#we are the kinds of people to be ... ''too normal for X diagnosis but too symptomatic to be normal''

[blessedbucky]

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 2)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 6k!

summary: a glimpse into the time before tokyo

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, bisexual!reader, bisexual!suguru, ableism, internalized ableism, mentioned child abuse, mentioned bullying, mentioned homophobia

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again

author note: i'm not going to stay this every single chapter, but just as a reminder, autism is a spectrum! i was a late in life diagnosis. like, i literally got diagnosed two-ish years ago at 30. so, i don't know what it was like to live a childhood with an actual diagnosis. i know, for most parents, their kid getting a diagnosis isn't the end of the world. i've done a lot of research on how autism is received in japan and it's a lot of mixed reviews. i can only imagine that living in a super tiny town isn't easy for anyone seen as "other" (LGBT, neurodivergent, sorcerers in regards to the JJK world). so, yeah, there's my disclaimer!

translation note: jiheishō is the japanese term for autism

oops done forgot to link part one

oops part duex here's the ao3 link

[SIX.]

“Jiheishō?”

Oh. There’s that word again.

Mother took you on another trip to the special doctor that’s all the way in the city. It takes a long, long time to drive there. Two hours, Mother said, when you asked. You wanted to ask her if she remembered how many times you’ve been to the doctor, but you can only ask one question on special doctor days. Mother has been really sad. You don’t want to make her sadder because you ask lots of stupid questions.

Is Father this sad, too? You wish that you could hug him like you do Mother, but you don’t see him a lot. He doesn’t like to talk to you as much anymore. He must be tired. He’s a farmer and works really hard. You were really happy when he came with you and Mother to the special doctor once.

“Absolutely not!” Father’s voice is loud. You drop your crayon because you got spooked. You’re outside with crayons and the special paper that’s colorful and feels really nice on your fingers. Before you went home, the special doctor let you take all your drawings home. “That’s what that quack came up with?! And you accepted that?! We spent all our money for that?!”

“Dear, please,” Mother says in that way that means she’s crying now. You want to go hide. It’s because of you. “Don’t you think this is the best outcome? We were scared that she had some kind of brain injury! The doctor said that the things that she’s been seeing are imaginary friends, that’s all. She has poor emotional regulation and an overactive imagination, so if we teach her what she can and can’t say—”

“What do you mean better?!” There’s a loud bang that makes you jump. “If she was sick in the head in some other way, we could medicate her! How do we treat this, huh?! What are we supposed to tell people? Do you know the position this puts us in now? This is an embarrassment on both our families! Our daughter will be no better than that Geto boy!”

Father is really, really, really mad. He’s super loud, too. It makes your head hurt more. The hospital had a lot of people, was really bright, and there was so much noise. You don’t know how, but you hurt Mother and Father, and that makes your heart hurt worse than your head. You guess this is because of what the doctor said. He said what was wrong with you, even if you didn’t know what it meant. Before he could tell you what it means, Mother said that she and Father would talk to you about it. She said that it wasn’t the doctor’s place.

You’re dumb. You should’ve known you hurt her when she got in the car after leaving the doctor and cried a long time.

Too scared to be seen by Father right now, you decide to leave. If he sees you, he’ll keep yelling, and you’ll cry. This might make him happier, anyway. He says that he wants you to be more normal. Normal boys and girls go play, right? You don’t have people friends, but you don’t think that matters. You just have to be gone from home until the sun sets. If Father asks where you went, it won’t be a lie to say you were playing with friends.

You walk along the rock road between farms to get to the forest where the river lives. No one waves to you like they do Mother and Father. You know they think you’re weird because your classmates think it, too. It’s not your fault that you have different friends than them. You think they’re jealous that they don’t have as many as you.

Oh!

There are special animals!

Just as they’re about to fly away in the forest, you see a big group of them. These ones look like cute squids!

If you think really hard and call for them like you see classmates do with cats or dogs then the special animals will come see you, but these don’t. “Wait!” They don’t hear you, either. They’re too far away. So, you give chase. You want to touch them and hold them like nothing else. You know it’s mean, but you’ve never seen special animals as cute as these before!

Will these feel like real squid or cooked? You hope it’s real squid. That would be so cool! Maybe you haven’t ever touched a real one, but you have eaten squid, and you hate it. It’s so gross inside your mouth that you throw up whenever Mother makes it. Not even takoyaki can make it better.

You’re on the side of the river when you catch up with the squids. You almost get bonked on the head by something. They’re all dropping stuff on the ground. Fruits and vegetables. They’re dirty and have fur on the end that Father told you were roots. It’s like the squid stole them from the farms. The squids hover in the air, even if they dropped their food. You take the chance to leap up and grab one of them.

You’re squealing at how slimy the squid feels when someone shouts, “Hey!”

All the rest of the squids float over to a boy that’s stomping out of some bushes. You know this boy. He’s the tallest in your class, but also the skinniest. His black hair is at his shoulders and messy. He’s the very first in your class to lose a tooth. He’s making a mean face, so you can see the hole in his teeth. This is Geto Suguru and he’s the only other person in class that people don’t like, though you don’t know why since no one talks to you.

“Let my squid go!” Geto shouts.

Your eyes widen. “You can see them, too?!”

“Yeah. Just like you can, I guess.” Geto walks to stand in front of you and yanks the squid you’re squeezing. “You’re not allowed to eat any of these! This is my food, and these are my squids!”

You’re confused. “Are those regular squids? Do regular squids fly? You only eat regular squids, right?”

Geto squints his eyes at you. “Are you stupid?” He shakes his head. “No. Ocean squids can’t fly. I’m talking about the ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” You tilt your head, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. Suddenly, a black hole opens next to Geto’s head, and a new special animal comes out. This one looks like a really big, ugly fly with teeth and eyes. You have seen these kinds around before. “That’s a ghost? I thought those are special animals.”

Another black hole opens. This special animal has a mushroom-shaped head with a little body and wings. “How does that even look like an animal, dummy? Most of them don’t look like the squids.”

“I know that!” Your cheeks puff out. You’re not dumb. He is! Ugh. Why did you think that he would be different than the rest of your classmates? Everyone calls you stupid! “I call them that because they come when I do. It’s like other kids and their pets. I can do the…the…psst, psst, psst thing.”

Geto finally loses the angry face. Now, he’s confused like you were before. “Huh? You mean…they listen to you?” He points at the bruise on his cheek. “I have to fight them before I can eat them. After I eat them, then they listen to me.”

“You eat them?”

“You don’t?”

“No!”

Maybe you are stupid, but so is he. The two of you stand there and look at each other while you think hard about what you learned. You can both see the invisible things that no one else can. Are there other people like you and him? There has to be! And they all are special because you and Geto are. They come when you call. Geto eats them.

At the same time, you both shout at each other, “Show me!”

“Whoa.” Geto holds his hand out to let you touch the black ball that he turned the ghost animal into.

It took you and him walking up and down the river to find a ghost animal that wasn’t already his pet. He watched with wide eyes and a mouth dropped open as you clapped and called to make the ghost animal come to you. Geto wanted to fight it, but you told him that he didn’t need to do that because it wasn’t going to hurt either of you now. You know that they can be mean when they don’t know the other person, but they don’t fight you.

Then, you were the excited one as you watched Geto show his power. It was bright, but it was so cool that you didn’t even care about that. It’s kind of like the special ghost turned into ashes, just breaking apart before it spun in circles, and it finally formed into a little black ball that Geto now holds.

“That was so pretty!” You’re so excited that you’re waving your arms. “It was so cool, too!” His cheeks are red. He looks away when he pushes the ball in your face. Grinning, you reach for it, but instead of getting to feel the ball, your hand goes through it and lands on his hand. “Oh.” You poke his hand. “Aw, it didn’t work.”

“Eh?” Geto blinks. He pulls his hand away, making sure that his ball didn’t go away completely, and it didn’t. He curls his hand around it over and over. “I guess only I can do it.”

You nod. “That makes sense. Just like only I don’t get hurt by them.”

“But we can both make them do what we say.”

“No,” you stretch the word out. “Um, it’s weird. They don’t see me unless I call for them. And I can make them not hurt me or anyone else and…stay there. But that’s kinda it, really.” You rock back and forth. “I guess I just make them not angry.”

Geto looks at you for a long time without saying anything.

It starts bothering you, getting stared at. You ask, “What is it?”

“Will you help me get bigger ones? You don’t have to do anything but make them be quiet like you did here,” Geto says. “It’s hard for the little ones to get bigger food for me.”

“Why don’t you ask grown-ups to get bigger food for you if the ghost animals can’t?”

Geto kicks some rocks into the water. He doesn’t look at you anymore. “Because I’m not asking for any of that food, dummy.”

“But…that’s stealing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Geto whispers. “My folks don’t give me food.”

You’re the one that doesn’t say anything for a long time. That makes your heart hurt. Parents are supposed to feed their kids, aren’t they? Sometimes, yours don’t, but that’s because your body is being bad. Mother works hard to make meals and you don’t appreciate that when your body makes you throw up the gross feeling food.

Would Mother and Father let Geto eat instead of you? Geto would probably like Mother’s food more than you. But…no. Father says that he doesn’t like Geto. He thinks that Geto is weird, too. Father might get even madder at you if you tell him that you and Geto are friends.

Kids are supposed to eat. It’s really, really important, your teachers say when you don’t want to eat lunch for the day. That would make it okay if Geto takes some food, right? Farms are big, anyway. Some animals go digging for food. You know that because Father said so. What’s different between a deer and a ghost animal taking food?

“You have to pay me for it,” you finally say.

Geto nods excitedly. “Anything!”

You hold out a hand to him. “I’ll help you if you be my friend.”

[FOURTEEN.]

“You’ve been crying.”

When Suguru cups your cheek and wipes at the tear stains with his thumb, you shrug him away. Not because you don’t want to be touched, but because you don’t want to dwell on what caused said tears. “I brought takoyaki,” you mumble as you slip your backpack off your shoulder. “Had to take a bite, but I know you don’t care about the germs.” Said takoyaki balls are wrapped in a napkin that you pass over to him.

“I almost don’t want to out of spite,” Suguru mutters under his breath.

“Then what? Should I throw it away? They’ll check the trash or check the yard to see if I buried it.” Hugging your knees to your chest, you put your forehead against your knees. “Eat it, please. I just want this whole ordeal to be over, okay?”

“Aren’t you too old for them to be forcing you to sit at the table?” Suguru keeps complaining as he digs into the takoyaki balls with gusto. He tries to be casual about it, but you’ve been best friends for almost ten years. You know when his parents haven’t been letting him eat.

“Aren’t you too old to be asking these stupid questions?” You turn your head to the side to quietly study him. It was nearing midnight when he came knocking on your window. The makeup from the day has rubbed off, so you can see the ugly bruise yellowing on his cheek. “Aren’t you too old to be hanging out with the weird chick? You know it makes their mood worse when they hear I made a scene.”

Suguru chuckles darkly. “They’d find another fuckin’ reason to get pissed off, trust me.”

“How’d we end up with the shittiest parents in this stupid village?”

“Everyone has secrets. They’re cruel to their children, to their spouses, to each other. Just like you and I do, they have their masks, but word gets around. You just don’t pay attention.” He reaches over to flick your exposed nose. “Did you hear about what happened with Endo Iyo’s father? His mistress from a village over showed up on their doorstep, saying she’s pregnant with his child.”

“Eh? No wonder she was such a cunt at school today.”

Suguru laughs quietly. “You’re awful, Squid.”

“Says the person that’s dishing out the gossip.”

“Okay, you got me there.” Suguru stabs the last takoyaki ball with his skewer. Before he takes a bite, he asks, “I’m surprised you’re not saying worse about her. Do you want to talk about what happened today? I heard that you and Endo got into a screaming match in the girls’ locker room.”

“All the mean shit that I had to say about her, I said to her face.” He snickers but stops when you go on to explain, “She was talking about doing mean things to you.” You fiddle with the hem of your sleeve. “I overheard her and all her little friends scheming. She said that when we start high school, she’s going to pretend to confess her love for you. She said that you’re such a desperate loser that you’d accept.”

Suguru doesn’t have much to say about that. He tosses the napkin away. You watch as, one by one, he licks the sticky residue of takoyaki sauce away from his fingers. He’s staring at you thoughtfully while he does. For some reason, it leaves you flustered, so you duck your head back down.

“Is that what upset your parents?” You nod miserably. “That was sweet, Squid, but you didn’t have to go through that for me. I know you hate to yell. But…you didn’t think that I would believe her if she said something like that, did you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Or…maybe you’d use her like she wanted to use you. We’re at that age, y’know. I hear guys talk about getting a hand up girls’ skirts and stuff.”

Suguru groans loudly. You glance over at him and he’s so disgusted that it makes you huff in amusement. “How low is your opinion of me? I have tastes.”

“How do you even know what your tastes are? Everyone our age is gross.”

“You’re not gross.”

“I wasn’t talking about me and you, obviously.” You unwrap your arms from around your legs, letting them drop. You shuffle around to cross your legs instead. “We start high school next year,” you whisper more to yourself than him. “I guess that I do have to start thinking about that stuff, huh?”

He makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat. “You actually don’t.”

“It’s what normal teenagers do, though, right? Girls think about making love confessions to the guys they have crushes on. They want to date.” You bite on your bottom lip. “That cunt, Endo…she even talked about swindling you into taking her to a big city to book a room at a love hotel. She thinks you have a big dick because you’re so tall. That’s when I snapped.”

“Oh. That was nice of her to say.”

“Suguru! Ugh!” You can’t even believe that he would praise her like that. Suguru is your best friend! This asshole is supposed to be on your side here! “Don’t be thankful for that! One day, you’ll meet a nice girl who will wax poetic about your dick and mean it!”

“Or boy.”

“Or boy—” you blink. Slowly, you turn your head. Suguru is pointedly not looking at you. Because he’s nervous. Your kneejerk reaction is to be hurt that he’s waited this long to tell you, but you understand why. During your first year of middle school, word got around that Kimura Kaito liked boys, and he left for the city without even graduating. “Or boy,” you reaffirm. “I can kind of forgive you for taking Endo’s compliment. It sucks that someone so hot is such a bitch.”

The tension in the air eases. With flushed cheeks and a laugh, he gives you a light shove. “How much did it pain you to lie like that?”

“I wasn’t, though?”

“Oh.”

“I thought you knew,” you admit. “Didn’t I tell you about the day that I was with my mother in the city? It was two years ago, I think? I saw an ad at the subway station with this model and said it’d be nice if she was my wife. My mom slapped me so hard that I knocked my head against a wall and busted it open.”

“No!” At Suguru’s shout, you immediately shush him. Sure, your house is bigger than his, but it’s not that big. He’ll wake your parents if he keeps this up. “I saw that and tried to ask you about it, but you didn’t say shit,” he hisses in a much quieter voice than before.

Oops. “Well, that’s what happened.”

Suguru tilts his head back, looking up at the starry skies. “We’re kind of perfect for each other, Squid. Have you ever thought about that? We see the same things. We were raised the same. We like the same things…”

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you agree.

Just the thought of a life without Suguru in it makes your chest tight with panic. This is the exact same spiral that you had before you two entered middle school. You were so exhausted that first week of middle school because terror kept you awake all the nights before. You dreaded the change. You thought that, somehow, the rest of the kids in the village would finally figure out how amazing a person Suguru is and take him away from you. Now that you think about it, that might be part of the reason why you exploded on Endo. Maybe she joked about it, but what if someone else didn’t?

“Squid—”

“Suguru—” you stop when you realize that you and he started to talk at the same time. Since it feels like you’ve dominated the whole conversation tonight, you meekly offer, “You first.”

“Do you…” Suguru trails off. Whatever he wants to say, he doesn’t know how to get it out. You patiently wait. It’s like he goes through a lot of emotions, one after the other. Finally, there’s a defeated slump to his shoulders. “It sounds like it was a hard day for you.” He has such a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you want to help me catch the ghost animal that I found last week?”

“You went manta ray riding without me?” You can’t help but pout about that.

“Sorry, sorry. I needed some time alone, that’s all.”

Yeah, okay, you understand that. For you, there are days when it’s simply too hard to even talk. So, you don’t dwell on that any longer. You move the conversation forward as if he never said it at all. “We’ll be so exhausted tomorrow,” you warn.

“It’ll be worth it.” Suguru rises to his feet. Holding out a hand to you, he grins wickedly, and declares, “It’s a dragon.”

“You couldn’t have said that earlier?!” You’re so excited that you scramble to your feet yourself. In your excitement, you almost forget that it’s midnight, and everyone else is asleep. Suguru puts a finger to his lips to remind you to be quiet. Eyes bright and vibrating with delight, you whisper-shout, “Let me grab my sketchbook!”

“Reminds me of Hong.”

“Hong?”

“It’s a rainbow dragon from Chinese mythology!”

“You choose to focus on the most random things,” Suguru mumbles. You elbow him in the ribs as a rebuke. He doesn’t even flinch. Since when did this skinny kid get so damn buff? Oh, from his asshole father making his kid do farm work in his place, that’s how. “What makes you think this is…whoever? Hong?”

“You can’t see it?” Hmm, well, you two do only have moonlight and flashlights to guide your way. There’s no electricity left in this old factory. “Here.” You take the flashlight from Suguru and wave it from side to side so that the light catches off the white dragon’s scales and the iridescent sheen that bounces off them. “See? Rainbow!”

Suguru steps forward to glide his fingers over the dragon’s hide. With a hum, he takes the blunt end of the flashlight and knocks it against the scales. The clang echoes in the silence. “It’s so odd that such a tough creature went down so easy.” He looks over his shoulder at you, brows knitted in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I might fall asleep on the way home,” you admit. It’s the dead of winter, but you had to take your puffy coat and the sweater under that off because you were burning with exertion. You won’t complain, though. This has really helped get out all that excess energy that’s bubbled up inside you all day.

“Oi!”

Both you and Suguru freeze at the sound of a human voice. At the entrance to the factory, there are a group of people. There’s one older man that’s dressed in a suit while the other three appear to be high schoolers—on the cusp of graduation, you’d say, based off how old they look. None of them are from around here. Those uniforms definitely don’t belong to your school. Not even from any other schools in your district. You’re not even sure they’re from your prefecture.

And maybe the sight of them wouldn’t be so alarming. Like you and Suguru, they could be some kids looking to goof around at spooky, supposedly haunted places…but one of them has a weapon. Seriously. The boy with spiky brown hair and a toothpick sticking out of his mouth has a katana drawn.

“Get away from that thing!” Katana Boy shouts.

You don’t know if they’re yakuza or some kind of serial killer group or whatever, and you don’t want to find out. Both you and Suguru act. Normal people can’t see ghost animals, but people can still be touched by them. You and Suguru has fucked around with ghost animals enough to know that. So, when Suguru throws an arm out and the rainbow dragon follows, the entire group is tackled by an invisible force.

Heart racing, you throw yourself against Suguru’s side, and the ground falls out from underneath you both after Suguru summons his manta ray. As soon as Suguru gets you both far away enough, he’ll let the rainbow dragon go. After Suguru swallows them, they’ll never leave him again, no matter how far he may go.

And as soon as you’re far away enough, you can freely shout, “What do we do now?!”

“It’s fine,” Suguru tries to assure you. “It’s fine. Take a deep breath.” How can he say that to you when there’s a rapid rise and fall in his chest, too? “Look, there—” he hesitates as he scrambles for a plan. “We won’t ever go back that way, okay? We were in another district, so they would start the search there, anyway. But why would they bother to look for us? What would they tell the authorities? They’d be admitting to crimes of their own!”

“Yes! Right! Okay!” The logic helps calm down the frantic racing of your mind and body. Because he’s right. He is. Those other teenagers would be looked at as crazy as everyone does you and Suguru—wait. Wait. “Katana Guy…he said to get away from that thing. Did he mean Hong? Could that guy see Hong?!”

“No, Squid!” Suguru shakes his head. He knows exactly where you’re going. “We are not going back there! Who cares if they can see what we do? If one of them had a katana, you think the others didn’t have weapons of their own? Whatever they wanted, it’s no good.”

“There are other people like us, though!” It’s starting to process in your mind. This makes your heart soar higher than this manta ray could possibly go. You’re still draped across Suguru’s lap. You pull at his shirt, yanking him away from his thoughts, forcing him to look down at you. “There are other people like us!”

“There…” Suguru’s eyes widen. The epiphany finally reaches him, too. “There are other people like us,” he repeats breathlessly.

“Let’s leave!” The grin on your face is infectious. You are both high off adrenaline and elation. “Suguru, I don’t care if we have to live on the streets…as soon as we graduate, we’re leaving here. We’re getting away from everyone in our shitty village. Let’s run until we find more people like us!”

Suguru holds up his pinky between your bodies. You immediately hook your own around it. “Yes,” he swears. “You and me, Squid. We’ll run and never look back.”

Little did you know, a week later, you and Suguru are given your destination to run toward.

Side by side, you and Suguru walk down the gravel road that leads to your homes. Halfway home, there’s a sleek black car that blocks the road. They’re not from this village because no one has a car as nice as that. You and Suguru plan to go around it, just assuming it’s for one of the farmers. It’s unusual but not rare. Sometimes, corporate lackeys come slinking in to try and buy up farmland.

The back doors of the car open and, with growing dread, you realize that those people are here for you and Suguru. Katana Guy steps out of the car, rubbing the back of his neck, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here. He’s not armed, thankfully. If you scream, will neighbors come running? They may ridicule you and Suguru, but this village protects their own. So, you could make a scene.

“Yeah, that’s them,” Katana Guy loudly announces while he looks over his shoulder at the other person stepping out of the car.

An unfamiliar voice calls out your name, followed by, “Geto Suguru.” There’s a big man that walks around to step up by Katana Guy’s side. This man wears thin, sporty sunglasses. His brown hair is a buzz, shaved close to his head. He’s got a mustache-goatee combo thing going, too. “Don’t be scared. We’re here to talk.”

Behind you, there’s the tale tell sound of Suguru’s rift opening. Nothing gets brought out, though, when you hold out an arm as a motion for him to stop and think. There’s an audience. This isn’t like it was the other night. The neighbors can’t see the ghost animals, but they can see the damage that’s done. They can feel the damage that’s done. Feelings for them aside, it’d bring up too many questions if a bunch of people died. That’s why Katana Guy and his gang aren’t doing anything, either.

“If you have anything to say, talk with our parents,” you state bluntly.

Sunglasses Guy approaches you and Suguru slowly. Suguru takes the arm that you still have held out and tries to tug you behind him protectively. You don’t go. Instead, you just hold his hand tightly, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. Sunglasses Guy stops when you and Suguru start backing up. On each side of the road, farmers are putting their tools down and walking to meet you.

“My name is Yaga Masamichi,” Sunglasses Guy introduces himself. “I’m a teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High School.”

Suguru scoffs. “What? Are you here to offer us a spot?”

“Yes, actually,” Yaga answers. “I will speak with your parents, but I can’t give them the whole truth. They’ve never believed you when you told them, have they?” Your hand squeezes tighter as if to say to him, see! See! Just like us! “Behind me is one of our third-years, Kusakabe Atsuya. He says that you two took care of the spirit.”

“Spirit?” Suguru and you repeat at the same time. You think you know what he means, so you ask, “The dragon?”

“Yes.” Yaga nods. “That thing you encountered, the things that you’ve seen your entire life—those are what we called cursed spirits.”

It’s weird. It doesn’t even take that long for Yaga to bust wide open the door to a whole other world. It’s not super detailed, it can’t be because you’re on a time limit with suspicious neighbors, but it’s enough to comfort you and Suguru. You’re told about the foundation of jujutsu—cursed energy that births cursed spirits and the sorcerers that wield it. That’s what you and Suguru are, he tells you. You’re jujutsu sorcerers.

“The school that I teach at…we teach those like you how to hone and strengthen their techniques. We train them to become full-fledged sorcerers that will go on to save lives that cursed spirits threaten,” Yaga explains. “You’ll meet people like you. There are two others that would be coming in with you next year if you decide to enroll.”

“Yes,” Suguru blurts.

“Suguru,” you hiss. To Yaga, you demand, “Come back and be less suspicious about it. We’ll talk more then.”

Yaga accepts this with a nod.

When Yaga and his shady car is gone, Suguru stares at you as if you’ve grown another head. A neighbor calls out your surname, then Suguru’s, but you ignore them by stomping forward down the road. You’re tired of being looked at. Suguru allows himself to be dragged by the hand, but he’s still trying to press you.

Suguru says your name. “This is our way out!”

You’re exhausted. You want to go home, but Suguru’s not going to let this go easy. When you two are far away enough, you stop, and whirl around to face him.

“Did you even listen to what he said? The ghost—these cursed spirits—” all these emotions are starting to overwhelm you. It’s got your hands shaking. “Saving people means these things are dangerous enough to kill us. That’s…that’s scary! What if we fail? How could I live with myself if someone dies because of me?” Your throat is clogging up with emotion. “I want to leave, I do, but I don’t want to fight. I just want to understand!”

Maybe Suguru thinks it’ll make you feel better, but it makes you feel dismissed when he says, “That won’t happen. I’ll always be there to protect you.”

“How does that make things better? Do you not get that the thought of that makes me even more scared?!” You press the heels of your palms against your eyes. Your bottom lip quivers. “What if you get hurt because of me? What if you die because of me, Suguru? What am I supposed to do without you?”

“Squid, if we don’t leave now then we never will. We’ll be stuck here, doing nothing with our lives.”

“Go be a hero without me, then!”

“No,” Suguru answers flatly. “We both go, or we both stay.”

It’s too much pressure. The day weighs down and so does Suguru’s clear manipulation. You explode. “You’re such a piece of shit! This is so selfish! You’re making me decide your future, so I end up being the asshole if I make you stay here when you definitely don’t want to!”

“You don’t want to, either! But you’d rather stay here and let yourself be a punching bag for everyone because you’re scared shitless of change!” When you’re angry at each other, you both get nasty. “Oh, what is poor Squid gonna do if there’s even one little change to her day-to-day? How would she ever survive if something different happened for a change?!”

“Oh, what is poor Suguru gonna do if he doesn’t have someone to take care of out of pity?!”

“Pity?!”

“You heard me!” As you’re storming away, you throw over your shoulder, “Now, leave me the hell alone!”

Normally, crying the way you did when you got home to your room would exhaust you enough to let you sleep the whole night through. Your mind and body don’t want to do that tonight, though. You’re hyperaware of everything—the weight and scratch of clothes against your skin, the constant shudder of your thin window as the harsh winter winds bashes against it, the rattle of the heater in the corner of the room. You have to have a tough debate with yourself over whether to strip all the way down to your panties or to bear the burden of this weight against your skin. It boils down to being kept awake by cold or by fucking clothes because that’s the perk of having a brain like yours.

Can the day get worse? There’s only two minutes to midnight, but you’ve never had luck on your side.

For five minutes, you watch the bright, red numbers of your alarm clock intently. Is this like…what’s that American saying? If you watch the minutes pass by, is it like counting sheep? Will that keep your mind off the guilt that sits heavy in your chest like a stone?

That Yaga guy will be back. What if Suguru sees him before you? What will Suguru say? Will he finally give up on you or will he give up on the chance to break free from his parents and this awful village? You hate both options. It doesn’t matter which one you think about, they both replace that guilt inside your chest with panic.

At this point, you have to decide which option will be the least painful.

And isn’t that a shitty summarization of your life?

What’s worse? Gagging as you try to force down food that you hate the texture of or face your parents’ wrath? Gritting your teeth through days where even an overcast is enough to make your eyes burn or deal with the punishment for skipping school to curl up somewhere dark? Living with a low burn of panic as you let people surround and touch you as you try to pretend to be normal enough for a relationship or become a total outcast with nothing and no one to rely on?

Can you spend decades more in this village with this metaphorical mask that’s been nailed onto your face by your parents because they don’t want you to be seen by the world for who you truly are?

The thing that Suguru doesn’t understand is that if he goes to this high school, the only thing that’s separated him from everyone else will be gone. He will be surrounded by people who can see cursed spirits. He’ll no longer be seen as other. He would shine so bright at this new school.

It can never be like that with you.

Because, at the end of the day, people who are not born like you are all the same. Jujutsu sorcerers will have their own world with their own unspoken rules and their own incomprehensible language that you will only be able to decode when it’s too late and you’ve been stamped as wrong.

You don’t want to be left behind.

But you also don’t want to force Suguru to stay behind with you.

Who doesn’t want to be a hero? Not everyone can be, though. You weren’t built to be a fighter. It terrifies you, the thought of becoming one. You may be even more terrified to face the people than the cursed spirits. How exhausting will this be? You’ll not only be navigating the jujutsu world, but also the unspoken, too. You’ll have to learn new rules, learn to be around new people, and mold yourself a new mask.

You don’t want to let down Suguru.

Ugh.

You may as well go talk to him since he won’t come to you. He always waits on you to make the first move when you tell him that you need to be alone. So, you roll away from your futon, climb to your feet, throw on a few more layers, and climb out of your window into the freezing night.

The Geto house is two down from yours, but in the countryside, that’s a hike. It’s the smallest in the village. Suguru has said he’s lucky that he has his own room, but it’s close to his parents’. You don’t tap on his window like he does yours. Instead, he always leaves the window unlocked so that you can crawl through, as you do now. You don’t need to tiptoe over to shake him awake because, same as you, he never went to sleep.

Suguru meets you outside and brings a blanket with him that he throws over your shoulders and his. The two of you huddle under it, pressed right up against each other, soaking up the warmth from each other. You lean your head against his bicep, break the silence with a sigh and apology. “I’m sorry for being a bitch.”

“Don’t be mean to yourself,” he scolds quietly. “I was being impulsive.” He sighs. “You’re right to be scared. I want away from here so bad that I didn’t stop to think about the danger that I’d be walking us both into.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all and…I’m not sure that it’s dying that I’m really scared of.” You brought a pen with you and click the end. It keeps your hand busy and Suguru doesn’t mind the noise. “I’ve been all over the place, I know. I was excited at the idea of meeting people like us, of getting out of here, and I am! I—” you chew on your bottom lip. “I don’t want you to leave me behind when we get there.”

“Why do you think I would ever leave you behind?” Suguru sounds genuinely hurt which makes you feel guiltier. “Have I been such a bad friend that you think I only pity you?”

“No!” You jerk your head up, looking at him with wide, panicked eyes. “You’re my best friend! The best friend!”

Suguru doesn’t meet your gaze. “You’re my best friend, too, Squid. I don’t pity you. I haven’t stuck by your side because you’re my only option. I’m not going to throw you away at the first sign of attention from people who understand us. You were the first person to ever see me. You were the first person to take care of me. Now, we take care of each other.” He tilts his head down, bumping it against yours. “It’s you and me, Squid. It always has been. It always will be.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t think you had the energy or tears left in you to cry, but maybe you’ve still got some left. You grab his hand like a clingy girlfriend. Your voice shakes as you ask, “Promise?”

“I promise,” Suguru swears.

The next day, after school, you’re called into a private meeting with a counselor, your parents, and Yaga.

And when Yaga offers a full scholarship to Tokyo Jujutsu High School, you accept.

[anameistoohard]

Oh boy, lets open that can of worms

There's a LOT of discourse with endo vs anti-endo stuff (endogenic system=plural system not formed by trauma if you don't know 🙂). Like, death threats coming from both sides kinda thing. We try to stay out of it. But it's easy to accidentally stumble into it if you're not familiar with some of the nuance. So we want to share some observations as like, a crash course. (And apparently we had a lot to say lol.)

This post isn't really to debate how plurality forms. Just to give some context as to why so much hate is flying between these two groups.

Basically, you have 2 extremes. (And everyone in between obviously)

On one side you have people making up extra rules on top of the diagnostic criteria to exclude and gatekeep anyone who doesn't meet "their level" of disordered. (I've literally heard people say "you can't be a system, you're not as traumatized as me"). A lot of accusations of faking come from this bunch. Too much internal communication? Faker. Too many non-human alters? Faker. Too many or not enough alters? Faker. You can't win with them even if you have a diagnosis.

We've noticed a lot of parallels between this group and transmeds. You need to have x level of dysphoria to ride this ride. You can't be trans if you don't want xyz treatment. You need to reach my arbitrary bar of "trans enough". Enbys and everyone else are fakers. That kind of bs.

But on this side you also have a lot of people who just want to be taken seriously. They want to be validated by their diagnosis and feel hurt when people say or do things that they think will compromise that validity. They, at least initially, come from a place of sincerity not malice. But they fall into the trap of trying to be "one of the good ones".

On the other extreme you have the wild west. Things people treat as fact aren't codified with the same scrutiny as the DSM-5 or ICD-11. This breeds its own confusion and misinformation. We've seen people conflate plurality with things like maladaptive day dreaming, lucid dreaming, adhd, and (applying it to other people with ferocity to the point of harassment) metaphors of all things.

They have a spaghetti at the wall approach that reminds me of a less extreme MOGII (an attempt to define just about every possible form of gender and sexuality). It's a messy patchwork of ideas. We've seen 8 different labels that all mean the same thing and are being used by exactly no one. Redundancy and hyperspcificity, that's the name of the game. But frankly we like this if for no other reason than we want to see what sticks, what becomes mainstream.

We've seen people from this group attack people as badly as the anti-endo group. Openly mocking people for having trauma or saying vile shit like "traumagenics kys". They feel threatened by the exclusionary nature of diagnoses. But instead of taking their frustration out on the systems of power they take them out on normal people. After all if you're diagnosed, you "represent the system"... I guess. Equally bull shit.

But this is also where the edge cases go, the exclusions, those that don't fit into a neat little box. The DSM excludes people whose plurality is accepted as part of their culture or religion. These people don't suddenly stop being systems just because they're accepted, but they're distinctly not disordered. They don't meet the clinical definition of DID or OSDD. Same goes for someone whose symptoms are mild enough to not cause "clinically significant distress". You also have people who don't want to be pathologized or have been failed by the medical system.

So lastly, a warning: When dealing with plural stuff, it's very easy to go stumbling into a mine field.

Tldr: I would always rather land on the side of letting too many people in than exclude people who needed the support. However, no matter your in-group, some people take things too far. Like, ffs don't attack people. 

-Taylor & Mark

[melrosing]

If you don’t mind me asking what were the symptoms of your dad’s tumor? I hope you and he are doing okay, thinking of you. X

Thank you anon, he’s doing really well out of surgery (the site of incision on his head is a faint line just two weeks on) and has recovered so much of himself ❤️ I am still feeling shit lol but better than before 👍🏻

I don’t mind you asking about the symptoms and to be honest they were very difficult to call so maybe it’s useful info bc all our theories were wrong.

“Dizzy spells” - The earliest sign was August last year when he suddenly felt extremely nauseous, dizzy, and though he could talk and walk it made him feel worse to do so. He could name the prime minister (and if u recall, in UK politics that was a tricky thing to do in summer 2022) and lift his arms, so we ruled out things like strokes, and figured it was some kind of vertigo?? Then the episode concluded and he went back to normal. That one lasted maybe 2 hours, but subsequently it was a steadily increasing number of similar episodes that lasted much shorter periods, i.e. seconds. We suggested he get it checked out but didn’t worry too much bc lots of people get “vertigo”. Anyway turns out these episodes were minor seizures, just with none of the trademarks that we recognised

Posture & Gait: suddenly his posture was awful?? Starting 4 months ago maybe. He was hunched over like a man in his eighties, and even when we tried to get him to stand up straight he physically couldn’t do it. He started dragging his feet a bit and navigating whilst walking suddenly became a conscious effort for him 2-3 months ahead of diagnosis. A week before diagnosis he fell and couldn’t arrange his limbs to get up again

Stamina & Fatigue: his stamina got steadily worse. I went to visit my parents a couple of times this year and we went for walks in the countryside, and vaguely registered that dad was lagging behind a bit. That got more and more noticeable until around July where he would be trudging by the end of a walk, and then a week before we got the diagnosis he could hardly manage 200 steps without intense fatigue. Also for months he was yawning and napping within a few hours of waking up and then all through the day. All the housework he did was done extremely poorly and he often left things in a mess bc he couldn’t find the energy to complete tasks

Voice: dad usually has a very powerful voice, but it was gradually thinning for months till he could barely raise it. He also was less open to conversation, because talking was suddenly an effort

Memory: this was really hard to spot for a long time, but a month or so ago he would occasionally get the day of the week wrong, and start prepping food he’d planned for Sunday on a Saturday. He kept buying milk even though they already had bottles. He wasn’t able to follow the precise nuances of a TV show (though he’d normally have no trouble with this). But long-term memory was absolutely fine, working memory was the problem and then not always

Mood: he wasn’t low exactly, but just kind of absent - and he’s usually very emotive. He didn’t engage with things he enjoys like usual. His friends couldn’t get him to chat for more than five mins on the phone, nothing really made him laugh anymore. When he really started deteriorating we were like ‘can you not understand how worried we are’ and he was just like :\ very dismissive like

Right-sided weakness: a week or so after my parents came back to stay w me I suddenly noticed my dad smiling w one side of his mouth which is not normal for him at all. He retained full control over his face but at that point we clocked there was a distinct right-side weakness and took him to A&E

I’m describing things in this longwinded way because I think it was hard for us to name what we were seeing for a long time, especially when the changes happened so gradually. At some point or another whilst desperately googling his symptoms I did see ‘brain tumour’ pop up but I dismissed it bc:

He had no headaches or indeed any pain at all. He had nausea occasionally but apart from the first episode it was never protracted

His vision was fine

The seizures didn’t look like what I thought seizures were (no twitching or blackouts etc)

The memory issues were not obvious, he’d follow a recipe fine and not miss any steps etc

He wasn’t having any real speech/language difficulties

Mood/personality changes weren’t obvious, he was just more subdued

I think if there had been any fucking results on google telling me what these ‘dizzy spells’ actually were we might have got somewhere a little sooner (for whatever that would’ve been worth), and if I had known how variable the symptoms of a brain tumour can be depending on where the thing is…. etc etc. a lot of things feel painfully obvious in hindsight but they weren’t at the time: GPs and paramedics both were fixated on neuromuscular issues. But yeah tumours present in complex ways, I think (hope) that the reason we found dad’s so hard to define is because it’s actually in a pretty good spot (as these things go) where it wasn’t really affecting his functions till it was the size of a small satsuma. anyway there you go that’s what happened

[craftytragedysalad]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you so much for the tag @eclectic-sassycoweyes, I want you to know that this is my first time, and I am very emotional about that. 🥹 Then I decided to post a piece of a very different AU that I had the idea this week and started writing, I am very excited about this!

"TK's shift was almost done when he was called into the ER to help with someone that just arrived. He rolled his eyes, Tommy could be the best and the worst boss when she wanted.

Then he was informed that a man had just been admitted with a dislocated shoulder and this is a pretty regular injury, normally just a re-set needed.

TK rolled his eyes again at the nurse's assessment in the patient forms, he only hoped that she didn't tell the patient that this would be easy, not all dislocated shoulders are a matter of pushing back into the joint simply, sometimes is more complicated than that.

TK then put his doctor's coat back, passed the nurse station, and took the patient's medical record with himself. 

Carlos T. Reyes, 28 years old. The first check confirmed a dislocated shoulder. No allergies informed. No other injuries.

When the doctor opened the curtain to the cubicle where the said main was, he saw someone who clearly was in a good amount of pain, holding the arm to the chest, but refusing to lay down in the bed. 

"Mr Reyes, looks like we are looking at a dislocated shoulder here?" TK started talking with the man, he knew that the diagnosis was this one, but he liked to talk with the patients, and try to make them more relaxed despite the pain and fear.

"Yes." The answer was short and low, and TK frowned a bit. This image does not fit with the man on the stretcher. A tall, strongly builded man. 

TK then explained that an exam would be needed now, he needed the man to remove the shirt so he could say if it was simple like the nurse made it look. Carlos nodded and started to unbutton his shirt, only to grimace in pain, the movement clearly painful. TK approached to help and the man looked a little freaked? 

Even if this is an ordinary injury that can be caused in so many ways, the man's eyes are all the time looking to the door as if fearing something - or someone. TK attended enough domestic violence victims to know that look very well.

"Hey, you know we are in a safe space right?" TK started while evaluating pressing carefully the injury and deciding if an X-ray would be needed without looking into the man's eyes, he knows how hard it is for people like him to trust anyone in this situation.

"What?" The man asked kind of scared. Now TK knows for sure, he is being abused.

"I mean that you are in a safe space if someone is hurting you and you need me to ask for the police." TK felt the man tense up under his touch, one more confirmation.

"I am the police." The man answered and TK looked up, surprised.

"Okay, but in the same way doctors can be sick and need other doctors, cops could need other cops to help them, there is no shame in it." TK moved the arm and the man hissed and the doctor decided to ask for an x-ray to confirm if nothing was broken since the joint was too much swollen and turning purple." Thank you again for tagging me, and looks like everyone that I follow and I know that write fics, are already tagged on it, so if you write and have not tagged yet, I am inviting you to participate and tag me so I can like and share your post! 🥰

[piqued-curiosity]

What would you say being GNC is? I saw your post about butch/femme and I do agree that many people treat it like some sort of gender role but for lesbians.

I've seen people talk about GNC lesbians but I haven't really seen people explain? Can you be GNC if you don't wear make-up and don't shave but do wear earrings and comfortable dresses?

Personally I only wear comfortable clothing and shoes. Whether those are hiking shoes or shoes with a small square heel, or trousers or a comfy dress. I don't wear foundation but I have tinted lipbalm and when I still used make-up I only ever used a bit of eyeshadow. I used to have very short hair but now it's long because I constantly had to go to the hairdresser, and it's less hassle to just let it grow for me.

Like, I understand wearing dresses and having long hair is considered gender conforming... but do you get what I mean? Can you only be GNC if you dress "masculine"?

I think it’s a very relative term that’s going to vary based on personal experience.

For example, a woman who grew up in a family and community that wasn’t so strict about gender roles, might not feel like she’s not conforming when she doesn’t wear makeup, doesn’t shave, and wears a suit. If she’s gone her whole life never being challenged for this, it makes sense that it would just be normal to her and she wouldn’t consider it GNC.

On the flip side, a woman who grew up in an environment that harshly enforced gender roles, might feel like she’s not conforming by doing even the smallest thing, like not wearing makeup, or wearing pants instead of a skirt, or cutting her hair. Because of her upbringing, any one action that rebels against what was enforced will feel like an act of non-conformity, and she might refer to herself as GNC because of that.

I also think it’s a hard thing to measure, because there’s so many individual things that can be considered GNC, and then mixed and matched. On the surface; not wearing makeup, not wearing “feminine” clothes, having short hair, etc. Below the surface: being assertive, being confident, not making yourself small for others, etc. So what do we do with that? Do we treat it like a DSM diagnosis and say “you need to be doing at least [X number] of these before calling yourself GNC”? Do we not do that, and call even the most gender-conforming woman GNC because she wore pants?

And yes, I absolutely get what you mean. Personally, I’m kind of like you where I conform in some areas, but don’t conform in others. I’m comfortable in tights and a t-shirt, which I consider very neutral, I can’t really call it “feminine” or GNC because it’s just what I’ve always been comfortable in, with no gender roles attached. I don’t shave, I don’t wear makeup. Everyone can agree those aspects of me are GNC (especially my mother who is not happy about it lol). I’m loud, confident, and I at least try to be assertive. That’s considered by most to be GNC. I’m working on other similar areas, like the habit of saying “sorry” too much or being the one to move out of the way for another. But I keep my hair very long (around butt length). So does that cancel everything out? Or is it just one area I’m conforming in?

So I guess I don’t really have an answer to what “GNC” is…because I don’t really think there’s one single way to be GNC. I think the line is drawn at the impact the non-conformity has. So to use the example of the hyper-feminine woman in pants again…she’s not GNC, because those pants have such a little impact when they’re being overshadowed by her conformity in all other areas. But an unshaven, barefaced woman in a dress and sneakers, I’d consider that GNC because the rejection of shaving, makeup, and impractical footwear overshadows the dress. And then bonus points for short hair, “masculine” personality traits, etc.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

I've argued this before but I think the "acceptance" movement for mental illnesses is broadly a sham for this exact kind of behavior.

I understand not treating someone as lesser that because they have certain conditions. However, I do think holding people accountable for their actions is needed. Certainly I will hear, "WELL SUCH AND SUCH HAS X AND CAN"T CONTROL THEMSELVES HOW DARE YOU DEMAND THAT THEY~"

And you can stop right f*cking there. If they can't handle themselves then clearly they need supervision. I'm sick of this "Normalize everything" bullsh*t. No. Not everything needs to be normalized. Not everything needs to be tolerated. Not everything needs to BE for everyone.

If you can't be responsible for your own actions then check yourself into a mental health facility. Because it's clear you can't operate in broader society. And we should not have to change how society works just to cater to a person that uses their illness (which is often self diagnosed by people that are FAR from professionals), as a means to be as much of a dick as they want. It's either a crutch or something else entirely. Which leads me to D.I.D. Which MANY doctors can't even verify exist. Yet as soon as this "normalization" movement took off all of a sudden every 13 - 23 year old edgy girl seemed to have it.

That's not a coincidence. It's math. It's logic. It's the next step in the equation. The point should be to better yourself DESPITE your illnesses. Not embrace them and double down on the negatives of them.

Also for the LOVE OF GOD, stop self ID-ing. You are not a professional, and no amount of TikToks, or Youtube videos are a replacement for in person diagnosis'. And often just one won't cut it. Often you need several. Because doctors are flawed too. Some are crappy, some are jaded and don't pay enough attention, some are narrative bound to their ideology, and some are way to quick to just put people on meds for no reason. So given THAT is a thing, even despite all of THEIR trainings, maybe you need to realize that self ID-ing is not a good idea.

Mind you. This isn't advocating for the "expert class". They still need to be taken with a grain of salt for the above reasons I stated. Which again is always why several different opinions is a good thing.

Food for thought.

Sick list of symptoms bro. Now try humanizing your behavior instead of pathologizing it.

[carcinocommander]

Original anon here, I do think you could've responded less snippy than that. A simple "I understand your concern but x" would've sufficed. however your response has me worried still, I think you should consult other people outside your circles cause this feels a bit chronically online? Idk i'm kind of getting echo chamber vibes and it's normal to listen to people who may challenge you to get multiple perspectives. I genuinely only want the best for you, please don't respond to people who are trying to help with hostility. I think you need help, and if you intend to get help in the future, then good! But not everyone is malicious, and I hope you can see that I have no malicious intent here. I haven't seen if you've debated being a system since you've described yourself as a singlet, and if you have, then power to you. Just please understand that this is something serious that shouldn't be taken lightly.

Anon, we know you have no malicious intent, but to us your words are laced with ignorance.

We shouldn't have to tell you how many hours Ace has spent researching OSDDID and talking to other systems for you to not be worried. We understand that you care, but it is weird to act like you know everything about someone's mental health journey, is it not?

Ace has been consulting outside perspectives. He's an adult and knows how to go about things responsibly. It's his number 1 fear to claim that he has a disorder and then be wrong, but that would happen if we were self diagnosing or getting a professional diagnosis anyway, since doctors and psychologists make mistakes too.

You are repeating facts to us that Ace already knows. We are not ignorant on how serious mental health could be, and it feels patronizing for you to act like Ace is clueless and doesn't know basic facts about this subject.

We thank you for your concern, but we politely ask you to not talk to us about this again. If we are wrong, then we are wrong. That's all there is to it. Sometimes, you just have to watch people learn things the hard way.

-Kankri

[adaywithandrew]

i totally get that the narcissism trend on social media is very bad (just like I felt about the bipolar one)…for the most part, Instagram reels are not the place to learn about medical diagnosis.

and I don’t think if you have conflict with a person you should sit there and decide how you are going to diagnose them. that’s enraging to me…

with that said, the counter reaction of “no one is really a narcissist and no one is really x y z” , “these are rare things”…sorry but I’m not with you either 😅. late capitalism is getting INTO our personalities. Narcissistic personality disorder goes hand and hand with the conditions this world is putting us under, and there is literally a formula that demonstrates the kind of parenting that creates that type of personality- and parenting styles are heavily shaped by the political/economic/social conditions those parents are in. It’s natural for mental illnesses to develop when we experience trauma, generational trauma, collective trauma. These disorders, even though they don’t always feel that way, are an obvious result of the realities unfolding around us- why wouldn’t they become more common. Not everything that’s natural is ‘good for us.’ Also when we say it’s “actually so rare” for people to have these disorders it’s putting that diagnosis on a supervillain status pedestal. It’s not that rare LOL. Like…every person close to me or in the vicinity of me I know who has bipolar disorder 1 or 2 has an almost uncannily similar set of childhood experiences. I’m always gonna be in the camp of yeah we have these genes in us but the environment can bring them out or suppress them…and since our environment is getting worse, we WILL see trends in peoples personalities reacting to that. It was easy for people to accept this with anxiety disorder because it has the least amount of stigma…but it’s happening with the other things too. Like cyclothymia for example is definitely picking up but the reels haven’t heard of that yet…soon it’s gonna come out on a trend, then people are going to say it’s not common…it IS common. when people say it’s “NOT common for people to have X disorder” it makes me so mad bc it’s usually followed by “oh yeah If you just had more empathy and understanding you would see that actually their behavior was normal and makes sense for their story”. Like afsgdhfj BITCH. You think people with diagnosed mental illnesses are not normal? That their behavior *doesn’t* make sense for their story, it’s just purely from some sort of chemical imbalance or internal evil force??? It’s okay that they have that diagnosis. Also mental illness is so stigmatized - we aren’t actually in a world of over diagnosing- many many people believe it’s not real and it’s something else - personal failing being #1. People are being overly MEDICATED bc pharmaceuticals make money. But that’s not the same as being diagnosed or even just naming it. With all the mental illness in my family, the majority of them think it’s laziness, someone being eccentric, etc etc. and I’m in a family that claims to “accept that mental health is a real factor”. It’s obviously stupid to sit on social media and learn about these things and assign them to people you don’t like…but it’s also dangerous to pretend that there aren’t consequences from our reality on the personalities around us. like it makes sense a person would have X disorder actually. Don’t make me mad 🤬 also this myth of normal book is helping me a lot. Maté talking about how trauma is passed down just further affirms how I feel about all of this

[treba-neco-napise]

#spilled ink#woke up at 530 to write this lmafo#me in a cold sweat:#how do i be normal#edit in the tags:#hey so i've seen y'all talk about like ... wondering if ur ''allowed'' to relate#like if this is about X specific diagnosis#and when i first posted it i really almost labelled it ''please don't assume this is about a specific condition''#because as an artist i am often walking this line of discussing a symptom or discussing my conditions etc#and sometimes yes ! i do want to talk about an experience that is specific to who i am and my condition#but sometimes the effort of the post is about the EXPERIENCE rather than the diagnosis#because yes i am not neurotypical and as a result that influences my work but it is ALSO true that there are many reasons#why someone might experience this particular vague horrible feeling that you are... almost being CHASED by what you ''really'' are.#that you're outrunning your symptoms... that you're not really normal you're just sort of a mockery of a person#.... that's a really isolating and horrible way to feel no matter why you are feeling it. and the nature of this PARTICULAR post is that#it is inherently talking ABOUT that sense of isolation & of feeling not-deserving & of minimizing your own experiences to make urself#palatable for society in a way that others find easy-to-deal-with....#this post is about a certain experience such that my impression is there's a higher likelihood that those who relate#would have more difficulty thinking they ''deserve'' to relate - that it doesn't REALLY belong to them#bc often we are the kind of people who are SO used to being alienated and set aside and ''different'' that we AUTOMATICALLY assume#that things are not ''for'' us... they never have been why would it start now#we are the kinds of people to be ... ''too normal for X diagnosis but too symptomatic to be normal''#[or as this post points out... so good at ''coping''/masking/hiding it that we essentially conform to whatever shape we're poured into]#but i have witnessed others already say in the tags ''thought this was about me but it's about X so it can't be''#and im like ... of course it was about you.#art is not a resource that is diminished by greater appreciation .#you reflect in whatever mirror fits your frame. not just the ones in your bedroom. not just the ones i specifically give you.#there will be - and often are - times that i will talk about my specific conditions... but if you're reading this#regardless of why you're here... we are here together. holding hands through space and time. and i love you for carrying it#and i know you're exhausted. i am too. but i understand. and i see you.

op, thank you. i really needed this.

you wanted to be a good friend, because you loved your friends, but the truth was that everyone else somehow had a pamphlet on being normal that you never received. most of the time you learn by trial-and-error. you are terrified of the next big mistake you make, because it seems like the rules are completely arbitrary.

you've learned to keep the prickly parts of your personality in a stormcloud under your bed - as if they're a second version of you; one that will make your friends hate you. it feels feral, burning, ugly.

instead, you have assembled habits based on the statistical likelihood of pleasing others. you're a good listener, which is to say - if you do speak up, you might end up saying the wrong thing and scaring off someone, but people tend to like someone-who-listens. or you've got no true desires or goals, because people like it when you're passive, mutable. you're "not easy to fluster" which is to say - your emotions are fundamentally uninteresting to others around you; so you've learned to control them to a degree that you can no longer really feel them happening.

you have long suspected something is wrong with you, but most of the time, googling doesn't help. you are so-used to helping-yourself, alone and with no handbook. the reek of your real self feels more like a horrible joke - you wake up, and, despite all your preparations, suddenly the whole house is full of smoke. the real you is someone waiting to ruin your other-life, the one where you're normal and happy. the real-self is unpredictable, angry.

your real self snarls when people infantilize the whole situation. because if you were really suffering, everyone seems to think you'd be completely unable to cope. but you already learned the rules, so you do know how to cope, and you have fucking been coping. it's not black-and-white. it's not that you are healed during the other times - it's just that you're able to fucking try. and honestly, whenever you show symptoms, it's a really fucking bad sign.

because the symptoms you have are ugly and unmanageable for others. your symptoms aren't waifish white girl things. they're annoying and complicated. they will be the subject of so many pretentious instagram reels. if they cared about you, they'd just show up on time. you care, a lot, so deeply it burns you. you like to picture a world where the comments read if they loved you, they'd never need glasses to see. but since that's a rule you've seen repeated - "one must never be late or you are a bad friend" - you constantly worry about being late and leave agonizingly early. there are no words for how you feel when you're still late; no matter how hard you were trying.

so you have to make up for it. you have to make up for that little horrible real you that you keep locked in a cabinet. you are bad at answering emails so every project you make has to be perfect. you are weird and sensitive so you have to learn to be funny and interesting. you are an inconvenience to others, so you become as smooth as possible, buffing out all the rough parts.

all this. all this. so people can pass their hands over you and just tell you just the once -how good you are. you're a good friend. you're loveable.

[maaarine]

How mental health became a social media minefield (Rebecca Jennings, Vox, Sep 30 2021)

“But in the past decade, as social media has forced billions of us to virtually bump into people we never would have otherwise, many of us have also found the need to categorize people into recognizable boxes.

One way to do so is by seizing on common human behaviors to name — gaslighting, emotional labor, trauma, parasocial relationships, “empath” as a noun — then disseminating them until they cease to mean much at all.

We end up treating mental illness like a subculture, complete with its own vocabulary that only those in the know can use and weaponize.

It often looks like this: On August 26, a woman posted a TikTok suggesting that “excessive reading” in childhood was considered a “dissociative behavior.” (…)

At the risk of, well, over-pathologizing, it basically seems like there are two types of people: 

those who tend to appreciate and identify with this kind of internet diagnosis — “[X] behavior is actually a trauma response!” does legitimately make sense for some people and helps them live a happier life —

and those who find it not just annoying but potentially harmful, stigmatizing, and unscientific. (…)

It’s difficult to talk about this sort of discursive overreach without sounding like a far-right reactionary; indeed, criticisms of over-pathologization have come from conservatives who argue that, to generalize, it’s all just a bunch of self-obsessed liberal snowflake eggheads. 

“One of the biggest problems is that the far right has correctly identified that this is happening — that the discourse and identity policing has gotten out of control,” Moskowitz tells me,

to the point where it becomes hard for others to push back against it without sounding as though you’re siding with an ideology they don’t adhere to.

“There needs to be a strong, leftist stance of ‘we’re not going to do this identity-pathology policing thing anymore, but that doesn’t make us reactionaries.’”

Whether doctors over-pathologize certain normal human behaviors has been a subject of great interest in the medical field;

when the DSM-V, the standard classification of mental disorders, was published in 2013, many psychiatrists argued that it medicalized typical behavioral patterns and moods, possibly as a result of the pharmaceutical industry’s influence.

(One common example here is the potential to misclassify grief over the loss of a loved one as major depressive disorder.)

Billieux has studied gambling and gaming addictions extensively, and warns against the instinct to diagnose every symptom.

“The idea of being able to categorize mental illness like you’re categorizing insects, for example, is something that is very complicated and probably is not valid in the context of psychiatric disorders and psychological suffering,” he explains.

“These labels are very reductive in terms of defining the psychology of someone, and they tend to ignore individual differences.” (…)

It can feel special, understandably, to adopt a label around which to frame one’s identity, if not outright cool. And the internet rewards it:

“Whereas a therapist might question the usefulness of identifying oneself as permanently aligned with whatever struggle one is experiencing, engagement-driven platforms help frame conditions as points of identity, badges of honor,” explains Isabel Munson in a piece on Real Life.

People in our own lives may reward it, too: As writer and TikToker Rayne Fisher-Quann pointed out, friends and family tend to be much more forgiving and understanding when you can excuse behavior using a label, as opposed to trying to articulate the complexities of the human mind at any particular moment.

Treating mental illness like subculture, though, can have unintended consequences.

Just a few days ago, I was served a TikTok ad for a direct-to-consumer startup centered on delivering cutely branded ADHD medicine to your door.

Was this an ad targeted to me based on what TikTok assumes? Or was this sent out to the general public, implying that there are enough people on TikTok who have or think they have ADHD to make the ad a worthwhile investment?

In a story on internet pathologization for i-D, James Greig writes that easily categorizable people are also easy to market to.

“While there is genuine support out there and a lot of good intentions, it’s worth bearing in mind that some of the people involved in pushing these diagnoses have a vested interest in doing so,” he writes.

(Consider the zillions of products that claim to quell anxiety, a market that’s exploded over the past decade.)

Perhaps the solution to this sort of categorization and grouping is to redefine the terms.

“To me, we should start seeing identities more as things you do rather than descriptors of who you are,” says Moskowitz.”

[thebibliosphere]

Feel very free to ignore this but yea . I'm starting to think I may have been underestimating how generally ill I am and that I may have something medically significant going on and it would be an understatement to say that its freaking me out a little bit. I grew up with my mom being chronically ill so I got it drilled into me that I basically had to grin and bear shit bc at least it wasnt as bad as hers. Any tips on dealing with this mindfuck lmao

Solidarity, friend. I grew up with a visibly disabled sibling, and it's still a mental slog sometimes to get past the whole "but at least you're not as bad as X" I get from some people just because I'm not as visibly affected.

It took me years to stop internalizing that too. I still struggle with it, sometimes.

Therapy helps a lot. I go to grief counseling. It helps with both acceptance and also managing rapid cycling emotions. This is often something we experience when we first realize Something Is Wrong and we could have been having help this whole time and entirely normal. I also find mindfulness (yes, really) and radical acceptance to be helpful.

Going to put this under a cut because it's long :)

Some people mistake radical acceptance to mean "guess I'll just give up then" when what it actually means is to stop fighting things you cannot change, accept them as reality and focus your energy elsewhere.

For me, that meant giving up on the idea that I'd ever be a healthy, able-bodied person. For the longest time, I was sure if I got the right diagnosis and treatment, I'd eventually be healthy and my suffering would stop. It was my motivation to keep pushing through the medical abuse and gaslighting and, honestly, all that kept me alive sometimes. I needed to name the beast so I could kill it and claim my life back. And then I got diagnosed with two genetic disorders that can't be cured, lol.

Not gonna lie, struggled for a bit with that: both with the idea that I'd been allowed to suffer for decades through medical negligence, and also that now, even knowing the name of what was wrong, I was stuck with it forever. It could be managed, but it couldn't be cured. And that's where radical acceptance can help. Which for me looks like:

"I have (at least) two genetic disorders that cause lifelong problems that cannot be cured. There is literally nothing I can do to change this. This is a fact I cannot fight. But, with treatment and self-care, they can be managed and my quality of life can be improved, which is incredibly important! So that is where I will focus my energy. On improving my quality of life for the person I am, not the person I could have been."

It sounds simple, but internalizing it is another matter.

As for mindfulness, whenever I catch myself in a negative thought spiral of "I should do more because I am not X enough", I force myself to pause and ask: If this were happening to a friend, would I urge them to rest, or would I tell them to keep going even though it's harming them? No? Okay, so why am I not offering myself the same care and compassion?

This can apply to many aspects of life, but mostly I use it to herd myself into being kinder to myself because, goodness knows, someone needs to be kind to this body and it might as well be me.

This is like... not even remotely enough to help with everything you will be experiencing. But I hope it's a helpful start in pointing you in the right direction. Good luck and take care!

[standfortheangels]

Things often do feel more real once you start changing things in your life to accommodate for them, yeah. And of course reading it all grouped into one document means you have to deal with it all at once, which if you think about it, you usually don't. I found the same thing when applying for disability benefits.

Telling someone you have X symptom and going over what that means can sometimes feel iffy, but it's doable. Similarly, admitting one thing you can't do- even to yourself- can suck if it's something that's easy for most people, but if it's just that one, it's easier. Like, you don't have to think about all the problems you face at once in a normal day.

When you're just getting through each problem as it comes up, you only face one thing at a time. We actually learn to do this to cope better with challenges as people in general. For example, when I'm trying to decide how to deal with my greasy hair because a shower is too much for me that day, I'm not also thinking about how hard it is to lift a full kettle, or how far I can walk before I have to stop, or why I can't leave the house on my own. I'm only thinking about shower-related problems. And- only now. That's another common coping method in people. I'm not thinking about the pain and fatigue I felt years ago, or how long it's lasted, and I'm not predicting how many years it'll go on for in the future, because that's a LOT to deal with. I'm thinking how tired I am today, and what impact this specific shower will have on me for the next 2-3 days maybe.

But applying for something like this takes that away. It forces you to acknowledge it from when it started to now, because you have to explain the issues and provide evidence of your diagnosis and so on, state that it's affected you since then and explain how, and you're having to get accommodations and/or support because these problems aren't going to go away (either for a long time, or maybe ever), which you also may need to explain in some applications processes. So you can't just think about today or this week, you're looking at the whole timeline there.

And even if you stay in the present as much as possible, having to talk about AAALL the things you can't do, all the things that suck, all the challenges you face daily, all at once, (AND without being able to minimise issues or use any kind of humour to soften it, btw) that's extremely hard! And again, something you don't usually Have to do in life. If you can take one challenge at a time, or focus on just one symptom that's making life hard in that moment, it really can help. But putting together or reading a form or report, you're thinking about everything all at once, and telling it all to the same people no less.. that's going to bother even the toughest of us, and it's easy to feel overwhelmed- especially if this isn't something you're used to doing.

So rest assured, you are not alone in finding this moment especially hard. It isn't fun, but it is a natural human response to having to face the full scale of a problem you'd usually face bit by bit, in one streamlined sitting.

It's like... Cake. Eating a bite of cake (if you don't have medical issues specific to eating at least) is usually easy enough. Eating a whole slice in one go, not so easy, but there are many people who could fit it all in their mouth. So, awkward and difficult, but doable for some. Eating The Entire Cake Whole in one go? Unless you have the jaws of a snake and the esophagus of a shark, mayyybe don't try it, it will not be a fun time. x')

Anyone else get really panicky when the reality of being disabled hits them? Like, I'm currently going through a bunch of assessment procedures so I can get support at university, and just reading through all the forms filled out by my assessors fills me with anxiety for some reason. Like "she has xyz condition, which causes abcde symptoms" "she needs this and this and this and this and struggles to function and has difficulty with mobility and and and"

Like.... I know it's all true, that's all stuff I have told them lol. Just seeing it all laid out in front of me so matter-of-fact somehow,,, makes it more real? Or something??

[my-darling-boy]

Genuinely asking, isn't self-diagnose with a condition kind of dangerous? Because legitimizing self-diagnosing opens a door to many malicious people who would want to exploit the fact they can self-diagnose? And in turn, make the space of autistic people worse?

Was going to skip this, but I’m writing a LONG response because I’m VERY exhausted with the amount of misinformation I see on this “self dx is dangerous” take, so buckle up and allow me to info dump.

Recently, authentic_autism_advocacy, an Instagram account run by a supposed medically diagnosed autistic woman was discovered to be a non-autistic woman, Connie Manning, posing as a medically diagnosed autistic person to spread hate and anti-self diagnosing speech. In reality, she is a neurotypical mother who regularly uses her autistic son for clout; she also turned out to have a hand behind CalmWear, a brand of sensory compression products designed for disabled people. Not only had she been spewing hatred towards other autistic people, she had been accusing well known AFAB autistic tiktokers like beckspectrum of faking being autistic and threatening self diagnosed autistics and saying they are a danger to the community, and engaging in other incredibly discriminating behaviour. Yes, she herself was a neurotypical person posing as a medically diagnosed autistic to perpetuate hateful rhetoric about self diagnosed people and used her voice to speak OVER autistic folk for financial gain and exploitation of autistic people, including her own son. If you want to read this roller coaster of a story, an autistic person wrote an entire article on it with tons of screenshots and sources.

So let me make one thing clear to you.

The purpose of actually, genuinely self diagnosing is not done to attract attention or to parade around and exploit other autistic people. Self diagnosed autistic individuals have recognised due to difficult life circumstances, financial hardship, bigotry and stigma within the medical/legal world, being a minor, lack of insurance, lack of proper access to safe care facilities, being denied assessment due to incompetent or biased practitioners, and/or any other obstacle that they may temporarily or permanently be barred from diagnosis. Self diagnosis does NOT instantly mean a person is posing for clout, nor does it indicate a person is trying to wring money from assistance services or exploit other autistics. And nts who use self diagnose with intentions of harming the community? That’s NOT self diagnosis, that’s abuse of something meant to aid people blocked from medical care or financial means to that care. All we can do for autistic people, no matter who we perceive them to be, is treat them the same way we would any other autistic person. Because the moment you start deciding by your own book who deserves respect and who doesn’t, you’ll be on a slippery slope to locking out thousands of autistic people from the community. If it’s discovered a person like Connie is literally abusing the system of self dx to intentionally mislead the community, by all means, we must hold them accountable. But you cannot simply go about granting and revoking access from people just because someone lacks a diagnosis or doesn’t fit your idea of what being autistic looks like, especially if it’s based on stereotypes.

Moral of the story? Isn’t it ironic how anti-self dx people will 100% believe a user who claims to be medically diagnosed but shows no “written proof” of it, yet always demand written proof from a self dx person? It’s almost like even anti-self dx people can’t tell the difference between someone who is medically diagnosed autistic and someone who isn’t. Well, that’s because they can’t. While there might be common traits, autism has no set model, it is a spectrum, no autistic person is alike; Policing self diagnosed people about their self diagnosis isn’t a form of protecting the community. It’s a form of gatekeeping. If you find yourself granting instant acceptance, without asking for proof, to a person insisting they are medically diagnosed like this neurotyical mother, but then prohibit self dx people from entry entirely on the grounds of not showing proof of medical assessment, you are upholding a double standard. This is why policing autistic people’s diagnosis, self or not, is inherently useless.

So here’s the thing... instead of asking people to stop self diagnosing, what you should instead be asking yourself is, “Why do people self diagnose? What kind of medical system could possibly be in place where people feel they need to resort to self diagnosis rather than get an actual diagnosis?”

Well, it’s mainly common knowledge among most of the autistic community that diagnosis is NOT easy to come by.

One of the main reasons why people cannot get a diagnosis is due to financial/insurance reasons. It’s reasonable to estimate that by the end of 2020 almost 30 million Americans alone were without health insurance. I’ve heard costs out of pocket for an autism diagnosis are between $500-$6000. If a person or a family cannot afford health insurance—which by the way on average is around $5,400 a year for a single person and $13,800 for a family here—where are they supposed to pull out $6,000 to get screened?

You might be asking, “Well aren’t insurances supposed to cover disability?” Sure, there are options for disability care through health insurance—not even going to get into that—but like a lot of things in the US, this is a severely flawed system. A lot of private health insurance will stop or limit coverage for an autism diagnosis or assistance services once a person reaches 18 to 21 years old. In most states, coverage has a higher chance of being denied to autistic adults coming with the added age cap or ONLY covering ABA, an abusive, manipulative “therapy” used to force social compliance and trait suppression on autistic people. The fact that ABA, a conversion therapy, is covered, but little else, shows exactly what insurance companies think of autistic people: they’ll only cover us if we want to learn to be “normal”. This can leave many undiagnosed autistic adults who cannot afford analysis, insurance, or safe assistance services with nowhere to turn. If I was not on my parents’ insurance, there is NO WAY I would EVER be able to afford a diagnosis. I don’t have $2,000 lying around. The MONEY ALONE would prohibit me from getting a diagnosis, no matter how many autistic traits I presented.

When I was going through this system years ago to start a diagnosis, I was shocked to find no therapist within three hours of me was accepting adult patients. “Up to 18 only” their websites would say. And in the event I had found one (1) that accepted me as a then 20 year old with X insurance, and that person refused me diagnosis, I would be out of options unless I planned a 5 hour drive which may have also led me to another biased screener. A person seeking self financed assessment can waste thousands of dollars therapist hopping.

People will say, “Well I live in X place, and where I come from, it’s covered!” Well the reality is that everyone in the world does not live where you live. It’s not realistic to assume everyone is in the same position as you or your family to afford care or access the same resources as you. When you say, “Just go out and get a diagnosis! It’s not that hard!”, understand you are speaking from your personal vantage point where screening may be easily accessed or easily covered/is free OR you have no personal knowledge of what that process is like yourself.

The second thing that bars a ton of people from being diagnosed is the fact that when autism was first discovered, its research was HEAVILY centered on white, cis, heterosexual men. The idea that autistic people are ONLY cis, white, heterosexual men carries on to this day. If you are an outlier to this stereotype, your chances of being misdiagnosed with something else or refused diagnosis skyrocket because so-called “professionals” don’t know how to observe traits in any other person besides a cis, white, heterosexual man, and refuse/fail to recognise the endless ways in which a person can be autistic. ALL the time I hear how AFAB people will go in to get screened only to find out their screener does not believe AFAB people can be autistic, because yes, sexism and anti-lgbtq+ ideas play a huge role in the incredibly outdated diagnostic process, because autism is still believed to be an “AMAB only” thing. People report going into a therapists office and being asked questions like, “Do you like going outside? Do you like having friends?” and being told that if you agree with either of these, you cannot be autistic because criteria at some places is so backwards, you can’t even say you enjoy conversation without failing the test. Other things commonly heard during the analysis are screeners telling someone they are too smart/articulate to be autistic, gas lighting them by saying they are mistaking their symptoms for something else/making them up, telling a person they seem normal, dismissing clear autistic traits by saying they’re unique “superpowers”, or intentionally misdiagnosing a person as ADHD INSTEAD of autistic. People on social media have also pointed out what influences racism has on the diagnostic process as well and how lack of research and understanding of autistic POC contributes to under-diagnosis and stigma has only contributed to refusal of care and under-representation of POC in the disabled community, as one autistic Black woman points out on Instagram, “I found excellent articles that support and validate my feelings and experiences, but I could find no research on autistic Black people.” Additionally, because research has primarily been done on young men, this means anyone who is not a cis man and is over the age of 18 and is seeking a diagnosis has a much higher chance of not receiving one because screeners don’t understand how autistic traits may present differently in adults, especially since adults are very likely to mask. Some autism screeners are so against autism they have told clients they would only diagnosis a person autistic if it was their last resort to avoid “placing a burden on their shoulders”. These reasons are largely responsible for why autism is incredibly mis/under-diagnosed. This ask would be the length of a novel if I included every single type of discrimination and mistreatment during the evaluation process alone, but understand it can be incredibly biased, sexist, transphobic, racist, or just flat out ableist. And guess what? Though this process can take as little as a month to get sorted, that is rare. The assessment SHOULD be very short. But a lot of autistic people have reported their diagnosis took more than 2-4 years because of having to waste time, energy, and money hopping from therapist to therapist looking for someone to take them seriously, as many autistic people compiled on the actuallyautistictiktoks page on Instagram point out.

The last thing I want to touch on is this idea that people have that self diagnosing is dangerous. “What if someone self diagnoses and they take advantage of services that are meant for autistic people?” ...The Big Things you think I am going to take advantage of as a self diagnosed autistic person, like scholarship money for instance or SSDI, I do not have legal access to without a formal diagnosis. I cannot waltz into a law firm and ask for a $5,000 scholarship for autistic people without a diagnosis, because they WILL NOT give it to me!

Let me tell you some of things I’ve “cruelly taken advantage of” as a self diagnosed autistic person. I bought glasses with blue light protection, because screen and fluorescent lighting at work and even natural blue toned light from the sky lowers my threshold for some sensory input like noise and social interaction; wearing them to work everyday has improved my sensory thresholds incredibly. I’ve talked to my manager and told him I’m autistic and that I have a hard time understanding vague direction and may need to step away briefly on occasion to tend to a shutdown before a meltdown comes on at work; he had no problem with this. I use subtitles; sometimes I have trouble processing audio or reading facial expressions and tone, and being able to see the words displayed on the screen gives me a significantly better understanding of what I watch. All my life, I have been having meltdowns which I had mistaken for mental breakdowns or panic attacks and having access to resources that walked me through preventative methods and tips on what to do if I have one has been ENORMOUSLY helpful to me. All my life, I was trying to deal with them thinking they were something else; becoming aware of this and accepting that they are in fact autistic meltdowns has helped me not only go through them, but has helped me redirect stims which at their worst previously had me hitting and clawing my arms, slapping my face, and even hitting my head. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait 4 years for a diagnosis to use resources I could be using to make my life more accessible right now!

People will say, “Oh well yeah, I don’t mean You are one of Those Types of self diagnosed autistic people, you clearly sound/look autistic, I’m talking about other people.” The thing is, there is no broad “sounding/looking autistic”, that’s stereotyping, and you can’t demand everyone who interacts with you show you their Autistic Card, because again, not everyone is able to be diagnosed, especially given the mistreatment and stigma present towards autistic people in the medical field! And what made you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “don’t seem autistic” to you? Why didn’t you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “seemed autistic” to you? By denying anyone who doesn’t have a diagnosis resources they may very well need, you are denying assistance to thousands of people who are without means to be diagnosed. And I am SO tired of seeing comments online on self diagnosis posts that “people don’t know what they’re taking about” as if they know us personally, like are you me? Are you my doctor I’ve consulted? Did you watch me academically research and consult with other autistic people about being autistic for over 3 years? I’m tired of “well, one time a self diagnosed person laughed at my actually autistic diagnosed friend...so all self dx people are evil” because there is ZERO correlation between a person being self assessed and their behavior towards a non self assessed person. The fact both those arguments are in use whenever self dx comes up is yet another form of gatekeeping.

Self diagnosing autism is not begging for attention or Evil Criminal Money Funneling Schemes. It is a result of a deeply flawed medical and insurance system that has failed to give proper attention and care to those who need it, it is a result of resources not made available, of safe support systems not there for kids and adults alike. You want to talk about what’s truly dangerous? How the hate group Autism Speaks has been parading itself around since 2005 as an advocacy group for autistic people and has been misusing millions of dollars worth of donation money and promoting stigma and hatred around autistic people; no autistic members are present on their board. How Sia and her new film Music was nominated for 2 Golden Globes despite it replacing the original autistic actor with a neurotypical actor, using offensive stereotypes, and using the main autistic character as a prop, and featured an extremely dangerous bodily restraint scene on an autistic person having a meltdown in public and featured very insensitive content due to Sia’s lack of consulting with autistic people to make the film (spoilers in that article).

Instead of policing autistic people, whether they fit your idea of what an autistic person is or not, redirect your efforts and your energy to dismantling systems and holding others accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about autistic people that are legitimately dangerous on such a scale that they have created insurmountable damage to the autistic community. But I guarantee you, worrying over whether your classmate is “faking it” will not do any justice to the decades worth of discrimination autistic people face still today.

I understand. You care about the community, you don’t want autistic people to be exploited or taken advantage of. I don’t want to be exploited and taken advantage of as an autistic person, and I don’t want that for others! But I also understand that when we self proclaim ourselves as judges of random autistic strangers on the internet or start accusing people of faking or demanding to see medical paperwork from people when the basis of our suspicions is “this person doesn’t look like my stereotyped view on how I think an autistic person should act”, THAT is when you really run into trouble. Because if you are allowed to deny self dx people entrance into the autistic community, what’s stopping you from thinking you have the power to deny ANYONE entrance into that community?

And there is power in self diagnosis for many autistic people. When the evaluation system is literally rigged to set you up for failure and put you through unnecessary hardship, self dx is a self affirming, empowering tool to take back control from a process designed to gaslight and crush you. The evaluation process was NOT formulated by an autistic person, nor was it made to be inclusive of all autistic people. Until the evaluation system in place for autistic people is safe, accessible, and free to ALL, you have EVERY right to self diagnose.

[thewildwaffle]

Being Kind to Myself

A while back, a lot of things were all happening with my life all at once. New and big changes are going on, old things were rearing their ugly head, and I was overthinking everything and felt so anxious and unhappy. I was a mess. Finally one night, I broke and told myself out loud, "I can't carry this by myself anymore. I need help!"

So I finally went and got it.

I've been meeting with a therapist and during the second appointment, we found out that a lot of my struggles were coming from me having undiagnosed ADHD. We kind of stumbled across it. I swear my therapist was halfway through a sentence when a lightbulb went off over his head and he pulled out a book and started asking me a bunch of questions. I'd always done well in school and I was not what ADHD appeared to be on tv, so I flew under the radar, and as an adult, it was causing issues with anxiety and depression because I knew something was wrong with me, but I thought it was because I was lazy, or didn't care enough, or a whole mountain of other negative things about myself, etc.

I've now been on medication for my ADHD for a little over 2 weeks and I'm noticing a difference. I feel like I have a hand on the steering wheel in my brain. I feel more motivated to finishing tasks, or working through writing blocks, or focusing on what other people are saying. I lose things less often.

This is all great, but I think one of the best things is that it's easier to be kind to myself when I know and accept that I need help.

I'm always on here saying "Be kind. To others, and to yourself," but saying it and doing it are two different things. Being kind to others is SO much easier than being kind to yourself! But now having this diagnosis, I am learning to recognize when I am being unfair to myself. It's not my fault that I struggle with x or y. That's normal, especially for brains with ADHD. My struggling is valid, and now that I recognize it, I can work with or around it and not beat myself up about it.

Today, my therapist said, "You have to choose to have compassion for yourself." If I was having a panic attack (which I did the other night), once I calm down and the thoughts that sneak in after and say 'wow, dramatic much?.. suck it up and move along... just do the thing...etc' start coming in, one thing I can do is to imagine if someone else was going through the exact thing I am right now- how would I treat them? I would have compassion, and I would be kind, soft, and gentle.

He then said, "You are allowed to be as mean to others as you are to yourself," which threw me for a bit. It's the same as saying 'Be as kind to yourself as you are to others,' but dang, it hit way different. I would never tell anyone to suck it up, or that they were being selfish when I knew they were struggling and desperately needing a gentle hand. I could never do that!

And now I'm beginning the journey of learning not to do that to myself either. This little waffle needs love, and that love needs to come from waffle. I'll get there. I'm willing to get better.

If anyone has any advice or support, I'd welcome that. If anyone needs help, I'll try and share what I've got. Also, if anyone is interested in learning more about ADHD, I'd recommend the YouTube channel, How To ADHD. My therapist showed it to me, and it's been a huge help. Plus, the host talks fast, which I like. Apparently, that's an ADHD thing too? I guess that checks out.

[loverdrew]

Just A Little Longer | s.r

(not my gif)

Synopsis: A day out on the field doesn’t go as planned, and Y/N is thrown into am ambulance to Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital before anyone can help. 

A Grey’s Anatomy x Criminal Minds crossover.

Warnings: none (?)

There was a ringing in the air louder than the one you hear everyday. I felt my breathing hinder. My eyes can only open so wide, enough to see the light, but once by my side, could see only a dark substance quickly oozing out of my body. As I came to, I could tell it was getting harder and harder to breathe, a sharp pain with every inhale and exhale. Upon instinct, I checked my fingers for mobility, feeling that they could move slightly. At least this means I am not paralyzed in my upper body. There was no other noise for a few more minutes, just a slight rustling of trees and the dirt road beneath me. I don’t even remember the initial shot being taken, whether it was from me or him. All I remember is instantly falling to the floor once I arrived on the scene. I just laid in my own blood, the realization that no one may be coming for me.

“Y/N! Y/N! Wake up!” I could faintly hear from what felt like a mile away. My brain perked at the voice, definitively Morgan, but my body would not react. I tried with every might to move my limbs once again but alas, nothing. It was if my brain was screaming and sending pulses to my muscles but it just refused to move. I started to feel hands all over me, lifting me and placing me on what I could imagine was a gurney, as it moved. My sense of hearing coming in full force, beginning to hear people talking and shuffling. Hotch and Morgan were asking where I was being transported to and Emily and JJ consoling someone else who I could hear was practically sobbing. 

“They’re going to take care of her, c’mon let’s just go follow them now!” Emily yelled to everyone. But that distressed someone fought back.

“No! She’s not even moving! They’re intubating her! Emily she’s dying!” 

Spencer....? 

“Reid, you want to help her? Get out of here and go to the hospital.” Hotch firmly said, I could even tell he probably put his hands on Reid, as the sound of prominent footsteps were halted. And the next thing I heard was doors closing, and the sirens blaring.

Once we had arrived at the hospital, I heard a woman’s voice that sounded very strong, like she was in charge.

“What do we got?” She asked.

“GW to the left ribcage, she’s lost a lot of blood, almost 2 pints. We’ve been intubating her since we got to the scene but Bailey, it doesn’t look too good. Possible head contusion when she hit the floor as well.” The EMT stated.

“Alright I’ll page Shepard and Hunt immediately. Out of the way everybody! FBI agent coming through!” And my gurney started moving even faster, winding down a short hallway into a room where I could hear many doctors coming to look at my wounds. I felt absolutely helpless, not being able to communicate what hurts for me. What if they miss something? What if they can’t help me in time? The EMT said I lost a lot of blood, what if it’s too much to come back from?

“Hang 2 units of O neg now!” A man with a deep voice yelled out. I could feel big, callus hands turning me on my back, and the next thing I knew a needle was being shoved in my arm and a warm sensation filling my arm. 

“Owen she needs to go up to CT now or she’s not going to make it.” A woman with a softer voice spoke next to the man.

“Amelia she needs this wound patched first or she’ll bleed out and then she won’t even have a chance in CT.” He raised his voice at her, kind of like how Hotch can be sometimes.

“Let me see, I can patch quickly if everyone gives me space. Looks like the bullet left through the back as well.” This time it was another man with a softer voice than the first, and instantly felt his delicate hands holding onto my ribs, feeling a metal substance touching my skin. By my analysis, he’s most likely a plastics surgeon. Only a man in plastics has such delicate touch.

“Well hurry Jackson she’s got about 10 minutes before that brain contusion completely debilitates her and she’ll be in a coma.”

“Yea I got it.” He said nonchalant.

The sounds of beeping and shuffling were quickly interrupted by deep screams, of which belonged to the lanky pretty boy. My heart rate instantly got faster the second his voice entered the room.

“Sir, sir who are you?” The plastics guy asked urgently.

“I-I’m her, her uh- I’m just a friend, please let me be next to her.” He pleaded, rasp in his voice. I can tell he had been crying the whole ride over.

“Okay, sir you’re gonna have to wait with everybody else, she’s in a lot of distress and she’s lost a lot of blood. We’re doing everything we can for her.” Almost on cue, my heart monitor started spazzing. The loud beeping indicating I’m going into cardiac failure. 

“She’s in V-fib, get the defibrillator now!” The man with the lower voice yelled. I felt the clothing on my body being ripped open, a few buttons popping and flying off. The patches were on and in a few seconds, I felt the shock and I could feel it vibrate every vessel inside me. They cleared a second a time, my heart rate returning to normal.

“Okay Jackson you’re gonna have to finish her later she needs a head scan now.” The women voiced, and immediately I could feel the gurney being whisked and into an elevator, going up to the CT room.

Being in the big machine and hearing the slight “ZZZ” sound felt like the first time of peace since my brain fully woke up. For a few hours now I was being poked and prodded, not even getting a chance to hear my own thoughts. This was the only time I got to really savor whatever life I had left, to really hear and feel the people I love around me, and to prepare for what could happen. It felt inevitable to try and escape death, it was a part of my job. And the one regret I’d have is not being the real me with the person I loved most in this world. That tall, pretty, incredible genius was the love of my life for the past 3 years I’ve been with the BAU, and he was everything and more I could’ve ever dreamed of and better. I could physically feel my heart aching at the way his voice cracked yelling for me. I wished nothing more than to look him straight in the eye and hold his hands, telling him I’ll be okay. The way he stuttered when he said friend, so unsure. We had kissed just a few days ago, after a long day of work he came by my hotel room and finally expressed his feelings after so long. The fireworks we shared were something out of a book. The way his hands fit around my face, holding me so close and so softly as if I were glass and he was afraid to break it. We hadn’t talked about it since, but we figured we had more time. But now I realize time is never guaranteed. 

Within 30 minutes I was in a regular room, the plastics man working on sowing back up my wounds. “You, Ms.Y/N are one of the luckiest gunshot victims I’ve seen; no severe tears. Which means this just needs a quick stitch and you’ll be all set.” He said softly to me, I could feel a smile on his face as he spoke.

I heard another person walk into the room, footsteps almost so quiet. 

“H-How, how is she Dr.?” He was shaking.

“The CT showed some swelling but no internal bleeding. We’re going to keep her here overnight but I’m sorry, I don’t know if and when she’ll wake up. That’s all up to her.” The women sadly spoke, unsure of even her own diagnosis.

I heard Spencer start to cry again, a loud puff coming from deep in his chest.

“Dr. Reid, could you please sit with me.” The two of them stepped to sit in the 2 seats next to my bed.

“I know what it feels like to be in a field of study where, you know everything there is to know. And I also know what it feels like to be completely out of control in that field, when you know what to do, but you can’t even do it.” She sighed. “I am one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, I know almost everything...but yet I had a brother who died of a brain injury. I could’ve been there to help him but I couldn’t do a damn thing. I know what this feels like.” Reid started crying harder, his cries muffled by his own hands. He was trying so hard not to let the sounds leak from the room, but it did and it made my bones stand still.

“I had a mentor who was in a coma, and even though I’m in plastics”- (told y’all) -”there was still nothing I could do for him. We just had to wait. He was one of my greatest friends, one of the best people you’d ever meet, so loved. The love of his life died in front of his eyes and I think most of us knew he’d be going next, to be with her. Life was too painful without her. Do you love this girl right here?” Spencers respond came almost immediately.

“More than anybody or anything.”

“Then wait, just a little longer. If she loves you like you love her she’s going to fight to wake up and be alive.” Both of the doctors walked out, leaving me and my lover boy.

His veiny hands grabbed onto mine, rubbing softly at my knuckles.

“I’m gonna do what he said, just wait a little longer. But please Y/N, if you can hear me, come back to me.” He cried into my hand, the tears coating it.

As if the Gods granted it themselves, I moved my eyelids open. Very slowly, and it hurt to do so, but they opened. Spencer sensed movement, and his head instantly came up holding on tighter to my hand. A weak smile placed on my face as my tired eyes loving locked with his.

“Waiting for me?” 

[hongnanglen-arina]

Forget me not | Hong Joshua

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Joshua x fem reader

Warnings: sick!reader, dementia

Words: 3k

A/N: Hey there! So here it is, my first angsty fic on here. I’m currently going through this myself but writing it down helped me cope with it a bit. Of course having to deal with this syndrome/disease is anything but romantic or nice but i tried to make it less bad if you know what i mean... anyways, i really hope you don’t have to deal with this in rl. Please be healthy!! Love you ♡

Tagged: @love-dreams​ @seokcalibur​ 

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

The first time Joshua knew that something was off was at your birthday party 5 years ago. When you talked too fast, often times you mixed up the names especially the similar ones. You nearly forgot the cake in the oven. Luckily your cousin noticed it. During the party, he thought you were just too excited or too stressed because you wanted it to be perfect. You’ve always been like this.

But when you were alone in the kitchen after everyone had left, you asked him about the special occasion of the party. You couldn’t remember it was your birthday.

He had laughed and thought it was a joke. But it wasn’t. 

The questions increased, more and more random reactions happened until he couldn’t leave you alone anymore. 

Once he was at a market with you. It was a lovely saturday afternoon. You two enjoyed those short getaways a lot. You would randomly choose a place up to 3 hours away from your home and would drive there, spent the day or even the whole weekend there and would go back happily as if you had a little vacation. That day you had decided to split up so he could secretly get the little bouquet of roses for you before joining you at the grocery store to help with the bags. The bouquet was placed securely on the backseat of your car when he stepped into the grocery store, looking for you. The store wasn’t too big so he was sure that it wouldn’t take long to find you. No sign of you at the fruit corner, the pastries, alcohol nor the snacks corner. He just couldn’t find you. He even asked the workers to call your name through the speakers because he started to get worried. 5 minutes passed. 10. 15. Still no sign. He didn’t want to bother the busy workers a second time so he made his way back to your rented apartment for the weekend. Maybe you wanted to start preparing dinner because you’ve been always like this. You never wanted to get help if it wasn’t really necessary. This was one of the reasons you two would get into an argument but those never lasted for long. 

When Joshua got into the car and drove down the street in the direction of your apartment, he saw you sitting at the bus stop, crying. He immediately stopped the car and ran to you, he thought his heart had stopped beating the second he saw in what kind of state you were.

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He tried his best to speak in a calming tone but it was very difficult. Joshua didn’t know what was wrong. What happened. What he missed out on. He was mad at himself that he left you alone, no matter what the reason for your tears was.

Your eyes lightened up a bit when you recognized him beside you on the bench, looking down at his hands which were holding yours, thumbs rubbing soothingly over your cold skin.

“I’m such a bad mother! I forgot to prepare dinner for our kids! I have to go back and cook. They must be hungry and waiting!”

It wasn’t what Joshua was expecting to hear. 

Especially because your two children were already living in other cities for work and university. He didn’t understand right away. Again, he thought you made a joke but when his eyes met your glossy ones and he tried to find the right words.

“Love, they aren’t with us anymore. You don’t have to prepare dinner for them.”

This was the wrong choice of words. You started to cry uncontrollably, worse than before. Because you thought they had passed away.

Later on he learned that he had to “play along”. That this would resolve almost every situation with people who were suffering with this syndrome.

The other time you just wanted to throw away the trash. It was just right outside the apartment complex so he thought it would be okay. The big bins were just beside the entrance, in a separate place only residents could enter since the gatekeeper was always around. You didn’t have to go that far, it was still the same building. But what was a task for 10 minutes maximum under normal circumstances became a horrible memory for Joshua and probably you too. 

Because you got lost somewhere between leaving and closing the apartment door and the moment Joshua found you. In the hospital.

Until now, he didn’t know what exactly happened on that day. But you got hit by a car when you crossed the street at a red light he was told. Even after asking the gatekeeper, he couldn’t help you because after seeing you, he got a call and didn’t pay attention where you were going after exchanging greetings.

Joshua’s fingers slightly touched your knee, the scars from the accident still evident. He was mad at himself. He thought moving to this place would help you recover and made you happier. In some aspects it did. Living on the 23rd floor with a breathtaking view over the Hangang river and all the nice lights once it got dark outside was something you two had always dreamt of. Being able to take a walk at the park next to the building and having some slice of nature around was exactly what you two wanted in this huge city. Always joked about growing old and admiring the view together. 

He never thought it would become like this.

He didn’t know why God had chosen you.

He used to believe that everything happened for a reason. That you would only get good things if you do good.

He was raised to believe in God. 

But after everything, it was difficult.

He even caught himself hating God for making you suffer like this.

He just couldn’t help it.

“It’s cold.” Your words pulled Joshua back to reality and he quickly got up to get your favorite blanket. The fuzzy fabric that you fell in love with when you were at an amusement park together a month before you got married. You always took great care to everything and everyone around you so it was no surprise to him that the blanket still looked exactly like it did when he won it for you. Although it hasn’t gotten the same care anymore after you weren’t able to do chores by yourself again. Joshua asked you what your secret was in maintaining it but as much as he tried, he just wasn’t as talented as you. 

He wrapped you in your blanket and made sure that you felt warm and cozy before walking over to the open kitchen area to prepare tea. Your favorite organic herbal infusion. 

While he was waiting for the water to boil, is eyes traveled to the side and to the wall which was decorated by different photos. Every single one holding a deep meaning.

A selfie taken on a ferries wheel. The moment he confessed his feelings for you. He planned everything to the smallest detail and wanted it to be romantic. Throughout the evening you asked him several times why he was carrying a bigger backpack. The reason was a bouquet of red roses. That day he wasn’t fully himself because he was too nervous but it still worked out. He succeeded. Joshua smiled at the memory.

Beside that was a photo from your wedding. The beautiful dress that you wore was something he had never seen. He was speechless and had to swallow down the tears. He couldn’t believe that he was the lucky guy marrying this ethereal woman in front of him. In this photo your eyes were a little puffy and nose slightly red because you couldn’t help but to cry through half of the ceremony. He could still hear your whines when his best friend asked for a photo. The smile remained on Joshua’s lips while remembering the moment.

Then photos of your children. The first born, then your second 3 years later. Time really passed by too fast because now they weren’t living with you anymore. In fact, your first born would become a father himself in a couple of months. 

Joshua looked over to you, the smile changing to a painful expression. He wasn’t sure if you would understand who it is when your son would come over with his baby. 

Once the tea was ready, he put everything on a small tray with some fruits and walked back to you.

You were still at your favorite spot. At the table in the dining room which was right in front of a huge window, allowing you to have a beautiful view on the Hangang river and the Paldang bridge. Joshua would catch you smile from time to time, sometimes even getting an answer from you why you were smiling. When there wasn't a smile on your lips, your eyes would be watery as if you had remembered something sad. Every time he would ask you and often times he would be surprised what the cause was. The fact he would randomly learn new things about your past even after knowing you for over 40 years now was surprising to him. But the doctor once told him that those things could also be dreams or wishes that you would mix up with reality. Sadly it was common.

He helped you with the tea, blew over it and held the cup while you took a sip. Every time you would thank him but without saying his name. It was painful but he tried to hold his smile.

“They look like the flowers we have in our garden. They are so beautiful. My mother loves them. Me too.”

Joshua turned around to a painting on the wall. A painting of small flowers, little blue petals with white and yellow centers. Forget-me-nots. 

You painted it after getting the diagnosis. At that time, it wasn’t this severe. You were still able to do everything by yourself although you stopped from time to time because you weren’t able to remember what you wanted or why you were doing something. But the both of you were scared of the future.

It wouldn’t just go away after some time like a flu. There was nothing you could do, no antidote. Just medication which would temporarily improve the symptoms, distracting you from the real process. You knew that one day it would become so bad that you may hurt him.

The reason you painted the flowers was because you wanted to break up with him. You wanted a divorce. Not because you stopped loving him, it was because you loved him. You hated to ask for help. You hated to bother people, especially him. People who meant the world to you. You wanted him to live his life without you as a burden because dementia meant you would need help until the very end.

You wanted to give him the painting as a gift, like a symbol of your time together. That you were thankful for everything and hoped he would keep all the good memories in his heart. You didn’t want him to hate you and you really hoped he would understand. If not now, then later. The divorce would give him the freedom he deserved. He shouldn’t see you miserably and take care of you when you can’t recognize him anymore.

That was the biggest fight you two had. 

Joshua was more than hurt of the decision you had made alone. But he wasn’t the only one in pain and he saw it in the way you were shaking as you tried to explain everything. He knew that something was wrong with you some weeks prior to your fight where the bomb dropped. You didn’t eat normally, you denied his ideas for a night out, you didn’t smile as much as you used to. You just avoided his love and wanted to be alone more and more.

In the end he convinced you to stay. Joshua told you that he swore to care for you until his last breath. To be there for you in good but also in bad times. He would be understanding if the syndrome would mess with your brain or body again. It was his purpose to be there for you. He loved you. Just as much as you needed him, he needed you as well. Even if that meant to be in the situation he was in right now.

"You really sing so beautifully. You should become a singer!"

That's what you would say every day after he played the guitar or sang his favorite song for you. And his reply would be the same as well, every day.

"Believe me or not but I was a famous singer once.”

And you would always giggle and think that he made a joke. But it wasn’t.

Joshua was 2 years older than you but then again, healthy. Unlike you who was suffering from dementia. 

He knew you didn't do it on purpose but it always hurt him so much, he had no word to describe the pain. Knowing you weren't able to remember all the happy moments you two went through made his heart ache. No matter how often he told you about your adventures, your experiences and life lessons, you would forget about it right after. But he still did it again and again. At least he had a lot to tell you about and somehow it was a way of not forgetting it himself. Some kind of therapy for himself. But often times he struggled because he couldn't remember it clearly and it was always a lonely feeling as you couldn't help or correct him.

Joshua checked the secure on the wheels of your wheelchair, making sure it wouldn’t move. He slowly got up to his feet to turn on the heater on the other side of the room. It was getting cold inside and the tea was gone already.

When he first heard about dementia, he thought it was losing memory only. But as he educated himself more and more, he learned that it could also mean the loss of mobility and the loss of speech. 

Luckily the latter hasn’t happened yet and he prayed it would stay that way. 

That was one of the reasons he believed in God again.

He felt selfish but he had nowhere to go. No place to let everything out.

When he prayed to God again, he felt bad and pathetic at first but it gave him the strength he needed.

He prayed that you wouldn’t be in too much pain.

He mentioned his gratitude for still being with you.

He was thankful for the chance to be a good husband to you.

Absentmindedly, his fingers found his cross necklace. You weren’t in a good state and of course everything could be better without dementia but being there for each other must be the life lesson here. Even without a marriage, being with the person you love and supporting each other was one of the most important things in life. He didn’t know how it would be, if the tables were switched between the two of you. Maybe that was why Joshua understood your idea of the divorce although he decided against it. If he would have to choose again, his decision would be the same. 

He didn’t want a life without you.

After turning on the heater, he joined you again.

He was watching you smile with tears in your eyes.

He asked you what was wrong but you didn't react, instead your gaze was fixated on something outside the window. He wanted to help. He wanted to turn back time but he couldn't. His wish was impossible to become true. 

Joshua reached forward, grabbing two clementines from the tray he had brought earlier and started peeling them for you. You two used to do it for the other when everything was still okay. Before the drastic change had started. Now you've never done it for him again but it would never stop him from doing it for you.

Carefully taking your hand and placing the peeled fruits in it, you made a surprised noise, giving him a soft smile.

"How do you know I like them? Say, what's your name?"

He tried to smile back. The same question he would hear every day.

Leaning forward, he gently rubbed your arm through the blanket. "My name is Joshua." ...and I'm your husband, he added in his thoughts.

You pulled out your arm from under the blanket and carefully touched his hair, letting the fingertips graze his cheeks until he grabbed your hand and kept your hand like this, leaning in your palm and closing his eyes for a second before placing your hand back down in your lap. You still wore his bracelet. The one he made for you with pastel colored beads. 

Every day you would ask where you got it from but Joshua made sure to tell you about it every time he heard this question. At least you two would always have topics to talk about, he always told himself.

“You are so kind to me.” 

Your soft voice made him look up to you and then he saw it in your eyes. He saw that deep down you haven't completely forgotten about him and that was all he needed. That was what kept him going, day after day. You were and will always be the love of his life after all.

And that would never change. Never.