#WHICH I HAVE!!!!!!! MY FUCKING THERAPIST DESCRIBED IT TO ME EXACTLY LIKE THAT

[sirompp]

every time i see people misusing/making fun of the word empath i lose a year off my life

#ITS NOT BEING FUCKING PSYCHICCCCC YOU DUMB FUCKSSSS #ITS A WORD. TO DESCRIBE. AUTISTIC HYPEREMPATHY #WHICH I HAVE!!!!!!! MY FUCKING THERAPIST DESCRIBED IT TO ME EXACTLY LIKE THAT #IT DOES NOT MEAN I CAN READ YOUR MIND AND MAGICALLY KNOW WHO DID 9/11 OR SOME SHIR #IT MEANS IF SOMEONE STARTS CRYING IM ALSO GONNA START CRYING #EVEN IF I DON’T KNOW THE PERSON AND COULDN’T CARE LESS ABOUT THEM #SOMETIMES I WILL GET MAD AT SOMEONE FOR BEING SAD AND MAKING ME SAD WHEN I DO NOT FUCKING CARE ABOUT THEM #IT’S NOT EVEN FUCKING ACCURATE ALL THE TIME #SOMETIMES I’LL START FEELING WHAT I *ASSUME* SOMEONE ELSE IS FEELING AND I’M *DEAD WRONG * #GRFFJFHGHHCHFD #I’M GOING TO BECOME THE JOKER!!!!! #if i’m being confidentally incorrect here btw feel free to tell me i’m pretty mad but i’m not gonna take it out on you #for like. telling me something #tiktokers google words before using them and making them blow up and making everyone think it’s a made up concept challenge (impossible)

[sykosomatic]

Could i request Hannibal x trans male reader? Nsfw pls!! maybe reader is feeling a bit dysphoric, so Hannibal decides to show him how much he loves and lusts for him❤️

oh that’s lovely! <3 i’m assuming you mean nbc hannibal so that’s who i’m going with lol (and i feel like i can write that version better)

hannibal x trans male reader!

cw: p in v sex, oral sex (afab receiving), praise kink, food mention, fingering (afab receiving), use of the words clitoris, pussy and cock, reader wears a binder/doesn’t have top surgery, hannibal finishes in reader’s mouth

•••••

you’d been visiting hannibal for his little dinner dates for a few months now; it had become something more than patient/doctor hospitality along the way, and now your relationship with him sat more in the category of lovers. thought you’d only kissed up to this point; you didn’t want to tell him, but you were quite insecure with your body image.

sure, he was your therapist, so he knew more than a little bit about your personal situation; but he was always the type to separate pleasure from work.

you sat down at his table, watching him in the kitchen area fussing with the presentation of the food he was cooking. it smelled… amazing. you were always so impressed with his talent for cooking, his dedication to the craft itself. he cooked for you like an artist creating a masterpiece.

hannibal approached you with the plates of food, telling you what it was as he sat it down in front of you. he watched you as you shifted in your seat, trying to be discrete about the fact that your clothes were feeling strange against your skin; mostly your binder, which was sitting funny on your ribs. his expression was unreadable as he described the dish to you, acting as if he didn’t see the look of slight discomfort on your face.

“enjoy, my dear,” hannibal said to you, the slightest smile on his lips as you started to eat the delicious food on your plate.

“oh, this is…” you groaned at the taste. “this is so good..” you were never one for fancy words, but you admired the way he spoke like a poet.

he grinned warmly, eyes shining with pride. “thank you,” he chirped, eating his own dish. after a few moments of comfortable silence, you noticed he was looking up at you and you blushed a bit.

“do i have something on my face?”

“only the most divine beauty,” hannibal responded, dabbing at his mouth with one of his fancy cloth napkins. your face went warm.

“o-oh.. um, thank you,” you breathed, looking away from his intense gaze.

“your spectacular allure puts the moon and stars to shame, my dear,” he pontificated; he was always saying dramatic things like this about you, telling you how handsome you were and how much he loved looking at you or being in your presence. it made your stomach do flips and sent waves of heat down into your abdomen.

“you always do know exactly what to say,” you smiled over at him, starting to realize why he was saying all these things. “you saw me fixing my shirt earlier, didn’t you?” you teased, leaning your chin into the palm of your hand, resting your elbow on the table. this was a bit of a faux pas in polite company, but he was so enamored with you that he didn’t seem to mind.

“it is really so unbearable for me to see you distress about your appearance in such a way, my dear,” hannibal admitted. he reached a hand over and set it on your leg, fingers brushing your inner thigh. you glanced down for a moment, feeling flushed at the contact. “i wish that you would see yourself the way i do, see your radiance from my eyes.”

you searched his eyes, heart beating fast; he inched his hand up your thigh, as if asking permission for something.

“would you allow me the honor of showing you how much i dearly admire you?”

oh.. oh! he was asking to fuck you, wasn’t he? you could feel yourself getting all wired up at the thought. you nodded your head, almost imperceptibly, but enough for him to know what you were saying.

hannibal took your hand, guiding you to stand. the two of you took your plates into the kitchen, clearing the table before he grabbed your hips and connected your lips to his for a heavy kiss. you let yourself melt into him, his arms holding your frame up against his. your kisses got more passionate until he started to push you backwards, against the table. his hands feverishly went for your shirt, unbuttoning the buttons one by one, slowly so that you could tell him to stop if you needed.

but you didn’t. you trusted him; and he continued. you were nervous for him to see you laid bare, but a large part of you was excited for it.

he pulled your shirt off of your arms slowly, taking care to kiss every inch of your exposed skin. he left your binder on for you, letting you decide when you wanted it off. he whispered sweet things in your ear, praising you, telling you just how handsome you were, and how much he wanted to make love to you. you were melting from the inside out at his touch, biting your lip as he unzipped your pants and started to slide them down. his hand brushed against your slit slowly, but with just enough force to make your shiver.

he looked up at you for confirmation before doing the same with your underwear, taking them off and revealing your pussy to him. he made a soft noise, a groan; you could see that he’d started getting really hard beneath his pants. you bit your lip. he’d gotten hard just by looking at you? fuck.

“oh, your body is magnificent, my dear. you’re so handsome, so radiant—“

you cut him off by grabbing his tie and pulling him against you, kissing him hard and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. his hands went to your sides, rubbing on you lovingly. after a moment you guided his hands to the bottom of your binder; you were reader for him to see you. and he didn’t take the privilege lightly. as it was exposed, hannibal massaged your chest gently with his hands, pinching and tugging on your nipples until you whimpered and whined into his chest.

he pulled one hand away to touch your pussy, rubbing your slickened slit and circling your clitoris with his fingers. god it felt so good. you whined into his chest, letting him worship you as streams of praise left his lips, telling you how good you were and how perfect.

hannibal got down onto his knees at this point, spreading your legs open so he could get better access. he slipped a finger in and you felt like you were on fire. it felt so good. he put his head between your legs and started giving you head, his tongue devouring you like it was his last meal. his tongue slipped in with his finger, and you could feel yourself already about to finish.

a second finger slid in, and you unraveled completely; hannibal slurped up your mess and continued to finger you, bending his fingers inside of you and hitting that perfect euphoric spot. “oh, god.. oh fuck…” you whined, unable to stand sitting up anymore. you laid back on the table, hands in hannibal’s hair, tangling in the silky strands. your hips bucked against his hand and face, rocking you to a second orgasm on his now three fingers.

“ooh… oh, fuck,” you whined, body sensitive and needy still. it felt so good; he treated you so well. you could see him standing up, leaning over the table to kiss your lips, allowing you to taste your own sweetness. “will you… will you fuck me?” you whined to him, hands on his chest, trailing down to his pants. you hastily tried his zipper and your trembling hands couldn’t do it.

he chuckled at you. “is that not what i’ve been doing?” he teased, unzipping his pants for you. he reached in and rubbed his cock through his pants; you could see a small wet spot.

“your cock.. i need your cock…”

“you are just so beautiful like this,” hannibal cooed at you, taking his cock out. he was hard and you could see the precum on the tip. he readied you again with his three fingers, making sure you were stretched appropriately before he pressed the head of his cock against your hole. you nodded, telling him he could put it in.

hannibal slid his cock deep inside you, slowly, making you moan out and arch your back up. he had stretched you quite well, so the stretching brought by his cock was warm and welcomed. he bottomed out inside you, his balls against your wet taint. and then he started moving, lighting you on fire as he fucked into you. with each thrust you felt yourself unraveling again. his hands were exploring you as he praised how handsome you were, touching your chest and your sides and rubbing your clitoris, sending you over the edge another two times before he pulled his cock out and came on your tongue (at your request).

and of course, after the two of you cleaned up, he was sure to craft you the most delicious dessert.

#slashers #writing #asks #male reader #drabble #requests #slasher smut #hannibal lecter #nbc hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #ftm reader #male ftm reader #afab dysphoria #hannibal #🚄 anon

[sergle]

I’m sorry to add to the pile of boob related asks but: where would you say most of the back-pain related to your breasts appears and what does it feel like specifically? I’m starting to wonder if some of my own back problems might potentially be alleviated by a reduction also. I know the bio-mechanics of the issue aren’t going to be exactly the same for both of us but I figured it would be a good starting point for reference. I’m wishing you the best of luck with all of this!

WELL I'm not a chiro or a physical therapist, but my layman's understanding of titty-specific pain is that it's usually ascribed to UPPER back pain. I can attest that my upper back / shoulderblades are a bloodbath. It's hard to describe pain to another person? bc pain changes? from moment to moment? But I'll try. It's like, tired muscles, stiffness, there's sharp pains too, and compression pain. It's also hot- it feels a lot like burning. That's just from the weight of the tits Existing. There's also breast related pain that's from the *bra*, because of the straps being load-bearing, pressure pointing themselves on the shoulders all the damn time. The pressure on the ligaments on your shoulders usually fucks your neck to death. I've had plenty of times where my bra did me in, and I had shoulder/neck pain that kept me from turning my head at all. It can also travel up the back of the neck, to the base of the skull, and makes for some really impressive tension headaches. The neck pain is sharp, pulling, and aggressive. There do be spasms. The upper back pain is ever-present, often dull, and often exacerbated by activity. (folding laundry, doing dishes, leaning over in any way shape or form, what the fuck Ever) The weight from the tits also tends to drag the shoulders forward, and where the shoulders move forward, the rest of the body follows. So we're just talking about The Hunch. So, any pain that can be caused by this type of bad posture that your tits pull you into, while not technically being pain caused by tits- is caused by hunching- which is caused by tits. You feel? Those are the titty specifics. I also *feel* like it takes a toll on my lower back. It's hard to tell exactly, because I have some other issues that have caused really bad lower back pain for me in the past, so pain there could be caused by multiple factors (for me). I think it depends on bra on or bra off, and how you're holding your body's posture, where the tension of the weight gets to you. Also worth mentioning that the body is, obviously, one inter-connected system- and issues in one spot of your spine tend to spread the pain around.

#you're welcome for one million words that may or may not have answered your question! #sergle answers #tittyposting #<-- is my new tag for things that I think are breast reduction relevant #and that could contain faq

[pickel182]

Marked improvement:

Where Astarion’s therapist gets more than she bargained for…

18+

Contains: f/m sex, fingering, creampies, mentions of last trauma.

******************

Date of service: February 29, 2024

Date of last service: February 22, 2024

Patient name: Ancunín, Astarion

Progress notes:

Astarion describes himself as having a much improved overall sense of well-being. However, he stated in his last appointment that a feeling of hyper vigilance persists. Symptoms of anxiety have continued, but he no longer describes himself as depressed, but rather “radiant” and “hopeful.”

Diagnoses:

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) F43.

Male Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder F52.0

Behavior:

Occurrences of genuine emotion and vulnerability are punctuated by flirtation, arrogance, propensity for lewd language, seduction, making it impossible for me to think straight-

What the hell is wrong with me! Get it together! She thought. He’s a patient for fucks sake!

“Ugh!” She raged, throwing her fidget toy across the small room. To her horror, she looked up to see the pale elf leaned against the doorframe, feigning shock and scandal with one elegant hand over his chest.

“Do you always take on such terrifying foes?” He teased.

“Only on special occasions,” she quipped. Like today, your appointment day, that definitely doesn’t dictate which underwear I put on in the morning…

“Please come in,” she said as she gestured to the couch across from her chair.

Rescinding his invitations after each appointment was standard protocol for vampire patients. It had nothing to do with not wanting to be walked in on during what she did after his appointments.

He pushed himself gracefully off the doorframe, lithe and beautiful in a way that was completely unfair. He closed the door behind him, and she pretended not to notice him adjusting… himself as he sat.

“So, Mr. Ancunín-”

“Astarion.” He corrected. “Aren’t we past all that, Kamilla?” He purred her name like a caress, and quirked an eyebrow in question.

“That’s Doctor Silverbough, Mr. Ancunín.”

He grinned at her withering look, as if it was exactly what he wanted. “Fine, fine, always spoiling my fun,” he lamented.

She flipped through the notes on her iPad, desperately averting her eyes. She was determined to stay professional, even as he held her in his predatory gaze.

“Tell me, how was the group session you had last week, on mindfulness practices?” She queried.

“Oh, It was all…very twee.” He smirked. As if he knew that was not the answer she was looking for.

She sat the iPad down in her lap, brows knit together at his response.

Hungry eyes roamed her torso, lingering on her breasts and décolleté before meeting her gaze. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and she spoke before she thought better of it.

“You’re fucking with me.” She accused, immediately contrite, but powerless to retract the outburst.

He barked out a genuine laugh. “I am,” he conceded. “They taught me quite a lot. I’m confident I can apply the exercises, and I rather liked it.”

“Good,” she breathed a sigh of relief, and buried herself in her iPad again. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She was careful to keep her voice even, not betray any emotion with her next set of questions. “Have there been any new developments in your relationship as far as intimacy?”

Suddenly, a cool finger tilted her chin up to meet hooded crimson eyes. “Marked improvements, I would say,” he murmured.

Her breath caught as his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “What are you doing, Astarion?”

He tutted and his lips found the delicate flesh beneath her ear. “There’s a spark here,” he rumbled against her skin, “I know you felt it too, darling.”

Goosebumps broke out across her skin. She pressed her knees together in a desperate attempt at halting the aching throb between her legs.

“If we do this,” she panted, “you can’t be my patient any longer. And no one can know. Can you promise me that?”

He nodded and nipped at her lower lip. “Assuming you want this too, of course,” he added with a wry smile, “but we both know you do,”

Arrogant bastard.

She bit his lip, hard. His breath left him in a gasp, and with supernatural speed, he had pulled her into his arms and laid her on the couch underneath him.

Astarion deftly tugged the neckline of her dress downward, taking her bra with it. Her exposed nipples pebbled under his clever fingers, pulling a groan from him at the sight of her.

She moved to unbutton his silk shirt, and quick as a flash, he seized her wrists and pinned them above her head.

He shook his head. “Not this time love,” he murmured against her lips. “I… this is the only way I can…”

She nodded in understanding, leaving her hands over her head. Astarion had been completely touch-averse when they started their sessions a year ago. He said he hadn’t successfully been intimate with anyone in decades, but was making strides toward reclaiming that part of himself.

“Whatever you need,” she reassured him.

His dazzling smile stole her breath right before his mouth descended on hers again.

She’d never been kissed like this before. His lips moved urgently against hers, sucking her lower lip between his teeth and teasing her with his fangs. His tongue dipped into her mouth, laving over hers, in a torturous dance of back and forth as she did her best to give as good as she got.

His erection between them ground into her as he expertly rolled his hips, leaning her quivering beneath him. She arched up to meet him and the friction made him gasp and buck into her, swearing as she whimpered.

He gathered her dress up over her hips, finding the lacy fabric at the apex of her thighs wet with want. Using his knee to push under her thigh, he spread her wide for him, and slipped a finger beneath her underwear to dip into her searing heat.

She cried out as he swirled over her clit, and he covered her mouth with one hand as the other continued working over her swollen bud as he groaned into her ear.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you like this,” he rasped out breathless with his own need. “How the smell of this sweet cunt has kept me up at night after our sessions, hmm?”

Her eyes rolled back as her hips circled in time with his stroking of her. She moaned wantonly into his palm, unable to stop the sounds he wrenched from her body.

He slid two fingers inside her and ground his palm over her clit, making her thighs convulse involuntarily with each stroke.

“When I was finally able to fuck someone again, do you know who I was pounding into?” He removed his hand to lick into her mouth for a greedy kiss swallowing up her pants and moans.

A third finger slipped into her wetness and she bit her lip bloody stifling a scream. “You,” he grunted, as he fucked her with his hand. “It was you. Every time it was you.”

It was an accusation an exultation all at once. She whined when he removed his hand, and he swore again as he frantically unbuttoned his trousers. He freed his hard, twitching cock, and unceremoniously shoved her drenched underwear to the side.

Astarion clamped his hand over her mouth again as he lined up with her entrance, and she cried out as he thrusted into her without warning. She’d never been stretched so deliciously, and in just a few rough thrusts he was already bottoming out.

She was soaked from his previous ministrations, and could feel her own juices dripping down her ass as he pistoned into her. She had kept her hands over her head as he had asked, but now they gripped the arm of the couch as she scrambled for any leverage to keep her grounded as his hips snapped against hers.

He stilled for only a moment as he repositioned her hips, only to resume at a punishing pace that had her crying out into his mouth that had captured hers once more. She locked her legs around his waist, digging in her heels as she matched him thrust for thrust.

“Fuck, fuck!” He gasped and groaned, before grabbing her behind her knees and pinning them to her chest, folding her beneath him and caging her between his arms. He used the new position to thrust harder and deeper than before, at a supernatural speed intended to steal her voice and shatter her sanity.

He clamped his palm back over her mouth moments before her orgasm struck savagely, blinding her as she tore at the fabric of the couch above, screaming into his hand. Moments later his thrusts became sloppy and uneven as the contractions of her climax shoved him violently into his own release.

Her head fell back in exhaustion as he groaned and whimpered into her chest, coating her inner walls with thick spurts of his seed.

She barely registered her meeting timer sounding somewhere behind her, signaling the fifteen minute warning before their time was up. Astarion lifted his head, rewarding her with a sleepy, fanged grin.

He brought her hands to rest around his shoulders, and pressed a slow, soft kiss onto her lips, before snuggling back down onto her chest.

“You can take me off the patient books, I suppose.”

She laughed as she felt his smile against her skin. “I suppose I will,” she answered softly, still caught in the afterglow of her orgasm.

He picked his head up again and rested his chin on one hand as he drew circles on her collarbone. “But you’ll keep my appointment time open, won’t you?” He asked with eyes round and soft. “You’ll let me come back next week,” he paused to kiss her hand, “for this?” He asked as he rubbed his cheek against her palm.

She sighed. “Only if you say please.”

He grinned at her, the very picture of the cat who ate the canary. “Please?” He purred.

“Alright,” she conceded, and the dazzling smile was back before he kissed her soundly.

There was no doubt about it.

She was literally and figuratively fucked.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #fanfic #smut

[angiethewitch]

If it’s not too invasive, can I ask what onset was like and what meds and therapies you tried in your recovery? Or any good therapy resources? My best friend was recently diagnosed with schizophrenia and she’s got a lot of anxiety surrounding her situation. She also tends to respond weirdly to meds and so far a lot of things just haven’t worked. She’s a very strong, determined person and I do believe that she’ll be okay and be able to get back to regular life at some point. I just don’t want her to feel hopeless about the current situation.

its hard to describe onset because I actually had childhood onset schizophrenia, which is pretty rare. my psychologist had a hypothesis that whatever big red genetic button in my brain that caused the schizophrenia was triggered by trauma in childhood, as stressors have been observed to cause someone predisposed to schizophrenia to have a psychotic break. so it's not easy to describe because I've grown up with it, it's pretty much all I know, I never even knew I was different until I was older. I mean, all kids have imaginary friends, all kids lie, all kids make up wild stories, so I wasn't to know any different and neither was my family. I was actually discussing this with my older sister and we were like oh okay that behaviour in childhood was a fucking symptom.

the therapy process was first rehab, to get sober and clean, to rule out any alcohol or drug induced psychosis. then I was referred to the community mental health team (CMHT) to find out what exactly was Wrong With Me and after a few months they gave me a diagnosis. then it was on to medication and on a waiting list.

now because the nhs, especially the welsh mental health sector, is chronically underfunded, it took 3 years until i finally got therapy. in the meantime I self referred to a local trauma service, who take on patients for free and i had 2 years of trauma therapy. eventually I got a care coordinator who referred me to the acute psychosis intervention team and I was with them for 3 years. I was discharged this summer.

I cant really tell you much about anything I did in the years prior to psychosis therapy. they kept upping and upping my meds, which also acted as a sedative, and studies have shown they can cause neural degeneration, so those few years are a black hole. I barely remember any of it.

however, CBT didn't work. what really helped me was ACT (acceptance and commitment therapy), DBT and my therapist also thought stoicism would work for me. we did values focused therapy which I found very helpful. in rehab I also had resilience training which was very helpful. from everything I've read about shadow work, its a lot like ACT, but I do not recommend it for your friend (or anyone really but especially if youre inclined to psychosis) without medical supervision.

I wish your friend the best of luck and I get the hopelessness - realising I'll have this illness for life and facing societal stigma was almost too much to bear, on top of the constant cycle of relapse and recover, rinse and repeat. but my therapy taught me that yes i have this illness, but I can live with it. it doesn't need removing, just caring for. its a part of me that deserves compassion and acceptance like every other part of me. tell your friend that, she deserves to know she's not a monster and she still deserves respect and compassion, even from herself.

I wish her the best of luck

#anonymous

[medicus-felini]

ᓚᘏᗢ Small (actually not so small) vent below. [Depression tw]

I don't know how to describe it exactly why but I got a massive mental burnout the other day. It may be not my bestest decision to share it here but I feel writing it down is better than keeping it for myself.

All the bad things that happened and still happen to me caught up. I feel awful. I lie awake the whole night only to break out in tears when my partner woke up. There was too much in my head to even spell out what exactly made me break down.

I am looking for a job for years, trying to get a normal daily shedule only to never get an answer and to fuck up my sleep shedule for the 100th time. I am getting 25 this year. My depression and panic disorder I developed when covid began seemed to 'heal' in a way. I went to group therapy, got medication which I still take to this day. I am stuck because I have trouble doing phone calls. Trouble TIPING IN numbers for real therapists.

Time is awful. When will I be done with learning a job? I will be 28 if it happens someone recruits me this year. And then I work. I will have so much less time for things I like. Speaking of which: I catch myself falling into the 'I don't enjoy the things I normally enjoyed' loop again. That was one of the main reasons for taking antidepresants and it now seems to crawl back.

I want to at least do something I enjoy. Writing, drawing, playing video games. I started to feel little joy in it again. It makes me angry to not be happy with my time. I don't want this.

I text my family less and less not because I am mentally exhausted but because of their believes. All except my dad (which I always had little contact to) openly and proudly boast about how they vote right wing parties in Germany. You can't discuss with them. I can't. Because I instantly start crying like some trauma haunted 12 year old back in the day when my mom raised her voice. This party I am speaking of actively stands for traditional beliefs, inbetween against lgbtqia+ (which, surprise, I am part of).

They only see points they like. "Oh, they won't get this through, you will be fine." BUT YOU VOTE FOR THESE BELIEVES. You actively support these anti lgbtqia+ shit only because you are racist and intolerant towards NORMAL PEOPLE who live their lives in Germany like everybody else for years.

Next thing is they hate my partner. Something that really only was a question of time passing. My mother always seems to dislike my and my sisters partners after some time. Finding little things she can pick on and passive aggressively point them out. Making everyone awkward and feeling unwelcomed. I feel unwelcome. It is my partner. My choice. You despite my choice and thus insult me with it. Family gatherings became horrible. My partner doesn't want to say anything because he is scared to 'mess up' and my mother getting fuel for her hatred. My sister is young and living with her. She took on my mother's believes politcal wise. I love her dearly but I feel like she also only plays mirage only to talk bad behind my back, which she usually does with other people.

I feel so alien. I don't even want to drive over there to my birthday. I would love to but it doesn't feel like my family anymore. It feels all so forced. My dog gets older too. He is the reason I still look forward a little bit when visiting them.

Writing this feels good in a way tho. Even if I know the majority of my moots only as little guys in my screen, I feel loved. I will observe my mental state these next weeks. If it doesn't get better, I'll call my doc and ask if we can higher my dosis. Just so I can think clearly and focus on important matters.

*Siiiigh* okay okay thanks for being lovely babes ♡

#this probably has so many typos but I just let my fingers write I did not proof read #depression tw #anxiety tw #⚕ ⦅ break time. ⦆⠀⠀/ ooc .

[icharchivist]

tmi mental stuff + ff7 (og) spoilers under the cut but also something happened that is both funny but also maybe kinda sad and well

i've recently been back to therapy because well *waves at stuff* and it means i have weekly appointments which makes a lot of things return to the surface, so, lots of things to discuss and all

but well, today i realized i kinda needed to talk about my ex-gf because it's undeniable this whole fiasco of a relationship impacted the way i trust people and stuff even if i mostly made my peace with all of this.

but the thing is that if i talk about her it means i have to lowkey make a coming out since i can't use neutral gender language in french, and i wouldn't know how my therapist feels about that until i dropped it, so i ended up kinda getting lost in my own head about how to address her

which means i wasn't exactly focusing on the rest of my wording when i said "in a sense she kinda made me her puppet" and it's only once the words were out that i stood there, freezing, trying not to fucking laugh on the spot because damn the Cloud kinnie jumped out (derogatory)

(for the record the therapist was perfectly fine with it so i stressed out for nothing but also lma-fucking-o)

and ironically the whole thing is that the whole reason i made my peace with all of this is a large part because of my 2015 ff7 relapse, because i really connected a lot about Cloud's relationship with Sephiroth like "wow just like my ex (derogatory)", and therefore i managed to heal a lot to an extend, even if there's definitely stuff that are still there considering how i still was a mess after rewatching AC. (and like to be fair there's more to it than just my ex, but this specific aspect hit hard and helped a lot)

but god the fact it's the "puppet" thing that came out just naturally is driving me insane. super normal stuff.

I hasn't even got to think about this plotline a lot since i came back to it, and i genuinely don't know if it might be just being reviving the remake that put back this concept in my head or something

but it genuinely made me want to laugh to see how, by projecting so hard on Cloud in the way back, i managed to get this specific type of language to describe this stuff

anyway, fun. who knew the kinnie would jump out to help in therapy.

also since i have the ff7 spoilers disclaimer just dropping it here but unrelated, i was gifted a book about the making of ff7 og recently and i shuffled into it the other day and it hit me in the face with that one quote i totally forgot about despite loving it so much it was my blog title then, "but i'm just Cloud, master of my own illusionary world".

what a guy to project on.

#ichapersonal #ichatalks #anyway that's my cue to go back playing ciao

[anti-endo-haven]

not exactly sure how to trigger tag this so tldr: venting about an ex friend who fakeclaimed me and a therapist i used to have who didnt really help me and kinda did the opposite (probably not on purpose, but it still kinds fucked some things up for me)

----

thinking about the times ive talked about the possibility of having did with an old online friend of mine (who was a singlet) and they never believed me. i did so much research and trying to open up about it but when they told me i should stop it felt like everything i knew had fallen apart and was different

back then i remember before i told him about it i actually had known about some alters i had, they had actual names and personalities and even innerworld features. i remember one of them was a little kid with blonde hair and a pink dress and a black cat hat (exactly like a hat i used to have irl) i havent seen her around anywhere in a couple years sadly, since my friend told me i was faking. i wish she was around longer because she seemed really sweet. i think she went dormant bc of the stress our friend had put us through

i remember i had what i assume was a full switch to her which is why i wanted to talk to someone about it but the online friend i had at the time would constantly fakeclaim me and say things like "you cant be a system if youre under the age of 20" (even though... systems usually develop before the age of 10) and "youre faking because your typing is weird" (this alter was a little, a fucking child, so of course her grammar wasnt gonna be perfect) i literally remember switching to her as me and this person were talking and they still thought i was faking because "you just learned about this disorder and now youre acting like you have it" (maybe because.. ive had it for so long that when i finally found the words that have helped me describe it im trying to embrace it and learn to heal. maybe because for most of my childhood i felt like something deep inside me was wrong and broken and when i found out about did things suddenly started clicking for me)

even my therapist at the time didnt even try to figure out why i thought i had such a serious disorder, she just immediately dismissed it when i brought it up with her. i find it a bit funny though because before i brought up did with her she had told me i probably have *some kind* of dissociative disorder (she never specified) and she even gave me meds for it (which honestly made it worse, i can only remember like one thing from that time period and it was someone telling me "my energy felt off") while i dont think a therapist should always immediately agree with their patient when it comes to trying to diagnose something i think they should try to help them figure out if what theyre suspecting is truly what they are dealing with or if its something else, ykwim?

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im so sorry for this being so long :( i didnt mean for it to be but it still ended up being a whole essay .. anyway this is my first time posting to this blog so hi !

id like to claim an anon tag, would 🌌🕹️ or tsc/the stardust crusaders be okay?

That ex-friend is wild… You can absolutely be a system under the age of 20, I’ve seen 14 year olds get an official diagnosis and be able to get some help/support for it. Not a lot of people might know about it until they’re older especially in therapy because they have to cross bases and make sure it isn’t something else. And even if someone does months/years of research, they might not fully know or be questioning for a while.

Some people also accept it faster than others. That doesn’t make them fake either. For us, we had started questioning when we were around 19, doing research and everything to help out and going to different sources, we’re now 20 and a little bit past the “I’m fake” self-doubt (imposter syndrome) and doing what we can to function.

Your therapist should have absolutely made sure to cross bases. I’m not saying that in like a bad way. But the medication pushing just… isn’t it. That seems really strange to me to just agree, not ask questions on why, and just give medication out like that…

But you guys aren’t fake, that friend is gone, hopefully that therapist, too. I hope you all are doing better!

And, yep! You can claim all of those!

#🌌🕹️ #tsc sys #the stardust crusaders #anti endo #did system #system #osddid #traumagenic system #endos dni #endos not for you #actually did #actually traumagenic #did plural #did plurality #osdd plural #osdd plurality #tw fakeclaiming #tw fakeclaiming mention #tw medication #tw meds mention #tw medicine #tw medicine mention #anti-endo-haven-vents #anti-endo-haven-vent

[ineffectualdemon]

I remembered today a conversation I had with my sibling when I had just finished a book trilogy

Ansd particularly about the ending

Now notably I read the final book in about 2001/2002 when I was about 17/18

I had mostly really enjoyed this series until the ending which I hated

The ending revolved a young couple after confirming their feelings for each other seperating forever

And my reaction and the subsequent conversation I had about revealed two things about me:

1. I have abandonment/attachment issues that resulted in me being extremely intensely attached to my then boyfriend/now husband to a degree that even alarmed me at times

2. I am aromantic

See while I have these intense deep feelings of love about my husband (my last therapist described him as the centre of my world) that are as close to romantic as to be maybe indistinguishable to others (I know the difference), I had never experienced feelings even somewhat close that before

The concept of crushes or falling in love was and is completely alien to me.

My only understanding of "falling in love" was extreme intense feelings towards one person that I had experienced exactly once

Because I could not conceptualise the idea of falling in love in a "normal" way much less falling out of love

And I remember my older sibling who was absolutely shocked to discover I had never ever experienced the rush of a romantic crush and new exciting love before

That I didn't even understand the concept when they tried to explain it

It was a conversation that left me baffled

But because I didn't have the words or understanding to explain either my feelings did my husband or my lack of romantic feelings in general we just kinda....moved on and left it there

But that conversation left a mark in my mind

Because that was my first understanding that I was different in that particular way

And I didn't feel bad about it but I was very confused and shocked

Also you might be asking how my husband managed my intense feelings and the answer to that is ...he's weird too.

While his family is extremely nice to me it does feel sometimes like he came home and said "I found this feral trash gremlin in a bin. Its one of my favourite things now. I'm gonna keep it forever" and his family just accepted that

But seriously when I was being weird he was just like "....tea?" And then I'd have tea and calm down

Idk this ramble is just kinda a stream of consciousness about my aromanticism and my fucked up brain

#about me #aro #mental health

[casketscratch]

Wonderful therapy session, horrible everything surrounding it.

This is just a lot of system/memory bits we figured out with the therapist and some fucked up dreams last night.

I forgot: during last week's session, part of what O. had tried to tell the therapist was that S was wrong about him. That he doesn't "spin us out" on purpose, that he's not the one responsible for driving the rest of the system to breakdowns -- not exactly, anyway. Just that he will do anything to keep that door he's in charge of shut. So it's not him who really tries to throw us off buildings. He's the mechanism that interrupts that and throws a switch. He can push Stephan to front, which means S's after-the-fact experience/recollection is "O. is trying to make me kill myself."

But it's more like... something triggers a lot of self-destructive parts > O does his best to manage the chaos/meltdown/attempt > S's basically "activated" because he catches zero emotional residue normally > S can only remember O being around and everything being catastrophically disregulated, does his best to get things back to normal.

S was also trying to describe what he remembered from yesterday's episode. He has fragments - more than usual - of memory about the actual, us leaving the house, us deciding where to go, and some of the emotional memory. Our therapist basically said that that sounded like being a very overwhelmed, very scared child; not just a "therapy-work inner child," but, you know. Alter. Someone both trying to get very far away from everything she knew--I once woke up on the outskirts of our hometown, at the "welcome to..." city limits sign, and that alone would have been hours of trekking--and really, really fucking angry.

Part of why O basically swept her out of the house as fast as possible yesterday was because he does look for fights. He did want to run into someone and beat the living shit out of them, and he doesn't want to explode on anyone we know and care about. Because he will/has before and barely has any like, conscious awareness of the present day or who's actually around when he's dealing with wrangling these other, overwhelmed child parts.

But the other part was also hoping she would find someone who'd abduct her off the street and be nicer to her than everyone else. Hence... that memory from a few months ago, about walking into a stranger's home and being abused. I am trying not to over-intellectualize everything (attachment disorders! disinhibitive social whatever!) and it is very hard not to. Because I feel like that specific incident is so much my fault. We were so fucked up and already trying to run away, and she did one time just... go with someone who found her when we were disregulated like that, and somehow we all failed to intervene. It was really, really bad.

And I know it's not my fault, just as much as I know it's not her fault. Whatever mechanisms and structure we have were built to deal with a lot of complicated, fucked up, extreme circumstances. I think I can at least sympathize with her desire to find someone to intervene, even if it would be "bad" too. Better to be one of those kids missing on a milk carton than to go home again, seemed to be the thinking? At least people cared about the kids on milk cartons, kind of thing.

And I am trying very hard to come to terms with, the, oh fuck, everything I've said was true, all of this has always been true, the entire overwhelming story is true, the subsystem divisions are real, if she was that desperate to get away then that means, there are so many memories coming up, etc.

But mostly I can't stop dwelling on a nightmare we had last night, about us running away to a motel room somewhere. One I recognized from vivid dreams in the past that I'm still wrestling with recognizing at all. I don't remember why we were there, just that it was that place or being homeless again, and we half-trusted the owner. The cats were there, though, and I had made them a bed in the bathroom for the night.

But the place caught on fire from downstairs. And it was only after a bunch of detours and forgetting to care, forgetting about the fire, forgetting that I am extremely attached to these cats, that I finally went back and tried to rescue them. And nearly died doing it, because the building was almost collapsing by that point and I couldn't actually find the cats in all the smoke at first, just a fucked up old stuffed rabbit. It didn't feel like a victory at the end, just depressing and shameful because I would have let them burn.

S says all the time that he genuinely hates systemhood, having DID, and would devour god if it meant not living like this. But I think, now that I'm really sorting pieces here... I think S also carries a lot of awareness of the times we've been hurt because of the amnesia and has a lot of bitterness about the system because of it. Like I think that has been his job for a long, long time. And that has to be a really confusing fucking place to be sometimes.

And yes okay the symbolism in that dream is really obvious re-reading that, dear god, lmao.

[mediawhorefics]

hií 💗 for the ask game, what's your favourite fanfic of all time?

oh god i read in so many fandoms this feels like an impossible question dhjfjfdg i'm gonna cheat. is that okay? can i cheat? there's no way you're getting just one. sorry not sorry djbkndkjgbd

i guess if i'm answering 100% honestly, it would prob. be not easily conquered which, for those who don't know is a stucky fic and one of the most beautiful pieces of writing i've ever read. some of the quotes from this fic are seared into my brain and i fear will never leave me.

in the 1d fandom tbh it's still tif. i think to me tif is a perfect romcom. i've never read a better one. it's funny, its heartwarming, it's genuine, the miscommunication is handled very well and that quote that describes trying to explain something traumatic that happened to you young as 'like a fish trying to explain what water is' stayed with me for over a decade. it's exactly that. that's exactly what it feels like... i love this fic sm. it's just as good as everyone says and i think its criminal that some newer fandom peeps haven't read it. i can only aspire to be that kind of writer.

i recently went on a spuffy binge read ad discovered summerfrost's works and i have been in absolute awe of their characterization ever since. their writing knocked me the fuck out. nothing safe is worth the drive (follow you home) is prob. my fav but everything i've read from them has been a masterclass in character study.

the poet dean fic is another work that i think is a game changer. if you're remotely interested in deancas/spn this fic is stunning and it features original poetry by the writer that is just.... gorgeous. it makes me want to write poetry and god knows i am not good at that rip.

cinderwings is another spn fic that's ..... incredible. it's such a creative au that perfectly mixes elements from canon and from fairy tales to create something totally new that feels fresh and different. not to mention i've never read a character pov of a quote unquote creature that actually felt like i wasnt reading a human character. it's done so well.

four letter word for intercourse . its the best smut heavy fic i've ever it. its deancas. end of.

i recently started reading good omens fics and Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach ??? w o w. just.... w ow. if you've read the book/watched the show and loved crowley just a little bit... read this. it's an outsider pov and it is so compelling, it's almost impossible to put down. which is a pretty herculean feat imo considering it's all through the eyes of a stranger. its basically crowley in therapy through the eyes of his therapist. incredible.

back in the old days i read a lot of merlin fics and the student prince still has SUCH a special place in my heart as a comfort fav... it's so funny and heartwarming. the perfect magical uni au. it also has an amazing podfic read by the author.

wastelands is probably my favourite star wars fic i've ever read. it's only 9k and ft just before the sequel trilogy leia crash landing on some abandoned world and getting help from a force ghost to repair her ship only to realise it's anakin. it's just.... a beautiful beautiful character study and a look into their relationship and it ties in with some kylo stuff.

you could dress this wound is a tsn fic where mark starts seeing pain as light on people and develops some empathy/starts seeing the world (and his relationship to eduardo) differently as a result.

best practices in workplace relationships is nothing special. except its heartfelt and funny and i've read it countless times over the past ten years. so many times. it's the assistant wardo fic. it's fun. i love her.

also anything that @helloamhere writes but ESP the anakin/padme/obi fic she wrote partly because of me.

i think thats it... like... off the top of my head today right now.

oh and i guess.... if it's not arrogant to say it ? maybe tts ? just... i'm very very proud of it and it's very special to me. i dont think its better than any fic ive listed here but it is one of my all time favs because it was a big labour of love from me.

#about me #fic recs #hope that answers that ??? #id k #its so hard kjkgnjkd #fic rec

[kasaneteto]

things that have been on my mind recently:

1) i miss the posting format of twitter. well i guess not the posting so much as the following format. the posting aspect is not that different from tumblr i just miss having a private space to ramble, because tumblr is much more anyone-can-see-it. private instagrams arent the same. passworded blogs arent the same either cuz iirc those posts dont show up on your dash so thats more like screaming into a void. fuck you elon musk for taking away my safe space 🖕 it has been nice to talk more with people i wasn’t seeing on twitter tho. so im glad about that at least. its also VERY nice to not have a character limit

2) i use romantic relationships as a crutch in my life which is why theyve all turned out the way they have. or at least part of it. i need to have a relationship that moves slowly but ive never had that. every relationship ive ever had was like, jumping head first into the deep end. there was no build up or anything it was just “i like you” “i like you too” “okay we are dating now” and then i spend all day every day with that person until i get tired of them and the relationship. its fucked up!!!! i don’t want to be like that!!!! i have no idea when ill be ready for a new relationship but when i am i need to be pickier. i need to go for someone who’s exactly my type. because i also need to learn how to be independent and im still learning that. but once im independent enough to start dating again i need to wait for the perfect person to come into my life & then throw everything at them. (had a whole long thing describing my type here that i cut bc i dont want anyone to think im describing them and get weird in my dms. idk i attract desperate weirdos like flies so im being careful leave me alone) and who knows how long it will take to find someone like that! could take forever! anyways ive gone way off the rails here but the point im trying to make is that im perfectly content waiting for the perfect person to come into my life because i need to be focused on myself right now anyways.

3) i do very poorly with guilt & feeling like ive upset someone important to me. especially if the upset feels justified to me. my brain tends to rationalize my behavior for me by thinking things like “thats a weird thing to be upset by” or something when like. that doesn’t matter. maybe this is a normal thing to do but i wish guilt didnt consume me the way it does. even after ive apologized and the person has forgiven me im still so guilt ridden that it makes me depressed. its so weird. i don’t understand it at all. its something i gotta talk to my therapist abt. thats why im writing all of this down anyways is so ill remember what i wanna talk to her abt this week lol

#txt

[foggyparadisecandy]

Once more ... no need to read this ... just me discussing personal messy stuff ...

For everyone who has been reading these catharsis posts ... I want to give a positive update.

In the end, K proved she was strong and brave as I always felt she was and she reached out to me to clear the air and give me closure.

I will forever be appreciative of this.

It would have been a hell of a lot easier for her to just bunker down and let things slide. It honestly reinforces many of the reasons why I fell for her in the first place. The strength she showed in this action is ... inspiring. God. She still stuns me.

She patiently cleared the air while I basically, straight-up interrogated her. I just don't have the words to describe how I feel about her amazing fortitude and patience throughout.

It not only cleared up a lot of things, it continued a change of perception that I had already begun before she reached out. I had started reading up on trauma and personality styles so I could better understand her pain (not that I could help her at the time but ... I still wanted to better understand ... idk why really except ... caring about her response and pain, and wanting to grow for myself) and I had come to realize how much my style of "concern and care" was most likely just creating more stress for her.

I have no excuses. I feel awful about it. She needed compassion and breathing room and I was crowding her out.

And that conclusion was correct. As she cleared the air, I saw that is exactly what I did. God does that make me ill. I didn't know any better but ... it's a weight that I need to figure out how to deal with.

I'm not saying she was perfect. I think ... the key is ... we both responded in ways that were natural to us. I had no empathy or understanding at the time because "needing space" is so foreign to me. I literally could not imagine that someone would not want my smothering blanket of love thrown over them.

I'm learning.

It is a PAINFUL lesson to understand that she was struggling and I was struggling and we weren't communicating - it all broke down on both sides.

I've said she was cruel. It's so much more complicated.

Yes, her actions cut me and hurt me but ... I understand better now. She wasn't being cruel. She was trying to survive the best she could.

As loving as I was in my style ... and I've said this many times before ... I can be "a lot" and she needed "a little" or even "none."

I was busy worrying about me and giving in to my fears that I was panicky and desperate.

IDK. In the end, it doesn't change the outcome which is what it is.

She's home and safe. My god is this such a relief for me. I have been so ... beside myself thinking she could be seriously hurt or worse and knowing how I had stepped over her troubles and hadn't picked up on. And yes ... I KNOW!!!! people keep reminding me ... I'm not a trained therapist and yadda yadda yadda but ... ugh ... it was still bothering me. If you have never been in that dynamic, you can't understand how important her well-being was to me. I'm still untangling that feeling!!

She is with someone who cares about her. This is such a relief too. Connections are so important. Anyone who reads my blog knows that I feel connections are the heart of our "best lives." This is so comforting to know she is with someone.

She is working on her stuff and getting more in tune with life and all that good stuff. I'm so happy to hear this.

She cleared up so many big and small concerns and questions I had.

I had already forgiven her. I know she read some of my catharsis posts ... where my pain was on display. Honestly I feel uncomfortable about that. I don't like her knowing how fucked up I was and am. *insert super-uncomfortable lol here*.

Plus ... although I recognized that she was in pain and I wrote about that in my posts, I never really UNDERSTOOD her style - her need to retreat from the world when facing massive stressors - until recently. I regret commenting that it was cruel of her.

If anything, her response was natural to her, and if I had paid better attention to her, I would have responded in a healthier way myself.

It's funny in life how people like me who give "too much" are generally considered healthier than people who retreat. But both styles are learned behavior and ... both styles are unhealthy in their own way.

Look ... I'm not saying this to convince anyone of anything but the truth is ... my approach was cruel TO HER as her approach was cruel TO ME.

She needed to be able to breathe. I was doing some very aggressive dom stuff with her at this time and ... fuck ... she was struggling.

And she is sorry for her approach and I am sorry for my approach. At least we both have recognized we bear mutual responsibility. God. I wish it was as easy for us to each forgive ourselves. I know her. I know me.

"FORGIVE YOURSELF" is a lovely idea but so fucking hard to execute in real life.

Even though I can't fully forgive myself ... I'm done beating myself up at least. I can't change the clock. I can't know then what I know now. Those days are done. Things are where they are. I'm growing and learning and getting better, and I'm going to do better with my next partner.

And ... very important to me ... I would love her to understand that, with the understanding and empathy I have now for her situation and style, "yes, it hurt me, but I don't blame you."

She has nothing to feel guilty about or to be sorry about. I had already forgiven her. That forgiveness has grown deeper with my new understanding and my new empathy for what she was going through.

The entire thing was a two-way street and we should have communicated better. WE. Not me. Not her. WE.

I thought we had a solid relationship and ... honestly ... we really really did. It was beautiful and lovely. I will always cherish what we had. She shared so much with me and I'm so lucky to have had that with her.

But we hadn't weathered a tough spot. We hadn't planned on a trauma point.

The truth is ... I still feel guilty for my part so she probably feels the same. My words are ... not enough. She has to get to self-forgiveness for herself just as I have to get there for myself. Forgive yourself is so fucking hard as a principle. So fucking hard.

Either way, for those of you out there who have been reading all this stuff ... and for those of you who sent her good wishes as I asked (ty ty ty!) ... she's going to be fine. And I'm going to be fine.

I am a lot stronger these days, but still fragile af. I'm still low-key depressed but ... tbh ... I've been low-key depressed my entire life. And things will probably get uglier as I dig into my childhood crap ugh.

But I'm learning so much, so fast, and, yeah, getting stronger each day.

Some days are hard. Very hard. But as she and I talked about a lot: progress is rarely a straight line. Some days you stall out and some times you even go back a bit. But that's why we keep our eye on our goal so we can re-orient and start moving forward again.

And honestly ... there are things she's working on and well ... not my business any more and ... I admit ... it's so hard for me because I'm me and feel how I feel ... it's so fucking hard to resist the urge to "help" her but the best help is to leave her be. She's strong. She's capable. She's a fighter. I've always believed in her and had faith in her.

IDK. IDK. IDK.

I'm working so hard on all areas of my life right now. It still feels like a bit of a sludge but it's picking up steam. I feel like I'm waking up to new possibliities each day and getting excited about stuff that I've had on auto-pilot for way too long.

I'm feeling this blog is reaching an end point for me. I've written hundreds of trances. Most get very little traction and ig that's ok because I write them to express a creative side.

But truthfully 90% of this blog was written for her since late April. lol. It's so crazy that a few months ago, I was going back to tag things I wrote for her and gave up because they WERE ALL FOR HER!!!! hahahaha

So I guess I need a new muse or maybe mothball this thing. Or I can post fun stories from my therapy sessions - kind of a sick vibe - but everyone could hear more about my parental damages and how dark I got in my late teens and twenties. Fun fun fun. The Foggy of today was a lot less sweet and kind and loving and caring back then.

I am not exaggerating when I say he was a dark angry monster who wanted to hurt people. Ahhhhh yeah... maybe I will share those stories.

If nothing else, they speak to how people CAN change and grow and evolve. We are not stuck by our past. Yes ... our past does shape us ... but we can adjust.

Plot summary:

I mostly used daily meditation, pride journalling, HATE journalling (not my fave but I filled notebooks and literally BURNED THOSE FUCKERS to let go of my anger, hate, and fear), vision setting, and reading two specific books each year through my 20s until the lessons soaked in.

NGL I still pretty much live with non-stop depression and a dark monster in the back of my mind who I can sense sometimes when I'm extremely frustrated. And THAT is why I'm seeing a therapist. To help deal with all this shit that I've suppressed.

To that point, K - if you are reading this ... I ran across a post from back in June that reminded me that I was thinking of ending things for myself so ... yeah ... don't blame yourself for my emotions. My pain, depression, darkness has always been in me. I am not sure what triggered it in June.

Probably the store ran out of my favorite ice cream or maybe I misplaced my car keys or some other calamity of equal measure. Depression is a fucker, dear reader, and you never know who struggles with it.

Be kind to others. Be kind to yourselves.

And btw ... I wonder how much I've learned. A very good friend told me today that I was not listening to her. I ... am such an imperfect person. I need to do better at listening.

#catharsis #self love #self care

[gon-and-killuas-mother]

idk if i've posted about this yet, but my physical therapist has more or less diagnosed me (unofficially, bc my state prohibits PTs from diagnostic and prescription licenses) with, drumroll please . ...

yeah it's POTS, or dysautonomia, w/e it is. once i learned that both my mother AND my (paternal) grandmother experience the same symptoms i immediately realized i had more investigating to do. moms case was more likely triggered by covid, but that could also mean she already had a genetic predisposition.

and nana, after i described the symptoms, actually went "Oh...! I've had problems like that my whole life. There's a name for it?"

(⁠,●⁠_⁠_⁠●⁠')

i have to talk to my PCP tomorrow about this and what kind of help i can get, but i'm not expecting much. i might still be able to get a handicapped parking pass at the very least.

it's been a week since i saw the physical therapist and i've been. pondering, sorta, in the background. as with my other diagnoses, i felt a mix of relief and also of dread.

like. "Thank god I finally have a diagnosis!" followed by ".... Oh god i have a diagnosis"

at the same time, POTS actually fills in the missing pieces of my symptoms. everything clicked when my PT told me that symptoms often worsen with puberty. which is exactly when i started "lagging".

i've literally told multiple doctors and therapists and family and friends this exact thing: "I've been exhausted since middle school. That's when the "fog" started".

I LITERALLY CALLED IT FOG BEFORE I UNDERSTOOD WHAT BRAIN FOG WAS

and this just tells me that i'm not lazy, i'm not under-motivated, i don't have my "priorities" mixed up, and i have NOT been making excuses

i am sick. i have an illness. my body is doing the best it fucking can and i have to listen to it when it says that's enough

#tink rambles #disability #pots syndrome #dysautonomia #chronic condition #fibromyalgia #ehler's danlor syndrome

[undinegeist]

never fall in that hole (3)

(1) (2)

- xx - 

It's aftershow madness; I've had a few bumps too many, but even that isn't enough to erase the smell of weed and vomit crawling over the backend of the venue...if I hadn't grown up to vomit on the floor, I'd have joined the parade already.

Tommy's going for hangover grandslam, trying to get Mick in on the game, Vince’s chatting up a redbird for a change of pace, probably 'cause she tried to maul him the second he got offstage, and Nixx...nowhere. Fuck if it bothers me.

"He'll come around soon enough." It's Mick, somehow always ghostly, chasing me, reading me. "If he's not out in some gutter."

"That's hopeful, thanks. I just wanted his blow."

He looks at me in a way I don't like, doesn't believe me; the fucker already knows me too well, sees through too fucking much...at least he doesn't say it.

"What are you doing here?!" McGhee, painfully whiny, face all red. "You don't need to see them like this...you've seen the show. That's enough."

I snort. "Don't worry...I won't write what goes down. Did you forget I live on your bus?"

He winces. "Knew this was a bad idea."

I'm considering kicking him or flipping him off, but fuck, Nikki does it every time...out the row of doors with a fake redbird of his own, and she's hot enough that I get it, though he beelines to me...smirk already on.

"Looking for me?"

"Yeah, actually. You should have let me do that one first." I nod at the girl, and his eyes gleam.

"Would you?"

"She's pretty enough."

"Not exactly a genius, though."

"If she can do what it takes with her tongue, that's irrelevant." "Maybe you should try me...I've got both."

"Prove it." Why the fuck not? "Give me something first, though."

"You want some of what I've got?" His eyes say tradeoff, and I'll take it, fuck being good. I've never been good.

"In your boots, yeah."

He's leading the way back to the room, both of us ignoring McGhee and Mick, preaching caution.

I shove the door closed behind him. "Show me what you’ve got."

"Tell me what happened to get you down first."

"Why does it matter?"

"If I'm gonna indocrinate you...I should know why."

"Fuck this, I'll indocrinate myself." Don't need a fucking therapist, especially if it's him.

He takes my arm, tight grip, just enough to hold me back. "Wait."

I should get the fuck out, but I don't...meet his eyes, fuck it all up. "What?"

"If it's someone I can get to, I'll fuck them up."

"It wouldn't change anything...you'd get fucked up and they'd win. They always win." I sneer but my eyes fucking sting, I fucking hate it.

Something dawns in his eyes, and he bends down; needles and plastic, finally, finally. "You done this before?"

"No."

"Low dose to start with, then. Which arm do you want?"

I offer him the one Tommy bit the other night, thinking that'll make it even...he describes the process as he feels out my veins, wraps his belt around my arm, gets me to hold it tight enough to get me off...gets the shot in, stopping to ask for permission, making sure I want this, too fucking close...I make him go, don't give back the belt, throw myself back on the couch, watch him prep his own...reach to stop him.

"Hold on...I want to do you first." Know he won't get it up after this, I've seen the rages after.

He spooks immediately, fuck him. I get off the couch, not all the way in. "Whatever, I'll get Tommy...he'll do me."

And I leave him, though it hurts, everything spins, the drugs or him, fuck him, fuck me...fuck everything. Tommy's still down at the makeshift bar, on his way to being too far gone, though I've got something for that if he'll take it...

"Hey, Y/N/N! Where's Sixx?"

"Keeping the fun to himself...maybe you could pick up where he left off?"

"Not sure it's still awake," he smirks, always game, getting it right away thank fuck, "or that we’ve someplace to go."

"Take me anywhere, I've got a little something to perk him back up..."

He grins, feral, channeling Nikki, wraps an arm around my waist...leads the way.

Nikki's staring from the doorway, eyes all fire, and I look at him just long enough to rile him up, break whatever's left of this thing so I'll never fall in that hole again.

#nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x tommy lee #nikki sixx fic #tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #the dirt fic #motley crue x reader

[leewhitaker]

Body Is Money

I quit studying policy to become a sex worker because everything you know about women, you learned from someone else. Who learned from someone else, who learned from someone else who made it up a long, long time ago. And you never thought to question it, but I did.

The fact that men are not taught to distrust in the way that women are does also work in my favor. Not in the sense that distrust is what keeps you alive, anyway. I held my cards closer to my chest, but I was sizing you up just the same; I sized up the fashion in which you sized me up, but knew how to hide it. Your ego is not made of material soft enough to fold into a shape small enough to stow, so here we are. Two reductions facing one another.

Blind are men to how easily you give yourselves away. You describe conflicts of your own creation, in the passive voice. By the third sentence, I have pinpointed exactly who you need me to be tonight, for the right price. I am your mother. I am your therapist. I am your best friend’s girlfriend. I am the pupil you always wanted to fuck. I am the intern—no, the hostage—no, the nurse. I am the cinched, squeaky cartoon with blue hair, the first time you touched yourself. I am the Virgin Mary.

You’re alone on another birthday, but if I gaze at you as though you are a gladiator and I am unlucid, you will reach for your pocket. A tango in reverse is led by the follower knowing precisely when to sidestep. You ask: can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before? And the hook pierces clean through your cheek. The spool ticks wildly as it reels and I smile down at you, distorted through the waves.

Of course.

And you just accept the hoax, without skepticism! There was never a doubt in your mind that I may not in fact be the figment you designed in boyhood, because in this light I do kind of look like that poster, that page. De-personify as your de-fault setting is half my work done. And I love indulging you, playing the benign, unassuming little trifle who fills the her-shaped hole. Who pretends she didn’t read your opinion on the opioid crisis verbatim in the Guardian last week, because you can’t find a real woman in the world whose wow is quite as convincing as when you pay for it. Tell me your every badge, for they will twinkle in my eyes.

I know I shouldn’t laugh while I’m up here, but the satire of it all... I am your entertainment for the night? Comrade, you are mine.

Allowing a man to believe he is superior is but the careful calculation of an ever-evolving trajectory towards safety. What could you have possibly encountered to necessitate that kind of guile? Have you encountered it everyday since puberty?

Ergo, a naked woman will never go out of business. The CEO will always make a bastard by the secretary. The pastor’s hands will always wander. The producer will always coax: shut the door behind you, and the politician will always leave because his wife couldn’t keep it tighter than the babysitter. Not every man surely, but enough. You’re here, aren’t you? It doesn’t take a lot.

If your father never cheated, he’s considered it. He’s made a mental pros and cons list, lying awake next to your mother while you were crying on the baby monitor. You’ll go back and forth on that moral seesaw too someday when your baby is crying. Because of the Maxim you didn’t buy, but perused for thirty minutes at the newsstand, and the fact that we live in a century where a body postpartum is just over. Where the shapes women grow in places to sustain human life are less fuckable. Where desire is nature, but slender is nurture, and only one matters at all.

This is not to suggest that women exist on some higher moral plane. Temptation sways all of us alike; if women were in power, we’d get caught and face the occasional consequence, too. The stakes simply aren’t the same for us because up until recently, if my memory serves, you let us close to none of the capital. You condemned us, killed us by stone, fire, and rope, built institutions and invented hysteria. But when the times changed, you came to the inconvenient realization that you also couldn’t follow the rules you wrote. Because the rules are that our intrinsic proclivity to sex, which transcends doctrine, taxonomy, and time is not correct—that biology, the architect of want, is suppressible at all. Desire is a weakness only because we built a world in which it is an inconvenience.

Our species would cease to exist if the act itself didn’t feel so good. So you’ve read The Wealth of Nations, both Testaments, did your pheromones subside?

“Sex is not an enterprise—unlike writing a book or building a career.” Susan Sontag wrote that in her diary, but I’m paraphrasing. “There are no promises, no goals. It’s not an accumulation.” We just want it, badly and more, no matter how much of it we have already, no matter how satiated we were yesterday. Lust returns. How convenient it would be, if we all just divided independently like cells. I don’t know, like I said I never finished college. What I have come to learn in praxis, and no classroom, is that underneath my clothes there is a market. And for a brief window, this body I am in—this service, this good, is my most lucrative asset.

Under capitalism, an affair is a fluke; the decision to have one disrupts the vertical gridlock of power. Sex is the sole commodity for which the consumer is willing to risk almost anything; it’s unusual, no? Sex is expensive, but the opposite of rare. It is irresistible, and always at your fingertips. A man will readily, eagerly welcome scandal, defamation, sacrifice a campaign, smear his own legacy. Every accolade lost—a lifetime’s worth of work upon generations of nepotism, and for what? The tiny thing between my legs, which his wife also has?

It makes me laugh. It makes me sad. I want the Disney love, too, some days.

“Life is just one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses.” Vladimir Nabokov wrote that line in Lolita and well, before I am the cosmos I am twenty-three, and what I want out of this abject, hallucinatory burst of light is to sparkle naked before strangers in a dark room. This is what gives me a sense of completeness so little else can achieve, in a way that feels good not to question. I feel no strong, unlearned predilection to be prolific, or remembered eternally. I have spent this long deteriorating, waiting to want the veil and the Jack and the cul-de-sac—what frightens me more is putting all my life-eggs into the grocer-dyed basket of suburbia. I have wondered about it with a therapist. I have wondered about it extensively alone. Getting to the bottom of whatever I internalized in the oven-fired clay of my childhood to set this in motion, will do little in the way of unbraiding the pathways of neurons. And I don’t want a consolation pottery wheel, I want to strip. I want the primping beforehand, I want the puzzlement of my friends, I want the title, the absurdity. Each time I second-guess the absence of my shame, I stop myself from relishing the presence of my joy. Why shouldn’t I respect myself just because you don’t?

I have been beaten, spoken over, plagiarized, violated, broken and entered—all before sex work, and by people who I was either led to trust or had no choice but to depend upon. I have been castigated for the ways in which I adapted to survive my circumstances, then turned around, and scathed mercilessly at other women over their means of survival, to which I have never personally needed to resort. “You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman,” indeed, but often the voyeur within is a council of people who think and act the most like you. And why must we endure the arbitrary wrath of the patriarchy without so much as a return on our tax?

How many years have I paid tithe in cotton wallpaper? How much of my paycheck lost to circumventing motherhood, while hurting the other things inside of me? If born a little bit beautiful in a world where so few of us are, why not lean into it a little, if only out of spite? For the sake of the gratis rum and coke, for the assembly of the bookshelf. I will continue to fight tooth and nail for the rest of my life, I will attend every protest; the might of the American patriarchal stronghold is still going to outlive me. Those two truths coexist. There will be babies born after I am gone, who grow up to believe in the fairytale of whores.

Who are we anyway, to interpret the divine parameters around when and how sex—a six million year-old ceremony—ought to be enjoyed? And then go on to conclude that white, Christian men in the last few centuries were the first and only ones to get it right? You don't think a Byzantine seventeen year-old on mushrooms could have thought up Nietzsche? Since when has the first to write it down, equated to the first to make it exist? Have you never told a lie? Jesus was thirty-three when he died. What if you told a lie and then it became a religion?

You could have been born in a remote village two hundred years ago and met fifteen people all your life—a life equally insignificant and profound, engorged by passion and unfathomable grief, with connections to family, to the earth. Every color perceivable and alike in richness to the ones you know now. You may never have seen written language, but you would know the magic of an orgasm.

But to you in this life, staring up at me in this spotlight, you scarcely believe that I might reason. That there is a world inside me, too. And what a shame that is for you. How much you have missed out on already, to not really think your mother is a person. How fuller my life will be. I can hear the chasm of my inner monologue as you invent it:

Twirl here. Crawl there. Bite lip.

Toss hair. Arch back. Take tip.

You watch me, mesmerized and jaw-slacked over no news: the same supple mirage which you conjured on a screen earlier today, later tonight, and tomorrow. You adjust your crotch, huddled in the dark with the knowledge that you will both lie about where you were later, and come back. I move the blood in your body, and you can’t even keep my eyes.

Every president has whined, and pressed himself against a pillow. Every glossy paper face at the newsstand has been a spectator in a shadowy booth. For every naked woman spinning there is her reflection in a dilated pupil, every eye split with a silver pole begins to resemble a reptile’s, and every brothel has a back door for heroes. I have met your idols and they have all asked how much for the hour, for the night. Most men have feigned naiveté over the process of coercion, as it’s more convenient than atoning the way they’ve always lived. Most men have said c’mon in response to no until it was no longer playful.

Have you ever asked yourself why men kill women, but need from us first so, so much love? Tell me, when you chase that intangible quality a parent had lost by the time you could remember—some adrenaline between love and repletion—is it yourself you have to hurt to get the high, or someone else?

L.W.

#writing