#substance withdrawal

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS Disco Elysium AU part 2 - Psyche Skills

Part 1 - Part 3

[caffeinefafnir]

That's it. That's the reason.

[some-stars]

low-key perplexed by the people surprised at the smoking poll results (2/3 have never tried it even once). not so much the ones from outside the US bc that's just a cultural difference, but honestly even then--i have never been able to figure out the appeal of cigarettes if you haven't smoked before. it hurts and it tastes bad and you don't even get high!! why on earth would you start if it wasn't something absolutely everyone did?? which it hasn't been here since the 90s at the latest. idk man, a lot of peer pressure stuff rolls off me with minimal impact due to the autism and i'm also extremely sensitive to physical discomfort and bad tastes, so i don't think i'm ever going to grok the appeal.

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 03 Withdrawals

Simon Riley x gn! reader

Warnings: mentions of substance abuse, opiate withdrawals, vomit

Simon was concerned, he'd been concerned since the bullet tore through the meat of your thigh. He’d been the one to pull you to cover, it had been his hands staunching the blood flow and it had been him you’d leaned on during physical therapy.

Even when the medics had prescribed opiates for the pain. He’d swallowed his discomfort attempting to keep a close watch over you and your usage. You’d seemed fine, seemingly as off-put as him by having to rely on such addictive substances in order to stave off the pain. 

You’d seemed fine. 

Your recovery was going well, the doctors, physical therapists and psychologist had all seemed optimistic that you’d be field-ready in near record time. 

You’d seemed fine. 

How had he failed to notice? He’d seen it before in his father, in Tommy. In hindsight, all the signs had been there. You’d tired more easily, were calmer - lethargic even and your attention span was even shorter than usual. You’d waved it off as the effects of vigorously throwing yourself in training, wanting to get back to your peak physical form. 

Simon had ignored the signs, desperately not wanting to admit that another one of his loved ones had succumbed to the addictive effects of prescription drugs. He’d ignored the signs until it was too late, until he’d found you slumped over in a hallway shivering and covered in sweat. You don’t even notice his presence, not even when he hauls you into his arms and starts running down the hallway all the while trying to shake you back into consciousness. 

It’s not until he deposits you under the cold spray of a shower that you start to stir, moaning in confusion as you attempt to orient yourself. You try to move but Simon has you locked against his chest, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing onto the tiles. 

“Wha?” you slur, blinking lethargically as you struggle to keep your eyes open. Vaguely you recognise the voice of the person holding you, but you struggle to make out any of his words. Your head is so heavy, chin resting against your chest, giving you a close-up view of a familiar tattooed arm. “Simon?” 

The man grunts his affirmation, one hand moving to sweep the hair from your face. You don’t get to appreciate the gesture for very long before you’re slumping to the side as far as you can within the confines of his arms and emptying the limited contents of your stomach. It burns your oesophagus, choking you as you attempt to breathe through the bile. Tears spill from your eyes from the pain and embarrassment. 

Simon doesn’t comment on it though, simply continuing to hold you up and whisper words of encouragement. You’re uncertain as to how long you stay under the cold spray but at some point, you close your eyes only to wake up in another room, a towel around your shoulders as Simon attempts to dry you off. 

“You need to get out of these clothes love, can you do that?” Giving it a few seconds of thought you nod, waiting for Simon to reluctantly turn around. It’s a struggle but you manage to wriggle out of your wet shirt and dry your torso enough to slip on the shirt Simon had laid out next to you. It’s a long and tiring process and more than once you’d had to reassure Simon you were still ok. 

Though you were quickly forced to admit that you needed help, all of your muscles shaking uncontrollably. “Si, I need help” you quietly admitted. Turning your head to the side in shame, closing your eyes so wouldn’t see his disappointment. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Simon is infinitely respectful, averting his eyes to maintain as much of your modesty as possible. 

His touch is gentle, though every slight brush of fingers on your skin burned. He continues to act in silence, bundling you up in what you now recognise as his blanket. It’s enough that the dam finally breaks and you start sobbing earnestly, chest heaving for air as you lay shivering in his bed. 

“‘M sorry.” You moan unable to articulate your shame in any other way as you continue to apologise over and over. Simon doesn’t offer a verbal reply but he does take a place by your side, smoothing his hand through your wet hair. 

Time becomes meaningless after that and all you know is misery. Your body fluctuates rapidly between hot and cold flushes that have you attempting to escape from the cocoon Simon has you trapped in. Yet the hulking abomination won’t let you move, even as you snap and scream at him. He’s not even phased by the intense nausea, placing a bucket beneath you just in time as your traitorous stomach continues to expel bile even when your stomach is beyond emptied. 

He wipes your sweat and hydrates you, taking your hurled abuse stoically, never once blaming you. He maintains his silent vigil, sacrificing his own sleep to watch over your own incredibly broken slumber. Much to your own horror he even escorts you to the bathroom, never more than a few feet away. It’s a new level of mortifying, the entire experience frays your nerves down to nothing. Yet no matter what you throw at him, Simon stays. 

“Why are you helping me? You should’ve handed me off to the med bay. ‘Ts not your job to clean up my fuck ups” you whisper. The question comes a few days into the torture, you’ve regained some clarity but the hellish symptoms showed no sign of improving. A few minutes ago you’re pretty sure you’d even called him ‘fuckin cunt’ when he’d refused to give you any sort of medication. He pauses in his movement of using a wet cloth to wipe the sweat from your forehead, barely taking any time to think of a response. 

“Do I need a reason?” There’s a heaviness to his words that you don’t quite understand and he doesn’t elaborate. How could he explain to you, the sheer terror that had grasped his heart when he’d found you slumped over? The self-loathing he’d been battling since he’d come to terms with your affliction? 

“No… but I’d like one. I’m pretty sure I vomited on you a few times and you didn’t even complain. I’d have decked you for that.” It’s an attempt at a joke but it evidently doesn’t land, his hand stilling in its path as he seemed to have some kind of internal debate. 

“I care about you, that’s reason enough.” He offers no further elaboration and you sense that you’d already pushed far enough for the moment. 

“Well now I just feel like an arsehole” you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. Luckily your remark gets a light chuckle from your brooding companion as silence descends once more. A wave of exhaustion suddenly hits you and for once you don’t fight its pull, though you vow the next time you wake to grill Simon even further. Before you fall asleep once more you manage to mutter, “I care enough about you that I’d let you vomit on me too.” 

The last thing you hear before the darkness overtakes you is a laugh, the first genuine laugh you’d heard from him in days. It’s a small victory but you take it, allowing yourself to finally feel just a little bit of hope.      

[rusticcottage]

QK - Day Three

Dude, today is a mixed bag.

Positives today

Woke up without the typical grogginess that accompanied my habit

Looked forward to caffiene

Listened to music and sang along, got goosebumps

Walked 1.2 miles with my dogs in the AM

Did a one hour hot yoga class in public and survived

Ate a banana for breakfast, and a sandwich for lunch

Been on top of my water intake

Was able to get out of the house 3x today

Cravings are tolerable; in the background more today, but they can go f themselves

Thought about my childhood and the family I was given and felt sad, let myself cry, then moved on. Did not run away or try to mask

Binged on SWU youtube videos to see that my WD and my life is not the worst out there - there are people who've survived worse and recovered from harder substances than me. Everyone says sobriety > addiction

Being in yoga today brought tears to my eyes; was so proud of myself. Haven't done that in over a year, maybe 1.5 years

Put a load of laundry in

Struggles today

Lack of "happy" feelings

Slow to move around

Hard to focus on tasks

House is untidy and I get tired when I try to clean up after myself

Hard to read a book

Hard to journal for too long

Checking my phone frequently, like I am just looking for something and IDK what it is I am seeking

Worried I will never feel joy again

Looked at nature, sunset and did not feel anything

Dogs annoyed me

Sores inside of my mouth; tender to touch, inflammed lips. Chapstick application hurts my lips

Not feeling productive and getting sick of it. I want to get shit done again, come on

All in all, I am feeling my best since quitting today. Feverish chills, lethargy, and muscle aches and pains are minimal compared to the last two nights. Got 8.5 hour of sleep in. Doing my best to stay focused on the progress today versus day before, versus day one. I did this to myself and this is what it takes to get off this shit. Never again will I let an addiction get the best of me like this, in fact all of the suffering teaches me what damage this trash did to my body and how my body is doing its best to bounce back from all the substance abuse I subjected it to.

[smashing-yng-man]

I've done it all - attended Alcoholics Anonymous twice a day, five days a week. Memorized the fourth edition of the "Big Book" from cover to cover. Admitted myself into two different rehabs, staying 60 days each time.

What has ultimately kept me sober from drinking is confiding in my therapist and taking a combination of Acamprosate and Naltrexone twice a day to curb alcohol cravings.

I drank heavily for nearly two decades, and frankly have the experience and genetic predisposition to confirm that addiction is not a choice.

But sobriety and self-care are.

[truecorvid]

ohhhhh nooooo i am starting to recognize and understand the benefits of caffeine

[petrichorvoices]

So we have multiple addictions, yeah? Right now we're in cannabis withdrawal, and we don't have any access to weed, and the withdrawal is kicking our ass. And for some fucking reason, our bodymind decided that if it can't have weed, then it wants alcohol, desperately. So now I'm having strong alcohol cravings despite not having had any in months.

[eruditic-akechi]

Rhinedottir with the discouraged subtype of BPD? Anyone?

[only-knives]

pray for me... i just caught myself thinking "i'll be fine, i can stop whenever i want" 🥲

[accordionlover]

forgot my meds again yesterday. pretanting im drunk as fuck so the zaps are funnnnnnn

[thethingything]

okay so everything that talks about withdrawal symptoms from opioids is like "you'll get cravings for the drug" and I've been sat here like "okay well I haven't had that" (as far as I can tell? I don't know what cravings are meant to feel like in this instance? I might be misunderstanding what that means) but what has been happening is that every time I take way less pain medication for a day or two, I get symptoms that feel like food poisoning and it ends up being an overall bad time.

for the last few days we've been on a way lower dosage because we haven't needed as much pain relief, and I've spent the whole time being like "oh my god why am I getting so many hot flashes and waking up in a cold sweat and not being able to sleep more than a few hours at a time? ugh my eyes are stinging so much and my vision keeps going all blurry and weird. why do I keep feeling like the world's ending over tiny things? holy shit my digestive system is not doing well. why do I have all these weird muscle cramps and aches? god my head hurts so fucking much and nothing's helping" and I've been blaming this stuff on the fact that we overexerted so much on Monday but like... yeah there are some dots I probably should have connected sooner here

[poptimus-prime]

Hey there! Random question because I also like TFP ratchet very much and also like torturing the characters I love, do you thing ratchet ever had withdrawals after he stopped using synth-en?

Also I really like your blog.

Hi there! Thanks for the like. :)

See like. I can kinda poke at the idea, and I logically know it probably happened, but also it’s a little scary to think about it for me personally? I tend to avoid that specific flavor of angst for personal reasons. No judgement tho!

When I think about Ratchet being in pain, I make it more about a potential chronic pain issue personally. It’s a lot more palatable for me because that’s just something I live with and it doesn’t kick up my anxiety. This being said, I do think Ratchet’s pain reduced significantly on synth-en, so the way he used to feel before it feels worse for a while after. If that makes sense.

And of course the mental anguish that this old man just canonically goes through.

[please-hit-me-with-rocks]