#tw mental health i guess

[mllekurtz]

A bit of my own business/life-and-work update under the cut.

I haven't been very active here (or elsewhere, for that matter) lately due to the fatal conjunction of new job, mild case of burnout, harder-than-usual-to-manage depression and the world being on fire. (Some of these things are related.) Also, Veilguard came out.

The bad news is that dealing with all of this (and playing Veilguard) is taking pretty much all of my time, and I had to put my fandom-related projects on hold.

The good news is that my life is starting to look more or less settled again, although it's still a work in progress.

So, I might post some old shadowgast stuff soon, but my wips are on hold for the foreseeable future. I am however working on some Veilguard fic because that's what sparks joy and makes my remaining, tired brain cells go brrr; so if by any chance you're into Lucanis/Neve, don't expect much, but watch this space. (To be crystal clear, I haven't abandoned shadowgast: that ship is my home and I will never leave it forever. We are just taking a much needed break to rekindle our love for each other.)

[britishraptor]

Was doing so well, submitted and met all the minimum job applications required of me. Completely forgot that I needed to meet the minimum point system and only remembered a minute after the midnight cut off.

Technically have an exemption document submitted that they haven’t processed.

I just don’t care anymore. I’m tired. I’m so tired.

[gently-decaying-flowers]

my dad asks me “how’s it going” (in relation the the mounds of laundry i’m currently sorting through)

i respond “i don’t even know i’m so done with this.” (on the verge of tears but he doesn’t know that)

he says “just take it little bits at a time”

he doesn’t know i wasn’t talking about my laundry.

[poisonousquinzel]

they deserved better idc 😐

[uncanny-tranny]

So much love and recognition to the people who don't know how they feel about recovering. To the people whose scars are fading away, and there's a sinking feeling, despite knowing that it's a good thing. To the people who miss when they were "worse," when they felt "broken." To the people who mourn losing their coping mechanisms, even the ones that were destructive, scary, or unpleasant. To those who feel guilty they're healing because their past self wasn't ready.

Whatever it is, there is nothing wrong with any of those feelings. It's a natural reaction, something you don't have ultimate control over. There is nothing shameful about yourself, and I admire the strength it takes to recognize how you feel, even the parts that do feel like the "wrong" reaction to a Good Thing.

[reginalusus]

I don't know if this has been asked before but what are your headcanons for Harvey and two-face? Wholesome and not so wholesome 🔞 lol

Anything they have in common, for example are they both super organized/need things a certain way? Different love languages?

🩷

Oh, boy, do I...

By the way, I ramble a lot...

So this is gonna be long post.

It's just a thing with me. Only super-cool people relate. /j

I also tend to base *some* headcanons on what is already canon, or blend them in some way, so some of this might be old news.

Oh, and I'll put a cut before the suggestive ones just so people who don't want to see that sort of stuff can safely scroll by.

EDIT: The cut does not seem to be working because Tumblr hates me so, um, WARNING FOR SUGGESTIVE STUFF.

He's 6'5". His height has fluctuated in his appearances, but I much prefer when he's taller than Bruce, such as in Telltale and BTAS. BuT a DisTRIct AtTornEY dOesN't NeE- lalalalalala, I don't careeeeeee. I like the image of him being physically imposing, not just for villainous purposes, but also to juxtapose how much of a sweetheart he is, or was. There is also another reason.

He stims with his coin. Months back I talked in length about how I think Harvey might view his coin as a way to reclaim his abuse against his father, but I also see him using it as a comfort item, as sick as it may be (considering its past), and that the constant twirling and flipping is a way for him to stim.

He loves 50s/60s music. Namely the likes of Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, Sam Cooke, Lesley Gore, Dean Martin, Roy Orbinson...

He sings! I know this is kind of canon, but that MF can sing. His Harvey voice is smooth and articulate, very vintage, meanwhile Two-Face's is, of course, raspier and almost more of a rocker's voice.

Two-Face names his guns. I've drawn some of these before, but Harvey doesn't bother with such nonsense. Harvey views weapons as a last resort; their mere existence throws justice into question. Why can someone wield such a thing that sets the odds in their favour immediately? But Two-Face knows they get the job done quickly. They're like the broom of Gotham; a quick way to be rid of the scum. So he names them, for they are beloved, much like how legendary weapons have been named in the past for what they have slain.

He dissociates/has derealization episodes. Yes, he has DID, and dissociation is in the name, but during really intense symptoms, such as his depression, paranoia and personalities all practically screaming in his head, he ends up having a bad derealization episode, much like how you would see someone have after they suffer a panic attack. His coin helps ground him.

He has definitely done that fucking pottery scene from Ghost with Gilda while she's sculpting. You know the one.

He's an elegant shooter but a brutish fighter. Not only is he a God with guns, he's also precise and elegant. But with physical combat? Brutal, much like a street fighter. I suppose both Batman and Deathstroke's training gets muddled in some ways...

His henchmen give him gifts now and then. They just do, and he doesn't understand it. Silly stuff, like bi-coloured mugs or shirts. Perhaps to keep his short-temperedness at some sort of bay. Doesn't work half the time, however.

He takes depression naps. Because of course he does. Having mental health issues is also physically taxing. I imagine he sleeps a lot, but also struggles to sleep at the same time because everything is so damn loud in his head.

He's bisexual. Gotta love both. Harvey has a preference for women, Two-Face has a preference for men.

Fussy with his suits and clothes. In The Judas Coin, we see Harvey's kind of a suit-nerd. Enough said. That MF loves to look good. Harvey loves stuff that's timeless and classic, very reminiscent of 40s/50s mafia wear, while Two-Face loves gaudy, striking stuff. They have to compromise, hence the split suits in the first place.

He doesn't like himself very much but just puts up with it. He's a walking contradiction, a hypocrite to himself. He claims to uphold the law but also bastardizes it. Also, he avoids mirrors and reflections if possible (that was something that was mentioned in his older issues, but they never brought it back, I don't think). He's smashed a mirror before, or two, or three.

He's a hopeless romantic. I've talked a little about this before, but he crushes hard, falls harder, and ever since being widowed, he pines for validation but seldom receives such because of his reputation.

He's a vintage lighter collector. He's got those S.T. Duponts and those 1970 electric Ronson's, I just know it.

Harvey constantly makes courtroom puns. Nobody laughs except Gilda.

He's an embarrassing dancer. He loves singing older tunes, but when it comes to dancing, he loves those cheesy 80 tunes. Get him drunk enough and he'll kill the dancefloor... with second-hand embarrassment.

So, I also have a lot of thoughts about The Judge too, but they're very scattershot and I'd rather compile them at another time, plus this post doesn't need to be any longer than what it is, lmao.

I also have more HCs around what he'd be like with the Batkids and Bruce, but again, this post is already long.

Ok, suggestive stuff now, and I'm going to kick it off with a hot take:

Harvey and Two-Face are monogamous. A really popular HC I've seen for Harvey is that he loves having multiple partners - two partners, of course, for each side of him. Well... I DISAGREE. /lh Personally, I think he prefers the one. He likes to purely focus on that one person and treat them like they're the only person that exists, in hope they'll do the same for him. To make him feel like he's whole; that, for once, he's not split.

Two-Face is protective and jealous. If you're out with him and he sees someone eyeing you up, out come the knuckle dusters.

He's dominant. And rough. But he'll always ask what you want; do you want to be praised or degraded while he's using you?

The coin can be fun. Sometimes he gets extremely impassioned and heated, and he just doesn't know what to do with his partner next. Good thing he has an item that helps him decide. The ambiguity of which side will turn up can add to the excitement!

Scar worship makes him melt. It just does. He hates that side of him, but seeing someone stroke or caress his scars, telling him how handsome he looks, that's a sure-fire way to send him over the edge. He'll probably fall in love.

Harvey shows love through words and actions, Two-Face shows it through gifts. Harvey will reassure his partner through words and keeping those words upheld. Meanwhile, Two-Face will corrupt his partners with gifts.

Two-Face is a bit clingy. He'll text a lot, call a lot, ask where his partner is, how they are, if they're ok. Harvey is more relaxed.

Aftercare King. He knows how strong he is and how violent (for lack of a better word) he can be. So he'll always check in with his partner to make sure they're fine.

Harvey is vocal and sappy, Two-Face isn't. Not just during the act, but afterwards. Harvey will want to cuddle, he'll want to talk over a cigarette, he wants to get to know his partner on a deeper level. Two-Face generally needs some room first. He might be a bit cold, but he'll come around.

Again, I have more in this regard, but that's what AO3 is for!

Oh, also, I saw your ask about Gerard Butler and his doggo... I agree, hehe, maybe Harvey can walk Dick's dog at some point, lol.

[hersurvival]

Something heavy rests upon my chest.

Debilitating dread bordering on paranoia.

Something bad is about to happen.

You're going to ruin everything.

Lose it all, end up all alone.

Violent waves of intense sadness

Crash into me, drag me out.

Drowning before I can understand

How I ended on shore.

Detached, dissociated

In the middle of the night.

Woken by nightmares I can't recall.

Static courses throughout my body,

Numb yet shivering

In puddles of cold sweat.

What's real? What's happening?

Thoughts howl,

Calling for blood on the bathroom floor.

"Situational. Normal."

[schizosamwincester]

So, November 5, in addition to being a) my birthday, b) Destiel day, c) @buncoreclown 's birthday, d) election day in America, and e) guy fawkes day, is also the fifth anniversary of my psychotic break. And just. Goddamn. Half a fucking decade.

For me, a delusion onset very, very suddenly. There were a few passing thoughts of it in the days before, but it pretty much hit all at once at about 5:35. The delusion came on really strong with instant, intense tactile hallucinations, and I started dissociating and never completeness stopped until I started T not even a month ago.

Schizophrenia is neurodevelopmental, so in a lot of ways I've been schizophrenic my whole life. I very much have always had the schizophrenic thought patterns. My brain has always grabbed onto ideas too hard, my thoughts have always been scattered, I've always been rambly, I've always been obsessive. That said, there's a huge difference between that latent schizophrenia and me being actively schizophrenic. All of those symptoms got worse in the after. And tomorrow marks 5 years of living as an honest-to-god schizophrenic.

Despite how much worse my symptoms are now than they were before, it's so much better to be living in the after because now I understand that none of it is normal and can deal with it and be gentle to myself about it. I'm not just incapable of getting my shit together—I deal with an actual thing called disorganized thinking that makes it incredibly difficult to keep a train of thought a lot of the time. I'm not just stubborn—I have actual delusions, so it is really hard to let go of ideas. And I don't just "babble," as my mother would say—rambling and tangents are how my brain works and I shouldn't have to stop that just because it isn't normal. Lots of people love hearing my long-ass rants.

But that's not really what I'm thinking about today. I'm just thinking about how despite the fact that November 5, 2019 still defines me and every facet of my current life was caused by what happened that day, it is now 5 years later. I've spent 5 years in the after. I've spent more time being "recovered" than I ever did in active psychosis. And it is just strange that something that happened a half-decade ago when I was still in high school is still so definitive. I have been living on my own for a year. I've been working as a CNA for 2 and a half years. My life is nothing like it was when I was a high schooler in my parents house (well, except for the fact that I still write and read too much fanfic), but I do still think about that event not necessarily daily, but at least weekly.

Five years is a long time, and I'm very glad to be alive and, despite everything, coping with it all extraordinarily well. Don't get me wrong. I'm still definitely disabled. I've got my life set up very carefully to work around my limitations, and I'm also just really lucky to have found about the one affordable apartment in walking distance from everything important in all of America (schizophrenia is why I don't drive). But still, like... I've made it to 5 fucking years out. Just being alive and functional by then was almost incomprehensible to me by like, November 8, 2019.

Five goddamn years. Given how hard it is and how much I just take everything one day and one week at a time, it is so weird to step back and realize I've been living with schizophrenia for that long.

Okay. That's all. Back to my regularly scheduled fandom bullshit.

[amywritesthings]

the last two weeks had me mentally in the pits and crying every single day and now this week i've been hitting my protein goals, getting my 6miles of steps in, i worked out the last three days...

i am very hopeful for a mental recharge and better mental health/to kick this funk in the face! i'm really fighting for it, guys, so thank you for your support & encouragement.

[ciderjacks]

ocd is weird bc I definitely still have it, I just got really good at identifying it and shutting it down. Like I was taking down a gross medical sticker on my wall that for some reason I stuck up there last year, and my brain was like “no don’t do it. You’ll die if you do that” so I put it back on and my brain was like “or…maybe life will get way better if you take if off. And if you leave it life will get worse. Want to make that choice” and I was like really stumped over it, then suddenly I was like ohhhhh ocd you tricky devil… and tore the sticker off. I go thru this exact experience about thrice a week.

[valyrra]

Me: uwu I love my ocs

Also me: You’ll get personality disorder and body dysmorphia. You’ll get sh so bad you cut the right of your face almost off. You’ll get to die in your twenties because uwu. You are just depressed asfk

[mxbitters]

parents are funny the way they want you to be open and honest with them, supposedly, but when you are, it leads to some fucking confrontation that didn’t need to happen, and when that happens, it leads to something you weren’t ready to say coming out, then being coaxed out into a still very much controlled held-back version of describing your lifelong experience feeling shame for existing the way you do and not being “easy” or as good as like, your little sister, academically, or as capable of masking as anyone else, and THAT carefully worded recall of just the natural fucking feelings of growing up in a frankly abusive household, resulting in.. oh, sorry, YOUR FATHER crying as if he wasnt just trying to gaslight you into thinking he didnt tell you the other day to Improve Yourself As A Person (right before the conversation about his mother entering hospice so now guess who can’t fucking mourn without associating it with that!) and that he instead was saying Improve Your Situation

and then he like catches you like visibly dissociating, comments, you try and put it in very simple words what just happened (in the same manner you have pointed out every other little thing he does to invalidate your feelings, or as he’d put it, “your feelings” yes using air quotes) and he suddenly is a fucking Psychology Scholar And Didn’t Need You To Explain What The Defense Mechanism Even Was and oh then also admitting to doing harm in the past, saying he had apologized (wonder why i dont remember), your mother(actual psychology minor) getting all “i’m sorry you feel that way” and also after a long ass tangent about there being a difference between “shamed” and “ashamed” as if you didn’t mean the word you say, a thing you did make very clear, ONCE AGAIN FUCKING CRYING ABOUT YOU BEING OPEN AND HONEST FOR ONCE AND TELLING THEM THEY HURT YOU

[hannahssimblr]

“Jude,” minutes before the bell rings for the end of lunch, Evan calls me over to him as I pass him, lurking by his locker as he so often is. 

“Yeah?”

“You know Alison Littler, right?”

I saunter over to him, intrigued, and lean against the locker next to his, “Yeah? Why?”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No. Is there a reason I should know?”

“Are you not, like, fucking each other or something?”

I laugh awkwardly, because he doesn’t have to say it like that, and so loudly that at least three passers by heard him. “I dunno, I haven’t seen her since this morning, but we have maths together in an hour. Why?”

“She was supposed to meet me here, that's all, I’ve been waiting for the whole break for her.”

I find this amusing, “How do you know Alison Littler, Evan?”

“Oh, well, you know… everyone knows her.”

“Yeah but I didn’t realise you were on hanging out terms with her. Since when?”

“We’re not,” he says, “and if we were, so what? Would you be jealous?”

“No, I’m just a bit curious about what’s happening here.”

“Is Alison’s business your business?”

I grin, “No, but I’m nosy.”

He gives in reluctantly, “I have something for her. I said I’d give it to her, and she hasn’t turned up. That’s all.”

I shrug, “Okay well, I don’t know what happened, sorry. Can I pass on a message?”

He chews on his lip, “I’d text her again but maybe her phone is dead. If you see her later will you tell her you saw me? Let her know I’ll be here after school until about a quarter past four.”

“Yeah, sure,” I pull back to lightly punch his arm but it makes him flinch and then I feel like I should apologise for frightening him. He’s a bit skittish, and these typical, aggressive boy things I’ve become accustomed to doing likely won't to go over well. “Uh, sorry about-” I say, and my words are clipped short by the abrupt wail of the bell through the narrow hallway. I turn to head toward German class, “Um, so Alison, yeah, I’ll tell her. Quarter past four.”

“Thanks,” He says, and slings his bag over his shoulder as he walks the other way. 

Later, Alison is missing from maths, and now I am distracted by her absence. My eyes keep drifting toward her empty desk, where she is usually perched right in front me, hair draped over the back of her chair and wafting vanilla scented shampoo my way. From where she sits she is right within range for my flirtatious torment, for me to kick the legs of her chair while she tries to draw straight lines with her ruler or poke her with a pen when she’s trying to ask a question, but not today. She’s gone, and I have this strange, niggling feeling that something isn’t quite right. 

I smuggle my phone out of my pocket and text her under the desk. 

You go home sick today? 

“Jude, phone please,” The teacher says, because she’s the type that watches me all class long for even a hint of wrongdoing. She barely lets me away with anything, so usually I have to act out when her back is turned or when she’s gone to the toilet or something. She stands in front of me now and snaps her fingers at me like I’m some kind of unruly feral dog, so I hand my phone over without protest and let her store it in her drawer until we’ve completed our calculus lesson. 

I spend the rest of the class wondering if Alison has texted back. 

“Hey,” before the last class of the day I block Tara Neary’s access to her locker with my body and note the look of utter delight on her face. It is because I am giving her attention, and I’m not blind to the effect I seem to have on these girls. It’s because I’m tall, I think, but so often they shrink back timidly like Tara and gaze up at me through lashes, trembling nervously at their own imaginings of the things they want me to do to them. Her expression quickly turns to crushing disappointment the moment I start quizzing her about Alison. 

“She’s in some of your classes, right?”

“Um, yeah but I don’t know her that well or anything.”

“Really? I thought you hung out.”

“Sometimes,” Tara says reluctantly as she nudges me out of the way to swap the books in her bag with those in her locker, “But I don’t know where she is. She was in chemistry this morning, and she wasn’t in Irish this afternoon,” A shrug, “sorry, I don’t know anything else. She probably had her period and went home or something.” Tara glances at me with some measure of optimism, as though this revelation that Alison does in fact, get a period may have frightened and disgusted me enough to put me off her, but she can try that one with lesser boys. I’ve been so inundated by girls and women my whole life, platonically, familially and romantically that periods of all things do not shock me. There are far scarier things about women. 

“Okay, thanks, well, if you see her tell her I was asking for her.”

“I will.”

She won’t.

Evan is standing forlornly by his locker at the end of the day, and as I pass him I give him the nod. “No sign?” 

“No, I suppose she went home sick.”

“Yeah, I’d say so. See you tomorrow, Evan.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Out by the gates in the hazy light that girl I used to know is there again. She sees me and waves, and this time I cannot pretend that I haven’t seen her back, so I wave too, and there is nowhere to go but past her, so I approach her. 

“What are you doing here?” I say, and I had hoped that my words would come out sounding a bit less accusatory but it’s difficult. 

Leah smiles and wraps her arms around herself to shield from the cold. She’s wearing a coat, but it isn’t thick enough to protect her from this cold snap. “I’m just waiting for someone.”

“A sibling?”

“No.”

I peer at her, wishing I didn’t feel so guarded and suspicious, but my body reacts to her long before I do. Always. “Do you ever think it’s weird that you’re nineteen and you’re still hanging around your old secondary school?”

She scoffs, and I shrug, “Just wondering, like.” 

She fixes her face so that it is soft despite my offensive remarks, nostalgic, affectionate, even, the one she always makes when she looks at me and it annoys me. “Just an acquaintance is all, I said I’d be here at the gates.”

“Right.”

“How’s your friend Jen?”

“She’s doing fine.”

“Oh, that’s good. She was such a nice girl.”

“Yeah, she is,” I almost turn to go before I spin back to her “She’s actually doing really well. She’s sorting everything out and she’s happy.” I’m not sure where this sudden burst of childish venom came from, or whether it’s really true that Jen is sorting things out or if she’s expressly happy, but I say it anyway in defence so that I can prove that she hasn’t turned out the way that many people expected her to.

“Did you hear Pete was put in a psych unit?”

I falter, “Pete Lee?” 

She nods, “He went crazy, apparently, and his dad had to wrestle a knife out of his hand.” 

I remember Pete Lee. He was a quiet, but nice guy. A little weird, sure, but relatively harmless. He liked dance music and always wore these really bright, neon coloured runners. I used to talk to him about games we both played on the playstation and he taught me how to huff deodorant fumes until I felt like I was floating through time and space above the little dingy park where we used to hang out. We were thirteen. Now we are seventeen and Pete Lee is in a psychiatric facility, which makes him the second boy from that small group of peers to have a psychotic break. 

I want to say that Pete didn’t deserve this, that if we’d all been more careful back then with the things we used and the things we developed a taste for then all this wouldn’t have had to happen. But we were barely teenagers, we didn’t really know what we were getting into, someone else should have known better, like Leah, maybe. She was there. She should have warned us that solvent abuse turns to substance abuse so easily that you don’t really see it happening, but I know that it is too much to expect from her, so I don’t say this.

Or anything else aside from, “Oh, that’s really sad.” 

She sighs unhappily, “Yeah, that’s how it goes sometimes.”

“I suppose,” I reply, and begin walking away from her. 

“Will you tell Jen I was asking about her?” She calls after me, and I don’t turn around. 

“Yeah,” I say, though she probably already knows I'm lying.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[uncanny-tranny]

One conversation I remember people having about people who have endured abuse or trauma is the use of survivor versus victim language, and I think a lot of people have misconceptions about the "right" language to use.

I think a lot of people have this idea that using victim language (e.g., "I was/am a victim of abuse") can send the message that you're perpetually a victim, and that because of that, it is "bad language." However, I think it's more accurate to conceptualize it more so as putting responsibility onto the people who harmed them. Framing yourself as a survivor can feel final and permanent, and some of us aren't ready for that level of definitiveness.

I think we need more acceptance of peoples conception of their experiences. It's okay to say that you were/are a victim, just as it's okay to say you are a survivor. The idea of being a "good" victim/survivor is damaging, and it's harmful to us. It puts the onus on us to think about everybody else's comfort but our own about our own damn trauma

[aesfocus]

am I surprised by the OCD thing? nah, just never had someone tell me straight up that I have it, generally they just touch on the hoarding aspect and then ignore everything else.

[autistook]

I know like all of my friends believe in me and that I will get through this rough patch, but like, this is the first time in my life the rough patch has been making me this hopeless and it has been going on for 6 months now. And I've been struggling with depression since 11 years old. I'm like, truly tired.