#someone explain to my psychiatrist that being able to Do Stuff for two hours a day is still infinitely better than. 0 hours a day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

faesystem · 10 months

Note

Personally we block anti-endos far more often for racism, ableism, and misinformation. The amount of anti-endos who have blatantly said that other culture's spiritual beliefs are made-up bullshit, that think psychiatrists are infallible gods and that psychiatric abuse isn't a big deal, and spread misinformation about how DID forms so that they can gatekeep people is wild

pretty sure this falls under *checks notes* being a dick. which i said i block 8/10 anti endos i see for being.

whats your point here?

well

i think i know what your point is

if i just said that i blocked 8/10 anti endos i see for being a dick, you would agree with that

but when i said i also block 8/10 pro endos i see for ableism, racism, and misinfo, you now dont agree with my previous statement. not because we disagree on many anti endos sucking, but because you think pro endos... are better.

which, well, id ask you take a look at this big long post i made about in group and out group mentality. its based on the stuff i was learning in my psych class.

a quote that sums up what i think about this whole thing youve said here is 'if you engage with pro-endogenics you will see the worst of anti-endogenics, and if you engage with anti-endogenics you will see the worst of pro-endogenics.'

i think everyone sucks because i exist outside of this in group and out group mentality. i engage with people, not labels, i dont care whether someone calls themselves whatever stance provided they arent bitter horrible people. which means, i engage with pro endos and therefore see the worst of anti endos. and i engage with anti endos and therefore see the worst of pro endos

the difference between the 8/10 pro endos i block versus the 8/10 anti endos is the flavour of sucking they tend to do. the common thread here? all of these people are heavily involved in discourse, and that generally makes someone pretty unpleasant.

discourse, in group out group mentalities, and group conformity turns people into fucking horrible people. sure, not all of us, but every single person who is so strongly attached to a discourse position that anyone outside of it is horrible and anyone inside of it isnt are the exact sort of 8/10 i block

just

look

i cooked my dad dinner, ate it with him tonight. he told me how he went to a japanese restaurant last night and wants to try some japanese cooking. we made plans to cook together

after he showed me this tech project he did. he was coding some different speeds for fans for my mom's biltong making. it was his first time using the program c, and he showed me the whole process.

he showed me how he was able to convert some ratios in three lines. i found out that the program he used before, assembler i think, was only able to divide and times by two. we had a laugh as my brain broke, trying to figure out how someone would even begin to tackle that problem

after he was done there and he gave a demo of everything he had explained in practice, i went to my nan's attached granny flat. i asked if she wanted to watch 10 more minutes of that sam i am movie she wanted to watch with me. we decided we're going to take it in chunks

i got us some wine and some cheese and crackers and we ended up watching for about half an hour before i had to tap out. i do think its a beautiful movie-- i just get a lot of second hand embarrassment when watching it and its kind of painful. but i love my nan and i love watching it with her

ive gotten into cooking a lot recently. not been able to do it as much as id like, ive been sick, but ive been falling in love with it. i want to start growing my own veggies soon

tomorrow, my brother's disability support worker is coming for the first shift. hes a chef and i asked my mom if he could ever do a shift with me to teach me how to cook. she said not yet when i brought it up first, because she doesnt want my brother to feel like im taking his support worker from him.

and earlier he was freaking out because he has a five hour shift tomorrow with this guy. he doesnt think he can handle being around someone for five hours. so i suggested that the support worker could teach me how to cook if james doesnt want to do something with him

and my brother calmed down immediately, it was a huge weight off my back, and im so so excited for tomorrow.

why the ramble?

because we all live

every single person around you is also just living a life as vivid and complex as your own. even the people i block because i think theyre stupid and they rub me the wrong way.

and i think people are worthy of compassion and respect and care regardless of what judgements you make about them

its not that people cant be bad or you have to have them in your life or that its wrong to debate or argue or vent about what they do. its just

i dont know

i find it kinda ridiculous youre in here defending pro endos by saying you generally see anti endos who are worse. of course you do, youre pro endo, youre surrounded by many pro endos because thats your community. you see a lot more of them than i do, i only really see the assholes that get 5 minutes of fame in syscourse. same with anti endos. theres probably a lot, lot more pro/anti endos that did not make it into my 8/10 statistic because i dont even know theyre pro or anti endo, because it doesnt come up and theyre not insufferable people

i just

i just find syscourse so ridiculous now

#mod ? (he/him)#syscourse #syscourse subsection

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

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You, Me, and Him | (dark)Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: the worst thing about the man who did this to you is that he’s convinced he isn’t the one who did this to you (or, brainscrambled bucky decides to keep the gift that the winter soldier left for him)

word count: 4k

warnings: smut (noncon), yandere-ish themes, stalking, kidnapping, very unstable/erratic bucky, slapping, creampie kink, praise

When you opened your eyes, you wondered why your room looked so strange. What possible angle could you be looking at your ceiling from that it would be like this?

However, when you turned your head, you suddenly realized that you were not in your room at all. The next thing you realized was that your hands were restrained— shackled, specifically, and suspended above your head. Obviously, this realization shot ice-cold terror through your veins as you began to try to understand how you’d gotten here. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t remember going to sleep in your room: no, you’d been out shopping, in the middle of the afternoon. Why couldn’t you remember anything after that?

Your head spun when a door nearby opened, and the man that awaited on the other side brought it all back.

He was following me. I tried to lose him, I turned a corner, but he was right there— and there was a syringe in his hand… and he must have—

“Oh my god,” the man gasped, “shit— are you okay?”

You stared at him in confusion, already starting to cry as you put two and two together about all this. Generally, only one thing happened after a man drugged a woman and chained her to a wall. The part that didn’t add up was the terror on his face as he rushed to you and knelt down in front of where you were lying— why was he worried about you?

“Oh no, oh nonononono,” he whimpered, mostly to himself, “oh god, I didn’t— this wasn’t… oh fuck.”

“Please let me go,” you started to plead between sobs, “I don’t know what you want, but I don’t have any money… I’ll give you whatever I have, I won’t tell anyone, just let me go, please—”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head quickly. Either he wasn’t listening (bad) or he was denying your request (worse) and both possibilities just made you cry harder. He, meanwhile, was rocking back and forth in front of you, covering his ears with his hands to muffle your cries. “Oh god, what have I done, what have I done— what did I do?”

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whimpered.

“No, no, I won’t— I would never do that…” he sighed. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

You squinted as you tried to make out what that meant, sniffling as your crying subsided a little (mainly from being distracted by the confusion of it all). “Do I… know you?”

He chuckled a little, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Uh, no, not really, I’m— my name is Bucky,” he explained, “I— you might have seen me on the news, but that wasn’t really me, that was this other guy—”

“Why did you do this to me?” you interrupted.

“No, see, that’s the thing: I didn’t do this to you. It was… it was somebody else. He’s… he’s in my head, and every once in a while he takes control and sort of does his own thing…”

Not that anybody who kidnaps somebody is totally right in the head, but this guy is certifiable.

“And he did this to you. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay,” he assured you, though it wasn’t comforting at all, “I’m not gonna hurt you, I would never— I won’t do that, okay? I’m just gonna… I’m gonna let you go.”

You sighed with relief, although some voice in the back of your head told you not to trust him just because he seemed regretful. Regardless of his strange excuses, this was still the man who kidnapped you.

“You don’t believe me,” he realized with an awkward smile. “It’s okay, I understand. I wouldn’t believe me either— god, I must sound crazy, right? But I’m not crazy. I don’t think…”

This time your sigh was less relief and more irritation.

“See, I was, uh, tortured. Experimented on. That was a long time ago, and I’m mostly over it, but this other guy— he’s a soldier. I guess I am, too, but he’s… more on the war crimes side of things. Like, assassinations and stuff. That’s a whole other story…”

I think I’d prefer to hear that one.

“Anyways, sometimes I get sort of… messed up? Up here?” he gestured to his head, leaning back to sit on the floor in front of you with crossed legs. “Like, I can’t tell what year it is or how long it’s been since I’ve slept. My psychiatrist says I’m ‘losing time’ and that it’s normal for people with… whatever it is that I have. But it’s scary, you know? Because I don’t know what I’ve done in that time. So today, I woke up and had no idea how I got where I was—”

Same.

“And I came down here and… you’re here. I didn’t… I didn’t do this, I can’t stress that enough.”

“So… this other guy…” you tried to understand, hoping that appealing to his twisted sense of logic would get him to tell you something actually useful, “he did this?” Bucky nodded. “Does he do this often?”

“What, kidnap women? No this is… this is new. As far as I know.”

“Why me?”

“Uh…” he stalled, looking away. “God, this is sort of embarrassing, but… it’s probably because I sort of have this, um, crush on you…”

“You don’t even know me,” you mumbled.

“No, you don’t know me, but I… I know you,” he nodded confidently. “Do you remember a few months ago when you went to that art gallery by your apartment? It was raining that day, I couldn’t tell for sure if you came in to look at the art or if you were just trying to get out of the weather but, anyways, you had on this big puffy coat— ‘cause it was cold out— and you took off your hood and you just looked around… I saw you, cause I was in there to look at the art, too, and you looked so beautiful.”

You were getting anxious. He said he would let you go but he hadn’t really made any progress on that goal.

“And I sort of followed you after that, and watched you— I mean, that sounds really bad, it wasn’t like that, I just… I just wanted to make sure you were safe and—”

“Let me go, Bucky, please,” you interrupted, getting more desperate.

He shook his head with a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry… I just haven’t had anyone to talk to… you’re a good listener.”

Yeah, everybody’s a good listener when they’re tied up and forced to listen.

“Just let me finish my story and I’ll let you go. I was kind of in the middle of something. You know, it’s rude to interrupt people.”

Oh fuck. You’d angered him. It was subtle, but he was clearly irritated; he looked at the floor, and his jaw tightened a little. It must have been that this candid talk made you forget he was unstable and that you needed to tread lightly. You couldn’t afford another mistake like that.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, finish your story,” you offered.

“Okay,” he nodded, “well, anyways, when you came into the gallery you looked around for a while but there was one painting you kept looking at— do you remember it?”

You shook your head.

“Really? You must’ve stared at it for half an hour. I swear I saw you tearing up a bit,” he smiled. “Clearly it had an effect on you. I wasn’t sure if you were considering buying it, or if it would make you upset to see it in your house every day, but the way you looked at it… it changed everything for me. You smiled at me as you left, just a quick glance— I’m not offended that you don’t remember me just from that, if anything it’s good because it made it a lot easier to trail you, but… I knew then that you were such a kind, soulful person.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, “I remember… I remember that.”

It was so cold out that the rain was nearly frozen. You’d gone in to escape the elements, but one painting drew you in. Someone else was there, a man that you remembered thinking was attractive but a little eerie with the way he just stood there, seemingly even more purposeless than you. He smiled at you as you left, and you smiled back. You were just trying to be friendly. No good deed, though, right?

“Do you remember the painting?” he asked again, leaning in a little closer with innocent hope sparkling in his eyes.

“Yes,” you nodded, “it was… it was a woman, and she was looking away from the viewer, out over the water. She looked sad, but determined, like she was thinking about something impossible to describe.”

He smiled wide then, apparently impressed by your description. “Look,” was all he said as he pointed to the wall beside you— and as you turned your head, you gasped as you saw it: it was the painting, even more hauntingly beautiful than you remembered. You started to cry again, because somehow it was this show of disturbed affection that made you more sure than ever that you weren’t going to get out of here.

“Don’t be scared,” he soothed, moving closer again and wiping the tears from your face gently. “It’s gonna be alright.”

“Please let me go,” you whispered shakily, looking back at him, straight into his eyes, as if maybe you could find some sanity there to appeal to.

He frowned a little as he pulled back, bringing his thumb to his lips to chew the nail nervously as he thought. “See, here’s the thing…”

“Bucky, please—”

“I don’t think I can do that,” he sighed.

“Please,” you cried, the word starting to lose all meaning as you just fought to be able to speak past the force of your sobs, “please, please—”

“You could tell somebody— and I know it wasn’t me, but the police aren’t gonna care about that. I always have to take the heat for what he does… and I would just rather not go to prison.”

“I won’t, Bucky,” you feverishly defended, “I wouldn’t tell, I swear— we’re friends! Friends don’t tell on each other—”

He interrupted you as he grabbed you by your shirt suddenly, pulling you towards him as you recoiled. “I don’t have friends,” he growled.

“We… we could be friends,” you offered weakly. “I could be your friend. Do you… do you want to be my friend?”

He studied your face, the gaze of his bright blue eyes burning through you instantly. “I can’t say that I do.”

You whimpered as he leaned in closer, taking a deep breath right against the side of your face.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, his left hand— bionic metal, much to your horror— reaching up to trace over your face and hold you close to him. “We aren’t friends, silly; we’re soulmates.”

You shivered, gut sinking as you closed your eyes and thought there might still be a chance it was all a horrible dream. This isn’t happening to me, this isn’t happening to me, this can’t be happening to me—

“Hey!” he yelled, slapping you on the face suddenly. “Keep your eyes open!”

You cried but tried to do as he asked, knowing it would only be so much worse if you didn’t do whatever he wanted.

“The point is, even if you didn’t tell, letting you go just isn’t… economical for me,” he explained. “‘Cause the truth is, even though I didn’t want to kidnap you, right now I wanna… I wanna keep you.”

He didn’t even let you start crying hard again before he cradled your face in his hands, refusing to let you turn away.

“No, baby, it’s okay— it’s gonna be good!” he promised. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Please, Bucky, don’t do this,” you sobbed.

“Shh, shh, don’t you get it? He did this to help me— he knew I couldn’t do it alone, ‘cause I was too afraid to talk to you, but he brought you to me, and now I’m gonna make you understand how good we are for each other.”

He scooted closer, his hands rubbing your legs through your jeans as you cried silently.

“And that’s why he didn’t touch you,” he continued. “He just left you for me, cause he knows you’re— you’re mine.”

He kissed you suddenly, and it was awkward and sloppy against your unwilling lips. His tongue eventually managed to force your mouth open, exploring and filling it as you struggled and failed to turn away. His hand on your jaw was almost tight enough to choke you, a looming threat of what awaited if you didn’t kiss him back. You couldn’t exactly put much passion into it but you tried your best.

He was smiling when he leaned back and broke away from you, still holding your face and seeming almost proud— of you or himself, you weren’t sure.

“You are so perfect,” he praised quietly. “I can’t believe I finally have you… god, it’s like a dream come true.”

Or a nightmare, you responded internally.

You jumped when he pulled the knife out from a holster on his belt.

“Oh, this? I won’t hurt you with it— so long as you stay still,” he explained gently as he leaned forward and started to cut off your shirt while you tried desperately not to shake.

He looked at you with the reverence of a man at the altar as he tore the shreds of your clothes away, cutting slowly until you were just in your bra and panties.

"Stop," you whispered, but it was so quiet he must not have heard you— or he just didn't care. He gingerly slipped the knife between your bra and your chest, tugging out to snap it off.

He took a breath to steady himself; he seemed nearly as nervous as you, just in an entirely different way.

"Baby," he mumbled under his breath, "god, I just wanna do everything to you."

It was hard not to tense up when he said that, or when he brought the knife between your legs to cut off your underwear, but you willed yourself not to shiver because you really weren't ready to lose anything important if his hand slipped.

With them cut and tossed aside, you forced your eyes shut— because you couldn't stop him from seeing you, but at least you didn't have to watch. As your legs instinctively closed, he gently guided them back open, metal fingers cold on your skin but flesh ones unbearably warm.

“You have such a nice body, I don’t know why you hide it in those baggy clothes,” he chuckled as he ran his hands over your skin. “I watched you shower a few times, you know, and I saw you look at yourself in the mirror before you got in…"

You opened your eyes, but he wasn't looking at your face, instead taking a long moment to take in everything else.

"You looked like you were disappointed," he continued, "but— but you’re beautiful, and you should know that. You need somebody to tell you that.”

You felt your face heating up even though you should be horrified, not flattered. To be fair, it was a bit of both.

“Do you think I’m, you know, handsome?” he asked awkwardly, glancing up to your face again. “People used to say that about me, a long time ago. Are you… attracted to me?”

You shook your head, lying.

“Then why are you so wet?” he sing-songed with a mocking grin, thick fingers spreading your lower lips and gathering the arousal they found there. You whimpered when he brought those fingers to his lips and sucked them hungrily. “Fuck, you taste incredible— I mean, I knew you would, but wow, this is so much better than just smelling those panties he stole.”

You shivered with disgust, realizing that he was responsible for the pair you thought were lost in the laundry.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that,” he laughed. “Yeah, it was his idea and all, I didn’t do anything but… I’ll tell you a little secret,” he smirked as he leaned in, right against your ear, whispering: “I got off with them, and on them, and it felt soooo good…”

He quickly pulled his cock out of his trousers as you started to struggle against the chains again, getting a quick glimpse before looking away as you wondered how he could possibly fit that in you.

“Do you like knowing that? Do you like knowing I stroked my cock and thought about you? I imagined you were laying under me, begging me to fuck you… and now you’re here, and it’s real, and it’s gonna be wonderful.”

You gasped as he suddenly pushed in, trying not to react but knowing he was watching your face intently and saw it all. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed, “you’re so tight, god, I knew you’d be perfect…”

You cried as he started moving inside you, holding your hips steady and filling you completely until it actually hurt to be stretched so wide. You were sure nothing had ever been so deep inside you, and it was making your whole body jolt with each thrust.

“Does it feel good? Do you like my cock in you?” he asked— but it didn’t sound like dirty talk, it sounded like he was genuinely asking.

You shook your head, lying again.

“What if I do this?” he offered, reaching down and circling a calloused thumb over your clit. Your back arched into his touch, and he grinned proudly. “See, doesn’t that make it better? I bet I can make you come.”

One final lie for the night, you shook your head.

"Oh, doll," he soothed, kissing away a tear that had trailed down your cheek, "it's okay… it's okay to like it. You don't need to pretend."

He reached down and pressed his hand into your lower belly, making you winced as he applied pressure until it took everything you had not to scream.

"Feel that?" he cooed. "I can feel it. We're finally together, baby, you never have to be alone again… isn't it incredible?"

Sobbing, your back began to arch up against the wall you were chained to. With his hand pushing on you, it was impossible to ignore the head of his cock slamming into your g-spot— hard enough that your entire body shook with each thrust. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, and not just because you’d never been kidnapped before. As he leaned down to suck on your neck hard enough to leave a mark, it was hard not to feel like he was claiming every part of your body all at once. You bit down on your lip, afraid to moan too loud, but he heard the muffled noises and pulled up to tut at you disapprovingly.

“Don’t do that,” he frowned, “I wanna hear everything, pretty girl. I wanna hear you beg for me.”

You whined as you tried to resist it, but getting railed like this made you want to do whatever he told you to.

“Come on, baby,” he encouraged sweetly, “just let go, I know you want to…”

It was bubbling up in your chest faster than you could stop it, each cry louder than the last until you couldn’t hold back anymore. “Bucky!” you shrieked, hating yourself as you heard him laugh happily right by your ear.

“Oh I know, I’m right here, doll,” he soothed gently, holding you tightly; your hands wiggled inside their shackles, and you shamefully realized that you were craving to wrap your arms around him, run your fingers through his hair. The desire to push him away was lost to the need to reach your peak. “Say my name just like that when you come on my cock, sweetheart.”

Your walls were already convulsing and you were moaning so loud you thought you might lose your voice. Pleasure built up faster than you could comprehend, and so intensely that little black dots were dancing on your vision.

Oh god yes, right there, don’t stop, yes, you would’ve cried out were it anyone else doing this to you. Instead all you could do was whimper his name, somewhere between begging for more and begging for mercy.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I can feel you coming for me— you’re so good, so fucking good,” he groaned, “I’m close already, can you believe it? I should slow down, so I can make you come again, but you feel too good, I can’t stop.”

Most of that was lost to you, though, because everything had gone numb and fuzzy in the wake of your orgasm, your body limp in his grasp. The way he pulled your hips into his made you feel used, like a— well, like a doll, fittingly.

“Oh god, babygirl— can I come inside?” he asked gently, but when you weakly shook your head, he just smiled. “It’s gonna feel so good to fill you up.”

Before you could make it clear that you were saying no, he leaned forward and kissed you— aggressive and rough as he started to breathe deeply and moan against you. You kicked your legs to try to get him away but all you could do was uselessly scrape your feet against the floor. You could feel him pulsing inside you, growling against your lips until suddenly warmth began to paint your walls. Whimpering, you slouched limply as the fight left you.

“Oh my god, angel,” he sighed, pulling back and smiling as he traced his thumb over your face, following the path of a fresh tear, “that was… you’re incredible. I’ve never come like that, you feel so fucking amazing.”

He kissed you again, gentler and slower than before.

“Is it weird that I don’t wanna pull out?” he asked just louder than a whisper, chuckling as his nose brushed against yours. It was like this guy thought he was in a Hallmark Christmas movie while you were in a Lifetime thriller. “I could just stay inside you forever… but I won’t.”

He watched in awe as his hips pulled back and his softening cock slipped out of you. Your face burned with shame as you felt a gush of his come (and yours) leak from you.

“Wow, look at that,” he mumbled weakly. “Can you push it out, baby? I wanna see how good I filled this pretty pussy.”

It made you feel disgusting, but you summoned the last of your strength to do as he asked, unable to see the results but watching him stare between your legs and bite his lip.

“Fuck, babygirl, that’s… that’s fucking gorgeous. I stretched you out pretty good, and you’re all swollen…”

Strange enough, he pulled you into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re so perfect, sweetheart… my pretty little doll.” When he pulled back a bit, he moved a stray hair that had stuck to the sheen of sweat on your face, admiring you with a small smile. “God, I can’t believe you’re finally all mine. Guess he was lookin’ out for me, bringing you here. I oughta thank him, somehow.”

He must have known what you were imagining by the way you tensed up, and he laughed softly.

“Don’t worry, baby, I won’t let him touch you. I won’t let anyone touch you but me. Now let’s get you out of these chains and into a hot bath, how’s that sound?”

Weakly nodding, you let your eyes fall shut as he reached up to unlock the metal cuffs around your wrists. Holding your hands in his, he softly kissed the marks left there from when you’d still been fighting, before finally scooping you up into his arms. He didn’t struggle at all to lift you, and you were too exhausted to notice the way you were leaning into his chest as you dozed off.

You dreamt that you were looking out over still water, contemplative but determined, before falling right in.

#dark!bucky barnes smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes non con #yandere!bucky barnes

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ddixons-angel · 4 years

Text

Fated: Season 5

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff)

A/N: And we’re back! So last week, our group finally made it to Alexandria and Gloria found her sister was there too! As I expected, she wasn’t very well liked xD she does get better though... eventually :P I really can’t wait to see what you guys think of this chapter, hehe let’s get into it!

Chapter 9

The next day, the group had been told to explore, get to know the place and meet people. Rick was surprisingly encouraging of it and so the group took off. Gloria decided to leave her daggers at home, she had planned to check out the community’s infirmary and if she was to work there, having daggers strapped to her sides may not be the best first impression. Gloria walks out to the porch where Daryl was seated on the floor, his back leaning on the rails. She looks at him and tilts her head, blinking.

“What are you doing just sitting there?” she asks, taking a few steps to him.

He shrugs, “‘m good here.”

“Are you sure? You can take a walk with me,” Gloria says with a smile.

“The sun’s out, thought ya only liked full moon walks.” Daryl says, a hint of a smile on his lips.

She chuckles and shakes her head, “I like walks with you, sun or moon.”

“Ya go off, I’ll be here...” Daryl says, not moving from his spot on the porch floor.

“Okay, I’m just going to check out the infirmary, I’ll be back soon,” she tells him as she starts to go down the steps.

“Ya ain’ gon’ bring yer daggers?” Daryl calls out as he notices he doesn’t have her weapons on her.

“I don’t think I’ll need them, pretty sure I can take down anyone who comes at me here,” Gloria says, earning a snort of a laugh from Daryl.

“I think we should check out their pantry, see how well they do on runs,” Glenn says as he walks out of the house and down the steps with Maggie trailing behind him.

“Room for one more?” Gloria calls out as she follows suit behind her brother.

Glenn chuckles at her choice of words then the three of them walk down the street together. They come across the house that is supposedly Gena’s house, she made sure to let Glenn know which one was her’s. A young man around Glenn’s age steps down the porch of that house and both Glenn and Gloria stop in their tracks when they see who the man is. Maggie looks at the two in confusion, trying to figure out why they both stopped dead in their tracks.

“You’re kidding me... right?” Glenn groans.

“Okay... who else are we going to find here...” Gloria grimaces.

“Glenn! Gloria!” the young man who came out of Gena’s house runs towards them and tackles Glenn in a hug as Gloria swiftly dodged out of the way.

Glenn makes a face at his sister just before the man pulls away, grinning at Glenn, “I seriously can’t believe you’re here, man!”

“Jacob... I can’t believe it either,” Glenn says, an uncomfortable smile on his face.

“I never thought I’d ever see you again!” Jacob grins.

“I never wanted to see you again...” Gloria mumbles under her breath, making Jacob look at her, but he still had a grin on his face.

“Gloria... I missed you so much!” he says as he makes his way towards her.

“W-woah!” Gloria exclaims as Jacob picks her up in a hug.

“You have no idea how happy I was when Gena told me you’re both here,” Jacob says, putting Gloria down and looking back at Glenn.

When Jacob turns to look at Glenn, Gloria signals to him that she is going to go and to keep him distracted. He catches her eye and nods, knowing just how uncomfortable Jacob made her feel.

“Yeah...” Glenn says, then he gestures to Maggie, “this is Maggie, my wife.”

“Oh right! I heard from Gena that you got married in this? Woah, she’s a beauty, man.” Jacob says, shaking Maggie’s hand.

As they make small talk, Gloria backs away and mouths ‘I love you, brother’ to Glenn then she quickly takes her leave. She turns on the next street over where the infirmary was located, Aaron had let her know where it was earlier. Gloria walks up the steps to the building and knocks on the door, waiting a short moment before the door opened.

“Hi?” a woman with red hair in a ponytail, and glasses greets her, seeming somewhat nervous at Gloria’s sudden appearance.

“Hi, um, I’m Gloria.” she smiles at the woman.

“I’m Denise,” she says, awkwardly waving her hand.

“I’m part of the new group that came in yesterday, pretty sure everyone knows about us...” Gloria says, causing Denise to nod, “I just wanted to check out the infirmary, I’m apparently gonna be one of the medics working with the doctor? Pete, I think his name was?”

“Oh! You’re one of the new medics! Well, I’m one of the... other medics, please come in,” Denise says with a smile as she invites her into the infirmary, “did you want me to get Pete? I can if you want me to.”

Gloria chuckles and shakes her head, “it’s okay, I don’t actually start until tomorrow, at least that’s what Deanna told all of us. I just wanted to check it out here, if the doctor’s not in I wouldn’t want to bother him on his downtime given he always has to be on-call.”

Denise nods, pursing her lips, “you... actually worked in a hospital... didn’t you?”

Gloria nods but furrows her brows, noticing the woman’s drop in facial expression, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing... just... Pete’s a surgeon, you worked in a hospital, and the other medic probably has some experience in being a medic... meanwhile, there’s me, a psychiatrist.” Denise sighs, slumping down on the empty patient bed.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Gloria says, “a psychiatrist is still a doctor, no matter what.”

“I’m useless when it comes to saving lives and in emergencies,” Denise looks down.

“A psychiatrist heals wounds people can’t see.” Gloria tells her, making Denise look up at her.

“Did you get that out of a book or something?” she asks.

“I think I heard it somewhere,” Gloria says, making the other woman chuckle, “it’s okay for you not to have experience in these things. When this all started, I barely had experience.”

“Really?” Denise furrows her brows, “but I heard from Deanna that you helped stop someone’s bleeding.”

“That was after the world ended. Before that, I would just watch the doctors do all the work since I was only an intern. The most I did was give shots and stitches,” Gloria explains.

“At least you still have experience with stitches... You know I planned to become a surgeon?” Denise says, a sad smile on her face, “it’s what I wanted to be but then... my anxiety acted up and then the panic attacks... and that’s when I got really interested in psychiatry.”

“I know what you mean, we probably have the most stressful and pressuring job there is now,” Gloria sighs, “but hey, we’ll work through it all together.”

“I’ll just stand in your way...” Denise looks down again.

“Denise,” Gloria calls out, making the other woman look up at her, “I’ll be right with you, I just need you to try, okay?”

Denise ponders her words for a moment before nodding with a smile on her face. Gloria understood what Denise was going through with the pressures and stressfulness of being in the medical field. She’d felt it while she was an intern and even more so after the world ended. Gloria felt that Denise was a good person who wanted to do her best. She knew that with the proper encouragement and guidance, Denise would become a fine medic.

---

Back at the house, Daryl was pacing around the living room, driving himself absolutely crazy. The others had been out for a few hours already to explore the community, leaving him at the house alone with his thoughts. He didn’t care that the people in Alexandria were watching him, eyeing him like a hawk and judging him. He knew they would no matter what, and that wasn’t what bothered him. What plagued his mind was him seeing another man hug his girl.

Since Daryl remained on the porch when Glenn, Gloria, and Maggie left to explore the place, he was able to hear when an unfamiliar male voice called out to the siblings. He turned to catch the man picking up Gloria in a hug, regardless of her being visibly uncomfortable towards him, and seeing that made his blood boil. It took everything in him to not run over and punch the man in the face. Daryl trusted her, of course he trusted her, he just hated seeing someone who was not him embrace her the way he did.

“Hey Daryl,” Glenn says, interrupting his pacing as he walks into the house with Maggie behind him, “everything okay?”

Daryl looks at him, mid-step and nods at him in acknowledgement. He felt stupid for feeling the way he did, but he really needed to know who the hell that guy was.

“Yo Glenn...” he calls out just as he’s about to sit on the sofa.

“Yeah?” he responds, looking at Daryl.

“Come here for a sec?” Daryl says, beckoning him over to the kitchen counter where he stood.

Glenn furrows his brow as he walks over to him, “what’s up?”

Daryl hesitates for a moment, biting his thumb nail nervously, “that guy... who is he...?”

“What guy...?” Glenn tilts his head in confusion.

“Don’ be playin’ dumb, tha’ prick tha’ hugged ya an’ Gloria,” Daryl says, frustration in his voice as his patience was running out.

“Oh, Jacob?” Glenn clarifies.

“Whatever his name is, who is he?” Daryl persists.

Glenn finally realizes what’s going on with Daryl and has to keep himself from chuckling, “he’s a guy on Aiden’s run team, used to be a cop before all this, but he’s not someone you need to worry about.”

“Ya know him from before?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah, we went to the same highschool, and his sister is Gena's best friend,” Glenn tells him truthfully.

“So, he’s yer friend too...” Daryl says, not liking this.

“I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend...” Glenn says, earning an eyebrow raise from Daryl, “I knew him before highschool because of Gena and he was in a few of my classes but we barely even talked. He was one of those jocks who always thought they’re better than everyone else.”

“Ya were friends with that kind o’ person?” Daryl asks, furrowing his brow in confusion, he thought that Glenn was saying he wasn't his friend just so he felt better about not liking the guy.

“I told you, we aren’t exactly friends,” Glenn says then sighs when Daryl stares at him, “okay, long story short... he bullied me in highschool.”

Daryl narrows his eyes at him, he knew Glenn wasn't the type to fight back, especially not in his teen years. He wanted to tell him that he should have told his older sister, but knowing how Glenn is, he wouldn't want to potentially ruin his sister's friendship with Jacob's sister. Now, Gloria on the other hand, Daryl was sure that she'd do something about it.

“Gloria wouldn’ let that slide...” he says.

“She wouldn’t... and she didn’t. When she found out, the next day she found him and punched him in the face,” Glenn chuckles at the memory then sighs, “but then that’s when he apparently fell in love with her...”

“What?” Daryl frowns at that, “what kind o’ masochist prick is he..?”

Glenn shrugs, “I don’t know, man. I just remember that he couldn’t stop bothering her after that... asshole even used me to get her to go on a few dates with him.”

“What?!” Daryl exclaims, he couldn’t stop the jealousy from exploding inside him as he registered Glenn’s words.

“He threatened to keep bullying me if she didn’t...” Glenn sighs as he looks down, “I practically begged her not to go and that I could take whatever he threw at me but you know her...”

Daryl sighs heavily and nods, knowing how protective Gloria is over Glenn, she would have done anything to prevent Glenn from getting bullied, even going on dates with a prick. The thought of it made Daryl uneasy and curiosity plagued his mind again as he wondered what they did on those dates, or rather what that guy tried to do on those dates. Glenn seems to catch onto his uneasiness as he snaps Daryl out of his thoughts when he puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to worry about him, though. Gloria still kinda hates him,” Glenn says with a chuckle.

“Ya tellin’ me not to worry about her ex who might still be in love with her?” Daryl asks rhetorically.

"Gloria says he’s just a guy she went on a few dates with to save my ass, nothing more.” Glenn reassures him “yeah, he might still be in love with her or whatever, but she doesn’t care. She cares about you, Daryl. And if it makes you feel any better, I approve of you, not Jacob.”

Daryl scoffs playfully, and he nods, “thanks...”

“No problem,” Glenn smiles at him, patting his arm, “also, let me know if you’re ever planning to kick his ass, I’d love to join in.”

Daryl snorts a laugh at his words and nods again, wordlessly promising Glenn to let him know. He felt himself more at ease after talking to Glenn, although he didn’t like that they would be living in a community with someone from Gloria’s past but he had to deal with it. Later in the evening, Gloria had come back to the house and she told Daryl about Denise. He was happy for her that she made a new friend at the community, all the while he kept quiet as he listened to her talk about her day. Daryl felt that he didn’t need to bother confronting Gloria about Jacob, he was a person from her past.

---

Next Chapter

Okay so! I know that Denise doesn’t actually appear in the show until Season 6 but I love her and she deserved so much more so I just added her here haha and then we have another new character (you all probably already hate him too xD) who triggered a jealous Daryl. Reason why I thought that it was best to add more characters from Glenn and Gloria’s life before the apocalypse is because it wouldn’t really make sense to me for Gena to come to a community alone without any friends since it seemed that everyone in Alexandria originally has a family with them. Also, I just really love writing Daryl and Glenn moments ❤❤❤ Please let me know what you think about this chapter and what you guys think will happen! ^^

And as always, I would really appreciate any comments left for me! I’ll be replying to any comments in a new post because this is a sideblog!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!):

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dbtskills · 5 years

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Psychiatric Hospitalization 101

So you’re about to save your own life by going to the hospital- here’s what you need to know:

~disclaimer: I am not a healthcare professional nor have I worked in a hospital. I am simply someone who has been hospitalized multiple times. This is about acute, short-term psych hospitalization. My word is not law~

The Truth

First off, let me tell you the truth. The truth is that being hospitalized is one of the bravest things you can do. You have chosen (or perhaps you haven’t) to save your own life. Not to beat the physical vs mental illness comparison to death, but conceptually this is like going to the hospital with a broken leg to get a cast. You’re treating an acute wound, going to get a tune up, going to a safe place to heal. Unfortunately there is a stigma involved. It’s been decreasing recently and I think you’ll find psych hospitalization is a lot more common than you imagine. But it still exists. You can be proud of taking this step. It will be hard, but you’ve made the right choice.

When to consider hospitalization

Being suicidal is one of the most common reasons for hospitalization. Psychosis, panic attacks, and substance abuse are others. The main factor for choosing to hospitalize is whether you think you can survive the episode you’re having. If you’re even questioning it, hospitalization is probably a good idea. If you’re choosing between your life and the hospital, the hospital is always the right answer even if it doesn’t seem that way at the time.

The process

There are two ways to be hospitalized: through the ER and straight to the unit. The ER is the most common way. Occasionally your therapist or psychiatrist or other healthcare provider will be able to bypass the ER for you and get you straight into a bed on a unit. If you have this opportunity, definitely take it.

If you go the ER route, you arrive and explain why you’re there. You’ll then be taken back into a room- sometimes a private room, sometimes a communal psych room. Sometimes your phone will be taken. A guard will be stationed near you to ensure you do not hurt yourself or try to run away. You may wait for hours. You’ll see a psychiatrist who will determine whether to commit you to the psych unit or send you home. If they decide to commit you, you’ll be wheeled to the unit.

For me, the worst part of the process is the ER. You’re often helped by healthcare professionals who are judgmental of mental illness or are too busy to enact kindness. It can be a very dehumanizing experience. You may regret coming to the hospital, but you did the right thing. Saving your life is always the right thing. It’s okay to regret it for a bit as long as you follow through.

What to pack

Your belongings will be confiscated upon your arrival but if you have a chance to pack or if you have someone to bring you stuff, consider these:

A warm comfy outfit like sweats (but without a string at the waist!!!!!! take it out or they won’t let you have them!), SOCKS, pjs. Loungewear basically. The hospital provides basic toiletries, socks, and gowns/scrubs/paper pants. They can provide underwear and pads as necessary. Pack a hair brush if you’ve got tangly hair bc whatever they give you will NOT suffice.

You may want to bring your medications just in case the hospital doesn’t have them in their pharmacy but you will not have access to them, all your meds will come from the hospital itself.

Books! Some hospitals have a small library but you can bring your own if they’re deemed appropriate by the staff. They provide stuff like coloring pages, puzzles, games, etc but it can get p boring.

BRING A WRITTEN LIST OF IMPORTANT PHONE NUMBERS. YOUR PHONE WILL BE TAKEN.

You will have to ask to have items you arrived with brought to you from your belongings bag. Occasionally they will be reluctant, but you can self-advocate your way through it.

On the unit

If you came to the hospital in the evening you may get little sleep that first night. You have to do the intake where they ask you all the questions and you sign a bunch of forms. You must be up for breakfast the next day. That first day you won’t get to choose your own meals but you will fill out a meal card for the next day.

Most of your day will consist of shuffling between different mental health groups. Mental Health Professionals (often social work masters students) run groups on addiction, coping skills, community resources, gratitude etc etc in addition to your stereotypical group therapy. There are 3 meals a day, snacks available, and lots of downtime. There’s also activity hour where you do crafts or play games. During activity hour in my last hospitalization I painted a cackling coffin (it was October). 10/10.

You will have a roommate. My experience is that you both mind your own business while being kind and it’s generally okay.

They will take your blood pressure and vitals at least once a day. It’s annoying but necessary. They may do labs and draw your blood depending on your circumstances. If you have a physical illness as well, it may be a battle to make sure you are seen and treated for that too. All I can say is be your best advocate.

You will not have your cell phone. This will be stressful at first but hopefully nice after a bit. You can call whomever you want using the hospital phones that are on during downtime. You may have to ask the staff to dial if it’s out of the hospital area code. People can also call you if they know where you are. Do what you need to do but also don’t be the Phone Hogger bc we all want to use it too.

Visitors are allowed during certain hours. It’s not like a regular hospital visiting situation where they can just sit by your bed for hours. It’s like once a day for an hour you can get a visitor, no more than two at a time or whatever the rules are. No one can visit or call you without your permission. Visits by loved ones are so so nice and make you feel human again. I would encourage finding someone you trust who can visit you. It can make a world of difference.

"How can I get out faster?”

This is a hack question tbh. I know everything sucks but you are there to heal first and foremost. Generally they release you when the psychiatrist thinks you’re ready to go. The average stay for something like an acute suicidal episode is 3-5 days. That’s enough time in the dr’s eyes for you to stabilize and receive any medication changes. If you are on the unit voluntarily, you can technically leave at any time. I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone insist on it though. Ask your doctors when they are considering releasing you so you can plan. They may change their answer so casually check in now and then.

Go to groups and participate in them. If you're hiding in your room all day the nurses will notice and they do write that down. There may be many people on the unit, but the nurses are keeping track and taking roll. If you can, be open, honest and compliant with your treatment team. Now there’s a part of me that goes “Fuck The System!!!! Fuck being compliant! I am my own woman and my illness is Me and not something to be stigmatized or hidden. Take me to Bitch Planet, bitch!!!” This is totally valid. You just have to decide what is more important to you- being noncompliant in the face of a judgmental system or getting back to the world. As much I want to rebel, my perfectionism and people pleasing tend to kick in by the second day on the unit.

The aftermath & “what do I tell people?”

When you are being prepped for release, you must have appointments with your outpatient treatment team set up. If you don’t already, the hospital will schedule them for you. If there’s someone who can pick you up, utilize that. Otherwise they may set you up with a cab or something depending on the location. You will be given the bag containing your phone and other belongings upon release.

It is up to you to decide what to tell people about your stay on the unit. You can be honest with whomever you choose, but you don’t have to be. You can say you were out of town or had a family emergency or whatever you want. It is not your responsibility to break the stigma. If you can and want to, go for it! We will all appreciate it. But you don’t have to advocate if you don’t feel comfortable. I tell many of my friends and family the full truth and then tell others that I was “in the hospital.” If they ask questions I say I don’t want to talk about it. This works better than you might think. (It surprised me how respectful people are when you say you don’t want to talk about something.) Most people won't even ask, tbh.

It's not all garbage

It’s not all drugged up zombies and Dissociation Time: my last experience was pretty lit. We had morning “stretches” to ‘80s bops. We played Wii bowling. We discussed aliens and conspiracy theories. In a place with such a heavy stigma on it, it was a surprisingly Shame-Free environment. It was comforting to be in a place where everyone Got It. At night we would get our meds and then drift off to bed one by one as the meds hit to goodnights of “ope, the Seroquel’s kicking in.” The variety of people on the unit proves that mental illness affects everyone, from the college student to the 75-year-old retired man to the soccer mom with 3 kids. And they each have different ways of coping, different perspectives on their situation. These other perspectives can be inspiring, even helpful and you may pick up as many tips from your peers as the actual professionals. Respect your peers, don’t be that person who’s like “why am I, Normal Person, locked up with all these Crazy People?” If you’re in there, you’re all in the same boat. Crazy is a slur and no one there is crazy unless they choose to reclaim the term.

The staff can be quite kind as well. I once had a nurse go down to the gift shop to get me a tiny hair brush for my waist-length tangled hair. He didn’t have to put in that effort but he did. This past time I had an MHP sit with me after a session and develop personalized affirmations that she wrote in my journal with her gorgeous, swooping handwriting. It’s small things like these that end up mattering most in an environment that can feel harsh. There can be great kindness there, under all the rules and regulations, you just have to be open to it.

I’ve made a wide range of friends in hospitals. Ones I’d never have even encountered in real life. Even though we haven’t kept in touch, I think of them often. My roommate with terminal kidney failure who got ECT twice a week but took the time to ask how I was. A recent immigrant from Nepal who didn’t speak any English but with whom I communicated anyway. Sandy, my homeless roommate who gave me all of her toiletries instead of taking them with her. Trevor, a young heroin addict who guarded my chocolate cake when I had a phone call. Curtis, a retired professor deep in psychosis whom we taught to Wii bowl. There are so many different lives that tangle with each other on the unit. In this way I consider it a gift, to have a window into all these different worlds that are connected by this one string. I’ll never see these people again, but I’ll never forget them either. I hope they’re all still out there, getting by.

Getting hospitalized can be one of the scariest and hardest experiences but it is also one of the bravest. You saved your own life. Even if you didn’t bring yourself in, your participation saved it. It is a chance to reorient yourself to life, to recovery. It is a second, a third, a 15th chance. It’s like a terrible mini vacation. Responsibilities are lifted so you can focus on yourself. Utilize it if you can.

Again, my word is not law, it is based on my own experiences on the inside and outside of psych units. Please please reply or send asks with your own information. I know I’m not the only one on here who’s been hospitalized. We are legion. We survived. We survive.

**Note from Kat: I am trying to learn graphic design (is my passion™) but the struggle is real and it does NOT come naturally so if anyone wants to help hmu!!!!! Can’t pay obvi but can link!**

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katzirra · 3 years

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Waiting for the place to give me my file list from my hand drive recovery. Made an omelet with asparagus and bacon, and gave the boys a tiny bit for being good this morning and letting me sleep in past 8:06...

Hannibal woke me up with very loudly aggressively loving face rubs which is new, and has been demanding attention all morning by soft paw grabbing and holding my hand while cooking, also new. Usually he's very independent and wants nothing to do with us.

Still concerned with his audible breathing when he's SLIGHTLY distressed, for a cat with obvious anxiety, and when he's picked up or sitting/laying weird. It's very noticeable, and I'm wondering if it has to do with his nasal bridge being a tad flat.

Trying to manifest a good mood. I'm having a big existential crisis about being alive.

Which, I'll just throw that under a cut and pair it with an apology. 🤙✨

I feel like I have no purpose or meaning. Having a lot of those "why bother/what's the point" moments about a lot of things which...the depth of those feelings isn't just apathetic like most people experience? For me it's very much a red flag, so that's been fun. Usually it's doing something as simple as doing something nice for myself, thinking why bother, and having to ARGUE with myself why it matters. Like...having to validate EVERYTHING I do these days is exhausting. Honestly, it's been a low simmer scary JUST KEEP SWIMMING the last few months. But everything I feel is too much to talk to anyone about, and it doesn't HELP me to. It's me. It's my brain. It's scary and I don't like looking the beast directly in the face when people want me to open up. My demon, my problem, trust me when I say I'm trying and that I'm sincere when I say sorry I'm not all here or present.

I'm, like torn between wanting to message my friend first to talk about shit, but I'm also refusing because I was hurt and the comment about shit being too much to read just resonates in my brain yelling "you're not worth their time and effort, you dumb bitch!" because my brain has a FIELD day with that shit. Its.... Kicking a dead horse, repeating myself anyway probably. It hasn't seemed to stick after the last year of me apologizing monthly because I'm just a shit friend who is too busy working and trying to not kill myself. Suicide ideation is a thing, and it SUCKS when it's as invasive as it is for intruding thoughts. But I'll keep apologizing because I feel guilty for not being good enough. Present enough. Engaging enough. Because maybe that time it'll stick??

They'll probably be better off without me making them feel bad because I don't put in enough effort I guess? Which also just hurts because I know online I'm standoffish these days, so I put the extra effort into being a good host I thought and I hoped that mattered. I just feel like no matter what I'm doomed to disappoint them? So I don't mean they'd be better off in a dismissive way, it's a legit...way I think. Like I'm obviously causing distress, and yelling at me won't fix it because it makes me recoil emotionally. So maybe I'm just a bad friend in reality and it is what it is. I'm sorry so many people have fucked me up about inter personal relationships?? I don't know what to do this time because that stupid fight cut me very deep in core values in myself.

It...Fucked me up. And whether that's important to them or not, or whether it has an repercussive weight, whatever. We've both been hurt by people, and been there as much as we'd let eachother. I've tried to be crazy supportive in the last bout of shit they went through. Because I love a bitch, and they matter immensely to me, and I know I suffered alone through a LOT of things like that and know it sucks. I offered my home, attention and time any time I could give it.. Being told i don't give as much as them set weird on my heart in light of that. It hurt.

Idk...And maybe I'm just some dramatic bitch or whatever I guess. Doesn't matter. I matter, my feelings matter. I'm mentally ill and I fucking bust my ass to deal with it, AND be a loving and supportive fixture in people's lives. I suck, sure. But I'm ALWAYS there for people.

I mention I'm depressed or angry at life, sure, but the layers of distress aren't...on display? It's my shit to deal with, if I bring it up, it's for benefit of people knowing why I'm withdrawn usually. I don't talk about myself much anymore because everything is too much and I just start venting. And people don't care that deeply about how fucked up my head is. Or I over share too much. Or yeah, it's a lot to read and I start babbling because the cork is off and I HURT inside just being alive anymore. I don't feel like I'm living my life for me these days. I don't feel alive. I feel stagnant. I'm biding time for SOMETHING to happen??

Yet I'm constantly apologizing to people for not being able to do basic shit, that I'm upfront about being difficult for some dumb reason. I'm always having to explain myself to people. I am in this bubble so often of feeling like I was made wrong, a mistake, missing something important.

Or that I'm a bad person. I'm too open, too closed, withdrawn, outgoing - I can never seem to get the ratio right. And its the kind of discussion I feel leans into self pity and attention grabbing but it's...something I internally struggle with every week and keep to myself.

Oh Kat, get a psychiatrist - I dont know that it would help, honestly. I know 90% of my thoughts and fears are irrational, and pointless. But I know they have valid backing in trauma that I have mostly dealt with, and am unlearning. But I also know I see through people, can identify those markers, and understand outcomes way too easy and that ALSO makes people mad. So. What the fuck is a shrink gonna do for me? My depression is a background white noise to this stuff, and it's honestly just bullshit I deal with. I'm not keen on medication, I'm sure it would help quiet my brain, but I've been dealing with this shit almost 20 years now, ita just the added drama and bullshit from people that exacerbates the emotional brain rash, for lack of a better phrasing. My issues are all behavioral and some depression and anxiety in the mix that I manage.

For all I'm told people understand ahit wrong with me, it sure is something I repeatedly get bitched at over, honestly. And I partially get it, I also find it frustrating. But I've been battling depression since I was 12/13 and learning to stop thinking certain things only since 21, and that's the harder part. I'm not the person people think I am, I wish I was anymore. That bitch died in 2011/2012. That fissure in my foundation fucked me UP. The shaking I had one or two years ago, didn't help.

To be transparently honest the whole shitstorm two weeks ago really hit some raw nerves I'm trying to deal with, and not doing well. Because the more times that nerve is hit the more I don't feel like a valuable person and that I'm wasting people's time. But the reason I'm yelled at is that I am a valuable person, and they want more of my time in a way?? I don't know what people want from me.

Waves hand dismissively - they're being sweethearts by the back door for now.

I'm in a weird place emotionally and mentally. I don't feel alive. I don't feel real. I don't feel valid or... I don't know. Nothing I say or so actually matters in my own life or experiences. I can be an amazing person with communication and intention but it doesn't matter if the other person doesn't care, it's like arguing online.

You can have a valid discussion and someone can just say "you're a fucking moron, I'm not listening to this" and you can't do anything.

I just wasted two hours organizing my thoughts qnd emotions into a post that I'll delete in a week. What a great use of my time. I'm juat exhausted.

I turn 31 tomorrow and is rather be dead lmao. I'm so tired of the weight of being alive and aware of the world and people around me. About being considerate and kind to everyone and it's never god damn enough. I bleed myself dry emotionally for everyone and run my mental battery into the ground qnd it's never enough. It's never going to BE enough. I don't want mental.break downs and emotional roller-coasters. I want friends that understand I'm scatterbrained and severely damaged and abused and I'm TRYING. I'm sorry it's never good enough.

I'm so fucking tired these days. I just want to disappear. I want to have an actual breakdown and cry

I haven't actually cried in years. I.... Mm. I feel like.im a shell. I'm so tired. I'm trying AO hard to be a good person and functional and I'm just constantly having more dished and I'm just...what is my purpose qnd point these days. I can't even make people happy.

Tomorrow I'll turn 31. It'll be like any other day. 👍✨

#kat life #ignore me

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 4 years

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Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 3,354 Warnings: Spoilers and I’d consider checking them. Characters: Roman, Patton Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Power Angst

Chapter 20

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

“I’m so glad Mr. Hartley could find your brother and put us on the approved visitor list. It sounds like he had to pull a lot of strings to do it,” Patton flashed a smile quickly to Roman before looking back at the road. Roman fidgeted lightly with his hands and watched the road for a moment. He was still worried and was tired as shit for having to wake up early to drive out there for the visiting hours. Well, it was only a little early for the Sanders house but Roman still was the worst at sleeping. Especially when he knew he was going to finally see his brother the next day.

“Thanks again for being willing to drive me out,” Roman mumbled and curled into his jacket a bit. “You really don’t think he’ll be mad at me for not calling and stuff?” Roman asked nervously, glancing at Patton. Patton kept his eyes on the road.

“I think if you explain what happened he’ll probably understand,” Patton said plainly. That didn’t particularly inspire confidence in Roman. He side-eyed Patton for a moment, but Patton added nothing else.

“Hm, I’m hearing a maybe,” Roman said seriously, tugging at his seat belt to shift it away from his cracked rib again.

“Well, I can’t see everything, kiddo,” Patton smiled knowingly for someone saying he didn’t know. “But he’s your brother, and that didn’t go away with distance,” Roman hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing. He wanted to believe Remus wouldn’t hate him. He just also had a ‘wildly miscalibrated’ sense of whether or not people hate him, according to Thomas. But even if his sense is off, it was a loud one and he didn’t know how to ignore it. Roman yawned and leaned back the seat a little, watching the road again.

“I know this is early for you. I can put the radio on classical or something and you can take a nap. The weekend visiting hours are offensively short and early,” Patton muttered bitterly. “You should be able to visit your kids and siblings all day on the weekend, not between 8 and 10 am. Who do they think they are? The state prison has better visiting hours!” Patton started ranting in frustration.

“I’m a 15-year-old felon, I can’t answer these questions,” Roman rubbed his head. It kind of hurt from Pat’s rambling. Or the lack of sleep. Or the knowledge there will be guards there. Or the roiling fear in him that Remus hated him now, and that he had every right to as someone in juvie while Roman had such a nice place to stay. Maybe there were lots of reasons his head could hurt.

“You’re not a felon, kiddo,” Patton furrowed his eyebrows, looking miffed. Roman just crossed his arms lightly and raised his eyebrow. “Well, not a convicted felon, anyway,” Patton trailed off slightly. “Let’s not bring up the whole drug trafficking thing at the JDC,” Patton chuckled nervously, shooting a look at Roman.

“Yeah, I definitely tell everybody about my crimes,” Roman’s tone was dripping with sarcasm as he rolled his eyes. “Thomas says I thought I was dead. That’s basically the only circumstance I ever planned to tell anyone,” Roman huffed angrily, though it was entirely at himself for letting it slip. He really didn’t like anybody knowing about it. Though Virgil was chill about it. At least that was something. Patton and Thomas, on the other hand? Roman wasn’t sure they had chill anymore.

“I suppose we should avoid panic attacks, then,” Patton said, sounding concerned and tapping his steering wheel with his fingers as he steered.

“Sure, I’ll turn off the panic switch,” Roman flipped his hand and mimed toggling a switch sarcastically. He looked out the passenger window, gripping his seatbelt in his hands both as something grounding but to keep it off his ribs again.

“Young man, I understand you’re scared and tired, but maybe turn down the sarcasm a notch,” Patton said seriously. Roman huffed indignantly, but sighed and dropped his arms after a moment.

“Sorry,” Roman mumbled and fiddled with his jeans.

“I don’t think marijuana charges should be a thing in the first place, by the way. I don’t think that in a just world you’d be a felon,” Patton said, consolingly. Roman winced and looked to Patton for a moment, deciding if he should correct him or not.

“You like honesty, right?” Roman sighed, looking over to Patton nervously. He may as well get this over with.

“Yes, I do! But I don’t like the sound of that question. Not in the context of this conversation, anyway,” Patton said nervously and gripped the steering wheel as if to brace himself.

“I guess because it’s hard to picture a teenager dealing anything harder than weed, or something? But there’s a reason I said drugs. It was just weed… at first. It… didn’t stay that way. Expenses went up. And it went from some very nice engineers who grew it outside of town to real mafia-type drug suppliers. That’s how the whole having guns pointed at me thing happened. We were kind of in over our heads, honestly. I was just making deliveries to white guys in flip-flops who’d tip well if I did magic tricks for them, other than visiting the engineers. It wasn’t that bad,” Roman swallowed. “Then it got worse, and I had to carry a gun just to protect myself and… it just wasn’t good. I’d still be a felon in a more just world,” Roman confessed quietly.

“You didn’t have to use the gun, did you, kiddo?” Patton asked, sounding deeply troubled and gripping the steering wheel enough to make his knuckles pale.

Roman held himself and swallowed heavily. “Can we not talk about this?” Roman mumbled, hating to have to remember this part. Hating himself for ever having to do it. Roman gripped his seatbelt again, unable to deal and trying to focus on literally anything else. Like the texture of the seat-belt strap and how it was weirdly sharp feeling or the signs through the window.

“I think we might need to,” Patton said carefully, but he was clearly holding back something by the expression on his face.

“First shot’s a warning shot. Second shot was to the legs,” Roman muttered. “That’s… that’s all I’m willing to say about it,” Roman said weakly, trying his damnedest not to remember.

“I suppose it’s a good thing you’re seeing a psychiatrist,” Patton swallowed. “I’m impressed at how strong you are to carry this guilt for so long, champ. At least you never intended to hurt anybody, right?” Patton said as evenly as Roman assumed as he could manage. He didn’t sound so sure that Roman never wanted to, though, and Roman felt like a dirtbag for it.

“No, I didn’t wake up thinking ‘I’m going to shoot some guy today’,” Roman said sarcastically. “I already know I’m not a good person. You don’t have to try to make excuses for me,” He added weakly and stared at his feet as the seatbelt cut into his hands from twisting it so tightly.

“Good and bad are a lot more complex than that. I know this stuff makes me uncomfortable, but your choices now are what matter. Not your choices when you had nothing but ultimatums in your life. It doesn’t sound like you wanted to make those choices, either,” Patton said thoughtfully, sounding resolute despite the shakiness in his voice.

“Learning to shoot a gun was cool,” Roman supplied weakly. There were things he liked that he knew he shouldn’t have. He enjoyed learning new stuff. He liked people cheering when he did sleight-of-hand tricks. He liked having enough money to buy his own clothes and pick what he ate and buy his own things. He liked some of the stoners. They were funny. He even liked Jet. “Jet’s a d-bag in high-pressure situations, but he was pretty chill most of the time. We hung out often, even though he’s years older than me. I didn’t hate all of it,” Roman admitted, loosening up on the seatbelt a bit.

Jet was the only person who knew, other than repeat customer stoners. But even they didn’t know it was Roman. There was one who invited him in to play Assassin’s Creed and Mortal Kombat, who saw him without the mask. Not that Roman would admit to playing those to Patton. Roman was certain that guy was just lonely and enjoyed talking to someone and probably thought Roman was older than he was. He was nice either way. He even let Roman stay with him one night to avoid a bad situation at home. There were plenty of things Roman liked about it that he knew he shouldn’t have.

“Finding joy when you’re in a terrible situation is okay and also doesn’t make you a bad person. It still just means you were trying to survive,” Patton reminded him. “You could have turned out much worse if you didn’t find ways to be happy with access to a gun and drugs. Well, you could have turned out much worse with any of those factors,” Patton said, sounding kind of strangely impressed.

“Yeah, I hope Jet’s okay,” Roman admitted quietly and looked back out the passenger window again.

“I hope he found a home that helped him out, too. But I am still proud of you for turning out so… okay, despite everything,” Patton offered, sounding genuinely pleased. Was that supposed to make sense?

“You and Thomas have done nothing but say I’m not okay since I got here,” Roman scoffed as he objected and rolled his eyes.

“Well, we had to re-evaluate where the bar was with new information. You’re okay, in a sense, for somebody in the situations you’ve been in… seeing as you don’t have a drug habit and are, well, you’re here. You still have to see the psychiatrist, though. You’re not okay in another sense,” Patton said resolutely.

“That’s so confusing,” Roman groaned and gestured in frustration. “Mr. Hartley said there’s no way to stop the state from having access to my medical records,” Roman pouted angrily. “You know I don’t want that.”

“We’re going to figure out the problems as they come. But Thomas and I aren’t equipped to help you. We will continue to be there for you and happy to assist, but you have lots of things that you need professional help to break down and rebuild into something healthier and more sustainable. For one, Thomas is really freaked out about you scratching at yourself when you panic. We don’t know how to stop that, and you can’t keep living life like that. It’s not safe or healthy,” Patton said firmly with a glance towards Roman.

“I can just wear gloves all the time like a movie villain,” Roman rolled his eyes. Patton was letting him leave them off for now, but they were in Roman’s pocket in case Patton changed his mind.

“Roman, it’s a temporary solution that you clearly don’t enjoy,” Patton said, shaking his head.

“I don’t like the reminder,” Roman sighed. “And I’m not wearing them at school. I’d get harassed non-stop,” Roman grumbled. “What if I pull a Virgil and refuse to see the psychiatrist?” Roman said hopefully, but it came out more aggressively than intended.

“We’re signing up Virgil for to talk to a psychiatrist online. We realize now that it’s dangerous to keep waiting for you two to want it for yourselves. Just because Virgil hasn’t had non-car related panic attacks we’ve seen doesn’t mean he’s not quietly at-risk while he sits alone in his room. He has trouble connecting to people, and we realize that it’s more dangerous to let go unchecked than we thought. We thought it just meant he couldn’t be around cars. We didn’t know there was a whole slew of other things that might be making his life harder,” Patton explained and used that serious parent tone.

“Thomas said that he had nine out of the fifteen things the ER doctor mentioned, and that’s without him talking to us. It will take some time to get him to talk to somebody, so setting up appointments now, even if doesn’t respond in earnest right away, is better than putting it off and it takes even longer. You boys might even need to be on some medications,” Patton said, sounding sympathetic despite the fact they were forcing this on him.

“I don’t want to go on meds,” Roman said angrily, refusing to meet his eyes and watching the rearview mirror.

“I’m on anti-depressants and Thomas is on anti-anxiety medications. There’s no shame in it. They seem scary at first, and they can be when you’re adjusting to them, but they’re there to improve your life and make it easier. It’s just like I have to take an allergy pill every day to treat cats. I could just suffer through the stuffy nose and watery eyes, but I don’t have to,” Patton admitted.

“Why in the world did you become a vet if you’re allergic to cats?” Roman asked incredulously.

“They’re just so fluffy! It’s not a severe allergy,” Patton cooed. “But seriously kiddo, kinda hoping to die quietly isn’t healthy. It might mean you have a chemical imbalance and need medical intervention so you don’t take risks since you don’t care if you live or die,” Patton said more seriously, looking sad.

“I care if I live,” Roman drawled defensively. “I wouldn’t have done anything I did to protect myself in the past if I didn’t care if I lived or not,” Roman spat bitterly, not able to even look at Patton.

“But you think things would be easier if you didn’t have to live anymore, right? That it would be nice if you just didn’t wake up one day? Maybe a coma sounds nice? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you died in a freak accident?” Patton insinuated and Roman bit his tongue with a frustrated exhale through his nose. “I told you kiddo, I’m on anti-depressants. I’m not in your exact same boat, but I do know a little about what you’re going through. You’re very high energy for somebody with depression, but I’m not a people doctor and there’s probably more going on than we see. Which is another excellent reason to get you properly diagnosed. So we can get you the right tools to cope and recovery for everything we know and don’t know you have,” Roman hated that this all started to make sense. He still didn’t want to do any of it. The thought terrified him. But he wished it didn’t make sense, still.

“You kinda get it, right? Is it… is it normal to still believe I’m okay and don’t need help?” Roman asked quietly.

“I think anybody who gets shut down when they ask for help long enough will eventually convince themselves they’re okay and fine on their own just to cope. But I also think both you and I know you’re not okay on some level and your brain’s just trying to play catch up with that fact since you’ve had to be ‘okay’ for so long,” Patton suggested kindly, but it still kind of hurt to hear. Roman curled in on himself slightly. Another thing he wished didn’t make sense.

“Try to sit up straight, Roman, your rib needs room to heal. I know it feels counter-intuitive when you feel vulnerable,” Roman wanted to object to being vulnerable, but he tried to straighten out, anyway. Maybe he was feeling vulnerable and not bitter. It sort of seemed like he’d have to re-learn some feelings from the ground up because he was doing them wrong.

“So, we’re almost there. Do you want to discuss what you will say to him to explain what happened?” Patton suggested genially. Roman considered it before shaking his head slowly.

“No, I’m not the best at following plans or even saying the things I mean to say. There’s not much of a point to that,” Roman sighed. “I’m just going to… try,” Roman said, kind of wishing he had something better to say. Or some way to convince Remus to forgive him. Or something better to give him. Just… he wished for lots of things.

“That’s all we can do sometimes,” Patton said brightly. It was weird how he could flip his moods like that. Roman still felt kind of off from their conversation. Maybe Patton was just good at hiding things. “Sorry that I accidentally kept you up instead of letting you nap on the way over,” Patton apologized.

“I’m probably too nervous about seeing Remus again to have taken a nap either way. I keep thinking I’m not going to recognize him for some reason. Or he won’t recognize me. But that doesn’t make any sense. And it’s not the only completely unreasonable thing going through my head,” Roman admitted sheepishly.

“It’s not unreasonable that he’d look different, kiddo, it’s been 4 years,” Patton said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Roman asked incredulously, looking to Patton and furrowing his eyebrows.

“Four years is a long time! You’ve both done lots of growing, I’m sure,” Patton possibly attempted to explain. What the hell was he talking about? Holy shit, did Patton not know? Oh, he had to see Patton’s face when he found out. Roman wasn’t saying a damn thing.

“Still. I just don’t think I would have rested well,” Roman said dismissively. He at least had something to look forward to. Remus used to love this kind of thing, too, so maybe Remus would laugh, and that would be worth it.

“All right, we need to leave our personal effects in the car according to the website. Put your phone, keys, and wallet in the glove box if you have any of them,” Patton said. Roman shifted slightly to extract his stuff while Patton pulled into the parking lot. Roman closed his things into the glove box and looked around the lot. God, this place was… depressing. It’s a giant concrete box, and it feels… wrong. Haunted, maybe. Just bad. Patton slipped his phone in the glove box and locked it before they both got out of the car.

Patton had to show his ID, and it took a bit of arguing, but they managed to find him and Roman on the approved visitor list after about 10 minutes. It was ridiculous that Roman wasn’t allowed to see his own brother under normal circumstances. Patton was right about that. They don’t have parents for Roman to come in with. Getting Patton and Roman on the approved list was probably the social worker equivalent of an act of god. Roman would have to thank him properly when he saw him next month. Maybe Patton would let him bake him cookies or something. Roman waited on one of the few chairs in the lobby until they were finally able to go through x-ray and security. They weren’t allowed to bring much to him, but Patton brought a bag of chocolates for Remus, which was nice.

The security guard brought them to a weird steel and concrete cafeteria-looking room, where they picked a table and were told to wait while they fetched Remus. Roman’s foot started tapping, and that hurt like a mother fuck, so he managed to move his nervous energy to drum on the table with his fingers. Patton tolerated the noise and offered him a soft smile every time he looked nervously to Patton as they waited. This part made Roman so restless it physically hurt. The guards made him nervous enough, but seeing his brother for the first time in 4 years was a whole new level. He fought to keep himself as level as he could with the sheer joy from the knowledge that at least, after all this time, he’d finally get to see Remus again.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15 @ollyollyoxinfree

the taglist repository:

High school: @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra @potatsanderssides

Roman Angst: @k1ngtok1

Hurt/Comfort: @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123

Roman-Centric: @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd

Fostering AU: @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll

literally everything sanders sides: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @ananonsplace

#tsss #sanders sides #tsss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #tsss fanfic #ayri writes #dreaming while I wake #angst #tw guns #tw drugs #tw suicidal ideation #death mention #tw severe depression #ts roman #roman angst #ts roman angst #chapter fic #fanfiction #ts patton

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technicolordeams · 4 years

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So some things happened this past week since I wrote my last entry and I'm rethinking my stance on leaving or not. I was able to talk to the one girl who is befriending me and my pastor had a long talk about what makes me me and what I struggle with. I followed what my therapist told me to be which was to be more assertive. I felt very awkward and scared to do it but if I didn't, I'd end up right back where I was feeling anger and abandonment. So for now, I'm still on hold on what to choose to do.

But a couple other things popped up. Not too big but unsettling. My mind just blanked on one of them so I'll just type about the one that's stuck out the most to me right now since it happened literally within the past hour.

So obviously I have problems eating enough to keep my weight stable, let alone gain any without a LOT of work. I've been struggling with it since my gallbladder decided to take a shit on me and demand to be removed which happened on my birthday. During that time I started getting suicidal again and I hadn't dealt with those intense emotions regarding it in several years. But since December it decided to rear it's ugly head and bite into me as hard as it could ever since. It's been 8 months now with very little improvement. And during that time span my health has tanked. I developed breathing problems after my surgery which was horrific enough as it was (imagine not being fully awake but aware that you are out of control of your body and unable to utilize your coping techniques. Just like having a massive panic attack like seizure feeling but you are barely able to be aware of anything besides the viceral fear and blackness because I couldn't wake up. Just... Out of control. And you have no idea how long you were in that state before the nurse could sort of pull you out of it and even communicate more than like two words and slowly peek my eyes open a fraction. Yeah, that's what happened. I had major fear over that for at least a month. Sleeping was hard enough from the surgery and adding in that... Yeah no.) Anyways, since that started up and obviously after surgery it's hard to eat and stuff like that normally. But after the surgery I was (am) having breathing problems. I would have endless coughing fits that would even hit me and make me unable to take a full breath without coughing horribly whatever air I could get right back out. It also made me almost throw up several times (which is my biggest phobia that triggered my eating disorder to go out of control and send me into hospital stays and feeding tube hell). So at least I lost 10lbs since the surgery or even before that. I creep closer to 15lbs though most likely. I haven't been keeping track of it very much because of how much distress I've been dealing with. And I've been dealing with A LOT. Things I wonder if I will be able to get up from without more intense medical help that I probably can't get because of covid.

I've gone through several tests to see why I'm having coughing fits and every answer is that they don't see anything wrong. Well, the ENT appointment I went to the day before I went to see the pulmonary doctor really screwed me over tbh. The ENT doctor gave me steroids that day that I took that same night and told me that the pulls wouldn't affect the asthma test they were going to perform next day. It did. So I had to wait like two months before I could go back and be re-tested. But then covid hit and those practices have been closed ever since. So I can't get an accurate reading on what's going on. They did spot that I had some breathing abnormalities but because of the steroids, they couldn't say for sure. Mind you I had to literally book these doctor appointments and tell my dad you have to take me to these because he didn't think it was that important. Which has pretty much been like everything doctor related that has come up this past year. Just had to put my foot down and tell him I NEED to go to these and I'll be going whether you agree with me or not. Which adds to the distressed feeling and like I'm overreacting and being too paranoid or some shit. Also because I couldn't get actually tested for asthma properly, my regular doctor had to prescribe me with an inhaler but insurance won't help because I have not been diagnosed with it. So I had to cough up (almost literally) over a $100 for medicine that we don't know is right for me or not or whatever.. so that's like $60 every two months? Idk. Which is a lot considering I have a bunch of other bills to pay which includes when I got my wisdom teeth removed (ALL FIVEEE because I'm that extra) which cost $3,000. I have to pay my mom back for another at least year? I don't even know anymore at this point.

I've also been dealing with vision blackouts recently where I almost pass out when I get up here and there. My blood pressure tanked and went to like 70/52 and pulse all over the place. That's better now at least. Chronic fatigue, dehydration, can't sleep very well... Etc. Vitamin D and B12 are on the lower side of the normal range and my body isn't producing enough carbon dioxide.

Now along with all of this bag of shit, I have lost every friend I thought I had and the feeling that I can call anyone friend anymore. I am terrified of calling anyone a friend now because I am afraid that if I let someone in, I will be taken advantage of and lied to like I have in almost every type of relationship I've had since I was little. I am afraid of speaking because I am afraid what I say will offend or upset or whatever someone when all I do is mean well (usually unless you're an asshat). It has made me regress back to my childhood where I couldn't trust anyone and I had nobody except for a penpal on the east coast to keep me company through msn messenger, emails, or rarely phone calls. She was the only one I could call my best friend for a long time and the only one I could open up to about things and the only one who tried to consistently cheer me up when I was hospitalized at 16 by spamming me with emails. I will forever love her and no matter how far we've drifted apart over the years, I will still love her and respond to her as quickly as possible if she ever needed me again. But if we never talk again I'm okay with it. We were there for each other during really bad times in out lives and I like to think we kept each other somewhat sane. She has done more for me than I could ever ask anyone and I'll always be grateful to have "met" her.

But since all of the shit happened with my ex friends... I don't feel safe to get very close to anyone or open up to anyone. Even the girl who defended me and stuff when I was being bullied and manipulated hardly speaks to me now. I wouldn't want to talk to me very much either if all I had to talk about were extremely negative and talk about dying. I can hardly go to my parents about things. I am home alone with just my puppy that likes to get into mischief about 80% of the day. Hardly interact with people online. Usually I just now watch YouTube videos about what's going on with people. I find very little satisfaction playing video games or anything honestly. I have lost art, something that I loved dearly and way too much. I cannot go out most often due to my health. I am stuck at home. I can hardly go outside too. It's too hot (sometimes heat can trigger flashbacks), I found out I'm allergic to grass, and last week I broke out in hives from God knows what so I can't go outside even more. I was put on steroids again for 6 days which causes your immune system to weaken so it won't produce histamines that causes the INSANE itch because every topical and oral medicine OTC would barely help at all. All I do each day is very basic hygiene, sleep when I can, eat as much as I can, and try and relax while taking care of my puppy.

Only two good things has come from all of this: one, I can finally work with a trauma therapist. Hopefully she can help me. Two... Ah I forgot what the second one was actually. Maybe being able to talk to my psychiatrist more frequently? Not sure. I'm very tired right now again lol.

All I know is that I feel very much alone and there's nothing I can do about it. The world outside is extremely dangerous and I am trapped inside my mind too frequently. And there is no extra help I can get.

So all of this led up to my main grievance for today- so far at least lol long ass story to tell just to explain what I'm upset about. My mom earlier asked me if she could give me advice. I told her it depends on what it's about. But she said it anyways. Told me to check my weight each week. She knows I'm not in the most stable state of mind and she knows that me checking my weight constantly can cause a panic attack of it goes down. (thankfully it hasn't really in a month. Only reason why I know is because I had to go to my doctor's twice the past month) I told my dad what she said and he just told me to say okay and leave it at that.

I know I don't want to go back to the state I was in in 2017. I don't want to go through that hell again. Even if I did want to, there'd be way more restrictions with the threat of covid ravaging our place and infecting everyone there. When I pass the eating disorder clinic that I was forced in when I was 16, there is literally nobody there. Maybe a couple cars but they obviously are not treating kids right now. I may be wrong but it would be very dangerous. I know over at the ERC I went to in 2017 is extremely limiting any visitors from coming. The apartments when you graduate to living in temporarily while you go to just a day program only allow maybe two people to stay there at a time and instead of walking to the van pickup spot, they pick you up at your apartment. Psychiatric wards here, or at least one of them that my therapist and I talked about going to, is still slightly operational, but it's over Zoom. So you literally can't get very good support. If you fall off the deep end while at a meeting nothing can be done to help you right there and then if you run away from the meeting.

My psychiatrist told me that if I do feel that I'm in grave danger (I think the trauma therapist I met also said the same) was to go to the ER. But I am afraid to go to the ER and then be turned away quickly and also take a chance that I might catch Covid while there, not to mention the price... And since my parents are essential workers, any one of us could come down with it at any time or be a carrier without knowing. So I'm isolated from people in real life and I don't feel safe talking to anyone online as well. Even if I had someone who wanted to talk to me to begin with that isn't some creepy horny guy wanting pixel sex... I can't think of anyone who I could potentially talk to about anything in my life... I'm just so lost and afraid of both the virtual and real world... Who can I turn to besides my therapist, psychiatrist, or maybe parents depending on what is bothering me, and of course God? I'm told I need a support system. But I can only talk to the doctors so much and my parents aren't very good at being compassionate... I have no one.

I also think about how badly I want to be hospitalized for a little while just so I can get fluids and rest and proper care but that most likely will only happen unless suicide was a big risk.

I am utterly alone...

If anyone reads this long post to the end, you're a crazy human being. xD Going to stop rambling now and put the dishes away and put the pup away for his nap and try and get one in myself.

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a-void-problems · 4 years

Text

Things I want to say

• This is not just a random thing that popped in my head recently this is not something I haven't thought about this is something I've been thinking about and researching and feeling for months and years

• It's not just me feeling sad for a few days not even for a few weeks, I wouldn't be saying it if it wasn't serious

• It's not just me being lazy and bored or something, I wish I could do things but somethung is always stopping me

• Any advice that comes to mind I've probably already tried, I've tried everything the problem is that no matter how much I keep trying I'm still failing and keep feeling worse and worse

• I feel the need to convince you it's true because previously I've spent months trying to convince you everything is fine and now this might seem out of the blue - it's not

• I'm not making it up randomly, I'm not a child anymore I've come to known myself

• I'm not trying to make excuses for not wanting to do something or for being lazy, I want to succeed I want to be happy I want to do well and I'm trying but it's not working

• I wouldn't be talking about it unless I was desperate which I am. I wouldn't be trying to explain it all if I saw any other option. I literally don't know what else to do but change things because I don't want to die but the easy dark solution is always floating in my mind

• I don't really want to kill myself realistically

• But sometimes I do feel like I wish I could and like it would be better if I wasn't alive

• It's hard to talk about how it feels when I'm at my worst especially, because I'm used to being all happy and positive when around everyone else

• I don't know why I feel so much shame for it like it's somehow my fault like I am an idiot for having feelings

• I already feel bad enough for it I already feel stupid and dumb and useless and I feel like a failure

• Because even after actually trying my best I'm still getting bad results and feeling bad because of how much anxiety it takes to try my best and still - not good enough

• I feel terrified every single day because of almost nothing

• I always try to calm down but it's painful

• I try to go to bed early but almost every night I cry myself to sleep

• I avoid going to sleep because I'm scared of being alone in the dark just thinking because I can feel all the anxiety and sadness flooding in

• I try to distract myself because that's often the only thing keeping me from crying all day too

• Sometimes it's easy to pretend or act happy and hyper around everyone because I've been doing it for a long time already and it often happens without even me trying

• I don't know why I'm so opposed to the idea of anyone even suspecting I have any sort of issue

• I guess I think I've set some expectations and now I can't meet them and I feel like I'll just disappoint everyone if they know

• As if you don't have other things to worry about than me being so stupid and not even being able to go outside without panicking or being able to go to sleep without crying

• It takes so much work just getting out of bed. The only reason I do is because it would be weird if I didn't and I have to pretend I'm all normal. So I do. Sometimes in Zagreb I don't.

• I feel like I've been dealing with so much stuff on the inside that I don't even know how I've been achieving anything on the outside.

• By the time I get up I'm exhausted. By the time I remember all I have ti do I'm terrified. Because it's always the same no matter how many different ways of organisng I try no matter how much i stare at a screen and try to study try to do something I still fail.

• And then I feel even worse because somehow I know I'm not really that stupid and I know I could probably do better. But I don't know how. I'm always devastated and terrified.

• I don't know if I can keep going foward if I don't fix what the problem is first.

• Because if you're driving in a broken car first it will start going slower then things will start to go even more wrong, something might catch on fire and in the end what, you end up stranded by a road somewhere. Or even worse it malfunctions and gets into a car accident.

• Shouldn't you be obligated to stop and go to the mechanic so they can fix it before you continue driving? Because otherwise you might get hurt and so mught other people.

• I want to keep driving because on a highway you're expected to drive, and it's a pretty cool car I have it should be great but I guess they messed up something while making it because it's not working right. But I keep driving like it's fine, turning up the radio so I don't hear the crackling of a broken engine.

• I don't know why I feel like I need to justify it so much i don't know why I need to explain it so much

• I think I just want to explain just how large the scale of it is. I'm not just a bit sad because of some hormones of something. It's not for a week or two. I've been having issues for months and technically years.

• If someone had a broken bone they wouldn't need to convince others that it was broken. People usually believe them when someone tells them they're in pain. I don't know why I'm so paranoid but I guess that's part of it all too.

• I've hit a pretty big wall. I don't think I can keep this up anymore. I've been getting so close to the edge always kind of barely making it always kinda succeeding but at a great cost. I feel like I'm too close now if I take another step I'm gone.

• I want to keep going to university I wish I could do it I wish I could be normal and not keep trying while feeling worse and worse with every passing minute. I know it's difficult for everyone. But I feel like I would rather not be alive that go through another month of this both exams and lectures without getting some help first without making some sort of change. I just can't do it.

• I don't want to slip go insane and kill myself. I don't want to do that but I don't know how to trust myself I won't feel desperate enough and terrified enough if I keep being in this sort of environment.

• I almost started smoking last time I had exams. The only reason I didn't is because I felt to sad and tired to leave my apartment and too scared to have to pick out a certain brand of cigarettes.

• I feel bad for this because I don't like being a burden just by being like this just by being alive. I can see it piling up in front of my eyes - if I need a psychiatrist that costs money. If I can't do exams now but I want to continue university - more money. My apartment in Zagreb I already feel bad for that - 2000 every month.

• But I'd rather clean toilets and work at a grocery store for 12 hours if it means taking a break and getting help.

• I feel bad even though I know I shouldn't because you can't feel bad for breaking an arm even if it was somehow your fault. But I do feel bad. I don't want to be a problem i don't want to have to cost more money than I do already I don't want to tell people that I'm so sad I can't attend classes I would much rather just attend them.

• I don't know why it's so hard for me to say it all I don't know why I have been hiding it all for so long. It's not like I think you would be mad or something like that it's not like I think I can't talk with you openly. But for some reason it's very difficult. But honestly everything is at this point.

• I know you could tell me to just exercise more, meditate, try hard even when it's difficult, do things even though they are scary

• But I know that. I've been trying. For months. I got this far and I don't even know how I managed to make it to here.

• It's not just this year in particular I mean some things were harder but some things were also easier online. And it's not like I used ti go outside that much. I mean yeah it's a bad year for everyone bla bla. But I think not much would be different if it was a regular year. Maybe it would even be worse.

• I'm bad at talking I'm bad at starting conversations. I've been meaning to talk about this for at least two weeks if not more but I couldn't. I spent a lot of time panicking about it. I just want to do it and get it over it.

• I just want to get some help. I just want to get some rest from all the pain I've been in for so long. I just want to be able to be honest even if the truth is sad because sometimes at night I really need a hug but I don't want anyone to see me crying so I stay in bed and try to be quiet. I just want some time to be able to get myself together to be able to work on this to be able to be better later. I just want to be okay.

#notes

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seasonofthegeek · 5 years

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Here comes a personal post because this week has been a doozy and I want to get some words out. Also please don’t reblog this post. This is just for me to get some thoughts down and there’s no reason to spread it. Thanks. :)

Back in May, I began having passive suicidal thoughts and knew I needed to get some help. I didn’t want to actively hurt myself, but I thought it might be better for everyone in my life if something happened to me and I died. After a visit to the doctor, I started an antidepressant that worked for me and I got back to a mental level I was more comfortable with. A few months later, something happened to someone I love dearly and it showed me that I was just teetering on the edge, even with the meds, so I sought out a therapist to have someone outside of my life to talk to.

It’s been a great experience and my therapist is easy to talk to but also good at keeping me accountable in the tasks I’ve set for myself, while also reminding me that it’s okay to fail. She listens and offers advice when it’s warranted and some sessions I’ve just walked in and word vomited for an hour and that’s been fine. A few sessions ago, she suggested I start seeing a psychiatrist to get to the root of some of my issues. She was wondering if I had bipolar disorder (my brother was diagnosed with it ) and put the ball in my court to contact someone if it was something I wanted to explore further.

I was an anxious mess but called one of the psychiatrists my therapist recommended and set up an appointment. That appointment finally came up this past Tuesday and after battling an angry child not wanting to go to school, no time for breakfast, construction traffic, and school traffic, I finally made it to my appointment twenty minutes late (I called on the way, of course).

I was a wreck and almost didn’t get out of my car when I pulled into the parking lot, but I forced myself out into the cold and then into an unknown office. After a few minutes, I was taken back to meet my psychiatrist and he was one of those people who can immediately put others at ease. He recognized the My Hero characters on my hoodie and told me his daughter loved the show. He smiled and made small talk.

And then he read aloud the notes my therapist had sent him with my consent.

I’m going to be honest, it was ROUGH hearing everything I’ve been dealing with read by someone I just met in the span of a few minutes. He went through it simply, not commenting, just relaying information. I took a big breath when he finished and told him it was hard to hear it all at once. And he smiled and suggested we just start from the beginning.

And that’s how the rest of the appointment was. He was pleasant and kept things simple and asked questions that led me down different paths of conversation. He told me that I would be diagnosing myself with his help and that I had all the power.

It was refreshing.

My therapist is great and she has helped me with a lot of issues, but she can mainly just offer advice on how to deal with things.

My psychiatrist led me to understand why I deal with the issues I have and where they stem from. It was something I’d never given much thought to honestly. I’ve had bad things happen to me, I think everyone has in different degrees, but I didn’t think any of them really shaped the person I am. I was wrong.

After discussing things, we both decided that I’m not bipolar because it didn’t fit for me. I do have depression and anxiety though and they were manifesting in ways that can mimic some of the symptoms of bipolar disorder. I have a feeling I’m always going to remember how he explained my level of anxiety too.

Dr. S: If I said to you, Kayla, do you think most people deal with this level of anxiety in their day to day lives? Would you say “no” or would you say “duh”?

Me, thinking my high level of anxiety is completely ordinary, laughed: I’d say duh.

Dr. S with his nice smile: Ah, see, that’s not the case.

Me: ...oh. Ohhhhhhh.

It was a bit of a revelation to find out this brain stuff I deal with constantly isn’t the norm for everyone else. I didn’t realize most people don’t think when they tell their family goodbye in the morning that it might be the last time they see them because something horrible is going to happen or that their house is going to catch on fire when they go on vacation. I didn’t know most other people didn’t check for their keys three to four times before locking their cars in the fear of locking themselves out. It didn’t occur to me that a lot of people don’t think their friends hate them just because they haven’t spoken in a few hours/days/weeks.

It was almost a relief to find out and at the same time there was morbid fascination in realizing how off my thinking is because of the anxiety.

He helped me trace it all the way back to being a child and what caused it and how the depression came into play because the anxiety was fear and fear made me feel helpless and that made me angry. I used to have angry outbursts and temper tantrums out of the blue up to adulthood. I learned to monitor myself better and get things out before they blew up as I got older, but with Dr. S’s help, I could go back and see where it had started and that I’ve carried it my whole life.

I’ll probably always carry it, but now I know and now I can start working on it.

So that’s what happened with me and my brain stuff which is more than enough for one week, but my son’s brain stuff came into play on Friday.

My son is, goodness, he’s just amazing. He’s my world. He’s funny and goofy and creative and a butthead and moody and loving and better than I could’ve ever imagined. For the past couple of years, it’s become more and more obvious that he wasn’t quite like other kids his age. He was developing slower and didn’t start really speaking until he started doing speech therapy. Even after a little over a year, a lot of his speech still comes from mimicking.

He started school this year and I wasn’t sure how it was going to go. I was called back in on the first day after he’d been there for two hours. He’d had a meltdown in the cafeteria because it was too loud and his speech therapist (who thankfully was the same person he’d been working with the previous year as a private student) picked him up from his class and took him to her room as a safe space for him to calm down. He adores her and was able to soothe himself as soon as he was in that familiar setting. I went to a meeting on the first day of school to find that my son was not going to be able to make it through the whole school day, but the school wanted to work with him so he’d still be able to attend. We cut his days down to two and a half hours and went from there.

A month or so after that, a meeting was set up with the district psychologist who wanted permission to observe him and see what further help might be needed. She suggested letting an occupational therapist and physical therapist observe and test him too and I consented to all it. He was having issues connecting to the other kids in his class and he couldn’t seem to follow the schedule. The teacher worked with him the best she could, giving him a visual task calendar he could follow and use to point to and other similar things, but she also has seventeen other students. I knew more help was needed.

So for the past couple of months, he’s been going to his general education class and his speech therapy while also being observed by a psychologist on some days. He did a couple of sessions of testing with an occupational therapist and a physical therapist (who cleared him with a laugh that he is definitely strong and super fast). It was all coming down to the meeting we had on Friday.

Seven women sat around the table and showed me how each of them wanted to help my son. I’m tearing up just thinking back on it, to be honest. The psychologist broke everything down for me and made sure I could see every step of the process they’d all gone through while watching my son. At the beginning of the year, he’d started with paperwork stating that he was receiving help with speech and language but that was being moved to a secondary position because he was now being categorized as mild to moderate on the autism spectrum.

I’d had a feeling about autism. I’d wondered about it from time to time. He fit some of the indicators. Like with finding out about myself, it was a bit of a relief. There’s something about knowing that is just so helpful because then you can ask, “Okay, what are the next steps we need to take?”

They suggested moving him into the special education class. It’s half the size of the class he is currently in, he’s already familiar with the teacher, his speech therapist works in that class a lot, and he knows two of the students from his group speech sessions.

LIfe is kinda funny how it works out sometimes. My mom has worked with special ed kids most of my life. I went into her classroom all through high school and got to know the students in there. We’ve discussed the past year or so that my son might need that kind of help, even if it is only for a little while. So when this group of teachers and therapists and the psychologist recommended moving him, I felt comfortable agreeing. I know from the other side of things that it is not something done lightly or suggested easily.

The psychologist even said it might be something he only needs for a year or two and if they can get him coming to school for longer periods of time, they want to get him back into the general class he was in for short periods. I know they’re looking out for him. They’ve already done so much to accommodate him and I can see they truly care for his development. I feel really lucky that he is going to the school he’s at.

I’m relieved and I’m worried. He’ll start his new class on Monday and I know it’s going to be a tough transition, but I hope it’s for the best. He’s such a smart kid and he’s got a great imagination and I know he’s got a lot going on in that lil noggin. I just want to do the best I can for him.

So I’m watching out for him and I’m trying to take care of me for me and for him (and for my husband and my best friend and my parents). It’s been a lot to learn in the span of a few days but I feel hopeful for the future. <3

#personal post #tw suicude #anxiety #depression #autism

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exobyharu · 5 years

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PCY - Ch3

Chapter 3: Could you believe it?

(Part 1)(Part 2)... (Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)

Summary: Your day was quite the show and PCY believes that he could do something about it. You finally give him the benefit of the doubt.

⏰ 10:52 PM 🌏 Hotel (S), City of (L) 🌘 Too many clouds, it threatened to rain 👥 YN, Park Chanyeol, your parents, your parents’ friend’s son, and a bunch of other minor characters mentioned

Notes: I’ve been busy lately (I finally got accepted after a job interview! 🙃) But I’m writing two updates because this one’s pretty short. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Words: ~1,500

💙💙💙

What did I do to deserve this?

You had been asking yourself this question quite often these past few weeks, but you had never found yourself questioning why so bitterly until tonight.

This day – this cursed day – was not the day you signed up for. Your psychiatrist always advised against making lists on how bad your day was, let alone how else you would have wanted it to be, so you were not going to do that. Still, you knew that you’d had enough the moment a pregnant woman materialised from nowhere to pour sangria on the rocks over your head because your family-arranged date – this beef jerky, she called him - was said to be cheating on her with you. That summed up your eventful dinner that ended with you, leaving the restaurant without your pathetic date, while you walked back to your hotel in your white dress that had pretty much turned blood-red.

So that happened.

You made a mental note to tell your parents to quit setting you up with their friend’s son from now on. Along with this was your promise to not explain anymore because arguing with your dad never ended well. There was nothing more annoying than feeling your toes sticky under the straps of your heels and that was enough suffering for one night.

The doorman was quick to assist you the moment his eyes chanced upon the state of your dress. “I’m okay,” you waved at him, even though your body language said don’t touch me, instead. You could not fault him for panicking because you did look like you had murdered a beast somewhere in the rose gardens.

“Just a wine accident, sir.”

You earned a similar reaction when you entered the lobby, only this time, more eyes were on you. It was a little late in the evening, but having about ten pairs of eyes turning to stare at you all at once was a bit overwhelming. You gave the front desk a quick thumbs up to reassure them that neither the hospital nor the cops had to be called, but even before they were able to say anything back, they were cut off by someone who was calling for you.

“YN???”

The voice came from a hooded figure seated in one of the lofts at the far side of the lobby. You squinted and saw that he was wearing a mask as a disguise of some sort. No problem. Somehow, you were sure to recognise who it was from now on. Park Chanyeol, you though bitterly, the guy you needed to apologise to because it was already past ten in the evening. Why did he have to catch you entering the hotel? You had hoped to never run into him again. Still, you paused, maintaining eye contact as a form of acknowledgment as he hastily made his way towards you in quick, long strides.

Standing now at a couple of feet’s distance, his height was still as overwhelming as the last time you saw him. You felt small and even smaller as you noticed how his eyes quickly scanned through your face, your ruined dress and then all the way down to your sticky heels. After that, he pulled the mask off his face and said, “you look like shit.”

There was no offence taken because he was absolutely right. You looked like shit and that could have been an understatement. There was no other way that you would describe how you looked. The tone in how he said it was also simple and matter-of-fact. Why bother thinking up a smart remark when you were too tired for that too?

“Thanks,” you said, a genuine frown accompanying your approval. “I probably deserve this for standing you up.”

Chanyeol mirrored your expression. “You…” he trailed off, and you could tell that he realised how there was not really a good answer to what he just said. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that. You just… Here, cover yourself, will you?”

Cover myself? you thought, almost laughing because wasn’t it too late for that? You were one elevator ride away from a change of clothes.

It was not only until the guy took off his jacket and draped it on you that you realised how cold it had been, walking out there in the streets in your dress that was half-drenched in alcohol. His jacket that was still warm from being worn, pressed down on your shoulders and provided comfort that you did now know you were needing. Even though it was silly how it was huge – your dad’s jacket was not even close to how loose it felt – wearing Chanyeol’s felt like laying on warm sheets on a cold winter day. Or drinking hot chocolate by your bedroom window on a rainy night. Or simply, a hug. Yes. It was an indirect hug.

“People are looking at you,” he said, bringing your thoughts back to where you were. You glanced around and indeed, some new people were filing in and you did not even notice. Maybe you ought to stop thinking about Chanyeol’s hugs, no matter how bad your day had been.

“It’s all right,” you retorted. You made your way to the elevators, away from sight. “I already walked three blocks down the street looking like this.”

“You what? Why? What happened?” Chanyeol screwed his eyes shut for a second and combed his fingers through his hair as if the thought was too bizarre that it gave him a headache. “How’d you get all this red stuff on you like this anyway?”

You sighed because elevator was still a good twenty floors away. You took your frustrations out on the glowing button instead. “Someone poured wine over my head so it spilled down my dress. What does your imagination tell you?”

“That’s crazy.”

“I know. Shit, right?” You had seventeen floors to go. Sixteen. Fifteen. It took a while for Chanyeol to say something. His breathe has heavy before he spoke.

“…Shit indeed. You wanna talk about it?”

It was your turn to pause. Your mind quickly revisited these past few exchanges you had. They were very brief, and not one of them even was close to pleasant. They were not conversations that would have ended with a pleased to meet you or a hope to see you around. First of all, you were not pleased to meet him, and nope, neither did you really want to see him around.

And yet you were not entirely comfortable with what you wanted and what you did not want. “Right now?” you questioned, in a tone implying that maybe, if it meant some other time, you may agree to it.

“Maybe after you’ve taken a shower and changed?”

You had five floors left to decide. Four. “It’s almost eleven, Mr. Park.”

Three. Two. One. When you looked up, Chanyeol was smiling.

“I know. I’ve been waiting for more than three hours. Could you believe it?”

His smile made you decide to go.

This was why, thirty minutes later, you found yourself standing outside the hotel rooftop’s posh café, regretting your choice because you had forgotten to put on makeup. You knew that your barefaced state made absolutely no difference for Chanyeol – he had seen you looking much worse just earlier – still, everyone else was impeccably dressed to spend the remaining couple hours of the evening there. It was something that you had overlooked: you were at the penthouse of Hotel (S).

Sweatpants and a baggy shirt with Chanyeol’s oversized jacket slung on your arm made you appear perfectly out of place. Even as you saw the rapper approach you, dressed in pretty much the same fashion with a simple backpack on one shoulder, there was nothing about how he carried himself that hinted commoner.

Ethereal.

It was how an online article described Park Chanyeol when you Googled him up the night before. You were finally agreeing with it – all of it, that the hundreds of people on the comments section raved about. You saw this as he gracefully stepped out on the elevators and walked down the path to the café. When his eyes found you, it was easy to notice how much better he looked without the skin bunched up in between his brows, and his chin pulling down on his lower lips to force a grin. Just this once, the legend about his looks had merit because you were sure that it only applied when he was not being a douchebag.

“You look great.” You could not help it. The compliment had to be said. When he got closer, you would have made a comment about how he smelled different today too, but that did not make you observant. That made you a creep.

And a creep you were not.

“I usually do,” Chanyeol responded, and you allowed that. With a subtle shake of your head, you found yourself smiling at the character that he was and the way you kept on vacillating between liking and disliking it. You could not make up your mind. At least the evening had a fifty percent chance of getting better.

💙💙💙 - to be continued -

#chanyeol #chanyeol scenarios #park chanyeol #exo scenarios #exo #park chanyeol scenarios #exo fanfiction #kpop scenarios

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herofics · 6 years

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May I request HCs or Scenario (whichever is easier for you dear, I'm happy with either) of Aizawa with his daughter whose been quietly dealing with being raped by a new really shady teacher, if that violates the rules then it could be a shady friend instead, but how would 'Zawa find out about this assuming that his daughter doesn't tell him herself so maybe a good friend *cough* bakugou *cough* tells him, what would he do to help her? Pretty Please and Thank you deary. 😘 Keep up the good work

I love and hate writing these. I feel like they are third years, so they have a super solid friendship. Thanks for the good request hun.

You were sitting in the shower, as the warm water poured over you. You felt so dirty, stained with that man’s touch and no matter how much you scrubbed it just didn’t seem to go away. Your thighs were bright red after you had been scrubbing them with the rough side of your washing sponge for the last half an hour. You had been sobbing the whole time, but now you just felt unbelievably empty. At least the emptiness felt better than the sickly feeling.

It had been a few weeks since it happened. The teacher was still eyeing you each period you had with him. He looked like he had won something. Like breaking you so totally was a cause for celebration. You saw him talking with Present Mic and your father. Just normal conversation but every time the teacher caught you looking at them he winked at you. Like you two had some little secret together.

Aizawa was sensing some weird vibes from the new teacher. He seemed like a good guy, but there was something about the guy that bothered him. Like there was something rotting underneath that clean and well kept surface.

Bakugou had been keeping a closer eye on you these past few weeks. You had seemed extremely on edge and jumpy. He had once put his hand on your shoulder like he usually did when he wanted your attention, and you had flinched away and almost started crying. He immediately backed off and apologized, but it was bothering him. One day when Todoroki pumped into you by accident, you left the room crying. That was the last straw he had to know what the fuck was going on.

You were walking back to the dorms with Uraraka and Asui, when you heard Bakugou calling you. He was standing under one of the trees some way away from the dorm building. You excused yourself and went to see what he wanted. You had been debating on talking to him about what happened. He acted like your big brother after all. He would make sure you’d be safe from that monster. He would help you.

“Hey”

“What’s up with you lately?” he growled, clearly trying to mask the worry in his voice with aggression.

“I’ve been meaning to talk about it with you” you said quietly. “Let’s go somewhere else”

“You led him to the edge of the forest that was behind the dorms. No one else would be able to hear you there.

"You-you know that new teacher, who is kinda shady?” you sniffled.

“Yeah what about him?”

Bakugou had a really bad feeling about where this was going.

“He-he… Wan-wanted to talk to-to me about some school work one-one evening so I went to his office and he-he…” now you were full on sobbing.

“What?! Did he grope you or some shit?” Bakugou asked and shook your shoulders.

You flinced away and leaned against a tree, sliding down to the ground.

“Please… Please don't…”

You pulled your knees to your chest and started rocking back and forth.

Now Bakugou was seriously pissed. What the fuck had that bastard done. Then it dawned on him. Why you were so jumpy if anyone came too close to you.

“Did he…?”

You were crying so hard you couldn’t even speak so you just nodded furiously and kept on crying.

“That son of a bitch!” he growled and was about to stomp off to the school, probably to confront him.

“Don’t leave me alone… Please” you sobbed and grabbed his hand.

Bakugou sighed and sat down in front of you. You kept holding his hand and he didn’t talk. What could he say anyway? That it was going to be fine? No. He knew that wouldn’t help you right now. He was pretty sure there was nothing he could say that would make you feel better.

You just sat there for a while, your crying turned to sniffles and you could talk again.

“Have you told your dad?”

“I don’t want to do it myself, I’m kinda scared of his reaction”

“He’s a good guy, he won’t blame you or any dumb shit like that. But do you want me to tell him?”

“Would you?”

“Hell yes I would”

You and Bakugou parted ways. You went to take a nap in your dorm room, and he rushed towards the school.

Bakugou found Aizawa in his classroom, grading some papers. He stomped in and closed the door.

“What is it?” Aizawa asked tiredly.

“Your daughter was raped by that new creep of a teacher” Bakugou stated bluntly.

Aizawa’s brain just stopped processing. He heard the words but it was like they were in a completely strange language and he couldn’t understand it. Bakugou repeated himself and it still didn’t make any sense. The third time he said it, it finally clicked in Aizawa’s head and he understood the words.

“When?” he asked.

“I don’t fucking know, she wouldn’t say”

“Where is she now?”

“At the dorm probably”

Aizawa basically zoomed out of the room, leaving Bakugou in the dust and papers flying around the room.

You had barely gotten to put your stuff donw when someone -probably your dad- was already banging on the door.

“Yeah, yeah” you sighed.

As you placed your hand on the door handle, you took a deep breathe. You could do this. You just had to talk with him, tell him what happened, maybe cry a little, or a lot…

You opened the door and you were immediately enveloped in a bear hug. You thought you had cried enough earlier, but you started sniffling again and hugged him back. He pushed you to arms length and kept his hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay? No that’s a stupid question of course you’re not” he babbled

“Dad calm down”

“The hell I will. I’m going to give that bastard a piece of my mind”

“Could you at least hear me out first?”

His eyes softened a bit and you lead him to sit on your bed.

“Is it true, what Bakugou said?”

“Yes” you said quietly.

You two talked. You explained as much as you could without wanting to puke and he listened. After you were done talking. Aizawa proposed that you at least start seeing the school’s psychiatrist, and you agreed, even if reluctantly. Then he left to go tell the principle. He gave you one more hug and a kiss on the forehead. And of course he petted you hair wildly as he had done since you were a kid.

You went to take a shower again. Maybe someday you wouldn’t feel so stained anymore. You would heal… eventually.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #domestic au #dadzawa #bnha scenarios #mha scenario #mha scenarios #katsuki bakugou

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dynamic-instability · 5 years

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In one of my classes we have to write weekly personal narratives about an experience with illness. This week, mine turned into this. It’s probably too personal, and too... immediate?? to turn in to a professor without cutting out a lot of stuff, but not too personal to post online I guess lol

_____________________________

It’s November again.

In 2009 the lights were too bright. Mid-October one morning I woke up to my dad turning on my lights and it was like having to look into the sun while posing for a photo—my eyes wouldn’t stay open, if I forced them to, they couldn’t stay pointed in one direction, they spasmed and hurt. When the light was dimmed, I still saw double. That morning, I showered in the dark, and I remember being scared. They gave me eyedrops that paralyzed my accommodative muscles. In November my pupils were giant discs and I wore reading glasses over sunglasses to look at the computer, and when it was all said and done, the lights were still too bright, and I still saw double.

In 2011 I was tired. There’s fatigue and then there’s fatigue, I learned that Fall. In May of that year I had pulled two all-nighters in a week, and that was the only other time I’d felt this kind of tired, a sensation in about the 30th hour of the second time where it’s like my brain itched. I once saw someone else online describe it as “nausea, but in your head and eyes instead of in your throat and stomach” and that’s the closest anyone else has come to describing it. By November this was happening more and more often. I remember laying down in the corner of the room during a break of Citywide choir and thinking what the hell is wrong with me? I got a cold the next week, and I thought that maybe that was all it was. It wasn’t.

In 2013 I went to the ER for the fifth time in three months of college, and when I wanted to leave before waiting another couple of hours to eventually see a doctor who would tell me once again that they couldn’t do anything to help me, the woman from student life who was there to drive me back to campus made me call my parents on speaker phone and get their permission to leave before she would turn on the car. I had missed more chemistry labs than I could afford to miss without failing, passed out in a voice lesson, was asked by the director to drop out of choir because watching me was distraction when I looked like I was in pain, and if I passed out it would have ruined the concert for everyone. I remember leaving calculus in the mornings mid-class to go to the bathroom and lay on the floor and cry. I remember not being able to lift my hand off the mattress of my dorm room bed. I withdrew from half of my classes on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and took the Spring semester off.

In 2014 I had made a promise to myself that I would come back to college full time for that Fall semester just to see if I could do it, and then if I couldn’t I would drop out for good. There was one week where I thought that might be happening. Mid-November. The girls in my dorm had made a fort in the lounge out of sheets and blankets and colorful scarves and I remember laying on the couch through the green-filtered light and feeling the world spin and thinking oh god I still can’t do this. The door opened with a rush of cold air and my friends came in with food for me, since I’d been too sick to go to dinner. They sat with me and helped me with chemistry, offered to type up a paper if I dictated it, told jokes and made me laugh. I took an incomplete in one class, but I passed everything else, just barely scraped through, and came back in January.

In 2015 I just wanted to sleep. I passed out in an elevator and heard familiar voices, concerned voices, as I came to, and I stayed there laying motionless for another minute longer, because as long as I wasn’t awake I didn’t have to keep pushing. I wrote whole pages of completely unreadable ochem notes because my hand wasn’t working any better than my brain, and woke up on the floor and was wheeled out on a stretcher crying. It was dark all the time. My cane slipped on wet leaves and I felt my wrist crunch and there it was, one too many missed organic chemistry labs. I couldn’t stand for an entire choir rehearsal because breathing to sing made me lightheaded. I slept for 16 hours a day. The week before Thanksgiving, I called my mother to tell her I had decided to take another hardship withdrawal, and she sighed. I had applied to transfer schools during my much more optimistic Spring semester and Summer, and the week I left was also the week I found out I’d been accepted.

And so okay now it’s 2019, and it’s October and now November again, semester plan again, dark again. My reading is piling up again, feeling overwhelmed again, laying on my kitchen floor again. But here’s the thing—my health is… fine? Midterm week I didn’t sleep, and yes I passed out twice, but no ER. For the past 18 months, I can count on one hand the number of mornings I’ve been unable to get out of bed because of fatigue. My heart still pounds too hard but my head doesn’t swim every time I sit up. I walk the streets of New York City like mobility has never been a problem. I always take the stairs. My brain doesn’t itch until it’s been 30 hours no sleep.

I couldn’t go to class last week. I lay on the floor of my kitchen and stared up at the ceiling and tried to get up, tried to type out an email to my professors, and I couldn’t do it. I was not too tired. I was not too weak. I was not in pain. I could not move. I try to write and try to write and try to write and the words don’t come. I eat instant oatmeal at 9 PM because I haven’t been to the store in a month. I have lost nearly 15 pounds since moving to New York. I clean the stove for two and a half hours but can’t bring myself to take the dead spider off the side of the bathtub. I check the door lock one-two-three times, pace the floor, sit back down. I do not read Austerlitz. I write a Canvas post for Self and Other but it’s nonsense. I do not write a Canvas post for Accounts of Self. I do not write a Canvas post for Applied Writing. I write a Canvas post for Illness and Disability and somehow forget to post it, the one thing I’ve actually done, because I’m too busy feeling sick at everything I haven’t. I shadow a doctor for the clinical witnessing assignment and everything is fine but when I try to write it up I have a panic attack that leaves me sobbing on my couch and the assignment nine days late and counting. It takes me eight hours to write two pages. I watch 18 hours of YouTube video essays discussing drama about creators I don’t even watch and play a stupid game on my phone for an entire weekend until I’ve spent $25+ in a labyrinth of microtransations and every time I close my eyes I see the moving dots.

In November of 2015 I had three overdue essays for Global Literature, and two more due in the next two weeks. More than half were on books I had not read. My pre-lab wasn’t done for organic chemistry, and I wondered for a moment, if I pretended to pass out, if that would be easier. I stayed up until 4 AM laying on my floor and listening to Hamilton. I was sick, that much is true, but when I felt okay I still sat at my computer and could not bring myself to write.

In 2011 I had so many unfinished assignments for my college-level English class that I resigned myself to failing and I went to school the morning of the final class, but I hid in the stairwell by the choir room until I heard the bell, and I never went back to that class.

2009 was the year my dad stopped being able to yell at me for not doing my homework, because no one, including me, could tell whether it was actually my eyes stopping me.

In 2008 I wrote 6 essays in the 5 days of Thanksgiving break because I had not done any work for Intro to Lit all semester. I pulled it off, somehow, even aced the class because of an unusually lenient late work policy, but what I most remember is the sick feeling of dread as I lay on the floor in the living room staring up at the Christmas tree and feeling invisible sand slip through an invisible hourglass and a vice tightening in my chest.

In 2006 I stayed up almost all night writing a paper and crying my eyes out because I couldn’t find the words to explain to anyone why it had been so impossible for me to get the work done, that I wasn’t being lazy or distracted, I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t necessarily reading YA novels or watching TV or IMing my friends instead of working, I could sit and stare at a blank word document for 6 hours straight and still it would not get done. Everyone talked about potential, talked about how smart I was, but a gradebook that is half 100’s and half 0’s still averages out to an F. No one, including me, could explain the discrepancy. The logic of that simple math was not lost on me, the knowledge that turning in half-finished or not very good work was mathematically better than not doing it, but that didn’t mean I could do it. Words failed me when I tried to explain the illogic of my particular suffering.

I didn’t hear the term executive dysfunction until I was in my 20s. In retrospect I was tentatively told at 16 that I had “probably some ADHD and OCD”, but that psychiatrist was someone I’d been sent to by a neurologist because he thought she could fix my eyes, and when she said she couldn’t, I stopped making appointments. After I got sick, physically sick, the lines blurred between what was causing what, to the point where even I have no idea. Two of the Novembers missing here are ones I spent at CC, on the block plan where I only took one class at a time. My physical health arguably improved a little after transferring in January of 2016, but mostly it didn’t, not until Spring of 2018 at least. And you can see that evidence in dropped blocks, concussions from passing out onto hard surfaces, a couple of incompletes taken when viral illnesses (or concussions) compounded my other problems. What the block plan changed was the way things pile up, lessened the struggle of constant task switching between classes. (Admittedly, I also had fewer papers when taking mostly science classes. Writing takes much more energy, and it’s much harder to convince myself it doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth submitting.) At CC nothing ever really reached the level of catastrophe. Some of that is purely the ability to drop a single block, meaning when it was my physical health that was the problem, I didn’t lose a whole semester, just one class, then reset. But I should have realized sooner that the block plan wouldn’t account for the level of improvement if my physical health had really been the only barrier.

So we’re back to now. Grad school. November again. Dark again. Semester plan again. Too much writing again. Crushing dread again. Dysfunction again. Panic attack in the middle of the night increasingly elaborate organizing rituals scream of the subway tracks in my mind can’t stop can’t start can’t breathe can’t move burnout again. This time without the explanation of chronic fatigue to fall back on.

I have my tricks, have actually learned somewhat to cope in the past 18 years. Schedules help, break tasks into pieces that are as small as possible. Mindfulness meditation. Forgive yourself when it’s not perfect. Get started with something easy, set a timer for 20 minutes and only work for those 20 minutes and then let yourself stop if you want to (and surprisingly often, you won’t want to, sometimes that momentum is all it takes). If you work better in the night, work in the night, who cares what society says your sleep schedule should be. When switching tasks, physically get up and move to a different location. Allow yourself to procrastinate on work with other work if that’s what you have to do. Delete the stupid games from your phone. One or two missed assignments are not actually the end of the world, if you let yourself view it as piling up, you won’t be able to get anything done, so if you absolutely have to, just move through and move on.

It’s not a catastrophe, this November. It’s a fight, but it’s not a catastrophe. I read Austerlitz and forgive myself for skimming it. I write a Canvas post and forgive myself when it’s only 500 words and doesn’t make complete sense. I read Toni Morrison and Édouard Louis and classmates’ discussion posts about Deaf culture and identity and remember why this matters in the first place, that it’s not just a series of assignments to overwhelm me, it’s a series of interesting complicated exhausting important thoughts and questions. I get it done. Some of it. Most of it. I let myself sleep. I breathe. I remember to be grateful because I can get out of bed in the mornings and take the stairs. I am okay.

#chronic illness #executive dysfunction #chronic fatigue #College and chronic illness #personal lol

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veryangryhedgehog · 6 years

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“Mike Miller’s Second Day”, an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

Mike Miller’s second day at St. Adelaide’s School for Gifted Youth opened rather abruptly at approximately 3:30 in the morning. Gradually, a series of bumps and scraping noises jostled him awake. Not that he’d been really that asleep anyway, strange bed and all. Was someone trying to break in? If so, they were being awfully loud about it.

After a minute he rolled out of the small bed, and approached the door. Mike didn’t have anything to defend himself, but he played soccer. He could just kick them. That’s how it worked, right? To his still half-asleep mind, anything was possible.

Mike opened the door an inch and peeked outside. There was someone in the room, fumbling with Doug’s door. He almost went in to tackle the intruder, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark he caught the faint glow of white hair. It was Doug who was trying to break into Doug’s room. Wait. That wasn’t right. Mike blinked, trying to wake himself up more.

“...and herd. Seems to make it all just a little bit...” Doug mumbled to himself, fumbling with his key.

“Doug?” Mike asked, opening his door a little more.

Doug turned slowly, the mere quarter revolution almost seeming to make him dizzy. He blinked several times. “Oh, hey Mike,” his words slurred a little. “I... forgot you were here.”

Frowning, Mike took a step towards his roommate. “Dude, are you high?”

“What?” Doug leaned back dramatically, and almost fell over. “No, no. nononono. I’ve just had a rather... shocking evening.” He paused, as if he had just now processed the words that had come out of his mouth. “‘Shocking evening,’ that’s a good one.”

“Are you... sure you’re okay?” Mike asked. He certainly didn’t look okay.

“Oh, yeah.” Doug nodded lazily as he finally managed to get his key into the hole on the doorknob. “‘S nothing I ain’t used to.” The door opened, and Doug almost fell into the room. “Good night.”

Mike bit his lip as Doug’s door closed again. That, to say the least, was weird. He hadn’t really seemed drunk or high. That was... something else. But he shook himself. What Doug got up to was really none of Mike’s business. He was older than him anyway. Mike was concerned, but there was nothing he could do about it right now at 3:30 in the morning. He went back into his room, plopped down on the tiny, hard bed, and tried to go back to sleep.

He maybe got another hour or so of shut-eye before his alarm woke him at seven. Mike had never been able to sleep well in new places, but knowing this didn’t make getting up any easier. Breakfast wasn’t until eight, but Mike wanted to give himself extra time to make sure he wasn’t late. He didn’t need it, because fifteen minutes later, Mike found himself all ready with a lot of time to kill. Eventually he decided to take a walk in order to shake off the weirdness of this morning.

Briefly, Mike considered asking Doug to go with him, but he found his door shut with the light off. He decided that it would probably be best to let him work off whatever he was on earlier. So he passed by Doug’s room and went out into the hallway.

It was cloudy and dark out, he could tell right away from the lack of light in the common room ahead of him. What lovely weather for his first day of class. The common room seemed devoid of life, at least to the point when he reached the stairs. Just then, Jilli unpeeled herself from the shadows in the corner and smiled, waving.

“Good morning, Mi-kun,” her grin widened as an exasperated look crossed Mike’s face. “You’re up early.”

“I don’t sleep well in new places,” he said, a little lamely. “I could say the same for you.”

“I don’t sleep well period.” She laughed, a little bitterly. “Comes from years of 5AM rehearsals, I guess.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “Were they really that early? I mean, I’ve heard some stuff about the idol industry, but that just seems too crazy.”

“No, it’s true. When you’re an idol, you have to live and breathe your work,” she explained. “You start to feel like a singing robot, or a certain voice synthesizer.” They both chuckled a little at that. “And sometimes it gets a little... claustrophobic.”

“How so?”

“Well, the managers and agents can be a little overbearing,” Jilli made a strange face. “Our image is controlled even more so than a lot of pop singers over here. We can’t even have boyfriends. Of course, most of us did anyway, but the pressure and paranoia tend to get to you after a while. I remember a lot of girls having really nasty breakups when their managers found out, or when they couldn’t take the secrecy anymore.”

Shaking his head, Mike’s eyebrows knitted together. “Jeez,” he said. “Sounds really depressing.”

“It is,” she admitted. “But you know, I do really miss it. The singing, I mean, and the performance. I was just about to graduate before my, uh, incident. If I’d been able to hang in just a little longer, I might have been able to become a solo artist.”

“You still could.” Mike smiled. “I haven’t heard you sing, but I’m sure a lot of people would want to hear it.”

Jilli laughed, though there was a hint of sadness behind it. “You’re a sweet kid, Mi-kun,” she patted him on the head. “But, enough about me. It’s almost time for breakfast. Have you seen Doug?” She noticed Mike’s sudden frown immediately.

“He was... out really late last night and, uh, came in a little messed up,” Mike confessed. “I thought it was probably best to just leave him alone.”

“Good call,” Jilli nodded. “It was most likely one of his sessions.”

“Sessions?”

She grimaced. “Yeah, there’s an on-site staff of psychiatrists here.” She paused momentarily as Mike’s face twisted in confusion. “Rich kid school,” was the only explanation she needed to give. “Only the best for our screwy little brains.”

But Mike was still concerned. “So, Doug...”

“I mean, he’s Doug,” she shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never noticed anything explicitly ‘wrong’ with him. But who knows. All I know is that every once in a while, those creepy people in white lab coats come to take him away, and he comes back all fucked up. He’s always back to his annoying self soon enough though.” Jilli tried to appear nonplussed, but Mike could tell that she was worried.

“What can we do to help?”

“Pff, hell if I know,” she said with a hint of frustration. “He never talks about it. Believe me, we’ve all asked. Victor, Sonia, you name it, not a word.” Jilli shook her head. “But if he really needs help, he’ll come to us. Anyway, should we get going? Sometimes they give out donuts to the early kids.”

Unfortunately, there were no donuts on this particular morning, just a large, drab room with many tables of assorted sizes scattered around its area. Metal beams stretched across the high ceiling, casting unnatural half-shadows on the tile floor. The cafeteria was about a third of the way full of students milling about or eating an early breakfast.

From somewhere in the quiet crowd, Sonia stood and waved to the two of them, and Mike followed Jilli over to a round table in a small, out of the way corner. “Good morning, Jilli, Mike,” Sonia beamed. “Is beautiful day, da?” Ah, so that’s where the sun went. Sonia had stolen it all from the sky.

“Beautiful?” Mike glanced out the long, thin windows to the vaguely miserable skyline. “I don’t know about that, but whatever you...” He broke off as he turned back to see that Sonia was no longer looking at him. Instead, her gaze was drifting away towards an empty corner, her eyes glassy, as if trying to see something she couldn’t quite make out. “Uh, Sonia? Are you—?”

“It’s alright, she does that sometimes.” Jilli waved it off. “We told you about it yesterday, didn’t we?”

Mike nodded, remembering. “That’s right, you did. Is she gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” rumbled a deep voice as Gil came up behind them. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Sonia?” He whispered, and her eyes fluttered a bit as she focused again.

“Oh, Gil,” she smiled again. “Good morning. I apologize,” Sonia bowed her head towards Mike and Jilli. “I was just, uh...” she looked confused herself. “Never mind.”

“Clearly, it was a spirit attempting to contact you from beyond the mortal realm.” Gil said sagely, placing himself in the chair next to her with that smooth, nearly catlike way which he did most things. “You must remember that you are most sensitive to these things, my lady. I will do some research in my Tomes of Knowledge and we shall see if we can communicate with it.”

“You really think it’s possible?” Sonia’s eyes widened. “Ooo, I can’t wait! I am wondering what kind of spirit it is? Perhaps a Viking! Great warrior with magic sword!”

Gil nodded. “Indeed. The possibilities are endless.”

Mike couldn’t help noticing how his smile fell half an inch, but at that moment, Jilli turned to him, raising an eyebrow, and they laughed silently as Gil and Sonia kept up their dialogue.

One by one, they went to get breakfast, and Mike couldn’t help noticing the gathering of faceless men and women in lab coats that were surrounding the perimeter of the room. They must have been the psychiatrists that Jilli was talking about. By the time the cafeteria was mostly full, there must have been a good ten to fifteen of them. Mike didn’t like it; they gave him the heebie-jeebies. But none of the others seemed particularly disturbed by their presence, so he tried to ignore the growing feeling of unease in his gut.

Just as Jilli got back to the table with a plateful of fruit and waffles, one of the psychiatrists moved to the platform on the far side of the room. The students quickly fell silent, so much so that you could have heard a pin drop. “And now,” the psychiatrist said, “a word from the Director.”

There was a crackle, and a burst of static that reverberated around the room. Mike looked up to follow the noise, and saw for the first time the speakers perched in the upper corners of the room. A strange noise came through suddenly, like someone clearing their throat, but he couldn’t quite tell because it sounded so distorted.

“Good morning, students. The new semester is here at last.” The voice boomed across the room, altered by static and modulation, but decidedly female. Probably something about its tone and inflections, Mike decided. “To those now joining us, welcome to St. Adelaide’s. To those old faces, welcome back to your home away from home.”

Jilli scoffed, and even Gil rolled his eyes. Sonia, on the other hand, had zoned out again.

Mike didn’t like this. The voice sounded pleasant enough, but there was something about it, something Mike couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were shivers running up and down his spine.

“Remember that you are all the most gifted students in the country, possibly the world, and we look to you all as the hope of the future. And it anyone has any concerns, questions, or snide remarks, feel free to talk to the friendly men and women in lab coats. They are here to help.”

The Director continued on for a few minutes, mentioning a few other events and announcements relevant to the student body at large, before finally wrapping up her address. “Thank you as always for your patience,” she said, “and enjoy your first day of the new semester.”

With another small crackle, the speakers fell silent, and gradually the students began to converse once more. “Well,” Mike muttered, “that wasn’t ominous at all.”

Jilli and Sonia both began to laugh. “Do not worry,” Sonia reassured him. “You will become used to it after a while.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” He frowned. “It all seems a little ‘Big Brother’ to me.”

“What sort of daemonic older brother do you have?” Gil asked, looking horrified.

Jilli sighed. “1984, Gil.”

He blinked. “Ah, yes. Of course. My apologies.”

The four continued talking as they ate breakfast, which if Mike was honest, was not very good. The texture of Aunt Marma’s Totally Genuine Maple Syrup™ stuck to the roof of his mouth. Finally, Jilli looked up at the clock and saw the time.

“Well,” she stretched, “first period begins soon. What’ve you got, Mike?”

“Uh...” he pulled out the slightly crumpled piece of paper from his pocket which had his schedule. “Ugh, Algebra II.”

“What instructor have you been assigned to?” Gil asked.

“Vantas,” Mike added after looking back at the paper.

Gil nodded, a determined expression settling into his pale features. “Then this is a battle we share, my friend. If you would have it, I would accompany you to our battlefield.”

As he blinked, Mike wasn’t sure he’d gotten a word of that. “Uh...”

“He has the same class,” Sonia translated. “He wants to know if you want to walk there together.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Gil bowed his head as he took her hand. “That was my question exactly.”

“Oh, um, sure! Thanks.”

Jilli stood, grabbing her trey. “Well, Sonia and I are off to choir, see you losers later.” She waved. “Oh, and Mike, tell Doug hi for me if you see him, yeah?”

“Will do,” he nodded, standing as well.

“You coming, Sonia?”

“I will catch up with you in few,” she smiled, before beginning to zone out again.

Gil’s gaze seemed to linger on her for a moment before he shook himself. “Come, young apprentice,” he said to Mike, his coat swishing dramatically as he began to walk. “The battle of mathematics awaits us.”

Mike would have probably gotten lost in the crowd had it not been for the fact that Gil stood out like a sore thumb. Students seemed to give him space wherever he walked. He didn’t seem to mind. Gradually, as the crowd broke away into the various directions of their classes, Mike was able to hear himself think again. Gil was silent a few steps ahead of him, seemingly lost in thought. Mike wondered just what went on in his head. He seemed like a really smart guy, so why did he persist in his delusions? Did he honestly believe that he was a warlock with infinite power? Or was there some other reason? Mike didn’t think he had the guts to outright ask him.

“So, Sonia,” he asked instead. That was what guys talked about, right? “Are you two—?”

“Our love transcends time and space,” he intoned. “I have loved her for four-thousand years, and I will love her for four-thousand more.”

“So, it’s complicated, huh?” Mike didn’t know what to say to this guy. He felt like he was stuck in the middle of a role-playing game with method actors.

There was almost no one in the hallway anymore, and Mike was sure he’d seen that motivational cat poster just a second ago. This place was like a maze. “Hey Gil,” he asked. “Are you sure we’re going the right...?”

Gil looked to the left and the right, then abruptly turned on his heel to face Mike. “A warning for you, Michael Miller.” His golden eye almost seemed to freeze Mike in place. “Your wariness of this place is not unwarranted. Don’t ignore your intuition. It may just save your life.” He wasn’t joking. “There are forces at work in this school that will attempt to pull your very being apart. I’ve been affected by it, Sonia, that ignoramus you call a roommate, all of us have. If I were you, I’d watch where you step.” It was not a threat, more like a warning. Gil seemed genuinely worried. And for a moment, Mike thought that he might actually understand what he was trying to say.

But the second passed as quickly as it came, and Gild grinned knowingly once more. “Now, on to slay this dragon built of overly complicated equations.” He started walking again, laughing manically, and after hesitating for a moment, Mike followed him.

Needless to say, he didn’t pay any attention during class that day as teachers handed out syllabi and repeated the same information over and over until Mike thought he’d never forget that three absences equaled a tardy. But he had too many questions running through his mind to care about any of that. He had had this lingering feeling that something was strange here, off even, except that everyone around him seemed so used to it that he thought he might be the weird one. “Don’t ignore your intuition,” Gill had told him.

But wait, why was he listening to Gil? He was delusional! It was probably just one of his wizard roleplaying things again. Yet something about what he’d said, the look in his eyes, the sincerity of his words. Gil had known what he was talking about. That hadn’t been some sort of weird fantasy metaphor, Mike could somehow tell. He was right, something was wrong here, Mike could feel it. And he thought the others could too, even if they didn’t talk about it.

There were so many mysteries, so many questions left unanswered. Mike decided to make a list. That would help him organize his thoughts.

1). Who was the Director? Yes, she was a crazy, modulated voice over a speaker system, but why? Why bother hiding her face and voice from the student body? It certainly made her intimidating and slightly creepy, but wasn’t enough of a reason by itself.

2). The psychiatrists. He didn’t know of any other school that needed ten of them. And the explanation of “rich kid school” simply didn’t cut it. To be honest, they seemed more like a security force than a group of doctors.

3). Why was everyone here so weird? Not just in their personalities, though the school was nearly stranger than a superhero’s rogue’s gallery in that respect. But more so in the way everyone seemed so nonplussed about all of these other questions Mike had. They didn’t care about the psychiatrists, or the Director, or the other host of strange things. Or maybe they were just really good at hiding it. And finally,

4). Doug. What the hell were they doing to him in his “sessions” that made him act like that? He’d hardly been able to walk properly. In addition, though he hadn’t really known him for that long, it seemed entirely out of Doug’s character to not talk to anybody about it. Most importantly, why was everyone not harassing him about it non-stop until he gave in and told them what was going on? That was the only way that they could help him, after all.

Maybe these questions wouldn’t be so confusing after he’d been here for a few months, but to be honest, he didn’t want to become numb to the strangeness like everyone else. He couldn’t handle not knowing these things. And if no one was going to help him, then he guessed that he’d just have to find the answers himself.

Of all the questions he had, one stuck out as the easiest to answer: Doug. He also had the distinct feeling that if he answered this one question, then all the others would begin to fall into place. Like dominos.

The rest of the day passed slower than paint drying, all of the thoughts and confusion cycling through his mind every time he saw a lab coat pass, especially whenever the students turned away from them. Finally, classes were done for the day, the final bell rang, and according to his schedule there was an hour before dinner. So Mike headed back across the snowy path to the dorm. Maybe Doug would be feeling better by now. Either way he needed to drop off his backpack, which was as good an excuse as any.

The light was on in the room, Mike could see it in the wide gap in the bottom of the door from the end of the hallway. At the very least, Doug was up. Mike didn’t know if he had known him for long enough to just knock on his door, but he ended up being lucky. When he pushed open the heavy door, Mike turned to see Doug at the bathroom mirror, trying in vain to smooth down his hair. He hadn’t noticed this morning in the dark, but now Mike saw that Doug’s hair was now even more static-y and gravity-defying than it had been yesterday. His sweatshirt sleeves were pulled up to prevent them getting wet, and Mike couldn’t help noticing a strange, metallic bracelet on his right wrist as it caught the bathroom light.

“Oh, hey Mike,” Doug grinned lazily as he saw him though the mirror. His speech was still a little slow, but he seemed much more normal now. Or at least, normal for Doug anyway. “How was your first day of class? Want to jump off a bridge yet?”

He didn’t even know, but Mike decided not to open that can of worms just yet. Maybe just peek inside the lid. “Almost,” he nodded instead. “Maybe give it another day.” Alright, now was the time. “Hey, so what happened last night? You were in really late.”

Doug paused for a second, before rolling his sleeves back down and turning to properly face Mike. “I’m sure the others told you about my ‘sessions’ right? Jilli, I’m guessing.”

“Two for two.” Mike nodded.

Sighing, Doug shook his head. “Listen,” he began, “the last guy I told even a little about what really goes on in this place, he disappeared. Just gone from the dorm one day and never came back. I don’t want that to happen to you, or any of the others. The only reason I’m even telling you this much is because I know you’ll just keep asking about it if I don’t. You’re that kinda guy, right?”

Mike looked down sheepishly. There went his whole plan down the toilet. “That makes three. But if you tell us, maybe we can help you.”

Much to his surprise, Doug started laughing. Whatever the joke was, Mike didn’t get it. “Your optimism is admirable,” Doug admitted. “But in this case, optimism alone won’t cut it. If I tell you not to go asking questions you’ll probably just do it anyway, so I’ll say this instead: keep your head down, Mike. That’s the only way you’ll get out of this place alive.”

He began to scoot past him towards the door. “Now, I hear that Jilli and the nerds are playing a rousing game of Dungeons and Dragons. So I’m gonna go crash it. If you want to come along, first one in gets to make the wizard cry.”

As he watched Doug wheel himself out of the room, Mike hesitated. That was the second vague warning he’d received today, and Mike wasn’t sure whose advice to follow. Doug told him to keep his head down, but Gil had told him to trust his intuition, which in turn was telling him to start asking questions and solving mysteries.

As much as Doug warned him against it, Mike really wanted to help him, and part of him couldn’t ignore the weirdness of this place. So, okay, he guessed he’d step carefully, but that didn’t mean he had to stop asking questions.

“Yeah,” he grinned at Doug, who was waiting in the doorway. “Let’s do it. I’ve always wanted to make a paladin fall.”

#Ede Valley #Mike Miller #Jilli Nakjima #Sonia Valentina Borozovna #Gil Trenton #The Director #Doug Bailey #'Heelies for his feelies' still gets me every time I think about it #btw the song Doug's always singing is The Scene and Herd by Relient K #It's really good #and may possibly have spoilers

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softlenaluthor · 7 years

Text

an update (a breakthrough!) about the situation with my therapist

After months of struggling with the relationship with my therapist (feeling too attached to her), I can finally say that I’ve had a breakthrough in the search for the answer to the question of why I’m experiencing so much transference with her!

I’ve read a million articles about transference, and how it means that the client projects upon the therapist something they miss (often it’s one of the basic human needs that they lacked in their childhood) and for months I was scratching my head and thinking, “yeah, cool, but what the fuck is it in her that I like so much? is it her personality? is it because we can make each other laugh? is it because she’s so straight forward and not afraid to ask the difficult questions?”

I had a session with her today and I told myself that I was going to try to look her in the eyes as much as I could (I haven’t properly looked at her in months, I’d often look at the ground or straight past her). She acknowledged this and said that it was really easy for her to stay in contact with me, and she didn’t need to pull on me to see if I had dissociated or something. I thought doing this would be really hard but it turned out to be easier than I expected, and our session instantly felt better to me. She even gave me a fist bump and told me she was proud of me.

In the session we talked about my mother and how my mother described me as someone who had been “broken” and “damaged” but that she had nothing to do with it. I expressed minor irritation about her choice of words and the way that she was extremely defensive when no one had accused her of anything.

My therapist then told me that I might be right, that I might never get from my mother what I need from her. She said that it might be time to stop trying to understand her, and feel the anger. Not anger directed at her per se, but just to feel the anger in general. She said that she finds it interesting that I used the words “irritated” because she felt infuriated that my mother refuses to take responsibility for what she did.

My mother claims that she spent years in therapy trying to “burn the bridges and leave them in the past” but I find it hard to imagine that any therapist could overlook the fact that she gave birth to a child and then decided to abandon it. It makes me wonder, am I one of those bridges? Am I part of a part of her life that she said goodbye to? I read the letter she wrote and nothing, except for “I may have given birth to her” insinuates that she perceives me as her child. All she continues to say is that she had me for two years, and then she left, and then “someone broke me” and that she “isn’t responsible, damn it”. Am I a goddamn vase or some shit? What the fuck am I to her?

Anyway, I left the session feeling rather good actually, because I was proud of myself for being able to look my therapist in the eye and kind of get in touch with what I was feeling re: my mother, and I went for drinks with a friend. I know him from therapy, so obviously we continued to talk about therapy. A lot.

An hour into the conversation, he was about to say something, and I interrupted him, because I was struck with a realization. The puzzle pieces started to fit.

All I want is for my mother to acknowledge me and take responsibility for abandoning me. All I want is for her to realize that what she did, no matter what the reason was, had a big emotional impact on me and my personal growth. I don’t need her to be a mother figure to me. That’s fine. All I want is for her to own up to her mistake. But judging from her letters, I’m guessing the chances of that happening any time soon are very slim.

Who does acknowledge my mother’s mistake?

My therapist.

And I believe her. Or at least, I believe that she means it when she says, “this must be so tough for you.” This realization doesn’t answer all the questions. In fact, it raises a lot of other questions, like, “why don’t I experience this type of transference with other therapists?” or “why do I believe everyone is faking kindness but her?” and so many other questions.

It explains so much to me. Especially what happened a few weeks ago, when she announced that she’d be stepping out of the sessions and another therapist would replace her. I freaked the fuck out. My acknowledgement was going away.

In today’s session, I told her that my mother has so much power over me. I need her to tell me that she was wrong and that she made a mistake so that I can move on with my life. If she doesn’t acknowledge that, then I might as well die. Then I don’t see any reason for me to walk on this planet. Then I’m this broken shell of a person she talks about in her letters and then I’m a waste of space. I need her acknowledgement, badly.

So back to freaking the fuck out. My therapist was leaving. I quickly spiraled out of control. My acknowledgement was leaving. So then, my reason to live was leaving. Within minutes, I became suicidal and she realized that I had no control over myself anymore, and that I had to be put somewhere where I’d be safe from myself, and she took over. She called the psychiatrist and I was admitted to a clinic.

So why her, of all people? My friend suggested that she might have been the first to show genuine empathy for my situation. And he’s not wrong. On my first day at the clinic, I was apparently upset about something and she told me to come see her at the end of the day. I did, and to this day I can only remember a single (1) one thing that she told me that day, “I read your file, and I got a lump in my throat.” I’d huffed it off at the time but maybe it meant more to me than I thought.

She was different than other therapists. Other therapists would see my symptoms and say stuff like, “based on your history, your behavior is understandable” or “your fear of abandonment is explainable given the fact that you were in fact abandoned”. All very rational.

But she says that she feels anger when she hears about my mother’s refusal to acknowledge what she did. She empathizes with me and tells me, or the vulnerable child within me, “this must be so hard for you, I think you’re so brave for how you’re dealing with this”. Of course she stays professional and she doesn’t literally express anger, or lash out. She just tells me the things I need to hear, the things I want to hear so badly from my mother. And the most important fact is that I believe that she means the things that she says. I don’t believe it’s fake. I believe that a lot of things are fake, boy, am I working on that shit in therapy, but one thing I do believe is real, is her.

Is this type of transference healthy? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m extremely relieved to know that I finally have an answer to why I am so attached to her, why I think about her often, why I’m so scared to lose her. And it’s something I can’t wait to work with and through in therapy, and maybe, hopefully soon, I’ll get to a point where I don’t need to think about her as often anymore, and I don’t need her anymore.

#transference #therapy #this is a long ass post but that's just who I am as a person #also an update I guess since I'm not as active on this blog anymore #and for some reason there are people out there who really like my therapy posts #I hope some of them help you :)

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