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gatesofember · 4 years ago

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can you expand on the canon and fanon ableism in solangelo? I sort of picked up on the infantilisation of nico (hes dealing with ptsd and i guess chronic fatigue, hes not a baby) but i always thought that was handled better in canon than in fanon? But then i havent read ToN i admit

Sure! I don’t know that I’m the best person to ask this because while I am disabled, I’m still unlearning a lot of ableism myself. But I’ll try my best to explain! Maybe some people could recommend some good posts about this if they know any?

Infantilizing—like you mentioned, this is one of the biggest problems with ableism in the fandom. There isn’t much of this in canon, but in fanon Nico’s often characterized as helpless and he’s not taken seriously. Will often plays the role of caretaker rather than boyfriend to an infantilized Nico, which creates an inherent and unhealthy power imbalance.

Will being portrayed as a savior—a common and dangerous trope in romance is that one character is saved by the love of another. It’s especially damaging when the character being saved has mental health problems or physical disabilities. I think most people realize nowadays that this isn’t okay, but you’ll still occasionally see things that portray Will as a savior. Nico entering a relationship because he’s healing and accepting himself is great! But Nico being saved by a relationship? Bad.

Victim blaming—honestly most characters who interact with Nico in canon engage in some level of victim blaming, but by far the worst one was Will (aside from like. Hades and Minos.) In BoO, Will went on an entire rant telling Nico that he was responsible for his own problems and that he manufactured his own abandonment by pushing people away, when really, Nico was the victim of bullying, rejection, abuse, and serious mental health problems—and he already blamed himself for all that so Will’s rant only would have made him feel more invalidated. Later books definitely pulled back on the victim blaming, but it was such a prevalent part of the foundation of their relationship that it’s been ingrained in the ship. It shows a severe and dangerous misunderstanding of mental health on the part of both Riordan and the fandom.

Will being Nico’s healthcare provider—What makes Will being portrayed as a savior even worse is the fact that Will is a healer. Doctors shouldn’t date their patients. Much like the caretaker issue I mentioned above, it creates a power imbalance which is usually satisfied because the doctor is paid for doing their job, but things get messy when any kind of personal relationship is involved. Will should not be in charge of Nico’s medical care. Of course he can act as Nico’s healer in emergencies, but Nico’s primary medical care provider should be someone else. If Will acts as Nico’s medical care provider out of necessity (eg, because he’s the only healer at camp halfblood), then they need to set up clear boundaries and rules. Will being Nico’s doctor should never be spun as a good thing.

Will abusing his authority as a medical care provider—most notably the “doctor’s orders” and “doctor’s note” scenes. Will was extremely overbearing in BoO, from forbidding Nico from using his powers to ordering him to stay in the infirmary, and that kind of pushiness isn’t okay. He was abusing his power, doubting Nico’s judgement and capabilities, and denying Nico’s right to make his own decisions (again, infantilizing). Disabled people’s agency is often denied and autonomy is so important. Nico should have been allowed to make the choice to stay in the infirmary on his own (or not to stay, or to follow through with his plan to leave chb; he should have had the freedom to make those choices, too), and frankly, it would have been a much more powerful ending to Nico’s pov if he had. He should have chosen to go to the infirmary because he decided he wanted to get better, not because he wanted to be around Will (see previous point about Will being portrayed as a savior) (although it would have been fine if Nico thought of Will as an added bonus). I said in the previous post that Will writing a doctor’s note to allow Nico to sit at the Apollo table doesn’t bother me, but that’s because I imagine that situation being like, Nico was denied accommodations so Will and Nico hatched a plan together to use what little leverage they have to get adults to listen to Nico’s needs and take him seriously, but both of them fully understood that Will should not act as Nico’s doctor again unless there were serious medical reasons. Other people interpret that scene as Will abusing his power as the head medic to sit next to his boyfriend. And I’m not saying that my interpretation of that scene is necessarily the correct one, just that I don’t interpret it as Will being ableist.

Nico faking his disability to get things—I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone bring this point up, but it’s something that really bothers me. The ableism regarding the “doctor’s note” for me isn’t the scene itself, but when the fandom portrays Will and Nico constantly using the doctor’s note excuse to get what they want, often having Nico fake some sort of symptom. Besides the abuse of power I mentioned before, promoting the idea that disabled people fake disabilities to get certain privileges is not okay. This is the sort of thinking that leads to stereotyping disabled people as lazy and it’s so prevalent that it makes a lot of disabled people wonder if they’re really disabled or if they’re making it all up (which ties in with the victim blaming point again).

Sometimes I agree that canon Solanagelo is less ableist than fanon, but sometimes fans do a better job than Riordan. It really just depends. I definitely think that both Riordan and the fandom have gotten better though! Will’s character and his relationship with Nico was very different in ToN than it was in previous books (different for the better but also to the point of inconsistency, but that’s a different critique). There were a lot of things in ToN that made it clear that Riordan was listening to the responses of disabled people. Some fans seem to be listening, too. There’s still rampant ableism in the fandom, but people are getting better at responding to criticism and realizing that a lot of tropes that used to be popular just aren’t ok.

Thank you for your ask! I’m glad you reached out to learn more. Again, if anyone knows good posts to read or blogs to visit for further information, please reply with them!

#anon #tw ableism #ableism tw

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nakhiphop · 4 years ago

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how john calvin helped me figure out that i have obessive-compulsive disorder

Drowning. Dying alone. Small holes grouped together. We all have a “worst fear.” Mine? Being forsaken by God.

Among the cornerstones of Christian doctrine is the concept of “salvation,” or the state of being pardoned from the consequences of sin- the direst being separation from God. The equation is simple: the saved enjoy Heaven, the unsaved go to Hell. Though the Bible partly alludes to “Hell” as a place, I personally think the essence of Hell is God’s absence. In other words, Hell is where God isn’t (and conversely, Heaven is where God is).

Since the beginning of my faith journey, I’ve always feared that my faith was phony, or I mistakenly equated an emotional spiritual experience as evidence of salvation (it isn’t). Essentially, I was afraid of being unsaved… or worse, forsaken by God due to all my sinning. The sermons I remember most are based on precautionary Bible stories suggesting that God allows the heart to become hardened by habitual and intentional sin (Exod. 7:3, Rom. 1:28)- a habitual and intentional sinning that I believed I was guilty of.

“How could a real believer continue to look at pornography?” “How can a Christian have such cruel intentions?” “How could a regenerate mind still harbor thoughts of unspeakable depravity?” I’ve examined the evidence at every thinkable angle. And the more I assess and reassess the fruits of my living, I notice deeper corruption with every inspection, fortifying my conclusion: despite my many failed attempts at repentance, I’m no Christian. God has forsaken me. I’m damned.

For those of you unfamiliar with the contemporary Christian worship service format, there is often designated periods of time in which the speaker invites the non-believing attendees in the audience to dedicate their lives to Christ. In some churches, the speaker invites the non-believer to physically stand at the foot of the stage, heightening the symbolic impact and solemnity of the moment (there’s a lot of other reasons why we do this, but that’s for later). This “altar call” signifies the moment(s) of transformation. The moment(s) the soul is reborn. The moment(s) of salvation.

A Billy Graham Crusade, Greg Laurie’s Crusades, like two or three different youth summer camps… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone up to the altar to dedicate my life to Christ.

Throughout my journey, I have discussed with every spiritual mentor my persistent fears of being unsaved. Though each of them had their unique style about them, every response was sewn with a common thread: I need to accept God’s grace.

“Grace,” you ask? Christian “grace” is receiving from God any good thing that is undeserved, unearned, and unmerited. For example, the salvation I was speaking of earlier is an act of God’s grace; in other words, being “saved” is a gift of God- no particular action that I can (or cannot) do makes me worthy (or unworthy) of God pardoning my sins (Eph. 2). Through gentle counsel, I gradually discovered that my perception of God might be contorted, and I have adopted illegitimate conditions of salvation contingent upon moral performance (or lack thereof). “Legalism,” they call it. And for Christians, that’s baaaaad.

Though this truth made sense in my head, I still doubted my salvation and continued to reevaluate my life, respond to every altar call, repeat every sinner’s prayer, fast, pray... nothing worked. I often heard that a “peace that surpasses all understanding” is a sign of God’s exploits. I frankly don’t even know what peace means- can’t say I ever felt it. Ever. What’s wrong with me?!

In my mid-20’s, I was introduced to the Reformed Theology of the Protestant Reformation and the writings of John Calvin and his contemporaries. Since sentience, I was inculcated with Christian ideas so though discovering nothing “new” about God through the eyes of the Reformers, I believe I began to see aspects of God more correctly. Aspects such as God’s sovereignty, His elect, His predestination- concepts I previously thought little of. However, in exploring this new perspective, the pivotal realization that God’s absolute sovereignty could mean that God ultimately decides who goes to Heaven or Hell, made me uneasy. I have even heard statements to the effect of: “whoever God saves, He will save, no matter what that man does.” This, in Calvin’s terms, is called “irresistible grace.”

To my devastation, this also implies that whoever God doesn’t choose to save cannot be saved (no matter what he does), like Esau who cried bitterly but was unable to repent (Heb 12:17). I believed that this explained my perpetual feelings of being unsaved: perhaps I was just not destined to be saved. No matter what I did. I can’t be saved. It was God’s plan since the beginning to forsake me.

(Sorry in advance) This skewed interpretation really ****ed me up. My mid and late twenties was the darkest night of my soul, spawning crippling seasons of debilitating paranoia, and brooding creative projects (“I don’t need your help I’ll be okay. You’re too late to save me anyway.”). I pleaded for God while simultaneously believing that His face was turned away. In this perceived absence, I felt I was truly in Hell.

In 2020, I had somewhat of a psychiatric breakdown. The simultaneous resurfacing of past paranoias, the unravelling of new heartbreak, and a looming sentiment of doom created a perfect storm of hopelessness. I began to manifest profound physical symptoms like unilateral weakness, clonus and fasciculations, insomnia, and seemingly progressive loss of muscle function. My knowledge as a nursing instructor abetted catastrophic self-diagnoses and obsessive fixations upon my symptoms, convincing me that I was literally dying in August of 2020. Social media fueled my panic, forcing me to abandon my online networks and isolate from the world. But while I was alone, I did nothing but think and re-think. Examine and re-examine. Assess and re-assess. I didn’t sleep much.

*Takes a deep breath* Let’s skip ahead. Not long ago, I decided to seek therapy. In therapy, I discovered something that would change my life.

I strongly fit the criteria for obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).

There are different variations (I have specific ones I won’t get into now) but the gist of OCD is the alternation of “obsessions” and “compulsions.” An obsession is a repeated, intrusive thought. A compulsion is performing a certain action in response to the thought. Like many people, when I think of OCD, I think of irrational fears of asymmetry and disorganization, a fear of contamination or uncleanliness, or peculiar habits like checking the stove ten times before leaving the house. Then it hit me…

Wait. That IS me.

But there’s more to it. A compulsion to an obsessive thought doesn’t necessarily mean a physical action. It could be a mental action- in other words, certain thoughts (or “triggers”) invoke certain mental responses. For example, in the “religious” or “moral OCD” subtype, whenever a person commits a morally reprehensible act, their mental response is the crippling fear that they have angered a deity (or questioning their salvation), and their physical response could be persistent, ritualistic behaviors of absolution (like confessing sins to a priest, reciting religious incantations, participating in religious ceremonies [like altar calls]). Then it hit me…

Wait. That IS me.

Suddenly, the agony of being unsaved since a youth, my tireless self-diagnosing and fear of imminent doom, my habit of checking doors, lights, air-conditioners, faucets, and burner controls several times before leaving the house, my meticulous perfectionism and punctuality, my obsession for cleanliness and organization, my strict minimalism, and a slew of other unmentionable problems that causes me to overthink, catastrophize, and agonize… it all makes perfect sense now. I’ve had OCD since I was kid.

With this new discovery, I realize that I am saved. I do believe I am swallowed by God’s grace! But my obsessive-compulsive tendencies have been berating me since the beginning. There’s still a lot I need to figure out. My journey has only begun.

Before I wrap this up, this discovery opens major questions. I would love to hear your opinions:

To what extent (if any) can mental health disorders be categorized as “spiritual warfare?”

Why do some sects of Christianity tend to diminish the plight of mental health disorders?

Why are mental health disorders especially stigmatized among some Asian-American Christians?

Aaaaand that’s how John Calvin exposed my OCD. Now you know the story behind “faith and paranoia.”

nak.

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lennox-levin-little-lilith-did · 4 years ago

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Hello people who follow me

For people who haven’t been following my blog all that much, I have Dissociative Identity Disoder, more commonly known as Spilt Personality, or Multiple Personality Disoder (which it’s no longer called this, the shortened version is DID)

DID is a disordercharacterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality states. A reaction to trauma as a way to help a person avoid bad memories.

Symptoms are;

Behavioral: impulsivity, self-destructive behavior, or self-harm (check, check, and check)

Mood: anxiety, feeling detached from self, or mood swings (check, check, and check)

Psychological: altered consciousness, depression, or flashback (check, check, and check)

Also common: amnesia or blackout (huge check)

Let’s start this my early childhood-

I never had a dad, he was in and out of my life constantly. So I was always looking for a father figure.

It didn’t help my mom was hopping from man to man at the time.

However I had one man in my life that never left and loved me like his own. That man was my uncle. I loved him so much, I still do, but by no means was he a good role model. He was in to drugs, never took his medication, and I think was in a gang (that if he hung out with some really bad people). One memory I have of him is him letting me help him make a roll (weed roll) when I was three or four.

I had a been diagnosed with ADHD by the time I was five. It was severe when I was younger, I couldn’t sit still or focus on anything, including school.

Anyways, one day, I come home from school, like any other day. I was happy because my grandmother had picked me up and said she would be staying with me for a while. (Mind you, this is what I’ve been told, I have zero recollection of this month). I come home to strange people and cars around my home, but I go about my greetings as usual. My mom had a boyfriend at this point, his name was Angel, he was nice (we’ll get back to him later). I was told to stay in my room with my kitten, Ella (yes the same cat I talk about to this day) and my dog, Sassy. My grandmother would come in to make I was okay, which I was. The next day was even weirder, a lady in a police uniform watched me get dressed for the day. My teachers treated me differently and I had to leave school early. I was confused, I also hadn’t seen my uncle in two days without communication. I was asked multiple questions about my uncle and I answered them honestly. I later learned that he had buried a woman’s body, had he killed her or not is a mystery as there was someone else with him that day he buried her.

My uncle had schizophrenia, and he had just revealed to me that he had an episode when everything was happening and he was off his meds.

We had moved in December of that year due to people screaming slurs at me whenever I went outside. I don’t remember this, again I have no recollection of that month.

I developed severe emotional issues, including bottling things up and exploding in violent outburst. My ADHD made it hard to focus on schoolwork, specifically reading. I alway spaced out while reading, and heard a small distracting voice, telling me to play with my stuffed animals or watch TV (I didn’t tell my mom this and I still haven’t). My mom didn’t understand why I was like this. She thought I was acting out for attention. So first through third grade I suffered and started to hate school. I started to hate my classmates. So I started to let that little voice speak for me. Eventually I started blacking out during school.

I didn’t know this wasn’t normal.

I didn’t know that when my mom asked what did I do at school, she thought I just didn’t want to talk about school.

Time skip to sixth grade (the worst year of my entire life)-

I was eleven at the time. I had friends, I was a social butterfly. Yeah, sure I had people I didn’t like, but I didn’t let them effect me.

Until November 29, 2016 (yes I remember the exact date)

The weekend before I had slept over at my bestie’s house, then I went home because I had 4-H on Sunday. I got my phone taken away Sunday night because my ‘friend’ wouldn’t stop texting me. I saw on my google docs I had a new document, shared with my teachers. It was nice, complimenting them on their teaching skills. But I didn’t write it. It wasn’t my typing style.

I went to school on Monday like any other day, happy and cheerful. Around second period, I got called to the office. I was asked if I wrote the doc that was under my email. I said yes because it was nice, I didn’t think anything was wrong with it.

Boy, was I wrong... (holy shit I’m about to cry writing this)

I got called down a second time, this time my principal was saying I hacked into others school accounts and wrote a threatening letter on google docs under another student’s account. I started to deny that I wrote anything, that I thought the doc was written on a spur of the moment.

The third time I was called down, it was with my best friend, Angie. We both didn’t know what was going on and denied any and all accusations.

The fourth and final time I was called down was at the end of the day... my teachers were there. They wouldn’t listen... they didn’t care what I said... I was a sweet girl with dreams and passions. I loved my teachers with all my heart... it didn’t matter to them. Nothing mattered to them (here come the waterworks).

I said I did it to protect my friends from getting in trouble...

In the end, I got three days of in school suspension and a beating from my mom that I don’t remember.

The first day, they forgot I was there. I was in a little white room, with a chair and a desk. The social worker came in and asked me if I had really done it. I had a good relationship with her, I really liked her... I shouldn’t have trusted her.

The second day... the second day, the principal, vice principal, and social worker of the school came into the room and I was confused. Then the screaming started... the banging on the desk. They thought on Monday I had written another doc to my teachers, saying they didn’t scare me and they could go fuck themselves and I changed a student’s pfp to a bloody knife.

Then the principal came around behind me, still screaming her head off, and slammed her hands down on my shoulders and squeezed, hard, resulting in bruises later that day. After that, the little voice took over and started crying. Sobbing for them to leave us alone. They walked out leaving a broken child in their wake.

I had curled up under the desk and continued to cried, repeatedly saying, “I want to die, I don’t deserve to live...” the social worker came back in and tried to calm me down, but I looked at her and said I wanted to die. This was the first time of so many, that I had a suicidal thought.

211 services were called and I told them I felt bad about everything I’ve ever done, continuing the lie I’ve been dragged into. I can’t tell the truth... They wouldn’t believe me anyways... I had thought. I went home and stayed home for the rest of the week. That night I walked into my kitchen and opened my knife drawer and pulled out the biggest knife, mind completely blank. I gently slid it against my wrist, thinking about cutting. I didn’t. I put the knife away and went back to my room, empty. I felt lost, and like I was drowning.

A third voice slowly developed. It was a boy this time, he was sad and hated talking to others (I’ll get to my second voice development in a bit). He took over during school, all though I could think on my own and speak, he had main control. I had a mental breakdown later that week after my class had been too loud, I told my music teacher it was because I had sensitive hearing (which was part of the reason). I stayed hidden during recess, and I sat in the back of the lunchroom with people I didn’t like or know. My outbursts only got more violent and more frequent, to the point where I would push my mom and stepdad (remember Angel, yeah him), resulting in more beatings from my mom.

My aunt got a lawyer to extinguish the suspension from my permanent record. The lawyer didn’t want to help all that much because he thought I was hiding something, which I was, but I refused to tell. The suspension was extinguished and I was allowed to use the school computers again.

I went to a new school the next year and transferred to where I’m located now...

First-seventh grade (the second voice’s development)-

My stepdad (Angel) was nice the first year my mom dated him. Then everything started to change. He started coming home drunk. After my little brother was born, things only got worse (and no, I don’t blame my brother for the change, it was envitable). He started getting angry at my mom, and at me. He started calling me a bitch, a little shit, a mistake.

I started to have out of body experiences, whenever I violent towards him. Pushing him, slapping him, punching him, scratching him. One time he slapped my mom and my mom’s therapist called DCF on her. I’ve been told I had walked into the kitchen right when he slapped her. However I don’t remember, I just remember the feeling of uncontrollable rage spreading through my body.

I don’t remember there being a voice in the beginning, I remember being one place or doing one thing, get angry, and suddenly being somewhere else. Especially when Angel started calling me names.

Another time, right after my mom had carpal tunnel surgery, he left suddenly. I was in the basement reading and playing with my bunny at the time. I came back up when my mom started screaming for me. The front door was left wide open and my brother left in the living room. We had Max and Ella, it was the summer of 2016. My mom was hysterical, screaming at me, saying it was my fault he left, that everything was my fault. I left the house and stayed with my neighbors for an hour, waiting for my mom to calm down. I went back and was sent straight to my room. I remember being angry, so mad at myself for no reason. I hated myself. I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression the next year.

There’s a shit ton of stories I could tell about Angel getting drunk or leaving the house and coming back drunk. I won’t. I’m not here to tell a sob story, I never will ask for pity. I’m telling you how small things to certain people can be huge to another. My mom didn’t think it affected my all that much, my therapists thought I didn’t need intense therapy despite everything. All because I didn’t know that hearing voices other than your own wasn’t normal.

I started looking up depression and anxiety to help manage it better, and stumbled upon an article about schizophrenia. I looked more into it and found out about DID when I was thirteen, two years ago. However I still didn’t tell anyone... I was scared.

I was a freak

I was unnatural

I had three voices, three other people, inside of me. They wanted control, they wanted a voice too. They became unbearable, and when I started high school, I broke.

I tried to kill myself. I started starving myself the previous school year and started cutting over that summer... I finally told someone about the voices but no one believed me, and still no does. They think I’m lying...

So I’m not diagnosed, but I know I have DID.

Who’s who-

Little was voice one- she’s a little, under the age of ten. Little isn’t her real name but I don’t want her name out there on the internet where people can manipulate her. She has ADHD and is incredibly hyper. This body doesn’t get much rest, so after someone else fronts, we usually have to sleep. She’s also a trauma holder, knowing what happened that month blackout. She has no interest in people romantically (obviously, she’s a child)

Lilith is angry blackout/voice two- she’s ageless, a prosecutor, and a secret keeper. She’s a trauma holder to the verbal and physical abuse I suffered when I was younger, really up until last year I was verbally abused by my mom. She has anger issues and severe mood swings. She rarely fronts, but when she does, Levi or I have to co-con with her so she doesn’t murder someone. She’s angry and is always aggressive towards me and Little. She leaves Levs out of her aggression though. Lilith is bisexual (no, not pan like I identify).

Levin/Levi/Lev(he goes by all of them however I prefer calling him Levi)- he has insomnia and major social anxiety. (Also is co-conscious with me rn) He’s apathetic and very neutral when it comes to opinions, but he’s humorous and super sarcastic when he’s comfortable. He’s a gatekeeper and he’s 18. He as food related anxiety, but no major eating disorders. He’s has no sexual desires, but is romantically attracted to girls.

Lennox(the writer of this)- they age with the body, so 15, and host/often front. They have social anxiety, depression, body dysmorphia, and is the first alter, or first recognized alter. They are nonbinary and pansexual.

I’m going to start labeling who your talking to, or who’s out at the time, like this

-Lennox (Kay?)

Thank you for reading!

I’mma tag some people I think should see this-

@one-pissed-off-child @madame-ree @queenzie-xo @anon-nom-nom95 @liveto-100 @aleiakit @gogetyoselfsomesoup @nadia-saaaaan @mai-ki-000 @martinidrinkingmartin @scalybunnypapi69 @pumpkineiji @cristinaweeb @pikaweebo @siyarduous-lazyaf @reijishiki

And to lighten my mood and for giggles-

POWER WALK BEFORE YOUR LATE ZUZU!!!

🤣🤣🤣🤣

#tw suicude #tw self harm #dissociative identity disorder #this is me

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cookinguptales · 5 years ago

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A long post about having undiagnosed ADHD as a little girl. And how we all need to talk a hell of a lot more about Reaction Sensitive Dysphoria.

(cw: mental illness, childhood punishment, discussions of childhood self-harm & suicidal ideation)

When I was a little girl, I was a crybaby. I didn’t know why I’d cry all the time. I just did. Everything always felt catastrophic, even if it was just a disagreement over what to play with my friends. People called me manipulative. I got made fun of at school. I was sent to the school therapist. Hell, the only time I ever had to go to the principal’s office, I was in kindergarten and would not. stop. crying. I was literally sent to the principal’s office for crying too much.

(Note. How did I respond to that? I cried. A lot.)

Here are a few examples of things that made me feel like the world was ending:

Once I came home sobbing and my parents asked me what was wrong. Why was I crying? Because the other kids had called me a crybaby.

Once at daycare (around age six), some older boys were making effigies of their teachers out of play-doh and then smushing them and convinced me to join in. The minute I did, they told me that they were telling my teacher, which made me about lose my damn mind.

I was a voracious reader and often ran out of reading material. Once I sneaked some of my mother’s romance novels that she’d left in the bathroom for light reading. They were Very Adult. I was so scared she’d find out and scold me for reading sexually explicit books.

Now, my parents think these are kind of funny stories. They say that I was very cute. But in truth, I was a nervous wreck. My life was pretty good in most ways, but I’d have these moments that just felt like cascading catastrophes. Anytime someone criticized me or my work or my ideas, the sky would just come crashing down. I’d cry so hard I couldn’t breathe. I’d cry so hard I threw up. I grew out of the crying by about age nine, but that sickening feeling of failure never really left.

About 8 years ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD. Severe ADHD. I believe the doctor’s exact words were “I don’t even know how you graduated from high school”. They tried me on ADHD medicine but it made my heart go dokidoki so I just had to live with being unmedicated. I wasn’t told a lot about ADHD at that point, or how ADHD symptoms differ for women, so I just kind of assumed that it was just focus and that’s it. Brain fog wasn’t exactly new to me, what with my other illnesses, so I figured I’d just live with it.

But about a year ago, I learned about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, which is a fairly common symptom of ADHD that no one ever told me about in my goddamn life! It essentially means that when you are criticized (or perceive something as criticism) by others or by yourself, your brain goes into absolute hyperdrive. You go from zero to “everyone hates me and I deserve that and probably don’t deserve to live too because I am just the worst” over like. literally nothing. And it’s not just like a mental thing you can train yourself out of. It’s characterized by actual physical pain. Y’all, I have anxiety and depression and this is not the same thing. This is your whole body seizing up and your brain going into a maelstrom that’s fairly similar to a panic attack.

Here’s the less cute side to all of those stories:

I had very few friends, and the friends I did have thought I was annoying and manipulative. The more I cried, the more kids stayed away from me.

After the Play-Doh incident, I cried for days. Days. And I was scared of my teacher for weeks. My parents laughed it off as a cute child thing, but none of it was cute for me. The older boys forgot about it by the next day, but it haunted my interactions with that teacher for weeks. It interfered with my education. I was a nervous wreck at school. I was so scared that she would hate me. That I’d be singled out in class. That I’d fail and my whole education would be upended and I’d fail out of school and my parents would hate me too and my life would be over. That’s... a lot for a six year old.

Those romance novels? That was a closely guarded secret that I kept for years. For literal years, I was afraid she’d somehow find out that I’d read those books. I would think of it when I was nine, ten, eleven years old and my whole body would stiffen up. I’d occasionally throw up. I cried about what might happen if my parents ever found out. Would they hate me forever? Yes, probably. They’d never love me again. I was a bad child. I finally told my mom about it a few months ago. I was 29. A small part of me was still scared I’d get in trouble. (My mom laughed about it; she was just like ‘wow, I should have put those books up higher’.)

When I was six, I went to an aftercare at a neighbor’s house for a while. (This predated the other daycare.) One day, one of the kids at aftercare didn’t get off the bus. The lady asked if anyone knew where he was. Trying to be helpful, I said I thought I’d seen him on the bus. (And like -- I really did think I did. But I was six and six year olds are uhhh not smart.) Surprise! He’d actually left school early for a dr’s appt. But she thought he’d missed his bus stop and spent like an hour on the phone figuring out what happened. And y’all. When she realized he hadn’t been on that bus, she was furious. When my other neighbor picked me up for my mom that evening, the lady told her that I was a bad child who’d purposefully lied to scare her. She said I wasn’t allowed to come back. And ohhh guys. I begged my neighbor not to tell my mom. (She did.) And then I begged my mom not to tell my dad. She was honestly kind of alarmed at how vehement I was about dad not knowing. (I was like a shaking, sobbing mess.) She asked me what I thought would happen. idk. Maybe he’d hit me. (My parents never hit me.) Maybe he’d throw me out of the house. Maybe he’d never talk to me again. He’d definitely stop loving me. I was so bad. So, so bad. I was a bad child. No one would ever love me. I was a worthless, bad child.

In short, I was hysterical.

When my parents finally talked to me about it, it was less of a talk about consequences and more talking me off the fucking ledge. They weren’t that concerned about the actual incident; they figured out pretty quickly that I’d just made a mistake. A temporarily scary one, but a mistake all the same. (I basically never misbehaved, so they were kind of confused by the whole situation, honestly.) But they were very concerned about my reaction to it. I knew they loved me, right? I knew that they wouldn’t hurt me, right? Why did I think that was a possibility?

I didn’t know. I still don’t know. It wasn’t rational. It was just my brain exploding into a thousand tiny pieces.

This is not a memory my mom laughs about. I think it really genuinely disturbed her. She’s still angry at that aftercare neighbor for doing that to me. As an adult, I realize that the person who actually fucked up in that scenario was the boy’s mother, who didn’t call to alert aftercare that he wouldn’t be coming. (Funnily enough, that boy’s mother was my first grade teacher -- the one I was so terrified of. Small town. I guess I was scared of her hating me, too.) But as a child, this wasn’t just bad. It was catastrophic. I genuinely considered hurting myself. I was six years old and I considered hurting myself. Suicidal ideation is often part and parcel with RSD. I’ve had to deal with that since elementary school.

RSD is real and it’s terrifying and it’s not unusual in children with ADHD. It’s still a problem that I struggle with. I’ve had friends not answer texts for a while and my brain just. assumes that I said something wrong. And now they hate me. Because I’m a bad person. And my whole body will shake. I’ll sweat. My stomach will roll. My chest will literally hurt like I’m having a heart attack. I still have to blink back those tears. Sometimes I’ll go for a walk to distract myself and burn off all that energy. Sometimes I’ll write a post like this. Sometimes I’ll just lie in bed. Shaking. Trying very hard not to think about doing Bad Things. It’s hard to say how it’ll go until it goes.

(Note: I’m okay right now! I was just talking about this with dad yesterday so I’ve been thinking about it.)

And this is not my friends’ fault! Or my family’s fault. This is no one’s fault. It’s just... mental illness, I guess. It’s hard to predict. Sometimes I can have a calm and reasonable discussion about my faults (which I fully admit exist) and sometimes someone disagrees with me on whether a tv show is good and my brain shits itself. (I’m dumb and stupid and this person probably hates me now! Because I didn’t love Avatar! Why did I open my big mouth? Now our whole relationship is ruined and I ruined it because I am a dumb relationship-ruiner!) Obviously, it gets worse when my physical and mental state is already fragile. I have a lot of chronic physical and mental illnesses, so like... it happens. But it’s very hard to predict, very hard to control, and all you can do is really talk yourself through it when it happens. Breathe. Focus on what’s real and what’s not. Distract yourself. Be as kind to your brain as you can because it will not be kind back.

Talk to people who love you. Try, whenever possible, to be one of those people.

idk. I wish I had concrete advice to finish this off. But it’s more just like... please learn to see the signs, especially in small children. I had far too many strong emotions for a child to figure out on her own. I really could have used some help. It’s too late for my childhood, but not for the other kids who are struggling with similar issues right now.

And if you read this and see yourself in it, do me a solid and talk to your doctor? Your brain might thank you one day.

#adhd #reaction sensitive dysphoria #RSD #just me #long post

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mcchipisfried · 5 years ago

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DEArtfest Day 10 - Sickfic

Okay small warning because this has angst. I kinda struggled with the prompt but I hope it's okay?

Gavin was having the best fucking day ever. No really. This was the best day he has had in who knows how many fucking years. It was fantastic. Except for the part where he couldn’t really taste anything he ate. And the coughing. And the huge amounts of tissue paper that he had accumulated around himself. But other than that he could honestly describe himself as the luckiest bastard on Earth.

Gavin Reed caught a cold. He showed symptoms of this the night before and when he found himself waking up the next day, feeling like more of a shit than usual, a raspy throat, and the urge to just lay down and die, he knew he wouldn’t be going into work. Objectively speaking, his day had started out being pretty shitty but after a few phone calls to the precinct and a few texts to Nines, he found himself with three days off from work and a very caring yet very distressed android barging into his room like he was two seconds away from passing out.

“Gavin are you okay!?” Nines yelled as he barged into Gavin’s room only to find him sitting up on his bed, wrapped up in blankets like an old Russian woman, while scrolling through his phone. He quickly looked up and smiled at Nines.

When he texted Nines that he wouldn’t be coming into work for a couple of days and received a response informing him that he would be there in a few minutes, he found himself to be ecstatic at the idea of spending a lazy day with Nines. He wouldn’t even feel guilty since he knew Nines wouldn’t be able to get sick so he looked forward to Nines coming over.

What he didn’t expect though was to be coddled by an overprotective android who would scan him every five minutes to make sure he wasn’t worsening. Nor was he expecting to get told off for taking better care of himself while also getting to see Nines make him soup that would hopefully keep him warm and help in his recovery.

Gavin would deny this to the ends of time but he was honestly very happy with how the situation turned out. He rarely had anyone in his life that actually cared enough about him to take care of him for long periods of time so to get Nines as his now personal nurse, who at the moment would do anything he asked if he made himself sound just a tad bit pathetic was honestly amazing. Even though he would keep telling Nines that he was fine and this was common for humans only to get responses telling him to shush so that he could get better sooner. If it was up to him he’d honestly rather be sick for the rest of the week if it meant he’d get to have Nines this worried and caring, not that he wasn’t but there was a notable difference in how when Gavin tried to start to banter with Nines he’d just simply nod his head and smile.

This began to make his day not so perfect.

Nines was having the worst day ever. Arriving early to the precinct to make sure his paperwork was turned in on time, patiently waiting for Gavin to show up, into finding out he would not be coming into work because he was sick quickly spiraled his normal day into the worst one he’s had in quite awhile.

Finding out his partner was sick was bad enough but to then also realize that hey, your partner is Gavin Reed, notorious for being on the brink of death from sleep deprivation and hunger 24/7, so in his mind, no matter how advanced, the thought of Gavin even remotely being sick was enough to imagine him in a hospital bed with tubes and needles and a silent heart monitor-

No.

No. He knew he was overreacting. He knew that colds typically only last a couple of days with the proper medication, enough sleep, and warm meals for the person to get back to their normal healthy self. But he also knew how careless Gavin was with his health. Even more so with his safety. He was brave and strong for a human, who would throw himself into any fight, guns blazing, so long as he got the job done. Moments like these, when Gavin would get hurt or get sick he would be reminded of his mortality. He wasn’t an android who could be rebuilt and updated over and over. He was a human who, if not taken care of properly, would disappear. He was much like a firecracker, with a very specific time limit and easily blown out. Nines feared that if he didn’t protect Gavin from the wind, he’d burn out. Forever.

Nines tried to treat Gavin like he usually would but it was hard because every time he did his scanners would show his partner, sick, burning up, with an increased heart rate, and even without his scanners he could see Gavin, feeling cold and tired. So very tired, that if he were to fall asleep he might just never wake up again.

Gavin looked at Nines, he’d been quiet for awhile now, spending the whole day taking care of Gavin and even going as far as to clean the apartment just to give him something to do. He wouldn’t look at Gavin and that worried him more than anything else.

“Hey Tin Can, what's wrong?” Gavin asked. Nines slowly turned to look at him, surprised at the question but quickly brushed it off.

“Nothing is wrong, Detective. Did you need something else? I could make you some tea, if you’d like. I heard it does wonders for sore throats.” Nines said, already getting up from the bed where he had been sitting next to Gavin.

Nines wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t looking at Gavin. And that scared him. He quickly reached out to grasp Nines’ hand before he got too far and turned to look at Gavin.

“Nines cut the bullshit, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you okay?” Gavin desperately asked. Nines’ throat closed up. Gavin was the one who was sick and here he was still worried about Nines. How selfish of him, to make Gavin worry like this.

Nines smiled politely and gently took his hand out of Gavin’s and shook his head.

“Nothing is wrong, Gavin”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

This caught Nines by surprise and he realized he wasn’t looking at Gavin but instead at his hand. Gavin sighed and brought his hand to his lap

“Nines you gotta tell me when something’s wrong. I can’t just scan you and know everything. You have to talk to me, because that’s what partners are supposed to do and isn’t that what we are?” Gavin asked hoping Nines would lift his gaze. He did. And Gavin’s heart tore when he saw the look on Nines’ face.

He looked like he was about to fall apart. He looked scared and sad. So very sad. Too sad. In Gavin’s mind, he never wished to see Nines like that ever again so he jumped up from the bed and brought him into his arms. Nines collapsed into him and they both fell onto the bed, with Gavin holding on to Nines, not letting go.

“I can’t bear to see you like this, Gavin. Every time I look at you my scanner shows me distressed signs that you are sick and not okay. It reminds me that I could lose you to an illness or that you could die on the job and it feels like I can't do anything to protect you from it. I’m one of the most advanced androids ever made and I still can’t even do what I want. Not as a slave to CyberLife or as a deviant!” Nines sobbed into Gavin’s chest, heaving from the roller coaster of emotions that spilled out of him.

Gavin buried his face into Nines’ shoulder, holding him as close as possible. He tried to not think about his future with Nines too often since it usually ended with him imagining leaving Nines alone either from old age or his own stupidity.

“I’m so sorry Nines. I wish I wasn’t...this. I can’t promise you that I won’t get sick again or that I won’t get hurt but I can promise you that I’ll take care of myself” Gavin pulled Nines away from him and forced him to look into his eyes.

“I’ll stop smoking. And drinking. I’ll exercise more, because God knows there's no way in hell I’m letting myself look like Hank” Gavin said, which made Nines laugh. But only a little.

“I’ll be more careful on the job. I can’t control the cases I get but I can be better. And I think you're forgetting that I’m partnered with one of the most advanced android ever created. I’m basically invisible and can only be stopped by my ever growing back pains.” Gavin dramatized his words, resulting in Nines giving him a hearty laugh. This is what Nines should look like.

He finally looked at Gavin. Really looked at him and kissed him.

“Thank you, Gavin.” Nines said, after breaking the kiss. Slowly coming to lay down next to Gavin. He let Gavin take him into his arms once more and let him take care of him because that's what partners do. They take care of each other.

“Anytime, Tin Can.”

Okay that's it! Hope you guys liked it!

#fanfic #detroit evolution #reed900 #sickfic #deartfest

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oleanderblume · 5 years ago

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Okay more spinel

Because her character is cool and I like her.

So let's get on with this.

I know a shut ton of people heavily relate to spinel because she has an ostensibly relatable backstory, but also because she represents BPD to a rather miraculous extent. And I am in the mood to explain WHY.

So, when a lot and I mean majority neurotypical folks hear of BPD they think "this person is abusive and dangerous" obviously that's not always the case, the ironic contrast I have been seeing is that despite spinel's character typing, people are falling head over heals for her while at the same time; if faced with someone who actually does have BPD they would probably feel threatened by them. More on that later.

Anyways, how does BPD work? Why is spinel a decent example for someone with bpd?

Bpd or borderline personality disorder is a trauma based disorder characterized by extreme paranoia, fear of abandonment, social withdrawal or lashing out, excessive emotional eruption (feeling everything very loudly and all at once, but only short periods of time), general lack of identity and purpose, and spiraling among other things.

Because borderline personality stems from trauma and abuse, usually neglect of some sort, the person who has it has an innate urge to please others, a desire to be seen and heard and cared for heavily contradicted by their unstable fear and paranoia surround the people they most care for, that contradiction is what causes emotional outbursts and spiraling.

So, let's apply this to spinel in a way that's understandable aside from just pointing out the similarities in the disorder and her characterization.

Spinel has a history of prolonged abuse, despite gems living for thousands upon thousands of years, spinel is relatively young in comparison to her primary abuser, pink diamond. (Because spinel was made for pink and thus existed after pink)

Pink diamond is also her primary source of companionship. To put it into time relevance, pink is like a twelve year old, and spinel is like a 6 year old.

Spinel's only goal is to entertain and be a friend to pink, but she relies heavily on pink to be consistent in her approval of what spinel does as entertainment (truthful) and she relies on pinks companionship for the relationship to function as it's supposed to. She gives entertainment and companionship in return for approval and companionship.

The balance became off kilter due to pink wanting other than that companionship, a colony, and lack of proper communication leading to her manipulating spinel into playing a game she could not win.

Pink didnt communicate her disapproval of spinel's behavior, which in turn exasperated her own enjoyment with spinel, leading to that manipulation.

This lack of communication spurs the desire for approval in spinel's character, she wants to be good and a friend, was lead to believe she was, when in reality she wasn't, in her eyes. The realization of this began to dawn on her after pink left, but likely before Steven's message ie:

"Is this how it goes, am I doing it right?"

Spinel spent 6000 years in the garden waiting for pink to come back, under the impression that if she continued to play the game, correctly, that she would eventually return. Hence, her desire to be seen as a good friend who obeys and entertains above all else.

This is why she displays a deep desire to be a good gem be good at her job, and why she feels that she inherently isn't.

After she receives Steven's message, she is forced into the realization that the game didnt matter, pink wasnt ever going to come back, from her perspective, pink didnt care for her or want to be her friend, which causes spinel to feel like she is a bad gem, that she doesnt do her job, that she isnt good enough.

Spinel has received only the information from the broadcast (I am including the book reading in this because it sets up the broadcast scene and white diamond speaks to the screen directly after) she knows very little about the rebellion, or the war, only that pink made new friends, had a son and didnt come back for her withing the numerous perceived opportunities she could have. This aspect is important, as if the broadcast told the whole truth, spinel likely would have understood a bit more of the gravity of the events that had taken place.

After spinel learns of pinks new friends and Steven's existence, this is when her severe neglect and abandonment as well as a loss of identity kick in, she is filled with rage, despair and self loathing.

Spinel has lost her identity, her purpose, because she feels she isnt good enough for what she was made to do, despite being a perfect cut, she is nothing, all she will ever be is nothing, nothing to pink, nothing to anyone, nothing to herself.

After having no companionship and no means of safe emotional outlet, spinel is effectively blindsided by the sudden and impactful amount of pain and hate she is feeling. She has no way of confronting this emotion, and she doesnt know how to confront it so she does the next best thing, vent it out on people who were closest to pink, her best friends.

Essentially spinel cant focus her rage on pink diamond because she is gone, so instead she will focus it on the people who, to her, took pink away from her.

Now, given spinel's self deprecating nature, she likely had no real plan afterward, more than likely, she fully intended to be poofed, rejuvenated or shattered. After all, she is nothing to pink, and she is even less to Steven, she doesnt deserve to exist.

From observation, the speed at which she arrived on earth from after she heard the broadcast, she was likely having a severe mental breakdown and spiral, which can be incredibly hard to get out of when one has low self esteem and no proper means of emotional release.

A spiral is when a person (or in this case a character) becomes self deprecating and an increasingly more volatile rate, they are incredibly hard to get out of because the mental illness doesnt allow positive thought, the person will feel bad for their actions or feel bad about trauma or failures and will continually throw insults at themselves or those around them for trying to convince them differently.

Spinel spirals twice in the movie, the most excellent example is her paranoia of being abandoned leading to irrational thought and self depreciative spiraling and lashing out as a means of emotional protection.

I'm not really going to speak on the middle of the movie because it essentially rehashes that emotional trauma and neglect I mentioned earlier, the only difference is that is is comparable to a person with BPD who has effectively repressed those traumatic memories and is slowly reliving them, which subsequently causes a major relapse.

What I will say however, is that some other common symptoms appear in spinel like they do with folks with BPD. Spinel has an fp. A favorite person basically.

Folks with BPD often pick a companion of theirs and become extremely attached to them, they care incredibly deeply for them, and can also feel incredibly betrayed by them when they dont act in ways that the person is comfortable ie; displaying traits that can, to the person with BPD lead to abandonment.

Folks with BPD also tend to tailor their personalities for their companions in order to receive that approval they desire most.

Spinel displays this fairly effectively when she lashes out at Steven when he tells her to stay with the new crystal gems, she also displays the tailor trait when she mimics amethysts actions during the nobody else duet.

Finally, when spinel reverts back to her dark form, she displays the other symptoms of BPD, hesitance to trust, then blind trust and desire to please, her paranoia over Steven leaving her, and the subsequent spiral leading her to lash out in effort to protect herself from more emotional trauma and eventually dropping out of her spiral and then the final, trying to leave before abandonment can happen.

This is a fairly important one, as a lot of folks with BPD tend to feel that abandonment is an eventuality, and another form of protection from that is purposely distancing oneself and leaving before that abandonment can take place.

Spinel, after her second spiral is still very much traumatized, and still very much self destructive, has low self esteem, despite wanting to be better, so to spare herself the pain of facing people she has actively harmed in her worst moments, and to spare herself from what she believes is an eventual abandonment, she desires to leave and start over.

Do I think this is healthy? Mmm..no. mostly because I know that folks with BPD have an incredibly hard time breaking paranoia, low self esteem and self destructive behavior. I definitely dont think that spinel should have left with the diamonds because they have no idea what she is capable of and what she has been through, or how to deal with her self destructive behavior in a healthy way. They arent even able to completely overcome their own abusive behavior so..no, I dont think it was a good decision to have her go with them. But that doesnt really matter right now lol.

What matters is; spinel is a good example of what it is like to have BPD, she is a good example of the low self esteem and self destructive behaviour people with BPD have. She is a good example because she isn't seen as a completely lost cause by Steven and the others, despite what she herself believes. She has an acurate portrayal of the trauma that develops bpd, the symptoms of BPD in an easily digestible way and she isnt portrayed to have these issues completely resolved by the end of the film.

She very VERY quickly jumps into another relationship that can very easily be destroyed by either the diamonds or herself, and still struggles with low self esteem and the desire to be approved of by Steven, and the diamonds.

She isnt fixed by the end. But she doesnt get treated as a terrible person either.

Most people who talk about BPD who dont have it themselves very often say that they are inherently abusive, and overlook that persons trauma. That doesnt happen for spinel, Steven sympathizes with her trauma, despite largely being sidetracked and not fully indulged in helping her for her sake, rather than helping his own needs.

It's understandable and infuriating at the same time. Because the type of person spinel is, requires a different approach and a far more delicate one at that, something Steven hasn't had the same quite of experience with yet. Which is what largely caused her to spiral the second time. And it wasnt until Steven realized how selfish he had been that he was able to even make a proper and not misleading connection with spinel.

So there you have it, my analysis of spinel, why she portrayed BPD very very well, and how bod is a largely misunderstood and stigmatized disorder.

#spinel #bpd #steven universe the movie

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mcrmadness · 4 years ago

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I was writing elsewhere about why I don’t relate to he most common Asperger’s traits and why do I think I have a logic explanation to everything they think makes me an asperger, and the text got so long I might as well just copypaste some of that on here:

It's also so hard to find any good list of Asperger’s symptoms because almost every list says "may or may not be like this", and I definitely am missing the core symptoms of Asperger's and autism. I only relate to those symptoms that are present in both, Asperger's/autism AND adhd, and then to symptoms found in ADD but not only in Asperger's/autism.

I also lack anything from childhood that makes a kid a typical autistic kid. And many things that I share with autistic people I can already explain with other things like my personality, e.g.:

I don't like people because I'm an introvert, not because I'm not neurotypical; and I'm aroace which is why my interests are more important to me than human relationships.

I don't look people in the eye because I am highly sensitive person and an introvert. I also have lots of traumas from other people which makes me act like that because I still basically expect people to start shouting at me or something out of blue, so I'm sometimes acting the same way as a dog that has been beaten too many times and can no longer trust humans.

And this can be easily seen as weird and antisocial when I'm looking at the walls and ceiling and everything else but the person I'm talking to, it just helps me concentrate when I can stare at something that gives my eyes things to do. I'd probably be counting people's nose hair and get distracted by that if I stared at them.

Being stared at overall makes me highly uncomfortable because of being an introvert and HSP.

And me being sensitive to things is also a HSP thing + migraine.

The overstimulation and sensory overload I feel because of HSP is different to those with autism. I have a filter, I can stand that into certain levels but the filters fills up faster than non-HS people’s and then I just start seeing and hearing everything. I’ve understood that people with autism don’t have this kind of filter and when they go to places with lots of stimuli happening all around, they can’t take it the second it happens. In my case I can stand it even when the filter is full but if I don’t get peace soon, I usually get irritated and eventually end up with a headache.

I just wish they would give me an opportunity to explain why I think what I think and didn't just suggest medications for this and that. I mean this psychiatrist already was talking about meds and how he could suggest me a anxiety medication and how "some medications do cause the feelings to go numb, unfortunately". Me on my ANTIDEPRESSANTS was like having depression without melancholy. I couldn’t focus even that little I now can.

How did I end up with an Asperger’s diagnosis, then? I think it’s all just a misunderstanding and professionals understanding my words the wrong way and focusing too much on how I’m on the outside rather than actually paying attention on what I say is happening inside my head. So far I've got social anxiety and generalized anxiety disorder on paper. With the latter I've been living since early childhood and I got the diagnosis when I was 28. And when I went to a psychiatrist last time with this anxiety shit (I was 22), I was desperately looking for a diagnosis with anxiety and what did I get? I got told I can't get therapy if I don't eat medications because "it does not work without meds and we don't have any resources for that", and only when I actually was so mad I finally stood up for myself and said "I'm not going to put any kind of pill into my mouth ever again so f this is all about medications, I guess we're done here." and was already ready to leave and that's when the doctor was a bit baffled and I swear she sounded a bit annoyed when she asked what would have I wanted from therapy, then.

They did not take me seriously, they saw just the social phobia that I told millions of times not being the problem. Me not leaving the house because I was so afraid of accidentally having low blood sugar was not social phobia. I wasn't afraid of people stealing my blood sugar you know??? But they thought I needed group therapy and it was the only solution and there I could also get therapy, even tho I told them I don't like forced socializing and I don't want to go there. They still booked me an appointment with people from that group therapy thing and I legit felt like we'd have sat in that meeting room for days until I'd say "okay I will try it". It literally was just them trying to talk me over to try it. And I went to this thing a couple of times until I messaged them that it's not my thing, I'm not coming there anymore and that's why they cut contact with me because I didn't accept the offered therapy method. And afterwards I went to see my information on the website with medical information and nearly fell of the chair because it said I had been diagnosed with Asperger's. With my mom we actually came to the conclusion it’s because they needed some kind of diagnosis to be done in order to get in that group therapy but I am still stuck with this stupid diagnosis that no doctor now is willing to take away! I'm sure my stubborn behaviour and "I don't like people in places like these" was what made the psychiatrist think it must be Asperger's. They were and still are only worried about people not being able to be a part of the society and an individual has to change instead of trying to make the society better place to live for everyone.

The previous doctor I had for 5 years (ages 17-22), at that time my dad was going to Asperger tests a few times and we all were certain that he has Asperger's too but nope, he doesn't. And at that time we all were also interested in knowing if I have Asperger's and I asked about it from that doctor and he immediately said nope, he doesn't think I have that at all. I also was to neuropsychiatric tests when I was 22 and there were some things, mainly about social skills and emotions and feelings and my "obsessive-compulsive" behaviour they thought supported the Asperger's. My explanations again: Social anxiety. I have problems with emotions because my dad has anger issues and I only lately realized I'm afraid to let all the feels come out because I'm afraid of losing control and accidentally hurting myself, someone else or breaking something. And I don't want that, I need to be in control of myself at all times. I also find it hard to cry because I feel like I can't cry hard enough, I should literally cry my eyes out for it to be efficient. When I thik about anger, I think I just see in my head how my dad reacts to it and I don't want to be like that. So I keep it all in and only way to let it out is by channeling it into something else, like writing, drawing or playing video games. (This is a HSP thing but could also be ADHD thing.) I have the results of the and everything they say about me understanding social cues wrong... I think that's it, they think I don't understand them when it's just because of the heavy bullying that made me unable to trust anything other people do or say. I'm actually good at reading people, I don't have trouble understanding people's facial expressions. I myself don't really use facial expressions because it's a self-defense mechanism, I'm not "allowed" to let people see how I feel. Also social anxiety made me really think i was the center of the world and everyone who laughed, was laughing at me, and combined with bullying, I felt like everyone was talking about behind my back and I just felt so hated because it WAS the truth, but I also was sure that also people who don't know me, do that. So me misunderstanding social cues and those were not typical Asperger's but just caused by bullying and being hated by everyone, and excessive loneliness which sometimes felt like I was going crazy and started having voices in my head because I just needed to have a conversation. I still sometimes think friendships work like they did when I was a teenager because that was the last time I've had an actual friend group or even actual friends. I mean friends who I can actually meet with. Only one of those people is still in my life and we live about 2km from each other but still we meet like 1-2 times a year because we always keep talking about how we need to meet and then don't meet. Rest of my friends I know through internet and I’d so much want to meet but can’t and I can only try and guess how I’d work in situation where I’d be in the same room with them because I no longer remember how that even works. That’s how lonely I am because I can’t get to use social skills outside of the internet that much like, ever. I also had to do lots of learning with social situations when I got over the worst parts of social anxiety, it prevented me from learning things you learn as a teenager because I'd enter panic mode when someone talked to me and then spent the rest of the day analyzing it and wishing I was in control and did something differently. Same thing happened with the antidepressants, 5 years of my life without emotions and feelings. They were taken away when I was 17 and then I got them back when I quit the meds and was 22 and suddenly I should have needed to know how to deal with adult emotions.

So, long story short, bullying left me with inability to read other people CORRECTLY but that does not mean I wouldn’t be able to read people. Nowadays I don’t do the mistakes that much anymore, I sense people’s emotions very easily and I mirror people. I might be weird but it’s not because I would act weird or use weird, inapproprite facial expressions. I enjoy being weird so when I do that, it’s usually because of my sense of humour just not matching with other people’s. But there’s still people who DO understand it, it’s they usually just are not neurotypical.

#mcrmadness' random stuff #mcrmadness' deep thoughts

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distortingbones · 5 years ago

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relistening to a guest for mr spider and i'm really struck by the parallels between jon and martin's upbringings-- martin's mother resented him because he reminded her of his father (who she despised), while jon's grandmother resented him because he reminded her of his parents (who she loved & mourned). both jon and martin carry a similar trauma, but because of that difference (hatred vs mourning) they present in very different ways.

keep reading for a big chunk of analysis of how this has affected them/their relationship throughout the podcast, as well as it what it means for current events in canon.

more than anything, martin wants to distance himself from his father by becoming someone worthy of love, or, failing that, someone who people overlook. (better to be invisible than to be hated, he figures.) he structures his whole public-facing self around being a trustworthy, kind, caring person.

he first develops feelings for jon while jon is mistreating him (season 1) because he sees jon as somebody who is in need of love and affection. he can bring jon tea, check in on him throughout the day, and jon gives him very little acknowledgment in return. although it would be a stretch to call jon abusive, this still mirrors martin's parents' relationship, where his mother was the victim and his father the abuser. if martin plays the role of the person offering care and jon doesn't reciprocate, then in their unequal relationship, martin is unequivocally placed into his mother's role. martin gets to be the giver, and he is satisfied that this means he is not acting out the role of his father.

sure, jon still dislikes him, but that's because martin is "annoying and incompetent" (in quotes because it's obviously not true), never because jon thinks martin is a bad or abusive person. to martin, that's what's important. it's part of why he's so horrified when jon accuses martin of lying to him (and committing murder) in season 2. martin suddenly realizes that jon sees him as someone who is manipulative and capable of doing great harm, and that's martin's worst nightmare. up until this point, martin has continued to care for jon, no matter how awful and paranoid jon gets, because to martin it's not about how jon treats him, it's about how he perceives him. (ultimately martin gets better at sticking up for himself, but this is his headspace during season 2.)

this is also part of why martin finds the lonely so compelling. without other people around, he doesn’t have to worry about how he is perceived, because there’s no one there to perceive him. he doesn’t have to worry about being a bad or abusive person, because there’s nobody else around to abuse. nothing hurts in the lonely, because martin’s primary source of anxiety and internal conflict is finally lifted. when jon rescues martin from the lonely, martin says, “i see you,” and comes back to himself. but really, it’s the fact that jon sees martin that saves him. in that moment, martin is sure that jon loves him, that jon sees him as somebody who is worth saving, sees him as somebody who brings goodness into the world. martin feels fully and completely seen by jon, and he is overwhelmed with relief and joy that the person jon sees is good.

okay, what about jon, you ask?

jon is desperate to live up to his parents, who his grandmother mourned. much like martin, he yearns to be “good enough”. however, while for martin “good enough” means "not being abusive”, jon’s goalpost is invisible and constantly out of reach. martin at least had a model of how not to behave (like his father), but jon didn’t. even if he had tried to imitate his parents, it would never have fixed the hole in his grandmother’s heart. it’s impossible for the living to measure up to the dead, because our memory of the dead is both fixed and idealized.

jon internalizes that he needs to be more, better, but he’s never really sure how so he just criticizes every aspect of himself. he’s constantly comparing himself to others, but even when the comparison is favorable he still doesn’t feel good enough.

(big sidenote: i have adhd and headcanon jon as adhd because he displays a number of symptoms, and it’s really common for people with adhd to develop a deep feeling of unworthiness. we grow up with authority figures telling us we’re not “living up to our potential”, as we alternate between hyperfixating and losing focus completely. for example, i was often chastised as a kid because i read YA fantasy novels voraciously, but sometimes struggled in school because i refused to read anything that didn’t hold my immediate interest. guess who else read nonstop but wouldn’t read anything he deemed boring?? jonathan jarchivist sims. i’d be willing to bet he developed a serious unworthiness complex from authority figures asking why he couldn’t apply himself to [x thing] the same way he did to his interests.)

he works himself to the bone trying to be the best archivist that he can, but of course elias really screwed him over by giving him a job that he’s not actually qualified for and doesn’t know how to do which even further degrades his already paltry sense of self-worth. he projects this fear of incompetence onto martin, which is why he criticizes martin so harshly. even if jon’s not great at his job, at least he can say he’s better than martin. for someone who constantly compares himself to others, this is at least a small source of comfort.

when martin shows kindness to jon in season 1, jon brushes it off, because he thinks love is something that has to be earned. at this point jon feels deeply unworthy-- he’s in way over his head with work, and is terrified by the eye watching him give statements-- so he thinks martin doesn’t have any reason to care for him, which means that martin’s affection for him is not valid. in season 2 jon even suspects martin has ulterior motives, because he can’t fathom why anyone would genuinely want to give him love.

this post will expand into even more of a monster if i if get into all the times that jon puts himself down for things he can’t control (it wasn’t stupid to break the table alright, he was doing his best). he also consistently internalizes the criticism of others even when that criticism is unfair/cruel (look at what happened with tim in season 3, or when his coworkers discovered that he was feeding on people, etc etc etc). jon is way too willing to believe that he is a bad, stupid, evil person.

he’s also always going above and beyond to prove himself. again, countless examples, but like the dude literally charged into the buried to save daisy just because he thought it might be possible to rescue her. she’s not really his friend at that point (in fact she tried to kill him), and also he’s not at all responsible for her entrapment. but he thinks it would be the right thing to do, and so he does it, and damn the consequences.

he says if he dies, the world just loses another monster. but also, his parents died and they were the ones his grandmother loved, so maybe if he dies doing what’s right then maybe he’ll finally be good enough too.

anyway, by season 4, martin is effectively gone, and this is when jon’s feelings for him really start to show. (you can probably argue that his love for martin was evident earlier, but i personally think this is when jon becomes actually aware of how he feels.) the primary model of love jon saw growing up was the mournful, longing love his grandmother felt for his dead parents. he wasn’t taught how to love somebody who’s there with you, but he does know what it’s like to love somebody who’s gone. he begins to not just want to be “good enough” in general, but also specifically good enough for martin. (i.e. it’s martin’s reaction to jon feeding on strangers that really makes jon feel ashamed.)

when jon follows martin into the lonely, elias tells him flat-out that he will likely not return. jon doesn’t hesitate-- after all, he’s well-versed in taking enormous risks to save others, and this is for martin, to whom he so desperately wants to prove himself. it’s only once he finds martin that jon finally feel worthy of his love, and allow himself to accept it.

when martin says “i see you” and begins to come back to himself, jon knows he succeeded, that he proved himself, that he is worthy of love. and martin knows that jon loves him and thinks martin’s worth saving. in that moment, they don’t just love each other, they both feel loved, something that seemed almost impossible for these two traumatized men.

and it would be such a beautiful wrap if that was where it ended, right? but instead the eyepocalypse happened and we have to deal with all the messiness that is season 5.

so, jon was manipulated into ending the world as we know it, and the guilt from that undoes the tenuous scrap of self-worth he developed via saving martin. he’s thrust into a position where he doesn’t think it’s even possible for him to be good again, let alone good enough. the only morally pure thing that he can think of to do is to use his power to protect martin, the man he loves, which is why he’s so emotionally paralyzed at the beginning of season 5. he can be good enough within the confines of their cabin, he can keep martin safe there, but out in the world ruled by fears he knows that there’s no way to be the perfect person he so desperately wants to be.

he ultimately agrees to go try to stop the fearpocalypse because he knows it’s the right thing to do, and jon has never, ever shied away from doing the right thing, no matter how dangerous. but he’s forced to make a lot of messy, difficult decisions out there-- he feeds off people’s fear to keep himself going, he murders not!sasha, he will certainly have to kill even more. as far as jon’s concerned, he’s crossed the line permanently. there is no way he is ever, ever going to be “good enough” again, after the choices he’s made. it doesn’t matter if he’s doing the best he can, or if he makes a net positive impact, or even whether or not events are his fault, he’s proven that he’s not perfect so he will never believe he is good enough.

meanwhile, martin comes into season 5 feeling rather empowered. even after all the effort he spent pushing people away in season 4, jon loves him, and that makes martin feel pretty confident that he’s a good person. he has a solid sense of self-worth, which means it’s easier for him to act and make tough decisions.

he also has a less rigid view of morality than jon does (despite generally being nicer). he sees the entities and their avatars as creatures who abuse others and cause harm, much like his father. if he could have hurt his father to save his mother, you know he would have, and he’s wiling to murder in order to save innocents. also, because he’s secure in his belief that he’s a good person (thanks in large part to jon being such a loving boyfriend), martin is less likely to scrutinize his own actions the way jon does. martin is making choices based on what feels right, what he thinks will have the greatest net positive outcome, while jon just sees every single harmful thing he does as another item in the pile of reasons that he’s not good enough. jon looks at his actions individually, while martin looks at them holistically.

anyway, right now they’re functioning. despite his absolutely annihilated self-worth, jon is still able to find an anchoring purpose in the fact that he can use his eye power to defend martin. martin is able to move forward and act because he has the warmth and confidence of knowing jon loves him.

it wouldn’t take much to break them, though.

if martin died or was lost to a power, jon would absolutely crumble and lose all direction.

if jon stopped loving martin and told martin that he was a bad person, martin would absolutely crumble and lose all self-worth.

that’s what makes annabelle cane’s interest in martin so worrying. right now, martin is confident enough that her call doesn’t really phase him, he just hangs up on her. but if martin were to give in and join the web, it could ruin everything. jon would feel like he’d failed martin, and, knowing jon’s stance on avatars, martin might feel that jon thought he was evil. they would both fall apart completely and lose themselves to the entities they serve.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #magpod #tma meta #magnuspod #tma #my meta #i didn't mean to write all of this i just paused the episode to make a post and then i spent like an hour writing #i hope somebody reads this and enjoys it haha #tma spoilers

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dorigvbcorvis · 5 years ago

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The French Horn

A Second Season Glee Story

CHAPTER 3: THE SECRETS WE KEEP - FROM OURSELVES IF NECESSARY

The Muse behind this story is Kurt’s French Horn tee-shirt. Seen here in ‘The Power of Madonna’ it was also worn in ‘Grilled Cheesus’ - My head Canon since seeing Kurt wear the shirt twice is that Kurt had once played the horn. This is a story that addresses why Kurt quit playing

NOTES:

Since originally this chapter had graphic depictions of high school bullying and the use of homophobic slurs I felt that this might be too sensitive and/or could be a trigger for some and for this reason I split the chapter into three pieces CHAPTER 4 will post likely to my Live Journal or possibly A03

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3: The Secrets We Keep…From Ourselves If Necessary

Kurt felt his world starting to fold in on itself the moment he stepped outside Dr. Thompson’s office. His hand went to his chest as it tightened - Each step he felt his body become increasingly shaky- more clammy, his legs were like lead, and yet chief among these growing concerns for the epicene young man was the fact that the perspiration dripping from his forehead was now leaching product down his face. For him it was the worst; it meant he had to fight like mad the urge to wipe away the whole mess from his eyes with his sleeve of his wool-blend blazer - If he was in his father’s garage in his work coveralls this would be no problem….

But here at Dalton he still needed his uniform one more day as it was midday Thursday. Oh great! he said literally dripping now - He knew he had to find something to wipe the mess away - but he had nothing, not even a pocket square.

Everything was spearheading into a perfect storm and like added water Kurt had come to an icy cold realization that the last time he felt this badly it was just after learning Korofsky had won his appeal and was returning to McKinley. Kurt knew it made little sense to believe Korofski was behind his current malaise - For one the guy would never drive two hours out his way just to seek him out when it was more likely the guy would have just move on to another target. Deep down It was Kurt’s personal hope that somewhere in the whole f***ed up mess that Korofski had just found peace with himself - So where did that put him?

Stalled…stalled by what? fear? Then if fear, what was he was afraid of? And just like that he was back to square one trying to figure it all out.

Shit, Kurt uttered finally wiping the mix of sweat and hair product away with the sleeve of his blazer He had to - It had gotten that bad.

As much as fear made sense to Kurt he quickly ruled this out with the reasoning that fear was something he should have had before meeting with Dr. Thompson not afterwards. Yet looking back at Thompson’s closed office door Kurt knew Thompson was the only thing different in his routine - So what was it about him?

Maybe it was it bringing up his mother’s death and because of this having to stay back a year when he was in the third grade…

‘No, no,’ Kurt shook his head: ruling this out. It couldn’t be this. There had been countless times he had shared how he didn’t have a mom - and sure this often bought back heart ache and tears - He could not recall a time this ever make him feel this physically ill.

Kurt’s head started to swim with racing thoughts he didn’t want. If he were at home right about he was sure nothing at all would be stopping him from numbing his thoughts with alcohol – His Aunt Mildred’s variation on a Tom Collins that entailed mixing champagne with gin came to mind. “Except news-flash Kurt,” Kurt made a harsh point to informed himself. “You only just came off probation…Something like getting drunk at Dalton is not just dumb but you’ll surely get yourself put back on probation or worse get yourself expelled.’ This self-admonishing only made things worse and he still wasn’t any closer to knowing what it was exactly that was making him he feel like crap and he was running out of ideas.

The only thing Kurt knew looking at his watch was that the lunch hour had almost slipped away completely without him eating a thing. This revelation made Kurt giggled with a sad laugh - ‘Was is it really that simple? Was this only because he had skipped a meal?’ He of course remembered when he and Mercedes were in The Cheerios and how Mercedes face planted in the middle of the cafeteria’s from not eating. Low blood sugar now seemed plausible and it had a lot of the same symptoms. This was enough to point his feet in the direction of the cafeteria in hopes that this late the dining hall would still be open. Kurt quickened his steps fearing this would indeed be the case.

Just as he expected- Only the cleaning crew was in the hall. Gone was everyone else. He walked past a crew bussing tables with what dishes still remained on his way to the cafeteria itself only to find the cleaning crew had already switch off the heated buffet tables and removed the food trays leaving nothing but lukewarm baths of water. Even the salad bar had been gutted…but what really sucked was The desert case had been completely emptied out he could have totally gone for comfort-food in the wondrous baked pastry form.

“I’m not going to catch a break am I?” It was a loud enough statement for him to start to fume. That was until one of the headphone wearing cleanup workers stopped and pointed out the three tiered basket display at the end of the counter.

“Thanks,” Kurt said to the worker

The worker only nodded and rolled his mop bucket out of Kurt’s way

The worker was right - It hadn’t been cleared out yet. Five weeks of being at Dalton Kurt knew Sandwiches had always been placed in the bottom basket, chips and pretzels in middle basket, and fruit in the top basket. ‘It would have to do,’ He told himself as he rifled through saran wrapped sandwiches Only here too he found his run of bad luck had continued because every last one of them was Ham and Cheese sandwich - Kurt uttered an Ugg tossing back the of the lot he has looked at - He absolutely loathed processed deli ham he found it too salty and that emulsified gelatin sort of grossed him out. If it was to be ham he preferred a slow cooked ham leg that had been properly cloved or pork tenderloin medallions glazed in a sesame ginger sauce and then that had been grilled to perfection …and then he would not ever add cheese. His stomach growled thinking of food but he didn’t seem to be catching any luck.

He knew it was his own damn fault He should have eaten first and then gone to see Thompson - ‘actually,’ Kurt thought internally correcting himself - ‘He shouldn’t have gone to see Thompson at all - That way he never would have spilled the beans and made himself feel like crap now…Now was that really what was wrong?’

‘Oh crap,’ He knew now. While it bothered him that any additional meeting with Thompson he would end up letting the man know everything - What was really bothering him; the brass tacks of it all, was the risk of his dad finding out all the things he kept from him. It would kill him. Suddenly Kurt wasn’t hungry anymore he tossed back the bag of sun chips before picking it up again plus an apple from the top basket. Kurt knew it would be six hours until dinner service.

Kurt quickly departed the food area to find a seat the worker with his mop moved in behind Kurt to mop the floors like they had been only waiting for him to leave.

Kurt tried not to let this too bother him the guy after all pointed out the chips….but the thin irony of it all was feeling like every last thing in the world was eating at him while he went without anything to eat himself.

Kurt was just about to sink his teeth into his apple when he heard Blaine call out for him. And as much as he was secretly crushing hard on the black haired boy with the killer tenor voice the last thing Kurt wanted was for Blaine to see him like this - So exposed, so vulnerable with his heart pounded in his chest like something was terribly-terribly wrong. Blaine called to Kurt with a tone that was both happy and relieved to see him. “So it’s true -Trent said he saw you in here. I totally looked for you everywhere during lunch.”

“Except where I was,” Kurt blurted, before instantly regretted it. He didn’t know why he said it out loud. “I had to see Dr. Thompson.” Kurt now said, offering up the truth.

The explanation alone gave Blaine pause. He knew Dr. Thompson and how most at Dalton liked the man- It was just as well known how many emerged from his office in tears either because they had lost their scholarship or because they had to see Dr. Thompson in the capacity of the school’s psychologist…given his own bout with the man and how similar Kurt’s situation mirrored his own it was much too likely this was how it was with Kurt now but it wasn’t until Blaine actually looked at Kurt did his happy go lucky demeanor change… “My God, are you alright? - It looks like you’ve been crying “

“It’s nothing,” Kurt said defensively blowing off the question.

Blaine wasn’t about to buy Kurt’s write-off noting how he could “Totally see your eyes”

Caught Kurt was back peddling “What I meant was, I don’t want to talk about it and I kind-of want to be alone right now” this much was true.

Blaine frowns… ”Fine,” he says, after a beat of feeling stunned. But then he adds “But let me at least tell you why I was looking for you.”

All Kurt had to do was look at Blaine sitting in front of him hazel eyes looking like a lost puppy for him to cave. “Okay - You win. Why were you looking for me?”

“I got comp tickets for my King’s Island gig - Dad called right after our duet in the Commons Room - He has to fly to New York on business so he can’t go.” Blaine sets a King’s Island admissions ticket down on the table and pushed it towards Kurt - It’s yours if you want it” then he adds with a high brow flourish Call it a Thank You for our practice session last night” Blaine returns back to common speech for the details “The plan is Mom is gonna pick me up Friday to drive me there. We’ll probably stay a couple nights in Cincinnati and come back on Sunday”

Kurt silently cursed the rotten timing of how in a heartbeat he would go see Blaine and spending two nights in a hotel with Blaine? …In the same room? Kurt was kicking himself. “I-I cant,”‘ Kurt said, biting his tongue in protest. “Friday is dinner night - I also have these damn papers my dad needs to sign.”

“What are those?” Blaine asked, suddenly taking notice of the stack of papers sitting on the table next to Kurt’s arm.

“One is for a test I need to take…” Kurt trails off “The others…” Kirk’s voice breaks and wavers as he starts over… “The others are because Thompson thinks I should see someone over what happened”

Blaine was nodding knowingly. “Yeah, he was like that with me last year…But he’s good. He’ll listen…But…you don’t want to hear that do you?” Blaine saw Kurt didn’t seem to be listening.

“It’s not that, not really - It’s complicated - It’s why I have to go home when I so much rather go with you and not have to bothered with this - It’s just horrible timing and rotten luck. And - I am sorry”

Blaine shook his head, Kurt’s apology wasn’t needed - He knew he would have no trouble finding another to go in Kurt’s place. It was that he was just as sorry it wouldn’t be Kurt joining him.. He also heard the hurt in Kurt’s voice so he knew it wasn’t out of personal choice. It was why he hesitate to go any further talking about Thompson or his King’s Island gig - Instead the first words out of his mouth are only about the test. “Haven’t you taken enough tests? - I mean when I came here I didn’t have it anywhere near as bad as you had it” he looks again at the stack of papers and corrects himself saying: “….still have it”

“That’s because you came here as a sophomore” The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Both boys look up to see that Wes was now standing at the table’s edge. Wes was still talking “Kurt came here as a junior, and everybody here knows that’s the year they get you: SATs, Subject Tests, AP Exams….” Kurt’s eyes had widened hearing what still remained. Wes switches to a more personal note with Kurt and asks “Did everything go ok with Dr. Thompson?”

“Yeah, he just wanted me to take some cognitive test” Kurt answered, deliberately stopping short of repeating the bit about Thompson also wanting him to seek counseling..

“Very well. You boys need to finish up here and get to class.” Wes starts to walk away before turning back. Oh, and don’t forget we have a double practice meeting today.”

“Through dinner?” Kurt asks with the kind tone in his voice that would let anybody know he wouldn’t liking the answer if it was to be yes.

Blaine was already jumping to Kurt’s defense. “He’s kidding!” Blaine exclaimed, placing a comradic arm around Kurt’s neck like they both in were in sync while he emphatically added: “We’ll be there!”

Wes raised an eyebrow but he was also a perceptive young man, he knew enough to guess what was behind Kurt’s objection. With a shrug he said. “We’ll order pizza like we always do when our practice cuts through dinner”

It was just enough to make Kurt reply with a simple relieved “Oh?”

“Now you two should really get to class. The Warblers have a reputation to up hold.”

“What kind of test did you say?” Blaine asks wondering if he would be someday be taking the same test.

“It’s called the CogAt - Apparently I was supposed to have already taken it. But I never did. That’s Public Schools for you - gotta love that attention to detail.”

“You’re smart,” Blaine insists like it’s known statement of fact.. “You’ll probably ace it”

“I’m not that smart”

“Yeah, you kind-of are,” Blaine reaffirms with a warm smile that could melt butter. “It’s one of the things I like best about you.”

Kurt manages a halfway smile. He knew there was no ‘there’ yet between them but he loved it when Blaine flirted – It made him believe that one day there could be.

“Well, you heard the man,” Blaine said, standing up.

“Where to?” Kurt asked, also getting up out of his seat and placing his paperwork in his satchel along with his apple and unopened bag of chips.

“I have Algebra” Blaine answered, promptly. “You?”

“World History - I actually think today might be the day I am finally caught up with the class.”

“You’ve been working on that hard enough.”

Kurt pursed his lips - He wasn’t sure if what Blaine said was meant to be a jab or not.

Blaine was already sheepishly offering a correction. “What I meant to say is I hope whatever it is getting you down - I hope it passes”

Kurt drew a hard breath trying to hide his feelings he managed to nod.

The boys left the dining hall not saying much else. They proceeded down two long corridors to the section of Dalton where the classrooms were. Kurt watched Blaine turn down the maths wing “I’ll see you after class,” Blaine said, with one last look back. He then proceeded turning the door knob to his math class and walking in.

As the door closed Kurt suddenly knew he was never going to make it to history… He went straight to the nearest bathroom to throw up the contents of his stomach which under the circumstances wasn’t a whole lot. When he finally had stopped he washed his face. He looked up from the sink, to the mirror mounted above it not at all liking the young man in the mirror staring back at him. Not even a little.

Maybe it was because he was in a restroom - maybe it was because he was dripping with perspiration…or maybe simply after two years it was bound to resurface but standing there looking at himself in the mirror Kurt’s memories came flooding back and covering his face he began to sob.

The pee filled balloons didn’t end with him being chased off the football field - No, That was where it began - It started back up again after the jocks followed him into the same bathroom.

#Glee #season 2 #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #angst #fanfic #french horn #pee balloons #cptsdhealing

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ra-lek · 6 years ago

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Hi! I know you’ve touched on the topic briefly before, but if you don’t mind I’d love to hear any more in-depth thoughts you have on autistic Elliot. It’s one of my favorite headcanons and it’s always fascinating to see other people’s thoughts on it! (Also I just wanted to say that you have a really interesting way of analyzing the show and you seem like a such a genuinely chill, kind person, thank you for being awesome)

heya, i don’t mind at all!! this headcanon is great and there’s a lot of material to work with and analyze so i’m absolutely on board with elaborating more;

but first i gotta establish a few things:

i am not a professional and can’t talk about autism the same way i’ve talked about body language or dissociative identity disorder. mainly because i’ve done essays on the latter and am more educated on the subject, unlike with this specific disorder.

but yo that doesn’t mean i don’t know anything cause psychology is my sHit- i just felt it was necessary for you to know that i’m not as confident in my analysis as i usually am; so feel free to correct me!!

next, in canon, elliot is diagnosed with clinical depression and social anxiety disorder. with a couple of ’delusional’ mentions thrown here and there. however, we most certainly know he suffers from DID as well- and the fact it’s his MAJOR problem and hasn’t been properly acknowledged by the show leaves us with room to speculate.

and finally- i’ve been diagnosed with and am being treated for clinical depression and anxiety disorder. so i will point things out from my perspective here as well, since people with anxiety have similar symptoms to people on the spectrum and/or people with ADHD/ADD. (sometimes even OCD)

alright now that that’s all clear we can finally start looking at his behavior!!

first and foremost, autism & ad(h)d are developmental disorders because the symptoms for them can generally be noticed in early childhood; as opposed to anxiety which is a mental illness. so it’s entirely possible to have a cocktail of disorders in your head.

i’m bringing ADD up a lot because i’ve been speculated to have it & am supposed to take some tests- but am not officially diagnosed yet. now that we’ve got my entire family history, blood type & credit card number laid out, we’re ready to go.

anyway, these are the symptoms:

1. difficulty with communication & interaction with others

this is probably where anxiety, add and autism collide the most. though in very different ways- and they’re not exclusive to people with one of these diagnosis only.

for example, eye contact. i’m terrible at it. people with autism & anxiety are also pretty darn bad at it, and elliot might seem that way at times; he hides a lot- but not as often as he tends to hold an intense eye contact, instead? which can also be seen as an ‘odd’ thing to do in social communication. as in, not noticing if someone’s uncomfortable under such gaze, let’s say.

that brings me to the next topic which is uh, coincidentally, communication.

he is quite blunt when it comes to it, has a distinctive ‘flat’ #elliotvoice tone. @mototwinkclub pointed out a few instances last time this topic was brought up, such as saying “i’m okay with it being awkward between us” to matpat ollie or “not at all, actually.” with gideon- and he doesn’t do it to be rude. doesn’t really realize it’s ‘bad’ to say it like that, either.

i mean i know he said he’s trying to work on his social anxiety but that’s not quite how you’d go about it? i firmly believe he suffers from generalized anxiety. obviously, that includes social anxiety as well; but this way you could explain why he’s way more concerned with…everything else. and is pretty straightforward in conversation.

since i referenced the pilot, one of the first lines he says about himself is “i don’t know how to talk to people. the only person person i could talk to was my dad- but he died.” which brings us back to the developmental aspect of this disorder. since he’s indicating he didn’t know how to talk to people even when he was a kid. which is true, in every flashback we see he either doesn’t talk at all or talks very little.

what’s interesting though- although he’s bad at reading 'conversation’- he’s extremely good at reading people. and the fact he 'looks for the worst in them’ contradicts the usual aspect that’s brought up when it comes to an autistic thought process, which is made out to be like “if i wouldn’t do this, then why would anyone else?” and it’s not the way he thinks at all.

instead, he feels empathy on a moral level if that makes sense? people on the spectrum are said to either be too empathic or not at all. and it’s hard to pinpoint elliot? because, clearly, he cares for people as much as he doesn’t trust them. use an example the reason he leaked ray’s information. he literally said “but then i keep thinking about those people.” but we haven’t seen him empathize with, for instance, vera- even when he gave a pretty tragic backstory. he can tell who the bad guy is.

when it comes to spacing out, he does it all the time. people on the spectrum do it all the time, i certainly do it all the time. but we have to focus on what he is thinking about when he does it- because that is our indicator.

we usually see his thoughts filled with paranoia, over-thinking, analyzing, etc,.. which i associate with anxiety disorder mostly? but, we have to take into account something he suffers from the most and it’s dissociative identity disorder. so not only does he space out, but he tends to dissociate, as well. perfect example for this is when he mutes the world around him. or just doesn’t listen.

once again, from the pilot, when angela tells him “stop thinking about something else while i’m talking to you!!” he isn’t actually daydreaming or spacing out in the usual sense- he’s recalling the night (mostly for the viewer than for himself let’s be honest) she’s talking about and we see that he was too anxious to go in. he doesn’t tell her that.

now let’s talk about his no-touch policy for a second. that’s something a lot of people on the spectrum have in common. i think it’s, once again, one of those cases where one could be either completely touch-starved or aversive. though we can’t ignore the fact he’d been abused when he was young.

as i was going through the pilot for most of my evidence here (as you can notice) there’s a very small detail at the beginning when ron leans in to ask “are you blackmailing me!?” and we can see elliot flinch in genuine fear. this is not the only instance where he seems afraid to get hit. breaKs my goddamn heart.

but he’s also the one to initiate contact sometimes- and he often misunderstands the situation. shayla told him not to ask, he kissed darlene, tried kissing angela on the train that time when she denied him- he does it cause that’s what he thinks he should do.

2. restrictive or repetitve behaviors

he’s absolutely all about those routines- he doesn’t want anything destructing his ’perfectly constructed loop’ anytime he has one. (season 1 starbucks, season 2 jailtime, season 3 ecorp) but it’s important to point out that in all of these scenarios, he’s been to one to break the loop himself. by realizing they weren’t making anything better.

there are a couple of nervous ticks he has, general fidgeting with his hands/hair/hoodie- all of these apply to every disorder we’ve mentioned here.

comfort item/food is a very good one!! since we’ve only ever seen him eat fries, he has a “crying corner” in his room, he’s constantly 'hiding’ under the hoodie. probably the main comfort item.

he’s also insanely hyperfocused on technology and numbers and hacking, obviously- he has a clear routine every time. burn the disc, delete the folder, write a song over one of the cds, shove them under the table. same goes for when he thinks he’s fucked up- throw stuff in the microwave, destroy it, you get the image.

speaking of those cds though, if he can remember exactly which song he wrote for each person he’s got data on; that could be a damn good indicator of it!!

all of this could be a combination of whys and becauses which is super fun if you ask me. elliot is complex and, although i share 2.5 disorders with him, i can’t relate to his actions/coping/thoughs completely all the time.

it just tells you how different everyone’s brains are, you can’t restrict a disorder to a specific pattern and only consider that when diagnosing somebody.

so, in conclusion, elliot could very possibly be autistic!!

#real long one y'all #lemme know what you think though!!#elliot alderson #mr robot #/mine #shutupneil #sjdhjsjs thank you for the compliments tho💕💕💕

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kali-tmblr · 6 years ago

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RWBY7: Yang's Upcoming Problems With PTSD

I'm sorry to have been away for so long lately. I promised you all a post on Yang's PTSD, and that proved to be difficult and painful to write. Nonetheless, here it is.

One of the things I like about RWBY is it's portrayals of various mental health issues, including Ozpin's carefully concealed depression, Blake's trust issues, the clinical apathy depicted at Brunswick Farms, and the accurate depictions of two different reactions to childhood abuse seen in Weiss and Adam. Right now, though, I want to talk about Yang's PTSD, why PTSD will eventually hit her harder than most people, and why the trip to Atlas in Volume 7 is the perfect time to address it.

PTSD is something I have had for over 50 years. I've studied it, and talked to experts and lots of other survivors. There are those who think Yang isn't showing enough symptoms of PTSD, or that her PTSD will go away now that Adam is dead. These ideas show common misunderstandings of PTSD. It's okay, popular media usually gets it wrong.

PTSD is a progressive disorder. Popular depictions usually show someone in the advanced stages, but those take time to develop. It's as unlikely that someone who just got the disorder would have them as it would be for someone who just got Alzheimer's to suddenly lose all memory, or for someone who just got multiple sclerosis to suddenly need a wheelchair.

What exactly is PTSD? Many people think it's nightmares and flashbacks, but these are less symptoms of PTSD and more side effects. The primary effect of PTSD is fear displacement.

Let's say you suddenly feel yourself in a life-threatening situation. What do you do? Some people never feel fear. Some are overwhelmed by fear, and faint or run away. Some, even while feeling fear, still manage to be brave (Elizabeth Sladen's performance as Sarah Jane Smith in Doctor Who was a masterful portrayal of a person who was both frightened and courageous at the same time.) And some of us get PTSD.

PTSD works like an overflow valve in the human brain. Overflow valves are devices found in hydraulic systems, like water heaters and car engines. They keep the fluid in the system from overflowing. When the fluid reaches a critical level, the overflow valve opens and shunts it safely to a reservoir. Then when the fluid level in the main tank falls back down to the safe zone, the excess fluid flows back into the main system. Crisis averted!

PTSD works just like that, only it's not a fluid level that's being monitored, it's your adrenaline level. And it's not liquid that gets shunted away, it's fear. In a situation where you feel threatened, when the adrenaline in your brain reaches a certain level, your brain automatically shunts your fear into your unconscious mind, leaving your conscious mind completely clear. You couldn't feel fear if you tried, and I've tried. Crisis averted!

Then when your adrenaline drops to a certain level, when you feel safe and peaceful, all those pent-up terrors come bubbling back to the surface and -- yeah. That's the sticky part.

Here's a small example from my own life. About 15 years ago my young children and I were involved in a minor car accident. Nobody was hurt, but it was still scary. The moment it happened my adrenaline level shot up, my PTSD kicked in, and I was super calm and totally in control. I dealt with the problem, got everyone home, fixed supper, got everyone to the table, sat down -- and burst into tears as my adrenaline level fell and my brain finally interpreted the situation as "safe". That's PTSD in a nutshell.

For war trauma and abuse cases, there's a lot more terror involved than is generated by a minor car accident. Let yourself get really relaxed and peaceful and your adrenaline level fall really low -- and suddenly all the terrors of the battlefield, or of your former abusers, spring to the surface. The least stressful time of my life was right after I got married. I was happier than I had ever been before -- so I had a solid year of nightmares, inexplicable mood swings, and bouts of sensory deprivation. That was one of the two worst breakdowns of my life. The other one began on a park bench in the Magic Kingdom, after a five-day vacation at Disney World, "The Happiest Place On Earth".

Vacations suck with PTSD.

But as you've probably figured out by now, you don't have to feel those terrors. You can game the system! All you have to do is keep your adrenaline level up, and those fears stay locked up in the overflow tank. Crisis averted!

Except -- what happens to a tank that stays too full for too long? It starts to leak. What happened when your fears stay repressed for too long? They start to leak. That's where the advanced stages of PTSD come from.

Let's bring this back to Yang. When Yang has nightmares and flashbacks at home when she's relaxed, that's normal for PTSD. When she doesn't have the same nightmares and flashbacks on the road while she's worried and her adrenaline is up, that's also normal for PTSD. And when in the heat of battle her hand stops shaking and she's suddenly cool, calculating, and able to lay a trap for Adam in the middle of fighting him, that's PTSD doing its job.

But she's going to have a real problem dealing with those repressed fears. It's hard even for an introvert like me to calm down, knowing that doing so means opening my personal doorway to Hell. But Yang admitted in Volume 2 that she's an adrenaline junkie. She already lacks a reason to calm down, and now she just got the Mother of All Extra Incentives not to. Consequently, over time her condition will get progressively worse, unless she learns how to deal with it.

Atlas is a military culture, and Ironwood has shown a concern for the welfare of soldiers in general and Yang in particular. If there's anywhere on Remnant where someone can explain this to her, it's probably there. And not just to her. PTSD is almost as much of a trial to one's partners, both professional and romantic. And it will be a special challenge for Blake, because being present for someone with PTSD is very important. I expect this scenario to form a part of Volume 7 or 8, with 8 being more likely.

There are those who hope Yang's PTSD will go away now that Adam is dead, but it doesn't work like that. However awful it is to the conscious mind, the subconscious mind has a different opinion. As far as the subconscious is concerned, PTSD is not a problem. It's the solution to the problem of dealing with life-threatening situations. Your hindbrain considers it better for you to be traumatized in the long term than dead in the short term, even if the trauma eventually leads to suicide. So once that switch is flipped, it stays flipped for life. (Crossposted to Amino.)

#rwby #rwby7 #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #ptsd

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loubuggins · 6 years ago

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She’s probably feeling better now, but when @nightglider124 said she was feeling under the weather, this little drabble popped in my head. Which is a first for me, as I don’t think I have ever been inspired to write anything RobStar lol. So forgive me if they aren’t perfectly in character! Anyway, I hope you like this Night and I hope you are feeling better!

Human Soup of Sickness

*~*~*

“Ahh...ahhh...chew!”

Even standing outside the door, Robin could easily hear the high pitch sneeze that came from inside a very familiar bedroom. The sound reminded him of a mouse’s squeak and that thought made his lips turn up into a small smile. Looking up at the door, he paused to listen for the voice that made his stomach jump to his throat every time he heard it. The person on the other side released a long, agonizing moan and suddenly any adorable qualities he had associated with her current state were replaced with worries.

He gripped the handle to the oversized mug in his hand and took a deep breath over the intoxicating aroma of chicken and broth that rose from the steaming bowl. His stomach growled at the smell, yearning for a taste, but he shook the treacherous idea out of his head. He would eat later. Right now, she was his first priority, even if that realization made him blush and made his body all sweaty with nerves.

Finally regaining his confidence, he lifted his gloved hand to the door while carefully balancing the cup of soup in his other. After just a quick knock, he heard her voice call through the door.

“Come in!”

Though she had raised it to ensure he would hear, it still came out strained and forced. Very unlike her normally whimsical demeanor. Robin pushed a button on the side of the door and watched it slide open to allow him entrance inside. Her bedroom was still pink as ever, with girly decorations hung all over the walls and furniture. She also had an assortment of random Earth objects that she proudly kept as souvenirs. What was strange, however, were the piles of tissues that covered her bed and slid down to the floor.

“Star?” He questioned with a look that made his mask wrinkle. He looked pointly at the mountain of soiled tissues as they shook and rolled off the bed like an avalanche. Eventually, he saw his very tired and sick friend rise from the pile she had created. Her usual glowing emerald eyes were dulled and a pink tinge outlined the corners of her eyes and puffy nose. Even in her dire state, he still felt his breath hitch in his throat at the natural beauty and soft innocence that radiated off her so easily. Her long and wild rose-pink locks were matted and sticky from sweat and she wore only a nightgown instead of her usual armored uniform. Yet she still managed to flash him a warm smile.

“Greetings, Friend Robin. I apologize for my current unhealthiness. I am beginning to think this is a human disease, for the symptoms have become more severe than as Friend Beast Boy called, a ‘Tamerian Flu.’”

Her voice was still as horse as when she welcomed him in, but she spoke as if everything was normal. It was true that when she had first mentioned she felt under the weather, she had assumed it was a Tamerian version of what they all knew to be the common cold. According to her, the “Tamerian Flu” only lasted for a few days and would not affect her daily responsibilities. All of them had been hesitant to believe her, but the warrior princess was not one to argue with. Still feeling worried when she missed a training session for the first time since they became a team, Robin had decided the sick girl could use a pick me up, and although it was a remedy for human illnesses, he assumed a bowl of warm chicken noodle soup would still feel good going down her throat.

He was still very anxious though, for he had never had to care for another person like this before, especially not a person of the opposite sex. He had depended on his memories of Alfred, his family’s butler, and used those memories to mimic what Alfred would do for him whenever he was not feeling well. That’s what gave him the idea for the soup.

His eyes drifted back to the sea of tissues covering her bed and he fought back the urge to grimace at the contaminating mess. “I’m starting to think so too.” He replied as he stepped closer to her and extended the deep mug in his hands. “I made you some soup. It should help.”

The princess peered at the foreign substance inside the bowl, then glanced up to meet the boy’s eyes that were hidden behind his mask. “Please, what is soup?” She inquired in a hushed, raspy voice.

“It’s uh…” Robin started, but he found it difficult to explain something he just inherently understood. One of the girl’s many quirks was her limited knowledge about human customs. It did, however, forced him to think about seemingly mundane things in a new light, and he welcomed the challenge of seeing things in a different perspective. It was a necessary skill to have in his line of work.

“It pieces of chicken and noodles mixed together in a broth. At this kind is. It’s meant to be warm and easy to eat. Perfect food for when you have a cold.”

She tilted her head like a confused puppy, so Robin took that as his cue to clarify. “A cold as in the human virus, not the weather.”

Her eye light up in understanding and she carefully took the bowl out of his hands and brought it to her lips. She took a deep breath over the thick, brown liquid and a relieved smile appeared on her face. “This smells delightful. Thank you for the Human Soup of Sickness.” She graciously nodded her head as she used one hand to pick up the spoon in the bowl and scooped up a blend of the contents in her meal.

The boy wonder tried his best to stifle his laughter at the phrase she used to describe his offering. “You’re welcome, Star.” He paused for a moment as she brought a spoonful of chicken and noodles to her opened mouth and took a tentative taste. He waited with baited breath for her reaction. Her jade eye widened and he heard a satisfied moan escape her lips.

“This is how you say, quite yummy!”

Robin beamed at her declaration and he stood just a bit straighter, taking pride in her praise. “I’m glad you like it Star. Is there anything else I can get you?”

She took in another spoonful of her soup, before answering him with a nod. “I am in need of some more soft paper.”

“Soft paper?” He muttered to himself as the gears in his head worked out what she had meant. “Oh, tissues! Yeah no problem. I’ll have to run into town to get some though, so it may take a bit.”

She gave another nod of head, a grateful smile on her face. “That is fine. I am appreciative of your kindness, friend.”

The fearless leader felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and he nervously scratched the back of his head. “Of-a...of course. Happy to help!”

He had spent years training under the most stoic and vigilant detective of all time, and yet here he was reverting right back to his old nervous habits. How was she able to shake him up so badly that he forgot how to contain himself? What was it about this girl that made him act like a teenage boy with a high school crush?

“Can I, uh, get you some medicine or something? Would our medicine work on you?”

The girl responded with a shrug. “Truthfully, I do not know, but I suppose it is worth the shot?”

Robin smirked at her phrasing, but simply nodded his head. “Alright, then I’ll go pick up some tissues and some cold medicine. Until then, enjoy the soup and if you need anything, the rest of the team will be here to help.”

As the boy began to take his leave, the sound of her small voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Friend Robin?”

He looked over his shoulder and met her gaze. The mood in the room had shifted and judging by her crestfallen face and slumped shoulders, he suspected it had changed for the worst. “Yeah, Star?”

The princess dropped her gaze and stared into the soup bowl still in her hands. As innocent as she normally sounded, he had still never viewed her as weak or small. Everything about her was strong and magnificent. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she was always so full of life. It reminded him of her namesake. Nothing burned brighter than the fires of a star. Yet sitting before him, eyes distant and head lowered, she looked like an entirely different person. “I apologize for my current condition. My illness has hindered my ability to contribute to our team.”

Though her voice was strained due to illness, he knew the sorrow laced in it came naturally. He felt a sudden tightness in his chest and an urge to reach out to her, take her in his arms and do whatever it would take to bring back her cheerful smile. Instead, he gave her a sincere grin and spoke with an unusual softness in his voice.

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize for being sick. No one can control that. All you can do is focus on getting better, okay?” To add to his point he flashed her a reassuring smile.

The alien princess felt her cheeks heat up, but she knew it was not from her fever.

“I will do whatever it takes to combat this plague and I swear to be victorious in my battle.” She spoke confidently as she sat up a little straighter. He admired her tediousness, even with something as minor as a common cold.

“Alright Star, but uh, you know you can’t physically fight a virus right? It’s a microorganism that -“

“I know, Friend Robin. I was being the facetious.”

He smirked at his friend’s knowing look and realized that for all her innocence, she certainly picked up on things fast. Without another word, the boy wonder left the room, his cape billowing out behind him. It was the last thing she saw before the large metal door closed shut, leaving her alone once more. But despite being by herself in her room, she still felt oddly better than she had before. Perhaps it was just the soup.

#robstar #dickkory #robin #starfire #koriand'r #dick grayson #richard grayson #nightwing #teen titans #fanfics #drabble

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ghostmartyr · 7 years ago

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Obsession and Fandom

2018 being a year of doing better, apparently I’ve decided that being overly honest about fandom and my interactions with it is an A+ idea.

I think most people on the internet these days have no idea what OCD is. Even the people who know enough to understand that it’s a serious problem don’t often examine it past that. Something to do with washing hands and perfectionism, only damaging and crazy.

OCD is built on doubt.

Pick a thing, any thing, that you believe to be true. You turned off the lights. You didn’t run anyone over on your way home. You would never hurt a child. Your God is real. You love your significant other. Your house is not currently on fire. You don’t live on a fault line. Your hands are clean.

Where OCD starts is in the anxiety of uncertainty. In panic loudly suggesting in your own voice, “what if?” You can’t just remember that you turned off the lights. What if you were wrong? Human memories are so fallible. What if your electricity bill spikes and you can’t pay it and you get kicked out and you don’t have enough money left to eat?

Go check.

Twenty times at four in the morning.

Then one more time, to be certain.

Always one more time.

The cycle itself is very simple. Something makes you anxious. You react with compulsions to wave off the anxiety. The compulsions upgrade the importance of whatever made you anxious. The next time the source of anxiety hits, it’s worse, and the compulsions just keep digging into the rut.

Part of what makes that cycle so hard to shake is the obsession aspect.

The general rule of treating OCD is that you need to cut out compulsive behavior. That’s the component that’s keeping everything running. Understandably, this is harder than it sounds.

OCD is a broken coping mechanism. The compulsions put distance between you and the anxiety. Every time you check, and it’s all okay, your brain rewards you with relief sweet enough that you don’t draw the link between that compulsive behavior and the terror that spawned it. The compulsions are how you’re fighting the anxiety, and not fighting means that this great threat will certainly kill you.

Enter the importance of the obsession.

Someone once made a chart about tumblr, and how it treated emotional response. I don’t remember the specifics, and can’t find it, so I’m kind of just hoping I’m not grossly misrepresenting the example, but it was a simple bar chart, illustrating how tumblr did away with a balanced range of highs and lows. Every bar went through the roof.

Obsession is a time-honored way of describing passionate interests. You don’t just like a movie; you’re obsessed with it. It makes your heart beat faster and consumes all your waking thoughts, because that’s just how much it means to you. It is The Thing for you.

In fan circles, this is perfectly normal. We all show up because we love a thing (or hate how we should have loved a thing), and are willing to devote hours and hours of our loves luxuriating in it. This thing, which is just a movie or a comic book or a band, has intense value to us. It matters. Fiction matters to our reality.

What happens with obsession is that you lose the ability to correctly perceive something’s importance. Because whatever it is you’re obsessed with is The Most Important.

Fannish obsessions are, ideally, about enriching your life. They add joy, or some other sense of fulfillment. OCD obsessions impede life. Things that may or may not be inconsequential become so Important that it’s impossible to think that chilling out about them is even advisable.

It matters that you know the lights aren’t on. How could your brain think otherwise? Worse, it’s dangerous to think otherwise. A clear threat to your livelihood is presented in knowing whether the lights are on or not. Are you really going to be so careless as to disregard that?

It matters.

No, you can’t just shut up about this and go about your life, because it matters.

One of the fascinating things about psychological disorders is how quite a few orderly humans have usually brushed against symptoms. Most people don’t have depression. Many people understand feeling depressed. Most people don’t have anxiety. Pretty much everyone has felt anxious.

Plenty of people have superstitions and rituals.

Plenty of people get obsessed with things.

Unfortunately, that can make it hard to communicate the problem. People relate to other people through their own experiences. If you tell them something that sounds like something they’re familiar with, they’re going to assume that it’s that thing they’re familiar with, not something different. Going with depression, since I think that narrative’s the most common to hear nowadays, many people have had terrible days, and felt really broken, and sad, and like the world is ending.

Then a good night’s sleep happened, or the next day, or the next week, and the trauma was over, so it passed, and it was all good.

So don’t let a few bad days get you down! :) :)

It’s well-meaning, but frustrating. Sounding the same does not equal being the same.

I'm trying to be extra careful about that here, because OCD is misunderstood frequently enough without my help. Discussing behaviors I’m more aware of thanks to an anxiety disorder is not the same as saying those behaviors only ever belong to that thing.

Not every rectangle is a square.

So. Let’s talk why I’m bringing all of this up.

Humans like labeling things. That means that nearly everyone with OCD who has gone and investigated themselves on the internet is familiar with very specific ways to denote how their OCD presents.

Disaster OCD. POCD. ROCD. Harm OCD. Pure O.

To be as clear as I possibly can, all of those extra unique titles are just a fancy way of saying, “I obsess about X.” It is all OCD. They are useful categories when it comes to explaining your personal experience, but the diagnosis remains OCD. The extra fluff of other letters or words is just shorthand.

What I have would be called Pure O. It stands for “pure obsessional.” Like several bits of naming vernacular OCD communities adopt, that’s a misnomer. It gets the name because with Pure O, the compulsion is obsession. All of the compulsions are relatively invisible because they happen internally.

To be even more specific, one of my themes is moral scrupulosity.

An obsession with being moral.

If I’m angry over something, my mind wants five hours of pacing and detailed thought analysis explaining why, in order for it to judge if it is acceptable to have those feelings.

If something hurts me, my mind wants five hours of pacing and detailed thought analysis explaining why, in order for it to judge if it is acceptable to have those feelings.

If I like something untoward, my mind wants five hours of pacing and detailed thought analysis explaining why, in order for it to judge if it is acceptable to have those feelings.

It isn’t enough to have feelings. Those feelings have to be Right. They have to be justified. If I can’t justify them, they shouldn’t be there, because I need to be right. I can’t just dislike something. I can’t just be angry. I definitely can’t like things.

There have to be Reasons.

Before I went to therapy, that was my entire life. Not letting any of my emotional responses go, because the most Important thing in the world was being a good person, and the only way to know that I’m being a good person is to have a solid copy of every argument that I can come up with that’s even slightly to related to whatever it was I was thinking about.

Usually, the end result (using ‘end’ loosely) was a bunch of exhausted, dizzy thoughts, and deep emotional unrest. Along with hours of my life that I’d spent entirely inside my own head, contributing nothing to the outside world.

Fandom right now is such a trip for me, because it’s full of people validating my worst moments. They dance with the rhetoric that the hell inside my head invented for me, and that’s considered right and proper.

Everyone gets so worked up over whether or not something is problematic. Everyone gets so worked up over whether or not it’s okay to ship a thing. Everyone gets so worked up over there only ever being five ways to ethically enjoy a problematic thing. Everyone gets so worked up disagreeing.

Everyone gets so worked up over proving their point.

Because it’s all so important.

When I was first seeking treatment specifically for my OCD troubles, I talked to my therapist about its qualification as an anxiety disorder. Yes, I told her, I spend hours and hours and hours turning things over in my head, it makes me miserable, and it is a problem, but... I don’t feel, like, anxious about it.

She asks me what happens if I stop. I stare at her blankly. ...Stop? ??? What do you mean... stop? There wasn’t any answer to that. Not following through on my compulsions was such an impossibility that I couldn’t even figure out why it was so important to do them.

The compulsions are a broken coping mechanism to keep the anxiety at a distance.

Put in the terms of standard human interaction, it’s a layer of crap meant to distract from the real issue.

The real issue is the feelings, and the refusal to let yourself have them.

You treat OCD by cutting out the compulsions and letting the anxiety happen. Instead of prolonging it, you let all of the torment wash over you. You don’t engage. You just allow it to exist.

Slowly, you ease out of the rut the compulsions dug. Are the feelings fun? No. Does every part of your soul want to kick and scream and defend yourself? Yes.

Will that ultimately make the pain worse?

Hell yes.

There are so many different ways to look at my mental history, look at fandom, and start going off about how damaging certain things can be. I honestly wouldn’t know where to start if I wanted to get through them all. I began this post without a clue where I’d end up.

The thing about making stuff Important is that then you can borrow from other Important things to illustrate your point. After all, it’s all on the same level of importance. This creates a loop of intensity, where the Importance keeps growing, and growing, and any threat to the Important thing is worthy of unholy wrath for the sake of all that is good in the world.

Very, very quickly, rival ships aren’t just an unpleasant thing. They’re dangerous. They caused you discomfort, pain even, and here’s ten thousand reasons that make an ironclad case for destroying every trace of the evil.

Borrowing rhetoric feels good. It turns your uneasy feelings into something bigger than yourself; something righteous. You aren’t just a tired human who wishes fandom liked what you like more, you’re a crusader against injustice.

We’re all tired humans.

Whatever you’re feeling, however awful or good it is, one of the most destructive things you can do to yourself (or others) is demand a reason for it. Humans are emotional idiots capable of feeling more for people who don’t exist than for each other.

It’s okay to have feelings just because you have feelings. They don’t need to be right or wrong. You are allowed to exist without reason. You can read a book or listen to a song and take it however you want.

The people around you can, too.

Obsession steals away perception. It makes small things feel more important than anything else. Shouting at other people for doing things wrong becomes more obviously meaningful than building up what you find to be right.

The most important thing in your fandom experience should be yourself. It is not supposed to hurt you. Pain is the universal sign that something is wrong. Experiencing it during something that should be enriching your life is a problem, and just because other people can set it off doesn’t mean that they’re the cause.

Whenever someone brings up fandom and its purity kick, I remember what it’s like to be trapped in that type of thinking. It’s still something I struggle with. Daily. People diving into it blindly because the train tracks are all set up and ready to go is distressing.

I don’t really know what I’m trying to get at with all of this, so I can’t wrap it up very neatly. I just wanted to share, on the off chance that someone might find something valuable in it.

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serenefreakgeekao3 · 7 years ago

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Request: #19 for the Drarry drabble prompts, please! Draco speaking to Harry if possible, but either way is fine, thanks :) :) -- ( @restlessandordinary )

Prompt: “I want to take care of you”

Rated: T

Warnings: Cursing, Light angst, Mentions of nightmares, (my constant use of italics for emphasis)

Words: 4.3k

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I just wanna start off by saying yes I have a lot of other requests, and I’m getting to them! I promise! But my stupid brain said, “Hey let’s write something a few hundred words, maybe 1k words, just to have something to post to the blog so I stay active” before writing a 4k behemoth of a story. Hope you guys like it?

Draco Malfoy was not one easily surprised. Hosting a Dark Lord in your home for a year, being raised how he was to imitate polite social structures, to be ready for absolutely anything- most things he had been through helped Draco learn to expect the unexpected. So when something happened, not entirely unexpected- some would even say it was expected- Draco was confused as to his clear surprise on the matter. To be thoroughly clear, Draco was not surprised to be forced into attending his eighth year of Hogwarts by the Ministry. He was not surprised to be separated from the regular school into a 'fifth house,' if you will, made entirely of the eighth year students. He was still unsurprised when McGonagall practically forced him to room with his once-rival Harry Potter. Draco Malfoy was surprised that he had somehow developed feelings for the one and only Harry Potter. Some would say it was a long time coming, with emotions always rolling high between the two of them. Some would say it was to be expected when living in such close quarters to a guy you had expected to be completely different but was pleasantly surprised to find out he wasn't. Some would even say, "Draco, stop staring at him right now, you literally look like a creepy stalker." Draco Malfoy would ignore these said people. Draco was seated in the library, observing Harry with one of his trio members, Hermione, while they studied, laughing occasionally. He was happy seeing him with such a carefree expression, so different from his usual one nowadays where it so often looks like a combination of grief and self-loathing. He studied the way Harry's eyes lit up every time he laughed, or how he was only pretending to study, either never turning his page or turning them too often to be believable. Draco may have been staring for a tad too long. When Ron came to collect his girlfriend, Harry waved the two goodbye and glanced down toward his books as if he actually planned to study now that he was alone. This lasted about thirty seconds before he shook his head and started glancing around the library for something more interesting to focus on. Draco quickly dropped his head, propping his book slightly as if he wasn't spending his entire day staring at the golden boy. Though, he jumped once a book was dropped onto his table, glancing up to notice the very same boy standing in front of him. Draco just stared, his mouth parted slightly, refusing to believe that he was surprised yet again by this gorgeous boy. "Hey. Uhm, Hermione just left," Harry began sheepishly, sticking a thumb out and pointing behind himself, shrugging slightly, "I figured I could study with you? We're not- not enemies anymore, right? Like, we're friends? This is okay?" A slight blush rose on his cheeks and the boy looked downward, seeming smaller than he actually was. Draco quickly realized how self-conscious the boy was being, and sat up straight, reaching a hand out to pat on Harry's arm. "Yeah. Come, sit. Maybe you'll actually read something this time instead of just pretending to." He hadn't meant for the words to come out, to reveal the extent of his Potter-watching, but Draco rolled with it as if he didn't just reveal something horrifying. He watched Harry blush more, lowering his head as if attempting to hide a small smile that spread on his face, pulling on the seat across from Draco and slipping into it. "Yeah. That'd probably be a good idea if I plan to pass any of my classes." Harry replied sheepishly, and Draco couldn't be more glad the Gryffindor boy wasn't put in Slytherin at that moment or he would have held what he said over him constantly. Either that, or he just didn't realize what it meant that Draco had said that. Either way, Draco wasn't going to correct it.

Harry and Draco began studying then, Draco leaning over every once in awhile to help Harry, pushing him into studying after one uttered, "It's been five minutes and you're still on the same paragraph, Potter?" It seemed to spark something in Harry, to push and do as much as possible before Draco leaned over to check his progress again, correcting some things or sometimes just reading over his notes. Draco quickly realized Harry hadn't ever had a study partner that challenged him to work, to do so much in a certain amount of time. Hermione likely just sat near him and made sure he was working without actually giving him the incentive to work. "Draco," Harry cut off his inner monologue, and Draco glanced up, eyes slightly wide. "Uh- I just wanted to say thank you. I wasn't even thinking of how much work I was doing. I just finished this entire assignment and-" Harry paused to chuckle, running his hand through his hair, "That was the easiest Transfiguration essay I've ever written." Draco smirked, letting his eyes fall away from that gorgeous smile directed at him lest he fall apart right in front of the man. "You just need the right study partner, study techniques." Draco glanced up again, smirk growing as he adds, "In your own personal challenge to beat me, you were too distracted to notice how terribly boring the words you were writing were.” He watched as Harry flushed adorably once more, and Draco smirked slightly to himself, taking that as his own victory.

“You knew I was doing that then?” Harry mumbled toward his essay, and Draco was unsure whether or not Harry actually meant for him to hear it.

“It was easy to notice, you had the same spark in your eye that you usually did whenever we were about to duel in the schoolyard.” Draco winked toward Harry as he sat up straighter, beginning to pack his belongings. “Anyway, I’d say this was a successful day. We should head back to our room. Perhaps I’ll see you here tomorrow, after dinner? We could study some more.” He watched as Harry practically lit up, standing and shoving his own books and papers into his bag in no semblance of an order. Draco forced the smile that was threatening to emerge down, refusing to show his amusement toward the reaction.

---

Harry looked the worst he’s ever been. And that’s saying something considering he had previously died before. He was curled up in bed wearing only an overly large Harpies T-shirt and grey pants, his lightweight sheet curled and tangled around his feet, tissues surrounding him like a halo. His nose was bright red, eyes bloodshot, and was rubbing his face against his pillow as if it could end his suffering.

“Please,” Harry begged for the thousandth time this morning.

“Potter, I’m sorry. Madame Pomfrey said that you’ll have to pass this one through. It’s healthy to work through being sick once a year so that your immunity doesn’t turn to shit.” Draco reiterated once more, carrying over their trashcan and placing it next to his bed. Harry just groaned, shaking his head and glaring at Draco.

“Fine!” He spat angrily, and Draco took a deep breath, shaking his head. “At least bring me Herm- no, Ron! Bring me Ron, please please please!” Harry begged, sitting up on his elbow to look at Draco with puppy eyes. Draco was impressed by how much energy he had left still to beg.

“If I bring Ron in here you’ll guilt him into bringing you the flu-over potion. No.” Draco insisted, matter-of-factly, and Harry just fell backwards onto his bed with a groan, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands down his face. Draco let his guard fall slightly now that Harry wasn’t looking. It hurt him to see Harry in so much pain, to see him beg and plead for something that could help him feel better yet Draco denies it to him. He felt like such an evil person again.

“I need to get to class, Potter. I’ll bring you your work for the first half of the day around lunch, alright?” Draco reassured him, patting his leg before turning around and walking toward the door. Just as he opened it, he heard his name being called softly, and Draco turned slowly to glance toward Harry, who was sitting up slightly and looking a tad guilty toward him.

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. You’ve helped me a ton already, with the soup and tissues and everything. So, thanks.” Harry rubbed the back of his head, and looked the sight of the poor, sickly little boy that Draco just wanted to take care of.

“Of course, Harry,” Draco replied quietly, walking out the door quickly and closing it behind himself. Walking down the stairs to the common room, Draco grumbled and shook his head toward a waiting Hermione. “He’ll be okay. Just feels horrible.” He ran a hand through his hair and watched her track the movement with her eyes. “I don’t know how the muggles go through it every single time.”

“Well, they have medicine, of course.” She replies easily as they begin walking, exiting the common room on their way to their first shared class. Draco furrows his brow, tilting his head.

“What? They can’t have the flu-over potion. That’d go against every Statute.” Draco replied, glancing toward her with an overly confused expression. She just chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“Of course not. They have muggle medicine. It definitely doesn’t work as quickly or as well as the flu-over, but it helps cover symptoms so that they’re not in constant pain while administering extra doses of antibiotics into their systems to help fight the sickness.” Hermione said quickly, turning a corner and glancing toward Draco’s focused face. “You know, Harry could probably use some of it.”

“But- Madam Pomfrey says he’s not allowed to have medicine lest his immunity become utter shite?”

“He’s not allowed to have magical medicines, the one that ends the flu completely and suddenly and gives his body no chance of a fight. Muggle medicines just help the body fight it.” She says quietly, glancing over and smirking before winking toward him and taking her seat in class.

Draco sat, thinking this over. Hermione was suggesting Harry receive some muggle medicine to help, but if she knew all of this already why hadn’t she done so in the first place? Why was she telling him? He glanced back toward her with a worried yet still confused look and she just sighed, rolling her eyes and withdrawing a piece of paper from her bag, shoving it toward him.

“Go order some medicine. I’ll grab yours and Harry’s work from this class. Hurry, before the teacher sees you!” She whispers quickly, practically shoving him out of his seat. He takes the note, rushing out of class, glancing down to notice an address and a list of medicine that would be best to order. Draco rolled his eyes but smiled softly as he began toward the owlery quickly.

Picking up his “express” shipped box from a large owl in the Great Hall, Draco immediately turned and began toward the kitchen to collect some hot soup for Harry that the elves hadn’t put on the actual tables for the school. Draco walked, if a bit fast, but kept his composure as he carried a medium sized box in his arms, glaring at anyone who happened to give him a side eye for his predicament. He finally reached the portrait of the fruit, glancing both ways before tickling the pear and slipping into the kitchen. Some elves noticed, but most were tending to their own work as Draco set the box down gently on a nearby table and asked, kindly, for a bowl of soup for someone who was sick.

As Draco waited he opened the box, glancing in to see several different rectangle boxes with the medicine stored inside them, reaching in to grab a few and read the ingredients, directions, and everything else the boxes mentioned. He sighed, dropping the two he held into the box as an elf appeared sometime later with a rather confused expression, levitating a platter of hot soup in a stasis charm and Draco’s own lunch tucked together, placing it on the table so that Draco is able to levitate it himself.

“Thank you very much,” Draco remembered to say, smiling down at the elf who was holding her ears against herself, looking very much awed at the sentiment. He picked up his box, glancing at the tray following him, and made his way through the castle toward the eighth year common room. He stepped inside, ducking slightly while stepping through the portrait since he happened to be taller than most around here and had seemed to grow even more than he had been when he attended previously, and glanced around the common room. He wasn’t surprised to spot Hermione sitting on the couch with a textbook on her lap, and he made his way over to her, sitting and placing the box on the couch between them.

“I was reading over a lot of these medicines, and I just wanted your opinion on which ones I should give to him? It seems I can’t give him doses of each one, but I don’t know which to pick?” He opened the box, revealing the twenty-three boxes and bottles of medicines, and watched as she leaned over to glance inside the box before her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, sucking in a breath.

“Okay, first of all, let’s not kill Harry with an overdose of cold medicines.” She said quietly, reaching in to shift through the medicines. “I’ll say- this one and a bit of this one, but that’s it.” She glanced up, her eyebrows still raised, as she takes in the sight of Draco. His hair might be a bit mussed from constantly running his hand through it in worry, with a tray floating behind him and a box full of medicines, and she sighed and settled down as if she was finally going to say something that she had been holding back for a long time.

“What is it,” Draco asked quietly, leaning forward and furrowing his own eyebrows. He watched her hesitate before she replied.

“You should tell him, you know.” She had whispered it so quietly that he had barely heard it, but his heart immediately dropped to his stomach and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Tell who, what?” Draco asked slowly, keeping his eyes trained on Hermione as she fidgets slowly, her eyes downcast onto the brown carpet.

“Tell Harry. That you like him.” Again, it was said so quietly, but it felt like a punch to his gut. He immediately stood, reaching for his box, intending to just walk away and leave this conversation behind. Hermione reached out quickly, snagging his wrist, and he glanced back to her to see her pleading eyes. “Please, I won’t say anything to him, it’s not mine to tell. Don’t worry about that. If you don’t want to tell him it’s fine, it’s just-” She hesitated, biting her lip as she withdrew her hand, “I think it’d be better for everyone if you did tell him?” Draco shook his head, standing and situating the box in his hands.

“How could it be better for everyone? It would make things awkward, it would make Harry want to be around me less. I understand that hiding feelings aren’t exactly Gryffindor traits, but just because we’re all living together and sharing a common room does not mean that I am a Gryffindor by any means.” Draco began to walk away, ignoring the softly called, ‘That’s not what I meant!’ and walking upstairs toward his room in a bit of a huff.

Entering the room, he glanced toward Harry’s bed, spying him sleeping finally. He quietly set the box of medicine by his bed, levitating the tray to sit on a nearby table before studying Harry. Draco quickly waved his wand, nonverbally vanishing the tissues that had stockpiled since he left, and began a slow process of untangling the bed sheets from Harry’s legs before lifting it and pulling it up toward his chest. Draco studied the red-nosed face of sleeping Harry, and glanced away before standing again.

“Dra-co?” Harry murmured, his voice scratchy as he slowly opened his eyes, turning his head as if it hurt to wake up. Draco immediately Accioed over a glass, tapping his wand against the cup and filling it with water before helping Harry sit up, holding out the glass for him. Harry took a few big swigs, though stared at Draco over the top of the rim the whole time. Handing the glass back over, Draco began walking to place it on the nearby table with the food as Harry spoke up again. “Did you grab the homework? I don’t see it?”

Draco hesitated, blinking a few times. He had meant to ask Hermione for the homework as well as the advice on the medicine but he had gotten too distracted to ask. “Oh, no. Hermione has that, actually. I can go grab it in a second so you have something to work on when I’m gone.” He said it so matter-of-factly that he hoped Harry wouldn’t notice how he had forgotten the one thing he promised to bring. “But while I’m here,” He walked over to the box on the floor, withdrawing the two rectangular boxes that Hermione had picked out and brought them over toward Harry, whom he noticed now was wearing his glasses once again, “I have these medicines that will hopefully help you. It was Hermione’s idea, considering you’re not allowed any magical medicines, but muggle medicines should be okay. It won’t completely get rid of the problem immediately, but it’ll help you not feel like you’re dying.” He watched Harry’s face, a mixture of confusion and amazement, settle on Draco before looking back down to the boxes and grabbing them.

“You didn’t have to do this…” Harry trailed off, furrowing his brow and looking back up to Draco once more. Draco forced himself not to squirm, instead turning and levitating the bowl of soup over.

“I didn’t. Like I had said, it was Hermione’s idea.”

---

Draco shot awake, sitting up quickly in bed and breathing heavily. He didn’t know what exactly it was that woke him up in the dead of night- that was until he glanced over and noticed that a few pieces of glass had shattered from accidental magic on Harry’s side of the room. Draco slowly slid from his bed, placing his bare feet on the floor and wincing at the feel of the cold stone. “Harry?” He called quietly, though received no response. He waited a bit longer before standing and beginning a slow walk to his side of the room.

Vanishing glass pieces as he got near, he looked down to study Harry’s face, which was set in a grimace. Nightmares, it seems, again. Draco knelt beside Harry’s bed, reaching a hand out slowly to place his hand against Harry’s burning hot face, furrowing his brow in worry. After living with him most of the year, graduation coming soon, he was still unsure of what to do about the nightmares. He never woke Harry up, afraid that he wouldn’t exactly appreciate it, but more and more recently he had started sitting next to Harry’s bed while trying to soothe his unconscious body into better dreams whenever Draco woke up and realized what was happening. He began humming a small lullaby that his mother used to sing to him as a kid, brushing Harry’s hair back from his face and watching as Harry’s body slowly relaxed and his face took on a restful pose instead of the one scrunched in pain.

Draco, now almost nodding off himself, pushed against the bed to help himself stand, glancing at Harry once more before turning and beginning to walk back toward his bed.

“Draco?” Harry called softly, and Draco tensed up, hoping that he was just sleep talking. Turning slowly he eyed the form of Harry laying on the bed, though startled slightly once he noticed Harry’s eyes were open. “I hope it’s you, all I can see is a green blurry shape,” Harry joked, sleepily smirking as he propped himself up and reached for his glasses. Draco felt frozen on the spot, unsure of what was going to happen, if Harry was going to be mad or if he was going to figure out the extent of Draco’s feelings for catching him in this.

“So, it is you.” Harry joked again, pushing himself to sit up completely, looking at Draco with a smile for a few silent moments until it falls away and he sighs. “Look, I know it’s a bit awkward right now but I wanted to-” He hesitated, biting his lip and looking away, “I wanted to talk to you about something?” Draco stood there for another moment before sliding his mask back on and straightening up, smoothing his green silk pyjamas down and nodding toward Harry. “Look- no. That’s not what I want!” He began, grumbling angrily before running his hand through his hair. “I was hoping since it was late, since we both woke up, that you wouldn’t have that- that-” He hesitated, trying to find the word, clenching his fists around his bedsheets. “That mask on your face. That says you don’t care about anything, that shows nothing but contempt. That you hide behind! Because I’ve seen what is behind it, Draco. I love what’s behind that mask.” He sucked in a breath after finishing, closing his eyes and resigning himself to what he said. Draco startled, letting his shoulders sag slightly as he stood there for a bit longer before finally speaking up.

“You’re right, Harry,” Using his first name, which he doesn’t do too often, caused Harry to finally open his eyes and glance toward Draco. “I hide behind this mask because I’m afraid that no one will like who I am behind it. Or I’m scared because it’s too compromising for some people to know how I truly feel, since they can take advantage of that.” He watched Harry for a moment longer before taking a small step forward. “But I know you wouldn’t do that to me. I know you would never take advantage of me.” He finished in a whisper, watching a wide range of emotions flicker across Harry’s face.

“So if it’s not that, then is it the first one you said? You’re afraid that no one will like who you are behind it? You’re afraid that I won’t like the real you?” Draco shrugged, glancing toward the ground. “I have another question-” Harry started, biting his lip as Draco glanced back up and let his eyes rest on Harry, letting his mask fall slightly, as much as he was able to before being afraid. “You treat me so nice. Nicer than most of the others? At least, it feels like that. Hermione said something but- I don’t know.” He bit his lip again, glancing away. “I’m sorry, this is stupid.”

“No, you’re right,” Draco admitted quietly, closing his eyes and lifting his hand to rub his face. He remained quiet for a bit, then peeked through his fingers to see Harry staring at him as if waiting to elaborate. He sighed, shaking his head before continuing, dropping his hands. “I just want to take care of you.” He said finally, wincing slightly. Glancing away, he misses the look that passes over Harry’s face when he says this.

“Come here,” Harry responds quietly, opening his arms. Draco hesitates, but slowly moves over and sits on the bed, and Harry pulls him into a tight embrace. “You help me study so I don’t fail my classes, you brought me medicine and soup when I was sick- you help soothe me when I have nightmares. You do take care of me Draco.” Harry whispers against his ear, squeezing him a bit tighter. “And, through all of it, I’ve seen who you really are. Who you could be if you tried to be. And I’ve-” Harry hesitated, backing away but keeping his eyes off of Draco. “And I’ve fallen in love with you through it all. But I feel bad, because it’s one-sided, isn’t it? You’ve been taking care of me, but I’ve done nothing for you.”

Draco immediately started shaking his head, raising his hand to place on Harry’s cheek, letting his thumb rub against Harry’s cheek for a moment before raising Harry’s head so that his eyes fell onto Draco’s own. “You’re wrong. You’ve done so much for me Harry. Because of you, my bullying stopped. Because of you I’ve gained some amazing friends. Because of you, I feel love and compassion. Real love, not the fake kind that was force fed to me growing up.” Draco leaned closer, looking deeper into Harry’s emerald eyes. “I want to take care of you, Harry. You deserve it, after everything you’ve been through. And it makes me feel good, knowing that I can help you during times like these. Even in small ways.”

He watched Harry tear up slightly before the boy rushed forward, crashing both of their lips against each other. Draco felt himself begin to drown in emotions, in the rolling waves of love and compassion and just pure want. They kissed like it would be their last, like they had been starving and this was the only way to survive. And once they finally parted, Draco opened his eyes to see the love he felt reflected in Harry, and whispered, “I love you too.”

#draco malfoy #harry potter #hp #hp universe #drarry #prompt #requested #writing:requested #light angst #fluff #hopefully

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