#they diagnosed me with medical ptsd and i just am so like. still shocked and it’s been months since my surgery and since they told me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silver-rings-and-rabbits · 4 years ago

Text

Open Heart: Second Year

I don’t think I’m saying anything that hasn’t already been said before but this is bugging me like crazy. I don’t use Tumblr very often but I don’t know anyone else who plays Choices, so here I am (I guess spoiler alert for those who haven’t played Open Heart).

Open Heart book 1 is one of my favourite books, possibly even my most favourite. I genuinely couldn’t decide between Bryce, Raf and Ethan. I switch between the male and female MC and I’ve been able to give them different personalities. The book had strong writing and a coherent plot with probably three main storylines: Patient X, Panacea Labs, and Mrs Martinez, which all tied together beautifully at the end. Even all our patients came back in the last chapter.

And then Open Heart: Second Year. Where to start.

Obviously Ethan is our boss, mentor and colleague so he will have a vital role in the story, but why push the other LIs aside? Why can’t Bryce romancers steal a few minutes in the hospital corridors where Bryce gives you a flirty wink and a pat on the butt? Why can’t Jackie romancers sneak into her room every so often?

And let’s get started on Rafael. First of all....what the fuck?

I love a little bit of angst so I wasn’t initially too mad when Sora was introduced (actually I think it made me want Rafael more, because apparently I only like men I can’t have...and I’ve gone off Ethan because he would be too easy). But there was none. Sora appeared in chapter 2, where it’s described as ‘stings a little to watch’, but doesn’t appear again until the baseball game in chapter 8 where they cheer for Edenbrook a couple of times. The only kind of ‘angst’ Rafael romancers got was dancing with Raf at the music festival where Sora is briefly mentioned and MC closes their eyes and listens to Raf’s heartbeat (which was a sweet moment, to be fair). Are you seriously telling me that none of their friends acknowledged that he and MC used to date? That they wouldn’t have asked if MC was OK at least once? That they would have invited Rafael over to the apartment without giving MC a heads up? And when PB was asked about this they gave some crap about making things realistic and exploring the mature themes of a medical drama. If Open Heart were realistic, MC would have been fired halfway through book 1 (one of the dialogue options with Ethan in book 1 chapter 6 actually leads him to say ‘consider yourself lucky you’re even getting a next time’) but NO, we get ‘realism’ by losing a beloved love interest and character that people have grown invested in and spent money on, and then completely waste the opportunity for drama.

And then there’s chapter 10.

And going back to realism, they couldn’t think of anything else apart from vengeance and terrorism? Not, I don’t know, just a highly infectious patient which is probably more likely to happen within a hospital?

I do think that chapter 11 is one of the strongest chapters of Second Year, and the book has got stronger since then. But knowing that it might have ended with the death of Rafael leaves a VERY bitter taste. I’m very glad they rewrote it...but what on earth was the thought process behind that?!? Going back to realism again, if they wanted drama and emotions, why not have Kyra die of surgical complications? At least we’d have been somewhat prepared for that as she was introduced as being a cancer patient, and there would have been more angst (especially for Bryce romancers) as he would have had the guilt of not being able to save her when he promised MC he would, even if it was out of his hands. But sure, have Rafael caught in an assassination attempt, that makes sense. And it still doesn’t really excuse Sora, I mean, imagine the pain if he was still an LI and he and MC were saying their last goodbyes in that room??

I was happy with the rewrite to chapter 11 and the kiss between Raf and MC in chapter 12 was beautiful. And PB have actually made something of an effort to include Raf in the rest of the story; I was half-expecting to not see him again until the obligatory 30-diamond scene in the last chapter.

Chapter 12 was so emotional and it was so clear that each character and LI was struggling with the events. And the end of chapter 12 and the beginning of chapter 13 made it very clear that MC was terrified of returning to work. MC has butterflies in their stomach as they walk in to Edenbrook and then...nothing. That was that. As if they just needed to face their fear and they’d be alright again. Now I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure PTSD isn’t as simple as that? It would go far deeper than ‘Oh, I’m alright, just taking it one day at a time’. And the narration specified that MC was uncomfortable at the idea of going back into the diagnostics room where the attack happened, but chapter 14 we’re back in there without batting an eyelid.

Someone (I don’t know who...if you’re reading this let me know!!) pointed out that Danny and Bobby could have been mentioned at the gala...there could have been some kind of ‘in memory’ and donors could have been guilt tripped by MC. But no, not a peep. I keep thinking that we could have had Baz, Zaid and Inez (I miss her) catching up with MC and asking how they’re doing and how worried they were. If you’re going to the gala with Raf there could have been a highly emotional scene between them about what happened in the room. Raf alludes to it in a line of dialogue but there was potential for so much more.

And how about the fact that a group of doctors cured the incurable OVERNIGHT and it worked without proper testing? NO ONE has mentioned that since! Surely there would be papers being published and deeper research being conducted now that lives aren’t on the line? We had a whole chapter about how a research grant would save the hospital but now...nothing?! Ed Farrugia hasn’t been mentioned since chapter 12. No one in the team is talking about how it was June’s idea to convince him to switch to Edenbrook. Surely that would be a huge elephant in the room? Wouldn’t she at least say something like ‘I never wanted this to happen, we went too far’? Something?!

The fact that there has been no follow-up to the attack suggests to me that it was purely for shock value. They just wanted drama and didn’t care about keeping it grounded. And assuming that Rafael died in the original, that’s more upsetting. I can’t believe that he was the least profitable character in the history of Choices ever. And even if he was, was it because no one bought his diamond scenes, or because he didn’t have diamond scenes to buy? I romanced Bryce in my first playthrough, but I remember choosing to assist on his surgery without even thinking about it, I didn’t even look at the diamonds it would cost. So a beloved character would have been killed, and it would have brought nothing to the story.

Furthermore, Sora would never have been explained. Rafael almost explained in chapters 2 and 12 but both times MC cut them off. If Rafael was originally going to die in chapter 11, Rafael romancers would never have got that explanation, unless they were to hear it from Sora themselves afterwards (doubtful). And it’s highly unlikely it actually will be explained. PB will probably say ‘it’s up to you what happened!’ like they’re doing us a favour by creating our own headcanon, but to me that’s just lazy writing; they wanted to write off Rafael and they didn’t care how they did it.

If Second Year hadn’t opened with a funeral scene we might never have been clued into what was going to happen and demanded a rewrite.

Aside from that, there’s Esme. She’s introduced as breaking Dr Thorne’s hand and then has to diagnose and treat him in chapter 10. Depending on your choices, he gets surgery and thanks Esme for saving his life and apologises for the bar incident. Otherwise she doesn’t run further tests and he messes up a surgery which eventually forces him to resign. And then Esme gets her plotline with Levi. If Dr Thorne wasn’t her main plotline, what was the point in introducing him? It’s another storyline that had huge potential--sexual harassment in the workplace, for example--but had little to no payoff and fell off the radar. If PB wanted to introduce MC and Esme the night before they both started working then MC could have just literally walked into Esme and either apologised, asked if she was OK, or told her to watch where she was going, and that would have affected how she greeted you in the hospital the next day. But no, we get this storyline hinted at which is then written off and replaced. Maybe it was a rewrite, I just don’t see why it would have been.

Like I said before, the main storylines of book 1 all tied together in the end, but the storylines we’ve had in book 2 have just felt like completely separate events, just a bunch of stuff that happens and is quickly forgotten. I think the balance of the LIs has been better since chapter 11; even when the gang went to Vegas, Raf romancers got a quick phone call with him. As a Raf romancer, I appreciated that, and it only goes to show how PB could accommodate for all LIs whilst having Ethan integral as our boss (see before, bonus scenes for Jackie romancers sneaking into each others rooms, bonus scenes for Bryce romancers having flirty interactions in the corridors).

There is such a difference in dialogue if you’re playing Ethan’s romance route or not. I had him stay behind in chapter 11 and I thought it came across as a sweet conversation between a mentor and his protégée. But the other LIs don’t have anything close to that level of detail. Ethan romancers get pretty close to being official in chapter 17 but I’ve heard Jackie and Bryce didn’t get that. And Raf romancers didn’t even get caught sneaking back into the gala. I’m still holding out hope that book 2 will end with all LIs saying ‘I love you’ and being official with MC, but the inequality makes me sad.

I might have had some more to say, but this post has been longer than I intended and I don’t remember what that might have been. I really wanted to like Open Heart: Second Year. Book 1 will always be a favourite, but book 2? It’s like going from the classic era of The Simpsons where Homer was a lazy dumbass but genuinely loved his family, to the modern era of The Simpsons where nothing makes sense and Homer is a straight-up jerk. I just hope that, if we get book 3, they would have learned from their mistakes and Open Heart can be saved. It doesn’t deserve this.

Well, that’s my two cents. Sorry for the long post. If you got this far, thanks for reading.

#choices #pixelberry #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart second year #ethan ramsey #bryce lahela #jackie varma #rafael aveiro #casey valentine #rant #long post

24 notes · View notes

beautiful-disaster-93 · 4 years ago

Text

Chronicles of the chronically ill momma raising a special needs son 😰

I have had some medical issues for some years now, been through a lot of surgeries for being 28 years old I've indured quite a bit..

Early diagnoses of mental illnesses, many medications, therapies and so on and so on... Then at 17 or 18 was diagnosed with Degerative Disc Disease in my lower back, years later started having stomach issues, ended up with ulcers healed those with surgery and medicine... Then started having gallbladder attacks had to have emergency surgery by the time I had it done, It was dead and full of stones! Then 2 years later 2 weeks before Halloween my appendix exploded technically... Had emergency surgery at 5 am... Fast forward I kept getting ill and passed out ended up in intensive care with sepsis, went into septic shock... That was fun! (Sarcasm) then ended up with infection after infection so I had to have my tonsils and adenoids removed (as an adult) worse thing ever! Went into respiratory failure was in the hospital almost 2 weeks, almost missed my sons birthday, so I signed myself out of the hospital... Few years later I had my first foot surgery, that didn't work... 2nd, 3rd, 4th and now I've had a total of 7 foot surgeries in a 3 year span... Just to find out after that many I have very low vitamin d so they did a bone scan.. And at the age of 27/28 I was diagnosed with something that usually doesn't happen until at least early 40s, I have osteopenia (which means I'm a fall risk, and I can be easily fractured or broken) I am fragile to say the least 😂 well, now my back is worse, I am fragile... I have a low immune system due to having a skin condition, then 3 months ago I found out I have cirrhosis of the liver... And am having to travel 4 hours to see a specialist doctor to see what's next... Because of my skin issue, I am on a medicine I take every 2 weeks to help that issue, but it is known to cause my immune system to be weaker, so 3 doses later and I know have an infection in my throat, I haven't been able to eat in 11 days unless I force my throat to swallow then I'm nauseous, I can barely swallow water... I am on antibiotics for 10 days but I don't know how much longer I can handle the pain, as I also have chronic migraines, and chronic nausea and this infection is making everything so much worse! Ended up with covid, and covid pneumonia was sick as a dog, was so so sick... Still have complications from it and this was back in January it is now August so 7 months later things still taste weird, I don't like certain foods anymore it just changed me.... 🥺🥺🥺

My son is autistic, he has behavioral problems, mood disorder, adhd, ptsd and is starting 6th grade this year, his first day of middle school, and let me tell you he may be excited, but this momma is nervous... He has a hard time making friends because he is anti social some days, he can be demanding, he lies about silly things and just has other issues that I am not completely comfortable talking about, we went through a fire and we lost everything that was hard on him, almost lost our cats... It's been a rough few years on top of the pandemic..

I have had many female issues and due to that and having so many miscarriages they had to do a partial hysterectomy on me at the age of 27, to top it off I still have pcos, and some endometriosis left... Also had 2 herinas removed.. I've been through it.. So never think your alone, I got you always.. 😊😊😊😊

It's been rough, but I know god has me through all this, he protects me and loves me that is what keeps me going... I pray I pray hard...

No matter what the future holds for me I know it's all in gods plan 🙏🏼

#mental health #momlife #autistic feels #chronically ill

1 note · View note

insessionwitheleni · 5 years ago

Text

LESSONS LEARNT FROM BEING DIAGNOSED WITH AN INVISIBLE CHRONIC ILLNESS:

29/05/2020

I received my Crohn’s disease diagnosis in May 2016, after experiencing months of extreme physical pain, emotional exhaustion & mental confusion (I was NOT having a good year!). Prior to this, as one should be in their 20’s, I was relatively carefree & quite active. Almost overnight, that healthy energetic person disappeared. Her place taken by someone scared & embarrassed. Suddenly, I wasn’t spending my free time with friends or at the gym, but sat in hospital waiting rooms surrounded by distressed strangers. I was being prescribed various medications with unpronounceable titles & terrifying side effects, & was expected to immediately begin taking these – no questions asked.

Fast forward to today, those dark times are luckily behind me (for now at least!). I am still popping pills on a daily basis – but have learnt to pronounce these by now! I also have to inject myself with a really scary drug fortnightly, avoid certain foods, & accept that my body will no longer allow me to be as active as I would like to be. I still get bouts of feeling very afraid of what the future may hold. BUT, things do not feel as bleak as they did back then. And I have definitely enjoyed holidays, night-outs, long walks & a cocktail or two in the recent years, so no need to feel too bad for me!

There have been three major life lessons my ongoing Crohn’s journey has taught me so far:

LESSON (1) ---> ‘DON’T JUDGE A BOOK BY IT’S COVER!’

So many life-changing & chronic physical health issues are entirely invisible to the naked eye. Crohn’s, colitis, diabetes, epilepsy, fibromyalgia, asthma, migraines, food allergies, multiple sclerosis, to name a few. Need I highlight the obvious? Mental health issues are almost always invisible too. Depression, PTSD, OCD, social anxiety, personality disorders, post-natal depression, the list could go on & on. It’s so important to remember: ‘not every disability is visible!’

It still impacts me to this day how some people look at me when I’m being instructed to walk through for a blood test as a priority, or when I’m stood in front of them in the pharmacy queue. I am only presuming of course, but it does often seem like they are thinking ‘Why is she going first? She looks fine, I’m clearly more sick than she is.’ Why on earth am I made to feel like I am doing something wrong, just because I am not visibly unwell!? (Saying that, I could also be getting funny looks because of my daunting Greek surname, who knows?!)

My point is, be considerate & don’t judge people. The very same person who has just posted that gorgeous selfie on social media, may have been overcome with pure desperation just minutes later. The ‘rude’ person getting on the train may be experiencing an intense panic attack. That friend that keeps turning up unannounced may be in desperate need of distraction from their physical or mental health worries. The driver behind you that honked his horn the second the traffic lights turned green, may be on his way to a life-changing hospital appointment, or in desperate need of the loo!

So please be kind! We never really know what someone is going through.

LESSON (2) ----> THE ‘SPOON THEORY’

Any of my clients reading this will know all about the famous ‘spoon theory’ from me waffling on about it during sessions. For anyone that hasn’t heard of this before, the ‘spoon theory’ suggests that healthy people have unlimited ‘spoonfuls’ of energy/effort/ability each day, however people with an illness or those going through some form of trauma, do not. Therefore these must use their numbered ‘spoons’ wisely as to avoid ‘burn-out’. As someone with an invisible illness, I thought I’d benefit from a personal reminder that some days are going to be harder than others, & so chose to get a spoon tattooed on my forearm!

I’m not suggesting you all get tattoos, don’t panic! I am however suggesting that you show yourself compassion when going through a challenging chapter. For example, if you are struggling with low mood at present or physical pain, it is literally impossible for you to be as productive as usual. So instead of piling more & more on your to-do list & feeling terrible for ‘failing’ at these ‘simple’ tasks, why not remove some items instead? Spend your precious spoons on the tasks that will benefit you here & now. In practical terms, if you feel you have 3 spoons today, you will not be able to use 10! It really is as simple as that. So adjust your to do-lists accordingly.

Tomorrow is another day, give yourself time!

LESSON 3) ---> ‘GRIEF IS A ROLLER-COASTER!’

What has grief got to do with illness? Well…everything!

There is a great & complex amount of loss that comes with illness. You are no longer the same person once you fall ill, especially if this illness is chronic. You can lose the ability to do certain things or go certain places. You can lose precious time at medical appointments or sorting through medications. You can lose touch with individuals that don’t seem to understand the magnitude of what has happened to you. You can lose faith. You can lose hope. You can lose independence. You can lose confidence. So OF COURSE you are going to be grieving!

The main theory around loss suggests that there are seven different stages of grief (feel free to explore further in your own time, it really is interesting). These are:

1) Shock

2) Denial

3) Anger

4) Bargaining

5) Depression

6) Testing

7) Acceptance

As promising as the final stage seems, unfortunately bereavement is an ongoing process & definitely not linear. What this means is, once you reach ��acceptance’, you don’t necessarily stay there. It is also worth mentioning that each & every individual experiences grief in their own unique way, & that external factors can massively impact this too. No wonder bereavement is such a complicated process!

What does all this mean? Well it means, if you have lost something, it is OK to feel angry about it. If you have been made redundant at work, it’s OK to not throw yourself into job applications & interviews the very next day. If a loved one has passed away, it’s OK to feel low about it 3 years later, or 5, or 10!

Allow yourself to feel whatever it is you are feeling. It’s OK!

#mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #crohnsandcolitis #crohnsdisease #spoonie #noteverydisabilityisvisible #spoontheory #7stagesofgrief #counselling #psychotherapy #talkingtherapy #itsoktonotbeok #counsellor #therapist #lifelessons #wordsofwisdom #chronicillness

3 notes · View notes

johnnyprofane1 · 5 years ago

Text

How to Get Diagnosed #ActuallyAutistic in Just 26 Years

First off, this is not a poor-me story.This is a journey to #AutisticJoy story…

I’m a singer/songwriter, pretend Rock Star with a decent following… after at least 5 other careers.

I’m also #ActuallyAutistic. Or my fave hashtag… #AutisticAF.

Two most frequent private-message questions I get?

Not about lyrics, my guitar playing, or even my mohawk…

1. Could I be autistic?

2. Should I get a diagnosis?

Well, here’s my way-long, way-detailed, way genuinely autistic answer…

I was born in 1953. Long before autism or Asperger’s were widely discussed in medicine or popular culture. More or less, just beginning in the 70s.

At least by 1957, at 4, I knew I was “different.” Family and neighbor kids told me so.

A lot.

In kindergarten, a teacher reported I was unusually creative, but “stayed to myself.” After 2nd grade intelligence testing, I was tagged “gifted.”

But my behavior was “odd.” Solitary. Formal in speech, a know-it-all. “Insensitive to context,” liked talking and playing in class. “Inattentive” to lessons.

I had one close friend at a time… In fact, only one I remember in all of primary school. In 4th & 5th grade. Jeff.

Wonder what he’s been up to the last 56 years…

My intelligence: uneven. My reading skills were off the chart, but verbal learning, most of education at the time, was difficult for me. Math tested high, but I was so impulsive on quizzes, I needed remedial classes.

Tests were a silly game to me. It was fun to be the first-one-done. I couldn’t have cared less about grades. I’m a process-, not results-oriented guy.

And most glaring? I was disliked, even hated, by schoolmates, cousins, perhaps even parents.

I was a target for mockery, hate speech, bullying, physical and sexual attack, and later molestation. And universal disappointment: “You’re not living up to your potential.”

A history of dozens of jobs, dozens of relocations, lost years in a cult, lost years in badly matched relationships…

And honestly? A history of causing great pain to others. Inadvertently perhaps, but not always. Then circling back to the couple of decades in what most would label a “cult…”

Something was just not right with this picture.

I first sought diagnosis at 17 following suicide attempt #1 in 1970. The experience was horrific.

I felt badgered by the therapist, “I know you have a secret you want to tell me.” I wanted so badly to please her. But had no idea what I was feeling, much less why.

As still happens under great stress, I temporarily lost language ability. I became mute. Which has several times been interpreted as “resistance,” “guardedness,” or even “passive aggression” by “helping” professionals.

I didn’t try therapy again until my first year in grad school, 1980. The psychiatrist summarily dismissed me without a plan when I didn’t respond to imipramine (an anti-depressant)– possibly I pissed him off. I seem to have a talent for stepping on therapist toes.

But in 1991, I entered the mental health system and essentially never left. Every new psychiatrist, psychologist, therapeutic social worker confidently diagnosed me… with something entirely different.

Between 1991 and 2016, I was diagnosed with adjustment disorder, major depression, type II Bipolarity, rapid cycling bipolarity, malingering, borderline personality disorder, dissociative disorder NOS (including discussion of multiplicity), PTSD….

There have been additional discussions of various anxiety disorders (especially social anxiety), attention deficit, schizophrenia, TIAs, stroke damage…

Pretty sure I’m leaving a few out.

With each new diagnosis, each and every professional confidently told me he or she had nailed it.

This time…

And they could help.

I was medicated accordingly with imipramine, Prozac and all the modern SSRIs, Welbutrin, Effexor, Lithium, depakote, tegretol, gabapentin, klonapin, lorazepam, respirdal, the occasional syringe of haldol, provigil and other narcolepsy drugs, sleep aids, supplements like fish oil, more I’ve forgotten….

And offered suggestions of Abilify, Seroquel, other anti-psychotics, electro-shock (ECT)…

As well as therapies including Jungian, supportive, interpersonal, analytical, psychodynamic, cognitive, task-centered, solution focused, dialectical behavior, cognitive behavioral…

I was myself a counselor from 2001 to 2011. Strange, but true.

Not one of these interventions helped me materially.

Not one.

And I experienced some very concerning side effects: tics, emotional numbness, difficulty thinking, feeling like a stranger in a strange mind. I totally gave up on treatment and medication in 2011. Bouts of suicidality ensued.

A very few friends and one wife threw the term autistic around over the years, but I never followed up. It seemed so unlikely. I was so bright. So articulate. Even somewhat successful… for a few months at a time.

And without conscious awareness, I had become adept at hiding the fact I was actually dysfunctional… perhaps the majority of the time.

Plus, I could pass for “normal” by masking… when not under stress. I learned by junior high to practice my favorite classmates’ neurotypical behavior in the bathroom mirror. Hide stimming, meltdowns, panic attacks, the total autistic burnouts lasting sometimes months, years…

In 2011, the intimacy of the most successful relationship of my life forced me to look inwardly as deeply as I could in order to avoid losing my third wife. (We are still together, deeply in love, but live in separate houses a few hundred feet apart. She needs breaks from my intensity. I find even her company exhausting after a few hours.)

My now-third wife had a family member with “high-functioning” autism, what we used to call Asperger’s (and what we now call, simply, autism). Watching this young boy negotiate his world was like watching myself in a magnifying mirror.

We had so many behaviors in common. Mine were just somewhat better disguised. With my wife’s encouragement in 2012, I began reading articles, books, online forums…

In 2016, when we separated briefly, I finally re-entered therapy. This time, I contacted various experts in adult autism through Indiana University’s Indiana Institute For Disabilities Community (IIDC).

Bingo.

Every symptom…Explained.

Every “flaw” in my character… traced back to this pervasive developmental diagnosis.

I am making progress in a kind of task-oriented counseling. Working on strategies to accommodate characteristics that just ain’t gonna change…

But the key gifts that external, credible diagnosis gave me:

Accepting I really am different, with very different needs from neurotypical folks.

Providing for those needs, as I discovered them. For instance, understanding my “special interests” are not hobbies. They are central to my survival. My job.

Reducing stimulation, sensory & social. Accepting I will have few intimate relationships in my life and becoming cautious about “friendships,” only those few folks who take the long, long journey to know and like me. After a lifetime naively assuming each new stranger was a new friend, my motto became, “Don’t like me? Don’t hang.”

Spending unashamed time… alone. I have a radical need for autonomy, while simultaneous difficulty managing independence when any other human is present. As much as I crave intimacy, I must manage my time with humans. Say less than 5 minutes with a stranger before anxiety or panic sets in, maybe 2 hours with my wife. Which brings me to…

Over the last few years, I’ve not only experienced reduction in anxiety, depression, suicidality, dissociation, night terrors, meltdowns, panic… I’ve come to realize my natural state.

Finding love. My neurotypical wife and I respect, admire, encourage, and desire one another. Pretty much a first for me.

Autistic joy.

Not disease…

Joy.

When I’m creating words or music, walking alone in Nature, watering my garden, cooking, fermenting pickles, making bread, decorating, yard sale-ing, reading, loving my pets, meditating, even shaving…

I’m in the flow.

There is no time. There is no space. No surroundings. No memory. No pain. Just lizard-warming-in-the-sun…

Joy.

Everything that restricts that joy? Gotta go. Good riddance…

So, diagnosis?

Yeah.

That’s my story.

And this time, I’m sticking to it.

3 notes · View notes

dangerous-disposition · 5 years ago

Text

okay I'm reeeeeally starting to get sick of some of the discourse around MAID esp discourse that paints ppl who opt into or support it as Inherently Ableist and twisting the SHIT out of the "death with dignity" phrase that often accompanies it.

a lot of the ppl who opt into MAID aren't doing it in response to becoming disabled (you can't even opt into MAID for merely becoming disabled), it's in response to being diagnosed with a terminal illness from which there is zero hope for recovering or leading a remotely pleasurable life. you have to be 100% on medical death row to even qualify in some places and in an advanced stage of said illness. and what a lot of ppl are ACTUALLY fighting for is to be able to opt into MAID while in hospice, bc they don't want to die at home. death with dignity means wanting to be able to die with your mind still clear, your voice still strong. it's about creating a time for family to make it and say goodbye, and being able to say goodbye themselves. it's about dying PEACEFULLY when you wouldn't otherwise.

and I've had it with y'all calling EVERYTHING ableist. an individual not wanting to become incontinent is NOT ableist. someone wanting to die instead of becoming fully paralyzed by a disease is NOT ableist. someone wanting to die while still mostly in control of their body is NOT ableist. stop projecting on TERMINALLY ILL PEOPLE.

yes, terminal illness results in disability, but MAID is not fucking about disability and stop MAKING it about disability. MAID is a PALIATIVE issue. not a disability issue.

and if ur fucking feelings are hurt by someone dying of prostate cancer wanting to opt into MAID, and one of their issues happens to be incontinence, that is a YOU problem and stop complaining when ppl rope u in with pro-lifers.

people opting into MAID are NEVER thinking "oh God I would rather DIE than be disabled bc disabled ppl are better off DEAD", they're thinking "I am dying and it is a horrible way to go, and I refuse to put myself and my family through that".

I had someone patronize me about MAID bc I was talking about how my dad wanted to opt into MAID, but the wait time was too long and we couldn't care for him anymore. his morphine and fentanyl doses were too high for non-medical professionals to be administering, so we opted into hospice and you can't choose MAID if u go into hospice! even CONSIDERING MAID is enough to disqualify u from going into hospice. she straight up said "well we should focus more on providing resources for families with dying loved ones instead of just offering euthanasia. disabled loved ones should never be considered a burden better off dead" and I was just..... fucking shocked and I don't know how to explain that my dad was SICK. yes, he was disabled too in the sense that he was completely paralyzed, had a feeding tube, and couldn't even TALK anymore, but he was SICK. like being disabled due to terminal FUCKING illness is not part of the disability discussion. u can't just rope MAID into ur fucking discourse bc MAID is only fucking available to TERMINALLY SICK PEOPLE who usually also happen to be disabled due to that illness.

and maybe it's a fundamental misunderstanding about what "terminal illness" is. if you are terminally ill, you will DIE of that illness. maybe something else will get you, but chances are, you're going to die of that specific thing. that's why not all cancer patients are called terminally ill. the label "terminal" is reserved for "you 100% will not survive this". not for a lack of accessible treatment, or lack of government assistance to live better while sick. it is a one-way ticket, no way to turn back, done.

my dad was diagnosed w a terminal illness in August 2016. they called it terminal THEN bc there was zero cure and zero treatment for what he had. he couldn't opt into MAID at that point bc his illness could progress slowly, and he could have possibly had years before his life was SIGNIFICANTLY impacted. there was room to argue that he could have lived happily and pain free, with only a bit of limitations and choosing MAID then was cutting that potential off at the knees. he progressed FAST and was dead the following September. and the biggest thing for him is he did not want to die at home, which is why he ultimately did not opt into it (added with it that we just couldn't take care of him anymore and the wait period for MAID was too long, he needed to go into hospice. we all had caregiver burn-out). and his death was.... traumatizing. the week leading up to it was literally traumatizing. like straight up my family has PTSD it was so awful

so yeah, I'm sick of ppl turning a PALIATIVE issue into a disability issue bc ppl are upset that others do not want to die slowly and painfully and potentially a-fucking-lone and they just happen to also share common symptoms of disabilities (lack of mobility, incontinence, drooling, inability to swallow, etc).

#do not fuckn reblog lads #u literally cannot change my mind about MAID #I have a 50% chance of dying of what my dad did and I will opt into MAID the MOMENT I am deemed ready to #I will NOT put my loved ones thru that horror show. I don't personally want to GO THROUGH that horror show #my dad was so fucking scared that last week #he lived in an unending panic attack bc he couldn't fucking breathe #They had to start giving him sedatives to reduce the panic and then he just slept #gasping for breath and wheezing #for a WEEK #but hey it was ableist for him to have wanted otherwise huh :)#I'm probs gonna delete this #mourning tag

5 notes · View notes

smhtaehyung · 7 years ago

Text

when all daisies disappear🌼 || chapter 4

• masterlist

• Pairing: taehyung x OC (mental hospital au)

• Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, romance

• Word count: 4.6k

• Warning: swearing, will contain themes such as suicidal thoughts, depression and physical violence. Some of the backstory for Taehyung’s character is taken from the BTS concepts during the hyyh era. if you feel uncomfortable with the topic of mental illness, I advise you not to read further.

•••

chapter 4 ➸ 478 🌼

As seconds, minutes and a full hour passed by, I found myself getting gradually worried. Living in this hospital, I've seen many mental breakdowns. But something about this particular one, with Taehyung, made my anxiety fly through the roof. I’ve never met a person with Haphephobia, let alone shared a room. This being Taehyung’s phobia, confused me because I couldn’t decide whether I should be harsh on him or not. Is it worth it?

Two hours ago they took Taehyung away to the to the emergency office calm him down. I sat in the interaction room, his fake letter still in my pocket. Jiyu walked past and I rushingly sent a worried stare her way. She waited for me to ask a question, looking at me as she asked patients how they were feeling. She did it on purpose, wanting to hear my rushed, desperate question. She walked past me, but I stopped her, jumping over the couch as I landed on my legs "Is he okay?" I whispered

"Why are you asking?" She asked in a curious tone. "I don't know. Probably because if he's feeling bad enough, they'll switch him to another ward, meaning I'm going to have a room all by myself." I lied in a exciting tone to which Jiyu just shook her head in huge dissappointment. I raised my voice saying that, so other people would hear me. But as soon as Jiyu walked away I quickly walked towards her and stopped her. "Ji, I told you many times to not be like that-" She started speaking but I cut her off, explaining. "I actually want to know. I'm worried." I said as we walked to her medical reception. "What? What game are you playing this time?" She asked, taking some medication out of the boxes and reshuffling them. She stopped all her movements for a second. "Really?" She asked. "Yeah, why? I'm not that mean." I spoke, trying to make my words sound casual. She hesitated with confusion of my words, until she sighed and finally told me.

"Due to his condition-" She started speaking, trying to avoid actually naming his diagnose. "I know he's a haphephobe and a germaphobe, but did his panic attack have to do something with his PTSD?" I whispered as Jiyu opened her mouth in shock. "How do you know-?" She asked in a overreacting confused tone. "I always know everything." I said but quickly spoke again. "But not now, Jiyu. Please tell me what happened." I said, resting my hands on the pult. She sighed again and continued, whispering. “He’s better now. He went through his episode and got scared. He remember what he had did, so it triggered his mind and led him to the feeling of paranoia. Us being there, trying to comfort him was an even worse fear for him. It’s hard to comfort someone with just your words.” She softly spoke, feeling sensible about his story. “What did he do?” I asked in confusion. She just immediately shook her head and looked down. “Tell me, Jiyu. Pease.” I said but she widened her eyes to something she saw behind me. I turned around and saw Taehyung. He was walking from the hallway towards the interaction room.

I remember thinking in that moment: Where are his white clothes? At that moment Taehyung wasn’t wearing his usual clothes and he wasn’t his usual self. His eyes were red and slightly swollen from crying. He wore a red cap that tried to cover his bloodshot eyes. He had on the t shirt he wore to breakfast, but it was almost covered by his all black tracksuit with little details. His look was numb, his lips didn’t move as if they were sculpted out of stone. His perky ears were peeking on the sides of the cap that in this awful moment, gave him the only charm he would get recognised by.

I moved a little to the side when I saw him approach the pult. Jiyu was inside, looking concerned. Taehyung ignored me completely, proving his point that I’m not always the main motive of the painting. Even as he coldly walked, the breeze tried to avoid him, so it hit me when he walked by. Not looking at me had me frustrated and overthinking every move I made. I looked up and down, each second different. Taehyung stood in front of the glass, looking at Jiyu, who was sitting down. “Came for meds?” Jiyu softly asked, speaking a bit louder so Taehyung could hear her through the sound slits. He nodded and slid a piece of paper that had his medication listed by his therapist, through the hole at the bottom of the glass. His fingers softy brushed the pult as he slid the paper in, looking down. He didn’t acknowledge my existence at all. As if I wasn’t there. Jiyu looked for the little plastic bottles. She put her gloves on and put a few pills of different bottles in a small paper cup. The way he ignored me made me so puzzled I didn’t know what to say or how to react. So, not knowing how to comfort people, I spoke the first thing that came to mind. Just so I don’t drive myself insane. "You look like shit." I whispered, trying to break off the silence. Jiyu’s eyes immediately found me, freezing in place after I spoke. But in a split of a second she continued and uncomfortably stared at Taehyung. Taehyung ignored, looking down to the hole. Jiyu slid him the paper cup with medication and a plastic cup of water. “I know.” Taehyung said, not looking at me. He downed the pills and drank the water in a matter of seconds. I observed his adam’s apple twitch as he gulped. He put the both cups down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Thanks Jiyu.” He said in a cold tone as she nodded. Taehyung only sent a numb glance my way and walked past me, incredibly far from me.

Was he always walking this far away from me, or am I just noticing it now?

I followed his movements with my as as he walked to our room. He took a napkin from his pocket and opened the door knob, entering inside. I quickly tried to follow him, but Jiyu stopped me. “Why would you say that?!” She raised her voice in sudden ridiculousness she expressed with her facial features. “I don’t know what to say to people when they’re feeling like that! This was the softest approach i came up with!” I yelled in a whisper, being angry at myself too. I tried to continue walking but she stopped e with her voice again. “Ji, your meds too.” She said already filling the cup.. Being in a hurry, and not wanting to argue, I quickly walked to the pult and as the pills entered my mouth I positioned them under my tongue. I put both cups down. “Open.” She said and leaned over to observe my mouth. In complete calmness I opened my mouth and she observed for a few seconds. “Can I leave now?” I rolled my eyes. She nodded with a sigh and I quickly walked down the hallway to our room.

When I got in front of the door completely stopped. The shiny doorknob left by Taehyung made my mind wander to many places again. He really didn’t leave any mark behind him. Only occasional daisy that would fall fro his pocket. But not today. Is the letter I carry inside my pocket the only thing that keeps and carries his touch?

I sighed and opened the door. Taehyung was sitting on his bed and this time, observing me. I quickly walked to my bedside and lifted up the heavy mattress. I pulled out the wooden box I made and unlocked it with the key I carried around my neck. There was at least a hundred pills inside, all of them being there when I didn’t need them. I spat out the pills I had inside my mouth in my hand and I put in in the box. I locked the box back and noticed Taehyung still staring at me. I lifted the heavy mattress and put the box back under it. “You should drink your meds.” He softly spoke. “They don’t help.” I said as I adjusted the mattress back onto it’s place, but I couldn’t get it positioned completely back in, some edges lifting up from the others. I tried to force it back to its place but that didn’t work too. “Not like that.” He said and voluntarily got up to help me. He kneeled down next to me, still keeping his distance. My hands instantly flinched as I got a closer view of his hands. He softly pushed the mattress further from himself and lightly pressed it down as the mattress softly slipped in back to its place. “Not everything is dealt with force.” He said and quickly got up to wipe his hands onto his antibacterial wipes he always carried inside his pockets.

“Thanks, rat.“ I said in an unusual endearing way that made the whole sentence seem completely ironic. A giggle escaped his lips that didn’t match his cried out eyes. He walked to the window as I subtly observed him the entire time, waiting fro him to notice that his “letter” is missing. But he didn’t look to his drawer at all. He was watering his daisies and re positioning them to fit the places his troubled OCD mind pictured. I sat in silence, pretending to draw. We did our own thing, separated. I missed his dumb questions and things he wanted to get my attention with.

We both slightly flinched when each of our concentration was broken by a knock on the door. It was one of the nurses, gently opening the door and peeking their head in. “Hey guys, some of us are about to take a walk around the garden to watch the sunset, want to join us?” I looked at Taehyung, waiting for his response. He nodded in affirmation and got up. I looked at him and got up too. “You’re going too?” He asked. “Yeah, why? I want some fresh air, what’s the deal?” I asked, in a slightly panicked tone that desperately tried to stay stone cold. “Nothing, I’m glad you’re coming.” He said in a calm tone. He seemed quite distant, meaning the his pills started working. I sighed and followed him and the nurse to the hallway. We went down the hallway where Jiyu was, standing with a few of the patients on this ward. She was surprised to see me come to. ”I thought you hated walking in the garden, observing the sunset.” Jiyu spoke. “I do hate sunsets.” I lied, in a completely numb tone. Taehyung observed me with a stare I couldn’t really describe or know. Numb yet soulful, or perhaps casual but with a hint of a endearing emotion.

Everyone stared at me. “C’mon losers let’s go.” I nervously said, playing it casual in my head. Jiyu and her friend nurse let a breath out with a hint of a disappointed chuckle. Jiyu walked by me after she made sure Taehyung was okay. I walked with confidence. I pulled my cardigan sleeves down so I wouldn’t get cold when I get outside. And to hide a situation that took place last week that is yet for Taehyung to discover.

Jiyu unlocked the door where the staircase was and we slowly made our way down that same staircase. I glanced up where the way for the roof was and slightly smiling, in hopes no one noticed. But the one person I hoped the most wouldn’t notice my smile, actually did. Taehyung of course, who was still observing me like I was some painting or that garden I stared through the window almost every day when I didn’t want to go out to walk with these people. Then I moved my look away for him, explaining to myself that it’s only pills that are making him this way. I remembered how powerless he looked today, all weak and hurt. That Taehyung wasn’t looking at me right now. What was looking at me right now was a slightly drugged up version of Taehyung that didn’t know for many problems. That forgot how it feels good to ignore me and not give me attention I get frustrated over. This was a version of him, not his usual self. Kind of like I am. I am a hundred of versions of myself that come through every day. I am an emotion. A ton of emotion that got all mixed up. And after it got mixed up it got diagnosed, and labeled and people didn’t try to understand how I felt. They only tried to understand the definition of bipolar. Nothing more.

Then they only looked down on me upon hearing about my kleptomania, hiding even their useless things away from me. All I'm known for as a person is a thief and a unstable person. It amuses me how people these days find definitions and labeles for everything. They judged my past, present and basic emotion I showed and forced a label down my mouth. All these labels: BPD (Bordeline Personality Disorder), Kleptomaniac, Bipolar, Anxious and manicly depressed adolescent was the only thing they wrote on their papers and sent me off to someone knew, who knew even lesser of who I truly was.

The cold breeze hit my face as we walked outside. I observed the pink sky that was mixed with the previous blue colour of the sky. I walked on the stone path, following Jiyu. I observed in complete silence and let myself enjoy the silence. After a few minutes, Jiyu and a few patients sat on the bench, and the other nurse took a few flower lovers, like Taehyung, to observe many plants and flowers. But Taehyung didn’t come with her. In stead, he sat on the green swing that was under the cherry blossom tree that had plastered the entire ground around him with its petals. It was one of the most beautiful sights to see. I don’t think anyone knew I loved vividly visual sights like that, or knew that I was human. All my drawings represented vivid beauty but people seem to think I do not feel what I draw, which is quite an absurd thing to think about. Is Taehyung really the only one who realises that I’m hiding behind a tough character to not get hurt?

I took a sigh and crunched his empty letter I gently held with my hands inside my pockets. I walked over to him and sat in silence, kind of disappointed he was drugged because of his medication. He observed me so carefully, his distant eyes staring at me but not entering my soul and piercing through it. The sound of birds filled in the silence before I figured a sentence out and finally spoke. “Rat?” I softly asked fro his attention, in an endearing way, leaving the question hanging in the air. ”Yes?” He whispered, his sculpted lips finally moving, breaking off the figurative stones that blocked his tongue from creating a word. “If you weren’t high on your meds right now, would you ignore me like you did before you took them?“ I asked in a slightly timid tone. His eyes fluttered in a slight panic before he looked away from me, looking straight forward. “It’s not all about you, again.” He said, switching to a more direct tone, still looking numb. “Not what I wanted to hear.” I rolled my eyes and got up but immediately heard his reaction. “No, please stop, don’t go.” He said and motioned his hands up towards me, keeping a far distance away from me. “I barely noticed you, today. I was afraid.” He said and looked down. I sat back on the swing next to him. “What were you afraid of?” I asked. “I don’t wanna tell you, or speak about it. We only know each other for a few days.” He said but I tried to prove his point wrong. “Well yeah, but when you look at someone the entire day and live with them, you get the sense you knew them for years.” I explained, looking up the sky.

“You look at me the entire day?” He said in a flirtatious tone and I panicked and brushed it off quickly, and aggressively. “I talked about you, rat.” I scoffed and looked down. “I don’t know, you’re a very interesting person.” He randomly spoke. “So you just admitted you stare at me, a lot.” I commented. He nodded and accepted my words. “Dude, that’s weird.” I said with a disgusted expression on my face, praying to heavens I don’t blush. “I know.” He said and looked down. After many moments of silence I broke off the silence again. “Why are you like this?” I asked him. “What do you mean?” He asked in a confused tone that didn’t match his expressionless face. “Seeing you today, being that fucked up, why did you pick an act so bright and childish to usually go by? Why did you pick a character at all, if it doesn’t match who you are on the inside?“ I asked and immediately heard a response. “Why did you?” He asked, making me puzzled. “Why did I what?” I asked for explanation. “Why did you pick a character too?“ He asked, this time staring into my eyes with some emotion. “I didn’t- You do realise that I am mean and fucked up on the inside so when I act out it’s all part of me.” I said in a casual tone. In a sudden change of emotion I spoke again, trying to stop showing sides of me that were used to hidden. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you right now, about this.” I scoffed, shaking my head. He adjusted his hair under the cap, his ears perking up slightly after I finished my sentence. “Maybe because I’m the only one you can open up to.” He calmly spoke, coming across as timid as his gaze piercing through me. A sudden panic washed over me. In one moment I was ready to tell I boy I knew for 3 days everything that was on my mind, but the other part of me was beating me to a pulp inside of my head, repeating over and over how it is a bad idea. How it’s a bad idea to open up, let alone open up to such a fool that wouldn’t understand my thoughts. “No you’re not.” I immediately spat out, sounding even more panicked. My chest started hurt as the two sides started to argue with each other inside my head. My breathing sped up and I couldn’t sit still. “That’s not a bad thing-” He tried to speak but I immediately cut him off. “Stop.” I raised my voice and got up, leaving the swing. “Hey, Jia. Stop, please.” He pleaded, realising he might have said something wrong.

That was one of the worst things here. If you managed to find a friend, saying things that would potentially trigger them was always a risk. Because how can you know their entire past without asking too much and making them feel even worse? So as soon as I realised a person, this time Taehyung, hurt me in a way, my only reaction would be self defence. I carried such a heavy shield around me and lashed it out onto people even if they tried to touch it. Even them looking at my strongly built shield over the years, made the provocations stir up in fear they would get close to it and tried to break it. Because to them, that shield might seem as a shield with the strongest metal or material in the world, but that shield is just made out of fragile glass, that could cut into me. It’s only painted on to seem strong and to mask the fragileness it carries around.

“Don’t go.“ He got up as we both realised we got unwanted attention from the others. “Stop me.“ I coldly said, frustration built in my eyes. “What?“ He asked in a confused manner. “C’mon, stop me.“ I said and slowly started to walk backwards. “Words can’t stop people, Taehyung.“ I provoked his fear of touch, moving away. “A touch can-” I continued speaking but got cut off. “Jia, that’s enough.” Jiyu warned me, trying to make me stop provoking him. “People grabbing people, or pulling them back stops them.” I said and continued. “If you stop me,you know, physically, I’ll stop. Because why would I listen to a rat?” I continued speaking the same way. Taehyung looked down and didn’t even move. After a few seconds, I spoke again. “That’s what I thought so. Don’t talk to me, rat.“ I said and walked past Jiyu, back to the staircase inside. She followed me back inside, trying to catch up to me when I was walking up the stairs. I rushed through the hallway and she stopped me by holding me by my shoulders, where she always holds me to calm me down. The only thing to calm me down.

“You didn’t take your meds, did you?” She asked in a worried tone. “I did.” I said in a hurtful tone. “Then why are you-don’t feel afraid, Ji.” She said and continued as I tried to brush it off and deny it. “Why are you so hard on him? Especially after what he went through, today?” She asked, stroking my shoulders. “He’s being hard on me ever since he came here. All his little analysing and trying to understand shit, IT’S NOT HOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE.” I raised my voice and she tried to shush me, and calm down my upsetting body. “I’m the one who does that! He should be scared of me and not try to get under my skin!” I continued speaking and felt my eyes water. I quickly wiped a tear away and whispered. “How can you all love him so much? How can he manage to get you all to adore hi by just his words? That’s ridiculous!” I said in a absurd tone. “He learned how to do that. That was the only coping mechanism. Ji, that boy went through a lot. He’s a very strong soul-” She spoke but I tried to deny it. “We all went through a lot!” I spoke and she nodded, trying to explain something else, but I was quicker. “I don’t want to fall for his pathetic fake charms like you all did.” I said and moved away from her grip. “That would be even a worse mess than it already is.” I said and walked away. She tried to stop me, but I quickly spoke. “I’m sorry Jiyu. I’d love to be alone right now.” I spoke and she nodded, leaving me be, something I greatly appreciated.

But when I entered my room to leave myself be, unfortunately it didn’t last for very long. I walked around in faster pace, trying to collect myself by facing away from those stupid daises that seemed to stare at me the same way Taehyung stared at me. A lot of thoughts went through my head as both sides still argued. I sat down on the cold floor and covered my ears and tried to shut my eyes in hopes of protecting my mind from myself. What helped to slightly block the noises was the door that clicked open. I quickly removed my hands from my ears and tried to wipe away my wet cheeks, putting back the shield onto its well known place. I heard Taehyung’s steps as I blankly stared at hard and grey polished floor. Taehyung sat on his bed as the mattress left a few squeaking noises. He looked down at me and I just glanced at him and hid my head between my knees. “I can’t stop you. And I’m sorry for that.” He spoke and I tried to provoke but he was quicker to forestall what I was about to say. “You don’t want my apologies, I know. But I’m sorry if I tried to get too close to you. Mentally.” He said and I immediately responded. “Okay. I know. Whatever, it’s not bothering me.” I desperately tried to brush it off, refusing to apologise to him like he did to me. I noticed my response was bothering him, but this day being too awful for the both of us, we decided to just end that topic at that note, before we lost the remains of our less troubled selves.

As the sky got darker, the pink colour almost disappearing, I fiddled with some of my stuff out of pure boredom. I noticed Taehyung’s quick steps behind me, finally realising he’s looking for his letter. “Jia?” He asked in a soft voice. “What do you need?” I asked in a quite direct tone. “Did you see my letter?” He asked and my face froze upon hearing his question. I got back to my provoking ways to tease for a bit and answered his question with another question. “You mean the one from your girlfriend?” I questioned, laughing on the inside. A small smile escaped onto my lips but I quickly held myself contained. “Uh-y-yes.” He nervously spoke, panic plastered onto his face. “Did you perhaps take it?” He asked in a more directed tone before I provoked. “Oh please, why would I need an empty letter?” I said whilst focusing on what I was doing. I glanced at Taehyung who swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “Relax, you look like you’re going to pass out.” I joked, trying my hardest to not bomb him with the questions. “Uh-about that...” He tried to speak but I couldn’t keep my questions away. “My question is, why did you do that?” I asked, completely staring into his eyes. Taehyung somehow immediately switched from his panicked self to a more bright and lovable version we all knew and found endearing.

“It’s kind of a funny one. Very random actually” He said and stroked the back of his neck. “Oh really?” I spoke, feeling my usual persona.He walked to some of his daises he kept in vases and rearranged them again. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He spoke. “No shit.” I giggled. ”I did it to test you." He smiled, sitting down, counting some of the daises as I looked at him from across my bed. "To test me. Why?" I confusedly asked. "To see your reaction. And to see if you're interested in me.” He casually said, licking his lips as he lost his track of counting. A bad multitasker. “You looked so disappointed and pissed when you stared at me “reading” it.” He giggled and air-quoted. “I did not.” I immediately scoffed, shaking my head in disappointment."You're insane, why did you do that? Jiyu handed it to you." I asked in a confused tone. “Yeah, Jiyu helped me.” He nodded and continued smiling. I repeated his words out loud. “To see if you’re interested in me? Pfft- never in a million years, rat.” I answered, hoping I wouldn’t blush, once again. “Sometimes I like it when you call me rat. When it’s less aggressive.” He commented out loud. “Aggressive or not, rats are always disgusting.” I teased and got up, walking to my closet to pretend to look for something else.

“Touché.” He said as he pointed with one of his daisies towards me.

part 5

58 notes · View notes

justanoutlawfic · 7 years ago

Text

Apologies: An August Booth Fic

For my beautiful wife @iamnotthrowingawaymyship, who shares the headcanon that both August and Emma have PTSD.

I wouldn't call this fic necessarily anti-Marco, but I feel that this is how he feels over the whole situation. There's no happy ending here, just a lot of reality. Mentions of past child abuse and current PTSD take place here.

Also on AO3

But he says it's crazy how love stays with me, yeah

You know and it hurts me 'cause I don't wanna fight this war And it's amazing to see me reading through this scene of love and fear And apologies, apologies-Grace Potter

August sat in the back of Granny’s, stirring the milk into his coffee as he did his best to hide from everyone else. If he had one more person ask how he was holding up since being turned back into a man, he was going to lose it. It was weird, really weird. He could remember the past year of being a boy, all of the fun he had with his papa, though he had no clue of the old life he had lived. To be honest, he was glad to be back to the person he was before. Maybe that man was broken, but he was his own person, raw and real. All of the pain in his life had made him into the man he was. Maybe that wasn’t the best person in the world and he did have regrets (sending Emma to jail, lying to Rumpelstiltskin about being Baelfire), but all of that made him August Wayne Booth and not Pinocchio. He didn’t want to be Pinocchio anymore.

His father was less than okay with it and he could understand why. After the curse broke, he got his second chance at raising his son, at being there for him. Yet, there was a part of August who felt that Marco didn’t deserve that. He loved his father, so much. He just didn’t think it was fair that he had gotten a second chance after all of his deception, while Emma and her parents had to struggle to build a normal parent/child relationship. Why did he get his shot at having a happy, normal childhood, when Emma never would? He knew she’d never choose to do things over, especially since she had her son, it just wasn’t fair.

The jukebox switched up and a familiar song began to play, one that froze August in his spot. How Soon Is Now’s opening lyrics swarmed through the speakers and brought him back to the foster home he was placed in after he and the other young boys were caught on the run.

I am the son And the heir Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar I am the son and heir Of nothing in particular

The song played on the radio as the football August was throwing smashed into the vase.

“Booth!” His foster father screamed. “What have I told you about throwing that damn thing in the house?”

“I…I’m sorry,” he stammered out. “It’s raining and I was bored…”

“You’re going to be sorry.”

The man ripped off his belt and it collided with August’s face, not once, not twice but three times in quick succession.

August slammed his hands over his ears, finding it hard to breathe.

“Stop!” He cried out.

“I’ll stop when I’m damn good and ready, boy! Now pull down your pants!”

At the counter, one of the waitresses slammed down a drink for a customer, a little too loudly and it caused tears to fall down August’s face. He could practically feel himself being pushed up against the wall.

The song was suddenly cut off and changed to something different, but August was already far away, his mind spinning. He felt a hand go on his shoulder and jerked away, about to fight back whoever it was, until he saw those familiar green eyes.

“Breathe, August,” Emma instructed. “Just breathe.”

She demonstrated on her own and it took a minute, but soon he was following. Eventually, he was brought back to where he was. He wasn’t in that terrible foster home in New York, he was in Storybrooke, Maine. Granny’s Diner. In front of him wasn’t Cecil Morgan, but Emma Swan, his best friend.

“I…I have to go,” he mumbled.

Tossing down some money for his coffee, he stormed out the door with Emma following close behind. He leaned up against the building, still trying to remember how to breathe.

“It’s okay,” Emma assured him. “I have panic attacks a lot.”

“I thought they were over,” he mumbled. “I control my triggers, I didn’t even know the Smiths were on that damn jukebox.”

“Storybrooke is still stuck in the 80s in some ways,” she said with a frown. “Bad foster home?”

“The dad was a huge fan, blasted it all the time. Especially to cover up our screams.”

“For me it’s AC/DC. My old foster mom’s favorite band, especially when she was getting drunk.”

He ran his hand over his face. “For a year, it didn’t bother me…”

“Because you didn’t have your memories.”

“I thought I was happy to be back to my old self, scars and all…”

“Except it meant your PTSD coming back.”

Not too many people knew about August’s PTSD. He had been diagnosed at 19, after a breakdown on a trip to London, England. Emma only knew because he had one breakdown in front of her during the curse and she opened up to him, saying she had been diagnosed during her stint in prison. It was their own little secret, though now her parents and Archie knew about hers.

“I wish it could all just go away, I don’t want to remember those things. I want the happy times, the traveling…”

“You have to take the good with the bad.” She paused for a moment. “Have you…have you talked to your father or Archie about this?”

“No. Papa’s going through a hard enough time with me changing back. The last thing he needs is to know that his son is broken.”

“You’re not broken, Auggie.” Emma put a hand on his shoulder. “Just…a bit chipped.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I think you’ve been spending a little too much time with Belle.”

“Maybe. Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

August reflected on what Emma said and knew that he needed to get back into therapy, so he did open up to Archie. It was good to get back to talking to someone about it, to get back on his medication for it. His panic attacks were lessening and Emma talked with Granny to remove the Smiths from the jukebox at the diner.

Things were good…until Marco found his medication.

He was coming home from another date with Tink, when he found his father sitting at the table. With Sidney gone, August had taken over the Storybrooke Chronicle and they had been able to move into a nicer house. Archie lived with them as well and chipped in on the rent, so it was far nicer than anywhere any of them had lived.

“Hey Papa,” he said, throwing his jacket up on the hook. “What’s going on?” Marco simply held up the orange prescription bottle, causing August to freeze in his place. “Where did you find that?”

“Your bathroom, I was out of toothpaste so I was going to borrow yours.” He rose to his feet, walking closer to him. “I had Blue help me use the computer, apparently this is medication for PTSD.”

“It is.” August took the bottle and stuck it into his pocket.

“Since when do you have that?”

“I got diagnosed when I was 19. I never had a chance to tell you, because well…when we reconnected, I got turned back into a boy.”

“I don’t understand. I looked into this condition and it’s for people who have been through severe trauma.” He raised an eyebrow. “What trauma could you have gone through?”

The comment alone made August’s blood boil. He knew his father meant well, but sometimes…he could be a bit daft. Snow and David hated to admit it, but they at least acknowledged that their daughter had been through terrible things throughout their childhood. David’s whole reason for wanting to go back to the Enchanted Forest had been because of how cruel the world had been to her. Marco knew all of what Emma had been through…could he really not connect the dots and realize so had his son?

“Maybe because when I was 7 years old, you put me in a wardrobe and sent me off to protect a baby,” August whispered. His voice isn’t laced with anger, just honesty.

Marco paused. “But…it was for your own good. I didn’t know what the curse would do to you.”

“I was 7!” He exploded. “7 years old! Do you know what it was like? To show up in some strange land, with a crying newborn? I had no clue what to do, where to go! Finally, we were found but trust me, foster care is no picnic. I ran away, only to be caught and brought to even worse homes throughout my entire life!”

He rolled up his shirt to reveal a scar that hung above his belly button. Marco’s eyes widened in shock.

“This was from when I got beat with a rusty hanger,” he said. “It ended up getting infected and I got sick, really sick. I was in the hospital for 2 weeks and when I got out, I was put in a new foster home that wasn’t much better. Finally, I got away for good when I was 15, but the damage was already done. I have PTSD, Papa, because my entire childhood was a mess.”

Tears filled Marco’s eyes. “But you…you got a second chance…”

“I did. And it was amazing.” He reflected on the year he had as a child. “I got to be a kid, go to school, have fun. But as soon as I got turned back into a man, all of those old memories hit me like a brick. It didn’t replace the childhood I already had.”

A single tear fell down Marco’s face. “I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“How was it best for me, to send me to a strange land, alone and taking care of an infant? You knew Snow wasn’t going through, you knew I’d be alone!” August’s voice broke. “You thought about yourself, you didn’t really think about me!”

“That’s not true! I wanted you to be safe! How was I supposed to know…” He shook his head. “This hasn’t been easy for me either. I got you back, my sweet boy, only to…to lose you again!”

“You didn’t lose me, Papa! I’m right here! I know I’m not that little boy that you stuffed into the wardrobe, but I’m still your son!”

There was a silence between the two men as tears fell down their face and they breathed heavily. August looked deep into his father’s eyes, seeing his own pain for the first time. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a child in the way he had, yet he still had him. If Emma could be good enough for Snow and David, even as an adult, couldn’t he be enough for his father?

“I’m still mourning the little boy I lost,” Marco said, finally. “I’m sorry, August. I love you. You’re right, you are my son. I just…I need some time to get over the fact that my little boy isn’t coming back.”

So, I’m not your little boy anymore? I’m sorry I grew up! I’m sorry I wasn’t cursed like you were. I’m sorry…

They were all words at the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to apologize anymore, not for things that weren’t his fault. Therapy had taught him that much.

“I guess I’ll go stay with Tink for a while then.” He grabbed his keys off the rack and pulled his jacket back on. “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay the rent on this place.”

Heading out the door and slamming it behind him, he stormed to his motorcycle and sat on it for a while. He waited 5 minutes for Marco to chase out after him, but it never happened. He let out a shaky breath as he turned the keys in the ignition and headed off, his father’s words still radiating in his brain.

“My little boy isn’t coming back.”

I’m right here.

But maybe…he wasn’t anyone’s little boy anymore. Maybe there’s a chance that he never was.

#wooden swan #wooden swan au #august booth #iamnotthrowingawaymyship #ptsd #tw: child abuse

37 notes · View notes

thehiddensouth · 7 years ago

Text

Shell

Crossville, TN

Shell: I just turned 50. I've been in the mental health system since the 70's when I was four years old. They diagnosed me with major psychosis and put me on antipsychotic drugs.

My parents, sent me to a special school for kids with mental health issues and I was raped repeatedly for three years when I was 12 by the director of discipline. He was like a vice principal.

Now my diagnosis is major depression with psychosis, borderline personality disorder, OCD, PTSD and eating disorder.I've tried to kill myself six times. I hear voices. It's something that I struggle with every day. I wake up every day and I just try to get through the next moment.

I've been hospitalized many times. One time I was in a mental hospital for a whole year in Kansas.

All kinds of things happened there. I had a reaction to some of the other patients because they were aggressive and I was feeling unsafe. So they put me in the quiet room for a whole day, which is just a padded cell. It felt like punishment, like I was being punished for feeling unsafe.

Other times I was wrapped in cold wet blankets until I shocked out.

BW: What does that mean shocked out?

Shell: It's like a form of shock therapy. They wrap you up until you just shake and freeze and you just ... shock. You go into shock. They don't do it anymore.

Then, I had multiple personality disorder and I was in therapy. My therapist wanted me to stop calling her, so she told me to start calling a helpline. I called the helpline when I was upset and they called the cops and the cops came with guns drawn into my house. I was so traumatized with the fact that they came in with guns drawn that I was switching personalities. They put me in restraints and retraumatized me. That was the time that I ended up in the Emergency Room strapped to a gurney for 18 hours. It took my parents two days to find me at UCLA medical center.

BW: How does it work when you have delusions?

Shell: I hear stuff, which is kind of ironic because I'm deaf. So that's how I know I really need help when I take my ears off and I'm still hearing voices, I know I'm in trouble. So it's kind of a good test.

BW: Is it the same message you've heard since you were a little girl?

Shell: Yeah, it's all negative self talk kind of stuff. But it comes from somebody else. I get commands, hallucinations that tell me to kill myself and that it's a foregone conclusion, that it's compulsory, it's not a choice, that it's something that I have to do. So I get really dangerous and I've come close a couple times. I'm really lucky to be here.

BW: What do you think the best day of your life was?

Shell: The day I got married. [big smile]. June 20th, 2016. My wife is the most wonderful person in the world and ... she just ... she doesn't care that I'm mentally ill, she just loves me for who I am. And she just supports me unconditionally and loves me and it's actually a really cool story.

We met when I was 18, she was my first love. My parents actually disowned me because of her. I lived with her for a little while and then when I was in California my mental illness was such that I broke up with her and switched and didn't remember. So she was just gone and I didn't know what happened. 27 years later I got an email that said, "I just wanted to know if you survived."

I happened to be going through a breakup at the time, so it was perfect timing. We started talking on Facebook. And then we were talking every day and so then I came to visit and I've been here ever since. It was awesome. We filled the church, we had almost 200 people.

41 notes · View notes

blessuswithblogs · 7 years ago

Text

My Experiences with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Today's piece has very little to do with video games, but instead, me. This is more of an exercise in catharsis and thought ordering than something really meant for other people to read and go "o yea thats neat," but you're welcome to do so anyway. I'm also putting up some content warnings for Mental Health Junk like eating disorders and severe anxiety, as well as allusions to stomach flu symptoms (this one probably bothers me more than anybody reading). If you wish to proceed with all that in mind, by all means.

Let's start at the beginning. I've suffered from minor post-traumatic symptoms for over 20 years after the conclusions of traumatic events, usually severe illness. In the past, these symptoms have been self-limiting and usually resolved after a couple of months. Even after I was terribly ill with pneumonia, had an allergic reaction to pneumonia medication, and spent several afternoons with a nebulizer in my mouth, it only took half a year or so to mentally recover from the incident, and all I really suffered from was mild worry when I started coughing. All this changed, however, in September of 2008. A number of unfortunate circumstances occurred in quick succession and I ended up dreadfully sick with gastroenteritis alone with my dad, who also caught it. It was an uncharacteristically virulent and severe strain of whatever norovirus was going around at the time. My working hypothesis is that my brother caught it at Disneyland after using the bathroom without washing his hands like a frickin idiot, because he caught it first and then spread it to the rest of us. My mom seemed unaffected, or was extremely adept at suppressing symptoms, so she hauled my brother's sick ass back up to his dorm in Santa Barbara. Originally, this was going to be a family outing, but I argued that I really didn't need to be there for other reasons entirely, which, as it turned out, ended up dodging a bullet. We both got sick after they left, and it was a miserable night by all accounts.

It marked a couple of milestones for me. Sheltered child that I was (let's be honest, sheltered child that I am), I had never been in a position where I was seriously debilitated and my mom wasn't there to be mom at me. It was also the first time I sort of had to take care of somebody else being ill, because as sick as I was, my dad was even sicker. He's also an unreasonable old fuck who demanded that I didn't let mom know that we were both the next victims of the plague, but I disregarded that order because I was freaking out and in that pre-sick period where you feel pretty nauseated but you're not really sure if that's because you ate too fast or something or you're actually sick. She came back the next day with some pedialite or however you spell it. I was actually kind of delirious at that point, utterly sleep deprived and running a nasty fever. I still vividly recall a strange sort of fever daydream I had in the shower about The Big O being featured in the upcoming Super Robot Wars Z, which is really strange to me to this day but there it is. Showtime, I guess. Prior to this bout of sickness, I had been struggling with tummy troubles the whole year due to the stress of acclimating to living in a new state and a few unfortunate cases of much more mild gastroenteritis. By the time of this incident, I was already pretty worn down, and it turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back. After making a physical recovery and doing okay for a few days, I started exhibiting severe anxiety symptoms. At the time, I didn't know it, but I was actually a fairly textbook case of post-traumatic stress disorder, and it basically stopped me from being a functioning human for a good year or so.

Let's talk a little about PTSD. The classical understanding of this disorder is that of combat fatigue, something that only soldiers in hellish warzones suffer from after seeing their squaddies get blown up by the Vietcong or whatever. A largely more enlightened view than the previous perception of the disorder as "shell shock" or, even worse, "malingering," but one still inadequate for a modern clinical context. PTSD can be brought about by any sufficiently traumatic event meeting with a sufficiently susceptible person, as per the diathesis model of medicine. If that's what they're still calling it. It's actually been pretty long since I've taken any psych courses, the last two years of college was mostly just filling in credits with random bullshit. At any rate, while soldiers are a large demographic of PTSD sufferers, people can contract it from just about anything -- car accidents, sexual assault (this is a big one, almost assuredly more prevalent than in active combat personnel), and, of course, severe illness. It took me a long time to actually be honest enough with myself and my various therapists to reach the diagnosis. I had suspicions, because even then I was studying psychology, albeit in highschool elective curriculum, and I was at that point familiar with most high profile mental illnesses like PTSD, depression, schizophrenia, and what have you. I also knew, however, that young students diagnosing themselves with diseases they had recently read about in a textbook was also a definite phenomenon. Thus, I was reluctant to bring up the possibility and actively downplayed symptoms, both because I had no faith in myself to make an even marginally accurate diagnosis and because I felt ashamed of the possibility. People get PTSD from actual trauma, not a weekend bout of stomach flu, or so I thought. To be honest, I still feel pretty ashamed of it, but I'm old enough now to know that lying to myself and others will get me precisely nowhere.

Fortunately for me, I think that my therapists and psychiatrists at the time were altogether too clever and perceptive to be fooled by a fairly half-hearted show of resistance. We didn't really give what I was feeling a name until quite a ways into it all, but from the outset, my treatment was focused on alleviating these symptoms. And, wouldn't you know it, the SSRI anti-depressants I had been on-again-off-again taking since I was 14 were also the medication of choice for treating post-traumatic stress. It took a long time, but I eventually managed to get myself together enough to start community college, then transfer to a UC school and graduate. Not without difficulty, mind you, but it's still fairly miraculous to me that it happened at all. I had occasional flare-ups, usually linked to a trigger of somebody else throwing up in my general vicinity. My brother seemed to make a habit of coming home from college only to immediately get sick, which was always harrowing. To this day, I don't know how one person can contract so many instances of gastroenteritis. I always seemed to avoid catching his bugs, probably due to my redoubled hygiene practices and general hypervigilance, though there was a period in the summer of 2012 where I got sick with -something- that made my stomach miserable. Not enough to puke, but enough to make me really worry. That was the summer right before I went to go live on my own in campus housing, so, I ended up coming home on weekends to keep myself together.

Recently, as you may or may not know, I've had a major resurgence of symptoms after a very mild case of stomach flu. I honestly wasn't sick for very long, or very violently, but it was enough to bring bad memories flooding back and reopen a terribly inconvenient can of worms. At the time, I was not on any medication due to just generally being at a fairly high level of functioning but a fairly low level of Have Money. I still feel that the decision was mostly sound, but I severely underestimated my potential reaction to a triggering event. Which I suppose in and of itself was a good indicator of my mental health prior to the incident. With the old wounds reopened and no psychoactive agents to help with the pain, I got. Bad. I'm doing better now, thanks to meds and the passage of time, but I'm still not at full capacity, and summer was utterly dire. One of the halmark symptoms of PTSD is going to great lengths to avoid situations and stimuli similar to the trauma that originated the illness. Unfortunately for me, it is very difficult to avoid "feeling nauseous" or "eating food," though God knows I gave it my all. With my comorbid emetophobia back in full swing, I drastically altered my diet and eating habits. I heavily favored foods that I could cook or supervise the cooking of and foreswore fast food and takeout of any kind. Going to a restaurant to eat was out of the question - my first time back to one was this sunday, and it was an altogether miserable experience for a lot of reasons. My handwashing has increased in frequency to the point where I occasionally need to stop myself from doing it unless absolutely necessary so my skin doesn't crack open. Above all, I have been eating a lot lot lot less. Hearing compliments about weight loss is nice, but given the circumstances, it's hard to enjoy them. I spent most of the summer forcing myself to eat and drink when I really, sincerely did not want to. I found comfort in hunger. Hunger was a signifier that all was well, that my body was operating within acceptable parameters, that being hungry and vomiting were not states that could coexist - at least, that was the thought process. The stomach is more complicated than that, of course, but defense mechanisms rarely make a lot of sense.

The anxiety, fear, and tired listlessness of post-traumatic stress disorder are all well documented. I had those in spades. I think my mom caught me doing the whole thousand yard stare a couple of times, though I doubt she realized the significance of me spacing out. A particularly nasty foible to my particular situation is that one of my body's most cherished stress responses is to get sick to my stomach. Feedback loops are quite common in mental illness, and if I am not Queen of Feedback Loops, I am at very least a Minor Duchess. I know the cycle all too well. Stomach pain into anxiety. Anxiety into worsened stomach pain. It doesn't take long on my bad days to literally think myself sick. My symptoms have trended towards the more mild side of the spectrum, at least after medication was reintroduced, but I make up for it by having a trigger that creates itself. A lot of the time, the only way I have to deal with bad episodes is to try and throw myself utterly into something else and forget about physical being for a while. Long hours in FFXIV and Civ6 can attest to this. When that doesn't work, I often have to lie down and bury my head into a pillow until I calm down enough to start feeling better. It is, in a word, disruptive.

One aspect of the disorder that is not often discussed is the heightened fight-or-flight response and startle reflex. It is especially ridiculous in my case because you cannot run from your digestive system. It tends to follow you around. Be that as it may, being constantly on alert for any and all signals of potential gastrointestinal distress is utterly exhausting. You listen to your surroundings. To other people. To yourself, for any normal stomach noises that you're convinced are the sign of the apocalypse. White noise becomes torture as you try to pick up any salient sounds distinct from the hum of the fan, and a great deal of innocuous noises start to sound a lot like worried words and puking. Coughing is the worst because it shares a pretty similar aural profile to vomiting. Naturally, my dad has been suffering from acid reflux induced coughing jags at all hours, so I'm never at a loss for something to listen to in alarm. And alarmed I am! A constant state of hypervigilance necessitates a constant state of being easily startled. People coming up behind you when you're occupied with something else, for instance, becomes a terrifying experience because they just seem to materialize out of thin air. My new room has my back to the door and my headphones are noise-cancelling, so I am snuck upon on a regular basis, though at least with no ill intent. Probably. The garage door just below me seems almost vindictive in its loud rumbling, but I shouldn't add inappropriate anthropomorphization to large sheets of metal to my list of neuroses.

All of this comes down to a single thing: it's hard to feel like yourself when all of this is going on. Sometimes in a moment of lucidity you realize that this bizarre stranger who washes her hands way too much and refuses to eat anything has been ruining your life. Severe, prolonged stress creates a deep and abiding sense of unreality. You lose faith in yourself. You stop trusting yourself. The things you do don't seem to come out quite right. Interacting with other people feels like trying to talk to somebody on the other side of soundproof glass that's kind of smudgy and gross. Sometimes you yell too loud so that they can hear you, other times you mumble halfheartedly because you don't expect it to work anyway. And on rare occasions, you sort of lose touch with reality and try to beat down the pane and make a terrible fool out of yourself because to everyone else it looks like you're slamming your fists into a wall for no reason as you scream and cry. Even then, it's sort of worth it, just so you can say you've felt something other than creeping dread for a little bit.

I suppose, in a way, that this piece is part explanation, part apology, part anecdote. I haven't done as much stuff lately. I've been more reclusive, quicker to upset, a good bit spacier than usual. I've mentioned a few times that I've been suffering from a PTSD resurgence, but those are just words. There's no context behind them. It bothered me. I wanted to put down, in more concrete terms, how I've been feeling and coping and why that's cut into me being me. I don't know what this will accomplish, but maybe somebody out there will find it resonant, or even helpful. It feels necessary to get it out in the open and be honest about why I don't make many videos or streams anymore, or why I'm harder to get in touch with, less willing to do stuff with other people. I'm making progress. Hoping that I can get to the point where I could maybe hold down a job. Gotta dream big, right? Either way, thanks for taking the time to read this. It doesn't make anything that's happened better, but maybe it will help with things in the future. I'm rambling. I've never been good at conclusions, even when they're obvious and big and juicy. When it's just my thoughts, sort of stream of consciousness, I don't really know how to wrap things up because I could keep writing for a while, if we're being honest. Look in closing, 2017 fucking sucked okay.

#mental health #ptsd recovery #2017

1 note · View note

tumblunni · 8 years ago

Note

I have a question that I hope is ok. I have had a suspicion that I might have some form of autism for quite a while now and when you reblog posts that say something along the line of just autism things like the one you just did I have to do a double take because I do all of those things + have them happen to me and am shocked when I see I'm not the only one who does these things especially the really abstract. I don't ever bring it up though in fear that people get upset that I'm "faking"

Oh man, mystery person, that’s pretty heavy!! I know the feeling, it took me a LONG time of self-examination to work out whether I might have autism, and I actually did have to deal with a less-than-optimal response when I tried to talk to someone about it. My doctor outright said ‘but you seem too smart for that’, like.. what the fuck?? So seriously, you need to be prepared to be PERSISTANT. Don’t lose confidence in your decision! Make sure you get to see an actual diagnosis, don’t let them lock you out of it based on dumb stereotypes. Cos seriously, general practitioners going ‘hey this person probably doesnt have this thing that’s completely out of my division, and I wont even let them talk to that division’.. thats just.. GOD I really get frustrated and scared thinking how much more messed up my life would be right now if I’d listened to him and not ever got help for my condition!

So my advice is basically.. even if you don’t want to ‘self-diagnose’, please do ‘self-diagnose’.You need to be abnormally prepared for this, you need to have a list of all your symptoms, you need to learn the terms and have reference to point to in the event of them denying you the ability to talk to an actual psychologist. And you need to be prepared for them even treating you like you cant be autistic if you were capable of doing this!You need to hand-hold your general practitioner through explaining what autism even is, and do whatever the fuck you can so you can get transferred over to someone who actually knows who they’re talking about.Oh and common ‘self-diagnosis’ type stuff can also help a lot in the meantime, because doing research on the subject can lead you to finding new coping methods, finding other people to ask about the subject, and just generally tiding you over until you’re able to get a professional diagnosis and (hopefully) access to things like therapy and local autism community groups.Also, just, in some countries medical care is way less accessable, so I know not eveyrone is even able to get a professional diagnosis at all.

Oh, and an important thing is that autism is a spectrum and there are many different symptoms you can have. it can even be hard to discover your own symptoms, you might find that they manifest in a weird way because you’ve been subconciously trying to hide them or using some form of unhealthy coping method for years. Going undiagnosed into your adult years is really like.. one of the primary causes for autism being REALLY disabling! Dear god my stage of treatment right now is just learning to untangle a bunch of bullshit I’ve done to myself over the years, and re-learn basic life skills and self confidence. I think if i’d been born into an environment with people who actually would have recognised it and cared about getting me help as a kid, i could have grown up without most of my anxiety issues!Another important fact is that adult autism is often co-morbid with anxiety issues, due to the circumstances of being left completely alone to deal with this thing for your entire life with no support. There’s also just a lot of ways certain anxiety disorders (as well as ADHD) can have overlapping symptoms with autism spectrum disorders. A lot of the ‘that feel when’ meme stuff can be relateable to all three of these otherwise quite different disorders. So I’d reccommend looking up info on ADHD, PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, and related conditions too, and maybe seeing which disorder seems most similar to what you’re experiencing. And don’t be scared if it seems like you might have multiple of them! In real life being ‘all the tokens at once’ is VERY MUCH not ‘unrealistic’, man I really hate those people who’re like ‘hwaaa someone who’s black AND gay AND in a wheelchair? political correctness gone maaaad!’ Seriously, its very VERY possible to have more than one mental illness, especially ones that might have a knock-on effect causing another one. Going undiagnosed and untreated for ANYTHING can lead to developing anxiety and depression, but going undiagnosed for a social disability makes it especially likely to get specifically social anxiety.oh, and randomly for an example I happen to also have prosopagnosia, which means I can’t tell the difference between people’s faces. I literally cannot recognise my best friend if she changes her hairstyle or glasses. This is kinda Double Hell combined with autism, cos its already a challenge for me to judge people’s emotions, lol!

Oh man I’m kinda going offtopic and just rambling every damn fact I know, but I’m just hoping maybe something will be helpful??I really am not an expert on autism, I dont even know any good informative blogs to link you to. I’m just a regular person who happens to have the condition, and I don’t know how to give good advice when i’m still quite often suffering from denial and self hate myself...But I dunno, I just hope it could help to hear my personal experience, and know that you’re not alone.Though now I’m worrying maybe this post is a little intimidating so it might make you feel worse?? Seriously, this is just a worst case scenario thing, hopefully your doctor won’t be as casually gatekeepy as mine was. And I mean, he seemed like a good man who wasnt exactly rude about it and wasnt doing it on purpose. If anything that worries me more, tho, cos he was just politely saying ‘haha no you’re wrong’ to a patient, about a subject he wasnt remotely qualified in, and wouldnt have ever considered reccommending me to a professional if i hadnt kept nagging him about it and come back with a bunch of research and stuff. It felt SO damn cathartic to get that ‘YES, AUTISM’ in the end! Shame I couldnt show it to him and I probably would have had my entire healthcare cut forever if I boasted XDAlso, I was lucky that I had my charity support worker to help me through the stress of the assessment interviews. I hope you have at least one person who’d be able to be there for you and believe you, in times like these. Or, even if you’re like me and you dont’ have any family and stuff, I hope you end up meeting a surprisingly awesome governent worker lady who wears a cool hat and helps you out. Seriously, Amber, you’re a godsend!

So umm.. yeah.. i am REALLY sleep deprived and I am not good at words but i hope some of this helped?? I hope you’re okay, anon!And honestly, reading ‘lol relateable jokes’ type posts on people’s blogs was how I first started suspecting I was autistic, too. I’d grown up buried in so many stereotypes of mentally ill people, I never thought I was one of them until I actually got to read blogs from their perspective. Joke posts obviously aren’t a substitute for a diagnosis, but I think they kinda serve a valuable role in the self acceptance process, yknow? Thank you, joke posts!

#aaaaaa tired bunni is bad at helpiiiiing #if any of my followers are smarter and more informed and generally awesome then please help #anon i really hope your day goes well and you're alright #and when i get back from having a sleep i will be able to talk to you again if you need it!#A Nonny Mouse #ask

8 notes · View notes

xxsamsmithxx · 7 years ago

Text

Does it actually help?

You have been through a lot.

I have been through a lot.

We all have been through a lot.

“Talk about it”, that’s what they always say.

From me, I have a very hard time coping with the changes I've been through in my 24 years of life. Starting when i was very very young, not growing up with my mom and dad, but raised by my grandparents. Which i couldn’t be more grateful for. My grandparents were the absolute greatest people I’ve ever met, to this day. They selflessly gave up the majority of their lives to take in my sister and I and care for us an love us the way we deserved. My grandmother was a jack of all traits if you will, she painted, she decorated wedding cakes, she was a cosmetologist, a wonderful cook and taught children with down syndrome. My grandfather served in the Vietnam war, owned a movie rental store, was a very crafty handyman and the best comedian in town. He suffered from PTSD as a result of serving in the war. Being so young my sister and I never really saw any signs of his disorder, until we got older. I remember one time we came home from school and he was in the backyard pacing the fence. When we approached him he seemed very distant, very confused, as if he didn’t even know who we were. He didn’t. We were scared. We didn’t understand. My grandma took him to the doctors, where he stayed for a few weeks, they had tried to explain to us what was happening but I don’t think we really understood it. All they said was he was better so we just went with it. Now over a couple months things seemed better, normal. That didn’t last too long, it got worse. It was to the point that anything would send him into a flash back. A loud truck driving down the road, dropping a pan in the kitchen, doors closing too loudly, the fireworks during the holidays were the worst. If a flashback was in motion, he was in defense mode. Trying to save his people and fight for what we there to defend. He attempted to create suicide multiple times, every time being found by my sister and I. Every time we ran next door to our neighbors, they called 911, the paramedics arrived, he was taken in to be treated and a week later he’d be home. All times were the same. except the last time. He was too far gone. I guess their right when they say you’re in shock. 12 years later and I still feel like i’m in shock. I’ve been to counseling, been to support groups, talked with my friends but I still to this day can’t cope with his death. We never held a funeral for him so I feel like some of my pain may be a result of that. I only have this conclusion because when my grandma past away we held one for her, and as hard as it still is that she’s not here, I feel as if i have closure with her death more so than my grandpas. I also selfishly feel as though I should feel more pain for my grandma because I was there through it all. All her medical episodes(strokes, heart attacks, open heart surgery) I was there to help her recover. I was her personal driver when she was diagnosed legally blind. I worked 3 jobs to help pay for the bills, and to pay for the medical bills. I was more of a force made adult when I, in reality, should have been enjoying my teenage years. But i was okay with it. She gave up her whole life to care for me so it’s only right if i do the same for her. I got that call one early Sunday morning. She was gone. I was alone. I had no one. My sister had moved a couple years prior out of the state, I stayed for my grandma. And now i had nothing. I was in a relationship at the time, a horrible one. One that has changed me forever. I experienced nothing but hatred, abuse, manipulation, just pure hate. I felt that in a sense i had nothing to live for. I had a shit job, was arguing with my very best friend, my family turned on me, i lost my grandma, had a toxic relationship. I didn’t know what to do. I took a few days off from my job for mental health. I never returned. I packed everything i owned into my car and drove. Nebraska is where i ended up. Where my sister, nephew and mother live. I felt a rush of ease once i reunited with my sister. She’s always been my safe place. She’s been by my side through it ALL! I had figured since my mother lived here i could start a real, healthy relationship with her since i had never had that. It was already off to a rocky start, we butt heads a lot. As much as i think we both tried it just wasn’t healthy. I again started ti get that whats their to live for feeling which i knew had to go. My sister thankfully brought my amazing nephew into this world. He gives me so much strength, so much happiness, so much to live for. I was also blessed with such a strong, handsome, caring, selfless boyfriend, Andy. He has always ha an open ear and shoulder to lean on. We were long distance till we weren’t. He picked up everything to move here. He quit an amazing job, he left his life to create a new one. My world has been filled with nothing but pure happiness since he’s arrived. He gets me. Although we barley have anything in common we some how make it work. I hope he’s as happy as i am, ha ha. I have a great job(most times). We live in a beautiful house and hope to have a family one day, for me, sooner than later.

So the whole experiment i was going for was that i was trying to see if talking about my life and the experiences that have changed my life would actually make me feel better. Did it? I’m not sure to be honest. But it did help me realize how many blessings i have and how many great people i’ve been lucky enough to meet. And i think that, if anything, makes everything better. Having good people by your side who support you and believe in you is all that truly matters

#life #talkaboutit

1 note · View note

soycrates · 8 years ago

Text

What Has Happened In My Life In The Past Couple of Years.

I have been meeting new people and trying to move on in my life, but the more I push forward, the more I realize it might be important for people to hear what I’ve been pushing back.

At the beginning of 2015, I was working regularly as a journalist, planning to take time off from my post-secondary studies so I could work up the money to pay for next year's tuition (I was already struggling with), and renting a very small room on the second floor of a house a little way's away from the downtown core. I was recommended a cheaper room and eventually an extra job to pick up from someone I had met in undergrad during my studies. This was someone I thought I could trust despite clear warning signs, but I was too underfinanced to have other options and couldn't - at the time - get any help from friends, family, or loved ones. Even the job, which had us working 13 hour shifts sometimes (just to remind fellow Ontarians: according to the ministry of labour, the maximum number of hours most employees can be required to work in a day is eight hours or the number of hours in an established regular workday, if it is longer than eight hours. The only way the daily maximum can be exceeded is by written agreement between the employee and employer - which my employer never did, for most of the people they hired on). Despite the additional warning signs that this was not a decent place of work, I worked there anyway. I needed the money for school. I really needed to support myself, because at the time I did not have a tangible safety net or anyone supporting me. I sincerely felt that my alternatives were being without enough money to take care of myself and save for school, and without a place to live.

I say this to explain why I stayed in this cheaper accommodation, and at this job, after my coworker raped me. I waited perhaps a month to actually report it. First I waited out of shock, since it took me a few days to actually register what had happened. I remember clearly the feeling of taking a shower and not feeling like I was in my body at all. Like I wasn’t even lucky enough to be dead, just floating there, watching a husk of a human being take in everything going on. Then I waited out of fear, because I knew saying anything about it and trying to actually get legal justice would be hard and would uproot my life, a life I was working so hard to try to get back to in academia to secure a better future for myself. Eventually I had to stop waiting - I found it impossible to pretend that I felt at all safe around this former colleague and coworker, and since he was my main contact at work, we were often paired together in situations. When our work took us to out-of-town locations and we stayed in hotels, I had to ASK to be roomed with another girl on our work force. On one of these out-of-town jobs I finally caved and told my supervisor that I couldn't continue to work closely in any capacity with this coworker as they had manipulated and sexually assaulted me. There were so many situations in those months I felt manipulated into silence, out of fear, out of having no options to turn to. Being used.

It was then, out in this town I had never been to, without a way to return home, where I was fired. My employer told me that he couldn't do anything about the situation, that he was "sorry, but" I would be "best" finding some other place to work. I was fired; my rapist was not.

I spent the better half of late 2015 and the first half of 2016 filing paperwork, getting interviews taken, calling back police officers and investigators in hopes that something could be done. The investigation trailed off quickly as they refused to even interview anyone else involved than myself, even though I had multiple witnesses in my life who had seen how inappropriately this former coworker behaved around me, how often I had to act polite to keep my job around someone who continually pushed boundaries. I had first thought they were simply socially inept, something I would never fault a person for. Something I had sympathy for. It is only after that I recognized that social ineptitude cannot justify such manipulative and sociopathic behaviour.

I had to give up on pursuing any form of justice for this matter to take care of myself, but after all that had happened, I was a mess. The therapist at my doctor's clinic diagnosed me with PTSD, which is a diagnosis I struggled to accept for a while - kept trying to push myself, to say things were okay, to say that I could move past everything as the same person I always was - but things were undeniably different after the events of the past two years. I don't feel safe around people. Certain things that wouldn't have phased me before completely scare me now. I am more paranoid. I wake up replaying traumatic events in my head and I can't start my day off with a smile because I'm already furious and defeated. I entirely avoid places and things that remind me in the slightest of those traumatic events. I feel like my memory of the past gets worse and worse because I'm intentionally trying to repress entire years of my life.

I've tried to work various jobs in the meantime but the trauma of having a coworker sexually assault you, and then being fired for it, colours every attempt I have to make casual conversation and good relations with coworkers. I barely manage to do any job right sometimes because I am too afraid to work with people again. I'm lucky enough to have a background with journalism and digital content that I occasionally pick up work where I don't have to see anyone or interact with virtually anyone. That is enough to feed me, sometimes, each month but all of this means that I've basically given up any hope of returning to my university and continuing onto a graduate degree. I had to stop seeing my therapist and taking my medication because I couldn't afford the prescription as well as the travel cost to the doctor's office. Everything I have, I save for either food, or on necessities - shampoo, underwear, dish soap, etc.

Writing this all, I still feel very angry. I've felt a lot of bottled up aggression build up over the past couple of years because of how futile the entire situation seems. Though I feel bad about it, sometimes I’m even angry at the people in my life who care about me, dreaming of how things could have been different if when I asked for help, they had listened. I know it’s not their fault, and they couldn’t have known things would turn out this way.

Every time I think I'll open this up to people, publicly, and ask for (primarily financial) help I negatively anticipate the reactions. I have no closing remark that will make any of this rant seem as if it had a point. I just feel that I have struggled to feel normal and "on top of the situation" for 2 whole years now, and it amounts to one big huge lie. I'm not on top of the situation. I am living my life hiding from other people and wasting away in fear of being treated how I have already been treated. I worry most of all that still no one would care, still no one would help.

22 notes · View notes