#trying not to use psych ward excuse :)

[booksbwaybadflower]

my therapist: have you considered you have nothing to lose by not giving 100% at this job that makes you want to kill yourself

me: you're absolutely right, they can't fire me and I'll never see them again after this so Fuck Them idc if they hate me!!

my boss today: hey you're really not putting any effort into your job recently so explain yourself

[washedoutwings]

hey guys!! just want to clear some stuff up when it comes to being aspec :)

recently we’ve been seeing some veeeeerrryyyyy incorrect takes, such as the following screenshot (no i didn’t blur the name, think of this as a blocklist for you)

as an arospec ace collective, we feel like we’re in a pretty good position to address this. this also isn’t the only person we’ve seen say stuff like this, but we don’t feel like hunting down other harmful takes :)

firstly, if we’re being loud it’s because we aren’t being heard.

[this is literally just how activism works, but go off ig?? -💖🐘]

secondly, who are you to comment on our struggles? we’re white, and as such we don’t pretend to understand the discrimination and struggles that poc face. we know that we have very different experiences and aren’t in a position to say what is and isn’t a struggle for them.

as for these struggles, parents maybe wanting grandkids is nothing. we are excluded from queer spaces for being too straight and not queer enough. we’re discriminated against by allo cishet people because we’re too gay and weird and immoral. when we create our own spaces we are told that we don’t deserve them. our only community is each other, and even then it’s filled with infighting because we’re all being told that we don’t belong anywhere.

we are told that we are fucked in the head, belong in a psych ward, are just trying to get attention, shouldn’t be allowed around people, are sociopaths/psychopaths (which is also ableist), are just naive/immature/ugly, just need an excuse for not getting laid, and are predators. these are literally all things that we (this collective) have been called personally.

we can’t talk about it in therapy or to doctors because now that’s the problem that needs to be fixed and we need to unpack the trauma that caused it. they are literally trying to tell us that our orientation is not real and is actually a problem or disorder that needs to be solved and changed. that is literal fucking conversion therapy

and we sincerely doubt that many aspec people would struggle with dealing with even worse aphobes because we do anyways. daily. from our family, our community, our healthcare, coworkers, classmates, and just about everyone else we interact with.

userboxes by @/inhumanliquid i think

[oniraki]

Broken into fractures

Pairing : Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

TW : Mental health, Psych ward, mentions of : self harm, suicide wishes/attempts , severe trauma (both Simon and reader), dark themes , angst, hurt/comfort , swearing , nicotine and psychiatric medication/sedation use - maybe too much tagging but it's better safe than sorry I guess?

AN : inspired by all the fantastic artists and writers here I gathered the courage to try and write something up myself. Hope I don't mess shit up .. please have patience with me for I really don't know what I am doing right now (and English is not my first language..)

"you're in time out Mr.Riley.." his psychiatrist says in a hushed tone, making Simon's head throb painfully. He does not like that bawbag of a man with his silly round glasses and his pathetic attempts to comb his hair in a way, that would hide his growing baldness. Simon tries to focus on Doc.Hershal's words but instead his eyes are glued to a coffee stain on the man's button down.

"Mr.Riley do you even pay attention?" A grunt is the only response that so called doctor gets out of him. The man sighs. "You hurt another patient, Mr.Riley.." he tries again and Simon chuckles hoarsely. "I'm well aware of that. He had it coming for some time .." - "You broke his nose." The doctor states more urgently, observing Simon's features as far as possible, since half of his face is hidden behind a black scarf.

"Fucking hell..should've broken his neck instead." Dr.Hershal shakes his head. "We have talked about this plenty of times, didn't we, Mr.Riley? This is no healthy way of coping with your feelings. This is unacceptable behavior above all of it. Every patient has a right to be here, to heal and to be safe while doing so"

Simon could feel his blood boil, hear it rushing through his whole body. Safety? He was talking about safety after all, that happened earlier that day? "Where was her right of safety when that fucker had his hands all over her...?!" The psychiatrist nods "I have heard about the incident. But that does not justify your aggressive behavior. That was something to be dealt with by the hospitals staff, Mr.Riley."

Incident. The nurses should've handled this. "And still nobody showed up fast enough to put her out of her misery, for fucks sake!"

His heart was beating way too fast, his bruised hands shaking in his lap. Knuckles cut open from that other man's broken teeth. He felt no shame, no regret. He'd do it all over again. Do anything to keep you safe, to protect you from harm. Even if it ment that he had to be locked up here longer than he had anticipated.

He'd do it for you.

Anything..

_______

The light was nearly blinding you as you crossed the threshold of the door, leading to the cage on the hospitals rooftop. You've never been entitled to garden privileges, going out alone and wandering around the paths between old trees and decorative bushes. You couldn't be trusted, the nurses always explained with that sorry, kinda pittying smile on their faces. You'd be a danger to yourself, they'd argue. Couldn't risk you hurting yourself, fulfilling your death wish..

The cage was just a sorry excuse of a garden. An area with fake grass and plants, some benches, secured by a Chain-link fence.. but it was your only escape from the sterile and sad gray walls of the ward, crushing you between them until you couldn't breathe. Closing you in, never letting you go. The flickering of the neon lights, the squeaking of the linoleum floor. Cold,blood sucking fingers that had a hold of you. Everything designed to torture and torment you furthermore.

The only way for you to leave that place was in a body bag. That much you were sure of.

"Hey scare-bear.." you whispered as you let yourself slump down on the fake grass next to Simon. He didn't even flinch or look at you at your sudden intrusion of his space. Not even when your head was leaning against his biceps. No words or sounds left his lips as he fetched a cigarette out of the box, lighting it up on the one he was smoking and then offering it to you. You stayed in comfortable silence for a smoke or two. Simon could feel the tension leaving his body, how his shoulders relaxed more and more with every passing minute. You were here. With him. Not in the observation room with that big window, directly connected to the nurses office. Not sedated and fixated. Not alone.. never alone, as long as he could impede it.

You sneaked your arm around his, your hand engulfing his with featherlight touches. The nurses patched him up properly after his emergency session with Hershal.

"'m sorry, love." You could feel the vibration of Simon's voice. Calming and soothing as a lullaby. He still didn't look at you, instead he kept his gaze on the sundown, throwing another cigarette butt off of the roof. "nothing to be sorry for, Si. It's my fault they relieved you of all of your privileges.." you murmured kinda dejected, petting his hand ever so lovingly.

Simon huffed, shaking his head eagerly, nearly making his hood fall down. "I'd trade every fucking, meaningless privelege if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Stop acting like it was your fault. You didn't ask him to touch you.. should've killed that bastard the second he tried to get close to you the first time."

Your movements stilled for a long moment until you released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"they all told you to stay away from me, didn't they...?" Your voice was merely anything above a whisper. Simon only grunted in response. "As if that's ever going to happen. Nothing can stop me from being near you, little gremlin."

"but what, if they're right, scare-bear?" You ask, now avoiding his gaze that lingers on your face. "What if.. I'm no good for you? Making your condition worse..?" You thought intensely about it for the last couple of weeks. Simon used to make progress, used to get better.. at least until you came along. Certainly it hast to be your fault. "Is that what they believe or what you believe?" He snapped at you, hating himself for the harshness in his voice immediately.

You heard the night nurses whisper about you and Simon. About you being a liability to him. Stopping his progress, pulling him down into your dark abyss.

Your mind began spiraling again.

"I need words, love. Talk to me.. don't shut me out. Not again.." he demanded softly, freeing his arm out of your grasp. He'd leave you, right ? Because he realized how much of a burden you were.

But instead of getting up and leaving he placed his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him gently, as if he might break you.

But by now your thoughts and emotions were cutting too deep, pulling you into a kind of headspace where'd you go nonverbal ..

Burden. Threat. Liability. Rotten heart and soul inside a useless, broken body. Not good enough. Not loveable.

Why can't you finally die?

" 'm here, lovie. I got you." He whispered into the crown of your head. "It's okay not to be okay right now. We'll get through it, together."

Oh how you just wanted to believe him..

[obsessivelyloved]

Takes place during the psych ward fic.

___________________________________________

Tord went silent after you broached the question. His mouth was a hard line and he kept his eyes downward at his hands. His jaw clenched.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer,” you say gently. “I’m sorry for pushing.”

He shakes his head. “No, no… It’s alright. I understand talking about what happened is supposed to….” he trails off again. A small tight smile appears on his face as he looks up at you. “Help me get better.”

Tord takes a deep breath and sits up straight. “I hadn’t meant to kill Jon. Really, I hadn’t. Poor guy was just at the wrong place, wrong time, when my flatmate and I… were having a drunken sprawl.”

You nodded, trying to keep an encouraging expression. “And Jon was your… neighbor?”

“Yes. He was the nicer one. It’s a shame that it was him and not one of the other three. They were a near constant pain in my ass. One of them was always upsetting my…” Tord grows quiet as remorse crosses his face. “Edd still hasn’t visited?”

You shake your head. Guilt crosses your face as your eyes dart to the reinforced window of the room. The guard wasn’t paying attention. You clasp your hands and lean forward, elbows resting on your knees. In a hushed voice, you rush out, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I think you deserve to know what happened. He’s still being kept in the institute up north. Him and… Tom. Matt’s family took him in and he’s under housewatch.”

Relief and anger flash side by side on Tord’s face. “I told them that Edd and Tom had nothing to do with my decision,” he says through gritted teeth. His voice rises with anger. “I told them that that prick Eduardo started the whole damn thing when he-” he cuts off, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t yell.”

You both sit in tense silence. Then, he opens his mouth again. “I wasn’t trying to kill Tom. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I’ve never wanted to kill him. That night, we both just… had too much to drink. So we took our fight outside. And, well, you know the rest.”

You nervously tap your thumbs. As much as you hated to push, this was more than Tord had ever spoken about that night. “I-I’d like to hear it from you, in your own words. If you feel up to it, that is.”

Tord frowns. He reaches up to scratch the scar on his face.

“Well, Eduardo came outside. Yelled at us to take our, and please excuse me for using this word, fag fight inside. Edd had been hovering next to the living room window and he rushed outside. Of course Eduardo couldn’t keep his mouth shut. His whole damn posse came out and egged him on. He…” Tord rubs his face. “It’s hard to remember, you understand? I was drunk. All I can gather is he insulted Edd. Called him nasty things. So I pulled my gun out and shot him.”

You take a sharp breath of air. “Except it hit Jon instead.”

“Yes.”

[antiendovents]

Endos have no clue what this disorder is actually like.

We woke up this morning from the host having a night terror which was based on some of our trauma. Within five minutes, he was no longer in full control because someone else had to take over due to how fearful he was.

Endo's think this is a fun little disorder. It's not. It's hell on this planet. We can't be open about this disorder with our therapist in case they try to put us in a psych ward. We'll occasionally crack a joke but it's so we don't start to cry.

Endos are the worst, hands down

Endos are the worst. They don't understand what it's like to live with this disorder. They pretend it's just "friends in your head" and act like they can just use it as an excuse to roleplay as other people.

We're so sorry you experience that though, and we hope you're feeling okay <3 /platonic

[its-queen-panda-bear]

Drop the Little Constantine lore

I know exactly who asked this 👀 you're not slick

But shore, I shall use this as an excuse to ramble about the long lore of little Constantine

This is Ambrose Constantine, my DC OC that originally started off as a very quickly made dnd character and now has quickly ruined my life (affectionate) He is the son of John Constantine and would eventually become the embodiment of Death

(Lore ramble under the cut)

Ambrose grew up in London being raised by a single mother after his dad walked out on them before he was even born. Despite this, his mother has always held onto the hope that one day he would come back (hence why she named their son Ambrose John Constantine)

John falsely believed that his son wouldn't inherit any of his magic capabilities and figured that they would be safer if he was away. But he was wrong with the first bit because while his magic didn't come in until later in life, Ambrose did inherit his father's ability to see not only the dead, but other supernatural beings as well.

Ambrose was constantly tormented by these said beings, but everyone around him brushed it off as night terrors or something to that effect. He would also get constantly bullied for talking to himself while at school by the other kids, that sort of thing. He eventually got diagnosed with schizophrenia and was sent to a psych ward after he suffered a huge breakdown at just 12.

Then when he was 14, he stumbled upon a spell book while out in his public library and found a spell that he thought would help deal with his bullying problem. The next day while at school, he attempted the spell and it worked...too good and the bully nearly died after being caught on fire. Ambrose was then sent to another psych ward to avoid jail time but was suddenly broken out after only two weeks when one John Constantine showed up.

Long story short cause this can take forever, John explained everything about him being his father and about the world of magic and how dangerous it could be if not done right. There was a lot of back and forth, until John begrudgingly agreed that it would be better and safer if he trained Ambrose properly.

I'm also going to skim over the part when they discover that Ambrose's magic has an emotional component to it, meaning that not only can his emotions dictate how well or powerful his spells are when cast, it can also affect the color of it. This just basically means that he has to be in the right head space while casting or chaos/danger will ensue. This is why his bully almost died when he attempted a spell because he was so worked up and angry while casting it.

After a year of training, Ambrose joined in on his dad's adventures and was excited to help people. He eventually met other vigilantes, but continued to operate mostly with John. The two didn't really get along but John still felt an obligation towards Ambrose to at least try and keep him safe. It wasn't until he was 17 that they had a falling out and Ambrose struck out on his own. He decided that in order to protect his mom from any potential repercussions, he designed a costume and started going by the name Moonweaver.

Though, he soon discovered that his methods weren't all that welcomed amongst his fellow vigilantes and his magic was deemed too dangerous as he often left his villains in critical condition. They also didn't like how petty he could be as he was known for making people go annoyed him...shit frogs.

During this time striking out on his own, he met and started dating a girl named Agnes, who claimed to be a witch. He fell hard for her and she encouraged him to seek out more magic and branch out his spells. This led him to discovering his speciality for blood and chaos magic.

(Side note ramble which will be important to note later: Ambrose specializes in sigil and blood magic. He combines the two by drawing symbols with his own blood to add more kick to it since blood is a very powerful tool and ingredient. He ended up mastering creating his own sigils on the spot, which he can use for whatever situation 👌)

Everything with Agnes seemed to be going great with a minimum of red flags here and there...until a year and a half into their relationship Agnes was revealed to be a demon that had been sent to spy on him and wanted his soul. This resulted in a very messy breakup while they fought each other. Their fight attracted the attention of The Outlaws, who managed to come in and help hold her off while Ambrose set up a ritual to banish her.

After that, he somehow managed to find his way into joining The Outlaws.

With The Outlaws, Ambrose finally felt a sense of belonging and despite being the youngest there, he got along very well with all of them. (Especially with Anton aka Green Lantern aka Christmas who is my best friend's OC)

Then when he was 21, he met Nightwing and Starfire's daughter, Vertina aka Tina, who he immediately fell for. Though, the two didn't end up dating until a year later and suddenly, everything in his life felt like it was falling into place.

Tina was everything to him and the two were very clearly obsessed with each other, much to Nightwing's dismay. Tina brought out the good in him and he genuinely saw himself marrying her and helping her open her dream bakery once they retired from crime fighting.

Two years into the relationship, Ambrose couldn't hold himself back and proposed to her, to which she said yes

(Art of Tina by her creator @marstothestarz )

Though, in typical DC fashion, nothing good can last forever...

Months before they were planned to get married, an alien warlord invaded Earth with his entire army. All the heroes and villains teamed up together in order to try and stop them. Ambrose was sent out on a team with Nightwing and Batman (Cass) to infiltrate the main ship to plant bombs. Though, they were soon discovered and a fight broke out, which resulted in Ambrose getting badly injured. Cass managed to slip away, but the bomb was dismantled and Nightwing and Ambrose were captured.

They were thrown into separate cells and Ambrose was left bleeding out from a stomach wound. It was then that he saw a woman dressed in robes out from the corner of his eye and knew that it was Death.

Although, in that moment Nightwing managed to break them both out and regrouped with Batman. Since Ambrose was still bleeding from a stomach wound and the bomb was dismantled, the two older heroes decided to forget the mission and retreat in order to get Ambrose medical attention.

But Ambrose knew the stakes that were at hand and came up with a plan of his own. He knew that he was dying anyways and the entire world rested on their shoulders to destroy the ship. So he tricked the two into an escape pod and remained behind. He then found his way to the center control panel of the ship and began to use his own blood to draw sigils on his body and performed a ritual that made him the bomb instead by concentrating all of his energy and magic. So when the enemies broke through, he released the powerful blast that destroyed the entire ship with him in it.

...

But then he came back a year later after John Constantine rescued him from hell (long story) and after crawling out from his own grave, John immediately threw him his costume and sent him back out into a fight since it turned out that now Darkseid was invading and it was all hands on deck.

Ambrose was still reeling from the trauma of dying and his time spent in hell, but forced himself to focus on the task at hand and find Tina through the chaos. When he found her, he called out her name to which she turned around mid-fight to look in his direction... giving the enemy the chance to pick her up and rip her in half right in front of him

Skipping over the rest of the fight simply because we haven't fleshed that part out, but needless to say that in the end, Darkseid was defeated, but now Ambrose was left alone as he was forced to bury the love of his life so soon after coming back from his own grave.

Despite the fact he still had the ability to see ghosts, he never once saw Tina's, which drove him insane for that first year after her death.

He immediately retired after her funeral and didn't give any attempts at healing or moving on, although he did end up with a service dog that he named Coldplay.

For two years he spent mourning the life he never would get to have with Tina and waited till the day he could see her again.

And then something strange started happening.

Hundreds of people suddenly started dying randomly without any warning whatsoever at the hands of a mysterious woman, who turned out to be Death herself who had gone crazy from the thousands and thousands of years she spent reaping and guiding souls. No one could seem to stop her warpath as she continued to tear through people and causing chaos onto the streets.

Needless to say, this definitely brought Ambrose out of retirement as he joined forces with his dad and other heroes in an attempt to stop her. The only nagging question was what would happen if they did end up stopping her? What would happen if Death died?

Ambrose knew the answer.

Back when he was dating Anges, she mentioned in passing a rumor/old wives tell about how Death wasn't always just one person throughout the beginning of time, but was multiple people. It said that when the time came, Death would pass on their responsibilities to someone worthy, or should Death ever be killed, it would then pass onto the one who killed them. It was considered that if a person was Death for too long, they would start to go insane and corrupted, so it was important for them to pass on the responsibility before this happened.

Remembering this, Ambrose made a decision. Similarly to the way he sacrificed his life to save the world, this time he chose to sacrifice his death

We haven't gone over the specifics over how this goes down, but Ambrose manages to kill Death which causes him to go through the transformation of taking on the responsibility and role of Death

(Ambrose as Death ft. Ghost Tina)

Even though he willingly accepted becoming Death, it still took him a while to fully come to terms with the fact that he would never die and if he did, it would be after everyone he's ever known dies and watched as civilizations rise then fall.

One of the perks, however, was that this new promotion granted him the ability to see Tina again. In order to respect the balance and also not take her away from paradise, he is only allowed to see her once a year when the veil is the thinnest aka Halloween. While it's not a lot, he would take whatever he can get just to see her face.

And thus, is the lore of little Constantine 😁

[borderline-culture-is]

BPD culture is crying to ICU (the song, not the album) by Citizen Soldier because, like all their songs that's speaking to us, it feels comforting..

"So you pictured all the faces when they'd hear the news Thought your body in a bag would be enough to prove That this was real, and not some sad excuse

[...]

I see you trying not to cry Just wishin' you had not survived But don't give up, give it a little time Someday you'll see that you were worth this fight

I see you wide awake all night A million prayers, not even one reply But don't give up, 'cause there's another side And you still have a lot of songs to write

I see you Crying in a gown that's blue Screaming through a breathing tube "How'd I get to this place?"

I see you Wonderin' how you came unglued Feelin' like your whole life's screwed "Who could love me this way?"

You couldn't hear a single word they said in that padded room When every day all of your darkest thoughts kept on comin' true Lyin' in the ICU"

- 🪡🎶 (fun fact, the line "and you still have a lot of songs to write" is Jake talking to his past self,,,his past self who tried to kill himself before writing Let It Burn on a napkin in the psych ward and creating Citizen Soldier as we know it today :] It explains why that line in particular feels...heavier? More desperate? I guess??)

.

[depressedstressedlemonzest]

Leroy is just so bossy I love him.

As a nurse, I hate it when someone yells at me like that

But for any variation of robert carlyle?

Love.

Marraige proposal.

Okay love Gold just being like "she's an angel on earth, bathed in beauty, smile brighter than the stars, laugh like angels singing" but trying to be a bit casual about it so he mentions the accent.

Okay, but lacey is fucking HOT.

God his little heart broken face 😭

I love how he wears fucking aprons to keep clean.

And why the fuck doesn't she have something more practical to work in??

@kaylahastoomanyships gave us a cute story for this specific incident!!

She's like are you kidding me you dork? Literally no one says that.

HE OFFERS TO HELP HER ESCAPE AND SHE SAYS NO.

She wants to hold up her end of the deal but also she knows that rumple won't hurt her.

And regina the queen of sass "I'm sorry do I look like a one handed pirate with a pistol?"

Wouldn't her curse memories be inside the psych ward?

Belle can't be more than 28, or maybe 32 and I doubt she was hustling pool and drinking at 4.

Damn regina "no you won't you're on your best behavior"

Does she feel the same?

I'll make her.

That's exactly the charm that will woo any young lady.

Excuse me regina, some of us have ISSUES and that would definitely woo us.

(Again especially if it's robert carlyle).

Man his dejected face leaving her office. It KILLS.

I love how protective leroy is.

I distinctly remember you giving david nolan shit on valentine's day for having two valentine's. Now you're getting curse vs noncursed advice from him about love.

The way he shouts her name.

*screams into a pillow* it's like gruff and annoyed and loud all together.

She's just reading and waiting for him to say something.

I love how when he yells "every right" it turns every into more syllables than it is and his accent pops in more.

[dear--charlie]

Dear Charlie,

So much has happened that I don’t know how to keep this short. In short, A moved in with me and my parents. We lived together for 3 months. The bomb exploded. We broke up.

  In detail, she lived with us during the 3 months. And those three months were hell. It had been hell for a while before while we were in distance. But I told myself being together would fix it. A was abusive. Mentally, and sometimes nearly physically. She didn’t want to hug me. She didn’t want to talk to me. She would have mood swings, ignore me, and talk bad about herself so I would contradict her, when in fact she was saying the truth, and me contradicting them were lies. She didn’t want to talk to my mother because she claimed my mother had been mean to her. But she got it all wrong. They had a falling out because A kept being unfriendly and moody towards my parents and me. I forgot to count the times she made me cry, and I hid away to shed tears because otherwise, there’d be more fights. My mom witnessed about 20% of those tears. A didn’t talk at mealtimes, she complained about the food, she refused to communicate, and whenever somebody tried to have a conversation, she would shut it down, run away. And to me… she was just not good. I had to convince her for everything. She was between German books pretending to be studying when really she was on her phone. When she wasn’t doing that she played on the playstation, which she bought shortly after arriving here. She played and worked and didn’t speak. She also didn’t look for jobs, which had been our agreement. Instead, I looked for jobs for her. I wrote I don’t know how many motivation letters and showed her interest in jobs, used my contacts, drove her to interviews, made sure we would find something, recruited my parents to help me. But nothing worked. She gave up. On me and herself I believe. She got distant. My mother talked to me telling me this wasn’t how she had imagined it. A kept throwing punches and everybody had to accept it. My mom cried so much. She was so unhappy because I kept telling her to please just ignore A’s behaviour, when it was making my mother feel uneasy in her own house. She was disrespected and yet she swallowed it all. She didn’t complain. Just once she told me something.

I care about my mother. I cared about A. So I had a talk with A. I told her that my mother didn’t understand what she did for A to not talk to her and ignore her with hatred in her eyes. That conversation didn’t go as planned. I was very careful with my words, tiptoeing on eggshells. A burst out and ran away. Literally. She ran off. She didn’t tell me where she was. She left and I had to look for her for an hour. I found her in a street, walking. She told me my mother was horrible to her and smiling in her face when she was crying (that didn’t happen). My mother had not done that. They had had a conversation about a falling out. My mother mad huffed in disbelief. You know when you pull your mouth upwards and let out air? Yea, that. Not a laugh. I explained that but she wouldn’t listen to me. My mother explained it, but A didn’t listen. She kept saying how she was being disrespected and how she wasn’t being let to be the way she is. She said they had to let her feel her feelings, that she was mentally ill and we didn’t leave her room to be sick. I mean… maybe, but being sick is no excuse to treat people like shit. I am sick too. My dad is sick. God, he was in a psych ward for 3 months for severe depression and suicidal thoughts. And yet he doesn’t let it out on others. After that day A stopped talking to my parents and refused to come down or eat. My dad got angry. He told me it couldn’t be they were feeding her through, putting a roof over her head, letting her stay for free, and she didn’t even try to look for jobs or learn German and instead spent all the day on the playstation. He had a point. I tried to let A know nicely. I wanted to find a solution. Things got worse. She didn’t leave the office and was staring at her German books from morning to evening. We had to have a talk. At night I told her about. I told her it couldn’t keep going like this. By that time she had not shown me she cared for me in any way. She didn’t listen to me. Nothing. She ignored me. And when I tried to talk about it she faked a panic attack or had one of her crisis where she would hit herself and cut herself and destroy my bed by slamming her body against it. The past years I always excused that behaviour. I excused that I had to think for two people and organise two lives. When we went on holidays, I accepted that she didn’t speak to me, that I had to go to the beach and the pool alone while she stayed in bed, that I had to bring out the trash and do the cleaning and pack the suitcases all by myself. But I got tired of that. On the day of the talk, we sat down at the table. My parents, her and me. My mother said there was something there had to be done about this. A got aggressive, kept chattering her teeth. My mother told her two things and she asked, very aggressively, so what is the third one. My dad snapped and told her in a very bad tone that her whole attitude was the problem and that she was disrespectful. She went on a rant about her feelings and how they were being invalidated, that nobody listened to her and people laughed at her. My mother huffed. A said that my mother was doing it again, the laughing.

My mother explained that had been no laugh. A didn’t listen. My dad said the best thing would be for her to leave and come back when I had my own place. I kept crying all the way through. The people I loved were hating each other. I didn’t want it anymore. I broke down and had a panic attack. A didn’t care. It was my mother who held me and counted breaths with me. My mother who begged A to give me a hug. My mother who stayed by my side. A kept saying my mother had laughed at her. I told her she had to leave. She threw herself on the floor. I packed her suitcase. In my head, A would come back later. I was in panic mode. Frantically looking for solutions while crying. She turned the tables, laid on the floor and started hyperventilating. Screaming. I couldn’t take it. My mother helped her. We booked the flight. Then she made phonecalls. Told her dad we had thrown her out like a dog. Her dad texted me he would call the police if we didn’t drive her a ride to the airport right now. There were 9 hours left for the flight to go. I couldn’t leave home until 2 hours later because my dad was expecting a very important letter for his sick leave because of the psych ward. Had nobody been home when it reached us, he would have been called to court. My dad wasn’t home because he went to the osteopath appointment I had taken for A, which was uncancellable but A refused to go, so my dad went… With her dad’s message about the police, I snapped. I yelled that if she wanted to leave so badly, she should just leave. My mom would drive her. I was in no state. I could not drive. I would have killed us both on the road. I would wait for the letter. I calmed down. Wanted to say goodbye properly. She refused to talk or look at me. Which is valid, but she did it in a way that showed me that the love between us was long gone. Had she loved me, she would have agreed to talk it out, to sit down on that table like a grown-up not like a 3 year old. So she left. Without goodbye. In the car, then, she called me. I told her I couldn’t do this anymore. That it was all too much and I was tired. I told her I needed space. She always does this: refuse to talk and then text or talk, instead of having conversations. And she does that in the worst moments, mostly when I am driving, about to work or about to have very important meetings. She did that while I was on the way to my interview for my new position. I cried in the car, nearly drove into a tree, and arrived to my interview all lightheaded with bags under my eyes. Even the lady responsible for me noticed and texted me the day after. For the next days, A kept texting and calling when that’s what I asked her not to do. Even that, she didn’t respect. I had asked for space, but got none .There had been so many red flags along the way, all of which I had ignored, all of which started had blinking and growing until the day of the clash. Until I could not take it anymore. After all the calls, I told her if she kept talking to me, I’d have to block her. She kept talking. I kept my word. I blocked her. She kept sending emails. Then: a goodbye letter. She was gonna take her life. She sent that to me the one day before the first day of my new work: 9:45 pm “I’m gonna commit su!c!de now. Goodybe”. 10:00 “don’t talk to my family. Their letters will reach them in time”. 10:45 “I’m in the ER. they sent me home.” 11:30: “I’m in the ER, in an emergency therapy session”. I had gone to bed exhausted at 9:30. I didn’t receive those messages like raindrops but all together in the morning. Not just any morning. At 6am after waking up for my very first day of work at my new school. I was shattered. I panicked. I sobbed. I couldn’t drive. Had a panic attack. My dad had to drive me to work. I was a ghost. I blocked the emails. Blocked every single account she knew. I got better. Things were starting to be okay. Then: a new email, from a new address. I deleted it. She went over to harassing my friends. I told them to block her.

Then I got a WhatsApp from her friend’s phone. Telling me to give her a chance and listen to some audio and read some letter. I answered saying that I please wanted to be left alone. It was all I asked for. I blocked that as well. Then a 14-page letter came by snail mail. I refused to read it. I felt lonely. Got bumble. Met somebody. We have been together for 2 months now. Is it too early to say anything for sure, but oh boy, am I learning who I am and what a healthy relationship can look like. My needs are met. So are hers.

We talk, we fix things, we communicate. And I’m better. I’m falling in love, not into foolishness. It’s different. It’s slow and safe and grounding. Then I read A’s Tumblr (cause I am that stupid) and crumbled. She blames me. Says I have a pretty face and pretty words but that doesn’t equal a pretty soul. I think that’s very unfair with all the things I have quietly put up with but if she needs to demonize me to get over me then I’ll let her do that. But it does hurt. And I’m tired. Then, more emails, in the spam folder and from new accounts that she keeps making. I received one telling me how much she loves me, that she wrote a poem for me, asking for a second chance, for meeting up, and that if I really wanted to end things, I should tell her to her face please. And out of all the things she has ever done that I have never once said a thing about because I was scared, I’d hurt her, this is by far the worst.

I am asking for space, for respect, and what do I get? I am being smothered and a very clear request is being ignored. Like all my needs over the years basically. And the more she ignores it, the more I see her for the person she really is. If she cannot even respect that I need time and space, is there anything she will ever respect? Is there anybody she cares enough about to listen to them and try to understand and give space? Is there any chance of her ever making things not about her and her illnesses and her needs and her past and her trauma? Probably not. Can she change that? I don’t know, but I know I cannot take that anymore. And those 3 emails, on top of all the other things she did to prove to me that she has no respect, made my choice even more clear than it already was. So I answered. A very short text. No sentimentality. I could have said a thousand things, given a hundred reasons, but that would have shattered her. And I didn’t want that, so I held back. I just answered that this was her sign that we are over and that our relationship is not coming back, that she should stop being in love with the idea of me, to please stop talking to me, that otherwise I’d change my email and phone number. There are so many things I could have said, could have thrown at her, could have blamed her for, but I decided I should protect her and that I did not want to hurt her more. I asked her not to answer, just accept my claim. Of course, she didn’t respect that wish. Again, she disrespected me. She sent me 3 emails. The first said “don’t even bother, we are over”. The second was “you are a liar”.

The third one was super long. It called me a cancer that traumatised her, blames me for all the bad in her life, tells me I am a horrible person, that she is sick of me, that I am lazy, a liar, that I deserve only bad things, that I manipulated her, that she hopes I will forever be alone and that I will end up being an old cat lady, that she was the best thing to ever have happened to me and that one day I will realise that and cry about it, that I won’t be able to sleep out of guilt while she falls asleep peacefully every night, that she is done being nice to me, that I ruined her mentally, that she wishes she had died instead of meeting me, that I don’t know how to love people, that I am an immature traitor, that I am selfish, demand respect and love and work and compassion while giving none of it, that I lie to people to make them love me and then destroy them, that I wasted her time, that guilt and remorse will forever follow me, that I disgust her, that I don’t deserve peace, that I was the problem all along and that I was lazy while she worked on herself, that I am a hypocrite, that I am cold, fake, that I lost the only person to ever really give a shit about me, that I am disgusting, that I traumatised her, that I don’t listen, want everything my way, am unable of empathy, humanity or humility, that I don’t learn, that I am full of shit and give myself excuses to not work on myself, that I am a disease, that nobody will ever give a shit about me and that by leaving her I destroyed my own life and that she will find somebody much better than me, that my guilt will follow me everywhere I go, that I will never be forgiven, that I will try to sleep and she will pop up in my head and I will know that she was the one and I will cry about it and she will be resting like an angel, that nobody will ever be as good as her, that I will try to get her back and she will not let me. She says I am immature and use people, that I play the victim role all the time, that I am egoistical and self-centred, that I think I am the centre of the world, that her life is so much better since I left, that I am a coward, that I wasted her life, that my ego is too big, that I am to blame for it all, that I am cold and untrustworthy, that I am cruel and refuse to apologise to her for the agony I put her through, that I will forever be alone, that she is sick of having to be kind to me, that I don’t deserve kindness, that I spit on the memory of her grandfather and her mother, that I am full of shit. That stung, partly because she is twisting the narrative in her favour, when she really she is describing herself not me. Who wrote all the motivation letters? Who wrote her thesis? Who was there when she slit her wrists and threw her head and body against the bed over and over, when she punched walls and windows and mirrors and nearly faces until her knuckles blead? Who held her hands when she was hitting herself, when she nearly hit me, when she told me the most horrible things and later forgot about them, when her mother died, when her grandfather died, when her uncle died? Who put up with being tyrannised by her mother again and again and again, who kept quiet when I got insulted?

It was me. It was all me. And this is the return. I never stopped being kind. I just asked to be respected. And if that is too much, then I don’t know what else to do. So I read the 14 page letter. It was full of shit. Saying she loves me and forgives me (for???) and that she forgives only me and not my parents, that they are bad and manipulate me, that she isn’t really sick but got a wrong diagnosis, that she is not bipolar and doesn’t have rage issues and that it was all the meds she was taking (meds she was taking because she went to a therapist because of her issues and they were so bad she got put on medication), that now she was happy and she wanted to work on us and be happy together because we deserve that. She said she would accept my apology and to please unblock her if I cared about her at all because not seeing my picture reminded her of her dead mother.

And I wonder, how can she have written this, and two weeks later an email full of hate and resentment? The first one must have been more manipulation and the second, the other side of the coin, because if good words can’t lure me in, maybe she can guilt me into getting back with her. None of them worked, so she became an angry toddler throwing a tumblr tantrum. But it’s okay. I am okay. I didn’t answer. And left the email standing in my spam. I read it from time to time to remind me of the future I spared myself from. I am starting be happy. I am starting to see what life can be and what it can mean to be healthy and balanced. D isn’t saving me. D is showing me what adult love can be. How two people with the same love language can function together and individually. How we don’t save each other but have our own independent and autonomous lives that are enriched by the other.

I’m okay. Things will be okay. This week I will get the keys to my new apartment. Things are falling into place and I will be just find. Maybe even happy.

So yea, Charlie. This is what life has been like.

Thank you for listening.

Yours always,

Lena.

10.12.2024

[stripedtabbycat]

normally i feel like i can't relate to most posts about reading books you were way too young for as a kid/teen because despite being a Reader from a young age i never really actively sought out books that were above my age level. i just kind of assumed as a kid that i wouldn't be interested in Adult Books because they were only appealing to grown-ups and that was that. i did read the occasional ya book while below the target demographic - i don't think my mom knew the princess diaries books were actually for teenagers when i was reading them at age 9-10 lol. i don't remember how i acquired them but i owned the first 3 and did not understand half of what they were talking about until we learned what sex was in fifth grade health class. (this may sound like i was a very sheltered child but i really wasn't, i just didn't go outside of what i assumed was appropriate for me very much. my parents rarely actively forbade me from reading anything, but that might have been because i wasn't as adventurous a reader as i could have been, despite my high reading level according to my teachers.)

that said i did recently remember that i read one flew over the cuckoo's nest by ken kesey when i was 14-15 and fucking loved it. this was right around the age when i was in fact starting to read more classic books on my own, so not that out of the way for my age, but still kind of a swing for a high school freshman. i think somehow my mom and i starting watching clips from the movie on youtube, and she said it was a really great film but i was interested in reading the book first, so we bought a copy online, a really nice 50-year anniversary edition, and i devoured it that summer. i watched the movie afterwards but because i was so invested in the book i ended up a little disappointed that it was pretty different in a lot of ways.

i also recently rewatched the movie and reread the book. still thinking about the experience of the latter; i realized it had been a while since i last read it.

under a cut for discussion of sensitive topics and also - shocker - this got long.

for someone who was just starting to get into the kind of very zealous tumblr-style social justice at the time i had a remarkable tolerance for "problematic" content in older literature. nowadays i don't think that "well it was a different time, we can't judge older works by modern standards" or "how dare you try to CANCEL the Classics" are any more productive modes of engaging with criticism than "wow this old book is super problematic, we should never read it ever again". so i don't know what young me made of the way this book uses gender and race as themes. it's from 1962 so it's really not that old in comparison to works of classic literature that get talked about like that, which i guess makes it less excusable to some. since i wasn't reading it for class or consciously analyzing it at the time i probably didn't think about it too hard. now reading it again i can.

although the book's mental institution setting is reflective of what psychiatric hospitals were like at the time - the author was working the night shift at a veterans' hospital psych ward when he started writing it - it's also clearly meant to be a metaphor for broader society, while also being a place to either "fix" the people who don't fit into that society or keep them hidden away from it. and it's also pretty clear about what it means that in this hospital in particular, all the patients are men and the head oppressive authority is a woman. the system is explicitly described as a "matriarchy", her means of oppression is basically described as emasculation, there's a very uncomfortable conversation between two men where they basically say that the only real power men have over women is sexual - although the man saying this is all but stated to be gay and the guy he's talking to, who's been in jail for statutory rape, seems put off by the idea and never seriously considers it. there's layers, i guess. but the way the oppressive female antagonist is taken down is in an attack that leaves her blouse torn open and her breasts exposed, and part of the reason she no longer commands as much authority after that is because now everyone has seen her in that state which proves she is in fact a woman. not subtle, really. not every female character is antagonistic, but it feels like a classic case of "woman + power = evil", right?

there's a lot you could say about how this is one of the few situations at the time in which a woman genuinely would have power over men and how it's just that the kinds of people drawn to those kinds of positions of authority over vulnerable people are the kinds who would abuse it - see the modern "mean girl to nurse" pipeline. but is the book asserting that? it's very hard to tell because of how often books written by men will use women (or a woman) as representative of an antagonistic force and seem to genuinely believe that women are "really" the ones in charge in society, so what can i say?

then there's the racial element, also pretty hard to ignore; ratched's orderlies are all black, and the novel makes a point of saying that she deliberately hires that way - she clearly has absolute power over them as a white woman with authority, but they're also antagonists without much sympathy or humanization afforded to them and the narration can get pretty pointed in the way it describes them, always referring to them as "the black boys", and mcmurphy outright dropping slurs in heated moments that don't get questioned or even commented on by anyone. sure you could say this is all intentional as part of the way marginalized people are pitted against other marginalized people and encouraged to take out their anger on whoever's below them in the hierarchy, but...is it?

on the other hand, the main character - or, well, the narrator, it's one of those books where the narrator and the "main character" are supposed to be different people but i never quite got that concept when i was younger and i figure if we spend enough of the book inside one character's head they deserve to be considered A main character, you know? - is native american and the author is a lot more respectful and empathetic towards indigenous characters than you'd expect from a white writer at the time, even if it's probably not strictly accurate. we never do learn bromden's real first name, since the other patients and employees at the hospital only ever call him by the racist nickname "chief", but maybe this is part of how he's been kept in these oppressive institutions for long enough that he doesn't even remember his own name, only being left with his white mother's surname that was bestowed on him to further distance him from his father's culture - but i could be being too generous again. still, the book is definitely concerned with the real-life oppression of indigenous tribes by the us government and paralleling it with the oppression faced by bromden and the other patients in the institution, so it's not like kesey is unaware of the existence of racialized power dynamics in the world "outside". i don't know!

you might wonder what i did like and still do like about this book and it's easy for me to tell what the appeal was when i first read it: i was a neurodivergent kid in public high school who was in fact diagnosed but that didn't make things any easier for me because it just meant i had more scrutiny on me at all times, from condescending adults who didn't offer any meaningful help. and obviously my situation was nowhere near as bad as anything in the book - i've never been institutionalized, thank god - but i felt a lot of it on a deeper level. you know. i wasn't offended by the misogyny in some parts because i wasn't seeing myself as A Woman, i was seeing myself as an autistic person, because i faced ableism irl way more often than sexism and i just knew if i had lived back then i would have been in an asylum. subjected to electroshock "therapy", maybe even lobotomized when they couldn't figure out what else to do with me.

(i mean, i probably wouldn't have been. but when i was 14 i sure thought so. it's easy to be dramatic when you're 14-15 years old. i was also much more privileged than a lot of other neurodivergent kids, and in many ways was treated much better than other autistic kids in different demographics would ever be, but it's also easy not to think about people other than yourself when you're 14-15 years old.)

anyway i think this book also appealed to me because the narrator was genuinely mentally ill and that's a fact. the movie's more grounded approach probably wouldn't have worked with all the novel's literally hallucinatory scenes but i do feel like a big part of what was missing was the film shifting it over to almost solely mcmurphy's pov. aside from putting the focus back on a white guy it also makes the film feel like yet another "wrongfully incarcerated perfectly sane man" story, which is what so many asylum-based narratives get criticized for; the sympathetic/pov characters aren't allowed to be actually mentally ill, and anything they suffer in the asylum is wrong only because it's happening to a sane/neurotypical person who doesn't "deserve" it. there's some anti-psychiatry stuff in the book, which is a topic that definitely requires a lot of nuance today, but i think it comes down harder on the psychiatric abuse parts and it makes it clear that most of the characters in the hospital are there because they do have legit mental problems that society hasn't figured out how to adequately deal with yet. (well, i don't know if harding checked himself in because of homosexuality still being considered a mental illness that a lot of gay people at the time were trying to cure themselves of, or more for some kind of general anxiety thing; it's probably the former, but i don't think the book agrees that it's something unnatural and aberrant. i don't think?)

maybe the reason i connected with this book in particular is because i felt like most asylum-set stories focused on women also went hard on the "we're not really mentally ill, we're just too independent for our time and they don't like that so they brand us insane" themes. which i could never relate to. i never felt like i was being forced to fit a narrow standard of femininity as a girl, but i sure was acutely aware of my identity as an autistic person and how i was treated based on that. (while i definitely don't think one's own identity should be based on how much you're oppressed for it - that line of thinking leads down some very dangerous paths - i do think looking back this was kind of an "i'm probably nonbinary but i have homework to do so idrc about that right now" situation. or i could just be one of those cis women who doesn't really identify that strongly with womanhood. not that important to me tbh.) honestly if i wanted an early 60s novel about mental health and how the psych system failed people maybe i should have read the bell jar - alongside this one, not instead of it.

i guess what i'm trying to say here is that people connect with art for all sorts of reasons, and sometimes you find yourself loving a flawed piece of art because it was important to you at some time. you don't have to be able to relate to a story to appreciate it (obviously!) but it certainly can help when you're young and looking for something that resonates with your own experience. or even when you're not actively looking for it. also that it’s normal to feel insane when you’re a teenager.

i wouldn’t have expended this many words on this book if i didn’t still like it so much. would i recommend it? with caveats but honestly if you’re only familiar with the movie you should read it. the film does tone down a lot of the more troublesome elements discussed above; if anyone is turned off or actively dislikes the book because of those elements i would completely understand tbh. it’s why i also was inspired to write something justifying my fondness for it. not something you can enjoy uncritically but that’s okay. few things are.

now another inspiration for this post was me deciding to give the soundtrack of love in hate nation a listen right when i was in the middle of rereading cuckoo’s nest, but that’s another post entirely.

[saltysplayt00ns]

...

No comment , THIS already sums up in volumes of Rogio not learning from his lesson and Rogio not changed since he escaped from Vjall the ghoul god and the deer portal.

You had one job...

Fun fact; when I saw this page/panel for the first time, I literally felt sick to my stomach, like no lie nor joke, I felt my body convulse and wanted to puke. SO congrats kique, you're the first to ever made me feel " sick to my stomach " - literally. BULLSHIT, WHERE'S THE ANTLERS, AND WHY THE GODESS CAN BRING BACK DEAD BODIES??!!! YOU ALREADY HAVE A SPIRIT THAT DOES THAT!!!!!

We could have had a moment where Rogio sacrificed himself or him actually being more villainous of bartering Kargo for someone else like Ranach/ showing that he still has attachment to him. But Kique forgot his own lore again AND/OR he didn't want to use it and thought have a deer god do something that is not part of it's purpose to do it for convenience for Rogio OF ALL DOGS. He basically cheat coded his way through. and the Deer is it's wash-down Therapist.

I guess free breath means a free ticket pass. to his self-inserts

there was no hidden, mystery nor some subtle text to pick apart, this is as clear as the sky guys. Not something to overthink on - not that deep. period. ---- This would also be interesting if he failed the trial or was put in a delusional area like what is showing of Kargo returning, but realized something was...off and stressing. Like his brain is trying to tell him something but keeps digging down on this fantasy that everything is fine but it's not, and the more he digs the more plastic and distorted it felt. So as he really, finally going deep down on himself and seeing who he truly is and he needed to work on, despite everyone telling him not to - Heck have Ranach in the mix as well to mess with his psyche. The Ghoul beast is only much a façade of what he really is the beast been consorted of preventing him from trying to change from his own mind. Rogio running deeper down the rabbit hole, we hear now everyone speaking what he thinks they're saying from his eyes as the environment becomes more warped and just become more survival horror until he sees himself, Not of the beast but of himself, His natural, crusty, dog self is the problem, is the Marghoul. Rogio has to face the fact from him in Meteor to now, he's ' mental chain' is much more his ' chain reactional excuse' that he kept repeating and falling for. The Vjall had some strings towards him but only if it's been fed or given access to - his fears and deniability. Rogio is given now a timestamp - LIKE ACTUAL TENSION AND DUE DATE of getting his shit together, talking with the Spirit of the dead if he really felt remorse to remand or Accept it still but remand it acknowledging his mess ups and do better. She can not cure the Ghoul, not yet at least, but she will give her a prong of her antlers to ward it off, just enough until he makes the choice. Vjal may be aware of it and would be a problem down the line. The deer is benevolent but not a charity case, She gave her wisdom ( and therapy session) and gave them a choice with a bit of aid. We could have had a nice Intense chapter of Rogio working himself until final conclusion of him not changing and being far worse then he was, a bittersweet one where he choice to heal, accept and admit his faults, working from the ground up with or without Roamer. or him sacrificing himself for Kargo's life as a finale apology. The prong can either symbolizes like a barrier to protect from the Ghoul but it can also be Kargo's spirit along with him, so it adds more motivation of why Rogio has to do it or not. Hope you enjoy that ♥

[lsblrconfessions]

i cant dye my hair yellow because my eyes are like super bright blue and it would clash so rn im dreading the day that comes when my next appointment is and i cant even say "actually i want another color" because in the midst of trying to pretend to be normal (autism goes hard) while talking with my hairdresser i brought up wantign to dye my hair purple because wemmbu was bouncing on the walls of my brain. im also terrified that people are gonna start piecing my identity together and then its gonna be over for wemmbu hater anon anonymity. I have to keep so many things hidden because even if none of my close friends use tumblr im kind of infamous so the second i slip in an ask its over for me.

also thanks for the suggestion on buyign 2 of every wemmbu merch i get that would fix me, im probably gonna end up gettinf a wemmbu plushie someday and ill just bite his head off for fun idk why but imagiging that calms me down

someday im gonna get put in a psych ward for how i react towards ls. no media has ever gotten me to react like this , nit even my 1 year old hyperfixation on roblox and its driving me insane. Excuse me now i need to go draw wemmbu with my copic markers over and over again because i dotn know what my life has turned into because of my STUPID GRIMMACE SHAKE LOOKING BITCHASS GOD I NEED HIM DEAD xoxo wemmbu hater anon

.

[drowningworms]

Psych wards are psychotic and evil

By the way, friends, if you ever have a mental breakdown or are suicidal or anything like that don't go to the emergency room. The following is not just one bad hospital. It's basically all of them. I've talked to other people in other parts of the country.

I had a massive breakdown summer of 2023 from a new anti-anxiety med and a lot of stress. We called for an ambulance and got 4 cops instead. And I got a nice strapped down ride to the ER. To be fair, I was not in my right mind at the time and was unpredictable.

But it wasn't fair.

ER psych wards are straight out of 1923.

They use hours of stress positions and cold to torture the inmates into "submission" ("coercive measures"). And it doesn't matter if you are already submissive. I was obviously in control of myself by then and fully cooperative. The bastards wanted their fun anyway. After the hours of stress positions, they continue to keep "patients" unsettled with over medication of "anti-psychotics", verbally shame them from being sick, and keep them in a constant state of anxiety and discomfort after they have "coerced" them into submission while way too many heavily armed cops roam around doing their own bullying. All the time denying them obviously needed medical care including simple first aid. The "nurses" and "doctors" themselves have lost their empathy and replaced it with sadism. And they ruin the good hearts the younger ones to be just like them.

I didn't hear a single compassionate word given to anyone.

There are not private rooms. It is a open, tiled area buried in the basement behind many doors and guards and closed to visitors with a bathroom and guardhouse in the center with a few alcoves and no doors. While I was strapped down for hours with my arm cranked behind my head, with my shirt pulled up for cold torture, and the cuffs tightened and biting into my wrists (but they could still shove two fingers into my flesh and squeeze them in there so it was "legal") the other inmates were just wandering around me and I was utterly vulnerable should one of them decide to do anything to me. People are all dressed in paper gowns and sitting on hospital beds, wall benches, and wandering to pass the time.

I have so many stories just from 18 hours of being in there witnessing the worse psychological and physical tortures they were doing to the people they knew had nobody. It was a constant provocation of the most vulnerable people in the hospital in order to excuse more "coercive measures".

I watched them kill an old woman's dog.

It was going to be 115F that day. So early in the morning around 5am she started asking for her phone to call her brother to go get her dog out of her trailer and save it from heat death. They told her she could use their phone. But she didn't know the number (who knows anyone's number anymore?) She asked for her cell phone in her belongings right behind them and they said they would get it and then they strung her along till 3 in the afternoon, making her beg and plead and be oh so polite so she wouldn't end up on a bed with her arm cranked behind her head for being too loud or give them an excuse to simply straight up tell her no for being too "disrespectful."

They were petty too, loudly telling people breakfast was on it's way 3-4 hours before they knew breakfast would get there just to make people feel hungry and get them anxious and waiting assuming it was coming any minute now. As the staff kept reminding us breakfast would be here any minute every few minutes.

And they take away even the ability to escape by suicide. An escape so many would surely make if they could. I doubt Hell would be much worse. The only reason I got out so "soon" was I had an advocate (spouse) trying to bring me home. To be fair people are sent there for being "suicidal". But I don't see how it could do anything but hasten their descent towards taking their own life.

They, like prisons, don't help anyone. It's just for storage and terror. And it caused me trauma that continues to give me flashbacks months later. I'm not sure what state I would be in now without a loving family and a spouse who loves compassionately and deeply to heal me. Or my long-time counselor. Or my chickens. I held my little bunny for hours as my little angry little tribble did his best to comfort me. I slept with terrible dreams for nearly 48 straight. I couldn't even eat for a week. It feels even now like it set me back a year in my recovery from the pit I only recently crawled out of.

I think the second worst thing was the insanity of it all. Why hurt people who are already hurting so much? I get the whole Nietzsche thing is in play. So fucking what? It's still insane.

The worst thing was meeting a young resident doctor who was obviously gay and Latino. He knew what it was like to be oppressed. I could still hear some basic goodness in his voice. But he was already cold and compassionless. They were ruining his good heart just as they had done to so many others. And he will become twice as much a son of hell and traumatize thousands more over his long life.

And I know that is only a snapshot of the evil in our empire.

[slightlyaboveaverageiq]

Connor and the Brat {Part 17}

Brat should’ve known Connor would show up right at 7, he obviously wasn’t happy she had gone to Ava’s the night before. She should have just had her stuff packed and ready to go by the time he got there but she had forgotten to set an alarm and was still sleeping when he arrived which started the whole Connor and Ava apocalypse. Connor screaming at Ava that Brat should have been ready because she needed structure after being in the psych ward, Ava screaming back that Brat wasn’t an actual child and she could sleep in past 7am on a Saturday. She hurriedly dressed and gathered her things together before all but dragging Connor at the front door and thanking both Ava and Sarah for having her over the night before.

“You didn’t have to be such a dick to them.” Brat watched as Connor didn’t say anything but his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Ava was just trying to be nice and you came in and acted like a-“

“A what Brat? Someone who was concerned about you? Did you even remember that you had your first IOP appointment today and if you miss it you’ll go back to the ward?” No Connor she hadn’t remembered that but you still didn’t have to be such an ass just because you didn’t get your way last night. She sighed and turned to look at the window, it wasn’t fun pushing his buttons anymore because all he did was get angry with her, he used to think her sassiness was funny and now he just berated her.

“Who the hell schedules a therapy appointment for 8 in the morning anyway?” She grumbled under her breath and saw a small smile make its way to his face, oh great he was taking joy in her grumpiness, served her right she supposed.

“You did apparently, better wake up buttercup because we have a full day after therapy.” Connor parked in the faculty parking lot and walked along side her watching carefully for either Olivia or Ellis as they made their way to the ward. He found both of them at the nurses station chatting with Maggie who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there, her face lit up when she saw both Brat and Connor.

“Ravenna! How are you feeling sweetheart?” Maggie rushed from behind the control station and Brat about fell over from the force of Maggie running into her but Connor was quick to catch her. “April and I talked with a Connor about going to lunch one day but he seems to have a tight leash on you.” Brat ignored the raise eyebrow for Maggie and the eye rolls of Ellis and Olivia behind her. Brat smiled and hugged Maggie back before stepping away.

“I think he just wants me to stick with a routine, I spent the night with Ava and Sarah last night so it’ll probably be a few days before I have anymore company. I’m still trying to get settled in.” Connor excused the both of them and he dropped her off at the door promising to be right there when her session was over.

It wasn’t as bad as Brat had originally thought it would be, it was a whole new group of people that than ones she had been housed with. Some of them had been in the ward the same time she had but most had already gone to IOP and they were much more welcoming that the floor staff had been. No one pressured Brat to talk but she did vaguely mention she had a traumatic childhood and how Connor had taken to being her personal attack dog. A few of the staff raised their eyebrows but no one said anything and soon enough the 3 hour session was over and Brat promised that she would be back for the next one on Wednesday.

“Was it as bad as you thought it would be?” True to his word Connor was sitting in the waiting area with snacks for her when she walked out the door. She shook her head and reached for one of the bags of sugar cookies and Connor couldn’t help but laugh that she would go straight for the cookies even though she hadn’t had breakfast or lunch since they had been in such a hurry this morning.

“So what else do we have to do today?” Brat asked around a mouthful of cookie but honestly it probably sounded something like CNAICHSKSNDJE Connor looked both ways before pulling out into the Main Street and driving towards the shopping plaza. Oh no.

“We have lunch with my sister, and you are going to find yourself something wear.” Brat looked down self consciously at her outfit, she had a feeling that Claire Rhodes probably wasn’t eating lunch somewhere where you could wear ripped skinny jeans and a crop top sweater. Brats cheeks flushed and Connor patted her knee reassuringly. “She’s not bad, a little overly excited but she just wants to meet you since I sprung the news on her.” Brat nodded and followed behind Connor as he walked into the store, he sat down in one of the comfortable chairs and then it hit Brat.

“Um Connor? I don’t exactly have my purse with me.” He chuckled quietly.

“That’s because Claire is paying for your dress she insisted upon it.” Brat was about to argue back but after looking at the price tags she decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let someone buy the dress for her.

“Is this like something fancy or more Sunday brunch?” Connor was looking through some men’s fashion magazine now and he stopped to think about it.

“Definitely brunch, Claire won’t bust out the dramatic restaurants until the third meeting.” Brat grabbed a few dresses and went into the changing rooms but quickly became discouraged when she noted that her chest had grown since gaining weight and none of them fit her chest while also fitting her waist. She heard a gentle rapping on the door. “Brat you about done? We’re supposed to meet Claire at 2:30.” Brat looked around the dressing room and saw she had one more dress, please lord just let it fit.

Brat felt pretty and classy without feeling like she had overdone herself so she smiled at her reflection in the mirror and opened the dressing room door just as Connor was about to knock again. “Well? How do I look?” She was really starting to doubt her decision because all he was doing was staring at her and she wondered if maybe the Rhodes siblings were used to more fancy brunches and she was just doomed to look severely under dressed compared to them.

“You look very pretty Brat, maroon is your color and I’m guessing it’s your favorite.” She smiled up at him and went to change out of her clothes while Connor went to tell the sales woman to put everything on Claire’s tab. The ride home to get ready was silent but only because there was a sense of urgency, they had an hour to get ready and be at the brunch place which would take about 35 minutes to get to. Brat went off in her room to change while Connor did the same with his. She decided she would just leave her hair be because she didn’t have enough time to do both her hair and makeup today and her waves were tame-able enough. She changed into her dress and boots before quickly running her fingers through her hair and reaching for her makeup bag.

Connor was already waiting for her scrolling aimlessly through his phone when he looked up and smiled at her. “You look wonderful Brat, I don’t think I’ve seen you wear makeup before.” She blushed and looked down at her feet.

“Thank you, it’s my job. Well it was my job before-“ Her eyes started to water and she shook her head, it wouldn’t do to be crying and have all her hard work running down her face.

“Before I forget.” Connor murmured handing her the phone she had originally thought was his. “You need a way to get ahold of people, I went ahead and put everyone’s numbers in there. I didn’t see a number for your mom on file so..” Brat shook her head, there was no reason for them to talk anymore, she was an adult and hadn’t seen her mother in years. It was then she noticed Connor’s contact name: Daddy 😂😂 Brat couldn’t help but laugh at that. She looked over at him and noticed they were almost perfectly matching themselves.

“Alright Brat let’s get you to Claire before someone else accuses me of hogging you to myself.”

[accessibleaesthetics]

accessibility nightmare: psych ward edition. big tw for psych wards, medical trauma, suicidal ideation, medical abuse

i have type one diabetes, so need insulin injection multiple times a day, blood sugar tests multiple times a day, and when hypoglycaemic need fast acting glucose. i was in a psych ward for a month-ish when i was 15, where i wasn't allowed to have my insulin, my blood sugar metre and lancet, or fast acting glucose with me. i understand the insulin as insulin is an easy thing to OD on, however the lancet for blood sugar testing is very small and not very sharp, and not having the ability to test my blood sugar on my own or treat hypos was terrifying for me as i have ptsd from a past severe hypo that almost killed me. the nurses also knew very little about diabetes despite telling me that they did. they tried to prick my finger for blood sugar testing with the needle that goes into a lancet but without the lancet around it and when i tried to say that was Wrong they didn't listen to me so i just used it like that. i constantly had to correct them on things to do with my diabetes management as did my mum, and the worst part was when they tried to give me a dose of insulin that would have killed me. it was a bolus for a meal that i hadn't eaten and therefore would have sent my blood sugar very low, to the point of coma or death. i told them that it was too much but they said it would force me to eat and were getting to the point of going to restrain me but after asking them multiple times to call my mum they did, and she explained why i was correct. they told her she was "giving in" to my ED, and being manipulated by me, and they said, with zero shame, that they were trying to use my hypoglycaemia trauma to force me to eat. she said she wouldn't leave me if they gave me the insulin so they ended up not and the next day i left with my mum since it was obvious that the risk of me harming myself was going to be less at home because of the mistreatment from the nurses. on my discharge forms they blamed me and my mum for resisting/not wanting treatment and didn't mention anything about what happened with the insulin. they were also just absolutely horrible in general (eg i got DRESS CODED because my pyjama shorts were too short and told that even if i don't see myself as a girl boys will still be attracted to me so i have to cover up or i'll be assaulted. i had to sleep in jeans and then ask my mum to get me something different for the next night.)

Anon I am so, so sorry this happened to you. Terrifying doesn't even begin to cover what you just described; you are correct, the staff was —at best—extremely misinformed about eating disorders. And diabetes. And...a lot of other things. Though even that doesn't excuse the weird, overt rape culture they had going on there. What an absolutely dreadful institution, I hope if you ever need that care again you find a better one.

But I'm overjoyed your mother was such an ally to you, and was able to get you out relatively quickly. I hope your journey to recovery has continued since, with at least some ups.

[genderisareligion]

Sending love 🌻 and support - also just, you may want to turn anon off if you’re getting nasty messages. When I disclosed on my (now defunct) main that I had a specific disorder, I got a lot of hate mail. Due to some of the timing and word choice I actually came to suspect it was 1 TRA I was beefing with faking being a big group of gcs/radfems who (allegedly) hated me for my diagnosis. So, that can happen, and also of course there’s assholes everywhere. But at the same time I understand wanting anon on to receive genuine thoughts from people. Just know it’s easy to create an anon sideblog and reblog your posts - you don’t have to keep anon messages on to get anon feedback … that being said I guess it may be fine to keep getting anon messages as long as you feel ok with them and with deleting shit you don’t want to reply to. Typically I don’t reply to anon hate only nice things or what I see as genuine questions or disagreement. Just way too many people happy to exploit anonymity to play games.

Much appreciated ♥️ I sorta anticipated this reaction which is why the base of that post was sitting on genderisareligion7 for months before I threw it to the wolves. I used to be put off by how much of radblr considers themselves anti psychology, but after a horrific psych ward experience, I'm starting to get on board. I've just been with it and the lingo for so long, you know?

Finding the language of DID has improved my life as much as radical feminism, whether or not it's "real."

Anon has been a wild ride, my first ever anon ask was "you're so brave for doing this as a TERF" lol, but so far it's been worth it, to get messages like this.

I delete 90% of anon hate and criticism 1. because it's anon (plus now they don't have the excuse of not having an account) 2. It's almost always unsourced and 3. because I don't send anon hate and basically never share when I disagree with a radblr post, I just ignore it.

Almost always if I disagree with a TRA post I pretty much only comment disagreement if I can see OP is not responding to everyone trying to start arguments. I've only argued back and forth for more than like 5 reblogs a handful of times on this blog and I'd like to keep it that way.

I try to keep in mind radfems have more in common with each other than we do disparate considering that offline millions of not billions of women are either unaware of feminism or don't want to commit to it. I'd rather try enjoying this microcosm of actual feminism that fights back as much as I can