at 4am

>Reed: i promise i’m not a serial killer tho

Lynn groaned as she stood up, limping out of the bathroom and ignoring the disgusted looks of girls at the sinks -- she’d been gagging in that stall for at least  twenty minutes -- only to find that some other couple had sat down on the couch she’d planned to sleep on. There were a few chairs, all hard wood, and she sat down in one of them as she wrote a response, trying hard to control her tears. She was just overemotional from fever, that was all. She hugged her stomach, rocking back and forth as she typed.

>Lynn: actually that would be great if that's ok w you

>Reed: great! ill be at yr dorm in like 15min, where should I meet you?

Lynn’s stomach lurched, and she ran out of the lounge again, falling to her knees for the fourth time that day. Just like every other time, she retched wetly, gagging and spitting wads of cloudy bile into the toilet, unable to bring up anything significant.

She managed to type out the word bathroom in-between heaves, and it seemed like no time had passed at all before there was a sharp knock on the door, then the creak of hinges opening.

“Lynn? You in there?” 

She could only groan, but managed to unlock the stall door and stumble towards Reed, who grabbed her arm immediately, supporting her. “Woah, you’re not lookin’ so hot.”

The two of them were getting some very dirty looks from the other occupants of the bathroom, so Lynn tried to stumble towards the door, unable to get very far without leaning on Reed. “Not... Not feeling so hot either,” she said, pressing her free hand to her stomach.

“No shit, you’re burning up.” Reed pressed a hand to Lynn’s forehead, pulling it back in mock shock. “My car’s just in the parking lot, do you think you can walk there?”

Lynn hummed, trying not to open her mouth. Reed let her lean against them as she stumbled down the hall. She braced herself for the chill of the cold November air as they walked outside, but with Reed’s arm around her, she barely felt the cold.

“I’m just down the street,” Reed said, guiding her to what was apparently their car, “but I figured you wouldn’t wanna walk.”

Lynn swallowed back bile. “At this point, I don’t even... I don’t even care if you’re a serial killer, I just wanna lie down.”

“I think we can make that work.” 

Holy shit, Reed was strong as hell, Lynn mused feverishly, leaning nearly all her weight on them as they transitioned her into the car with one fluid motion. They even buckled her seat belt for her, making some soft noise when she moaned in pain as the strap touched her stomach.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna head to urgent care?” Reed asked. “They might be better than the student health center, and you’re really not looking good.”

Lynn shook her head, a dizzying motion that took more energy than she had. “Nah... I just wanna rest.”

“If you say so.” There was that worried note in their voice again, and Lynn leaned her head against the seat as the car lurched into motion, and so did her stomach. “I think there’s some trash bags in the glove compartment if you need ‘em. I’ll try to drive safe, but this thing? Is kind of a beater. You should see what it’s like on ice, though.”

Lynn made a small noise of acknowledgment, wincing as they bumped over mounds of slush. Saliva pooled under her tongue, and she swallowed hard. Not here, she thought. God, please not in front of Reed. Her throat burned with acid, and she gripped her stomach tightly, one hand covering her mouth. Just as her tongue lifted with a strong gag, a plastic bag was shoved into her lap. Gratefully, she buried her head in it.

“You’re okay, just get it up,” she heard Reed say, and then, “Oh, god,” as hot, foamy bile splashed into the bag, followed by a series of gurgling burps. “You’re really not feeling well, huh?”

She shook her head miserably, spitting into the bag and eventually wiping away a thick strand of mucus on the edge of the plastic before twisting it shut in disgust. “God. No. My stomach hurts so bad.”

“Do you need to get out for a sec? Being in the car probably can’t help.”

“Maybe.” Her throat still felt tight, and she tried to force a burp as she fumbled with the car door, only to end up barely scrambling to undo her seatbelt in time as she retched again and again, mucus falling in a steaming pile in the snow. Stomach finally empty for now, she belched emptily, a cloud of condensation forming as she did so.

Lynn vaguely became aware that someone was rubbing her back, and when she turned, Reed was holding her steady. “Ready to go?” they asked.

Lynn scrubbed at her watering eyes. “Yeah, she said weakly as they helped her back into the car. “God, this must be so gross for you.”

Reed shrugged as they put the key in the ignition. “Eh. I’ve got a strong stomach. Not really easily grossed out, you know? Besides, you're sick, so it’s not like it’s your fault. Someone’s gotta help you”

---

She managed to make it to Reed’s apartment without vomiting, though they did have to pull over several times so that she could take deep breaths out of the open window. Their apartment was several flights up, and they’d grimaced before slinging an arm around her shoulders, supporting most of her weight without even asking. Lynn didn’t even bother to protest -- they practically carried her up the stairs, but all she could care about was the fact that they were warm against her freezing skin.

“Okay!” Reed said, fumbling with the keys. “It’s not much, but at least I have a couch.”

Their apartment was small and cramped. The door opened onto a living room of sorts, with two faded couches forming a L-shape across from a TV. A slightly torn rug sat underneath a coffee table piled high with books and takeout boxes, and Reed rushed to clear it off, leaving Lynn standing by the front door, weaving back and forth.

There was a wall with an entryway seperating what Lynn assumed to the the kitchen area to her right, with another door closer to the entryway. On the left wall, close to where the couch sat, was a second door that was partially open. From the mess inside, she could guess it was Reed’s bedroom.

“C’mon in,” Reed said, gesturing to the couch. “Um, sit down, maybe? You look like you’re gonna die. Do you have any -- God, your roommate really kicked you out with nothing, huh? I was gonna ask if you wanted to change into, like, pajamas or anything, but you don’t even have a coat on.”

“Um,” Lynn said, still hovering awkwardly. “Yeah. She really didn’t want me to infect her.”

“Cool, cool. She’s an asshole.”

“Um --”

“No worries, I probably have something that’ll fit you.” Lynn very much doubted that, given that Reed had a good foot on her. “Do you need anything else? Like, food, we should probably make sure that you eat at some point? And I think that I might have some fever reducers somewhere around here --”

Lynn’s stomach cramped harshly. “Um,” she interrupted them, a note of urgency in her voice. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

“’Course! It’s that door--” Reed pointed to the closed door near the entrance Lynn had noticed earlier. “-- right there. Um, do you need help?”

Her guts churned again, and she managed a wan grimace. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Much to Lynn’s relief, their bathroom was almost shockingly clean. Her stomach still felt sore and achy after she’d finished expelling its contents from the other end; her nausea was fading for now, but the tightness in her throat and gnawing feeling in her stomach told her that she was far from done with this illness. She stumbled out of the bathroom, rubbing her aching stomach and nearly tripped over a pile of clothes on the floor.

“Those are for you,” Reed called from somewhere in the depths of the apartment. “Try ‘em on!”

Lynn retreated back into the bathroom, yanking her shirt off. The sweatpants Reed had provided just fit if the drawstring was pulled all the way, and their hoodie was a very loose fit, but the fuzzy inside felt wonderful against her sore stomach.

She sank down onto the larger of the two couches, which Reed had lined with sheets and stacked blankets on while she was gone. She pulled one up to her shoulders as Reed emerged from the kitchen area, carrying a mug of something steaming in one hand and a thermometer in the other.

“Hey,” they said. “Do me a favor and open wide, ‘kay? You’re not looking too hot, and I wanna know how worried I should be.”

“’s just the flu,” Lynn said weakly, but allowed Reed to slip the thermometer under her tongue. It beeped an agonizing minute later, and Reed winced at the number.

“102.3. That’s... not good,” they said. “I think that you should really rethink urgent care.”

Lynn groaned. “’M fine, really. Just need to rest.”

“Okay,” Reed said. “That’s fine, but I’m gonna need you to drink something first, okay? We’re gonna need you to keep some fluids down if you don’t wanna land in the emergency room.”

“‘Kay.” Lynn accepted a sip of the mug that Reed pressed into her hands. It was some kind of green tea, and it actually tasted... pretty good? “Thanks,” she whispered, her throat sore from fever and vomiting.

“No prob, dude,” Reed said, taking the mug from her hands. “Get some rest, okay?”

Lynn nodded, already drifting off into sleep.

---

She was vaguely aware of being woken on and off through the next few hours, Reed coaxing her to sip ice water or take her temperature before letting her slip back into feverish dreams. When she finally fought her way back to consciousness, the room was dark. The digital clock glowing on the coffee table read 8pm. She’d texted Reed to get her at... what was it, 2?

Groggy, head spinning, Lynn sat up. She felt awful, overheated and sweaty. She could just make out the shape of Reed’s body around the corner at the kitchen table, the glow of their phone illuminating the outline of their face. As if on instinct, they turned to face her.

“Hey,” they said, scooting their chair back. “You okay if I turn some lights on?”

Lynn nodded, then, remembering that it was dark as shit, said, “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Cool.” They turned on a lamp beside the couch, sitting at the end, near her feet. “How’re ya feeling? Your fever is still pretty high, d’ya think you could keep down some soup?”

Food? Ugh. Lynn made a face, but Reed pressed on. “C’mon, you need something in your stomach. Like, not just water, but actual nutrition, or you’ll just get sicker.”

Her stomach felt vaguely queasy, but Lynn shrugged. “I’ll try.”

“Great! I’ll warm some up for you.”

She dozed as the microwave ran and then beeped, and then Reed helped her sit up against the pillows with the bowl of soup in her lap. Her stomach gurgled as she ate, but seemed to accept the first swallow, so she did her best. She’d managed about three-quarters of the bowl when her stomach gurgled ominously, and she set it down. 

“I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Okay, no problem,” Reed said. “Mind if I take your temperature again?”

Lynn shrugged noncommittally, and they whipped out the thermometer. She was glad when it beeped -- the whole time she was sitting up she’d been shaking with chills, and she quickly buried herself back under the blankets, swallowing a queasy burp.

They didn’t read out the temperature this time, just sighed. “If I leave you with some water, will you drink it? The most important thing right now is to keep hydrated.”

“Um. Sure.” Reed pushed forward a glass of water, and Lynn smiled shakily, but didn’t drink it. “I just don’t wanna puke again, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. You must feel awful,” Reed said, and Lynn laughed hoarsely.

“That’s an understatement.”

“I get it. But you gotta drink something. You’ll feel worse if you don’t.”

Lynn hesitantly picked up the glass -- it felt too heavy in her shaking hand -- and cautiously took a small sip, and then another. To distract herself from the uneasy feeling in her belly, she asked, “Can I ask a personal question?”

“That depends... how personal are we talking? ‘Cause if we’re gonna get in there with the questions, you gotta buy me dinner first.” Reed wiggled their eyebrows, and Lynn felt a warmth that had nothing to do with fever run down her spine.

“Um. Why are you doing this?”

“What, talking to you? ‘Cause I’m bored, and there’s nothing on TV. I mean, if you want me to shut up, I can?”

“No! Like, taking care of a sick stranger you’ve never met. Like, gross sick.”

“Eh.” Reed shoved their hands in their pockets, looking away. “It’s what I would’ve wanted someone to do for me.”

There might have been a story there, but Reed looked a little down, so Lynn decided not to press. “Well. In that case, thank you. It’s appreciated.” Her stomach gurgled again, going from uneasy to actively nauseous in half a second. “Shit -” she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth and throwing off the blankets.

Reed jumped up, maybe to help her, but she was already unsteadily standing, the cold air a shock to her system after staying under the blankets for so long. “Hmmmk!” she gagged, saliva flooding her mouth as she wobbled towards the bathroom as fast as her weak body would let her.

She didn’t make it.

Lynn was just in the threshold of the bathroom when her stomach lurched, squeezing as she heaved again, and she lost it, vomiting into her palm and all over the floor. The sink was closer than the toilet, so she lurched over to it, barely making it over the counter before undigested soup came flooding up her throat, forming a foaming mess in the basin. She heaved again, drawing in a ragged breath before she felt a large, calming hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, tears running down her face. “I didn’t mean to -- I didn’t know I was gonna be sick, and I tried to get to the bathroom, I really tried --” 

“Hey,” Reed said. “Hey. Lynn. Dude. It’s okay. That was kind of my fault anyways.”

“It’s not! I puked all over your floor, and in your sink --” The liquid was slowly draining now, but chunks of undigested noodles and chicken and vegetables were clogging the drain. God, what had she done? "I’ll clean it up, I promise!”

“You don’t have to worry about that, I got it,” they said softly. “Don’t make yourself more upset, you’ll get --” They sighed a little as she burped over the basin again, bringing up a torrent of chunky liquid. “--Sick.”

“Sorry,” Lynn managed when she was done dry-heaving. All that would come up was airy burps.

“Again,” Reed said, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have forced you to eat or drink when you weren’t ready for it, and I definitely should’ve given you a trash can or something.” They shrugged. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned, so. Lesson learned.”

Reed guided Lynn over to sit on the closed toilet seat. “Sit here for me while I clean this up, okay? Just let me know if you start feeling bad again.”

Lynn took in a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Her stomach was cramping hard again, and she wrapped both arms around it, hunched over. Through a haze of fever, she watched as Reed, wearing a pair of dish gloves, scrubbed the sink and mopped the floor. Then, once the bathroom smelled of soap and disinfectant, they wet a washcloth with warm water and crouched down so they were eye level with her.

“Hey. I’m gonna clean you up a bit, okay?” Lynn nodded miserably, sweaty hair sticking to her face. She felt awful, shaking with chills and fever alternately, head swimming.

Reed gently wiped her face with the cloth, then her arms and hands. They re-folded it and rinsed it again, wringing it out and draping it against the back of her neck. She nearly gasped when it touched her skin. They’d used cool water this time, and it felt wonderful. 

“There we go,” they said. “I bet you’re probably wanting a toothbrush or some mouthwash.” 

God, she did feel gross. “Yeah,” Lynn croaked. “That’d be nice.”

“Cool, okay, good. Just stay here for a sec while I go grab some from the closet, okay?”

“Where else would I go?” Lynn’s eyes grew heavy. Sure, she had other places to go, but for now, she was glad to be right here.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Phone Calls

Two phone calls today, both of them actually went exceedingly well, as far as that goes. So that’s something, at least - takes my mind off how much I fucking hurt.

First call was the unexpected one, actually - while waiting for Occupational Health to call my mobile, land line rang. That was my stepfather, telling me as how he’d ordered me a new bed - single bed, with drawers, just as I’d said would be ideal, and was going to order some bedding for it, too. Dunno when that will get here (we’re not sure if they’re going to contact me, who is receiving the bed, or him, who paid for it) but it’s probably the fastest he’s moved on anything in awhile. To give him his due, he’s been better about procrastinating on some things lately - he got the heating element on the boiler sorted in record time, for him. Anyway, point is that there will be decent bed sooner rather than later. This may actually help me get some godsdamned sleep for a change.

Then Occupational Health call happened (my stepfather managed to time the call perfectly in that his call ended ten minutes before OH rang up). The conversation went well, with Occupational Health going, “I work from home! Why aren’t they letting you work from home? Because of the Equalities Act, you might find that there are resources that would make them let you work from home because they need to make all reasonable accommodations to let you work!” Either way, she’s riding with the fibromyalgia diagnosis that we’ve basically solidified now, and will be going back to our HR department with, “She’s fit for work if you make appropriate accommodations and if you won’t let her work from home, she needs more space to stretch in and reduced hours”. So hopefully we’ll be getting a move on with that while my GP refers me for graded exercise physiotherapy and potentially medication. This one did not give me shit about considering a walking stick because “you’ll get dependent on it”. This one actually still seemed grumpy that, what with working from home being so easy these days, I was being obliged to commute at all. So that went well. Hopefully I’ll hear back from HR soon about being able to go back to work. From money and boredom perspective, that’d be nice.

Also, OH doctor explained to me why I’m so tired all the time: “You’re fighting against pain all the time; of course you’re tired!” That surprisingly made me feel better.

So things are actually moving. Better sleeping arrangements and maybe being able to do something productive! Yay!

(Seriously, the people who go “If we had universal income, nobody would work” are talking out their arses. I just want something productive to do...)

[gayerluke]

so i’ve been meaning to write about this for almost a week now since it happened early tuesday morning, but i’ve been burying myself in hyperfixation hell to distract from the utter shock & devastation of it. but i owe my friends on main to talk about it bc i know you guys care about me & my little family.

tw for animal death

my rat patrick passed away extremely suddenly & unexpectedly in the middle of the night between monday & tuesday. he was euthanized at the ER & went peacefully. i wasn’t with him during the actual moment (protocol with small animals is different because they use a different method) but i gave him a lot of love right before they took him back.

both rats were completely FINE early monday. they were active & behaving normally, like little scamps. i came in late that night to check them before bed. david was his normal self, climbing up the cage bars to come see me. patrick, however, was curled up in a little ball, fur all puffed out, eyes squinted: classic sick rat pose. i picked him up & he was awake & responsive, but didn’t squirm like he normally would. his breathing was extremely labored. to me it seemed like an upper respiratory infection, but it’s unusual for them to come on so suddenly -- usually you’ll see mild symptoms building up over the course of maybe a week before it gets this bad (i would’ve definitely begun treatment well before he had reached the state he was in). URIs can usually be treated with simple antibiotics/anti-inflammatories, which needs to be supplemented with a probiotic bc rats are hindgut fermentors who need the beneficial bacteria to digest. but i knew this was bad enough that he needed to go to the ER bc he needed oxygen.

took both rats with me to help reduce the stress for them. this was about 3am. the person who opened the door for me was someone i know from school, of course, bc there’s literally nowhere in town i can go without someone i know working there. it’s fine though bc she was kind of a calming presence & also they can tell the doctor im a tech so they dont dumb it down for me. they took him back right away & took vitals; breathing was labored like i said but he was also hypothermic with a temp of 96; normal is 100-102.5, same as a dog or cat. they put him in an incubator with heat & oxygen. took x-rays, found fluid in the lungs but also AROUND the lungs, known as pleural effusion.

it was at this point that i knew it was not a simple URI but something really really bad. i associate pleural effusion with heart disease; fluid builds up in the institial spaces when blood isn’t being pumped properly. the dr said the fluid could either be pus from infection, blood from trauma, or free fluid (water basically) from a cardiac abnormality, likely congenital given his age. the only way to know for sure was a thoracentesis (chest tap) for $2,000, which didn’t guarantee anything except diagnosis of the type of fluid, & could also cause further damage. just sending him home on antibiotics wasn’t going to work unless we knew it was an infection & could jeopardize his health even further. she also revealed that she didn’t want to do outpatient bc she really didn’t think he’d survive very long outside of the oxygen cage. i was there for several hours just trying to come to a decision. ultimately i chose to let him go. he was only 3 months old.

i elected to have a necropsy performed on site free of charge (as opposed to sending it out to the big lab for more precise diagnosis). i had to call the vet 4 times to finally get ahold of the attending doctor to get the report; the 4th time i called i sobbed on the phone to the receptionist. waiting was the worst fucking part. finally got to talk to her yesterday. the ER vet’s best guess was a congenital heart defect; however the vet who did the necropsy found that it was in fact a severe infection. i can’t help blaming myself & wondering if he could’ve been saved if i’d just taken him home on the antibiotic meds, or if it could’ve been prevented if i’d taken better care of him.

i’ve been a complete wreck since then, breaking down in sobs a lot. i didn’t sleep for 4 days. but the absolute worst part of all this is david. rats are social animals; they CANNOT live alone. human companionship isn’t enough. now i put him in his carrier & set it out on the couch or bed with a towel down so he can hang out with me for 6-8 hours a day. but he’s too nervous to come out of the carrier (patrick was always the investigative one who’d let david know when it was safe). he mostly sleeps all day. he is not eating much if anything & i’m trying to keep track of any weight loss, though he does seem to eat a bit with the emergency nutrical smeared on his kibble.

so now i’m at a crossroads: i either get another rat, which i’m not totally sure i want to do, or re-home him. the necropsy results help me determine that, because they’re most likely littermates so if patrick had a heart defect david could too.

again, i’ve been in stasis the last 5 days but now i have to make a tangible plan. at this point i’m leaning towards getting a second rat; david & i have bonded so much over this experience that i don’t want to give him away & really, 2 rats aren’t much more work than one. i might go back to the reptile store where they’re from to see if the owner (who i know) will just give me another one with good temperament.

but first david needs a vet appointment to see if he has any evidence of infection setting in, or if he should have prophylactic antibiotics. the cage & room need a deep clean. technically i could get a new rat right now since i’d want to quarantine both of them for 2 weeks, but unfortch i’m flying to fucking portland again next friday. i need to find where to board him.

sorry this is so long but i’ve really been Processing it all. i’ve spent all week in shock. for the first 2 days i couldn’t look at david without breaking down in full-on sobs. patrick was only 3 months. he was doing so well & becoming a big boy. i’m heartbroken. but i’m determined to still give david a good life.

[heysawbones]

Congratulations, Me; You’re Slow

Surprise, me! You’re literally slow. As in, your processing speed - the rate at which your brain takes in stimuli and makes sense of it - is below average. Quantitatively. The average is 100. Yours is 94. 

Three years ago, I was given a cognitive battery. I’ve had an unusually high number of these in my life. Most people will never have even one. I’ve had four; one to assess for the Gifted and Talented program in kindergarten, one to reassess for the same when I changed school districts, one to assess for ADHD, and yet another, the latest, to assess for the same, as the prior records were lost. ADHD runs in my family, but I seem to have been one of those kids who compensated really, really well. Was I organized? Not even a little. Lose things? Constantly. I procrastinated like a motherfucker, too, but it was usually easy to make up the work in class before it was due. I would drive hard to complete the GT project-based assignments at the last minute, and always did fine. Better than fine, even. Sure, I used to obsessively braid yarn or draw in class, but nobody had any reason to suspect I would have issues with things like maintaining attention or executive function later on. If they did, I never heard about it. Even today, it’s not obvious; people associate a certain flightiness with ADHD and that isn’t me. People associate a lot of things with ADHD that aren’t me. This has been so much of an issue, in fact, that despite meeting diagnostic criteria over and over, as admitted by clinicians, people have been hesitant to give me the diagnosis. The argument deployed tends to be: you have all the symptoms, but you also have chronic depression, which has the same symptoms, so we’ll just go with that one. The underlying rationale, the unspoken answer to “why can’t it be both? they often co-occur” seems to be: you are too articulate and self-aware to have ADHD. It boils down to you’re too smart to be slow. 

This is unfair to me, and demonstrably untrue, besides. I recognized this long ago. I am the one who has to figure out some way to compensate for the symptoms. Yes, the symptoms of depression and ADHD overlap (especially if you are depressed for a long time), but the treatment of those symptoms is not the same. I have been in treatment for depression for over ten years. Am I better than I was? Unquestionably so. 

Do I function at a level sustainable for an adult not on disability? Can I get places on time? Can I catch a plane without showing up 14 hours early, lest I show up 14 hours late, or at the wrong airport entirely, instead? Do I remember things people told me yesterday? Can I go to Target without the possibility of getting caught up in a weird cognitive trap where I want bananas, but am too guilty to buy them unless I do the rest of my grocery shopping, which I don’t have the mental energy for? Do I remember enough of my meds when I go on trips? Can I stop persistently putting things in places that make no sense, and then having no idea that I’ve done it 15 seconds later? Can I manage an adult’s schedule? Can I remember to pay bills on time? Can I remember what I’ve spent money on in the last week? Can I remember what I ate this morning? Can I hold down a job that is, honestly, below my abilities in many ways?

The answer is, of course, sometimes yes. Distressingly frequently, it is no. Where travel is concerned, it is always no, and somehow, I have managed to show up at the wrong airport entirely more than once. 

Yes, I recognize that these are problems all people have, to some degree, at some time in their lives. If people are willing to act on the belief that I am too smart to be slow, why is it that when I account for my concerns and attempt to articulate the impact they have on my life, I am suddenly not self-aware anymore, and am only overreacting to what obviously MUST be the same degree of these problems that other reasonable adults experience? Why am I credible in other areas, but not this one? If I am so smart, why is it assumed that I’ve failed to account for my own emotional bias when gauging the difficulty I am experiencing? Why is it more satisfying to assume that I am not trying hard enough, then it is to accept that a smart, self-aware person may, in fact, have some kind of Brain Problem that, really, there is no logical contraindication to, and much evidence, for? When I do the responsible thing and insistently pursue all reasonable options to address my mental and neurological health, with the goal of being a functional contributor to society, why is this so persistently reduced to a fetish specifically for an ADHD diagnosis? I’m smart when it’s convenient for others, but not when it comes to the ability to draw cause and effect relationships from my own behavior, and make comparisons between those and the behavior of others? If I got treatment that worked, I wouldn’t care what the diagnosis was. Come the fuck on. I’m tired of this.

-----

Anyway. I sat down with the results of that three-year-old cognitive battery. I’ve read the summary before; it’s peppered with lines like

“There is also considerable other evidence in this testing consistent with a diagnosis of ADHD”

“In my experience, some individuals who are very bright are able to compensate for some of their disability”

“this distribution of index scores is very typical of individuals with ADHD”

“Many of the behaviors she describes are certainly typical of individuals who suffer from ADHD. Unfortunately, the coexisting history of chronic major depression and PTSD make that differential diagnosis based on history alone difficult” 

When I first read that last year, I was shocked because the therapist who requested the cognitive battery, only expressed surprise that I was “very smart” and said that my “scores were fine.” When I later confronted him after having read the summary myself, he merely admitted that some of my scores were “lower than others”. He never entertained the possibility that I had ADHD, which in an of itself, wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d been willing to just try the treatments for it, since clearly the two industrial-strength doses of antidepressants I was already on, were not cutting it. Alas, he was not, and it wasn’t until after he retired that the issue was addressed again.

Surprisingly, I was not the person who addressed it. When my therapist-MD retired, I needed at least a primary care provider to manage my medications. Since the appointment was for psych med management, I had to fill out a bunch of related intake forms - you likely know the kind. While looking them over, my new doctor peered up at me and asked, “Has anybody ever suggested that you might have ADHD?” I was taken aback by the question and wasn’t sure where to start. Them? Asking me? if I have ADHD? She asked me? 

I told her that I’d had two full cognitive batteries done, and that both of them concluded roughly the same thing: yes, all the symptoms are there, no, we do not know if it’s ADHD because there’s too much background noise from other psych issues. Without skipping a beat, she said the most amazing thing to me: 

Well, whatever it is, you have the symptoms, so let’s treat them.

God. Why didn’t someone say that years ago? Diagnoses are human constructs; we use them to group symptoms that tend to occur together, when they’re thought to have the same causes. Depression and ADHD have many (but not all) of the same symptoms, but the overlap doesn’t qualify as a diagnosis because the causes are assumed to be different. I think we often forget that diagnoses are containers for commonalities that we use to make talking about medicine easier, not necessarily biological phenomena unto themselves. If you remember that they are containers - a sort of conceptual shorthand - then it follows that if one treatment for a set of symptoms isn’t solving the problem, you ought to try a different treatment often used for the same symptoms, even if the minutiae of diagnosis means you aren’t sure you can apply the diagnosis typically associated with that second treatment*.

I am now on Vyvanse. Does it magically solve my problems? No. Does it help? Yes. I am in a much better position to actually address the bad habits and coping mechanisms someone like me builds up over the years. The notable insomnia should wear off over time, and besides, as a person with an existing sleep disorder, having fucked up sleep isn’t new. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.

-----

Anyway. So I sat down with the results of that three-year-old cognitive battery, because I had to dig them up for my new therapist. Instead of reading the summary, I dug into the raw numbers: the related tests are the Weschler Adult Intelligence Scale IV (WAIS-IV), and the Weschler Memory Scale III (WMS-III). I couldn’t find sufficient guidance on interpreting the WMS-III, so I’ll stick with the WAIS-IV scores:

At first inspection, these scores do look “fine”. Anything within 10 points of 100 in either direction qualifies as “average”, even if 100 is “the average”. But on further reading, both in the summary and out: 

-Examination of these results reveals considerable significant variability between various functional capacities, with VCI of 141 a full 3 standard deviations above PSI of 94.** Problems with both working memory and processing speed impacted her overall IQ considerably, bringing her Full Scale IQ down to 120 (from 133). 

-A significant difference among subtest scores can suggest a problem in the particular skill being tested; this might underlie a learning disability. A significant difference among standard Index Scores might also indicate a learning disability, ADHD

-when I see a difference in IQ scores such that the verbal and nonverbal scores are far superior to the processing speed score, I try to discern what could be causing the discrepancy.

-LD diagnoses are also reliant on score discrepancies. On the WAIS, a gifted individual with ADHD may look like this.

Verbal comprehension - 132

Perceptual Reasoning - 129

Processing Speed - 97

Working memory - 101

Absolute scores aren’t the only diagnostic tool. Relative scores are also important. For example, average scores across the board wouldn’t be indicative of a working memory or processing speed issue, whereas great discrepancies between those parameters and others, is - even if the working memory and processing speed scores themselves are the same in both examples. What I’m saying is, it’s right there. It’s in the numbers. There’s no wiggle room. My old therapist saw these numbers, and not only did he choose not to act on the information, he pointedly refused to do so. If he hadn’t retired, I’d look into suing for malpractice. It’s in the god damn numbers, my dude. I don’t care what you want to call it, the deficit is right. there.

What did I ever do to him? Did he just... not believe ADHD is real? More to the point, did he think I somehow, without knowing the ins and outs of the WAIS-IV, faked the deficits or something? Really, guy, what the hell?

-----

Do I feel bad about being slow? Honestly, no. I might have if I found this out 10 years ago, or in circumstances wherein that reality didn’t perfectly explain aspects of my experience that other people have been prone to downplay, or dismiss entirely. Instead, it’s the closest I can get to scientific verification that I’m not just losing my shit over nothing over here; that something has, in fact, gone awry, and may always have been awry. I couldn’t compensate forever (though the ways I’ve done it are many, and in retrospect, interesting) and now I’m on the other end of it, trying to rebuild. I am, as I like to say, building an exoskeleton - something that will hold me up when my brain insists on faceplanting. I’m just grateful there’s someone out there who isn’t too caught up in the semantic navel-gazing of diagnosis, to help.

*There are obvious exceptions here, such as when the two diagnoses have causes whose treatment is contraindicated in the other diagnosis. This is not the case with depression and ADHD.

** You see that Percentile Rank of 34? That means I performed better than 34 percent of people my age, at least according to the test sample. That’s. Not great.