#not even just around medical professionals

[mumblingsage]

#🤔 i remember reading about trauma being a psychic wound#from witnessing or experiencing an event where someone's physical integrity was threatened#i know you can't start talking about ptsd until 6 months after the event if you're still seeing effects from it#i'm not so sure about the formal definition of traumatized#bc most people heal after even really bad trauma. ptsd is what you get around 1/3 times when your psyche like. doesn't#so i think traumatized might be for shorter term effect? but still like a specific term for you know like an actual medical condition#and indeed i'm no health professional or expert but i'm p fucking sure that can't happen from stuff happening to fictional people#and much less from reading words on a page#anyway thank you for this post op

I also find these distinctions and definitions super interesting! (I'd say "fun" but it's just not a fun topic.)

-My understanding is that you're right, post-traumatic stress syndrome can't be diagnosed until 6 months after the event. If you're having stress symptoms in the immediate aftermath - and this is quite common, much more common than longer-term PTSD - it's called acute stress disorder (there's also 'adjustment disorder' which might overlap?). And people actually going through the fight-flight-or-freeze survival response to trauma may not be aware of themselves as particularly upset or realize they're having symptoms; those often emerge after the immediate threat is past. I cannot stress enough that people with PTSD are not weak and have not failed; to survive trauma requires immense resilience whatever the outcome. But PTSD also isn't an inevitable outcome. (George Bonnano's book The End of Trauma is poorly titled - he doesn't promise to end trauma - but was a really informative read on resilience.) Also, the fact that 85% of the people who evacuated the Twin Towers on 9/11 did not develop PTSD makes me skeptical of how many people would develop PTSD from reading or watching a movie; if as a species we're that resilient when our lives are truly threatened and death is all around us, I expect we'll be pretty resilient in milder circumstances. [However, some forms of trauma have far higher likelihood of PTSD than others because of different factors: for instance, about half of sexual assault survivors experience PTSD, because our culture really sucks at supporting SA survivors. The same article says 94% of survivors experience PTSD symptoms in the first 2 weeks; I think this is what the 'acute stress disorder' diagnosis is intended to cover.]

-So then what do we actually mean when we say "traumatized"? Speaking for myself as OP, I'd mean either/or 1. Developed symptoms of PTSD or acute stress disorder, or 2. Went through an experience known to lead to symptoms of PTSD or acute stress disorder (on which I'll defer to section A of the DSM-5's diagnostic criteria for PTSD), even if such symptoms didn't develop or have since resolved. This definition may be somewhat circular. It is not perfect (the DSM is not an unimpeachable document; at the same time, informed and caring people are always at work to improve it). But I think it gets at a real distinction that will emerge if we compare the experiences of, for instance, people who actually had a friend die suddenly in childhood vs people who just read Bridge to Terebithia.

-In hindsight it might have been helpful to define what I think it means to be "traumatized" in my OP, but it isn't easy to get the entire contents of Judith Herman's Trauma and Recovery plus Bessel van der Kolk's The Body Keeps the Score plus the odd discussion in the therapist's office into a concise blog post. And maybe it was more productive to leave the term undefined so each reader has to examine their own definition/understanding of it. (I'm giving myself too much credit. Even so.)

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[lovingperfectionsblog]

Hate me please.

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION! - Minors do not interact. 

Art Donaldson x Reader.

Summary: Art confronts you about your eating disorder.

Warning: Eating disorder, fight, angst, crying, swearing, talking about someone getting admitted. 

Word count: 2072. 

Authors note: Guys, this is about an eating disorder. This is in no way glamourising them. My aim is always to bring awareness to the actual feelings around them and how difficult it actually is to navigate them. Please note, where I live, someone can get you admitted to an institution for numerous reasons provided a medical professional feels you are dangerous to yourself or those around you. This is the premise this story falls under. Eating disorders are, and this is from a doctor, as severe as addiction and needs to be treated accordingly! If you or anyone else you know is facing this, please seek out medical help! There are a ton of amazing resources out there to help you! And most importantly, please be kind. To yourself and to others. You are worth the help, always. The world is good and kind and you deserve to be in it. This piece of fiction is also cathartic for me. I am dealing with my own mental health stuff and this helps me. 

Please remember, you are in-charge of the media you consume. If you do not like it, do not read it. Please do not consume this if you are currently in a bad mental health space. Please take care of yourself. And my inbox is always open if you feel there is some way I could improve on getting this message across (Again, be kind, I am also just a person going on my own experience) or if you need to chat about anything. Be safe and remember, you deserve love and kindness, especially from yourself. 

____________

You knew you hadn’t expected anything good, but you hadn’t expected this. You thought that maybe there would be some screaming. Maybe he would pack up and leave. Maybe he should leave you. That’s what you had expected as you sat on the couch, just waiting for Art to come storming through the door, ready for him to leave you. 

What you hadn’t expected was for the door to slowly open, hearing the click of the handle as it was pushed downwards from the outside and slowly allowing a stream of light to filter in to the previously dark apartment. Art was near silent as he made his way into the space you were both currently staying as he prepared for his next tournament. 

You heard the thump of his bag as it slipped off his shoulder and the soft rustle as he toed off his shoes. After that, it was as if he just stopped moving altogether. You would have assumed he wasn’t even in the apartment anymore; he was so silent. All the way up until you heard him sigh. 

He was going to leave you. 

And maybe that’s exactly what you deserved. Maybe you knew that all along. It had to have been the reason you did all of this in the first place. You knew you didn’t deserve Art and so you tried to create a version of yourself that did. A skinnier, prettier version of yourself.

Skinny and pretty like Tashi. 

Skinny and pretty like Art deserved. 

You had to stop yourself from glancing up as he walked into the lounge. You could feel his eyes on you, but you sat, forcing yourself to stare out of th large double doors in front of you. You watched as the city lights twinkled and you could;t help but think about the last time you saw fireflies. You were significantly younger. You’d been sitting alone in your parents yard and suddenly one of the denser bushes lit up, slowly, but it lit up. One by one, they started to shine. Just like the stars at night. One by one. Just like the city below. The lights beginning to illuminate the darkened world. One by one. 

One by one, just like Arts footsteps as he made his way towards the lightswitch. The entire room is illuminated by a single flip of a switch. It was an assault to your senses. The bright warmth absorbs the dark. Absorbing the twinkling lights of the city below. Suddenly, all you could see in the big glass panes was your reflection and for a brief moment you could see how gaunt your face looked and you could see how far your collar bones protrude through the skin that encased them, but the longer you looked, it was almost as if a sculpture was placing more and more clay onto the statue you so painstakingly carved out. You can see each and every point of weight being put back on and your brain justifies it all again. Suddenly, you remembered you deserved this. That Art deserved this. He was a pro-athlete for god sake, which pro-athlete wouldn’t want a skinny, pretty partner? 

That brief moment where you know how sick you are, you think he might hate this for you, but the sculpture and the clay and suddenly you can’t believe you thought that at all. 

Your reflection was obscured as Art came to a stop in front of you and you dragged your eyes up, from the bottom of his shorts, your favourite pair of his, all the way up to his mouth. The one that was so often upturned into that sweet, sweet smile you first fell in love with. It always seemed so innocent. Always seemed so pure. Now though, set in a  hard line, but they kept the words behind them as if under lock and key. Art not allowing a word to slip past them until he was sure about what he was going to say.  It couldn’t have been anything good if his message was anything to go by; 

‘I need to talk to you.’

All you had to do was unlock your phone and you’d see the message glaring back at you. The message that you were sure was the beginning of he end. 

Eventually your gaze reached his eyes, much to your dismay. You didn’t want to because you were sure that the second you did, it would kick off the entire ending into gear, but you did it anyway and there were his red rimmed eyes. 

It truly was the beginning of the end

You watched his mouth open and shut, but it was the moment that he cleared his throat that brought you out of your thoughts. Like a rope had been wrapped around you and yanked, forcing you back. 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore and you could see the tears threatening to escape, he cleared his throat again and your stomach turned as you heard his voice waver. 

“I spoke to Maddy.” Fucking Maddy. Of course she had said something to him. “I’ve taken some time off and we’re going to get you some help.” 

The co fusion on your face was what pushed the tear over the waterline and as he dragged his hand down his face, the tear was spread. You watched as he darted his tongue out, you assume catching he last little bits of it. You wondered if they were as salty to the taste as your own so often were. 

“You need help baby.” He crouched down in front of you, engulfing your hands in his own. 

“You spoke to Maddy?” When? What had they said that concerned you? 

“Yeah, we’re all worried about you. You need help my love.” It’s as if he thought that repeating himself was going to make you understand, but it didn’t, you sat, still just as confused. 

“Why are you taking time off?” You couldn’t understand. Why did he even need to take time off? 

“We’re,” Why did he need to keep clearing his throat? It’s not like he was the one currently  being out under a microscope. “We’ve got a plan baby, and I just, I need you to know that.” 

“What plan? What are you talking about?” Your brain wasn’t catching up to what was happening and for some reason, you were growing irrationally angry. The more he refused to just spit it out, the more agitated you became. 

“Remember that place we spoke about a little while ago. That place up north in France? The one with some of the best doctors in the world, that help with,” The pause was enough to kill you. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was sending you away. 

“I really don’t think I’m in need of a place like that.” Confusion was still ever present in the conversation and it seeped into every word. You watched as Art mulled over the next words in his head. 

“The institution.” He said it so quietly, but the words stuck through you like a knife. He was actively sending you away to an institution because he thought you were sick. 

“I am not being sent to an institution Art.” You moved to storm out but the panic and what you assume was a lack of food kept you planted in your seat. Those dizzy spots blurring your vision. If you waited another second they’d be gone. They always went away after a few seconds. ALways. Art dropped his head, gaze focused between hus knees, a shaky breathe leaving him. You could feel the exhale on your calves. 

“It’s not up to you.” It was so quiet you almost missed it and when you didn’t respond, Art tentatively peaked up, the betrayal evident in your eyes. 

“It’s not up to me? How the fuck could being admitted not be up to me?” You could feel your face and neck beginning to heat up. From anger or shame, you weren’t sure which, but you could feel it crawling up under your skin and if Arts’ facial expression was anything to go by, he knew it too. 

Art could feel the anger radiating off of you but this is exactly what he had expected. He had gone behind your back, spoken to his personal therapist. Honestly, Maddy had been the one who had brought it up with him, and he was ashamed he hadn’t realized how severe it was. How sick you actually were. He and MAddy had discussed a variety of options and in your case, she was sure she could get you admitted no problem and that’s exactly what they did. 

And now he had to do the hard part of letting you know. He had his bag packed and now he just needed to convince you that you needed to pack yours too.

“Why would you do this to me?” The ay this was all going, it felt as if you weren’t all that willing to put up a fight. He could live wit you hating him, with thinking he did all of this to hurt you, but he couldn’t live hu,mself if he did nothing to help you and he lost you because of it. So hating him it is. 

“Because I can’t lose you.” He could see how confused you were at that statement and it all hit him like a ton of bricks. You had no idea. You didn’t realize just how bad you had gotten. 

“You aren't going to.” You were shocked into silence as he abruptly stood up, leg bouncing as he stood in front of you. 

“ I am going to though. You just don’t see it. And just because you don’t see it, doesn’t make it any less true.”  The words just came tumbling out of his mouth before he could give himself anytime to think them through. “I am going to lose you because you’re killing yourself and I don’t know why or how to make it better.” The words filled the room within seconds and you felt your throat begin to constrict. Is this what he had thought? 

Next thing you knew you were standing toe to toe with the man you loved “I am not going to die.” 

“Then pack your bag and come with me.” His request was instantaneous and you felt sick. You knew you had to do what he said, yu’d done so much of this for him already, but suddenly, you didn't want to give it up anymore. You knew you’d worked hard for this. What was the difference between what Art did to his body and what you did to yours? They were both simply acts of devotion, weren’t they?

“You have a match soon though.” Any excuse to get out of this. You just needed to remind him what was important to him. “I pulled out. I’d fucking quit if thats what it took. I’d do anything. I just need you to get better.” it was a sobering moment for you. You’d always thought that you came second to the true great love of Ar Donaldsons life, but here he stood, saying the most tragic yet beautiful thing possible, that it was never tennis. It was, is, you. He wasn’t scared of losing the game, but losing you, the thought brought him to his knees. 

You turned and made your way to the bedroom, unable to look at him through the tears, that is until he called out for you. What you werre doing, all of it, took courage, even the part where you had to turn and face Art now. 

“Please.” God, he had never felt so small in his entire life, but he reckoned that the really monumental moments in life always would, to show you the grand importance of them was even greater than what you could ever be. And Art had never felt as small as he did in this moment. 

Art didn’t know what relief was until he heard you say that you were going to pack a bag. Wasn't even ashamed to admit that the next words left him feeling a sense of relief too because he knew what you actually meant. 

“I’m going to hate you for a while for this.” 

I'm scared, but I will try. 

“For as long as you need.” 

I will be with you through it all.

[semiotomatics]

bloodwork came back normal (derogatory) and its gonna be at least 2 weeks till i can talk to my dr abt next steps, tried to find another clinic to go to but got scared off by bad reviews/my own prior bad experiences for the close ones, the distance/inaccessibility for the far ones, and cant get a virtual appointment anywhere until august, so like. that sucks

[milo-is-rambling]

I can’t even imagine living without anxiety. Like. How. What?

[sa-bo]

Genuinely need a break from this arc real quick why does One Piece delve so deep into the ethics of war this arc, like holy shit I'm gonna fucking die

[thethingything]

also shoutout to the hospital for sending us a bunch of PDFs with information about preparing for surgery and what to expect, except the information was all generic stuff where most of it does't actually apply to wisdom tooth removal, so I had a huge panic attack where I nearly threw up because a bunch of the stuff mentioned in there is extremely triggering for us, only to then find out that stuff literally doesn't apply anyway, but now I feel like I have even less of an idea of what to actually expect because it's so hard to figure out which information does apply

[appleleef]

my hawkinsona Lee has definitely seen a demodog or a portal to the upside down and just went home. That's none of my business.

[royalreef]

(( Very funny to me that Miranda is, fundamentally, a fully licensed medical professional inside of the Merkingdom. There is some nuance, she's not really the type of doctor who sees the public or anything, and her particular line of work is very specific to her title and what role she occupies within the Merkingdom at large — but she's still basically a doctor. It would not be inaccurate to call her so.

Which is also fun to be because she's not at all the type of person that you would want to operate on you. Even in the Merkingdom, she has terrible bedside manner, even if she doesn't need to.

[feline-evil]

Allowing your oc's to be just sort of fucked idiot dickheads is great

This is my schmoopy, i made him up in my head, he huffs paint fumes and has never gotten over his ex and yes he's making it EVERYONE'S problem! I'm putting him up on a plinth with a gold plaque and telling everyone he is the best schmoopy around and im kissing his forehead and bestowing him with ribbons so everyone knows how wonderful he is. He will steal your wallet also.

[arctic-hands]

Never gonna forget my second round of scopes (a combined upper endoscopy and a colonoscopy all at once) where I was only put under partial anesthesia and could feel every moment of agony as they maneuvered the cameras and tubes up my nose, down my throat, into my digestive, and, oh yeah, up my ass too. I remember every moment of writhing around in pain and screaming and sobbing and begging them to stop but not being able to articulate clearly because of the tubes, not only in physical pain from this torture but also an emotional wreck because the elderly nurse who swore up and down he would hold my hand thru it all wasn't there at all like he promised. I remember the doctors mocking me throughout the procedure while I screamed because it was obvious I had cheated on my medical fast. Mostly tho I remember the head nurse screaming at me "Stop acting like a child!"

I was twelve

[nexus-nebulae]

i want to fucking explode

[thebiballerina]

I mostly concur with the above reblogger, but I wanted to add one thing:

I wouldn't say that anything you do will have zero impact. There are SOME things you can do that will have an impact, if you choose to put your time and energy into this issue. (Which you are not obligated to do, to be clear, unless you have some sort of role or job which implies that sort of responsibility.)

You aren't necessarily helpless. But subscribing to OP's mindset is a really good way to make yourself helpless.

I've seen that mindset, repeatedly. I had that mindset, at one point in time. You know what changed that, more than anything else? Becoming an actual activist.

The activists who hold on to the mindset that a mental health break is selfish? The ones that can't or won't emotionally distance themselves? The ones that don't acknowledge their right to care for themselves because someone, somewhere is suffering worse than them? They don't last, and they don't help.

The good ending for that road is to burn out, and then not be able to help anymore. The bad ending is to fall heavily into compassion fatigue, and then be so desensitized and unable to care that you cause real harm. Or there's the other bad ending, which is that you neglect yourself so thoroughly that you end up hurt, sick, or dead (and maybe hurt others while you are at it). You might even manage to do all three of these things.

If you want to make a real impact on more than a minuscule scale, you not only need to allow yourself mental health breaks (which, yes, sometimes include disengaging completely), you need to accept that they aren't selfish at all. They are sometimes the only way you'll be able to preserve your ability to help. Feeling personally affected by an issue is valid, and sometimes unavoidable, but it doesn't correlate to how much of a difference you make.

Hurting yourself doesn't automatically help others. Many of us have heard metaphor which references the airplane safety instruction to put on your oxygen mask before helping others do so. It's a good metaphor. A suffocating person isn't going to thank you for the valiant gesture of suffocating yourself alongside them, when you had the option to save the both of you.

I believe in sacrifice, in some cases. I believe in acknowledging my privilege. But sacrifice generally implies that you are giving something up to help someone else. If you are just giving something up… it's more suffering in the world, not less.

Do you want to actually help? I bet you there are activism campaigns that would love to have you, in a variety of forms and levels of commitment. Including entirely remote efforts, if you aren't in a position or location to engage in in-person efforts. That goes for any cause, not just this one.

And you'll make a lot more difference in that sphere if you prioritize your impact, instead of your devotion to the issue.

i think anyone who is genuinely worried about their mental health bc of the situation in gaza probably needs to reformat their way of thinking about it. the answer is not to take a “mental health break” where you pretend whats happening in gaza doesnt exist and stop being vocal and refuse to hear people around you who are vocal. the way to do that “mental health break” much more effectively and not selfishly would be to remove yourself from constant streams of idiotic and/or murderously evil people. stop watching tiktok debates. stop reading genocidal reddit comments and news articles from sources you KNOW want palestine dead. stop putting the focus on the murderers and keep your attention on sympathy and love for the murdered, on hope and optimism (even if naive) and activism to do your part in making things better. dont get me wrong the murderers still need to be dealt with but if you as an individual feel like you’re getting too overwhelmed with despair to be helpful, the answer is to shift your focus away from those causing the despair, not to ignore and abandon those who have to actually live through it.

[get-more-bald]

im so hungry im going to die

[sillimancer]

I feel like my body has given up completely

[glassballdinosaurs]

Ugh

[thethingything]

we have a dentist appointment tomorrow and on the plus side we're not really anxious about the appointment itself because the dentist was so nice last time and actually took our medical trauma into account.

unfortunately though we do have to have anaesthetic which makes us feel like shit for at least the rest of the day, and no matter how considerate the dentist is, having a medical professional touch us at all does still trigger certain trauma and then I end up having a bunch of panic attacks at some point within the next few days and it's a really shit time. I really don't wanna have to deal with that and the concept of it is making me nauseous