#scared. i keep trying to talk myself out of believing it but new symptoms are coming up for me and they’re in line with what i’ve been

[saintpoems]

[nerdygaymormon]

A F*cking Eating Disorder?!!!

A week ago it was determined I have an eating disorder. 

I'm having a lot of feelings about it. I mean, a f*cking eating disorder?!!! That's serious. My physician thinks I need a psychologist and a psychiatrist! I mean, yes, one is for talking and the other is for medication, but how bad is it that I need BOTH of them?

Already some things make more sense--illogical behaviors, compulsions, shame, secrecy. I’m sure even more will make sense once I begin therapy.

I'm tired of being broken. I’m tired of discovering new ways in which I was harmed. I’m mad at myself for staying in a space that caused this. Why wasn’t I brave enough to come out earlier and stand up for myself? Why did I believe all the hurtful “truths” said about queer people and use those to hate myself? I’m actually a wonderful person.

I did some really hard therapy for my social anxiety disorder. Sometimes the homework was too much and I’d sit in the car and cry, but I’d report my experience and then try again the next week. This is going to be hard, too. It scares me. I know it will lead to better physical and mental health, but the journey is going to be hell.

In therapy I learned to stop suppressing my feelings and to understand and manage them. That was a nightmare, I wasn’t used to strong emotions, I was crying all the time about everything like I was a toddler. The tests showed I’m a ‘deep feeler,’ so when I let myself start feeling again, those intense emotions were overwhelming. I’ve come a long ways, but I’m feeling so much right now that I wish I could be numb again.

I first went to therapy because I was suicidal and didn’t know what to do. I was required to share with 10 people that I was in therapy and why, and ask them if I could contact them if I needed to. This was part of my safety plan which I had to keep on me 24/7 for months. It was so embarrassing tell others and ask if it is okay to contact them if I need to. I learned people really cared. I did have to contact people a few times and ask them to say some good things about me, it was a way to break the string of negative comments streaming in my head. And they did, they always had some good things to say. Those months were the scariest of my life. Somehow I held on. I did the work. I did hard things. 

Another thing I worked on in therapy was low self-esteem. It was so bad that the first time I was asked to write a list of 10 things I like about myself, I broke down in tears, I thought really hard and felt I really stretched to get to 3. That’s it, 3 things, and it took 10 minutes to come up with them. I had minimized every good thing and accomplishment about myself to the point I had no positive feelings about them, which left only negative feelings about myself. It’s taken years to get where I can say good things about myself, accept compliments, and recognize some of the great things I do. I should never have felt that way about myself, that was self-destructive, but I believed all the negative things said about me and about people like me.

Along with working on self-esteem, I worked on my internalized homophobia and on accepting myself as a gay man. Being gay is fine, but allowing myself to try new things, have gay friends, and so on, has been breathtakingly amazing. Life is much better not having to spend so much energy trying to hide myself.

When I was a teen, I used to self harm. It was a way to change that emotional pain into physical pain. The physical pain overwhelmed the mental, it allowed me one thing to focus on. The physical pain was localized, the emotional pain seemed endless. Rather than cut or burn, I would hit my head repeatedly against the wall or lockers in the hope that I was causing brain damage and it would help lessen my ability to feel. I couldn’t see a life that wasn’t pain. I didn’t believe there could be happiness ahead for me in my life. 

C-PTSD means I have the symptoms of PTSD but it wasn’t caused by a shocking, scary, or dangerous event. Instead, C-PTSD is caused by ongoing trauma which lasts for months or years, while PTSD may be caused by a single traumatic event. YEARS. As a result, sometimes a trigger brings back strong feelings. I don’t just remember how I felt, I relive those feelings. 

As I had a serious discussion with my physician last week and talked about eating disorders and my mental health history and she asked questions screening me for depression or distress, it brought back these feelings I have around all the things I’ve worked on. 

I’ve worked hard but my life still isn’t all put together and figured out. Part of me feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. I have to remind myself that I can swim, I’ve swum through some choppy waters. I can’t look at how far I need to go or it will feel like too much, just keep focused on my breathing and on moving forward. 

I’ve started telling a few friends because I’m sure I’ll need a support network. I know from experience it’s better if I have people who love me that I can turn to when I need them, like they’re my floaties (sorry, trying to fit this into the swimming metaphor)

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Hiya 💚

Just popping by off anon today to say I hope you’re having a good weekend. What’s something that’s made you smile recently? Have you been watered, fed, and provided some sunlight today?

You’re amazing, don’t forget that 🤘

I'm having a little snack of some fruit and toast before I go to bed. Usually I have some valerian tea as well but I'm coming off a flareup and strong valerian tea can cause stomach pains which I'm not interested in experiencing again anytime soon. Woe is me and my "mysterious illness" that I can easily avoid by eating foods that do not trigger symptoms. Tragically, I work downwind of a food court on the weekends and the smell of roasted meat, baking bread and deep fried whatever calls to me like a siren. Hard to believe I used to be afraid to eat anything!

I have lots of reasons to smile lately. My new job is going to take up more time but that's alright because this is a place I really want to believe in. I've had a friend working there for a year and she's loved it so I finally jumped ship. I like what they do and I like what they pay. It's a job I want to improve myself for and be the best I can be, since my last place had me clawing at the walls in despair of all the bullshit and regulation breaking that went on. I'm really pissed at that place, can you tell? And working at the Faire on the weekends is always fun. I'm always smiling there and it's a genuine smile. So let me tell you a story about something that happened today. It's about a man in a boat and a peep show.

(Don't worry. It's safe for work.)

It starts at the end of the day. For any not yet aware, I work at a Renaissance Faire. I'm comfortable disclosing this because I don't live anywhere near the faire, it's thirty acres of land and my shop is known for other things besides what I've talked about here. I use a different name there, too. There are three jousts at the fair, with the final one taking place at around 5:30 ish. So the streets of the little town were fairly empty save for a few dozen or so patrons, the Fantastikals (fairies) and one very special independent performer.

My assistant manager calls me over to the door with a grin. I come out from behind my counter to see what she wants and she points to this very special performer. "Ask him for the peep show". She tells me with a grin and because I'm down for anything at the Faire, I leave my shop to where this man is standing, in the shadows stretched long across the roads.

Words can not describe the experience of meeting him but I'm going to try. You heard him before you saw him, because he had a cleverly hidden speaker playing Italian opera. Classical music? Something masculine and passionate and bellowing. He wore black tights and shoes. His frilly shirt may have been yellow. He wore a perfect painted circle of white outlined in blue on his face and there was a pin that said "Yes, I work here!" on his shirt. There was a hat and finer details to his makeup but they all escape me because the man was also a boat. Or, in the middle of one. Jutting out four feet from his front and four feet behind was a gondola. There must be a harness of some kind under his shirt to help keep it up. Because in the gondola were buildings. Anywhere from a foot to eighteen inches tall. Think of Venice. Think of beautiful towers and elegant façades.

The man was a city.

In a boat.

I asked him for the peep show.

"Ah, my dear." He said, a twinkle in his eyes. "You're in for a real treat."

He directed me to a certain building on his other side. As I rounded him, I made eye contact with a little harlequin puppet placidly rowing the boat. It may have winked at me. I went to the building and noticed an open window. Putting my eye to it, do you know what I saw?

Two candy peeps on a platform, staring serenely back at me. I told him I loved it and he smiled.

"Sometimes people are nervous. They think I might scare them or poke them. But this is the level we're at here, my friend."

His other buildings had windows too. The tallest had several with cleverly angled mirrors so that the person looking in the bottom would see the person looking on top and vice versa. Another one, an opera house where your reflection was on stage. So many others, but I can't remember them! I was also still in character and interacting with patrons and very much still on the clock. But again, end of the day. My boss was very forgiving.

People like him are the reason I love the Faire so much. My hometown had one and the childhood memories of visiting are so clear and vivid it's like I could open a door and step back into it. I danced with the Queen, you know. She looked like one of my teachers, but I'll never be sure.

It's nice to keep the spirit going. Thank you for spreading positivity, Mr. Barnes. A good example for the fandom to follow 🩵. I hope your weekend is going as amazing as you are.

[babyfairy]

here’s a much needed life updates post! even though generally speaking not a whole lot has happened lol

life has been pretty difficult since i lost my grandpa truthfully. it’s been a lot of struggling since then. lately in particular (as in the last few months) i’ve been struggling mentally more than ever. i think im going through one of those really painful transitional/growth periods (which figures, it’s about time for my saturn return) but i also think i am neurodivergent in some way? as in im like 99.99999% sure i am neurodivergent. i can’t think of any other explanation for the way my brain works and for the way i am struggling.

it’s weird because i have a lot of guilt about exploring the idea of possibly being neurodivergent. i’ve been talking with my doctor about it and every time we’re done talking i feel like im a liar or that im manipulating her or others into believing i could be neurodivergent in order to have an excuse for just not being a good person, friend, daughter, sister etc. i’ve been talking with her about OCD specifically. there are a lot of things im learning about OCD that i relate to and that have been completely taking over my life since the death of my grandfather. but i also relate to a lot of the traits of autism, so truthfully i don’t really know what’s going on and not knowing has been isolating and sort of difficult and scary. i have this intense need to know what’s “wrong” with me or why i act/think/feel the way i do. i think that in and of itself is a symptom but i’ve always been that way. i think i have trouble relinquishing control. and lately i just feel very out of control. my work, friendships, family life, self esteem, and everything all just feel extremely unstable lmao and i know the primary reason is me. because i’m always bracing for the next terrible thing to happen and i’m always worried about ruining everything or hurting someone or i don’t even know what. i worry every moment that i am awake.

i’ve been adjusting my meds under the advice of my doctor and a psychiatrist and im trying to get back into therapy but god is it intimidating lol! i don’t know why! i think the thought of starting all over with a new therapist just scares me a lot. i know i have to do it though because i can’t manage this on my own anymore at all. and i have no idea how to make it any better or manage my stress. so physically and mentally im doing really poorly. i think maybe worse than ever. but i’m alive lol and i’m trying to get back to a point where i feel ok and not so paranoid and distressed all the time. im just trapped in this horrible cycle. it’s really frustrating. and i just want to understand why but i don’t for now and i have to be ok with that.

it isn’t all bad though lol and i do have things to look forward to. im trying my best to build and deepen new relationships so i feel less isolated. being agoraphobic in your early 20s really does a number on your social life!!! i managed to get beyoncé tickets and im planning on flying to visit some of my closest friends later this year. so i have things to look forward to and that helps keep me going on the days where i just want to give up. it’s hard 😅 but hopefully it won’t be this hard for too much longer and i’ll be able to look back on this time period and feel proud of myself for pushing past it. because right now truthfully i just feel ashamed and sad most of the time. i think shame and guilt are like my primary emotions lol. and just general tiredness. but i’m trying my best to claw my way out of it

[sky-heart-journal]

She can't or won't love me how I need to be loved. A love that can listen to me and empathize. Really empathize. Even when I'm lashing out. See it as the symptom of pain and fear that it is.

I get mad when I'm scared. My fight instinct. When I can't understand what you're telling me. It's easy to want to blame you. I know I wasn't always like this.

People tell me I have a right to be mad at you. But I wonder would they really think that if they saw everything. Would they change sides?

When I talk to people about it I try not to leave anything out. But later a new memory surfaces of an unjustified rage. Maybe I'll always have an incomplete picture from a bias perspective

I think that if I can map out every angle I can figure out the truth. There has to be a way to make sense of this. There's something to be learned here. I'm really trying to learn it. But I can't consolidate our disparate looks at the situation

I think you don't separate rages into "justified" or "unjustified." It's just "made you scared to go on loving me." Or maybe, "broke your heart a little more." And it builds up a resentment, an intolerance.

I wonder what you think my rage is. I think it's just traumatic for you. You can't connect it to the sequence of events. It is automatically wrong and terrible because you don't want to be spoken to like that.

I get it

Oftentimes, right before I hit that rage. I hear something I don't want to hear.

And oftentimes, It's when I feel that I am not being heard. It's an overwhelming feeling that breaks my ability to express myself healthily. But my attempts to explain my point of view so often seem to be rejected without real consideration.

I think that is the reason for many instances. It is the nerve that triggers me so. I always think that I can explain it to you calmly, But if it's something you don't want to consider You won't even engage with what I'm saying. Short circuits my brain, And then I want to apologize near immediately. Once the dust settles.

But you can't really let it go. I don't know how we needed to process those moments together. But it's clear to me that to you, they were just craters, holes in the fabric that held us together.

And eventually enough was enough for you. It didn't matter how much I tried to weave us back together.

It's strange to me that your family gets a pass for what I see as worse or equivalent treatment. A more pervasive, constant air of disrespecting you. But I guess they saved your life When I couldn't.

It doesn't feel fair. That it doesn't seem to matter how compassionate and good I can be. Because I had those blow ups, Made these wounds that fester. We needed a doctor, but you can't picture healing.

I don't understand why. I guess because of how long we tried. But I think we weren't doing the right treatment. And I realize I didn't want to do it either. I let myself believe we could power through. That the apologies could be enough. We needed help. It wasn't something we could do on our own. And in some ways I think we were both too prideful to look for help anywhere but each other. Just expecting the other person or ourselves to fix things. And then when we don't see progress we only have each other or ourselves to blame.

You see it as incompatibility. A sign that we were doomed from the start.

It's not that. It's a misdiagnosis. The wrong treatment for our illness. Trying to use each other as crutches. There is a version of this that could have worked.

I never wanted to give up. But I didn't do what I should have done: Therapy, which seemed so inaccessible.

My problems piled too high for me to deal with all of them. And I thought I was keeping you up and spinning. But always it seemed to be the plate that fell. Because I couldn't deal with the underlying issue.

Focused on doing things to enjoy time together and not seeing how weakly things were held together

I guess I was just painting over the cracks

I'm sorry

[glitchdollmemoria]

very messy rant under the cut its true schizofreak hours

extremely extremely frustrating all of it. hate knowing when i come down ill look back and realize nothing i said makes sense enough. frustrating to keep getting distracted, confused, hate it. need to talk to doctor tomorrow but scared. dont know what will happen but at this rate ill lose function. something will happen eventually. half the reason i moved out was because i knew i wasnt safe to not have treatment and never would with my father. been a year now and i havent made good on that and i owe it to myself but its terrifying. already have so much to discuss with doctors, just one more thing, "problem patient" with ten thousand problems but its their job! its their fucking job to care. trying to be a good patient who quits drugs and gets sleep and tries and tries and tries and tries more but it doesnt fix things. and is it my fault? if pot made it worse is that my fault for needing it? should i have been stronger? dont know how long its been since cutting back or last time i relapsed because i cant process time right anymore. im disconnected from time. is that my fault? my back hurts very badly and imwondering if "that time" is coming early sending everything out of balance. shouldnt be for about a week. and im losing my train of thought again and i hate it. its so hard to care about effects of diagnosis when this all hurts so much and keeps happening more and more. i think "my brain is normal" then realize absolutely not. i found a community so sweet full of new friends and they dont mind me just typing in vc chat at times but what if when my brain gets scrambled this badly? feels easy to keep in contact but if i fuck it up?? i hope not. dont think theyre that cruel. its just scary. i want to be loved as i am, loved schizotypally, loved when my words give up and i can barely think, i want to be held and kissed on the head and allowed to let my guard down when i have to patch reality together. want it to just be normal. want to be allowed to exist as i am. broken apart and confused and fragile. need someone to look at me and think, "hes still so beautiful and sweet", need to be valued beyond profit and coherence and ability. and some part of me wants to stop pushing against this, to let me be confused, to let it wash over like water, ill feel better after but for now its ok except for outside forces. it devolves into peace, but then, "what about my job? what about money? what about being liked by friends?" the death and fear and isolation of unsupport is what kills me inside and makes symptoms WORSE. its so much.almost hope im this bad at appointment so doctor knows. need her to fucking believe me. and i need to be loved and i need to stop typing and just have a bath please

[thethingsiyhink]

24 January 2023

I remember now. . .

I was starting to forget why I’m usually apprehensive about relationships. I finally really started moving on with my life! I’m in a happy and healthy relationship. I’d met someone that tells me how special I am to him. He got me flowers, checked in on me before bed, and even made sure I ate proper meals. I would always feel so happy being around him and even felt so safe. I felt like I could be myself around him and I even liked his friends. Everything sounds so great.

The problem is that I remembered that there’s this weird part of my brain that thinks that love will not last long for me. A part that believes that in order for someone to stay with me, I have to modify my personality in some way in order to be acceptable. When I have feeling like this I have to really take a step back and try to figure out what triggered this. This time around its been some of the comments he made that I can’t stop thinking about.

He’s very into his own self image and that’s never been my style. He works out everyday and that’s just not me. I want to be the type of person that cares but since I’ve gone so long without really putting a lot of effort into my appearance that it’s hard for me to start. He’s a very fashionable guy and I’ve allays loved my t-shirt and jeans. I’ve always wanted to find my own style and he said he would gladly help me. I’m not much of a gym person but he is. He wants me to be more active and I’m currently the most I’ve ever weighed in my life. He said he would help me with that too. I’ve noticed that he has some personal issues with his own self image and I’m starting to notice that those are bleeding into how I view myself

I’ve started overthinking about his feelings for me. His messages feel less loving and anytime I mention my feelings, I feel like he pulls away from me. I’m pretty sure I’m making all of this up in my head but all of it feels real to me. I feel like I want to cry at the thought of losing him. That’s usually how I get when I start to get attached to someone. I start to question every little interaction. This time I started to feel so self conscious I cried. I don’t know how to deal with these emotions. I don’t want to talk about them because I don’t think they’ll be well received. I know that I need to find a way to properly express myself in a way that does not make me seem emotional and winey. 

This is past relationship trauma and I know it. . .

I was in a relationship with someone that literally told me that he tunes me out when I get like this. I told myself I would never give anyone an excuse to say that about me again. I know that that it is the wrong way of thinking about it because I’m no longer with that person and never will be again but it still haunts me. Parts of that relationship haunt very part of my new relationships. It is the reason why I have such a hard time feeling like I deserve to be loved and cared for. It is the reason I cannot let someone look out for and take care of me. I love the man I’m currently with with all of my heart and I can’t wait to see where it goes and have adventures together. That said, I’m still so scared. No matter what I have to be myself. I know that one of the things that he doesn’t like is when I have lout outbursts. I understand that. Even I don’t wanna be yelled at. Wanting to fix and change that about myself is different from before because the outbursts are a symptom of another issue that I know that I have. I have a hard time keeping my emotions in check. That happens even outside of my romantic relationships and I always hate the way that I feel afterwards. I’m not working on this because of a guy.

I’m doing this for me because I deserve to feel good about myself in my own head and heart. At the end of the day, that’s all that matters. My journey to self love starts with how I regulate and appreciate my own feelings.

[ghostlyschizophrenic]

Why being forced to hide psychotic symptoms is detrimental to recovery:

Hi! it’s your friendly neighborhood schizoaffective and i have a story to tell, a story that’s backed by research.

my psychotic symptoms were early onset. my earliest memory of psychotic symptoms was 6 years old, when my parents were changing the locks on the house and i had an intense belief that changing them would mean someone had broken into our house and hadn’t left. i believed my toys had human emotions and felt sad if i played with another toy, so i refused to buy new toys because i was so scared of making my toys sad.

i had a very flattened emotional response (which i would later learn is a symptom of schizophrenia), and in kindergarten and first grade when we learned about emotions, i learned to fake the look of emotional response. i learned how to put a smile on my face when i felt happy and to put a frown on my face when i felt sad. when i was alone, i would practice, but some days i was too tired to do it and i kept my face in the natural way: flat. it wasn’t that i wasn’t feeling emotions, i just couldn’t express them the way people wanted me to

during my elementary school years, i made up words constantly to communicate. i couldn’t form proper sentences, something was blocked in my brain and everything felt scattered and scrambled (disorganized thoughts and speech). my teachers broke that habit in me, not by helping me learn to organize my thoughts, but by teaching me not to speak unless i knew exactly what i was trying to say.

then came middle school and i started hallucinating and my delusions got worse. but everything i had learned from teachers and tv was that hallucinations are scary to people, and i didn’t want to be scary. i would be laughed at if i told anyone about my strong beliefs (delusions) so i didn’t tell anyone. i didn’t tell anyone that i believed that the characters in my tv show were real and the government was hiding their existence and if they knew that i knew they’re real, they’d put me on a watch list. i didn’t tell anyone i was hearing sounds that came straight out of a horror movie. i hid that.

i hid it so well that i avoided treatment. i had an acute psychotic episode, and all i said was that i was having panic attacks. i didn’t tell anyone about the delusion that school was going to literally kill me, or that i heard blood curdling screams in the hallways and when i was trying to sleep at night. i avoided early intervention.

for other reasons that i won’t get into, i was put on seroquel as a mood stabilizer, but as many of you know, it’s also an antipsychotic. this was the first time in my life i felt some kind of relief from my symptoms. i didn’t connect the dots because my psychiatrist called it a mood stabilizer, not an antipsychotic, so i didn’t know why i was feeling better in those areas.

it wasn’t until 10th grade when i was taking a psychology class from a teacher i trusted that i connected the dots. by this time i knew i had psychosis. i had access to the internet and i had googled what was wrong with me, but it wasn’t until a class where he emphasized getting help that i thought ok, now i should bring it up.

by this point, i had had 2 more acute psychotic episodes that kept me out of school, but because i was taught to hide everything, i still didn’t tell anyone the real reason why i couldn’t function. “paralyzing panic attacks” became code for “whatever the real reason is that’s keeping him out of school”. but my teacher made me think i needed help, especially because we were learning about schizophrenia in class and i had a sneaking suspicion that i, someone with a family history of schizophrenia, had it.

i brought it up to my doctors and i was started on antipsychotics, this time with the official name of antipsychotics. but it was a bit too late. my psychiatrist told me that if we had caught it earlier, i may have reacted to treatment better.

i’ve been in treatment for years and the longest i’ve gone without an acute psychotic episode is 5 months. i’ve done my research and in patients with psychosis, the first few months after psychotic symptoms are present are vital to the treatment and recovery of the patient.

it’s not just, oh you won’t suffer as long, it’s literally you will have a better chance at recovery. if you catch psychosis in the prodromal stage, it can greatly reduce the chances of another psychotic episode happening.

by being taught to hide my illness from a young age, i lost the chance at having an easier recovery. yes i learned to confine myself to societal expectations and appear “normal”, but i caused myself more pain in the long run.

early intervention is key to an easier recovery, and i’m going to leave a few links to show you what i mean.

ted talk about early psychotic intervention

psychosis prodromal phase

talking with a psychiatrist about early psychosis intervention

early intervention of psychosis

benefits of early intervention

[integra1127grimmreaper]

The Replacement - Part twelve

Negan Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 11

Warning: swearing

Knowing for a fact that it wasn’t Lydia either that had freed Negan from the cell, you got Daryl to speak to and try to convince her to get out of the cell after she had locked herself in it.

“Come on. You didn’t do this” Daryl opens the cell door.

“Yeah. I did” Lydia remarks in response.

“Y/N and I both kept watch last night. You never left the house” Daryl informs her.

Lydia lets out a sigh, “what does it matter…” she then sits up in the bed to look at him. “This is where they want me.”

Daryl shakes his head, “doesn’t matter what they want.”

Lydia nods her head deep in thought, “you know for a long time I blamed myself for what happened last year. Kept thinking; what if I just stayed in that cell in Hilltop, if I never let myself be taken alive by you people in the first place, never went off with Henry, never said what I said to my mother…”

“You’re not to blame for her” Daryl tries to reason with her.

“My mother was right…” Lydia looks off into the distance as she continues speaking, “she said; you people put on these polite faces, but it’s just a mask. Cause when things get bad, when you get scared; you pick a target, aim and shoot. Me… Negan, anything but you.”

“Negan’s different” Daryl shakes his head, “you didn’t know him”

“The Negan I know stood up for me when he didn’t have to” Lydia responds in defense of him. “I tried fitting in…” Lydia then continues, “because I wanted to be like you.”

Daryl drops his head at Lydia’s words, “you don’t belong in a cage.”

“I’m better here…” Lydia tells him, “feel safe.”

You watched as Daryl stared at her with no response and just closes the cell door. “What the hell, Daryl!”

“She doesn’t want to get out” Daryl shrugs his shoulders, “there ain’t much more I can do about it.”

“She’s right you know…” you glare at him when he passes you at the basement door, “you all pick the ones that you feel don’t belong here and target them, unleashing your anger and fears out on them.”

“Like I told her; Negan’s different” Daryl responds to your remark. “You weren’t here when The Saviors were terrorizing us all, you don’t know the REAL him.”

“I might not have known THAT Negan, no…” you nod your head at him, “but I can say that I know the Negan he is now. He’s CHANGED, that I can tell you.”

Daryl lets out a sigh, “believe what you want.” Turning to walk away, he then tells you, “maybe you can talk some sense into her…”

It took some convincing but eventually you got Lydia to come out of the cell; not that it made things less easy for you and her. Lydia still felt unwanted in the community and you were still SILENTLY being accused of being the one that helped Negan escape.

To top things off; people in Alexandria mysteriously began getting sick; a handful of people were exhibiting what seemed to be a stomach virus.

Not long you found yourself being ill as well; you were exhibiting all the symptom as the rest of them, but you felt like it was even worse. Luckily you didn’t have a fever like most of them, but you found that you couldn’t even handle smells nor the taste of certain things at the moment without having to throw up, it had gotten to a point where you couldn’t even stomach drinking the water.

Dante and Siddiq was pushing you to stay hydrated but you just couldn’t stomach the water, unless it was boiled with some fresh ginger, lemon and mint. It was the only thing besides dried toast that you could keep down at this time.

Eventually you began to feel a bit better; everything having settled down to just a bit of nausea during certain times of the day and some light-headedness. You found as long as you stuck with your new ‘diet’, you were ok, so you summed it up to being stress over the whole situation surrounding Negan’s escape.

You feared over how Negan was doing on his own on the outside, of what would happen to him if they ever found him, not to mention if he ever had the misfortune of running into the Whisperers.

Siddiq them were at a lost in figuring out what it was that was making everyone so violently, yet when you seem to have gotten better. They even tried your remedy at one point, yet nothing seemed to work, eventually you brushed it off as that your episode was probably due to stress, accompanied by your pre-existing ailments.

You and Lydia were sitting on the front steps of your house when Daryl and Carol walked up to the house with a tied up, blindfolded man. The two of you quickly got up; curious to what was going on, you shot Daryl a questioning look when you saw them leading him towards the jail cell. Placing his hand on his lips, Daryl shakes his at head the both of you to remain quiet.

“That guy, he’s a Whisperer…” Lydia comments once they had disappeared downstairs.

Shooting Lydia a look of surprise, you respond, “how did they manage to capture him? And why?”

“I’m not sure” she replies, “but one thing’s certain; this isn’t going to end well…”

“I agree” you remark, “whatever the heck those two are up to, I want nothing to do with it. I already have half of the community on my ass over Negan, I don’t need more drama added to the shit pile I got stacked against me.”

Lydia nods her head in agreement, a look of worry written clearly over her face. “Come on, let’s go inside, the less we know; the better…” you tell her as you both head inside the house.

Lydia was supposed to be helping you out with inventory; you thought it was best to keep her out of the line of fire, yet you couldn’t find her anywhere inside the house at this moment. Deciding to check for her outside, you ended up crossing paths with Daryl as you came out of the house.

“Hey…” Daryl greets you. “Hi…” you nod at him, your eyes concentrated on the basement door.

Noticing where you were looking at, Daryl comments, “Carol and me ran into him while scouting for Alpha’s hoard; he’s a Whisperer.”

“I know” you respond, “Lydia recognized him when you guys brought him pass us.”

“We brought him so that we can find out if Alpha’s behind the recent waves of Walkers and what she’s planning” Daryl then explains to you.

Lifting your hands in the air, you respond, “I want nothing to do with what you’re doing with him. I’m already having to deal with the dirty looks and silent accusations after Negan escaped. The less I know the better.”

“I know it wasn’t you nor Lydia that let him out” Daryl tries to reassure you.

“Well, that only makes one of you” you shrug in response.

Daryl; seeing that you really didn’t want anything to do with what was happening, then takes his leave of you. After he left, you took a slow scan of the surrounding area in front of you, and that’s when you noticed Carol approaching Lydia; who was sitting across the street.

You watched as they talked to one another for a bit until Gabriel eventually walked up to them. She’s definitely up to something. You think watching Carol’s interaction with Lydia.

Three major things happened in short period time then thereafter; the Whisperer prisoner died unexpectedly, the ‘mysterious virus’ had claimed its first victim and Siddiq finally figured out what it was that was making everyone so ill. It was found that someone had deliberately tampered with the water filtering; resulting in everyone having consumed unsafe water. No wonder you couldn’t stomach the taste of it.

One thing you had picked up on yourself; was that Carol was seeming awfully interested in Lydia than usual. Thinking it might be due them both having loved and lost Henry; you tried to not dwell to much on it, but still kept a close eye on Carol though.

And just when things seemed to be getting better, something terrible happened; Dante killed Siddiq. Turns out he was a Whisperer all along; sent by Alpha to infiltrate and damage the community from the inside, as well as the one that was behind the sabotages of the graffiti spread all over and tampering of the water supply, amongst other things.

Believing that Lydia had perhaps spent the night over at Daryl them, you headed over there to look for her. “Y/N, hi…” Carol greets you opening the front door.

“Hey, Carol” you give a faint smile, “is Lydia here? She’s supposed to be assisting me this morning, so I thought I’d come get her.”

“Oh, um…” Carol drags her response out, “she… um…”

“She ain’t here” Daryl answers coming to the door himself.

“Oh” you look at them both in surprise, “I thought she spent the night here…”

“She did, but left early this morning to go hunting” Carol answers with a tight smile.

Daryl eyes her, shaking his head. “She’s gone” remarks in response.

You frown at his remark, “what do you mean; gone?”

“Why don’t you ask her…” Daryl replies tilting his head toward Carol.

Turning to Carol, you arch a brow in question. “I needed her help to expose Alpha lies…” Carol shrugs at you in response.

“Ok… so where did she go?” you then ask.

Daryl awkwardly clears his throat, eyeballing Carol. “I lied to her about where we were going and the reason behind it” Carol matter-of-factly replies, her face void of any emotions. “When she realized it; she got mad and took off.”

Your body instantly fills with anger then, “You truly are a cold-hearted Bitch!” you sneer at her in response.

“Excuse me?” Carol raises a brow in surprise at your remark.

“You used that girl for your own vendetta!” you angrily respond, “you used her grief over Henry to get your revenge on Alpha! You don’t give a shit about who you hurt as long as you get what you want!”

“It’s true that I’m doing this to get my revenge on Alpha, yeah” Carol agrees, nodding her head. “but I’m also doing it to keep Alexandria safe.”

“Ha! Please…” you let out a mocking laugh, “that’s bullshit and we both know it.” You turn to Daryl then, “where exactly was she last seen?”

Daryl shakes his head at you, “nah, you ain’t going out there after her.”

“Someone has to, before Alpha finds her” you respond.

“We’re heading out to find the location of Alpha’s horde” Daryl tells you. “I’ll try and find her while we’re out there.”

Knowing you didn’t really have much of a choice, you nod your head in agreement and then head back to your house.

You decided to tidy the house up a bit in a way to keep yourself busy, so the worry over where Lydia could be right now wouldn’t get to you. Opening the hallway closet; you're surprised by the crowbar that Negan brought home, falling out of it and nearly landing on your feet.

A sad smile crosses your face as you picked it up. ��Where are you Negan…” you speak out to the empty house, “please be safe. I need you to be safe…”

Not feeling up to doing anything after that, you head upstairs to the bedroom. Heading for Negan’s dresser, you take one of his nightshirts; stripping the clothes you were wearing and then slipping on his shirt.

Climbing back into bed, you grab his pillow; hugging it tightly as you slowly drift to sleep, your mind filled with images of Negan as your heart yearned to be in his arms once again.

Part 13

tag list: @rockey258 @ultrasweetnephilim @twd-fanfics @starry-night-20 @dellsdeath  @vaaalexandra @thatgirljayy​ @aleemendoza2425-blog

[kickthecan-revolution]

This feather almost floated into my hand today.

Confirmed from my sister that my mom is drinking. I knew it, and I’m relieved to know that dark rant was because she was drunk. Go crazy, I’d drink too if I were in that place and it’s none of our business. My sister and I were dying laughing on the phone - I said “mom told me she was so depressed, she was slurring her words and couldn’t talk well. I actually hung up the phone with her and googled ‘is slurring words symptom of depression’”. 🤣🤣🤣

I still laugh as I write that. Bless. It’s none of our business how she self medicates , she’s 87 years old. I am so at peace with knowing it’s not my story or responsibility.

I’m sitting in the animal hospital across the canal from my place now, trying to get in front of this aggression and itchiness with Minnie. I actually couldn’t believe I made the appointment, it’s like a dream state preparing to get her in her carrier. I almost bailed but that’s not being a grown up, Di. I was going to Lyft but ended up walking, it took me five min. They are the COOLEST, she seems pretty good. Getting a full senior blood panel on her and they want to try a steroid for her itchiness, but the good news is that she doesn’t show any signs of infection.

This week was so full. I keep reminding myself -saying out loud - that EVERYTHING brought into my world is for my safety, growth, betterment and freedom. it’s helping. My boss is so fucking smart, I’m intimidated by it and scared I won’t measure up. I’m self-taught in almost everything I’m good at. But I’m also good at it. I just have to be comfortable learning. She’s out next week and made it clear when she gets back, I need to have a plan for my people. And I will.

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 28

a/n : aha,,, ahaha,,,,, listen, i know this is a jimin au okay I KNOW -- but this chapter belongs to jung hoseok and thats that im sorry

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_______________________________

When Y/n finds Jimin down by the lake, she feels that every fiber of her being wants her to turn back, wants her to run and hide under her blankets -- as if she’s the one that needs protecting from him. He doesn’t see her until she’s a few feet away, approaching him from the shoreline. The smile he gives her when he turns is kind but reserved, like he’s preoccupied. She lets out an awkward laugh.

“Why did you want to meet down here in the middle of the night? Way to be weird, Jimin.” He rolls his eyes playfully, nudging her with his elbow before gesturing back toward the ground not far away, covered in grass instead of the sand here by the water. Y/n follows him there, taking a seat next to him with question marks in her eyes when he doesn’t answer her. He snickers at her confusion.

“You’re really stuck on this, huh? Maybe I just wanted to look at the stars with you.” Her features scrunch up cutely as she reacts to his admittedly cheesy one-liner, and he feels the tips of his ears go red. “Okay, I swear that sounded better in my head.” She grins before turning away, looking up at the sky in contemplation. Jimin thinks that maybe, in other circumstances, they really would have been able to sit here together in peaceful silence and watched the stars all night long. He hates that he has to ruin it.

“I actually… I have to talk to you.” She doesn’t pull her gaze from the sky, but he does notice that her expression has clouded over with something he can’t place. It looks a lot like resignation. Swallowing once and trying to shake out his nervous limbs as subtly as possible, he takes a single deep breath before turning his upper body to face her. She still won’t look at him.

“I know you’re probably going to hate my guts after this, and I completely deserve that because I’m selfish and stupid, and I’m too nosy for my own good, and I never should have pushed so much, but I--”

“I know.”

“Yeah, I know you know that I’m an idiot, and that I’m annoying, and that I ask too many questi--”

“Jimin, I know.” He stops then, and the look of pure confusion he gives her breaks her heart. She has no idea that the pained expression she’s giving him is breaking his. She can’t even keep her eyes on him when she continues. “I know that you know.”

Jimin jaw drops, and he gets the idea that he looks a bit like a dying fish, closing and opening his mouth as he tries to figure out how to continue. He hadn’t planned for this turn of events when he’d practiced the conversation in his head.

“You -- but how? Was I too obvious?” He sits up straight, terrified that his suspicious behavior had already gotten her into more danger. “Did I do something that risked your secret? What was it? Tell me so I can make sure never to do it again--” Y/n’s eyes shut as she sighs, and she quiets him with a shake of her head.

“Dumbledore told me, the day after you’d gone to see him. He wanted to warn me.” Jimin stares at the side of her head, processing that she’d known almost two weeks that he’d figured everything out, but she hadn’t confronted him about it. “I haven’t told the boys yet, but I’ve been freaking out about it. I wanted to talk to you right away, but… I decided to wait until you were ready to talk about it…” Her eyes flick to him, but at the sight of his gaze fixed completely on her, his attention fully hers, she looks away. “I was scared that you hated me. Even when you kept reaching out and talking to me, I felt like… maybe you hadn’t realized exactly what I am or what that means. I was waiting for you to leave me. Or expose me. I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“I would never do that to you.” It falls out his mouth, feeling oddly like a confession when he says it without thinking and is immediately embarrassed. He clears his throat when she looks up at him with wide eyes, scratching awkwardly at his collarbone. “I needed time to process… not that you’re a werewolf, but that I had been such a fucking idiot the entire time. I should have listened to your friends and just let you be. I was nosy and selfish and objectively really annoying, and I hadn’t even realized that they were just trying to keep you safe by pushing me away. I’m really sorry, Y/n… for endangering you like that.”

He won’t look at her -- he can’t. But when a cold hand closes around his own, squeezing gently, he at least is able to look in her direction. She squeezes again, and, with as much courage as he’s ever had to gather at once, he lifts his eyes to meet her. She looks to be on the edge of tears, but she’s smiling at him, and it confuses him to no end.

“You’re not… mad? Because I completely understand if you are--”

“I’m not mad, Jimin. I’m kind of relieved that you know now, even if I am probably going to always be scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize that I’m a monster and run for your life.” He breathes out a laugh, knowing that she’s not joking. He just can’t imagine a version of himself, now or ever, that would look at her and see anything but the girl he’d been desperate to befriend all this time.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. I want to help you, if that’s okay. I want to do anything I can to help keep you safe.” It’s then that she pulls away from him, her expression turning apprehensive. Jimin takes one look at her and assumes it must be about her friends. “I know that Hoseok and Jungkook don’t like me, but I can talk to them if you want me to! I can explain myself and make sure they know that I’m just trying to help--” She shakes her head suddenly, cutting him off with a wave of her hands. She can already tell how her conversation with them later tonight will go, dreading having to ask them to meet so she can break the news.

“No, it’s not them… I’ll handle the boys -- it’s probably better that you aren’t there when they lose their minds, so I’ll talk to them. It’s just… things are more complicated than you think. It’s not really as simple as helping me… there are things you still don’t know, and it’s not my place to tell you…” Jimin thinks back to the way Dumbledore had called the situation ‘infinitely more complicated’ than he knew, and the way Y/n’s talking right now has him going out on a limb.

“Is this… about Remus Lupin?” Y/n meets his eyes with alarm, her breath catching audibly in her throat, and Jimin knows he’s right. “He’s… like you, right? His friends are involved, too.” She gapes at him, unsure how to respond.

“How…” He looks away, rubbing at his neck uncomfortably.

“Well, the night I figured things out -- it was a few days before the full moon, so your symptoms were a little more apparent at the time. I saw him in the Great Hall the next day, and he was looking just like you… and his friends, they act a lot like Jungkook and Hoseok sometimes… it wasn’t hard to put it together.” Y/n sits there in silence, not certain if Jimin is just really observant and was hyper-aware of everything because he’d just realized such a monumental secret, or if she needs to talk to the Marauders and her own friends about being less conspicuous. Probably both. She barely hears Jimin when he starts talking again.

“Is… that what’s keeping you from letting me help? I swear I won’t say anything -- I’ll even pretend I don’t know about him. I’ll do anything.” She watches him as he starts to devolve into what’s probably the third rant in the last half hour alone, and she knows he’s desperate to prove himself to her. He doesn’t need to -- he’d made his innocence and kindness clear to her long before he’d had any idea of her affliction. It’s everything about him, really, that’s causing her so much pain. She’s scared for him.

“Jimin… are you sure this is what you want? We’re in the middle of a war… and you’re a muggleborn. If anyone were to find me out, and they link us… I don’t know what would happen to you. Everything’s so delicate and dangerous, I don’t know if I can put you in that kind of danger.” This time it’s Jimin that reaches out for her, slipping his fingers through her own and linking their hands once he has her in his hold. He looks entirely level-headed when he looks her in the eye and responds.

“I’m with you, Y/n. I’m with you.”

--

Y/n stares up at the entrance to Slytherin common room, a deep frown set into her features. She’d made what she’d believed to be the right choice by not having Jungkook and Hoseok in the same room when she told them about Jimin -- they have a habit of enabling each other’s worst characteristics, and the last thing she wants to deal with is two enraged boys in the middle of the night. But now that she’s here, having just left a furious Jungkook in the room of requirement, she’s not looking forward to having this conversation again.

Jungkook had been surprisingly calm when she’d broken to him that Jimin had discovered her secret, but if there’s only one thing in the world that Y/n can say with complete confidence, it’s that she knows Jeon Jungkook. The look of complete ease that he’d given her had terrified her far beyond any explosion of anger. She almost prefers that he had reacted. It had taken her the better half of an hour to calm him down, only feeling comfortable texting Hoseok that she was on her way to him when she’d seen an emotion cross Jungkook’s eyes other than blank detachment. Even then, it was only annoyance at the fact that she refused to let him “talk” to Jimin on his own.

Now, it’s almost 3am, and Y/n’s only brushing away her tragic attempt at reasoning with Jungkook when the door to the Slytherin common room slides open, revealing a sleepy-eyed, bedhead-ridden Hoseok. He’s only half-dressed, clearly unable to be bothered to care about his appearance this late at night. He scratches at his bare collarbone with one finger while he squints at her, his blatant concern hidden slightly by how disgruntled he looks.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Why would you do this to me?” Y/n snorts, knowing from experience how objectively rude Hoseok can be in the first few minutes of being awake. She hopes he stays bogged down by his sleep-deprived mind long enough that he doesn’t completely lose it when she talks to him. She glances past him into the common room before responding.

“Is there somewhere we can talk in private? I have something to tell you.” Immediately, the sleep is gone from Hoseok’s eyes, and Y/n mourns the hope that he wouldn’t be clear-minded during their conversation. He nods once, pointing over his shoulder.

“My room’s fine.”

“Isn’t Yoongi there?” Hoseok shakes his head, a slight smile gracing his features while he explains.

“He got a call from Kim Seokjin not that long ago -- something about a late-night snack run and how eating alone is ‘a lonely habit’.” He shrugs, and Y/n guesses that Yoongi must get dragged out against his will by Kim Seokjin quite often if Hoseok is unbothered by it. Hoseok points again in the direction of his bedroom, and Y/n only follows with a nod.

By the time they return to his room, Hoseok’s awake enough to be self-conscious, so he’s searching for a shirt immediately, gesturing for Y/n to close the door behind her. Then he flops down onto his bed, crossing his legs and patting the spot at the end of his mattress for her. When she decides to remain standing, running her fingers along the edge of his bedpost awkwardly, Hoseok squints, suspicious.

“What happened?” Y/n closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, looking Hoseok head-on and ripping the metaphorical band-aid off.

“Jimin knows about me. He just told me. Before you say anything, we talked about it, and--”

“That little shit--” Hoseok’s standing from his bed, fists balled up in rage as he heaves out an enraged breath. “When I get my hands on that nosy, obnoxious fucking twerp--”

“Hoseok, wait! Wait.” Y/n holds her hands out in front of her, planting them on his chest while she stares up at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay! It’s fine, we talked! He’s not going to say anything to anyone, even about the stuff with Remus--” She’ll admit that saying that last part probably wasn’t her best idea, considering how Hoseok reacts, blind with fury.

“What do you mean? What does that mean?!” He’s growing louder now, and Y/n knows she has to calm him down before he wakes the entirety of Slytherin house. Taking his face in her hands, she tries to force him to focus solely on her, but it only results in Hoseok gripping at her wrists, desperation clear in the way his hold is shaking. He’s looking at her with wild eyes, demanding an explanation for something so wholly unacceptable, but Y/n can’t give that to him while he’s like this.

“Hoseok, I need you to breathe, okay? I’m okay. I will be okay. But I need you to lower your voice and breathe. Don’t think about anything else.” This display -- a total loss of control -- is what she’d expected from Jungkook, but the boy who’d been beside her their entire lives must have known better than to show his ruthless side and risk upsetting her. In this moment, Hoseok, who’s always so keen on hiding himself behind a mask, is seeing red the way he never has before, and that’s what scares Y/n most.

“Eyes on me, Hobi, hm? Look at me -- I’m right here, and I’m okay. Look at me. See? I’m perfectly fine. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I promise.” She’d somehow managed to bring him down from his erratic high, keeping his face close until she could see in his eyes that he’s looking only at her. His breath is ragged, and if she thinks she’s caught the slightest tremble of his bottom lip when he opens his mouth, he’s hiding it well. But what he whispers to her breaks her heart clean in half.

“You can’t promise me that. The more people that know about you, the harder it is for me to trick myself into believing you.” Taking a breath to stop herself from tearing up, she releases him slowly, stepping back when he only moves to sit back down on the edge of his bed.

“Hobi… you can’t do anything to Jimin, okay? You can’t confront him or do anything rash. I mean it.” It takes a few moments, but finally Hoseok is lifting his eyes to meet hers. He nods, and Y/n knows that’s all she’ll be able to get out of him. She wishes it was enough, that weak agreement, but if there’s one other thing in the world she can say with complete confidence, it’s that she doesn’t know Hoseok quite as well as she knows Jungkook.

--

Jimin’s on his way to class the next morning, lost in his thoughts about Y/n -- he can’t seem to focus on anything else these days -- when he’s unceremoniously dragged by the back of his robes into an empty classroom and shoved against the nearest wall. Hissing at the pain, he barely has time to slump over and catch his breath before he’s being pinned back against the cold stone by a pair of very determined hands.

He stills completely when he finally lifts his gaze and meets the eyes of Jung Hoseok. The Slytherin is visibly furious, his glare almost manic as he pushes Jimin’s shoulders back into the wall. He only lets up when an involuntary cry of pain escapes Jimin, but he never lets the boy go.

“Now, you’re going to listen to what I have to say, and you’re going to listen closely. Yeah?” Jimin isn’t sure it’s a question that needs answering, considering that he’s literally trapped, but the increased pressure of Hoseok’s knuckles on his chest has him nodding frantically. Hoseok doesn’t release him when he leans down into his face.

“For some ungodly reason, Y/n has decided that you can be trusted, and I’m sure you loved that she said she’d talk to us so you wouldn’t have to do it yourself, huh? But I think that you deserve to have the whole picture, Park -- look at me when I’m talking to you.” Jimin had shut his eyes simply from the proximity of Hoseok’s hateful glare, unable to handle it, but when the older boy shakes him roughly, he opens his eyes so wide that he’s terrified to even blink.

“This game you’re playing? Using your obvious little crush on Y/n as an excuse to pry into her business and put her in danger just because you like sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? It needs to stop. Because you don’t know all the rules, Jimin. And you don’t get any do-overs.” Jimin can feel the grip on his shirt starting to tremble, and at first he thinks maybe Hoseok’s so enraged that he’s actually shaking, but the glint in his eye tells Jimin differently. It tells him that Hoseok is scared -- he’s terrified. The uncertainty of Jimin’s existence in Y/n’s life -- not knowing if this is going to end badly for them -- it’s scaring him, and Jimin gets the feeling that Hoseok’s someone who deals with fear by being angry. Taking a very big risk, he whispers out to the 7th year.

“I swear, I just want to hel--agh!” Squeezing his eyes shut when Hoseok lifts him away from the wall and promptly slams him back into it, he doesn’t finish his plea. He can feel Hoseok’s breath fanning angrily over his face, and he swears a low growl rumbles from deep within the Slytherin’s chest when he responds.

“Shut up! You don’t know what that even means. You don’t know how to help. All you’ve done is screw things up for us, so let me welcome you into our little group with a warning.” A hand clamps the sides of Jimin’s jaw, lifting his face and squeezing hard until Jimin opens his eyes to look at Hoseok.

“You get one chance, so if you even come close to screwing that up, Y/n is the last thing you’ll have to worry about. Clear?” Jimin nods again, the hand on his face making that incredibly difficult. Finally, Hoseok releases him and steps back, watching with unmasked annoyance as Jimin fixes his clothes and rubs at all the spots he’s sure will be bruised by morning. They stare at each other, Hoseok eventually rolling his eyes with a sigh.

“Y/n told me you want to help. She asked me to mentor you in potion-making. I only agreed to it because she’s very stubborn when she wants to be, and someone needs to take over her doses. I won’t go easy on you, so you better be ready for a summer of hell. I need to know she’ll be safe with you once I’m gone, and frankly, I don’t even trust you to boil a pot of fucking water, much less a dangerous, highly sensitive potion.” Jimin swallows hard but doesn’t comment on the blatant insult, only processing that Jung Hoseok has agreed to train him.

Hoseok’s eyes flicker to the door, and Jimin takes that as his cue that the conversation -- if that’s what this was -- is finished, so he wanders out of the room in a slight daze, Hoseok following closely. As if the universe is telling him that this moment can, in fact, get much worse, Jimin meets the eyes of one Jeon Jungkook as the Gryffindor happens to be passing on the way to class. Where Hoseok’s glare was unbridled fire and rage, Jungkook’s gaze is turning to pure ice, and Jimin can’t decide which is worse. Jungkook doesn’t even acknowledge him as he passes, breaking eye contact and going on his way as if Jimin doesn’t even exist. Hoseok chuckles darkly behind him.

“I almost feel bad for you, Jimin. If you think you have it bad with me, you’re in for a real treat with Jungkook.”

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Nickèd Names

Yuu finally learns who her funny Horned Boy is. This one takes place just after the ghost wedding. Content warning for coarse language and frank talk of bodily functions.

As always, check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag for more, and don’t be afeared to send me a message if you enjoyed something!

~*~*~*~

"You're finally back in class?"

You nodded at Deuce. "Stopped pissing blood every time I sneezed, so I'm back."

There's much to be said for kissing pretty ghost girls, but the main drawback is that when you do, you immediately, catastrophically hemorrhage from every pore as all your organs fail, and even with magical healing, you're still bedridden for a week. You wouldn't be doing that again. Maybe. Eliza was very cute.

"You're back. Excellent." Trein dropped a stack of papers in front of you. "Here's the work you missed."

You blinked up at him in horror. "Professor, I nearly died."

He stared back, face impassive. "You nearly did. And I'm fond of your work ethic. That's why you get this instead of a fail."

"... I'll take that."

~*~*~*~

It's after dark, so he should be along any time now. You set your phone down and wait.

True to form, your funny horned boy is soon sitting on the railing of your balcony, smiling at you. "You're all better now?"

"Better-ish." You might never get to stop taking those pills and supplements. "Why didn't you come by the room?"

"You don't know that I didn't. You slept a fair deal."

"Rude. Let's walk."

~*~*~*~

You're too tired to try the woods, so you're both slowly picking your way around the dorm grounds, your pretty horned boy keeping an eye that you don't trip. You could count the times he's touched you on one hand; when you asked, he said he didn't want to be rude. Perhaps he wasn't as fond of you as he seemed.

A buzz from your phone, Ortho wanted a symptoms check-in. You tapped back that you're fine, and your boy peered over your shoulder, leaning this way and that. Curiosity took the better of you.

"... You do know what a phone is, right?"

He chuckled. "Of course I do, my child of man. Not all technology is unknown in my homeland."

"Do you have one? I can give you my number."

He shook his head. "After I broke my last one, we decided it really wasn't necessary."

"You can replace them, you know."

"It was my... fifth?" He started counting on his hands. "No, sixth. They're delicate. After going through that many in as many weeks, we simply canceled the contract."

Your eyebrows went up through no effort of your own. "Jesus, you have the dropsies that bad?"

"The what?"

"Dropsies.” You mimed opening your hand, dropping something. “You dropped them."

"The first one went that way. Most simply shattered when I pressed the screen too hard, and one Lilia threw against a wall."

You decided to ask Lilia how he know your boy later. "Why'd he do that?"

"I tried to download a game and got, in his words, 'so many viruses.' " He seemed rather proud of himself. "They clearly weren't bad ones, I did not cough once."

"No, honey, that's not how that-" Even in the gloom, you saw he'd turned an alarming shade of red, and you backtracked. "Uh, you want to see anything on mine? I have pictures."

"Only if you don't hand me it."

~*~*~*~

"So there is a camera on this?"

"Yeah, most phones have them. Watch." You opened the camera, and hit the button so that the front camera was on, reflecting your spotty face and a wide-eyed faerie boy behind you. "This one's for selfies."

He made a face of pure confusion, and you hit the button to capture it, and showed him.

"Could you... not do that again? It's not proper." 

"You know it doesn't steal your soul, right?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but again, sheer confusion stopped him until he gathered himself. "You always surprise me. But no, it's that... portraits are a formal thing. You shouldn't share that."

You blinked up at him with your best, sweetest face. "Is this just because you don't want me to ask around for your proper name with it?"

he stopped, blinked, inclined his head. "That didn't occur to me until now, but yes."

"I'll keep it to myself, I promise," you lied, and he believed you, and therefore did not hex your phone when he returned you to your room.

~*~*~*~

It was only partially a lie; you didn't actually show it to anyone. You simply set the picture of you both as your lockscreen, so you could enjoy it anytime. And this was what got Ace staring at your phone like it started sprouting feathers and clucking.

"Why do you have a picture of yourself with Malleus Draconia?"

Ah, so that’s it, you thought to yourself. "Who? That's my Horny Boy."

"what"

"Yeah, he said I could call him whatever I wanted because names are special and he's kind of a dumbass and let me."

Ace put an arm around your shoulder. "Yuu, I need to tell you why that is the second stupidest thing you've done in your life."

~*~*~*~

"He's not scary. You're clearly mistaken."

Ace flailed, halfway between exasperation and disbelief. "He's the strongest magic user in the school! Fifth strongest in the world! He is the Prince of Thorns and a big scary dragon and could kill you in the blink of an eye."

You frowned at him. "He is a great big loser who likes gargoyles and has zero clue about anything, ever. Have you ever actually talked to him?"

Ace gave you his best are-you-fucking-stupid-or-something face. "Of course not. He's also a third year, on top of everything else. I don't want to get turned into a rose bush or something."

"He's actually very easy to talk to. Probably because everyone's too scared to talk to him."You paused. "I'm gonna go talk to him."

"Nope!" Ace pulled you back in to your seat. "What if you curses you because you know his real name?"

"I highly doubt that. Let me go, Ace."

He smirked at you. "If you wanna go so bad then pull away." 

"You know I can't do that, Ace." You're still too weak from your sickroom stay. "If you want me to stay, fine."

So you sat on his lap with a heavy flop, and watched him wince in pain. Even with all the weight lost from your illness, you're still too heavy for him. But he, stubborn brat, still gripped your arm and glared at you.

A battle of wills, one overweight brat and one stubborn weakling, rapidly losing sensation in his legs. "You're not going. I can stay here all day. You'll get bored before I do."

He's not wrong, but you have a secret weapon. "Keep me here and I'll fart on you."

He narrowed his eyes at you. "You can not fart on command."

You leaned over. "You don't know that. For all you know I had cabbage rolls for lunch and it's been brewing all day. You really wanna try me, Trappola?"

He did not want to try you, and, let you go with a grunt of disgust. "If you die, it's not my fault!"

"I'm not gonna die!"

"You said that about the ghost princess!"

"Is everyone going to hold that against me now?"

"YES!"

~*~*~*~

You found your horned boy in a pissing match with Kingscholar, and you decided to be as petty and obnoxious as possible. Walking up behind him - Malleus, what a pretty, pretty name for a witch boy - You simply wrapped your arms around his middle and squeezed, while he froze in place posed like a cowboy about to draw.

Leona started snickering. "Really? You get that few hugs in your life?"

"Shush." You peered under Malleus's arm, while he looked down at you. "Malleus? Can we talk a moment?"

Interesting. He could turn even paler than what he was.

~*~*~*~

"So the entire reason you didn't share who you were is that you thought I wouldn't want to hang out any more."

He nodded. "Most people are afraid of who I am. And you have generally unkind things to say about monarchies, as it is. I did not think you would take the prince thing kindly."

"Well." You shrugged. "Now I know why you kept taking notes whenever I started on that."

"You have many interesting things to say about it!" He brightened considerably. "I couldn't have a shift to elections within my lifetime, obviously, but much of it would be great to try implementing."

"Wouldn't your big scary grandma have anything to say about that?"

His smile was thin, but genuine. "She has much to say on most topics. But, if she did not want me to be exposed to new ideas, she could have simply kept me at home and continued with my private tutors."

You couldn't argue with that. "One last thing, Malleus."

He tilted his head slightly, face faintly pink. How could anyone be scared of him? He's so adorable it's enough to make you sick.

"I don't think I'll call you Horned Boy anymore, now that I know your more proper name."

He looked... disappointed, and you continued. "Mal's a little better for a nickname, yeah? Less of a mouthful."

He made a small noise, considering, before brightening. "Anything that you call me is perfection, my friend."

[killemwithkawaii]

Goretober 2022 Day 17: Recovery

This afternoon, I knocked on the bathroom door. Mitch had been camped out in there since this morning, and from what I could make out through the door, he’d been cycling through stages of yelling and throwing/breaking things, vomiting, crying, and sitting in silence, not necessarily in that order. I’d given him space to cool off, but I knew things were starting to get rough, and I was getting worried when it was past noon and I hadn’t heard a peep out of him for over half an hour.

I gathered a few things, then tapped on the thin wood with one knuckle and softly called out his name. I was told to go away and leave him alone. I picked the cheap lock and opened the door. 

The bathroom looked and smelled about how you would expect. There were a few new holes in the walls, and a few new stains on the tile. Mitchie was kneeling in front of the toilet, resting his head on his skinny arms, which were folded over the seat. He was trembling, and his shirt was soaked through with sweat. He groaned, spat, and once again told me to go away and leave him alone. I kneeled down next to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but was too weak to push me away as I started to gather up his hair into a ponytail.

“Uuugghh, stoooop…”

“Uh, no. Your hair is falling in the bowl. That’s gross. Let me fix it…”

I finished tying up his hair with one of my hairbands and stood again, running cool water in the sink to soak a washcloth. I wrung it out and folded it before sitting down next to him and placing it on the back of his neck. After I made sure it was secure, I started slowly rubbing my palm in circles on his upper back, trying to calm him down and get him to breathe. He held it in until it came out with a sob.

“...Why are you doing this stuff for me? I ca…. I don’t know what you want from me…! I don’t have anything to give you anymore…”

“I don’t want anything from you. I just want you to be okay.”

Another few sobs snuck out.

“I’ve been so mean to you… why do you still care? I don’t want you to care! Just leave me alone… Please, I do-,” He stifled a gag, “… I don’t want you to see me like this…” 

“Because, even though you act like a dick in this universe, I still love you. And, I’ve seen you way worse, believe it or not… A little puke isn’t gonna scare me away.”

He sniffled and was silent for a minute, but trying to digest my words seemed to make his stomach churn more than it already was.

“.....Uuugh… Fuuuuuck, I don’t even have anything to puke up anymore…. God, this sucks…!”

“I can fix that, too. Let’s get you set up on the couch, and I’ll make you something to eat, okay? It’ll be more comfortable than being wrapped around the toilet all day….”

We did just that.

I arranged pillows and blankets on the couch, got a bucket at-the-ready in case of ‘emergencies’, and made some toast for him to nibble and a glass of juice to sip. I also set a pile of papers and magazines on the coffee table in case he needed something other than myself or the television to distract him while he rode out his withdrawal symptoms. I went back into the bathroom to get him, and I gently took his arm. He let me help him stand, rinse out his mouth, change his clothes, and lead him to the blanket nest I’d constructed for us. As I helped him lie down, and he let me lay down beside him and brush the bangs from his damp forehead, I was struck with a bought of deja vu- of us in his messy little studio apartment on one of our days off together, in the motel room where she and I had hidden while we were on the run, and in the cabin where they and I had had our sixth first 'honeymoon' together… 

We’ve been here since then, talking and watching TV together, and I’ve been doing my best to help keep him comfortable. Except for a few surly moments, he’s been more and more receptive to the concept of no-strings-attached attention, and seems to be in better spirits than he was earlier today, despite his symptoms persisting. He used the papers that I left on the coffee table to make this. I think it, and the fact that neither of us died today, is a sign that things might finally be going right for us. At least, I can hope that they are.

I really, really hope that they are.

[half-bakedboy]

All Too Well

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Contains spoilers from season 5 episode 2: Desperate Times

Summary: “Is that enough?”

Buck spits the words right back, more venom that Eddie could have tried to muster. He doesn’t mean to. He really doesn’t. If anything, he had tried to keep his emotions at bay the second Ana’s name lingered between them.

But he does.

Because if that’s enough for Eddie, why doesn’t he love Buck?

Or a look inside Buck's head during their panic attack talk.

(read on ao3)

Buck has never been one to hesitate before talking to his best friend, but he sees Eddie with an arm over his face, lying down for the first time since Ana and Christopher left, and his feet feel like they’re stuck to the floor. 

He takes a few deep breaths, preparatory, anxiety-reducing, reminders that he’s breathing and that his best friend is hurting. He’s the one to make things better, to get Eddie through everything, so why is he hesitating? 

“Hey, are you sleeping or just pretending?” 

He knows the answer but is grateful when Eddie actually speaks. 

“I was actually trying to until you interrupted.”

Sarcasm, that’s— good. Buck isn’t sure when sass and thinly veiled annoyance became good but he isn’t about to overthink it like he has been for the last hour. 

“I’m exhausted,” Buck offers. He thinks that maybe if he shares something small, Eddie might be willing to give in return. “Uh, how are you feeling?” 

Buck knows the answer to this question, too, and he finds himself secretly hoping Eddie answers in sarcasm so he can truly convince himself that things are okay, that his hesitation was unwarranted.

“Hot,” Eddie drawls, “I’m sweating out of places I didn’t know I could.”

Well, Buck did ask for sarcasm. He didn’t expect the glint of arousal to strike through him like lightning, though. 

Or the quick jolt of panic as he rakes his eyes over Eddie’s body for nothing other than symptoms, an indication of what might be wrong because, for the first time since he’s met Eddie, he doesn’t know.  

“Not like a cold sweat though, right? Any chest pains?” 

Buck yearns to reach out, to feel Eddie’s pulse in his wrist, press a palm over his forehead to check for a fever. Hell, he would go grab a blood pressure cuff and EKG monitor from the ambulance if Hen and Chim wouldn’t yell at him. Buck considers it more than he should because he needs to know that Eddie’s really okay before he drives himself crazy. 

Eddie just stares, unimpressed. 

“You don’t give up, do you?” 

Nope, Buck thinks, though he wouldn’t risk saying it out loud. After a long exasperated sigh, Eddie relents, “I’m fine, Buck.” Like Buck is actually supposed to believe him or something. 

“People who are fine don’t go and see cardiologists,” Buck responds. 

He’s clutching the clipboard in his lap a little too tight and he feels it. The way his knuckles burn, the way his fingertips crease the papers he’s been pretending to focus on all day. He hopes Eddie doesn’t notice. He hopes that he does.

Because Eddie is a lot of things, but he isn’t oblivious. That oblivious. Buck sighs. 

“You need to tell me if something is wrong,” Buck finally says. 

It’s not a request, it’s an order. One that he’s not sure Eddie will follow, but one that he hopes will get the point across. 

Because Buck is scared.  

He’s been terrified ever since Eddie’s blood splattered all over his face, since he watched the nurses shove a tube down his throat and make no promises. Since Eddie sat beside him, alive and well, and trusted him with the most important thing in his life—in Buck’s life. 

That fear has only risen ever since he saw the way Ana smiled up at him during his welcome home and the way Eddie grinned right back, the smile Buck had too long convinced himself was his own. How comfortable she looked mixed in with his family, the family Buck started to consider his. 

He’s scared because he’s never felt so much, so strongly for another person since— No, that’s not right. He’s never felt this way about anyone . 

Eddie isn’t just another person to destroy him, another partner to tell lies and fall away. He isn’t going to be replaced in Eddie’s life just because he has someone else, someone who might know what’s going on in his head and doesn’t have to demand an answer. 

Eddie is different, he always has been. And Buck has to hold onto that. 

He does even when Eddie speaks again. 

“It was a panic attack, not a heart attack,” Eddie sighs as he sits up. Buck knows he’s irritated but he can’t bring himself to care. He has always mildly irritated Eddie, why should this time be any different?

Actually, he finds himself gripping even tighter at the clipboard—at hope— when Eddie admits to it. 

Panic. Of all the things Buck thinks Eddie is going to say, panic isn’t one of them. 

“Since when do you panic?” 

Then he considers the number of times he’s woken up in sweat-soaked sheets that felt too much like Eddie’s blood and tears in his eyes that he can’t seem to wipe away fast enough as they burn his cheeks. The pain of his sobs that still tear through him when he remembers the lost look on Eddie’s face in the firetruck, asking if Buck was okay like it mattered. The feeling of failure when Christopher’s hand patted softly at his shoulder.  

“That’s what I said.”

Something flashes in Eddie’s eyes that looks like surprise, realization, but Buck pushes it aside. He can’t cling to hope too tightly. He knows how that works out for him in the end. 

“I don’t panic,” Eddie huffs and then exhales, “except I did.” 

“Okay, well, what triggered it?” Buck lists off the reasons for his own panic, expecting a match, but Eddie doesn’t stop him to agree. 

He stops him to argue and it isn’t what Buck expects. 

“That wasn’t it,” Eddie interrupts exasperatedly. “If I’m being honest with myself, I—”

When has Eddie ever been dishonest with himself? 

“I think it was Ana.” 

Ana. The name that spirals in Buck’s mind too often when he has to remind himself that Eddie isn’t his. The name that only passes his lips drenched in sarcasm or malice or a thin veil of hope when he doesn’t think too much about what he is saying. 

The name that sparks nerves, anxiety, fear, dread, confusion— 

Panic. 

“Uh,” Buck stutters, hoping his heart beating out of his chest isn’t obvious, “I thought things were great with Ana.” 

He watched Eddie kiss her on the cheek during her surprise visit, watched as Christopher hoped out loud for a new mom, a wife for his father. Sure, he didn’t react exactly how Buck had expected, but he didn’t seem to panic. 

Or he did and Buck was too focused on his own misery to truly see it.

“She’s been a godsend through all of this, staying with Christopher, but… I think that’s what’s causing the panic.” 

He sounds so sure, so confident that there couldn’t be anything else, which is the Eddie that Buck remembers. Buck isn’t sure it’s the Eddie he wants to see at this moment, though. He wants to see Eddie happy, Eddie making plans for his future, Eddie beaming at the thought of being in love with a perfect person, the one that Ana seems to be. He wants Eddie to feel the joy that comes from spending time with him, the way Buck does. 

“Somehow we became a ready-made family and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” 

He says the other word that haunts Buck’s nightmares. 

Buck always thought he knew what family meant, what family was supposed to be, then his parents stopped caring. Then Maddie left and he was all alone. He thought he had found his family at the one-eighteen soon after and he was happy. God, was he happy, for the first time since he could remember. 

Then he met Eddie. 

Then he met Christopher. 

How defines his family is a little cloudy now. 

“So what are you gonna do?” 

And isn’t that the question of the day, the minute, the seconds that he spends gripping onto the clipboard in front of him to keep his hands from reaching, comforting, desiring. 

Eddie shakes his head. 

“I’m just gonna stick it out. Ana’s been the first woman I’ve wanted to spend this much time with since Shannon…”

“Stick it out?” 

Buck flashes back to his own attempt at sticking it out. Convincing himself that eventually, Eddie will realize what they mean to each other. His plans to stick it out even if it meant he wouldn’t be as happy as he could be, had pretended he deserved to be. He was going to stick it out because he would have Eddie in whatever way he could. 

“That’s not how you talk about someone you’re in love with.”

Buck’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or Eddie anymore. 

“My kid loves her,” Eddie shoots back, heat in his voice that doesn’t match the worry on his face. 

Buck’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or Buck anymore. 

“Is that enough?” 

Buck spits the words right back, more venom that Eddie could have tried to muster. He doesn’t mean to. He really doesn’t. If anything, he had tried to keep his emotions at bay the second Ana’s name lingered between them. 

But he does. 

He wants to grab Eddie’s shoulders, shake them until his brain wobbles into sense, kiss him and mutter the words back to him a million times over. 

Because if that’s enough for Eddie, why doesn’t he love Buck?

Is that enough? Is that enough for you to love me back? Is that enough for you to spend the rest of your life with me instead? For me to stop pretending anyone else is going to be a better fit for me than you? 

Because I love your kid more than anyone in the world, Eddie, and if that’s enough, then… 

Why not me?

Eddie’s silent for a moment too long, a second prolonged into a minute, that might have lasted forever if Buck didn’t break it. 

“Eddie, I’ve been Ana. I know what it’s like to be in love with someone who’s not all the way in.”

He thinks of his parents first. Then he thinks of Abby. Even Ali flashes through his tired mind. 

But nothing lingers like Eddie. Nothing has ever lingered like Eddie. 

“Deep down you know it and it hurts. It hurts worse than the truth.” 

Buck’s lived through a lot of truths. His parents creating him for spare parts, Abby leaving him and not looking back, Ali unable to handle the one thing he loves most in the world— loved most in the world, past tense because there are two things, two people , that have that title now. 

He’s lived through being in love with his best friend, his best friend’s family, his best friend’s son. He knows what it’s like to hold onto that hope that maybe, just maybe, someone won’t abandon him, someone won’t think he’s not enough. He has held onto the hope that someone loves him—not in the way he wants, but loves him just the same. 

Briefly he wonders if knowing Eddie doesn’t love him back would hurt more than not knowing. 

Buck shakes his head instead of saying any of his thoughts out loud. 

“So if you don’t wanna hurt Ana, you owe it to her to be honest.” 

Buck isn’t sure whether he’s talking to himself or to Eddie. 

“It just feels like a lot, man.” 

And Buck? He knows the feeling all too well. 

[blackwaxidol]

sloshed on diphenhydramine. sleeping pills always dull my emotions, and i lose the fear of speaking honestly. radio buzzing of an angry alter echoing in my skull, he alternates between despair and rage and both leave a sense of hopelessness at the core. i see no reason to divulge what he is agonised over, and this frustrates him further. i don't mean to be unkind to him, we merely operate on very different frequencies of self-preservation. perhaps i am making excuses, perhaps i just do not know how to parse his thoughts in an appropriate manner. i have always considered him to be a creature of shallow, vast demand. i recognise the inhumanity i exhibit when i think his desire for basal human attention is selfish or otherwise asking for too much. i understand that, fully. my restraining of him is unreasonable, but i am so fearful of abandonment that i cannot chance the possibility of this backfiring. the part that i am was formed from such an event, i believe i exist to prevent a second psychological collapse. do you see now, the scope of my personality?

there were a lot of stars out earlier. Jupiter was the brightest object in the sky and it still is, two hours later, and three hours before my final dose of antibiotics. i got a new prescription, it helped until it didn't. i will have to visit a specialist, i have had this infection for 6 months.

i saw Mars, too. for the very first time i witnessed the red luminescence it is known for. to its left i saw the Seven Sisters, the Pleiades. they are a cluster of stars within Taurus, of which i saw Aldebaran.

a low-flying plane scared me more than i want to admit. it was a strange machine to me, resonating with a droning hum that filled me with terror, because i had never heard an aircraft like it until now. so, so loud.

i am dreadfully unhappy. my notes app hasn't seen an updated entry in two weeks and i remember nothing of my days. i know i cried, a lot, but trying to recall when or why feels like i am falsifying memories because it feels so distant from my own mind. i am still losing weight. a doctor thinks i might have lupus. for a whole month my right breast looked sickly, so much so that the skin looked like it had been ravaged by carcinomata. on the day i meant to visit the doctor for my antibiotics i had intended to also bring this to attention, but when i undressed for a shower i discovered my symptoms were quickly diminishing. did you know lupus can cause mastitis so horrific that it appears to mimic cancer? until this was told to me, i was in a state of agony so unmanageable that i could not exist consciously.

i use my notes app to talk about my characters, i could not even do that. the last thing i said on here was not even my own correspondence because i fell upon myself like a dying star and only Aries talks when i do that. i don't like how he navigates speech, it is far too detached.

i did not want to disappear. i did not want to be alone. i can't stand being alone. my alter cannot decide if he is laughing or crying when he tells me for the umpteenth time that nobody cares if we die. i cannot entertain the notion, there is an obstruction in my thought process everytime i try considering it. i always take that kind of mental brick wall to mean that i am either not meant to, or not allowed to be the one to unpack it. i suppose i have to concur, but there's a strange feeling in my core when i do it. i want to say "i don't think that's correct" but i can't come up with a reason as to why. i have been typing this all for so long that i don't really sense him anymore and so the urge to redact any discussion of him in this post rises to the surface. but i want to keep it in. for clarity.

i want to say "whatever.", because that is what i say to indicate i have become deeply frustrated or upset in a manner that drives me to urgently discard my feelings when i feel the alternative might be combustion. i have long since forgotten the point of this post. he drove me to write it, because he feels neglected. that's fine. it has become my post now. goodnight, it is 06:36 and i am to take my antibiotics in under two hours.

[lokislittlesigyn]

//okay just a personal post, carry on and ignore it if you like!

//tw for mental health mention, ptsd, some.. general vent-but-good stuff

So. Ah.

I’ve been wanting to make another personal post for a while. It’s just never felt right. I don’t want to upset people,or seem like I’m begging for attention, or over-share, but I also really appreciate the kind words and support people have. And.. I think I’m supposed to share? I should talk, if the time’s right? I won’t say it’s comfortable, because it isn’t always, and right and comfortable aren’t always the same thing. But I think this is right, even if it may not be comfortable.

Long story short, I brought my parents along to a therapy meeting with a new specialist that my original therapist transferred me to. I was worried my first therapist didn’t have a full grasp of the severity of what’s going on, and I needed my parents help - as the people who spend the most time with me - to express just how bad things are. The new specialist was.. Incredibly kind. He listened and cared and believed us, and suggested two things.

1. We pursue a higher level of care. Because of the severity, meetings every few weeks (or, maybe even once a week) might not be enough.

2. We conduct a series of screenings and tests to gauge what we’re dealing with, and the severity, with the possibility of getting medical necessity for further help/testing.

So this Thursday, we did the tests.

It’s a strange thing. I’ve been desperate to know what exactly is happening. What’s “wrong” with me so to speak. I suppose wrong isn’t a kind word for it, but it’s certainly not fun, the things that are going on... But I digress.

Only one came back truly negative: turns out I probably don’t have ADHD.

But depression? Positive. Moderate-severe. Anxiety? Positive. Moderate, but only because I have coping mechanisms - the specialist thinks it’s more severe than the test shows. OCD? Positive. Extremely high. Stress? I tested in the highest possible section. The same section as first responders. As people who charge into burning buildings. In the specialist’s own words, my stress levels were “off the charts.” And PTSD... I was abundantly positive and severe on that. He said if the population of the US were likened to 100 people, me and only 3 other people would be dealing with the level of PTSD I do.

And after talking to him, he confirmed my suspicions. I struggle with complex PTSD. Multiple traumas happening multiple times over... Years. Over almost my entire life. CPTSD, with symptoms of depression, anxiety, OCD, and high stress, all stemming from the underlying trauma. It was both validating and humbling to find all this out.

On the upside, these are all connected issues, like a bundle of roots from an invasive plant. On the downside, these are all connected issues, compounding on and feeding off one another.

I did another test too. A test for a certain “disorder” that came back two points away from positive. The specialist recommended better testing on that, because the written tests are flawed, and can be biased, and depending on the day results can be different. As I think about it, I realized, I think I answered some of the questions wrong. I misunderstood. And if I’d answered differently - more honestly - I think it might have been positive. I’m not sure.

I’m a little scared, honestly. I desperately want to know what’s going on. To have a name for all of this. To have a name so that I can start knowing what to do. But if I do have this... I’m going to need time to accept and process it.

I had a feeling this summer would bring a lot of self-discovery. I felt I’d find out a lot more about myself this year. Maybe these tests are part of how that happens.

For now, I’m grateful for what we know. We’re pursuing more treatment. We’re getting help. My parents have asked me to make lists of things they can do to help soothe me and make everyday life less hard - even just little things, in the hopes they’ll compound on one another. Good to balance out the bad.

It sounds very strange to me. I can’t help but wonder why we’d change anything. I’m coping well enough as is, aren’t I? I haven’t given up yet, so why should we change anything? But I think that’s the coping talking. I’ve learned that life will only ever get worse. Maybe things can get better? I just have to put faith in the fact they can... Which is immensely difficult. So many other things in my life have proven just the opposite.

But I hope I’ll be victorious one day. I have to hold onto that, right? Hold onto that and keep trying?

For what it’s worth, everyone I’ve told the test results to has been extremely kind. I wasn’t expecting it. I was expecting people to treat me different, I guess, and maybe reveal how exhausting and frustrating I am, or have been, and.. Leave.

But they didn’t.

I’m glad.

if you read this far, i commend you. this is very long and probably a lot of information. i don’t know if this will help anyone but... if you’re struggling, with anything, and you’re able? maybe try to get help. i know it can be hard, and scary, and it might not make sense. but even just in these sessions, i’ve tasted a little bit of kindness, a little bit of relief, a little bit of validation and understanding and proof that what i feel is real. i’m not just making it up or being dramatic. and that alone is worth the trouble.

be gentle with yourself.