#tw trauma

[starsifter]

As someone with PTSD Ford is a great representation of paranoia and hypervigilance that comes with that. Like- his shame surrounding his trauma is something I can relate to as well. His personality persisting throughout it all is great, I feel like I don't see that often with traumatized characters. He's not perfect. He wants to protect his family from what he went through, which is also something I can relate to.

[shouyuus]

suo hayato and run? <3

send me a character + a word (any word) and i'll try to post a snippet of a wip/abandoned fic that i have in my drafts for them containing/relating to that word!

heres another snippet from that same suo x abused!reader fic:

“He was good to me, for a long time, but… he’d always had a bad temper and sometimes, he he’d hold my wrist — like this —” you set down your chopsticks and reach for him, pausing when your fingers are a millimeter away; he gives you a slight nod and you wrap your fingers around him, pressing down on the veins running up his inner arm.

Suo keeps very still, watching as you eventually let go, leaving the white imprints of your fingers along his skin. He reaches down to trace them, his stomach flipping once, twice inside him.

“— so hard that it’d bruise,” you shrug and let out another sigh, picking your chopsticks back up.

“Well,” Suo says, still tracing the fading outlines of your fingers, “that’s no way to treat a lady.”

“No,” you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. A few strands of hair fall into your eyes and Suo doesn’t think before he reaches forward to tuck them behind your ears.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Domestic Arkham!Jason Todd Headcanons

Y’all ever think about the inherent tragedy of Arkham!Jason craving something as simple as domesticity? 

How he craves the comfort of home-cooked meals, but can’t actually eat anything he hasn’t prepared himself. Because during his time in Joker’s captivity, almost everything he was served was either poisoned or rotten, and now every time he eats, it’s like he’s expecting the burn of poison or the flavor of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth.

Can you imagine the frustration he must feel at his inability to share a simple meal with you? 

The sudden clench in his gut when he realizes that he wasn’t there to watch you prepare the food, and despite the fact that he trusts you, he can’t help that familiar dread rising in the back of his throat. 

Jason tries, for you, he tries. 

But there are times, more often than not, when he feels the phantom burn of poison or the flavor of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth–and his body reacts before his mind does. 

And suddenly he’s hunched over the sink or the toilet, vomiting out half-digested food, and it’s almost like he never left Arkham Asylum.

Can you imagine the absolute burning jealousy he feels whenever his family interacts with you with an ease he can only dream of? 

Maybe it’s a movie night, during one of those rare times when Gotham City didn’t need saving, and there’s Tim and Dick and Barbara piled on the couch. And you fit so well with them–a tangle of limbs and careless laughter at a dumb joke Dick made–that it’s Jason who feels like an outsider. 

Jason sits apart from all of you, the only person to pick an armchair instead of the couch, because every time he tries to sit close to someone, all he can think is whether they’re close enough to see his scars.

The table is piled high with snacks, more than the five of you can realistically eat in an evening. There’s popcorn and pizza, mozzarella sticks and pretzels, several bars of chocolate that can only be found in Bludhaven, the air is thick with the smell of grease and cheese dust. 

And it’s almost like being a teenager again. Before that night and the Joker and everything else that followed. 

It’s almost like being a teenager again, dizzy with the good fortune of being adopted by Bruce fucking Wayne, watching some dumb flick with his siblings when he was supposed to be training. Ordering takeout food and laughing along with Dick at Alfred’s visible disappointment as they stuff their faces. 

It’s almost like being a teenager again, but not quite. 

Jason watches the four of you pass around a bowl of popcorn, arguing about which genre of movie to start with. But when Barbara tries to hand it to him, he feels a sudden clot of heat in his chest, and he’s already shaking his head before he even knows why. 

And he realizes, he’s afraid. 

He doesn’t know who made the food or what restaurant it was ordered from, and he is sure if he asks, no one would be able to give him all of the names of people who handled it. 

The burn of poison and the taste of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth.

Poisoned cake and rotting rats. The writhing of pale white maggots against bone and glistening meat and gristle.

He doesn’t touch anything for the rest of the evening.

Can you imagine how scared he is? 

Jason is so acutely, painfully aware of how exhausting it is to be with him. To be with someone you can’t even share a simple meal with. 

And he wonders how long it will be before you get tired of him.

Bruce, after all, had left after he had seen the twisted thing Jason had become. 

And if his own father couldn’t even stomach his presence–

And suddenly he’s hunched over again, over the sink or against the toilet, vomiting out half-digested food. 

And it really is like he never left Arkham Asylum after all.

This is what he thinks, when he finally collapses on the tiles of your bathroom floor, cold sweat pouring down his face. Your presence hovering over him like a ghost, a thousand apologies pouring from your throat. 

But it’s not you that’s the problem, it’s him. 

It’s this awful thing in the back of his head, always expecting the next threat, the next injury, the next sick game the Joker has come up with. 

It’s the fact that his days with the Joker had left him so twisted and strange that he can no longer fit into a normal life, even when he wants to. 

And this is what he thinks, when you catch the way he is not watching the movie at all. But instead he is looking at his family’s faces, his chest pulsing with a jealousy so fierce it might as well have been his heartbeat.

Jason wishes–oh, how he wishes–it was that easy, that simple for him. 

You disentangle yourself from his siblings–Dick had already fallen asleep, head lolling heavily on your shoulder, to pad your way to him. You sink down onto the armchair to share it with him, practically on top of him, and he marvels at the way your heat dispels the chill that has crept over him. 

Your hands are small compared to his, but they are just big enough that when you lay them atop of his, he does not have to think about whether you can see the scars. 

This is what he thinks, on days like these. It is something he always thinks, a small voice in the back of his head that is never silenced.  

He doesn't deserve you. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks to @red--pirate for the idea!

[traumadumpwriter]

Memory Games - 6

A dark Maze Runner romance between a very damaged girl and our soft boy Newt. With trigger warnings for self harm, abuse, assault, PTSD, mentions of suicide and general violence. Also written in the style of multiple POVs.

"All that was clear was that they were all boys - all of them - and it filled me with even more dread, instinctually defensive and fearful of the opposite sex. Even if I couldn't remember anything specific about where I'd come from, I knew that men were dangerous."

Previous | Next

Masterlist

Chapter Six

*Angel’s POV*

My dreams were pleasant for the first time since I'd arrived in the Glade. No confusing visions of sterile rooms, vacant deserts and distressed shouting. Instead, it was Newt's grinning face and a field of green that complimented my slumber. I couldn't remember the specifics of the dream, other than his voice gently saying "My beautiful angel" and as I thought of it it made my stomach flutter.

I was surprised when I woke up to hear noise outside, my last two mornings being relatively silent and calm, and when I looked up and saw the sun beaming through the window, I realised that I must've slept in late.

"Shit. No slacking. I better get up." I thought, jumping out of bed and to the window, seeing the movement of many boys outside. It was then that I heard a knock at the door, followed by a deep voice saying "Wake up Greenie. You're with the track-hoes today."

I recognised it as Alby's voice, although we'd hardly spoken, and I was slightly confused as to why he was the one greeting me and not Newt. That confusion was quickly squashed by excitement though as I remembered that Newt was a track-hoe, meaning I'd be spending the day with him.

"Sorry. One second." I called through the door, pulling on a shirt and brushing my fingers through my hair before opening it.

"Morning." I smiled and Alby smiled back, a real one unlike the one of false comfort he'd given me before.

"Morning Greenie. Can I stop calling you that yet?"

I thought for a moment before giving my answer. I still hadn't remembered my name, and I had a horrible feeling that it wouldn't ever come, and so in a split second I decided to keep the name that Newt had gave me. I wasn't sure if it really suited me, especially given I was the only one who knew about the marks under my clothes, but the way it made me feel was nice - soothing even. And I trusted Newt's judgment for some reason, really trusted it.

"Yeah.. my name is Angel." I answered and he nodded.

"Well it's a nice name.. suits you." He smiled, and then his tone went more serious. "Jackson is coming out of the pit today. I doubt he- or anyone for that matter- will try to harm or bother you again, but just to be safe I'm going to ask that you avoid being alone for the time being. I, or Newt, or any other trustworthy Glader of your choosing will be around to escort you from place to place. Is that okay?"

I felt a pang of anxiety at his words, thinking back on Jackson's harsh touch and predatory gaze, but nodded confidently. I didn't like the idea of being 'escorted' everywhere, especially by two people who were seemingly so busy already, but I wasn't going to disagree.

"Yeah, that's fine. Sorry for being such an inconvenience." I said to which he shook his head with a smile.

"Nonsense Angel, you're no inconvenience. I'm sorry that it has to be this way. I promise that most of the lads here have no problem following the rules, there are just a few to look out for."

He then lead me downstairs to the kitchen, where the line was now pretty short as it seemed most Gladers had started their day at work. Frypan was hurriedly pouring soup into the bowls being handed to him before sending each boy off, his voice scolding despite his face bearing its usual grin.

"What you doing up so late Greenie, I thought you were an early bird." He teased at me, taking my bowl from my hands.

"I thought I was too. Maybe I'm not." I smiled back, taking my bowl back from him once it was filled and then waiting for Alby.

"Thank you, Frypan." He smiled sincerely and the shorter boy saluted, earning a chuckle from the leader. "Greenie's got a name now by the way, it's Angel."

"Well why didn't you say? Suits you good. I'll see you later, Angel."

"See you later." I smiled, secretly chuffed by both his and Alby's reaction to the name.

Maybe it does suit me.

"You know where the garden is I take it?" Alby asked and I nodded, gesturing to the large patch across the field. I could see Newt, Zart and some other boys leant over something, their faces marked with concentration.

"Yeah. You don't need to escort me there. I'll be fine." I chuckled and he nodded, waving me off.

I sipped on the soup from my bowl as I made my way over, the flavour unimpressive but edible. A few eyes turned to me and I saw a few whispers, but they seemed to be decreasing everyday and so I was relatively unbothered. I was more excited to spend the day with Newt than anything else.

"Good morning." I said as I neared the group, all the boys shooting up from their bent positions and smiling at me.

"Morning Greenie, you seem chipper." Zart smiled and I was quick to correct him "Angel. My name is Angel."

I snuck a glance at Newt and could see he was grinning, obviously happy that I'd decided to stick with the name he chose.

"Well good morning then, Angel." Zart said before adding "Nice name, suits you."

"Thank you." I beamed before bending down to be beside him and Newt "So what we doing today?"

"Well first of all, you ought to finish your breakfast, having some food in your stomach makes all the difference in this heat." Newt smiled. "Do you want a short sleeved top? Today is gonna be a sunny one."

I thought of the scars across my forearms and quickly shook my head no, although I could already feel the heat.

"No it's okay. I'll just roll my sleeves up if I get too hot." I said.

"Okay, Angel." He grinned, obviously completely unaware of my lie. "We're cutting off the dying leaves from our crops today and if we have time later we're going to plant some garlic bulbs. Sound good?"

"Sounds great." I smiled before quickly sipping down my soup.

"You really are chipper today, aren't you? Was the extra hour of sleep that good?" Newt chuckled and I nodded, thinking of my dream, unintentionally letting my cheeks go pink.

"Yeah. It was." I tried to sound nonchalant but Newt's grin gave me a feeling that he knew what I was thinking about. There was no way he could know, maybe I was just easy to read.

Around midday I could feel that my shirt was damp with sweat, and I was starting to struggle under the heat of the beaming sun, but alas I had to act fine. I was relatively fine. The company of the track-hoes had been very pleasant, much more than the awkwardness of the builders or the silence of the slicers. I had a feeling that even if Newt wasn't there, I would've enjoyed the job. But he had definitely noticed the heat affecting me, and kept offering to grab one of his vests for me to wear, which I politely refused every time.

"You're sweating buckets, Angel. Don't you even want to roll your sleeves up?" He questioned quietly, leaning close to me.

"No." I answered quickly before casually adding "I'm fine. It's not that hot."

"Well that's a lie." He eyed me with suspicion "What's up? You don't want the boys looking at you?"

"Y-Yeah. I don't want to expose any more skin than I have to, you know?" I agreed, secretly thanking him for unintentionally creating an excuse for me.

"Well they're not going to go mad over some arm skin. Here, let me help." He moved his hands towards my sleeves, his cleaner than mine, but I flinched away and his brows furrowed with concern.

"Sorry. I won't touch you." He apologised, his voice downtrodden, and although I wanted so badly to tell him he could touch me - to tell him that he'd done nothing wrong, I just sheepishly smiled.

His conversation lessened considerably after that and I started to feel a heavy guilt in my gut mixed with a spiralling anxiety in my chest. However, I acted un-phased, concentrating on trimming the leaves and making polite conversation with the other track-hoes. Arthur and Sebastian were slightly younger than Newt and Zart but clearly skilled at their job, and so I had been speaking to them a lot. Arthur had curly, brown hair, longer than mine by a couple inches and Sebastian had striking blue eyes, contrasted by his dark hair and tan skin. I decided that I liked them and I would perhaps join them for dinner one night, as they seemed to like me too.

"You're good at this. Think it's the small fingers, you know?" Sebastian had said and Arthur agreed.

"Are my fingers small?" I wondered out loud, holding my mud-caked hand up to my face.

"Compared to everyone else's? Yeah they're pretty small." Arthur chuckled. "Do you recon you'll stay on as a track-hoe?"

The idea appealed to me, but the excitement I'd had to be around Newt was now replaced with anxiety as I realised it meant I'd probably have to tell him the truth about the sleeves or just get used to working this way in the heat.

"I don't know. I like it but I want to try everything. Being a runner seems interesting." I mused and Seb scoffed.

"Being a runner is dangerous."

"Yeah and you have to be really fast." Arthur added.

"Well I don't think I'm slow. When I leapt out the box I went pretty fast, didn't I?" I questioned and they shrugged.

"We were busy weeding, chica. Didn't see any of that." Seb answered and so I looked over in Newt's direction, who was a crouched a few feet away from us.

"Newtus, do you recon I'm a fast runner?" I called over to him and he rolled his eyes with a playful smile, which I was relieved to see.

"Not really... I mean, maybe for a girl. But in general, no."

*Newt’s POV*

As Angel flinched away from my touch, I found myself mentally questioning her boundaries, confused by the way she'd decided to go by the name I'd picked, yet was seemingly uncomfortable with my touch. She hadn't flinched away from Minho last night, we're they becoming closer than I'd realised? I had to push the jealous thoughts out of my head, knowing them to be just that - jealous - and instead try to focus on my work.

It was easier to do that today than it had been yesterday. I knew she was safe in the gardens, all of the track-hoes being relatively relaxed and friendly lads, and if anything did go wrong she would just be a glance away from my eye line. This obsession was becoming unhealthy though, I knew that as soon as I'd felt the pang of rejection at her slight movement away from me. I knew it even more when the sound of her laughing with Sebastian and Arthur started to annoy me. Maybe it would be better if I distanced myself from her. After all, if Zart had picked up on my potential feelings, who knows who else could've.

Instead, I tried to keep myself focused on all of the work I needed to get done, mentally planning the weeks ahead. The grapes would hopefully be ready for harvest soon, so maybe Zart and I could make that wine. In a couple days the potatoes and mushrooms would be fully grown, so Frypan would be pleased with that. I would have some of the boys clean and prepare all of the crops to be eaten, and I would probably be busy planting more.

"Maybe Angel would stay on as a Track-hoe. Would I allocate myself to being her personal teacher? Or would I let Zart do it?" This thought broke through my scheduling and I almost groaned out loud at myself.

My pondering lasted in silence for a little while, perhaps an hour, before Angel called over to me "Newtus, do you recon I'm a fast runner?" and I automatically smiled at her use of my nickname. Then I thought of why she'd be asking that question. We're they discussing the Runners? I know that I'd pushed for her to be able to try every role, but I didn't like the idea of her running. Still, I couldn't let her know that as so far she'd shown that being told she couldn't do something just made her want to do it more.. like hanging out with Gally.

"Not really... I mean, maybe for a girl. But in general, no." I answered, finally looking up from my work and smiling at her. "Why, you wanna be a runner?"

"I don't know. Maybe." She smiled then added. "I thought I was quite fast. Maybe with some practice I'll be the fastest in here."

"Have you seen Minho run?" I raised an eyebrow and she giggled and nodded.

"Okay, maybe not the fastest. But I might not be bad."

"Maybe. I guess we'll see." I forced a chuckle, although my mind was instantly fraught with worry.

I decided I needed to speak to Alby immediately, and so I put my tools down and stood up, wiping the dirt from my trousers.

"Where you going?" Angel questioned, looking worried.

"Just gotta check something quick. I won't be long." I said, swallowing before heading towards the map room where I knew Alby would be.

When I walked in his head quickly shot up, relief flushing his face for a moment before it was replaced with concern.

"What's happened? Someone hasn't hurt Angel again have they?"

It took me back for a second to hear him saying her name. The name I'd gave her. And it gave me another item on the agenda of things to discuss with him. How she still hadn't remembered her name, and it didn't seem like she would.. yet she had known mine.

"No. Nothing like that." I answered quickly before letting out a sigh "I was just thinking... do you think we should let her try to be a runner?"

Alby looked confused at this. "Well I thought we'd agreed that she should try everything."

"Yes but.. the maze. It's a bit different isn't it? I mean not even all of the boys have tried it out, I don't feel like it's right. There's no way she'll be able to keep up with any of the runners."

"Well no one starts out as fast as Minho, do they? And she might not even want to do it, but we need to at least give her the opportunity. To show to the boys that she's just like them."

"But she's not." I thought before blurting out "And she didn't remember her name, by the way."

Alby's brows furrowed in further confusion "What do you mean? I thought it was Angel."

"No.. I uh- chose it for her. I don't think she's going to remember the one she had before here." I stammered.

Alby raised an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by what I'd just said.

"You chose it for her? And she just accepted it?"

"She asked me to pick one! And I just went with the one that felt right."

He let out a frustrated huff before speaking again.

"So she trusts you then. That's good to know. But you're becoming far too attached to her. I don't expect you to come storming in here like that unless something has happened, and you're just worried about her trying out as a runner?"

"Yes! I'm worried about sending her into the maze alone with someone! You said it yourself, she needs to have someone trustworthy with her at all times - just incase!"

"And do you not think Minho is trustworthy? Or Ben? Or Nick for that matter? There isn't a single runner here that I wouldn't trust. I think what you're problem is is that you're jealous - and it needs to stop."

His words struck me in a spot that had me immediately defensive.

"But what if something happened? Not even with one of the lads, but something else. The maze is unpredictable and dangerous-" I started to protest until Alby cut me off.

"The Glade is unpredictable and dangerous. Now stop this and get back to work. Have Zart or Frypan escort her for the rest of the day. You need a break from this girl, I've never seen you act so erratic... except for when you nearly bloody killed yourself. I don't have to be worried about that now also, do I?"

I couldn't help but hang my head in shame at his words, silently nodding as I bit my tongue, knowing him to be right in his argument. It had been almost six months since my attempt and I still regretted it most days. I didn't know what I regretted sometimes though - the fact that I'd attempted it and permanently damaged myself as a result, or the fact that it hadn't worked. Since Angel had arrived I'd hardly thought on it, but now the guilt was overwhelming again and I found myself having to take a deep breath before speaking.

"You're right. Sorry. I'll keep some distance from her from now on."

"Well don't just ditch her if she trusts you. She could provide some valuable information. I could tell she was holding back with me. There's something strange going on at the moment. Just... be more.. objective."

"Alright. I will." I answered with certainty, although I was still feeling quite unsure.

I really appreciate all interaction so if you’re enjoying please let me know xx

[nowaistprettyface]

To be pretty ꕥ

To feel pretty ꕥ

To be slim ꕥ

To feel slim ꕥ

To be in control ꕥ

To have control ꕥ

To be perfect ꕥ

To feel perfect. ꕥ

[shouyuus]

ik this word is a bit odd but limerence with suo?

send me a character + a word (any word) and i'll try to post a snippet of a wip/abandoned fic that i have in my drafts for them containing/relating to that word!

ACTUALLY ITS INTERESTING U WOULD SEND THIS IN bc i had a suo fic with a reader who had a heavily implied abusive ex and suo loves her but she's emotionally unavailable bc well, history so YEAH

He knows there’s a reason you lose sleep at night — it’s in the way you move, the slowness of your breathing, the dark circles drawn like ship-anchors beneath your eyes, weighing down the lightness of your smile. But he doesn’t push you, only ever asks — hey, let’s get coffee, or tea, if you’d like?

And you always say yes.

“You remind me of him… sometimes,” you admit one day, over steaming cups of sencha and taiyaki.

Suo looks up; your eyes are downcast, your finger tracing the thick rim of your teacup. Inside it, a single needle of tea floats vertically in the rapidly cooling water.

“It’s good luck, you know,” Suo says, offering you a smile that looks like the answer to a question you’ve never quite had the courage to ask.

“Hm? Oh, you mean the tea pillar?” you laugh, nodding down at your tea before picking it up to blow on the surface. Suo watches you take a tentative sip, smacking your lips with a sigh, “I guess… it means my luck’s changing.”

You don’t like to be touched — it’s the first thing he notices about you. The way you deftly dodge out of reaching distance, the way you’re just one step removed from the throng and motion. The way you hold your arms around yourself as if trying to keep the whole world out and something else very much inside.

[incorrectbatfam]

[tofumarinado]

it's so funny to me when i see pearl-clutching articles about how "teenagers are diagnosing themselves with mental disorders via tiktok" because like. this is not happening in a vacuum. teenagers are severely and i mean severely medically neglected. i cannot stress this enough. teenagers do not have free access to medical care. those same news outlets would be clowning on women with housewife psychosis in the 1950's.

i sometimes go pale when listening to some of what my friends have gone through in their childhoods and teenagehoods. they talk about it so nonchalantly, things that would be considered straight up torture if done to an adult, can't fathom the effect this has on children. they are on multiple anti-psychotics and several antidepressants and anxiety meds now that they are adults. medical neglect has legally and effectively disabled them. a timely diagnosis and intervention could have saved them.

of course teenagers are self-diagnosing using tiktok. if your knee-jerk reaction is to scoff at the idea and dismiss it as dumb teenager shit instead of being radicalized because the best shot young people have at attaining the mental health support they need is a fucking dancing videos app, you're categorically a political enemy of the youth.

[ayyy-imma-ninja]

Poor thing is not taking his setuation well

[tw: PTSD, panic attack]

No, he isn't.

[caliburn-the-sword]

"hur hur gabe wasn't as abusive as he was in the books" people can all shut up. percy's jaw TREMBLED when ares yelled at him, which had nothing at all to do with his god status - percy backtalks gods just fine. he had trauma response to ares yelling. ares didn't so much as lift a finger. that goes to speak volumes about what percy was experiencing at home

[aimseytv]

“victim”

i’ve been writing a lot lately

i liked this one, so i wanted to share it

be kind to yourselves

[wellen-katze]

The box - Astarion,Tav bg3 Comic [TW Trauma]

I hope you have someone who would do your nails for you 💅

[liberaljane]

Your feelings are valid on too. Special shoutout to all the cycle breakers. 💐

Created with Mother Wound Project

Digital illustration depicting three generations of women with a ribbon linking all of them. The scene includes an elderly Latina woman shrugging, a middle-age Afrolatina woman dodging the ribbon & her daughter cutting the ribbon. Text reads, “pain travels through families until someone is ready to feel it” by Stephi Wagner

[nowaistprettyface]

Seriously starting to consider sleeping with a corset on. I will get that tiny waist by ANY means. I need to get those edited allegations.

[indieyuugure]

Episode 9 of Aliens and Mysteries! Welp, now you guys know.

Previous: (3) Episode 8

Next: (4) Episode 1

See All…

[gor3sigil]

I’m Trans and Insane and I’m doing fine.

[TW Psychosis, transphobia, psychophobia, medication, psych ward]

“Are you sure ?” she asked.

I remember looking back at her in disbelief, because that was certainly a question I never asked her when she came out.

“Why do you ask ?” I say.

“Dude, I’ve seen you go into depersonalization so hard you even thought you were a human soul in a robot vessel and now, you want me to trust you when you say that you, too, are trans ?”

That’s the memory that comes back to me as I fold and put in my bag my psychiatrist’s note attesting that I suffer from gender dysphoria, NOT LINKED to any psychotic symptoms. Here it goes in my folder with my prescription note, an increase - again - of my anti depressants and Xan, and my endocrinologist’s HRT prescription, increased too - finally.

I go to two separate pharmacies to pick up each prescription for two reasons:

There is only one in this godforsaken town that always had testosterone in stock.

I can’t explain to you with words the look you can get when you give back to back, to someone who, despite not being a doctor, works in healthcare, a note for trans HRT and then a note for psychiatric meds.

And I’m lucky, because I’m not taking antipsychotics anymore. Contrarily to what you could think, it doesn’t magically makes the voices and the shadowy people disappear, but it can make a mess of your head pretty bad and my doctor and I both agreed that I didn’t need more damage up here than what I already had. And no, it doesn’t make your delusions vanish magically too: in fact, I was still pretty certain that I was talking to my soul family out here in Argentine telepathically about my mission on Earth, the meds just made it more difficult to understand their voices, but the belief was still solid.

Anyways, I’m back home with the Hoy Grail I fought tooth and nails to get: a letter from the Sacred Council of Mental Sanity also known as Psychiatry that I was, indeed, a bit delulu, but also trans, and that both things didn’t play into each other. My transness wasn’t a delusion, my delusions didn’t have anything to do with being trans.

Or did it ?

Chicken or egg, you know the drill. Did I have my selves fractured before and one of the piece that shattered my brain happened to make me trans or was I just trans with a shitload of traumas in the back that made me insane ?

But don’t worry, at least, trans people when we’re together, we have each other’s back ! Right ?

“Transidentity ISN’T a mental illness !! We don’t DESERVE to be FORCIBLY LOCKED UP and MEDICATED and MADE TO CONFORM FOR OTHER’S SENSE OF SECURITY !!”

Neither do I, RIGHT ?

Oh

Or do I ?

Remember what she said, my girlfriend, right at the beginning ?

How I can’t be trusted about myself when sometimes I don’t even have a sense of self anymore or I have too much selves who fight against each other ?

And what do we say to that ?

Get treatment. Get in-patient. Take medication. And for the love of God, shut the fuck up about it, you’re giving us a bad name.

Because being trans and crazy can’t exist. It’s absurd. You have to fix one of these two things. Choose which jacket I’ll wear, and they call it a straitjacket for a reason it seems, so am I queer or am I insane ?

All I know today is there isn’t a universe in which I’m a trans without any mental illnesses, or mentally ill without being trans. And yet, I can’t tell you how many time I got asked “do you think you’d be trans if you never got through [x trauma] ?”. I. Don’t. Know. I’ll never know. And I deserve just as much agency as you get despite being mentally ill. If you don’t believe in that, don’t come yapping about “liberation for all of us”, but “if one of us is crazy they’ll all think I am too and that can’t happen”.

No LGBTQIAA+ person deserves to be told they need to be put away, to be cured, to be allowed out in the open only if they’re deemed “acceptable” by society’s standards. And no mentally ill people deserve to either.

No trans person should be going through years of counseling to have the access to HRT.

And I shouldn’t have had to threaten my own mother’s life to avoid being locked in an adult psych ward at 14.

If you ever think, for one second, that these two things have nothing to do with one another, you are far removed from history.

To hear queer people say “yeah but some mentally ill people are dangerous !” feels like you don’t even know where you come from.

And if I want to say, that me being trans is linked to me being mentally ill, or at least, that both are connected in a way, all hell breaks fucking loose.

So I’ll explain very carefully.

See, when I was young, my mind got shattered into a thousand of pieces I had to try to glue back on. All these pieces of myself broke further more down the line because I couldn’t catch a fucking break. And now, it happens that the final puzzle does not have the same face it had before. It happens that its shape changed over time, for reasons over the control of all of us who tried to build ourselves back. Now there’s a bigger picture, less pieces, a few other shadows, and me. Built from the shatters. With my own needs and afflictions.

And whoever you are, whatever your agenda might be, I will not let anyone take any agency away from me under the false pretext that I can’t know anything for myself. They say that about children, they say that about minorities, about physically disabled people, about the people they want OUT. And my trans siblings, you know that.

I came out for the first time 7 years ago, to my then girlfriend, who was the one asking the question that is the first sentence of this text. I came out a second time 3 years ago. Been on HRT, had top surgery, had psychotic breaks, got my meds changed, switch therapist.

Because I am trans and crazy. And yet, all these choices I made, I made myself. It didn’t have to be that hard to get the basic care I needed. It didn’t need to be. But it WAS. And I’m part of the lucky crowd of people who had access to out-patient treatment, who never have been locked up in ward, who managed to stay alive through meds withdrawals without medical assistance when I had no therapist.

Be very careful of when you start to put conditions on the rights you think you deserve. Be very, very careful about your definition of sanity and of how it warps the way you see people. When you start to say “I have access to that, but there’s people like X or Y who shouldn’t BECAUSE”, pause and ask yourself what led you to think this way. More often than not, you’ll find yourself playing the same mind games as the ones you swore to fight against, and when it gives them the upper hand, they won’t hesitate to come for you after that.