#so i’ve never been able to get treatment for my disordered eating

[pollenallergie]

:/

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Until you come back home pt.2

John Egan X Female! Reader

Summary: Y/n received a letter from Bucky, but it was enough to push her into madness...

Warning: Obsessive love disorder/ mental institution/ electric shock/ freezing bath/ 1940s asylum treatments/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 1.9k

When Harry Crosby came in her room with his letter, she couldn’t believe it. She was going crazy without him. Harry had to argue with the Colonel that she was still sane and still able to do her work, even though it was a lie. She snatched the envelope from his hands and quickly opened it. ‘’Told you he wasn’t dead, Croz, I was right’’ she said, smiling.

My darling Y/n,

I hope you’re doing well; I’ve read every single letter you sent to me. I miss you like crazy, say thank you to Crosby for me, I know he’s taking good care of you, and I’m grateful for it. I’m going crazy too, you know, I miss you so much. I miss everything about you, the conditions are awful here; we only eat potatoes and the other day, we have to kill a cat to eat its meat. It was disgusting, the mattress is so uncomfortable, my back hurts, and I can’t sleep well without you. On a good note, Buck is alive, and he’s here at this camp. That helps a little, but I’m still going crazy. I’m going to try and come back to you, in the meantime, I’ve sent you my necklace, it’s in the envelope, it’s not much but I hope it helps you. I think about you all the time, I’ve started to do the same thing as you, calling your name, until I come back home. I’m driving the guys crazy, but I don’t care. It keeps me sane. We have to keep hoping, I feel that we’re going to see each other again, and when we do, we’re going to get married, and we’re going to live together. I love you, my darling, so much it drives me crazy. Until I come back home; Y/n, Y/n, Y/n…

She hugged the letter before showing it to Crosby. Something in her eyes wasn’t right, something changed. The last bit of her sanity evaporated with the letter, she opened the envelope, taking the necklace and putting it around her neck. ‘’We’re going to get married, Croz’’ she giggled maniacally. ‘’Y/n are you okay?’’ he asked, very concerned with his best friend’s attitude. ‘’Bucky, Bucky, Bucky’’ she kept calling his name, over and over again. ‘’You’re scaring me! Are you okay?’’ he raised his voice. ‘’Never better, Croz’’ she smiled. It pained him, but he had to place her somewhere, she didn’t look okay, and frankly, Crosby was afraid that she would hurt herself, and others. So that night, he went to talk to Colonel Harding, and then, went to his desk, to write a letter.

When Bucky saw that the letter he got was not from Y/n, he was confused. When he saw that it was from Harry Crosby, he was worried. He quickly opened the envelope to see why his girlfriend wasn’t writing to him.

Hello Bucky,

Sorry for not being Y/n. I appreciate your kind words in her letters, I tried to look after her in the best way possible, but after your letter, she’s gone mad. And I don’t mean it lightly, I was afraid for her security, I thought she was going to hurt herself and others on the base. That’s why Colonel and I found it better to send her away, where she can get the help she needs. I wasn’t happy doing it, I felt really bad, but trust me, she needed it. The psychiatrist told me she has an obsessive love disorder. It is easy to cure, but it’s going to be hard. She will still be in love with you because I can tell she truly cares about you. The problem is she’s obsessed with you. She can’t live with the idea of you being dead or injured. She can have self-destructive behavior, so that’s why we decided to send her away. I visited her often. The first weeks were hard, but today marks the second month she’s been there, and I can tell she’s improving. I hope you’re okay, I’m going to try to keep you updated on her progress.

Harry Crosby

They put her into a mental institute. He couldn’t believe it, she wasn’t crazy, she was in love. Even if it made him angry, he understood why he did it. Bucky was just hoping that she was okay, and that they weren’t torturing her.

Electrical shock, that’s how they were ‘curing’ her, by electrocuting her. They also put her into an ice bath. But the doctor said she was getting better at first, she fought the guards, but by the time she did her fifth treatment, she grew tried of fighting them, so she stopped. Today was important for her, she was going to be evaluated by the psychiatrist and he was going to determine if she could get out of here, she needed to be on her best behavior. When guards came in her room, she was sat on her bed, ready to be escorted to his office. When she entered the room, she was nervous, her hands were shaking, and she felt like she was going to throw up. ‘’Hello Y/n, how are you today?’’ Dr. Phillips asked. She cleared her throat before speaking. ‘’Hi Dr. Phillips, I’m quite well, how are you?’’ she spoke nervously. He pressed his elbow in his desk, looking at his notes before responding. ‘’Good, thank you. So do you know why you’re here today?’’ she nodded and gulped. ‘’You’re going to tell me if I’m crazy or not’’ she whispered. Dr. Phillips laughed. ‘’Oh, Y/n, you’re not crazy, who told you that?’’ he laughed. He did, multiple times as he gave her shocks. ‘’Trevor did’’ she lied, Trevor was her only friend here, he was here because he could hear voices. Trevor claimed that he was blessed by the gods. ‘’Y/n, I’m the one that can say if you’re crazy or not, and from what I’m seeing in your file, you’re not crazy anymore’’ she shifted in her seat. She fixed her hair, looking at the ground. She couldn’t look at Dr. Phillips in the eyes, she was scared of him. ‘’Can I, uh, can I, g-g-get out?’’ she stuttered, whispering. She was afraid that he was going to give her an ice bath. ‘’Yes! That’s why I wanted to see you, I wanted to tell you the good news myself, your friend, Harry Crosby, is waiting for you in the lobby.’’ Dr. Phillips exclaimed.

His feet were bouncing on the ground, he couldn’t wait to see her. Harry Crosby got a call yesterday, saying that Y/n was going to be released. When the door opened, he saw her. She looked weak, fragile and tired, what the hell did they do to her. She was skinny, did they feed her? Her cheeks were hollow, and she had purple circles under her eyes. But when Y/n saw her best friend, she smiled, that was the first real smile she had in weeks. ‘’Crosby!’’ she exclaimed, walking towards him. ‘’Hey you! It’s so good to see you!’’ he exclaimed, trying not to show his concern in front of the doctor. ‘’She’s all good and ready to go home, take good care of her.’’ Dr. Phillips patted her back, but she flinched.

The second they were inside the Jeep, Harry drove far away from this place, he was going fast. ‘’Are you okay? What did they do to you?’’ he asked, concerned. Y/n turned to look at her friend. ‘’They cured me’’ she simply said. He sputtered. ‘’Do you still love him?’’ he asked, scared of her answer. ‘’I think so’’ her gaze was empty, it wasn’t normal, something was off.

Gale Cleven escaped, he managed to escape and now he was back on the base. He looked for Y/n, Bucky asked him to go check on her. He knew she had been in a mental institute, but when he saw her, getting out of Crosby’s Jeep, he felt sick. It wasn’t the Y/n he knew, who was this woman. She was walking towards him, smiling, but her eyes were numb. ‘’Gale! How are you?’’ she asked him, smiling. ‘’I’m good, Y/n, how are you, you look hungry’’ he stated, seeing how thin she was. ‘’I’m well, but I am hungry, can we go eat?’’ her tone was monotone, like a robot. It was like her brain was fried. ‘’I gotta go, please can you try to get information on what happened there’’ Harry whispered in Buck’s ear, he nodded as they both walked towards the cafeteria. Since it wasn’t the rush, the cafeteria wasn’t crowded.

She took a bite of the food and smiled. ‘’It’s good?’’ Buck asked. She nodded. ‘’Very, I only ate porridge and bread’’ she admitted, unknowingly. ‘’You look better, Y/n, what did they give you?’’ he asked, hiding his concerns. ‘’Stuff’’ she took another bite of her food. ‘’What kind of stuff?’’ he asked. She zoned out, she thought about the shocks and the freezing water on her skin, her eyes filled with tears. ‘’Baths and a painful treatment’’ she mumbled, but Gale understood every word.

When Bucky came back on the base, he couldn’t wait to see his girlfriend, but Harry Crosby stopped him. ‘’Bucky, wait, we have to tell you something’’ he grabbed his arm. ‘’What Cros?’’ he asked, annoyed that he couldn’t see his girl. He tilts his head to tell him to go into another room. The Colonel was leaning against the table, Gale was seated on a chair, Harry closed the door and offered Bucky a chair. ‘’Major, I would sit down if I were you’’ Colonel Harding ordered. Bucky was confused, what the hell was going on, where was his girlfriend. ‘’Where’s Y/n?’’ he asked. ‘’She’s in her room, but she’s different, Bucky. That place changed her’’ Buck started. ‘’How could they change her?’’ he chuckled nervously. ‘’I didn’t know what kind of treatment they were administering her, but she told Buck everything’’ Crosby started. Bucky looked at his friend, he had his head down. ‘’Electrical shock, ice baths, steam baths, they gave her shock, they almost fried her brain. They fed her porridge and bread; they wouldn’t let her sleep’’ he explained. John Egan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘’H-how’s that legal?’’ he exclaimed, nervously. ‘’But the problem is, the treatments worked, but we don’t know how she’ll react to you being there, Major’’ Harding explained.

Y/n was sitting on her bed, reading the letters she missed when she was away. She heard a knock, and she turned around. There he was Bucky was in front of her. She got up from the bed and smiled. ‘’You’re alive?’’ she choked up on emotions. ‘’I am, darling’’ he said, cautiously, not wanting to trigger anything. ‘’You’re real?’’ she asked. He nodded, she carefully walked up to him, she took his hand, she was making sure he was real. His hand was warm, and his skin was soft. Her eyes filled with happy tears as she looked at him. He gently put his hand on her cheek, wiping away the tear with his thumb. ‘’I love you so much’’ she breathed out, before hugging him. In his arms, every shock, every bath and every torture went away. He was back, she was hugging him, he was real. ‘’You came back home’’ she cried out. ‘’Told you I was coming back, darling’’ he softly whispered in her ear. ‘’Never leave me again.’’ She pleaded. ‘’Never, darling. Because I don’t wanna live forever if my life is not with you’’

[seeingteacupsindragons]

So I’ve been thinking a lot about mental health and mental illness lately (thanks, new psychiatrist) as I process a new diagnosis and what it means and reframing my image of myself, so I want to talk about some stuff.

So if you know all this already, just. Bear with me, okay, I’m processing a lot right now.

A lot of people on here get annoyed at advice to, like, go for a walk or do yoga or see sunlight or clean things up or meditate or whatever. And I get it, because I also get annoyed at people thinking that will solve my problems. I have had a boss try to get me to do a damn meditation app as if that would solve the work impact my mental illness was having, and it infuriated me.

But, that’s not because it doesn’t solve a problem. It just doesn’t solve the problem I have.

Meditation apps and all that other stuff are basically the mental health equivalent of eating a salad and jogging once a week. Someone who doesn’t do those things, even if they’re not otherwise sick, are not going to be very healthy and are going to feel kind of gross. It’s baseline health care.

But eating a salad isn’t going to cut it if you have a broken leg. You actually need medical care.

(Please go to a doctor if you have a broken leg. Thank you)

Now, if you get the mental health equivalent of a cold—something stressful is going on at work or with your friends, or a lot of small emergencies are popping up at once—you can probably still get by without a doctor. Increase the vegetables, get some soup, rest and sleep a lot. Do some extra mindfulness exercises, take a new yoga class, get a little TLC, clean your room. It will help you feel a lot better, and then the “illness/blip” will pass and you’ll be back to baseline in relatively short order, without needing to see a doctor.

But what if you have mental health bronchitis, or a broken leg? I would compare these to maybe some post-partum mental health issues, or grieving a death of someone, or a divorce, or something like that. You may actually need to see a doctor, get some care, see a therapist and get counseling, maybe briefly stop by on some antidepressants or anti-anxiety meds to help you recover. And then you’ll probably be mostly okay, with maybe some lingering issues and a good strong memory of that time you were Not Okay.

But you weren’t going to get okay without something a lot more than vegetables and cardio.

And then there’s the Chronic Mental Health issues, like many mood disorders or personality disorders, or PTSD/CPTSD, panic disorders, phobias…the lingering things that need serious help and you are very likely in fact to never full recover from, or even partially in some cases. These are where you get type one diabetes or Celiac’s or an amputation, or multiple sclerosis, or any of that. Stuff where you desperately need regular, often daily, medical care and management to stay healthy and functional.

And these ones are going to change your life even with medical care. A diabetic might need a medical device attached to them at all times, they are likely to need to check their blood sugar regularly, they’ll need to think about what they eat and how it will effect them, they’ll need to carry glucose tabs. They might have a medical ID bracelet! And sometimes mistakes might still happen and things go very badly. An amputee might have a prosthetic or might not, but either way it won’t do everything a biological appendage will, and they’ll have to adjust their lives to how to move and pick things up or whatever in a very different way to someone who has that body part. And someone with Celiac’s is just not going to be able to eat gluten. Not matter what medicine they take. It’s not going to happen.

And that’s the thing: even when you’re getting regular medical care and treatment, and you have a plan worked out and you’re used to it, if you have a mood disorder or PTSD or schizophrenia or something…you may very well never quite have a life that looks like someone who only needs yoga and meditation classes. You may always need other accommodations and lifestyle adjustments to function and manage.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy. It means things are going to be so different for you that the people who manage with salad and a treadmill are just not going to be able to offer any useful advice to you. Your needs are way too different.

And then there’s getting into a car crash or catching meningitis. Sometimes, shit is just going to happen to people, and they are going to need to be hospitalized and watched very carefully for a while. I would probably categorize a lot of mental breakdowns, like the kinds that are at the onset of many mood or panic disorders, some levels of psychosis, sometimes the death of someone very dear to you—in fact, many of the things that might be broken legs to some might turn out here. Maybe someone else broken their leg with a nice clean fracture, but yours was a complicated shatter of a joint that started healing wrong and also got infected.

And the hospitalization isn’t going to be the end of your care, either. You’ll stay in the hospital until they can get you stable, until you don’t need medical professionals a button press away, until you can be assumed to recover the rest of the way on your own.

But, for people who know people who have come home from the hospital after a surgery or serious illness…it’s far from the end of the road, or even return to a new baseline. You’re going to need a lot of help and rest and recovery even after hospital discharge. Someone will probably have to watch you, might need to help you take your meds, might need to bring you food and drinks, or cook, or do chores.

And people who care should, maybe, understand, and send, “Get well soon,” and “Thinking of you” and flowers, and organize meal trains and otherwise show up for someone who is seriously ill.

Of course, a lot of that would be weird in the Chronic Illness space. But there, I think the understand would be, “Yeah, you know your friend can’t have gluten,” and “Why would you suggest they go for a hike with you when they’re in a wheelchair, you dick?” and “I made you low-sugar treats! I worked super hard on the recipe!” so people around you know that you have different needs and you care enough to accommodate them and make sure they are still cared for…differently.

I don’t think I’m going to edit this before posting.

But I’m thinking about it a lot, and I think I’m going from a place where I though I had a broken leg to realizing the leg was never actually going to heal without a limp, to realizing, in fact, that the leg didn’t break the way I thought it did and I need some physical therapy and a new doctor to get it working and see what happens then.

Maybe this was helpful to someone besides me. But it felt good to get it all into words!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for hiding my kink from my partner?

My partner (21NB) and I (22F) have been dating since high school. It’s the best relationship I’ve ever been in. They’re understanding and communicative and we’ve never had major fights- nothing that we haven’t been able to talk through within a week, at least.

When I was 17, I did a bit of soul searching and ended up discovering I had a feedism kink. I’m mostly ace, so it came as a pretty big surprise, and I’m still coming to terms with it. The only content I engage with is from fat liberationists in the scene, and I try really hard to be mindful of fat politics and only seek out stuff made by sex workers who are willingly in the feedism scene. I grew up catholic and my guilt about having a kink at All is pretty bad, so I haven’t told anybody in my life about it. Nobody at All.

A few years ago, my partner opened up to me about having an eating disorder. Anorexia that progressed into bulimia. They mostly let me know so that they’d have somebody to talk with about it since the people in their life who Do know don’t really care. They’re seeking treatment for it and for the most part I try to only talk about whatever they’re comfortable with; I don’t bring it up if they don’t, I’m not trying to fix them myself or anything; I know this is something I don’t have control over and it’s not something I’m qualified to try and help with.

My kink is completely disconnected from my partner. They know I’m ace and they’re fine with it, and we don’t really have plans to be intimate with each other. We haven’t before. I have a really strict boundary in my head between my kink and my partner- they’re entirely separate and I’d never ever want those streams to cross. I keep a tight lid on the kink in general. Being mostly ace, I’ve never gotten Turned On by anything in day to day life. I only get horny when it’s time to jerk it and I pull up porn or whatever.

I think that bringing up my kink to my partner right now could trigger them, which is another reason why I DON’T and really never want to. I’m honestly not sure how bringing it up would go. As a person, I don’t think they’d judge me for it and I’m sure we could talk it through, but I don’t want them to think I’ve ever thought about them in the context of the kink bc of their disorder. I never have and I’ve never wanted to, but the idea of triggering them at all is really upsetting to me. I’d never push anything on them without their consent and I’m way too eager to convict myself of thought crime to ever be comfortable actually Engaging with the kink and involving anybody else.

I’m fine with it being a secret forever, but AITA for that? I have no intentions of letting my partner know about the kink and I’m wondering if this is a dick move. Is keeping it a secret the right way to go about it? Would it be MORE of a dick move to let them know?

What are these acronyms?

[compassionatereminders]

hi Kat… I’m kind of freaking out. I just need to get this out to Someone, so thanks for being here…

I recently came to discover I have and was diagnosed with DID/OSDD. I’ve been very slowly figuring out what that means for me. but my best friend doesn’t really understand it, though they are trying to but they’ve said some hurtful things on accident, but even after apologizing and making effort to understand better, I’ve still started feeling like I just can’t trust them with talking about this. I want to be able to, but I’m scared they’ll just never understand. in addition I’ve also been rapidly swinging from “Very Noticeably Symptomatic” to “complete denial and feeling like I’m faking it and tricking everyone” and it’s just a big mess…

and right now I’m across the country from my gf and best friend (who i live with), staying with my family for a business trip, and while I’ve been here I’ve been getting pretty triggered for my eating disorder, and all the other stress is making it worse.. I don’t want to get really bad again, same thing happened last year and I had to go to residential treatment for 5 whole months. I literally can’t afford to get bad again. I just feel like I’m gonna explode and I’m stuck 😣

I don't have DID, but I just want to say that while adjusting to a new diagnosis, it can often take a while to figure out what kind of support you need and how to actually articulate those needs, and that this struggle doesn't necessarily imply that you'll never be able to receive the support you need from the people around you.

[ed-recovery-affirmations]

I'm so tired. I feel like my whole life I've been fighting to have a healthy relationship with food and my body, and I just can't do it anymore. I can't fight anymore. And it's so, so easy in comparison to restrict and obsess over tracking everything I eat

I'm dealing with symptoms of a currently unknown disability right now, and I'm so tired. I'm tired of doctors saying "wow, I have no idea what's going on, I've never seen labs like this... but I'm sure losing weight will help!" (Or, worse, "looks like everything's fine, just lose some weight!") It's become this belief that if I was skinny my symptoms would be taken seriously. If I was skinny I'd be able to figure out what was going wrong because doctors wouldn't rely on my weight to explain everything. I know logically there are lots of disabled people who are still ignored while being skinny, who still struggle to be taken seriously, but I can't shake this feeling that everything would be easier if I was skinny

It feels like my life is in the hands of people who don't give a shit about me. And they still probably wouldn't give a shit if I was skinny, but maybe they would. I don't know, I've never been skinny, so I can imagine that everything would be perfect if I was

It's definitely at least partially a desire to have control over my body, too. I can't stop my symptoms, I don't have the tools to figure out what's wrong on my own, but I can starve myself! It seems very silly written out, and it is, but knowing it's silly isn't enough

I saw in your about that you've dealt with comorbid chronic illness and eating disorders, so I guess I'm asking... how? That's probably already on your blog somewhere, actually, so I guess I'm just venting more than anything. Advice would be appreciated, though

God, I feel this so hard, anon. So so hard.

First of all, I am so sorry I have taken so long to get to this ask. Work, ny studies, and my personal life have all been overwhelming lately and I’ve been having to focus on some wellness work for myself.

But yeah. What you’re talking about is a REAL problem, and you are not alone. And the constant medical neglect of fat people and the “I’m sure all your mystery symptoms will go away if you just lose weight” is just the cherry on top of the shit sundae that is chronic illness. It hurts peoples’ lives. It can kill. I don’t have a quick fix for this system, anon, but I just wanted to take a moment to validate you because I know that what you’re going through is so frustrating and draining and soul-sucking. I am mentally sending you strength.

First of all, I might have one suggestion for you: lie. Lie to your medical professionals about just one thing, and no other: tell them you are already on a weight-loss journey, even if you are not. If it gets you the help you need in this system - yeah, fib a little. But then, explain to your doctors that the reason you are seeking treatment for your symptoms so proactively is that they are preventing you from doing what you need to do to lose weight. Yes, of course you really want treatment to improve your basic quality of life, but when you’re talking to your doctor, sometimes you gotta frame it in a way they’ll hear. Explain how each symptom has made you unable to pursue an active lifestyle. Or how you’ve been too fatigued to meal prep, or how your symptoms are costing you so much that you are struggling to budget for dietary changes. You don’t have to actually be planning any of these things, but if it gets them to continue pursuing the source of your symptoms, just lie. I know it’s so triggering and awful to have to do this just to get taken seriously, so set aside time to prioritize something that you find self-caring after this.)

I know you say your desire to control your body seems silly written out, but it’s not silly at all. I get it. I really really do because I have the same impulse. When your body keeps acting out of your control in painful ways, it’ll make you desperate. And when you’ve had the message pushed your whole life that being skinny fixes everything, it tends to stick in your mind. You are not alone. You are desperate and being driven by a valid impulse.

Instead of pursuing an eating disorder, remind yourself that eating disorders only give you the illusion of control. Eating disorders only pave the way for the disorder to get more control over you. Not to mention, starving yourself will likely take even more of a toll on your health, doing lasting damage if you lose a significant amount of weight from starving. You are allowed to love yourself more than that. I know it’s hard. I know it’s hard to keep fighting for yourself.

Are you in any chronic illness support groups, online or in person? If you aren’t, I suggest you find some. You may find a good outlet to vent about symptoms, get advice on what got doctors to take other people seriously, and learn more about your own symptoms.

While I don’t recommend starving yourself, you could try tracking your symptoms in relation to certain foods and see if specific food sensitivities worsened them (this was true for me.) For me personally, it helps to remind myself that these foods aren’t “bad” foods - they’re just not good FOR ME, and choosing the ones that make me feel better is a way of taking care of and loving my body. (If you find your symptoms do not change based on dietary experimentation, you can disregard this advice.) For me, it can be really triggering having to avoid certain foods, so I definitely have to take a pause to calm down and talk myself through it sometimes.

Things like meditation exercises, gentle yoga, de-stressing exercises and therapy will not cure your chronic health condition, but may help keep symptoms from spiking as badly because stress is known to exacerbate physical symptoms. (Easier said than done, I know - what you’re going through is stressful. I am not telling you not to feel stressed, just to try and create small pockets of time where you try to give yourself a break from stress, which may not come naturally and may be hard because you cannot go to a place of escaping your symptoms. Just keep trying patiently and be compassionate with yourself.)

Anon, I really really hope this gives you some sort of help and comfort, even though it’s not a cure-all and I did get to it so late. There’s more I could say based on knowing specific symptoms if you’re okay sharing them, but for now I’ll just leave it at this. Feel free to vent in my inbox any time.

[ryan-waddell11]

just something I wanted to say as this week comes to a close!!

tw: ED mention below

This past week is has been so important to me. It was Eating Disorders Awareness Week. I don’t want sympathy. I just want to spread awareness. I have struggled with disordered eating behaviors and body dysmorphia since I was 11 years old. Over half of my life. I never realized I had a problem because I wasn’t actively aware. I wasn’t forcing myself not to eat so it never seemed like a problem. I just ate when I felt like it. Now many people only associate eating disorders or disordered eating habits on people who want to lose weight. This is not always the case.

Reflecting on my personal journey I realized that the root of my problems began when I hit puberty and was bullied for developing young. It was something I couldn’t control and I felt like a monster. I remember making the promise to myself not to eat if I wasn’t hungry, which didn’t seem unhealthy, but reflecting now I realized how damaging it was. I kept that promise, but I’ve never been able to free myself from those habits. Even when I look at my body, I see the damage that I’ve done that feels almost irreversible. I have rib flares from where I sucked in my stomach so much to try and look thinner. I have the habit of not eating for hours and days on end and then shoving food in my face the second I feel hungry until that feeling goes away because I don’t know when I’ll be hungry again. it’s incredibly hard for me to break these habits, but I am working towards bettering myself.

This is still something I struggle with every single day. So, while I am currently trying to work on my recovery for these behaviors, I’m not fully recovered, and I don’t think I ever will be because the thoughts that come with this are really hard to overcome and will always be there. I’m afraid I will slip back into my old behaviors. It’s something so difficult to deal with. I never want to say I’m fully recovered because I know that if I do slip into these behaviors I’ll feel like a disappointment.

There is still a lot of stigma and misunderstanding about eating disorders. Although conversations around this topic have changed, there’s unfortunately an underlying view that it is somehow the person’s fault, and that if they could only learn some self-control they would recover easily. This just isn’t true. Eating disorders are serious mental illnesses that require care, treatment and respect in order to help sufferers cope.

A major reason why others and myself don’t look for help/support is because of the negative messages we receive from friends and family. I, like many others didn’t want to be treated differently or make the comments that say, “it’s all in your head,” “she’s not losing any weight she must be faking it,” or “I could never do that. I love food too much.” These are always circling in the mind and sadly this prevents so many from getting the help they need and deserve. Please remember to be kind and mindful when you look at someone’s body. You have no idea with what they’re going through.

It’s one of the scariest and bravest things you can do, but I want to reassure you. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

[t00tired-vent]

TW vent

Ed, and mental health

I’ve been at my boyfriend’s house for the last 3 days, I have probably eaten a total of 1500 cals over the 3 days.

It started off me just being anxious while he was at work and I was home alone with his mom and brother. His mom kept offering me food throughout the day and I felt so disrespectful to continuously be saying “no thank you” to every food I was offered. The next day his family left to go to visit their Opa and bf worked all day again. I didn’t eat anything until 10pm and I was “proud of myself” but I know that my body is not handling it well. Today I managed to eat half a slice of pizza and I did let my bf know that he’ll probably have to help out more with dinner tonight since I’ve been dizzy and lightheaded for days at this point but didn’t mention why I’ve been feeling like crap because I don’t want to worry him.

I wish it wasn’t so hard for me to just fuel my body but I’ve been struggling with @notex!a since I was 14 (5 years I’m 19 now) and I’ve been through residential Ed treatment three times but over the last 3 years all of my support has gone away. Since I’m 19 I no longer have access to children’s mental health services and I live in a very very rural area where there just isn’t any mental health support let alone eating disorder support and I really just don’t know what to do.

I know I’ve gotten worse again because I’ve been tracking my weight in the last few months I’ve gone from ~170lbs to 118lbs (lost about 50lbs in the span of about 6 months) its getting a little scary because daily I’m lightheaded and dizzy, my heart sometimes feels like it’s beating slower, I’m losing hair, and even when I WANT to eat I just can’t.

I feel like a failure because so many people tried to help me in the beginning, I got a little better but now even though im not at my lowest weight from my previous attempts at recovery I’ve never struggled with this disorder more than I am right now. I’m constantly body checking myself and weighing myself and it feels like all I can’t think about it food and my weight.

I haven’t started counting calories again and I’m going to keep trying to not let that habit form again and I also haven’t started exercising again but that’s because I’m so tired and physically not able to that I haven’t even attempted to start exercising again.

It’s just so stressful to not be able to do what I want to do. I’ve been struggling with this disorder for 5 fucking years and it’s still causing issues in my life.

[beazt]

I got an ad on YouTube the other day, and maybe if my circumstances were different I would’ve watched the whole ad so I could pinpoint more harmful parts about it. I skipped most of it.

but the part I did see said almost verbatim “constipation can make skinny women feel plus size.” but I think it may have used the phrase “stuck poop” instead of constipation. I can’t find any accessible version of the ad, so I’m hoping they fucking rethought it and pulled it.

some of my general thoughts, admittedly without poring over my wording for perfection and tone:

1) I generally do not give a fuck if a skinny person “feels fat” from constipation. 2) softening the blow using the word “plus size” isn’t the progressive look you think it is. 3) can we please for the love of everything fucking holy stop centering the skinniest women in conversations and experiences of fatness. 4) this may get my head blown off but constipation making you look a bit bloated =/= you look fat. if you think mild bloating is the same as looking fat I’m inclined to suspect you don’t look at fat people very much.

(these next 2 points get no further discussion in this iteration of the post because I am fucking tired, others can add discussion of these as well as any other points I’ve left out)

5) why is “looking fat” the most important factor making you want to relieve the constipation. 6) the marketing of this is definitely going to fuel disordered laxative abuse

more in depth discussion below

1) if you ever go into intensive eating disorder treatment like I have been, you will get exhausted of hearing the phrase “fat isn’t a feeling.” it’s often either A) a fear of fatness or B) disgust and/or shame about perceived fatness. both of these need to be worked on on an individual and cultural scale. I’m not saying there’s never a reason to fear it— but I rarely ever see anyone skinny’s fears align with the most harmful results of fatphobia— medical negligence, inaccessibility, “fat tax” where necessary items don’t exist or are much more expensive, etc. And i’m not going to put the qualifier of “maybe they just don’t talk about that part” because when I was in my 7 months of intensive ED treatment, none of the providers in the facilities knew how to handle those fears and trauma that caused my ED as a way to escape them— some of them hadn’t even realized those were widespread issues.

and yes, the more prominent fears and shame surrounding fatness are often based in reality of how fat people are treated, and indicate major societal and internalized fatphobia. but the internalized parts can be worked on, and the societal parts can be worked on at an individual scale, and way too many people will fight tooth and nail to be able to further demonize fat people rather than address those biases or get involved with fat liberation. and that makes fat liberation a lot more difficult and directly contributed to the harm towards those of us who are already fat. thus, I do not have much sympathy on a population-scale for skinny folks who express they “feel fat.”

2) I despise the phrase “plus size” because no one ever advertises “straight size” clothing by that name or calls themselves “straight size” outside of specific clothing contexts where “plus size” is already involved. using that phrase here absolutely reinforces the idea that skinny=normal/default and fat=abnormal/anomaly while simultaneously reducing us to an ambiguous, impersonal, mass-marketable clothing size range. not to mention that “plus size” can mean anything including “you aren’t wafer thin and 5’0.” it’s performative and pretty antithetical to reducing fatphobia in this usage if you ask me, I highly highly doubt they were including any sort of reclamation of the term “plus size” here since they’re painting it as an undesirable trait

3) this is slowly changing I think but nearly every conversation about fatphobia that isn’t started by fat folks either starts as “but it’s so harmful when skinny people get seen as fat even if it’s just body dysmorphia :(“ or frequently the rest get derailed into “it’s hard to be skinny too!!” and/or the above sentiment. I’m tired of that. there are conversations you can be included in but why don’t you amplify voices of folks well above your size and those with intersecting marginalizations ever, instead of making every single conversation about you?

4) just clarifying here but if you’re constipated enough to change your size significantly enough for you to be considered fat and this is frequent/consistent enough to affect your daily life… you probably want to get that checked out if you can. your intestines will thank you. if there’s no easy solution to help your gut, really think about how you can join in with us who are already fighting for fat liberation. reflect on why you think this is a unique experience that others you from the “actual fat people” that you are assuming are fat for the “wrong reasons” and why you are desperate to consider yourself not fat. everyone else who is complaining about some moderate temporary bloating making them feel fat idk what else to say to you.

and of course a lot of this ties into ableism and racism and misogyny, like much of fatphobia does, I want to acknowledge and emphasize that none of this is in a vacuum, but I’m just too tired to make this post any longer at the moment to dissect the interplay of those topics… you see where I’m going. it’d take me a chapter of a book to analyze everything I want to about this commercial and I simply am not in good enough physical or mental shape to do that right now. so im just throwing out what I can spout off the top of my head. it’s just a blog post from some rando, set your expectations.

[legit9thlunaticwarrior]

i wanted to talk a little bit about mental health and how i’m doing recently

trigger warning: depression, anxiety, panic attacks, borderline imposter syndrome, disordered eating/thoughts

for a while now, i’ve been pretty low with a few days here and there where i’m genuinely happy. may and june were so rough in every way and august is seeming to turn the same direction.

i also have lost a lot of my passion for cosmetology. i hate this school and it’s slowly making me hate what once was comforting to me. my director legit doesn’t care, there so much unnecessary fucking drama, and i’m not having fun anymore. i never get to show my skills. i’m like a robot: haircut, root touch up, wash and blow, deep conditioning treatment, haircut, root touch up, wash and blow, deep conditioning treatment. same thing, over and over and over again. i’m good at what i do but i hate doing it now. it’s not just me, all of my friends are sick of it too. the only time we get to have fun is when we (rarely) get to work on each other.

i’ve been having a lot of silent panic and anxiety attacks lately and i can’t find the trigger.

my weight has been getting brought up a lot since i returned to normal life after being sick for a month. the weight i lost was not lost in a healthy way. i had become terrified of food and was rarely eating. when i was eating, it was bland foods. my weight and body image have been an issue of mine for almost 10 years. and that’s absurd and upsetting considering i’m turning 20. i don’t like being scared of food and restricting myself so much that i’m not enjoying anything anymore. i want to be able to go to shake shack with my lunch bunch and not worry about repercussions; i refuse to do that to myself again.

acting like i’m okay and forgetting things as a coping mechanism works until you’re crying uncontrollably at 2am and you can’t figure out what’s wrong. you’re just crying because you feel so full and heavy of emotions that you can’t verbalize to anyone without breaking down and fucking up your words. i know that when i’m stressed or anxious, something will hurt physically. my teeth and head have been hurting constantly for almost a week.

it’s like i’ll have the greatest high, the best fucking day ever; but then it comes crashing down so fast you can’t even recognize it’s happening, until you’re left in the rubble of it all.

that’s all i want to say for now. i just want to say thank you to all of you that follow me and show me support and love and kindness. i feel i don’t express that enough. i truly appreciate all of you dolls

[growandrecover]

I really want to recover because I feel like my ed is taking over my life, but I’m not even diagnosed and I’ve told very few people about it. I’m still in high school and recovery feels so impossible. How do I even start?

hey, anon.

You don't have to be diagnosed to recover. I wasn't formally diagnosed, but when I started telling the people who worked at my treatment that I had anorexia, they agreed. Idk what that means for me, but technically I wasn't either, so you're not alone. I was in high school as well when I started recovery, my sophomore year, in fact. I totally understand how it feels. It's mind-bogglingly overwhelming, isn't it?

But you're here, asking me for advice, which is already a huge step! That shows that you want to get better and you understand that your ed is all consuming, which I definitely didn't when I started recovery, so that's incredible. I'm really proud of you.

I know that starting off in recovery seems like it'll take forever, especially when you see people who've been in recovery for years. Trust me, it goes by faster than you think.

If you haven't told your parents/guardian, I'd recommend that be your first step. I know that telling them is probably the hardest "confession" you'll have to make (other than the one to yourself), but it's for your recovery, and hopefully they'll be able to help you.

You can skip this part if you've already told them, but let me brace you: they may have a wildly different reaction than you'd ever expect. My mom, one of the most loving people on the planet (in my opinion), reacted in anger, which I totally didn't see coming. Now I know (because she's told me) that she was angry because I'd been lying to her about my ed, and she was angry that I could do that to myself. My dad, on the other hand, reacted softly, and he was very gentle, which I could have never predicted.

If they're able to help, I recommend going to therapy or trying to get into treatment if you can. If you're able, just a heads up: the sign up process is long. There wasn't a waiting list for mine, but it's just an arduous process in general, so it was a few months before I was actually able to go.

If you're unable to go to treatment or therapy, that's okay. You can still recover. I know some people think they can't recover if they don't go to treatment or therapy, but that's not true. Those things are helpful, but not 100% necessary *in some cases.

I'd recommend that you join groups if you have some in your area, or if you can find some online. We don't have any where I live, but you should look into it. Hearing other people talk about their experiences with eds is a powerful thing in recovery. Especially if you have something else in common. For example, in my treatment group, we were all girls, all about the same age, which was helpful, because we could all relate to each other at least on some level.

If you can't do that, I'd advise that you try to educate yourself about the recovery process so you have some kind of idea on what to do in order to get the most out of it. My therapist told me I should get this book, and if you can, you might want to as well. It's called The 8 Keys to Eating Disorder Recovery by Carolyn Costin and Gwen Schubert Grabb. There's interactive parts and a list of stages so you can go to the chapter you're in. If you're not a reader (then I'm sorry for making this post so long), YouTube has all kinds of helpful videos, like what to expect in recovery based on the ed you have, Kati Morton, who's a licensed therapist, makes great videos about eds, and if I'm not mistaken, I believe she's had one as well. Seeing people in recovery or just starting out helped me a lot. It kept me inspired, and made it seem less daunting.

If you're a TikTok person, there's plenty of videos about recovery, what people are eating, and how they're overcoming certain challenges they put in place for themselves. (I don't have TikTok so I unfortunately can't recommend certain people, but I did see some of their videos in a YouTube compilation lol)

If you're recovering on your own, I'd say that you should try to challenge harmful behaviors you've created (bingeing, counting, measuring, over-exercising, purging, etc). Of course start small, as discontinuation of any of those things will be scary, but you can do it.

I really hope this was helpful to you, and I wish you nothing but the best in your recovery journey. You're doing so well, and I'm so happy for you, love.

If I didn't answer the question fully, or you want to talk, please feel free to submit another ask or send me a message.

Lots of love ♡

[quality-street-rat]

Happy Birthday To Me

Depression rant; I am NOT in danger

All I want to do is die. There are NO treatments for my pain disorders. I’m not sick enough to be in hospital all the time and not well enough to have any sort of job. All I have going for me is my cat and my Netflix. That’s all I got. 

Why do I have to be alive, anyway? What’s so great about it? You’re born, you experience things, you die. It’s not my fault that most of my experiences have hurt me in some way. I’m sick of people telling me “you have so many good things to experience” and “you have so much to live for.”

Bitch! No I don’t! I am alive for two reasons, I promised not to kill myself and I have a cat to take care of. Even though he needs me more than I need him it just wouldn’t feel right to have him go to anyone else.

I keep thinking about loopholes to my promise. If I step in front of a bus or a truck, that’s not suicide, that’s just a traffic accident. If I get mugged by an armed assailant and I beg him to shoot me and he does, that’s not suicide, that’s a random act of violence. If I go antagonize a racist transphobe and they stab me to death, that’s not suicide, that’s a hate crime. I want these statements to be true so bad. No one can Want harder than I can.

But that’s not true, is it. All of those things count as suicide and I know it. And I know what suicide is, it’s stupid, it’s selfish, it’s weak, it’s cowardly. And I am so tired of trying. 

I don’t call the suicide hotlines anymore because what’s the point? All I can do is cry at them. I don’t check myself in to psych wards anymore. The doctors and nurses just ignore how much of a fucking risk I am to myself and send me home knowing I’ll just hurt myself.

And I do hurt myself. I’m tired of lying about it. I’ve only been clean a few weeks andI know I’ll never recover because what is recovery for an addiction, really? You’re just between relapses. But I have to hide it because if I don’t then I’m on the streets. 

Do you know what kind of hell it is to slowly lose your abilities? When it hurts so much to change clothes that you want to scream but you’d rather eat rusty nails than ask for help? Because the minute you ask for help your Uselessness is embedded in stone? And I know I’m Useless. I know that. But if I need people to feed me or dress me then it’s worse, somehow. 

And maybe the day I can’t walk anymore will be the day I kill myself. Maybe the day I just can’t drag myself out of bed anymore is the day I die. Because if death is preferable to the way I live now, how much worse will it be in the future?

I wish I was brave enough to break my promise. I wish I was strong enough to end it all. I wish I was selfish enough to kill this suffering I feel. 

But I’m not. I’m weak. I’m scared. What if the next life I’m born even worse? What if my next body is even less able than this one? 

I’m not going to kill myself. Yet. I don’t even know if it’s on the future’s table. But it’s what I want for my birthday. 

[songofthesibyl]

I know this post is from January, but I’m just seeing it, and I feel compelled to respond.

When I came to these books, I was in a very bad place. Depressed, and anxious all the time, to the point I was unable to eat, or sleep. Disillusioned by bad experiences with several doctors, I was not seeking help, nor did I trust anyone (I’m still not quite there). My self-treatment was writing—like you, it is really the only reason I get up in the morning—and stories. Filling my head with them so I would not have to think. You know, fun—a distraction. And I love Faerie, and the Ballad of Tam Lin, and so thought I would give these books a try because hey, they are popular enough to continually be in print, and maybe the Ballad will be in there in parts, and it will be interesting to see the author’s interpretation of faerie lore. And then. As the saying goes—wherever you go, there you are. I did not want to think of anything, or deal with anything, but the books brought it all up anyway. My anxiety makes me look up endings of books all the time, so—while I had already been spoiled unintentionally by looking up fan art, even before Rhysand was introduced—I had to look up if Tamlin was killed off. And, up to ACOSF, he hasn’t been (though I have my suspicions about the future of the series). Still, I was disappointed that these two awkward and thorny characters would not get the peace and happiness they deserved in the first book. But was hooked, and kept reading, and was able to enjoy the series for what it was. And Tamlin’s ending in ACOWAR was unsatisfying, but it could have been worse.

But always with the knowledge of what lay ahead, and the weight of it on me, and by the end of the original trilogy, my chest hurt, and I cried, for no reason but the knowledge ahead. But I kept reading. It was all there, and gratuitous, and unnecessary, and added nothing to the story. And it was me. Depression, passive suicidal ideation, explosive anger disorder. And it was the real world—“I have depression, I’ve gone through difficult things, but I mastered it, I’m able to function, why can’t you? You’re lazy, and selfish, and want to be miserable, you like wallowing in it.”

It’s your fault you are this way, you did this all to yourself, you deserve it.

You deserve to be miserable forever, to never get better.

Over and over we are told through other characters that he is different, that he alone deserves to rot, that what he did was unforgivable. And I didn’t get it. Nesta climbing is great and all, but I thought to myself, why him? Why he, alone? Why is he, alone, not deserving of healing? And I realized, I could look in the mirror, and say the same things to myself. Why are you not deserving of healing, why do you not deserve some relief? Why do you need the approval, and permission, of others, to feel better, to find a way to be in your body, and not be miserable? And so I didn’t wait for permission anymore. I did what I had to to be able to eat, to be inspired, to want to wake up every day. I didn’t care if some nonexistent person would judge me for it, would look down on me, call me weak. No one else has to be in my body, to get through each day in it. Only me. And so I read, and wrote, and sang, and found strength in green and gold, in elks and foxes, wolves and lions. In the wild, and feral, and thorny, and untamed.

And I don’t care anymore. In short, these books brought me into my villain era.

TW: vent

No, because ACOFAS is genuinely so sadistic in its treatment of Tamlin. I'm actually deep in my depression rn and just all of that, all of those scenes of Rhys being heartless, genuinely sickening. Genuinely.

Listen, I'm probably projecting, but Tamlin is portrayed to have such a deep loneliness and depression (unlike Feyre's whose can be argued to be healed through love) and as someone who's depression doesn't go away for shit, I actually relate to him in this aspect. He's such a comfort character to me. Like I don't even know how to explain.

And I try to like Feyre, I know I did at some point, but like all of sjm's fucking characters, I lose them at some point. I even try to like Rhys. But I love Tamlin. And I actually hate that I'm in a fandom that literally won't treat people with respect over this. I hate that I actually relate more to a character that's actively villainized by the same narrative he was once celebrated in. I hate sjm's shoddy fucking attempts at mental health. I hate that I've come to find out that I both love and hate this series for some godforsaken reason.

In sjm's characterization of Tamlin as a villain she makes such a relatable character to me. And I haven't even gotten into how disgusting this series is sometimes. Everything with Tamlin feels like a desecration of writing, of the care put into writing, of the sacred feeling of creating. Of parading a dark fantasy with makeshift plot and calling it healing. It's a fucking massacre.

And I know that I've never gotten that deep of what writing means to me, it's literally my purpose in life, it's what helps me wake up in the morning. And I don't mean to say people can't write wish fulfillment books but fuck, sjm's books feel like personal fuck you sometimes with mental health.

I wish I could read this series for fun. I wish I could. I wish that I could separate what this book meant to me when I was going through personal shit. Because for all that I hate these books, some part of me loves the characters she's made. The fact that the characters I love in this series are shit on in canon is actually really tragic.

I wish I could look at Papa Archeron and not see a depressed disabled man. I wish I could look at Tamlin and not see my darkest moments. I wish I could like the wish fulfillment story sjm is trying to write.

I most of all, out of everything, I just wish this series acknowledged what it was. It's like, by putting out the message that these books are about abuse, it actively tells people to pay attention. It's about changing my mindset dark fic to hey I want to actually say something to you, and the message sjm says is actually fucking hurtful?

I say this again, because this series had the audacity to tell me to take it seriously only to spit in my face and my actual real life experiences.

Like, I don't know if I'm explaining this well, and I generally never get this heated about a series, but it gets a bit difficult sometimes to act 'professional' in my opinions when this series genuinely upsets me sometimes?? Yknow, like, yeah I'm gonna continue reading it, and I'll probably enjoy it too. But I'm also going to hate it. It's strange and I don't really understand it.

In the end, I feel like I'm reading dark fic (not seriously) when I'm reading it but then it zaps me right back into telling me to take it seriously and I just, it's exhausting sometimes. And tbh, most of this is the fandom.

Excuse my language, but sjm can actually do fuck all at this point, I don't care, but it does matter when this fandom cannot be kind. Like actually pause to think about anon hate. I honestly don't need some stranger calling me an abuse apologist for liking a fictional character after the shit I have actually gone through.

And if you've made it this far into this rant, I'm gonna be fine. I just needed to acknowledge that this series, mostly the fandom, is actually shitty, and I'm sure some other people agree.

[erin-bo-berin]

hey I love ur writing sm!! But i was wondering if you could make a Steve x Reader based on the reader having some sort of eating disorder and Steve just try to help as much as possible even though he doesn't know much about it (I’m really in a shitty mood rn since I’m trying my best to recover from my ED and idk if this could be a way to cope but yeah.) if it’s okay with you!!

Thank you! And I would love to write this. I’ll try to make it a bit vaguer since I don’t want it to be too triggering for you or anyone else. It will also be from Steve’s point of view if that’s okay ☺️

Also, my love and thoughts are with you. I’ve never personally dealt with it, but I do have mental health issues I struggle greatly with. I know that’s not the exact same thing, but I know it’s a hard uphill journey.

That being said, I believe in you, anon. You’ve got this. Don’t let those demons win because you’re stronger than you think. I love you, you can DO this ❤️

One Day At A Time

Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of reader suffering from an eating disorder

(If you find you aren’t in the right head space to read this, please if you need to, save it and come back to it when you’re in a better place. I promise I won’t be mad ❤️)

Steve spent an entire weekend at the library doing research.

He wasn’t too familiar with eating disorders, though he’d heard about them. He still felt like shit that he hadn’t even noticed anything wrong with you. He’d been your boyfriend of more than a year and he’d hadn’t noticed anything unusual. What kind of boyfriend did that make him?

Turns out, people learn to hide it well.

You had from him.

It was only until you’d started looking too thin, your clothes hanging off of you that he’d started to worry. The once lively spark in your eyes, the happiness that you always radiated had vanished from your eyes.

He’d had no idea just how hard you were fighting unseen demons.

After the diagnosis, your parents had sent you to treatment and he hadn’t seen you for a month. It was a short stint, peppered with phone calls to each other as he wasn’t allowed to visit. You and he were reuniting today and he’d spent time trying to figure out how to help you.

Obviously, he wasn’t trying to heal you himself, but he wanted to be as supportive as possible. After all, he hurt too seeing you in such pain.

He knew it was going to take time, it was going to be difficult, but he believed in you with his whole heart. But, he was determined that you weren’t going to go through this, alone.

•

The moment you stepped into his arms when you first arrived, he wrapped you in his arms, holding on to you tightly.

Maybe if he kept you safe in his arms, the bad thoughts wouldn’t be able to get to you. How he wished it worked like that.

You looked better, more at peace. You didn’t look tired, beaten down and worn like you had just a month ago. There was color in your cheeks and a small, happy smile one your face.

“I missed you,” you murmured into his chest.

He ran his hand over the back of your head, cradling it, kissing the top of your head. His hand slid down to the back of your neck and he pulled away enough to look down at you.

“I missed you too, Y/N.”

He leaned in to kiss you gently and you returned the gesture, pulling away after a moment, your smile a bit brighter.

He’d offered for you to stay with him for the first little while—if you were comfortable doing so. You’d readily agreed, nervous to be alone in your place. It wasn’t a big deal anyways since you spent most of your time at his place anyway. In actuality, he just wanted you to be close. Not to smother you or watch you like a hawk. He just wanted to be there for you, even in your darkest moments. That’s why he voiced his next thought out loud, just to remind you.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

•

“I’m not hungry,” you’d said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

He’d fixed dinner for the both of you, something that was completely healthy and even smelled so good, he was looking forward to it. He’d managed to whip up some lemon pepper chicken, stir fried broccoli and rosemary garlic potatoes.

Nancy would be proud. For all her tough exterior, the girl knew how to cook and she’d helped him in the month you’d been gone.

He had learned that that was just a diversion tactic of your illness, so he didn’t push. He sat the two plates he was holding down on the coffee table in front of you two and sat down next to you.

He wouldn’t push it. He knew better than to be hard on you.

“That’s okay,” he said, “Is it a bad day?”

He’d read enough to know, like with anything, you were going to have your good days and your bad days. You may be on the road to recovery, but recovery wasn’t linear.

You nodded a bit.

“Yeah. It’s been hard today, knowing I was coming home.”

He didn’t talk about the food, didn’t scold you. He just took your hands in his and looked at you, genuinely wanting to know.

“What’s been scaring you about it?”

You let out a deep sigh and his heart clenched. Such a heavy sigh shouldn’t be coming from your beautiful self. He just wanted to wrap you in his arms and never let go.

“I’m afraid I’ll relapse. They said it’s possible at the center,” you said.

“Yes, it is. But you’ll get through that too, I know it. It’s a normal part of recovery,” he said.

You looked at him quizzically, almost amused.

“You almost sound like my new therapist.”

He blushed, looking sheepish.

“Sorry. I spent the entire weekend at the library learning all I could to help you, baby.”

Your look of bewilderment turned to one of awe, a slow smile spreading on your face.

“You did that? For me?”

“Of course I did. I want to be supportive and help you. If you’re having a bad day, I want you to be able to talk to me about it, to lean on me. If you’re having a good day, I want to still hear about it and celebrate that good day. I meant it when I told you that you don’t have to go through this alone.”

You stayed silent for a moment, pulling your hands out of his. You cupped his face in your hands, bringing him down for a kiss, your emotions swirling at how hard he’d prepared to help you, just to be there for you.

Steve watched without a word as you reached for your plate, picking up a piece of the chicken with your fork, bringing it to your mouth.

He tried not to be insulted when you looked at him with widened eyes, shock clear on your face.

“This is amazing, Steve. When did you learn to cook?”

“Nancy taught me,” he shrugged, nonchalantly, “And I’m not that bad of a cook!”

“Babe, you’re usually a pro at burning toast,” you leveled him with a look.

He huffed, pretending to be insulted, but he couldn’t help the grin and laugh that came from him. You were so distracted, you ended up eating a bit more.

“I’m so proud of you,” he smiled, putting his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “For doing all of this for me.”

“Of course,” he paused, rubbing your arm, “You know what we’re going to do?”

“What’s that?” you asked.

“We’re going to take it one day at a time.”

[spencers-renaissance]

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

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[loungelaughlove]

I posted 50 times in 2021

26 posts created (52%)

24 posts reblogged (48%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.9 posts.

I added 91 tags in 2021

#adhd - 13 posts

#loungelaughlove - 11 posts

#self care - 10 posts

#good habits - 10 posts

#adhd inattentive - 9 posts

#mental wellness - 9 posts

#adult adhd - 8 posts

#adhd post - 7 posts

#adhd women - 7 posts

#neurodivergent - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 97 characters

#side note i forgot to eat i've been working on my laptop 3 hours straight on two spoons of yogurt

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

What ADHD is Not..

ADHD. Attention Hyperactivity Deficit Disorder.

Being diagnosed with ADHD as an adult woman in the past year has taught me a lot about what I thought I knew about ADHD. Before I was diagnosed I’ve only ever know ADHD as something that children have/had. ADHD was the little boy more times out of not the little white boy that was bouncing off the walls and tearing down the classroom and terrorizing their classmates and teachers. I think most of us are acquainted with this being “poster child” of ADHD.

But what about those who don’t match that ? The ones that slip under the radar?

Little girls, Women, POC (people of color) who were either brushed off as being “bad”, mischievous, a trouble maker, a day dreamer, or full of potential if they only applied themselves.

Funny enough as a child I was considered extremely accident prone or “bad” because I was always getting myself into some sort of trouble or getting hurt. A few bumps, cuts, knocking myself unconscious and a round of stitches later with a sprinkle of being annoying to my peers eventually some how it “balanced” out and ya girl just started internalizing it all. I began masking in way to not step on any toes or bother anyone. Did it work? Yes. But at the cost of giving up being myself fully and completely and over analyzing so I don’t bother anyone. This would cause me to be anxious and on edge my entire school career and beyond. [Side note.. soo not worth it.]

So here’s a few things I learned what ADHD is not thus far..

*********************************************************************11) An Excuse

It’s not an excuse for our mishaps but more so of an explanation. Learning that I had ADHD and getting treated for it lifted the wool from my eyes I didn’t even know was there. All the potential my teachers said I had but I just didn’t apply myself, my struggles in school and barely just making it but never exceeding or excelling unless it was something of interest. (I.E while learning Mandarin in high school, I taught myself German up to intermediate level because it was more interesting for me. Luckily I managed to pass Mandarin by doing all my homework, participating, being a good student and thx to my mom)

Neurotypical individuals maybe able to do tasks with fewer cognitive obstacles but that doesn’t mean we don’t have the ability to do those tasks as well. Having ADHD is not death sentence nor does it mean that we are incapable of thriving. We have to find the best methods that work for us and our brains so we can excel and live the best life for us. At this point on treatment I’ve have been able to do tasks I would normally struggle with and so far I’ve been able to complete a few things too (finishing a online course to completion 1 out of 7 and starting course 2). While its not perfect, it’s a work in progress finding out what works for brain to do things. So find out what works for your brain and experiment, play around and see what brings you the best results.

2) Being outwardly hyperactive all the time (especially as an adult)

When I tell you it was always something with me, I mean it. As a kid I ended up getting stitches on Christmas vacation in Jamaica from just jumping around around the house, no rhyme or reason, my foot went through a glass table. I fell down the stairs and knocked myself out because I wanted to push the laundry cart down the stairs. Busted my lip running around in the hair salon and my ass in the fish market. Inhaled an inanimate object.. (Its long story but I need to get my chest checked one day lmao)

After the physical stuff “balanced” itself out it became annoyances. I’ve lost friends or found it difficult to make friends due to my “personality”. I was quite clingy and on top of my friends to play and eventually as you get older its not cool to bounce off the walls. I’ve been called annoying on numerous occasions, had “friends” hide from me because they didn’t want me to bother them, or made fun of for being “extra” or “animated”. I just thought it was kids being mean and it being a normal part of childhood.

As an adult now that outward energy is significantly less but I think it’s because I’ve had such negative reactions to my behaviors so I learned to internalize that energy. Unfortunately I never released it healthily so it just manifested itself as ongoing anxiety and overthinking and fidgeting. I'm still trying to figure out how to maintain that when it does happen. Luckily (thankfully) my moods have been more balanced.

3) It Doesn’t Mean You Don't Care

As a kid and even now I’ve been a day dreamer. Like vivid. In school I day dreamed it was raining pop corn shrimp and I swear I could taste it lmao. I would always get called out for being a space cadet or day dreaming or my teacher telling me to comeback to earth.

I remember the first thought I got lost in and potentially my first existential crisis at 8 y.o. It was a thought about people, and how every person was an individual, living their own individual lives, with their own issues, events, and jobs, all doing different things Than what I was doing right now. All this while staring out the window before my teacher called my attention back. Sometimes I would get easily distracted with my own items that would get confiscated because I was focusing on it more than the teacher (books, journals). I just figured I had an overactive imagination or was a deep thinker that liked to get lost in thought.

As an adult day dreaming and lack of focus gets less of a pass than you would get as a child. As an adult you have no choice but to pay attention to things or otherwise it comes across as you not caring. This doesn’t fair so well when it comes to relationships intimate, work, and friendly.

I still get distracted today but less now that I am on medication. Life before medication I would zone out quite a bit and stay in my head. If I wasn’t thinking about some unrealistic scenario, I had moments of blankness. During conversations, If I didn’t overtake the conversation talking endlessly I would be in my head while they were talking thinking of what to say to what they were sharing. At work my peers and boss felt I wasn’t present with the work responsibilities they always felt they had to guide and tell me what needed to be done which was true. I was always focused on one aspect of the job and not the whole picture. While I haven’t tried working while on treatment I notice a change now in my conversations with people. In my conversations I could now actually be apart of the conversation, this has the been the first time that I have been able to have conversation and actually listen and take in the information. I have been able to experience what it feels like to be an active participant in a conversation and not an outsider waiting and calculating what needs to be said next.

I’m still learning about more things that ADHD is not and I look forward to sharing more of these discoveries with you as I experience them through my eyes and being. Is there anything that you learned about ADHD that you didn’t expect in relation to your life right now? I’d love to hear from you ladies !

49 notes • Posted 2021-11-18 06:16:24 GMT

#4

Friendly Reminder Ladies!

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This is just a friendly but important reminder. Did you remember to take your medication today ? With ADHD we can be forgetful at times. Sometimes more often than we'd like even after being on treatment for a while. It's okay! It happens to best of us! There isn't anything wrong with a gentle reminder to make sure you do so!

Have a wonderful day guys!! <3

84 notes • Posted 2021-11-03 17:46:26 GMT

#3

Hi Ladies!

I made another visual post on different ways to increase your dopamine levels. I've tried all them and I'm still using these methods for a boost when I feel low on dopamine and can't bring myself to focus or adjust my mood. Here's some quick facts about dopamine I learned and I hope this information is helpful and helps you!

*******

Dopamine is one of the neurotransmitters in your brain that helps you feel motivated, focused and regulates mood and movement.

Dopamine is considered a "feel good hormone" because it's released when we do things we enjoy or that make us feel good.

Dopamine can come from exercising, listening to your favorite music, orgasms, medication therapy, playing video games or pretty much whatever brings you joy.

*******

How Do These Methods Increase Dopamine ?

Exercise (Yoga, Dancing,Working Out)

Exercise can encourage the production of dopamine, norepinephrine(a neurotransmitter that also plays a role in ADHD if the levels are off, I'll learn what I can about it and share more as it seems to not get as much attention as dopamine) and serotonin.

Medication Therapy

While not all of us opt to take the medication route it can work wonders if the dose is right and proper management. Medications fall into two categories when it comes to treating ADHD. Stimulants and Non-Stimulants. The purpose of the medications are to help your brain build the appropriate levels of dopamine and norepinephrine so you can function and cut down on any disruptive symptoms that are caused by ADHD. It's important to know not all medications are created equal so it's important you discuss with your doctor how each ones differ so you can find the best option for you!

Self love

I discussed this in my previous post about orgasms helping with sleep but here it comes again! No pun intended lol. Orgasms as we know are beneficial in many ways it's also helpful for dopamine boost. Since orgasms in simpler words cause a pleasurable outcome (as it should be) your brain literally floods with dopamine during this period. Which will cause you feel good, feel joy and be ready go. If you take a break to rub one out to get back in the zone it's all good.

Music

There's not much to say here. If you listen to something you enjoy it's gonna make you feel great, motivated even! If you find you're having a hard time focusing pop on some of your favorite tunes and give it a try. If you can't listen while you work, clean etc. listen for a bit before move around a bit and try to get into work or your task. Try it out

Getting Enough Sleep

As I learn more I may change this as the results seem mixed. Speaking from my own experience when I get enough sleep 8hrs to 9hrs I find that I wake up in a better mood and more of an ability to do start my day. The only challenging part is making sure I get enough sleep to do so. That's a work in progress. But give it try and lemme know if getting enough sleep helps you.

99 notes • Posted 2021-10-28 05:14:17 GMT

#2

Friendly Reminder Ladies!!

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Did you eat yet? If not this is your queue to do so! Sometimes our ADHD medications can curb our appetite thus making us forget to eat. While for some people the curbing of appetite can be a positive for weight control it's never a good thing to not eat anything or barely anything all day.

So please take a break. Step away and have a snack, make a sandwich or have some fruit. Whatever it is just please eat. You need to fuel your body if you want to be able to function <3

Sending Love! Enjoy your meal <3

167 notes • Posted 2021-10-28 18:42:49 GMT

#1

What ADHD Is Not (A Bite Sized Visual and Explanation)

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Hi Ladies! Here is a visual post and bite sized explanation on What ADHD is Not based on my previous post here.Feel free to check it out if you'd' like a longer read and enjoy this smaller more condense version for your viewing pleasure.

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1.) ADHD Is Not An Excuse

I've learned that ADHD is an explanation, and we are not our diagnosis. Yes, each case is unique some have it more serevely and some less and that's okay. As long as you're doing your best and no else's best everyday to push towards the life you want that's all that matters. Regardless of where we are on the spectrum we can still accomplish the same things a neuro typical can and sometimes even better. It may take us a little bit longer or a lot bit longer due to the obstacles our symptoms can cause but it's not impossible. We just need to find and develop a system that works for our brains and our brains only! Not what he did or what she did or what they did. It's all about what to do and seeing what works for us. Then we can start to see progress in the direction we want it.

2.) ADHD Is Not Being Overly Hyperactive

This one right here! Lately I've been surrounding myself with other adults that have ADHD experiencing them and taking it in. No one was bouncing off the walls, every individual was different. I've learned the Hyper activeness of ADHD tends to "dial down" as we get older. By "dial down" I mean masking or other habits that can act as an outlet for that energy. A lot of the people I've met were outwardly calm or very outgoing, with a few that were scattered that talked non-stop or out of turn and a few like myself who are more quiet but fidgety. The hyperactiveness tones down mostly due to societal constraints and it not being okay to act "childish" or "do the most" as an adult so we're forced to conform and hide it to the best of our ability to fit in. So if you aren't overly hyperactive it's okay it doesn't make you more or less of an adhder, remember we're all different and symptoms present differently for everyone.

3.) ADHD Doesn't Mean You Don't Care

We care! Just about alot of things sometimes at the same time and we lose track it happens. As an adult it's more frowned upon to be "air headed" "a daydreamer" or just not present. Sometimes our inattention or lack focus can present itself as us not caring about the things going on in our lives, our friends, partners, work, intimate relationship and that's not the truth. Having ADHD impairs our focus and ability to be present. It's a hard thing to deal with it and we do care it's kinda like our bandwidth isn't large enough to pay attention. The brain is constantly craving dopamine and instant rewards and alot of the time the regular everyday responsibilities in life just doesn't cut it. Especially if it's mundane and repetitive, i.e) basic everyday chores, bill management, work responsibilities, home management, etc. While this is true referring back to #1 it's inexcusable just because we have ADHD doesn't mean we are exempt from doing what we have to do to live. We still have responsibilities so it's our job to make sure we create a system to be able to stay on top of these things. It won't be perfect. We'll make mistakes but done (close to it as you can) is better than perfect. Whether you create it yourself, with a coach, medically as long as you're doing what works for you that's all that matters.

What are some things you learned about adhd that's not what you expected or what you've been told? I'd love to hear more from you guys <3

See the full post

204 notes • Posted 2021-12-09 05:30:36 GMT

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