#our therapist has told us that it will take a While for our brain to realize that we are not in danger

[sleepatterns]

today has been. hnngngnfhskakdhhhhhh so many weird feelings and not fun thoughts. things our mom said to us + going back to grandparents house was a weird combination. also the conversation we had with our mom had the exact Opposite effect of what she was intending i think because wow holy shit we feel so so fucking awful

[nikibogwater]

Everybody sit down and strap in, 'cause I have a doozy of a tale to share.

I've had anxiety for literally as long as I can remember. I've had periods of my life where it was so intense it became legitimately life-threatening (don't worry I promise this is going somewhere funny). And this was really bizarre because I have zero childhood trauma. Like, my family life is so idyllic it's almost comical. Therapists would do abuse screenings on me and look utterly baffled when I told them everything was fine at home. They'd interrogate my parents just to make sure I wasn't lying. I have one friend who I'm fairly sure believed I was just severely gaslighting myself when I said my family was great, school wasn't too stressful, and I've never lived in a dangerous neighborhood or experienced poverty.

Anyways, despite no one being able to figure out where my disorder was coming from, my doctors were able to help me manage the symptoms so that I would like, not die, and actually be able to finish high school. Which was awesome. Now fast forward to late 2021. My big sister (who has also had intense anxiety her whole life which no one could figure out why) is finishing up her doctorate and getting her physical therapist's license. Somehow, during all her studying and schooling, she finds out about this thing called Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, which explains literally everything that was going on with us. EDS is a connective tissue disorder that kinda fudges up your body in a whole bunch of little ways, including dysautonomia (episodes of very fast heart-rate that kick your body into fight-or-flight mode), and hypermobility (unusual flexibility). It's a spectrum disorder, so the severity of symptoms vary from person to person, but we definitely checked almost every box on the diagnostic list. My sister went to see a specialist, and yep, she was diagnosed EDS positive. She immediately calls my mom and goes "I know what's wrong with Niki" (thanks, sis, that's real encouraging lol). Initially we're like "okay Katie, that's nice" because honestly this kind of sounds like jumping at shadows, but I go in to see the specialist anyways just to make sure.

One consultation and diagnosis later, and suddenly my entire life makes perfect sense.

Now we get to the funny part. See, the diagnosis stuff happened in early 2022. So by the time late 2023 comes around and we're looking for a new dog (I promise this is relevant), we've been riding that chronic illness diagnosis for a while. Once again, my sister, ever the proactive one, decides she's going to help us get a new dog. She scours the adoption website, sends us photos of the cutest dogs available, and helps us make a decision. This is how we got Beverly, who has been an unstoppable force of chaos in our lives ever since we signed the papers (but she's also really cute so she can get away with it). Now on top of being a very excitable and anxious pupper, Beverly's got a weird little gimp in her hindquarters, which makes her sit all splayed-out and funny-looking, and while it doesn't seem to be causing her pain, we take her to a vet to get it checked out. Vet finds absolutely nothing. X-rays are taken and examined. Still nothing. At this point, they go "well, we could try a CT scan of her brain, which would run about $5,000, and maybe we could find something--" but my parents are already packing this dog into the car like "well that is a HARD nope." So we decide, look, Beverly seems happy and healthy, and those gimpy legs don't seem to bother her, so we'll just leave it be until it becomes clearer what's wrong with her because we do NOT have a cool $5,000 to throw around here.

Readers more astute than my family and I will likely have already figured out where this is going.

This morning, my mom is looking at Beverly sitting in her funny sprawled-out way, and something in her brain goes "wait...weird physical symptoms with no tracible cause that vets can see..." She does a bit of googling. Can dogs have EDS/Hypermobility? Yes. Yes they can. And the listed symptoms describe Beverly to a T.

So not only is my sister the one to finally figure out what's wrong with me, she also unknowingly got us a dog who has the exact same chronic condition as us. Meanwhile my poor dad, who is the only Normal Person in our house, is coming to terms with the fact that he is apparently just fated to always love chronically ill people and animals, and there's absolutely nothing he can do about it.

[leebrontide]

OK!

So I am tired to death of people learning a bulletpoint definition of CBT writen by some influencer trying to sell them a tracking app, on fucking Instagram, and deciding that therapy is useless.

What CBT is NOT: Talking yourself out of having negative feelings because all your problems are made up and in your head.

What CBT IS: checking your thoughts to make sure that the negative emotion you're having is the one that best applies to the situation, so it can motivate appropriate behavior!

If someone treats me shitty, and I try to do the first approach, I am going to conclude that their shitty behavior doesn't matter and I'm going to keep tolerating it. If I do the second one, I can make sure that I'm not shaming myself for someone else's shitty behavior, so I can get appropriately mad, and correct or remove the person pissing me off! The anger is useful and she shame was not!

What CBT is NOT: taking solo responsibility for every stressor in your life, like trying to therapy your way out of the very real stressors of poverty.

What CBT IS: working to connect you to useful feelings that can make you more resilient against those stressors (by, for example, letting go of being ashamed of not having money, so you don't go get the food stamps that would help you) AND by helping you to connect to your feelings about WHY you are in poverty, which can connect you to things like collective action to address large scale issues!

What CBT is NOT: removing all your feelings in place of "rational" thought.

What CBT IS: making your feelings a useful source of information about your needs, so you can see all of them and not get sucked in to tunnel vision, and find more and better ways to improve your life. Like yeah - maybe right now you are stuck at a garbage job that is making you miserable! Maybe that's your reality at this moment! But maybe you are also lonely and when you take stock of that feeling you can recognize that seeing a friend would help you feel better, even while this other problem is not resolved yet!

Is CBT the solution to everything? NO! Is it an approachable way to debug some of your feelings and take some internal pressure off? Yes! Everyone has some thoughts that are not 100% true. Our brains are basically a power-aide jello full of electricity it's amazing they work as well as they even do. But it's useful to audit that shit now and then. That's what CBT is. It's just auditing your thoughts so your feelings work better to actually address or survive your real life problems.

I know not everybody can access therapy but PLEASE stop making therapy look fucking useless so that when people can access help they have already been told that change is impossible and getting help is useless.

Know what therapy is so you can get it if you need it when you can, and also so that if you have a garbage therapist you can recognize them as such and replace them.

[theworldoffostering]

This is your friendly political reminder:

1. We have a child who immigrated to the United States. It was difficult to do so, and my guess is those of you referring to people as “illegals,” don’t have a very good understanding of the cost or the process. Additionally, there seems to be a severe lack of compassion and understanding that human beings are human, and we are called to love one another. People are suffering all over the world. Jesus did not call you to “take care of your own.”

2. We have three children in the local school district with IEPs. I’ve spent most of the fall vigorously advocating that they get what they need WITH their IEPs in place. Those of you looking to see the Department of Education dismantled might be lucky enough to not need any of the safeguards that we need in order to ensure that our children can learn. Five of our kids went to HeadStart. One is currently receiving a Pell Grant for college. Please step in alongside me to attend IEP meetings, drive my children to school to receive services (today alone I will do 12 pick up/drop offs at four different schools), or offer private tutoring in the form of specially designed instruction, tutoring, or OT, all of which are needed.

3. Five of our children came to us through adoption. Being anti-abortion while trying to strip away all of the things our kids and family needs in order to stay afloat with our children that are very much alive, but need additional help in various areas (like healthcare and education) is inconsistent at best. Please volunteer to help me out at home. Many people are single issue voters, but are not actually taking kids into their home that survived birth, but don’t have a home in the world. We are managing mental health diagnoses, former police contact (monthly at one point), a prior CPS investigation (now closed), complex medication management, attachment trauma, the inability to spend time together as a couple, and so much community judgement. It’s hurtful. I am an all-in parent, but it’s impossible to do alone.

4. All seven of our kids have utilized state insurance, and currently six of them have it. It sure saved us financially when we had a child that needed to be life flighted to a hospital with a fractured skull and brain bleed. It has also allowed for countless in-patient stays for mental health.

5. Being a foster parent for 16 years has unfortunately provided me with an up close seat to see the impact of sexual abuse on children and teens, some of whom are now adults. Sexual assault is never okay. Being willing to overlook sexual assault as a means to justify the end, is also not okay. Ever.

Policies have real impact on real people. This fall has been one of the hardest yet for me as I work to meet everyone’s needs both personally and professionally. Our family is already isolated as is often the case when trying to walk through life against the grain. Last fall a local family (a mom in her 40s) told one of our older daughters that their entire church here in town hated me, and that I needed professional help. (You may report back that I do have a therapist because anyone processing this much secondary trauma over 15 years needs one.) This is awfully difficult stuff to endure in a small town both as an adult, and a child, and yet endure we must, because there is no other choice.

Hate breeds hate. Please choose differently. We are just trying to survive in our small corner of the world here. It’s already incredibly challenging, and would be less so by having people to circle around us to support us, love us, and encourage us. At the end of the day, isn’t that what most people need?

[poisoned-whiskers]

I got to meet Alex Brightman at MCM London! I’ve got a fun Fizzarolli headcanon based on our conversation/the speech impediment we both have!

About the conversation:

When meeting him I found out he also has a stutter, and mainly struggles with the same type of stuttering as me too! I’ve always called them “silent blocks” while he called it a “chest stutter” where rather than repeating the sound like you usually see in stuttering characters, you just can’t say anything.

(I only found this out because I couldn’t say my own name)

He told me one of his speech therapists taught him that you use different parts of your brain for making things up vs performing when it comes to speaking, I did not know this! This is how people with stutters can talk fine on stage and he said he tries to think like he’s performing during the autographs and conversations with fans, because if he didn’t it would take longer to get his words out.

Headcanon:

The accident gave Fizz a stutter.

Fizzarolli already has a damaged voice, and I know stutters can also be caused from injury, Alex didn’t mention any injury so I’m assuming he was born with his too.

Fizzarolli was also trying to be “perfect” while working for Mammon so him being in the performing mindset all the time to act perfect and avoid stuttering seems in character.

We already have a stuttering Fizzarolli with the Robofizz at the circus!

Fizz is my favourite and my favourite Fizz episode released on my birthday (1 year ago today🎉) so I’ll project my impediment onto him as I’d like

“Never stop stuttering. You don’t want to talk like everyone else” - Alex Brightman

[actual-changeling]

Do you think Aziraphale has been verbally, emotionally and psychologically abused by Heaven as well?

I will answer this question like one asked in good faith even though my gut is telling me there's a 50/50 chance it is very much not one.

So!

There are two parts to his answer, or rather one question is actually two.

Firstly, we have to talk about whether heaven is abusive, what that abuse looks like, and how it differs from hell.

Secondly, how did the results of question one affect Aziraphale, if it is different from what the other angels in heaven face, and what additional trauma might he have experienced due to being on earth.

I could write a 10k meta post about this and go into the finest detail, but I will just try and stick to the main points for now. It's still going to be way too long because I am so fucking tired of people accusing me of 'hating' Aziraphale or harassing me on my posts or in my inbox.

Is heaven abusive? Yes, and it applies to both heaven as an institution and the Archangels running it.

Getting to know Muriel and what their life looks like was extremely helpful in properly defining this, because they showed us that although the Archangels tend to travel and work as a group, most of the angels are incredibly isolated.

The result is complete emotional neglect, which not only impairs your ability to form and maintain healthy relationships with other people, it also stops your from learning emotional regulation and how to behave and feel as a part of (angelic) society. We see the consequences of that in Muriel, who comes across as overly naive, socially awkward, and out of touch with not just people but themselves.

When your entire life has been shrunk down to what happens inside your own head, suddenly being confronted with having to live outside of your mind is jarring, overwhelming, and foreign.

How do you talk to people when no one ever taught you how to do that? How do you behave around someone after a lifetime of being alone? How do your regulate your responses to their behaviour?

Who are you when there is someone else to perceive you?

Figuring that out is complicated and it takes time, and while most of the angels are only distantly aware of how humans live and what kind of interactions some of the other angels might have, the effects of that neglect stay the same whether they are aware of it or not.

Muriel shows us that angels are not born/made as a blank slate, and neither are humans for that matter. Tabula rasa as a philosophical belief is one thing, but reality is very, very different.

Angels also appear to have the same inherent need for connection, for a caretaker that loves them unconditionally, for someone to help them figure out how to be, and that provides a safe space to make mistakes. Without some or all of that, you grow up into a disregulated, socially awkward if not inept person who does not know how to have relationships or how to properly exist.

It is one of the reasons why autistic people are a) almost always traumatized to some degree and b) do not know how to socialize. No one ever works with our brains, and the resulting neglect is very similar to not receiving any help at all.

If you are now curious what happens if you're both autistic and were completely socially neglected, the result is uh. me. Hi! Not nice, but at least I am very sure I win the award for being my therapist's most fucked up client, so that's something.

Yet the angels are not solely emotionally neglected, the system/household they live in demands a low self-esteem, a lack of individual identity, and complete adherence to a defined ideology and behavioural pattern. In short, you are told how to be a useless, tiny part in a bigger machine, that your only purpose is to succeed at your tasks, and any opportunity for individual development is removed or destroyed.

If you are now once again curious what that might be like, uh, yeah, hi once more. Obviously my childhood was not exactly like an angels life, but the core characteristics were the same, just realized differently. Again, not pretty, really, really fucks you over.

Take that and the neglect, combine it into one person, and then drop them in the Garden of Eden—hello Aziraphale! Crowley got dropped into hell first, experienced more abuse, and then dug his way up into Eden before joining him.

Aziraphale experienced everything Muriel (and Crowley, and every other celestial being) also experienced, with one main difference: He is the one who got away.

We have to remember that out of every single celestial being, Aziraphale got the best deal. He did not fall, he got out of heaven (more or less) permanently, and was then largely left alone.

Does that erase anything I laid out above? No, of course not!

It simply provided him with the opportunity to heal, to take his cPTSD and who knows what other disorders he developed as a result, and start recovering.

Canonically, heaven did not bother him, like, ever, except for the odd note about 'frivolous miracles' or ten minutes of catching up every millennia. They only started monitoring him once they started to suspect he was involved with Crowley and trying to stop the apocalypse from happening.

Aziraphale worked on some things, he got better in many regards, especially with Crowley there to support him, but after six thousand years, many aspects have stayed the same or regressed back to the start over and over.

I will tell you a hard pill to swallow now: If you refuse to acknowledge your issues to instead live in a world of nicer denial and compartmentalization even when you have been offered the chance to change it, that is partly on YOU.

Is it fair? Fuck no! It's not fair at all, and I have had so many breakdowns over that fact. I did not break it, this is not my FAULT so why should I have to fix it all on my own? Why do I have to do the work, not them? How come they get away with it while I am going to have to carry this for the rest of my life?

I still have to do it though. I have to do the work, no matter how uncomfortable and exhausting, because I want to get better.

-

This conversation has so many facets and is a lot more complex, but this is already long enough, so if you have any questions or want to know something specific (while asking politely and in good faith) just send me an ask; I will do my best to answer it.

-

We are now only missing the last part of question 2, and that one is also so fucking complicated reducing it to the main points almost feels wrong, but I will do it anyway. Again, just ask if you have questions.

Abusive households are horrible, and you want to get out and away, but they are also the only thing you know. The world is scary, too big, too open, where did all the rules go that were previously defining your life?

Surviving in an abusive environment means you establish routine after routine after routine for every possible horrible scenario, you write a mental rule book to try and reduce the abuse (don't make them angry, don't cry when they're already shouting, don't do this, don't do that, do x but not y), and THAT is your socialization. THAT is everything you know, everything you are, everything you know relationships to be like.

Once you are away from that, you are completely and utterly lost. Even breathing feels like making a mistake, you feel watched, judged, rated, berated, you have them stuck in your fucking head. So you keep sticking to what you know, your behavioural patterns that have kept you safe your entire life.

The problem is that they kept you safe, past tense. In a healthy environment, all of those coping mechanisms are now maladaptive and harm you instead of keeping you safe.

However, breaking out of them and starting from scratch is terrifying. So, so, so terrifying. I live in constant fear, I feel judged and unsafe in my own flat with the curtains shut and the lights on. I feel like I am about to get subjected to another one of his fits for daring to use the stove.

No matter what you do, your body and brain are SCREAMING at you that diverging from what you know will kill you—and then you have to do it anyway.

Do it alone and afraid and awkwardly but DO IT. Otherwise you will always find a way to recreate the environment you grew up in, whether that is people getting into unhealthy relationships and replicating the patterns they know (which Aziraphale does with Crowley, e.g. the push-pull of his affection) or eventually even returning to it because they ruined you, but a part of you is so, so attached to them you just have to try and change them.

Some people can move on from it without going back, but sometimes you need to try and experience that failure for yourself before being able to move on, and that's where Aziraphale is at.

He needs to try and fail to be capable of finally committing to recovering.

So, to summarize this entire shitshow: Yes, Aziraphale experienced emotional neglect and abuse, and while it is different to what Crowley went through and objectively less intense and physical, it is still just as valid and horrid.

Just because a car accident is objectively worse than falling off a bike doesn't mean the biker's pain is unimportant. Both can kill you, both can hurt you, and both deserve to get their injuries treated.

Questions?

[aswallowimprisoned]

Restless far from a Wine Dark sea - Oxygen mask

3 vignettes of Nurse Ivan Brunel putting oxygen masks on the merman.

@medwhumpmay

Tw Panic attack, PTSD recovery, captivity, drugged behaviour, attempted violence, biting

masterlist

≪ °❈° ≫ Vignette 1 ≪ °❈° ≫

The drugged merman was leaning forwards, hanging at the extent on his shoulder restraints, swinging gently from side to side and humming tunelessly under his breath.

“Propofanol has hit pretty hard, but he seems happy enough, don’t you Nathaniel?” Ivan asked.

The merman looked up at the mention of his name, a string of drool hanging from his lip.

“Let me just clean your face off for you…”Ivan wadded up a towelette to wipe the saliva away. Nathaniel opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the fabric.

“Bitey,” Ivan commented, leaving the towel to hang from the sea monster’s mouth. He got bored of it quickly, and dropped the salivary serviette onto his lap.

“Going to put an O2 mask on to prevent any good natured biting, and respiratory support is never amiss…”

Fogal let out a soft coo of surprise as Ivan took a gentle grip of his hair with one hand and placed the plastic mask over his face with the other, before threading the elastic straps over each ear.

“There you are Nathaniel, ready for our trip to the CT room…”

≪ °❈° ≫ Vignette 2 ≪ °❈° ≫

“It’s…hard…to breathe…” Nathaniel gasped out, clinging to the side of the swimming pool.

“It’s ok Nathaniel, we will get you sorted out… Can you put this on for me?” Ivan tossed the O2 mask the short distance to the sea monster, unwilling to get any closer while the merman was unrestrained and panicked.

Nathaniel flailed for the plastic mask, before slapping it over his face and hauling in some deep breaths. Ivan stood over him and watched him carefully. No cyanosis in the fingers, no peculiarities in movement, no recent red-flags in his blood work that could account for illness.

The merman had his eyes closed, hands clasped around the O2 mask.

-Panic attack- Ivan used ASL to the nearest camera.

“Looks like it.” Nathaniel’s therapist, Elias, agreed over the comms, “I am just coming through the medical entrance anyway…”

“Just take your time Nathaniel, take some deep breaths…”

“How we doing?” Elias emerged from the medical entrance behind him.

“It’s hard to breathe right.” Nathaniel told him.

“Can you tell me what you were doing before you started having problems breathing?” Elias asked.

“I was drawing.”

“What were you drawing?” Elias tried to draw Nathaniel’s attention away from his panic.

“Lots of cats…”

“Cats are nice… were you thinking nice thoughts about the cats? Or maybe were you thinking about some other things that maybe make you feel less happy?”

“I… it started out as nice thoughts, but then it was kind of” -melancholy- Nathaniel admitted, then his face fell in a realisation, “Oh… Do you think this is just a panic attack?”

“I think it probably is Nathaniel, well identified. Panic attacks do have lots of physical sensations that can make them feel like a physical illness. I think we will just calm ourselves down for a while.”

“But, I was calm when I was drawing,” The sea monster said in a small voice, “I didn’t do anything to deserve getting scared…”

“It’s not about deserving fear Nathaniel. Do you remember that we talked about how sometimes when we are relaxed and feel safe, our brains can start processing some of the traumatic memories that it didn’t feel able to cope with before?”

Nathaniel just sank a little into the water.

“You did the right thing though. You asked Nurse Brunel for help, and now you are doing breathing exercises. I am very proud.”

Nathaniel’s eyes shifted self consciously. 

“Can I just keep this for a little while?” he looked up to Ivan, tapping the oxygen mask with the pad of a finger.

“Sure Nathaniel. If it helps you to feel better.”

≪ °❈° ≫ Vignette 3 ≪ °❈° ≫

“Waking from thiobarbiturates has reduced awareness and increased aggression in mer #3,” Dr Rana’s voice was flat and disapproving. “And an early waking. We are done here though, and I would prefer not to sedate again…”

“I’ll be there in a moment, I will try settle him…” Elias clattered about on the other side of the comms.

Fogal was writhing violently, shouting indecipherable noises of threat and distress. He thrashed, and the oxygen mask he was wearing was knocked askew, clattering to the floor.

Damn. Ivan was going to have to wrangle that back on him. Not only for the respiratory support - the O2 mask doubled as a facial restraint, preventing the aggressive sea monster from biting or spitting. 

“Nurse, get the oxygen mask back on. Guard, restrain his head.”

A guard took a hold of Fogal’s hair in one hand, and steadied his head with the other. Fogal tried to turn his head to bite at his steel-wrapped fingers.

Sorry buddy Ivan thought internally, as the frightened man stared at him with unseeing eyes. He lowered the oxygen mask as carefully as he could. Fogal lunged up suddenly, taking the guard by surprise, and his teeth met the mask with a thunk. Ivan held onto the mask as the merman attacked the plastic, too afraid that if he let go of the mask those teeth would snap around his own fingers that were protected only by thin vinyl gloves. 

Finally the merman disengaged to let out a holler of anger. Ivan took the opportunity to clamp down the mask on his face, smothering the scream. 

“Ssshhshsssshhhssshhh” Ivan hushed softly, holding the mask against his face. 

“Lachego?” Fogal asked him in a devastated tone.

“It’ll be ok Fogal…” Ivan told him.

a/n why did I write 3 things for one prompt? who fuckin knows.

Dlaczego? is Polish for Why? Because I like throwing random languages in.

[sketch-owl]

All about the Mad Hatter post!

Hello fellow Tumblr users, if you’ve stumbled across this wall of text congrats! You love and enjoy Batman content just as much as I do. This is a dedicated lore dump all about our favorite goofy lad Jervis as he exists in my Batman AU.

If this is the first one you’re reading, here’s a bit of backstory: This AU has existed in my brain for many years, though in true writer fashion I haven’t properly written it all out. Though eventually I intend to make this into a work of fiction with chapters and everything. For now though I have managed to write out all of our major characters’ backstories.

Before delving right in you should know that this story has dark themes that take place within the story and content that can be triggering, so if you are sensitive to those please read with caution or skip this one altogether. Mental health takes first place over silly Batman characters.

⚠️Trigger warning for:

Child abuse

Child trafficking

Death

Murder

Jervis Tetch aka the Mad Hatter was an only child who grew up in London with his mother and father who were in an unhappy marriage. Jervis’s father was physically abusive towards his mother, and his mother, who felt socially pressured into not believing in divorce, drowned her pain with alcohol. Though emotionally absent, she would try her best to protect her son and give him a normal childhood. His father grew resentful of how his wife would ‘baby’ their son and give him so much of her attention. When Jervis was a toddler, his father sold him off to a family friend that was willing to take him. This family friend came and picked up Jervis in the middle of the night with his mother oblivious to what was happening. The friend then turned around and sold him at a higher price to child traffickers. For years Jervis was passed around, his body used as a plaything, and he was powerless to do anything about it. Until one day an opportunity presented itself. A phone left unattended. He dialed the police and begged them for help, sputtering out every detail of where he was so they could find him. He was caught by one of the traffickers, and the line was cut off. They needed to move their operation, but before that they were going to make sure Jervis would never pull something like this again.

They beat him within an inch of his life. His body was broken, and his mind wanted to slip away into the blissful nothingness. He could be free of pain, free from his hell. But a part of him burned with hate. Hate for people, hate for the feeling of being powerless. That fire burned, and it burned bright and hot. In a shock wave, everyone inside the building, traffickers and children included, burned from the inside out. The police arrived at the scene, and no one was left alive. All except one. One lone survivor, a boy no older than 8. After conducting an investigation, the police later concluded that there was a gas leak inside the building, and when one of the traffickers lit a cigarette the entire building went up in flames. Despite there being no evidence of a gas leak, this was the only logical explanation.

Jervis was taken to hospital, and while recovering the police asked him about what happened, to which Jervis didn’t recall. He received counseling from a therapist, and from there the police tracked down his parents. After being told that their son had been found inside a child trafficking organization, the police questioned his father on why he never reported his son missing. His father told the police that he had no idea that his son was kidnapped, as the last he saw him Jervis was spending the night at a friend’s house. The police took the name of the family friend that Jervis was given to, and they were arrested for child trafficking.

The doctors told Jervis of the good news, that he would soon be able to return home to his father. But Jervis was less than thrilled. He wanted his mom, not his dad.

Considering his hesitation to see his family, the doctors pushed for CPS to do regular check-ins at his residence after he returned home, and he continued with counseling. Things had not changed since Jervis had left. Only now his dad was more careful in his abuse, as they now had eyes on them.

That fire that Jervis had felt moments before everything went dark remained. He stifled it, ignored it, moved on like nothing had happened to him. He began school, and his teachers noted that Jervis would sometimes have moments where he would shut down. He showed promise with his work, being a fast learner. But oftentimes he wouldn’t be interested in the work, and would refuse participation.

Essentially his teachers were the only ones pushing for him to actually do the work in class. He was smart enough to pick up new information the first time and retain it without practice, but lacked the motivation or drive to complete assignments. Some of his papers would be half-way done or entirely blank. The teachers reached out to his parents multiple times to let them know what was going on and possible solutions, but they went ignored. By next semester Jervis was pulled from elementary school, his parents saying they wished to home school him from then on.

It didn’t take long thereafter before Jervis hit a breaking point. Since being pulled from public school Jervis had not received any schooling from either parent. One night his mother had drunk herself into a stupor, and instead of falling asleep at the kitchen table like usual, she decided to take her bottled anger out on her son. With a slurred hiss she blamed Jervis for how her husband treated her, how having him was a mistake, how it would have been better if he was never born. The candle flame that burned lowly in Jervis’s chest grew to a blaze. The anger that he felt that day returned. He was abandoned by them. Given away like he was nothing. He suffered because of them. He was violated because of them. He almost died because of them. All this time he believed that it was his fault that his parents didn’t love him. That he had done something wrong to make his father hate him and give him away. But in this moment it clicked in his mind. As though it were instinct, he bore that scorching fire through the head of the woman that stood above him. Her demeanor changed in an instant. Her face relaxed, her eyes glazed over. She turned, grabbing her husband’s hunting rifle off of the mantle, and fired it through her mouth.

Jervis’s head rang, overwhelmed by a blinding pain. He squeezed his eyes shut. For a couple of seconds it felt like his brain was going to explode. When he opened his eyes again, his mother’s corpse laid before him, her brains painting the floor and wall of the house. When his father came home from work, Jervis seized control of his mind as well, made him bury his wife under the shed in the backyard, made him dig his own grave, and then shoot himself.

Jervis stood in his empty home, mind blank yet racing at the same time. He possessed powers that allowed him to control the minds of others. He didn’t know when or how he got them, all he knew was that he was never going to be helpless and vulnerable again.

Though he couldn’t hide in the house forever, surviving off of whatever food was left in the pantry. CPS was still visiting, with his father’s car still in the driveway. Also people were going to notice when his father didn’t show up to work. He went a couple blocks down the road, knocking on a neighbor’s door. The owner of the house answered. She just so happened to be a parent herself, and she opened her door out of concern for the seemingly lost child. Wordlessly Jervis took hold of her mind, and entered the house.

It is here where Jervis began to experiment with his new abilities. He could control multiple people at once if he strained himself, including the other children that lived in the house. He reached into their minds without their knowledge, challenging the stretch of his influence. He grasped onto their memories, ripping and tearing at them with curiosity. He lived with the family for several months, eating their food and sleeping on their living room couch, and all the while their minds were manipulated into ignoring his presence.

The more he pushed his limits, the more his sanity suffered. His moments of dissociation turned into breakdowns, or lapses in his own memory. He would lose long periods of time where he didn’t recall what he did or how long it had been. He both loved and hated the power he had. It was the key to his freedom, his survival, but in turn it was driving him mad.

During one of these episodes of lost time, Jervis came back to consciousness to find that the house was empty. It was unusual for this part of the day, the kids would normally be home from school and their mother would be cooking dinner. His concerns for them grew as the hours passed. In the back of his mind he knew that he wouldn’t be seeing them again. What he had done to them, what he had made them do, he couldn’t remember. That was the part that disturbed him the most. His body was acting without his mind’s command, doing things without his knowing. Even with powers, he was powerless to stop himself.

He moved onto the next house, and then the next, taking control of the minds of the residents and living in their home like a parasite. He brushed off his moments of lost time as a tiny side effect, focusing entirely on just surviving. He wasn’t going crazy, no. He’s just overwhelmed by it all, he’s just not used to the power yet.

Meanwhile, the police were still searching for Jervis as the prime suspect in his parents’ murder. They followed the trail of bodies that he left in his wake, and were quickly catching up to him. There was a close call where an officer showed up to the family’s door that he was currently staying with. Jervis wasn’t directly puppeting them, so unbeknownst to him they allowed the officer to come inside the house while they spoke. Jervis had narrowly avoided being seen, and while that doesn’t seem like a big deal considering he could wipe the officer’s memory, that power only worked within a limited distance. Once the officer was far enough away, he would gain back his memories. Simply killing him wouldn’t be enough either. People care more about the lives of law enforcement than they do about normal civilians.

All it would take is to be seen one time by an officer, and sooner or later his spree would come to an end. His freedom would be stripped from him, and for what he has done, they would execute him. Like a mad dog they would bar him inside of a cage, and then put him down. No matter how well he covered his tracks, they would still follow him. He needed to go farther away to a place where they would not follow. Somewhere where it would be impossible to find him. A big, crime ridden city like Gotham would do nicely.

He had the husband of the family quit his old job and find a new one within Gotham. They then moved overseas, the expenses drying up their savings. In order to afford living costs, they crammed into a small 2 bedroom apartment in West Gotham. More specifically they were in Burnley, a town most known for being one of the poorest and sketchiest neighborhoods to live in. A majority of Gotham’s lower class end up here. Rent is cheap, police are scarce, and the jobs provided by the criminal underground keep its people off the streets.

The family that Jervis was with didn’t last much longer after that. When he came back into himself, he left the apartment to move on to the next home to inhabit. But he quickly found that doing so in this part of the city wasn’t as simple as it was in London. People were kind, caring, and opened their doors to him. But not here. It took him a great deal of effort to finally find somewhere safe enough to hide. An old hat shop that has seen better days, the only person inside being the owner who was an old man dressed in expensive looking clothing tailored to him.

Jervis went to take hold of the man’s mind, to forcibly take all control that he had over his own body away from him. But his power bounced right off of him, having no effect. That was odd. This has never happened before. Jervis tried again, straining his mind to overpower the man’s. Nothing still. The man then spoke up, welcoming him into the hat shop, and pointing out that it was rude of him to sneak it. He might be blind, but he wasn’t deaf. Upon a closer look, the man’s eyes were glazed over with a white film. A blind hat maker.

For the first time in years, Jervis made conversation. The man introduced himself, Jervis did the same. The man could tell from his voice that Jervis was young, to which the man appreciated his presumed interest in fashion. Jervis lied and agreed that he was. But he was more so curious to hear about how a blind man could sew. The man explains that he doesn’t, at least not anymore. He received the news of his going eyesight a couple years back after going to the doctor to get them checked. There was nothing they could do to prevent it, as it happens to everyone eventually when they grow old. For some it happens sooner than others. He loves his shop, loves the craft, and he was devastated. But he didn’t want to let it go. So he spent every day making as many hats and accessories as he could so that he would be able to sell them after he could no longer make them. His main source of income though came mainly from custom work. But now that he can’t make hats anymore, his business has rapidly declined. Jervis was his first visitor that he’s had in a while.

As the man spun his tale, Jervis had a look around the shop. Lovely, one of a kind hats were set up and displayed, along with a couple of outfits that looked to be hand made by him as well. The man wore his own work. In the back office of the store looked to be where he would sew, with a wall dedicated to fabrics and an old, dusty sewing machine on top of a table covered in various small decorations. Jervis asked if he could hire someone else to keep making hats. The man chuckled, saying that if one such person knew how to do what he did, they too would own and run their own store. They wouldn’t be working under someone. Jervis then asked if he considered having an assistant then and teaching them how to sew. The man says that he’s thought about taking on an apprentice, but the people that pass through his store have never shown interest. Except for him that is.

Jervis then visited the shop the next day. And then the next. The two of them would talk for hours. The man would offer to show Jervis something new. How to use the sewing machine, how to sew by hand, how to make clothing. Without words Jervis became the man’s apprentice. Creating something with his own hands had given Jervis a spark, and having someone to teach gave the man comfort.

When the man asked Jervis about his own life, he didn’t make mention of being homeless. He knew that if he did, the man would offer up his own home for Jervis to stay, even without being mind controlled into it. If he were to move in, sooner or later whether he wanted to or not, the man would eventually meet a gruesome end at Jervis’s hand. He didn’t want that. Before, the atrocities that he would commit were inconsequential. It didn’t matter if a mother, a father, and their children died because all he was using them for was to hide from the world. This time was different though. He cared for the man, though he would never admit it. He wanted to hear the stories that the man would tell from his own life. He wanted to make the man’s life easier by helping him get around the shop, by cleaning, by being his eyes.

Eventually Jervis had crafted a hat of his very own. A traditional tall top hat with an odd choice of colors and patterns. The size was a bit big on Jervis too, which made him look even smaller than he already was. But he proudly showed it to the man. He listened to Jervis describe what it looked like as he felt along it. Of course it had little imperfections being Jervis’s first, but that didn’t matter to the man. He encouraged Jervis to put together an outfit next, and to wear it with pride. No one in the world would have what he had. He would be one of a kind.

Later that evening, Jervis left the shop wearing his hat. That day was the last time he would see the old man. The following morning when Jervis returned, he found the shop’s front windows and glass door were shattered and the displays knocked over. His heart leapt into his throat as he sprinted for the door. Ducking through the broken frame, he called the man’s name. Usually he was here to open the store before this time. His eyes darted around as he stepped over hats and mannequins, until they landed on a hand lying on the ground, peeking out from behind the counter.

He rushed towards him, but time seemed to slow to a halt. This couldn’t be happening, surely. This was all in his head. He finally lost it, and this was something his diseased mind made up. He rounded the counter. The man was there, laying in his own blood on the ground, unmoving. His knees gave out as he fell to the floor, hat tumbling off his head and landing in the man’s blood. He wanted to believe that this was a dream that he was going to wake up from. He wanted to believe that he wouldn’t do this, that his own mind would betray him like this. But as he crawled the rest of the way over to his body, pants and hands getting stained with his blood, he knew that there was no point in denying it. This was real, and it was all his fault.

Jervis didn’t know what else to do other than apologize, over and over again, even though the man couldn’t hear him. This was sick. He felt sick. His brain writhed and pounded in his skull, and his eyes stung as he looked at the corpse before him through tears. The man was on his back facing up, and was holding his chest. Jervis moved his hand, and underneath was a hole from which the blood escaped from. A bullet wound, it looked like. That was odd. Jervis didn’t own a gun, and he didn’t recall the man having one either.

Shakily he stood, looking around the shop again. The place was a wreck, but he found bullet holes in the back wall as well as a few stray ones on the floor. He went out of the store, walking down to the next building, then the next. Several bullet holes adorned the wall, and more broken glass. Sprawled out on the sidewalk were a few bodies, having been shot multiple times. Looking them over, they all wore the same winter jacket with a silhouette of a bird printed on the back. This wasn’t him. Someone else came down this street, carelessly firing away. A spark flickered behind Jervis’s eyes. A heat rose in his chest. Whoever did this, they were going to pay.

A bit of research later and Jervis finds that the logo on the back of the men's jackets belong to a very well-known crime lord within the city who goes by the name of Penguin. Gangs fighting gangs in a war for territory. It didn't matter who was caught in the crossfire so long as one of them came out on top. He needed whoever ran this gang to die, along with everyone associated with it. He wanted this gang to be erased. And what better way to start than to find the Penguin?

Before leaving the old hat shop behind, Jervis went through the old man’s things. Useful things such as the money out of the safe and the man’s red coat that was hanging up on the rack. While looking around for the key to the safe he has found some papers stashed away. The papers look to be blue prints for something, but Jervis can’t figure out what they’re for. He decides to revisit them later.

Jervis found that while he was controlling a person, he could forcibly extract information from their memories. It was taxing for him to do, and he needed to strain the limits of his powers to do it, but it could be done. Weaker willed minds were easier, like the thugs that thoughtlessly followed their leader. None of them knew which rival gang had made the assault, but they did know where the Penguin was. He would use the crime lord’s own men against him.

While traveling from South Gotham to East Gotham, Jervis stewed over his plan. He would bypass the Penguin’s defenses by controlling every guard he saw, manipulating their minds into ignoring his existence. Then when he gets to Penguin, he would infiltrate his mind and forcibly take the information from his skull. He would find who was responsible, and then wipe them from the face of this Earth.

And for the most part this plan worked. He arrived at a classy and upscale looking building that was a couple stories tall. For Gotham’s standards in terms of architecture, the place stuck out like a rich thumb. He waltzed through the front doors, shooting daggers at any security that littered the halls and making them turn the other way. He rode the elevator up to the top floor, Penguin’s mind controlled goons trailing behind him. At the end of the hall was a glass door with gold accents, an obvious sign that this was his office, with even more guards standing in front of it. With ease, he made the men unlock and open the door for him. Stepping inside, he was met with the man of the hour. Seated at his desk on the far side of the room was a heavy set man dressed nicely in a black and white business attire, a pair of small spectacles sitting low on his crooked and curved nose. The Penguin was leaned back in his chair, elbow resting lazily on the desk’s surface with a pistol in his gloved hand, pointed towards Jervis standing in the doorway.

Jervis tried to seize control of Penguin’s mind, immediately trying to force his body to bend to his will and drop the pistol. But he felt the connection fell short. A wall of red appeared out in front of him, circling around Penguin like a force field. Before Jervis could think, a bang went off. Instinctively he ducked, falling to the polished floor. His hat fell next to him, a new bullet hole adorning it. Jervis held out his hands, squeaking out a plea for him to stop. Penguin chuckled, saying that he had some balls on him to walk so confidently into the king of Gotham’s place of business and think he could kill him so easily. He didn’t know what sort of trick he was pulling to puppet his men, but that was never going to work on him. He’s been in this game for too long, and he could see Jervis coming the moment he stepped foot on his property. But it was a fair shot, he’d give him that. Penguin then aimed his pistol down at the boy’s head, though before he pulled the trigger Jervis blurted out that his mentor was killed in a hit and run by one of his rivals and he was only hoping to find out who. He was never out to kill him, just whoever was responsible.

Penguin paused for a moment, staring down at Jervis. He then laughed, his belly bouncing with his shoulders. What a foolish way to die, he said to Jervis. Petty revenge? That was what he was going to waste himself on? Penguin placed his gun back into his cane, the handle becoming the cane’s handle. He said that Jervis reminded him of himself when he was young and trying to make his mark on the city. And if he could impart a word of advice, revenge would never heal him. He’s been down that road before, and it only resulted in more pain. But he also understood that Jervis would probably never be satisfied until he learned that lesson on his own. He would give up the name as a freebie, but if he ever saw Jervis’s mug around his property again he was dead, and he wouldn’t be given a warning shot.

After looking through the rival gangs he had in South Gotham, there was only one that was competing for territory in the same area that the hat shop was in. A mob leader by the name of Black Mask.

Seeing as his last plan didn’t go as well as he’d thought, Jervis devised another plan that he put more thought into this time around. This plan went a lot smoother. Using the information that Penguin gave him, he went back to South Gotham and to a couple different addresses that Penguin recalled to be hot spots for Black Mask gang members. This process took awhile, not only because Jervis didn’t know his way around the city and was relying on public transportation, but also Black Mask members all wore the same skull mask as their leader. But eventually he found the right place. One man stood out from the rest. The color that surrounded him was a green color while everyone else’s was a shade of blue. His aura, the energy from his mind, gave him away.

In one fell swoop Jervis seized control over Black Mask as well as a handful of his goons, and with them he completely obliterated them. It was all over within a matter of minutes, the gang members opening fire on their own. Bullet casings and corpses covered the floor. The only people left standing were three men. As he held them in place he debated on how he should kill them. Having them shoot themselves was the obvious option, but he thought about having them fight each other instead and seeing who wins. Then another thought crossed his mind. Penguin telling him that revenge would bring him nothing but more pain. What nonsense. He got what he wanted, and he felt amazing. Strong. Powerful. He looked at the three men before him, standing mindlessly waiting for his commands. He decided then that in absence of their old leader, he would assume the role as their new leader. It felt so good being on top. Being on top was safe. Being on top meant he was untouchable. And this would only be the beginning of his reign.

Though straining his powers like that left him depleted. He took a moment to sit down and rest, thinking of what to do next. Absentmindedly he took out the blueprint he found hidden in the old man’s shop. Though he doesn’t get very far into it, partly due to exhaustion and partly due to his world quickly getting corrupted by weird hallucinations, making it hard to focus without being interrupted.

The next morning he still didn’t feel much better, and was still seeing things. Occasionally he would hear sounds like someone speaking from behind him, when really there is no one there besides the gang members going about their business. He decides to go across the street to grab something to wake him up. A little shop with no name on it, but the front window had lots of whimsical looking bottles, jarred herbs and bagged grounds. He spotted a bag of tea leaves in the mix. Perfect, and the shop wasn’t too far away to where he would lose his grip on the gang. He went inside.

Upon entering the shop, the interior appeared to expand before him into a much larger space compared to the outside. Jervis chalked this strange illusion up to one of his hallucinations. The place was decorated with all sorts of greenery and plant life, even the very ground seemed alive as he walked on it. Walls lined with tall shelves were stocked full of an assortment of books, trinkets, oddities, incense, and plants. Every inch of space in the already spacious shop was used, and looked to be organized as well as it could be. Though no shop owner was to be found. Jervis called out, but no answer. Odd, the door was unlocked. He went over to the bag of tea leaves in the window and picked it up. While looking at its contents, something else caught his eye. It was eyes. A jar full to be exact, placed on a nearby table. He didn’t get to look closer before he was startled by a voice behind him. Turning, half expecting it to be nothing, he saw there was a beautiful young woman with long, flowing red hair and fair skin. She was wearing a nice looking dress with an apron over it. She was looking at him expectantly. He blinked. She repeated herself, asking if she could help him find anything.

Jervis stammered out a response. He held out the bag of tea leaves and said he was looking to purchase them. The woman made no move to take them, but did raise an eyebrow as she looked at him up and down. She asked if he was sure that he wanted those leaves in particular. Jervis looked confused. It was just tea wasn’t it? The woman smiled. She introduced herself by the name Ivy, and this was her Shop of Many Things where she sells everything from spells to remedies. What he held was not just tea leaves, but love potion leaves. Just add hot water, and the tea will make almost anyone fall in love with the first person they see. Jervis laughed. Magic leaves that made a love potion tea? That was quite the sale’s pitch. No, he wasn’t looking to fall in love. He just needed something for his headache. Ivy nodded in agreement, and turned to the shelves. After a bit of rummaging, she returned with a different bag and handed it to him. This blend would be just the thing for his psych fatigue. Jervis gave her back the love leaf bag, looking at the new one. They looked like regular crushed dried leaves, nothing special or magic about them. He was willing to try anything at this point, so he paid for it and went on his way.

Going back to the building across the street where he was currently staying, he heated up some water in the microwave that was there and dropped a generous amount of the leaves into the cup. For a moment, as soon as the blend started to mix with the water, the color seemed to shift and glow a bright blue. But it vanished as soon as it appeared, settling into a more brownish red. Jervis passed this off as being another trick of his mind. He poured the tea through a coffee filter to collect the leaves, and then took a long sip. A couple of seconds later, his headache had disappeared. Relief washed over him. The fog that was clouding his mind had lifted, and he could think a bit clearer. It was almost like magic. He sat down with his tea and looked around the empty room, lost in thought. He could see that the illusions were still there, but were in the edges of his vision and less noticeable. The gang members that he was passively controlling were sitting idly throughout the building, quietly reading or watching tv. He didn’t feel safe in this place. He felt vulnerable, like anyone at any moment could come in and kill him. He needed to move to another location and lay low for a while. People in the underworld were going to notice that a crime lord is missing.

And notice they did. Black Mask was a man who utilized power and fear to dominate other organizations in his territory. He controlled everything, from trading to manufacturing to planned crime. The sudden drop in activity created a mad dash to claim everything that previously belonged to Black Mask, including his known hideouts. Jervis tries to move locations and take Black Mask’s men and supplies with him, but the hideout gets swarmed by several armed groups and a full turf war breaks out.

Jervis lost control over Black Mask’s men while trying to get himself out, and they turned on him in an instant. He gets injured, but the chaos happening around them provides him with the opportunity to squirm away.

He’s angry with himself for being weak and easily losing control over the only protection that he had. He would not allow something like this to happen again. He would find a new home on North Gotham island, in a district named Amusement Mile. The entire northern side of the island has a huge amusement park that has been abandoned for several years, along with scrap yards and construction equipment.

After scoping out the place, he finds that there is actually another amusement park built directly below the one on the surface. The underground amusement park looks to be even more old and worn down, appearing to be the first park built on the island before it was shut down. Whoever built the new park didn’t bother to get rid of the old one, and simply built it over top of it.

After thoroughly investigating the underground park, he finds the remnants of someone who once lived there in one of the attractions. It was a train ride, and one part of the ride went through a series of tunnels decorated with flora and animatronic creatures. The robots have since broken down and dry rotted. Jervis absolutely loved it. The place reminded him of a story book called Alice in Wonderland.

Whoever squatted here had left behind a mattress that they slept on, food, books, and a lot of useless junk. Among the piles of trash Jervis found some assorted parts. Circuit boards, computer chips, nuts and bolts, and the like. He was suddenly reminded of the blueprint that he carried with him.

This is the part where there’s a time skip, and now we got an adult Mad Hatter who has gotten even more unhinged. With some of the parts that he found in the trash pile, he used the blueprint to create a mask. The mask is fitted with a special receiver device on the inside, and if he made it correctly, it would be able to respond to psychic energy. This way he didn’t need to stay close to the people he controlled, and he didn’t need to worry about losing his hold on them. This would be a permanent solution.

His overall goal is to be in a position where no one can touch him. To be a powerful force where he needn’t answer to anyone, but rather everyone answer to him. But to achieve his goal, he needs to get rid of the people in power who are the biggest threats to him in the city. Two-Face, Penguin, and the Batman.

Two-Face is right below Penguin in terms of underworld hierarchy. He invaded Bane’s gang after Bane lost his mind to the Venom drug that he was medically addicted to, and needed to survive. Two-Face offered for Bane’s men to join him, and killed the ones who refused. Essentially, Two-Face has the muscle and Penguin has the money. The only reason Two-Face isn’t the one on top is because Penguin controls the markets, and thus he is able to get better armor and weapons for his men.

Jervis manages to assume control over Two-Face, and shortly thereafter his army of grunts. He planned to immediately go for Penguin next, but hit a massive roadblock: Scarecrow.

Scarecrow’s fear toxin affects a person’s mind to a dangerously destructive degree. So much so that even with a mind control device strapped to their face, the toxin disrupts the connection that Jervis has to them. It took only 1 encounter with the spooky man, but he effectively dispatched Jervis’s army that he got to have for 00.5 seconds.

Imagining a scene after this where Jervis runs away, and only a couple people are left alive still under the effects of the toxin. Two-Face included. Scarecrow goes over to him. He’s terrified, in his own personal hell that only he can see. His hand is clenched tightly around something. It was his lucky coin, the same one that he used to decide the fates of many. He was using it now, this time to ground himself in reality. Scarecrow plucked the coin out of the man’s fidgeting fingers. Two-Face would say to his victims that the coin would make the decision of life or death, not him. He called himself a firm believer in everything being completely random. That we have no control over what happens to us. Though interestingly, Scarecrow points out, Two-Face has never used the coin on himself. It seems the rules have only applied to those that he has control over. But that’s obviously not the case, because life is entirely random right? So let’s have the coin make the choice.

Despite losing all of his puppets once again, Jervis still succeeded in his main goal which was to be rid of Two-Face. But now he had another obstacle in his way. He’s heard talk and read articles about a masked figure in a straw hat floating around South Gotham and terrorizing communities, but nothing beyond that. Nothing about him being this big of a threat.

Jervis came into his persona as the Mad Hatter after reintroducing himself to the crime lords, who were involved in a dispute with each other. The lords were all trying to one up each other by any means they could come up with to gain the upper hand on them, and in walks a small, scrawny guy in a top hat proclaiming that he had the answers to their predicament. He greeted them by the name The Hatter, and freely gave each one of the lords private information about their enemy. Information that no one else would know or have beside the person themself. The lords took this information and destroyed each other with it. Family members were murdered in cold blood, bank accounts were stolen and depleted, homes were burnt to the ground, powerful allies were turned against them. No one had come out on top. No one except the Hatter. Ruined and defeated, the Hatter took over their minds and added them to his growing collection of guests at his table.

On one hand, the Hatter wanted to be the one on top. He wanted to be in control of the city itself as the puppet master behind the screen, its systems for him to shape as he chooses. He wanted to create a world that he could shape in his image. He would create a world where he would be safe, utterly and completely. An unstoppable, untouchable force. But on the other hand, he was still losing himself. He often forgets his own plans for his goal and loses track of time. He sustains his sanity on a special blend of tea provided to him by Ivy, but after buying up her stock of it whenever she makes more, she had told him that she couldn’t keep making it. The tea itself isn’t just something she can keep whipping up, she needed ingredients that were very difficult to find.

Hatter asked if she could keep making it so long as she had the ingredients to do so. Ivy agreed, and gave him a list of a few of the items she needed. He read through the list. One of the items listed was an organic and healthy human brain. Hatter looked at Ivy like she was joking. She was not.

Hatter keeps his guests at his table, having a continuous tea party until he needs more tea to be made.

[nerdieforpedro]

WIP Wednesday and Thursday

I made a graphic for them I do these so often. 😆

This one will be a bit different from other WIP Wednesday. I’m going to give a brief overview of each one of my WIPs. (There are a lot, not all of them are on Tumblr, I’ll mention which ones are.)

I was tagged by @secretelephanttattoo @trulybetty @fhatbhabie ❤️ and @rhoorl I think. I feel like I mostly got it right. 😂

“This is the Neighborhood Din” My modern Din Djarin AU with a human Grogu (affectionately called Little G). Three chapters are up so far and four is almost done. I’m having a lot of fun writing it (outside of chapter two - Domestic Violence warning on that one.) I’m introducing different Star Wars characters each chapter and their interconnected relationships while keeping with my silly brand of humor. Know that Johnnie Mae is the MVP.

“Weddings 101 with Dieter” A series near and dear to me as with this series I really doubled down on writing Dieter Bravo overall as well as my delusional belief that I am somehow a comedy writer. Maya and Dieter are a hot mess, I love Daisy, Dieter’s trusty goat and that this series is the crazy ridiculous rom-com I wanna see. ❤️ Also I made Oscar Isaac have imaginary beef with Dieter and am having way too much fun writing it. @angelofsmalldeath-codeine loves this series and I love her for loving it. 🥰

“The Lake Between Us” My sleepy, dreamy series with Ezra. He has an airboat, he has a house across of the OFC’s on a lake. He cooks gumbo in a tank top. This series was inspired by Ezra cooking (I dunno why) and turned into an eight part series on two people growing closer. There’s two interludes (I’m scrapping the third one - thanks to @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for beta reading filth. This is the one time it doesn’t fit lol)

“Only Pieces of You Mr. Morales” My angsty sensual (also has a lot of sex because it’s Frankie) short series I created on a whim last week. I finally was able to write for Frankie this year outside of prompts. 👀 I describe different parts of Frankie’s body each Friday. I put out (pfft) two drabbles on Fridays. It’s a friends to friends to benefits to them figuring it all out. Maybe because I put Frankie through the wringer to much is why when I put Frankie drabbles in @i-own-loki ‘s box, she thinks I’m harming the man. 😭 I love Frankie I swear!

“Our Journey Across the Star Ocean” My fluffy Din series where you and Din (especially) are super awkward, very sweet and idiots. Three tropes I love. I have two parts and I’m working on a third. I’m not sure how long this one will be. On the shorter side for sure. Fluff for @grogusmum and @604to647

“Come away with me Angel” This is my Benny series I finally tossed out into the world. There’s only one part but I am working on part two. Friends to lovers and one house I guess as far as tropes go. I see to have a thing with cooking because so far in chapter two Benny is cooking shirtless. @rhoorl and @musings-of-a-rose we’ll need to discuss this.

“Post Apocalyptic Fluff and Stuff” This is @maggiemayhemnj ‘s brain child. She told me I made up a genre of post apocalyptic fluff so we’re going to have more. The stuff refers to darker topics because it is an apocalypse, but 80% fluff. I’ll have emoji indicators.

Unposted Planned Series:

“A Safe Place for Us” is what happens when I think on an obsessive baby daddy Dieter I wrote for a spring prompt because what else goes with a brick house am I right?! No? Well, it’s what we’re getting. Eventually. After Weddings 101. They’re not connected, different OFC and I have all sorts of silly titles.

“Therapy for the Well Adjusted” If there’s someone who is going to be put through the wringer, it’s Marcus Pike. He has an incident at work where he needs to take some time off. Because he’s Pike, he seeks out a therapist. After a miss or two, he vibes with Dr. Mint. The OFC has a longer road to therapy met with therapists whose vibes are way off and also no one needs to touch your Cakatoo. Ever. Not a euphemism an actual bird. Eventually, the OFC finds Dr. Julip. Both doctors share a practice. Nerdie style hijinks ensue. Inspired by a Marcus mini-series I made in my Spring Prompts and my own experiences with therapy.

“So Fairy not Jedi?” Din and Grogu meet a fairy warrior. Possibly might be a soulmate AU too? Din’s having all the AUs Working title just vibes. Expect it to be weird, wild and hopefully wonderful.

“It’s not all bad right cariño?” Javier Peña, the elusive, owner of aviators and the amplifier behind them. I had thoughts about him being in an AU in Loredo post Narcos as a sheriff and his interactions with a lawyer from the DA’s office Thalia. Since I haven’t given Javier much other than major angst, pickles, guava and a lot of fingers (the former DEA agent knows what I mean), I can give him a little bit of silly and something sweet. Also just vibes, but I have bullet points. Dancing and yellow jasmine.

“Ezra as a sex worker” Bullet points. Sometimes you just have him hold you, sometimes he talks the entire time but it’s fine because he sounds like sipping warm bourbon while sitting on an over stuffed chair with your feet propped up and it’s massaging all your limbs. Ezra does wonder why you don’t actually come here for sex but he’s getting paid for his time so he can keep that to himself. Until he’s in one of his rambles and asks. A cascade of events occur and he’s living in your house later. Still cooking because I always want Ezra to cook. Pfft.

Feel free to send me an ask or drop a comment about any of these. I think about them all way too much. 🤣🤣

As I was asked by @for-a-longlongtime earlier this week when talking her ear off about something, “How many words do you even write per week?!” 🙃🙃 I have no idea. It’s a lot. Maybe 2-3k but given what I post per week that feels low. It’s a compulsion at this point.

We’re at the end, thanks for reading this far! 💜💜💜

NPT: @undercoverpena-fics @megamindsecretlair @saturn-rings-writes @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @schnarfer @wannab-urs @connectioneverywhere @inept-the-magnificent @covetyou @gemmahale @goodwithcheese @lady-bess @morallyinept @trulybetty @alltheglitterandtheroar @alltheotps @slippinninque @magpiepills @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @laurfilijames @yorksgirl @julesonrecord @djarinmuse @paulmescal-s @tinytinymenace @pedroshotwifey

[aureutr]

Health update, featuring: DIAGNOSIS

I have been a chronic pain patient for a few years now. It's difficult to fully articulate how much pain changes your life, unless you are someone who has lived it or had a loved one live it.

Pain sucked away my energy and brainpower. I found myself sleeping more and more, first in naps after work then I was regularly calling out half days just to sleep. All the while, I was seeing doctor after doctor in hopes that someone would have an answer.

No one did. At first, it was almost a relief. It wasn't cancer, after all. But then the relief turned into disappointment and quickly into resignation. Labs were fine, X-ray was clear, CT was good. It should have been good news, except I still hurt all of the time and no one could tell me why.

The pain got worse. It peaked in Autumn 2022, when I finally got my first sliver of relief. Gabapentin kept the pain in control enough that I no longer had to regularly sleep half of the day, but it made me foggy. Still, it was easier to manage than the brain fog from pain, so I took it.

I still take it, and I’m on quite the high dose. It’s given me a semblance of a life back, but it’s not the answer or a cure. I still napped, I still hurt too much to even walk around a store for more than an hour or so. And, if I did, it would be my only activity for the day.

I lost my job late last year. I don’t believe it was because of the time I had to take, it was a mass layoff, but I’m certain it did not help. That, at least, ended up fine. I found a job I prefer with far better pay within a few months. And they’re, so far, understanding that I’m working through health problems.

But being unemployed was still a stressor, and I had learned that stress was integral to my pain. When I was stressed, it was worse. When I was calm, it was bearable.

I’ll skip describing another round of tests and hypotheses that went nowhere. In October 2023, my husband and I went to the Mayo Clinic or the Cleveland Clinic or John Hopkins (I am being intentionally vague here). This was our second time visiting, the first gave us absolutely nothing.

A nurse practitioner took a very quick look at me, too quick for our comfort, and declared the issue muscular. She recommended physical therapy. It seemed too simple, really. After all of that, all that money spent and time invested? It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried some exercise, but when moving makes your pain worse and worse pain zaps your energy, that’s difficult to maintain.

Still, I wasn’t going to turn my nose up at anything at this point. And it’s a damn good thing I didn’t.

The physical therapist I ended up seeing told me I had the strongest pelvic floor she’s ever seen. And that’s not a good thing. I have apparently taken literal decades worth of anxiety, depression, self-loathing, and any other negative emotion you can think of, and held them taut there, keeping my pelvic muscles almost constantly tensed.

And when you tense that much for that long, dysfunction arises.

My official diagnosis is Pelvic Floor Disorder. All of my PT has been focused on stretching, no strength training or cardio. I’m retraining my body to relax, to let go.

It has been amazing.

At the time of writing, I’ve been going to sessions for about six weeks. Already, I am eager to walk our dogs every day. I’ve gone out on my own or with friends to move.

The pain is not gone. But it is so much less that my pain clinic doctor is discussing reducing my gabapentin in a couple of months. And with decreased pain comes decreased brain fog.

Decreased brain fog means not only an improvement in my professional work, but space for fandom. I’ve written more than I’ve shared, lots of short private stuff for friends, but I haven’t had enough organized thought to re-approach the stories I put on hold.

I can’t promise anything, of course, but I hope that can change soon. I’ve been dabbling in Distant Echoes again, and it’s fun to be back in that world.

I’m not well. But I’m better. I’m so, so much better.

[syscultureis]

Hi! I’m a DID system in treatment with a specialist in childhood trauma and dissociation. I just thought it’s worth mentioning that my therapist, and many of his colleagues, absolutely do believe that plurality without childhood trauma can happen and does happen quite regularly!

Granted, he does NOT believe that complex dissociative disorders like DID and OSDD can form without repeated childhood in trauma. But even he and other trauma/dissociation specialists he works with don’t think that these are the only ways plurality can manifest.

He’s mentioned spiritual plurality many times to us in therapy. We’ve also talked about the concepts of imaginary friends and the internal family systems model and how, for many, those might qualify as plurality for them! Plurality is actually incredibly complex and diverse, and there are TONS of qualified specialists in the field who don’t agree with this closed minded thinking that “plurality is only caused by trauma.”

Just wanted to let you know that like… the line of thinking used on this blog isn’t even followed or believed by those who are actually specialists and professionals in the field of trauma and dissociation!

Our therapist, who specializes in DID and other trauma disorders holds the opposite belief. As do most of her colleagues.

She has actively told us she's disgusted by people who think that plurality can happen without trauma, because the human brain doesn't work that way

We ourselves are a psych major taking classes on this, where our teachers have said it's a complex disorder that can only happen via trauma.

Specialists are just as divided on it as the people suffering from the disorder.

Plurality is a trauma response.

Read our fucking dni. We are extremely tired of people trying to convince us we're wrong about something we know is right.

Syscourse makes us tired and annoyed. It makes our stress sky rocket and causes splits nearly every time we get involved at all. Ignoring it doesn't work because you keep sending us shit. Responding makes it go away for a while but you always come back.

Just fucking leave us alone. We don't go to your blogs spewing bullshit, don't come to ours.

[quicklikelight]

... In light of the last thing I reblogged, since I'm not actually sure if I ever I ever told folks here...

Mental health/medical diagnosis info under the cut.

I was misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder in 2010 following the birth of my son. I'd had anxiety, depression, and what I now know is OCD symptoms for years at that point, but they all got much worse after kiddo was born. I believe I've shared here before that I was very ill while pregnant, and nearly died before and during my emergency C-section that bright kiddo into the world. I have very few memories of my pregnancy but the ones I do have are impressed into my brain like the world's most depressing stamp collection: not neat pictures, but deep grooves that form shapes and can be laid over one another to see the cumulative chaos, the terror that I still feel every time someone puts a blood pressure cuff around my arm, the dissociation from my body that I still have because all I can remember was it hurting.

I had cptsd before I ever got pregnant, but my pregnancy made my symptoms so much worse, and a doctor who spoke to me for three seconds gave me the "convenient" diagnosis of bipolar disorder. I was a young woman in college, it was 2010, and he never asked me anything about my life. This diagnosis wasn't corrected until 2022.

I'm sharing this because in the past I frequently blogged about being bipolar. I wasn't bipolar though. What I thought was mania was just my behavior when I was triggered beyond my ability to ignore. What I thought was depression was... Well, it was depression. My life was miserable, my ex is a horrible human being who deserves to be thrown in a deep pit full of snakes, my family hates me and acts like it, I lived in Texas of all places, and on top of that I was working in a dead end job that I couldn't ever seem to escape.

In 2020, I was fortunate enough to move in with my friend LC and her family. We weathered the worst of lockdown together, our children becoming close friends, and I'm grateful for the time, energy, space, and love LC afforded me to begin recovering from a lifetime of wounds.

I'm 2021, I moved to New York state to live with my best friend, my heart's companion, @tofixtheshadows. Dea has been the best partner I could want as I grappled with my changing sense of self, the sheer madness and unreality of what my life used to be. I am so fortunate to call her my best friend and to be able to share my life with someone who knows me and wants to help me be better.

I found a psychiatrist in 2022 who changed my life when she said, "I believe everything you say that happened to you. I think bipolar disorder is a convenient diagnosis for a man to give a traumatized young woman when he isn't interested in doing his job well. You aren't bipolar, Anne. You have PTSD."

I was shocked. I shouldn't have been, since I already knew Dea thought I had PTSD. But it seemed so out of left field to me, that... Well, that maybe there hadn't been anything inherently wrong with me in the first place, as I had been led to believe, but that the years of horrible actions happening around and to me had just taken their toll.

It was liberating. Scary, but good.

I've been working with my psychiatrist and a therapist since to try and build more tolerance, better coping skills, and to process my trauma. It's slow going. Life doesn't stop because I need EMDR. But it's ultimately been so rewarding, and I'm still only in the early stages of the work.

Last year, for basically the first time in my adult life, I was able to go off of all my mood altering medications. I just didn't need them anymore.

I'm still in treatment and working toward goals that will probably take a while. But I am happy. I'm actually happy for the first time in my entire life. And to me, that's pretty much everything.

[frogofalltime]

26.02.2024

i woke up at 10am and i was still So Exhausted and felt truly Awful but i forced myself to get up before 11. i ate breakfast and watched a youtube video by @strange-aeons that made me laugh and cheered me up a little. thank you strange we love you <3

then it was midday and i really needed to take a shower. but i couldn't do it and i was just getting increasingly upset. my mother messaged me to say sorry for upsetting me and that made me feel Even Worse. i just felt like i was stuck, like i had to detransition immediately, like i had no choice, like i needed to stop being selfish and hurting her through my own desires, etc

when i finally got in the shower i just ended up overthinking and feeling even worse. i was completely panicking. i didn't know how i could live like this.

alhamdulillah, thank God, i wasn't all alone. i have the best boyfriend in the universe. @etherealspacejelly talked to me and calmed me down. i cried a bit, but in the end i felt like it wasn't all so hopeless anymore. i ate some lunch, and then took a short walk outside, because the sun was out and i needed to clean out my brain. while walking i listened to some very angry emo music which helped somehow. and i also saw a very beautiful pigeon.

(look at her !! an angel !!)

then i had therapy at 4pm, which helped a lot. my therapist said it seems like my gender identity isn't actually the root problem; my mother struggles a lot with her attachment to and understanding of me, so she would probably be upset to see me growing up away from her no matter what that growth looked like. and they also told me i don't have to make any decisions just yet. i don't have to rush into anything that makes me unhappy just to put a temporary bandage over our relationship. so that was really useful to know.

after therapy i was exhausted so i just sat at my desk for half an hour. but a fire alarm started going off in a nearby building and it was making me overwhelmed so i went out to buy some groceries from the store just down the street (i really couldn't handle going to the actual supermarket). i bumped into my friend's boyfriend there, which was kinda awkward because he kept trying to talk to me but i was really not in the mood / didn't have the energy to talk.

when i got home the fire alarm was still going and it was Autism Hell. i put away my shopping and cooked a proper meal for dinner just to drown out the noise. eventually it stopped and i was able to eat in peace.

after eating i washed my dishes, prayed, and went to bed. for some reason someone was setting off fireworks nearby, which were so loud that it really sounded like bombs. i have always hated fireworks, but especially since last october it has felt extremely wrong and terrifying every time i hear them. i couldn't stop thinking about the people whose lives are destroyed by those same sounds every day.

i must have finally gotten to sleep, because i had bad dreams and woke up at 7am to my alarm. i'm still really tired, but i am going to try my best to make it through all my classes today.

[nerdygaymormon]

Navigating Living Waters

Affirmation has a Facebook group titled Living Waters, which is for LGBTQ people, family, & friends who are active in the LDS church. This group is meant to be a place to discuss issues and topics from a believing LDS perspective.

At the 2023 Affirmation International Conference, I was asked to be the presenter for the Living Waters session. 

Church can be challenging for queer people and for those who love us as things get said which hurt. I wanted to help people feel like they have some skills they can use when they encounter these situations. For that reason, I called my session “Navigating Living Waters - Affirming ourselves and drawing boundaries as we navigate life at church and with believers.”

I’m sharing my presentation in the hopes it may be useful to some who were unable to attend the conference. 

————————————————————

"We're not gonna become someone we love by talking to ourselves like we're someone we hate. We're not gonna become the best version of ourselves while treating ourselves like someone who deserves to be punished just for existing. I know it's hard, but have your own back” - Dr. Glenn Patrick Doyle

A big part of what makes church hard for queer people is we repeatedly receive negative and rejecting messages about this part of who we are. Research shows both our mental & physical health are negatively affected as we internalize these messages. How can we handle things when this happens?

It depends on the situation. For example, if a comment is made in Sunday School, we can also make a comment, but Sacrament meeting isn’t interactive. It also depends on you. If you're not out to everyone in the room, then speaking up may not be an option you would choose. Some people's personalities are more introvert or extrovert. Some people have anxiety. There's a lot of variables.

We need to push back against those messages of negativity and discrimination. It's a way of honoring myself. Pushing back may include speaking up, or it may mean replacing those messages to myself with affirming ones.

This past week at my therapy session, I was speaking with my psychologist about an assignment where I identify something I did that day for which I feel accomplished and then say that I'm proud of myself for doing this thing. I told the therapist that it feels hokey. I understand what I'm writing, but I don't feel it. She said while typing or writing are fine, for the brain it's more effective to hear the words spoken. And it's even more powerful to look at my reflection in the mirror and say the words to me. Giving voice to an affirmation has power.

I share that because it’s good to write thoughts to yourself. It’s even better if you’re able to give voice to those thoughts.

If you find yourself in a place where things are being said, but you can’t speak up, one option is to remove yourself from the space. If it's Sacrament Mtg and the speaker is saying things that are hard for you, get up and walk out. You don't have to make a big deal about it, you can quietly slip away. Although, I have seen someone who got up and walked out while making clear they were unhappy with what was being said by making an exasperated noise and shaking their head.

If I’m watching General Conference with family or friends and can’t turn it off, there’s several options available. I can get on my phone to distract myself and check out what people are saying on Twitter and on Tumblr. I could take a bathroom break. If I’m taking notes, I can start writing affirming, positive messages to myself to counter the words being spoken. 

Pushing back against and replacing the rejecting messages is a way to not internalize them. 

Let's say we're in a classroom situation and something discriminatory is said about queer people. Many of us choose to be silent, to be passive and let the comment go unchallenged. At church it seems like we’re socialized to not make other people feel uncomfortable even as they are saying things which are hurting us. We don't have to let the comment go unchallenged, but you have to weigh whether the situation is one where you can safely push back. 

We don't want to respond with violence or threats, we don't want to dehumanize the other person, we don't want to inflict trauma on them. If we do that, then for many, our voice loses its legitimacy. We can be affirming of ourselves without demeaning others. We're taught to do unto others as we want done to ourselves, so let's respond in a way that treats others how we deserve to be treated. 

We want to challenge their ideas and assumptions. We want to make them aware of other experiences and ways of thinking. We want to point out the negative messages they are conveying. 

It helps if we assume they have good intentions and didn’t realize what they said could be understood in a way that hurt others. We are trusting that we can reach their humanity.

We can respond by building on common ground. 

We can use “I” statements to share our feelings and our experience. "I" statements can begin with “My experience is…,” or “I think…” It’s hard for someone to argue that you don’t have those experiences, thoughts or feelings. When we open up and make ourselves vulnerable, usually others will react positively and they let down their guard, too.

Let me give you an example. Let's say we're in Sunday School class and the topic is prophets. Someone in the class says “I’m happy for the guidance of prophets because thanks to them we have the Proclamation which tells us what a true family looks like.” 

<Gulp> Do I let that slide? 

Here's one way I could respond. Remember, I'm looking to build on common ground and use "I" statements.

“I’m also glad for prophets and the hope they give us, but it’s important to think of how things like the Proclamation apply to our own situation. The Proclamation speaks of ideals but not everyone's lives fit those. I have friends who are single parents and it’s important they know that God loves their families, too.” 

Another example is, "I am glad for prophets and as a queer person, I've been noticing them more and more teaching that we need to include and love everyone. While the Proclamation contains ideals that work for your family, I read it and wonder ‘Where do I fit in? What is God's purpose for my life?’” 

I built on the common ground of prophets, but then I pivoted.  

By speaking up, you're inviting everyone in the room to consider this point of view which they may not have considered. Maybe they have never imagined how the Proclamation may be hurtful to people in different situations. 

Another approach is to appeal to a gospel principle, like “Love your neighbor.” 

Let me share a few comments that can be used in a variety of situations.

“I don’t know about that, but what I do know is I’m supposed to love my neighbor. If I have to choose, I’d rather err on the side of being too loving than of not being loving enough.”

“My experience is these are real people with real feelings. If anyone in this room is part of the queer community, I want you to know you’re loved. God loves you and I love you.”

"The church's Handbook says all are to be welcomed and treated with kindness, and so I’m going to follow that advice.”

These phrases challenge the narrative that was being put forward and makes clear that not everyone agrees with what was being said. It shows there’s more than one way to think about these things. For anyone who might be in the closet or who has friends or family members who are queer, they will now know you’re a safe person to talk to.

I have one friend who, when the teacher asks, "What is something evil that people call good?" she will raise her hand and blurt out "homophobia!" She doesn't wait to get called on because by going first, she sets the standard. She says when she gives this answer, usually every hand lowers. They all were going to say something like gay marriage or being trans or something like that. Now the other class members can't give their answer because they don't want to be seen as doing exactly what has just been called out as an evil.

————————————————————

At this point, I asked them to pair up into groups of 2 or 3 and I gave them a list of possible comments they might hear. I asked them to practice responding. It’s a safe space and they can get feedback and retry. When they do experience a situation where they want to respond to a comment, they’ll have this experience.

Here’s the comments I gave them to respond to:

A man says he wishes that as a kid he’d heard of being transgender, because he would’ve used that to get into the girls’ locker room

A person saying it’s abuse when parents allow a transgender person to transition

When a person says they’re disgusted by affection shown between a same-gender couple

A parent says she’s uncomfortable having a lesbian as her child’s Primary teacher

Being told we should not identify as gay

Being told they love and accept us, but don’t tell anyone else you’re bi

LGBTQ+ people are that way because of bad parenting, or sexual assault, or something they saw on TV

Children deserve a mother and a father

Gay people are loved less by God because they persist in living a sinful life

————————————————————

Here's another suggestion to hopefully stop these types of negative comments from happening in the first place. If you see that the topic for an upcoming class may have the possibility for anti-LGBTQ comments to be made, you can contact the teacher about your concerns. 

"Hi. I noticed this week's Come Follow Me includes some verses people may use to say unkind things about LGBTQ people, and I was wondering if you've thought of that and how you might keep that from happening, or how you could respond if it does happen?" 

Let's say the class is assigned a conference talk that has anti-queer things said in it. You could contact the teacher and volunteer to share some of your thoughts with the class and see if the teacher agrees to that. Be ready to share what you’d like to say as it will help the teacher feel comfortable accepting your offer. For example, I might share this in a class:

“The church is imperfect. In this mortal world, that is how it is. But one thing I’ve learned is that there’s more room for me in the plan of salvation than there is in the closet. The messages I get from God are wonderful and I wish the church and my orientation were more compatible because I don't feel like I'm incompatible with God. The past few decades have shown the church is on a trajectory to be more inclusive and understanding, and that gives me hope. I know we're reading the words of an apostle, and I won't challenge what he is saying, he has every right to teach these things, but I know in my heart that the way I feel when I hear these words is lesser than, like I'm excluded, and I don't feel that way with God. I'm choosing to be here for the hope I find here and the good things church does in my life. Thank you for letting me share my perspective.”

Okay, so we talked about several strategies. 

You can remove yourself from the space where negative things are being said. 

You can choose to think or write affirming messages to replace the ones you are hearing. 

You can make a comment to affirm yourself. 

You can preemptively contact the teacher. 

—————————

The other topic I’m addressing today is boundaries. It’s okay to draw boundaries, you don’t have to share everything just because someone asked. I have family I love but they view being queer differently from me, and so for the sake of our relationship it helps for me to have some boundaries. 

The purpose of a boundary is to keep ourselves safe, to do that we draw boundaries around the mental, physical, behavioral and spiritual aspects of our lives.

While I think people understand the reasons for having boundaries, sometimes the hard part is knowing how to state the boundary. I’m passing out a handout with a number of phrases that may be useful. These are suggestions, hopefully they’ll spark ideas of additional phrases you can use.

I appreciate the gesture, but in the future I'd prefer...

I'm not prepared to discuss this any longer. Let’s take a break so I can collect my thoughts

Thank you for your concern about my child's behavior, I'll take it from here

That question is too personal. I won't be answering it

I feel undermined when you bring this up in front of everyone. Next time, please talk to me about it in private

I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to my mom about my private life

Thank you for your opinion, but I’m confident in my opinion

Why would you ask me that, does that seem appropriate? Would you be comfortable answering such personal questions about your life?

This isn’t a productive conversation. I’m not responding any more

I appreciate you asking, but that information is readily available on Google. I suggest you start there

Remember, this is not a negotiation, we aren't discussing where the boundaries should be. You're letting them know what your boundaries are. 

I don't know if it's particular to our culture, but it seems Latter-day Saints regularly say and ask about topics that maybe they shouldn't, especially if they don't know you well. If they try to continue on after you've expressed your boundary, you restate the boundary

I appreciate your concern, but as I said, I'm not prepared to discuss this any longer

I've politely asked not to discuss XYZ, if you do again then I will...(leave, end this conversation, ask to be transferred, speak with the Relief Society president, etc)

—————————

As a queer person, or as someone who loves a queer person, church can be complicated, yet there are a lot of reasons why someone chooses to continue to engage with church. I hope that you leave today’s session feeling like you have some methods that will help as you navigate these spaces.

[aleksa-sims]

RL Simself Story ( 18+)

CW: mental illness, panic attacks

This is Dr. M., my Therapist. You have met her once before in my story. She helped me to control my panic attacks and practiced daily with me relaxation techniques. This really helped me after a while.

But now it was time for me, to use Dr M.’s help again. This time, it wasn’t panic attacks. It was rather.... stress & anxiety, that made my everyday life tough. I was afraid to leave the house alone.

Two days ago, I was already here. She prescribed me drugs, antidepressants, that I can continue to take during pregnancy. Weeks before, I attended those therapeutic group sessions she led. I haven’t been there often, but she asked me about Daniel there. She saw I wasn't well. And that's exactly the topic she first discussed with me today. She wanted to get an idea of my current situation and she was also worried about Daniel. She thought Daniel was going through something similar to me. Just he did not have panic attacks, but she was sure, he also struggled to process this thing .The attack on the two of us and the consequences of it. However, I also told her everything that had happened since Daniel left. Drugs, Adam & Ana, including N. & me.

Dr. M.: I'm glad you got confidence in me. I remember well how.... difficult certain topics for you were to address. That guy Adam, how do you handle what happened between you and him?

Me: Actually, nothing happened. And I don’t think he really wanted to hurt me. He had other intentions. It was about my sister.

Dr. M.: I see it a little differently. No matter what his intentions were or what his motive was, what he did is definitely wrong.

Me: Yes, I agree! It was wrong and made me angry. But-... ugh, I don't want to discuss about that. I get a headache from this subject.... No joke, my brain hurts rn.

Dr. M.: Here, a glass of water. You need to stay hydrated..... Better?....Fine. Explain please. What made you so angry about Adam?

Me: Um... what he did! To me.... Why does this keep happening to me?? 😫 It makes me so sick!😡 ... Agh, anyway. Pls let's change the topic.

Dr. M.: It's okay. But you did well! You finally showed me your anger and let it out... Oh, but you didn’t have a panic attack after that, right?

Me: No! I had sex 3 weeks later and well, I’m pregnant. Looks like sex isn’t a prob for me anymore.🤷‍♀️But even before that, it worked quite well between Daniel & me as far as this is concerned. You were right! Daniel wasn’t the trigger for my panic.

Dr. M.: He felt so awful about that. He blamed himself. But I’m glad this at least went well for you two.

Me: I was dreaming about him.... Again. It felt so real... I still feel like he was really with me last night. I was in our apartment. I felt like we were still together. I cleaned up, did our laundry and at night, he really came to me in my dreams... I just want to know where he is?.. Why did he leave me? And if he comes back?

Dr. M.: Let’s say Daniel comes back. What could your life together look like? Some things have changed. You are pregnant and Daniel’s situation or condition may have changed too? Could you imagine continuing your marriage with him?

Me: For him, I would try. I would also forgive him, no matter what he did. But how can I be sure he won’t leave me again?

Dr. M.: Exactly!..... You also have to be aware that you are pregnant. But do you think Daniel would be able to help you with your Baby?

Me: Um... Idk? It's not his Baby. I'm not sure if he can deal with that? But he'd help me, I know that. However, all of this is more of a wishful thinking of mine and not reality. So... I’m going to file for divorce tomorrow.

Dr. M.: That sounds reasonable. You should definitely do this step, for yourself! One of you two has to take the first step towards enlightenment, which doesn’t mean, that it really has to come to a separation in the end. My personal opinion.... Daniel had enough time. It's time to act now!

Me: Almost 3 Months.... Nevertheless, I think I made too hasty decisions and let myself be misled by false facts.... And Nico, whenever he shows up in my life, it gets complicated.

Dr. M. : Tell me more about him. How did you feel when you saw him again after a long time?

Me:...... (Gosh!🤦‍♀️) ... Ahhmm.... yea. It was okay. Nothing special. 🤥

Dr. M.: 🤨...  I can tell when you're fibbing.😉 But, let's try it this way! Ask me a personal question that interests you. If I answer, you will also answer my question about Nico.

Me: Hehe...Ok! Ahm??? Do you have kids  and are you married?

Dr. M.: No, I don’t have kids, my patients are my kids. But yes, I’ve actually been married recently.

Me: OH, congratulations.

Dr. M.: Thanks! You even met him. He examined you at the clinic when we were planning to include you in the study.

Me: No! That Doc is your husband??.. Cool! He's really nice, Dr. M. Cute. 😉

Dr. M.: Thank you. I'll tell him later. He will surely be pleased about it. 😄... But now back to you, A. How was it for you to see Nico again.

Me: My cheeks felt burning hot. I was beaming & smiling all over my face. 🤦‍♀️🥰.... Agh yea, I was so happy. Even though I was totally nervous and excited, it felt like he's always with me. And I think he felt the same. He kept telling me I was pretty and... hot. But he didn’t kiss me .He.... had a fiancé. He didn’t want to cheat on her, but I think if I told him I wanted him, he wouldn’t have said no. He made hints in that direction, but I was disappointed. Agh, honestly? I knew he was in a relationship. I wasn’t quite sure, but-... yea. I got involved with him anyway. I just can’t say no to him. I wanted him and... just a day later, I got him.

Dr. M.: It is right to say it openly. Feelings of attraction feel strong. Certain factors can amplify all this, making it even more difficult to ignore those feelings. But how did you and he decide to continue?

Me: We talked a lot, especially about the past. There were some misunderstandings that Nico and I were able to resolve. The present is more the problem I think, his fiancée and of course Daniel.

Dr. M.: Would he accompany you here? Like Daniel did... I’m trying to help you. I think Nico has a strong, very strong influence on you. You told me about him before, and.....well! It would be good for you, but also for him, if you come here together. You think he’d be willing to talk to me?

Me: Rn, I'm not really sure?... But Nico has surprised me in recent weeks, in many ways... I’ll see him soon anyway. He’ll accompany me to my prenatal check-up. So yea, I'm gonna talk to him.

Dr. M.: I’m glad to hear he’s accompanying you.... Fine, A.! And please! Please take your pills regularly! Or do I really have to call you here every other day?

Me: No! Pls don't!... I’ll take care of myself, I promise.

Dr. M.: That's just what I was hoping to hear. All right! Then.... See you next week, I’d say.

Me: Sure!...Ok thanks, see you next week Dr. M.

Previous/Next

[vizthedatum]

I know I can knock out all my work tasks today. Intellectually, I KNOW. I am getting stronger every day.

But I just put in a request to get disability services from my employer again.

I need to cover my bases.

I hate that anything programming or statistical (essentially my whole job) causes trauma freezes.

I hate that my ex/spouse's lawyer (and my ex/spouse) lied to my lawyer about how we were both responsible for our own health insurance.

I feel like this needs to be reiterated: my able-bodied, autistic, queer spouse kicked out (and threatened, abused, yelled at, made life hell-ish) their disabled, autistic, chronically ill, queer partner (me) out of the home that I paid for (rent, utilities, apt insurance, health insurance, food, etc.) (yes, they contributed money to those things but I did most of the emotional and financial labor of it all). They promised to put me on their health insurance but didn't. They cheated me out of so much. They put me in complete disarray not just for that period of time but for months and months and months. I bet they were hoping I'd just kill myself. They thought I was, you know. That's why they were going to take my medication away but their mom told them not to.

As I told my therapist and psychiatrist several times, I would have absolutely killed myself (if they didn't kill me first somehow) if I didn't leave. I would have done it while telling them I loved them so much. That's how bad the narcissistic abuse was.

I know I've been grieving in all sorts of ways. And I do believe that they need help. They absolutely do. I wish the best for them, and I truly don't want them to die.

But they made my life miserable, and I am trying my best to get my own sense of justice and peace the best way I know how.

I could have (and my friends think I should have) done worse. (aka press charges)

I wasn't even going to file the PFA. I wasn't even going to do anything. I was just going to do what I've always done and start over.

They left me in shambles while they and their ex and their friends all think I'm the "real abuser" and laugh at me. Their lawyer thinks I'm being vindictive and punitive.

They're laughing at a chronically disabled (I pee blood when I'm stressed y'all... amongst other things), autistic, trans person of color who grew up as an immigrant and poor (sometimes middle-class) child in the country who suffered horrific childhood and other partner abuse. My ex/spouse knew all of that. They knew I'd been raped and assaulted and abused.

Do you realize that? Do you know how fucked up that is?

They're laughing while my ex/spouse makes ~150k/yr and has the LUXURY of not going to doctor/dentist/therapy/whatever appointments because they're way more abled than I am....

They wouldn't even be making that much if I didn't emotionally and financially support us while they quit their job to do extra training and education to get that job.

I guess I'm just good enough to be used and tossed away.

They're laughing while my ex/spouse hires a more expensive lawyer just to bully me into not getting enough spousal support and other asset costs, while I'm financially trying to rebuild.

And I am trying my best to live my life now. I grieve and cry every single day. You don't see it in my social media pictures, but I do. My heart and brain are full of love, life, and curiosity... but I am still grieving hardcore. And I will be for a very long time.

Most narcissistic abuse survivors grieve for... years.