#chronic illness and disability is already so fucking isolating

[tyrianlynch]

I’m in so much pain it’s honestly been hard to function at all these past few days but the people in my life can only hear that so many times before they’re tired of me so I’m shouting it into the void

#my legs hurt so much I’m limping everywhere #my arms hurt so much I can’t use my phone without a wrist rest #my back hurts so much that changing my position in bed or on the couch is a long and horrible process #I talked to my friend of 6 years yesterday and she said to me ‘I met someone whos in pain all the time’ #and I was like ‘haha is it me?’ and she said no that it was some guy from a class she’s taking #and he’s in pain all the time #and she asked if it was like that for me #and I love this friend of mine so much so dammit if that didn’t hurt #it’s a punch in the gut to realize that nobody really understands #I’ve been telling her about my pain for years pretty much since it started #and this whole time she hasn’t understood #so I explained that I’m in pain all of the time 24/7 and she just said ‘oh’ #chronic illness and disability is already so fucking isolating #and it’s really hard to have moments like that where I realize I’m completely alone in this #the only one who can really understand what I’m feeling is me #wah wah pity party etc etc #sorry #I’ll delete later I just needed to put this somewhere so it was no longer in my head

[hillbillyoracle]

So for the past two years, I’ve run a discord server for non-traditional homemakers like myself. 

And if there’s one thing that it’s taught me, we are no were near parity with housework. 

And the trend is that it tends to fall to an AFAB person, regardless of how they or other folks in the relationship or household identify. When there are other AFAB folks in the mix, it almost always falls to the most marginalized one (person of color, disabled, etc). The other folks often vastly overestimate their contributions to the household and underplay the mental load of housework. 

And the stress kills. I definitely credit the enormous weight my mom had to bear for decades as part of the likely reason she had a stroke at 57. My grandmother before her developed diabetes around that age. Chronically ill people I know in relationships and households like this are facing increased symptoms. 

This has to stop. Housework IS a big deal. And minimizing it is fucking toxic.

If you’re an AMAB person, regardless of whether you identify with your assigned gender or not, take an honest inventory of what housework you do. Look at how many hours you spend cleaning, cooking, managing, and thinking about your household. Look at cleaning routines like FlyLady, Clean Mama, etc and see how much of it you’re currently doing. I’m not saying AFAB people magically do all that stuff but it is the kind of standards we’re often mentally comparing our homes against. 

If you’re an AFAB person who’s more privileged than some of the AFAB folks you live with, there needs to be an honest check in about whether you’re doing your share of the labor. I get the messaging has been trash but you have to be open to hearing that you need to contribute more around the house. Especially the mental load. 

One of the most painful parts of being stuck with all the responsibility is that not only do you get exhausted, you have no one to be exhausted with, who get it. Just people who think they do because hey they do the dishes or take out the trash. And you have no one to brainstorm with, compare notes with. It’s incredibly isolating. Even if you don’t have kids in the mix. 

So yeah, I get this post is probably only going to reach people who are already doing this work but in case it reaches one person who does better for their partner and roommates, it’s worth it to me. 

#I'm not going to be heard in my home #but maybe someone in their home #will hear me and do better for someone like me

[littlegreenwyvy]

Wear a fucking covid mask

Wear a mask Wear a facemask, when you're indoors

Wear a N95 face mask if you're gonna be in public

wear a face mask

Wear a mask if you're going out

I don't know how to explain to people -- my friends and coworkers and family and strangers and people who make important decisions and people just living their lives -- that you are the reason over a thousand people die every week.

You are the reason I cannot leave my house without risk

You are the reason I can't go to the movies or a bar or to get a haircut or a restaurant or the doctor or the dentist or the library or go to fucking WORK OR SCHOOL without coming to terms with there being a non-zero chance I will be dead within the month.

Just because somebody had a friend over who had a ''''cold'''' last week and I happened to sit next to them on the bus.

“Oh it's not that likely” “Oh it'll be mild” “Oh HEALTHY people don't get severe illnesses”

First of all: Wrong

Second of all:

I"M NOT HEALTHY PEOPLE; I'M DISABLED FROM FUCKING COVID

"Oh it's okay because only YOU will die, not us good and healthy people : )"

My favourite is all the excuses

“Oh things aren't that bad yet so I won't take the preventative measures”

"Well I already had it and it wasn't a big deal, so I'm not gonna bother"

"I'm not gonna live my life in fear"

“Well I don't have to anymore so I'm not going to”

You SHOULD HAVE TO

I know it's an unpopular opinion, but I genuinely think that you SHOULD have to wear a face mask and stay a meter apart and take a test before going somewhere. At least in a fucking HOSPITAL or something.

I shouldn't have to BRING MY OWN EXTRA FACE MASKS because my doctor DOESN'T FUCKING HAVE ANY IN THE FUCKING OFFICE

And then they give me the fucking look

That look they get in their eyes

From my fucking DOCTOR, who I go to for my CHRONIC ILLNESS, which I got FROM HAVING COVID.

I should be able to go to work or the library or just out in public without risking catching the fucking plague.

So to all people who choose not to wear a mask: I hate every single one of you. All of you who don't wear face masks indoors:

YOU are the reason for this.

Yes even my friends; I'm sorry but I am blaming you and guilting you about it. If we lived nearby I would not be able to hang out with you because you are unsafe for me to be around. And that is fucking HEARTBREAKING. My FRIENDS, who I LOVE DEARLY, and WANT to be around, and I fucking can't, because of decisions that YOU make. All those times we talk about 'oh if we met up' 'oh if you travelled here' I can't fucking TRAVEL are you NUTS?

Do you know how long you're supposed to isolate if you suspect you've been 'in contact' with someone who had covid? CDC says 10 days from when symptoms start. If you still have symptoms on day 11? Start another 10 days.

Do you know what 'in contact' means? Maybe you do maybe you don't; I had to look it up myself, but maybe it was communicated better in your area. If you've been in the same ROOM as someone for 15 minutes; up to 2 days before their symptoms STARTED (and of course while they are showing symptoms) and up to 10 days AFTER their symptoms began. That means if you know someone had covid last week? They're still potentially transmissible. A stranger in the waiting room at the doctor's office has a cough? Possibly covid. And you know the BEST PART? We have NO IDEA how many cases are asymptomatic. That means that ANYBODY in public could potentially transmit it to you. Lower estimates suggest in the single-digits to 10s of percent of covid cases are asymptomatic, while higher estimates say up to 50%. We just don't know! There's no way to because it's not monitored fucking AT ALL anymore!

Do you know what this means?

It means there is NO WAY of knowing what the risk is. It's a gamble, full-on. Even more so than ever before. And do you wanna know what? I wanna fucking live. The potential to lose my entire fucking life isn't worth it for just about anything, if I'm being honest. I've already been through that once. I had a career in music lined up. I was just about to finish my degree as a clarinetist. I was performing in orchestras as a soloist. And you know what happened? I got covid. Suddenly my lungs and my diaphragm don't work so well anymore. For two whole years I couldn't stand or sit upright for more than an hour at a time, or else I would pass out. Nowadays it's improved; it's not more than 4 hours at a time, and I only feel faint for a while before passing out.

But do you know what that means? It means I can't play clarinet anymore. Over a decade of schooling and practicing and mastering my craft: Gone in an instant. I'll never play again. I lost my entire future and my entire career, because I got covid in 2021, from people who had stopped wearing masks because 'covid was over'. They got it. I got it from them. They survived and are fine. I barely survived and I very much am NOT fine.

This is why I'm so reluctant to take any more risk. Even if I survive, what else will I lose?

My ability to taste or smell? My muscle control? Will my heart condition get worse? Will I never be able to think clearly again? I already can't. How much worse can it get?

Sources seem to say: Much worse

I can't stress this enough that I am LUCKY to be where I am now. I can't function if I don't get more than 10 hours of sleep. I have to take medications every day to SURVIVE. At the end of my work day I pass right out, and wake up just in time to get ready for the next day at work. I do not have a life anymore. And I'm LUCKY, because I RECOVERED. THIS is what 'recovery' looks like, from long covid. It may get better over the next few years. It also might not. It DEFINITELY won't if I get covid again.

If YOU don't care about that, or about how that could happen to you, then I will never willingly be around you. Again, this even goes to my dear friends.

Wear a face mask and STOP being the problem

#vent #covid

[emililyqueer]

so... this is just kind of a personal emotional dump. i don't want to bring anyone down, you can ignore this if you just want to do the sexy stuff.

but it is an insight into me, so ya know. here it is. it turned out a lot longer than i wanted... to be honest it's sort of turned into my life story. um. sorry.

i spent so much of my life being ashamed and confused and depressed. i suppose, the thing is... i'm tired of watching other people live the life that i wanted to live.

i was brought up in a very conservative small town, in the middle of fkin nowhere. the place was extremely homogenous. no (visibly) gay or trans people, almost no people of colour. i had a single, disabled mother. my dad was very mentally ill, and he was abusive and violent with it, and even though he left when i was in single digits, he's left some very deep scars on me. i went to school under the time of the Section 28 law - which is to say, LGBT issues were banned in school, and bullying gay and trans kids was absolutely allowed to happen, or else the teachers could be seen as "taking a side" on a "controversial issue". this happened to me multiple times. i hated school. even though i started off in life with a passion of learning, going there broke my enthusiasm for literally decades.

i was queer, and i was in denial. i... sort of understood, i think?? but i realised very young that i couldn't rely on anyone, not my parents, not my teachers, not my peers. i grew up obsessed with the idea of self-reliance and some fucked up idea of personal strength. even after a university friend of mine came out, and i realised i might be trans, i still clung to these ideas, to masculinity and self-isolation. they had kept me "safe" and i felt i needed them. i abused drink and drugs because i felt empty and just wanted to fucking feel something, at least something other than anxiety and despair. it felt like parts of me were missing. most of the time, i felt either nothing, or fear, or stress, unless i was high.

i had health problems, i didn't have any energy or concentration (i later learned that i had ADD), i was depressed, and i had chronic migraines. i went to university to study a BSc in computer science, and i couldn't complete it due to these health problems.

and yeah, the health problems and depression became disabling... because of that i was constantly broke. this country, the tory party especially (but not only the tories), hates disabled people with a passion. i was into political activism at the time and the number of deaths of sick and disabled people coming out of the initial austerity era actually kind of broke my faith in society, i couldn't believe this was being allowed to happen.

as an aside - that was a choice. austerity was a choice, and it came with a body count in the tens of thousands (according to the British Medical Journal) before they just stopped fucking counting. this is a thing that actually happened in one of the richest countries on earth, and it happened as the richest people in that country only got richer and richer, and then we just... forgot, because disabled people don't fucking matter, do we? i'm sorry to get political in the middle of my own miserable ramble but these bastards need to burn in hell for what they did. fuck the tories

anyway.

because i abused my body, and i couldn't afford decent healthcare, or transition related stuff, i actually wrote off my appearance. i decided i would never be able to look good or feel good about myself. there was a brief time when i first got on HRT where i felt great about the future, but once i realised how badly i'd already hurt myself... i just gave up. for a lot of my life i was convinced that i wouldn't be here in the next few months or years, so why build a future?

my desires and sense of identity were just completely buried under a mountain of shame, self loathing, lack of direction, and substance abuse. i lost so, so many years.

so... how are things today? my living situation is crap. it's secure, but miserable. one tiny room, with mold in it which is aggravating my allergies. my financial situation is still bad, but it's not critical - i am struggling to afford some medications, but generally i'm afloat. i am, so far, just about able to maintain a small old car, which i rely on, because i live in the sticks and there's fck all public transport here. mentally, i still struggle, but it's so so much better than it was, and it is getting better. my physical health is... concerning me; i have a lot less energy than i'd like, and i'm in almost always in pain. in terms of drugs, i am mostly clean. i don't really drink, i don't smoke (neither tobacco nor anything else), but i do use prescription painkillers.

one of the bigger things is my gender and sexuality... confusing as hell, i'm in a superposition between trans woman and like... femboy, or sissy feminine man. i don't really understand it, parts of all these things appeal strongly to me on a deep, honest, fundamental level. i'm really not sure how to interpret this.

and, well, when i look at some certain sex workers and models... i feel equal parts inspired, and like i want to cry. i keep seeing people who lived the life i always wanted, and i see how fucking happy and successful they are, and i feel so many things all at once.

but... i am still here. i do still have time left. and i do know a few things about me for sure:

i am a reasonably intelligent person. i'm good with computers, electronics, and cars. i like music, travelling, and um i think i like cooking??? and of course video games. i mean duh, i'm a queer on the internet! :p

i'm determined, i don't want to lie down and die any more, i want things to get better for me, i want a future.

but i think... above all? it's the things i was ashamed of that i love the most. i love kink, i love femininity, i love showing off, i desire outrageous sexual experiences, and looking hot and changing the person i see in the mirror. i want to do porn, to revel in eroticism and queerness, and i want to take these things seriously.

so, that's what i'm going to do. that's why i'm posting this here alongside the fun kinky stuff. it's important, this is me.

[swampgallows]

i straight up get violent now when i hear people say "post covid". covid has completely fucked up my life and career. it's kept me from getting the medical care i need because even healthcare facilities won't take precautions anymore, leading to a threat of being infected on top of my original problems.

it has permanently fucked up the lives of some of my closest friends. my best friend was infected for the third fucking time last week; he takes every precaution imaginable, even getting his groceries delivered, but was infected by the person preparing his fucking taxes. another of my best friends now needs an inhaler and walking stick and isn't even 30 yet. yet another close friend most likely has long covid, suffering short term memory problems and a chronic chest cough despite normal xrays. another friend has lost over a dozen family members since the pandemic began, with his father, brother, and uncle all passing away in December 2020.

i want to say that people who reflexively knee jerk say "covid is over" are living in a bubble, but i think the more accurate reality is that they've forced people like me and my friends to live in a gutter.

i can't write any more. I'm so fucking tired of having to be angry about this. i am in a really bad place mental health wise and wish i could go get help but i can't imagine anywhere more likely to catch covid than a ward, save for an actual covid wing of a hospital.

if i get covid, i could die. i have a blood disorder that already impairs my iron and clotting and oxygen levels, and a single infection of covid could result in a stroke. if i don't die of stroke, it could disable me for life. if i don't have a stroke, i could still get a clot that leads to pulmonary embolism. or i could just be saddled with long covid or chronic fatigue as my anemia disables me. this is the risk i face every single time i go out in public. any encounter could kill or disable me. and it is me against literally the entire world. i am told over and over that me and my friends are not worth protecting, that we're expendable, that we're "those people" who would have died of something anyway. we have mental illness, or chronic illness, or are trans, or people of color, or even a combination of these things, so society is fine isolating and killing us.

this is all ive had to think about as ive watched it be reinforced by everyone -- friends, family, communities, leaders -- for the past four years. every waking moment spent in hypervigilance and exhaustion and depression, mourning the life i had, the present life i could be having, the future i want being withheld from me. mourning, and yet still not having the space or time to grieve, because it is still going on. it is still happening. there are still thousands of deaths a week, and that's nothing to say of who is becoming disabled.

i just want to breathe air. in public. i want to be able to access healthcare without the threat of being infected. i want to go outside. i want to be able to get a job where i don't have to fear that my coworkers or the general public can literally kill me in complete ignorance. i want being in public to not require a particulate respirator.

i am sick of being told that these requests are unreasonable and that i might as well just die because infection is inevitable. at this point it's a race to see if my misery will kill me before covid does.

[ina-nis]

None of the books I read, none of the articles I found talked about the intersections of loneliness and queerness (more specifically transness, and even more specifically genderlessness), or the intersections of loneliness and chronic illnesses (like fatigue and pain).

When they do talk something about queerness, it’s as if it was endemic to the status of being out as queer: of course you’ll feel lonely and alienated from the majority, so the very simple solution is to find other queer people.

Queer people are all different though. Even if the idea is to have an united front, the reality is that it’s very much not like that. If you don’t follow the culture and the customs, you fall behind and end up ostracized too. If you don’t fit (as ironic as that sounds), you have no space or voice. In an ideal world, everything would work out wonderfully, but what ends up happening is that when you get a bunch of marginalized people together they will bond over similar experiences and if you don’t have similar experiences, you won’t bond at all, among other things.

Disabled spaces tend to be welcoming but it’s depressing that loneliness and isolation seem to be part of the “norm” - and it’s no wonder, really. Living with a chronic condition (be it mental or physical) can be very isolating.

When you mix and match these, and any other strings of marginalization, it ends up being too big of a burden. It’s understandable that AvPD has so much room and fuel to grow. How do you connect when you queerness feel alien even amidst queer people? How do you connect when you are out of social spaces due to chronic fatigue or something else?

Oh, of course, the problem is that I’m just adding more and more sand and burying myself “before even trying something”, huh?

I got where I am as a result of trying though. Trying a lot.

If you try long enough without any success, it gets more tiring and painful quicker. It’s just not worth it.

I have very little energy, both emotional and physical. I don’t want to waste it “trying” anymore things.

Where do I find literature or treatments that can help me with that?

Like AvPD, all these conditions are incurable. Even when I manage them, I’ll never have the same amount of energy a person normally would do. Trying to treat AvPD as if I was a neurotypical ablebodied person is not going to work.

In the same way, trying to shove my own personal queerness into some boxes so I can find a space amidst others isn’t going to work either. I have no intention of making myself more palatable or easier to understand for the comfort of others. That’s their problem, not mine.

If all that makes me “treatment-resistant” and “too strict” and stubborn, so be it.

I’m better on my own.

I’m done changing parts of myself to try to please others. Look where I got. Look how well that have worked out for me.

Fuck, I am so, so done with chasing after people. I’ve talked about this before... the more I feel confident in myself, the less inferior and wrong I see myself, the more I embrace and love all my peculiarities and weird habits that make me who I am, the more I see how these unique traits and mannerisms make me special and amazing in my own particular way.

I know for a fact that if I don’t hype myself up no one will. And hyping myself up is a great way to see my self-worth and accept me where I stand. I’m trying to change what serves no purpose, and trying to enhance the things I already enjoy.

It will get even better.

#avpd #avoidance #avoidant #avoidant personality disorder #loneliness #inanis post

[aijee]

Life update 9/10

CW: COVID/illness, mental health

Hi, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

First of all, welcome to all you lovely new followers. Full disclosure (and gentle reminder for anyone else following), I’ve sort of fallen off the writing mood for a while, so if you’re here for Seventeen, Meanie or fanfic content, it will be pretty rare, if that wasn’t evident already. But if you’re here to keep up with my life once in a while, I appreciate your time and attention. :)

Second, I still strongly believe that we’re in a pandemic. I’m still appalled at the lack of empathy, respect and protection towards immunocompromised, disabled, chronically ill, socioeconomically disadvantaged, marginalized people in a country (America for me) that would rather us go back to work and make money than ensure everyone is safe and can comfortably return to their daily lives without feeling like their life is actively threatened. I’ve felt a lot of disillusionment towards my workplace, country (of which I am now a citizen, ironically) and life goals lately, which has been difficult after so many years of aspiring to learn, live and work here.

Part of that disillusionment is having gotten COVID recently. Like many Asians, I grew up in a multigenerational household, and that habit of thinking about how my actions affect my elders is ingrained. I couldn’t bear to leave my apartment, but my workplace and institution insisted that I return to work after a really short isolation period—in my mind, prioritizing the work to be done over (1) my health and comfort, (2) how my coerced presence would affect others more vulnerable down the line. It was really hard going against my morals because I had to pay bills and eat. Still wearing masks and diligently sanitizing/washing hands until now, surrounded by people who don’t makes me feel like a fucking crazy person. Am I the only one who still cares? Am I the only one who still sees the COVID numbers? It’s honestly really jarring to feel so disconnected from the reality around you.

I was not in a good mental place, having COVID. Obviously being ill and in bed most of the time is not a good experience, but I also live alone. The pandemic has been and continues to be wrought with loneliness; I try my best to supplement that with video calls with friends and texting family. But to be ill and without close support where you live is downright scary and extremely melancholy. To be young and alone in a city full of people is so very sad.

For better and for worse, I finally got a doctor’s diagnosis for my mental health struggles and am starting on medication for the first time (which happened at the same time as getting COVID—imagine how that experience was, oof). It’s both scary and relieving to hear what I imagined was what I was dealing with for a while. 

This, alongside COVID, has been making me extremely tired almost all days. I use up all my energy to survive at work, keep up a face and do my job well. I use up all my energy talking to friends, being genuinely happy to see them and chatting the night away. But outside of that, I’m left with scraps to do things for myself beyond the bare minimum of eating, sleeping and cleaning. I’m trying not to judge myself for it. As my therapist keeps saying: “It just is, and that’s okay. You’re okay.” Many are in similar positions, just doing their best to get by day-to-day. But it doesn’t make me less of a person or less worth of existing.

Funny thing is that I fell of off Seventeen and GoSe, which I used to watch religiously back in the day, some time in the pandemic when things got rough and K-Pop just wasn’t the healthy comfort place it used to be. Since getting COVID, I spent so much of my sick days watching these silly boys doing silly things. It was a joy to reconnect with the joy they gave before and give me again. I didn’t intend to write about these difficult experiences of mine, but it felt appropriately full-circle to mention on this blog that SVT has been an indispensable, wonderful comfort for me lately. I missed them so much. I’m grateful for what they do because I don’t think I could’ve gotten through the last several weeks without them.

Maybe by writing this, it’ll help me remember: I’m doing my best. And that’s okay. I’m okay.

#aijeepost #a part of me dearly misses writing #that part of me revisits AO3 #rereads old writing #cringes a little #but still smiles at how much I still love what's there #that part me me rereads comments and misses those interactions so much #misses being able to write silly and angsty stories to help people escape #even for a moment #you did well past me #current me is doing their best #current me is glad you existed and did what you did back then #I wouldn't have these joys to revisit #if it wasn't for you

[jerirose]

Finding out that Covid left me with another disability has really fucked me up ngl... I suspected it did but to hear it has? 😮‍💨 I wanna scream my lungs out from roof tops and punch something.

My health was already isolating enough beforehand. To add on to that just... I feel so vulnerable, I hate it. I hate this. I keep having to remind myself that I didn't do anything to deserve this, but somehow, it feels like I did.

Just one shit thing on top of another. 32 years of fucking bullshit and struggling in so many different ways... when does it end? When do I get a break?! When do I get to rest and be rested???

I wish someone would reset the clock, give me another life. Let me live in an AU where I don't suffer from PTSD from all the shit people put me through. Where I don't lose my mum at 4 yrs old. Where I have a family that cares for me. One where my love life isn't just about being a survivor of abuse. A life where that abuse didn't trigger my first chronic illness, which has started a wonderful collection of them. A life without Agrophobia, but surrounded by friends that care. I've had 1 hug in almost 4 years...

But here I am... stuck in the mountains, with a family that pretends to care, no friends, no company but my dog, my PC, and my silly little video games; sleeping most of my days away. Can't work, can barely leave the house (except for doctors appointments and hospital visits), and can't do what I love. Just sitting around day in, day out remembering the exciting life I loved and lost before all of this health shit 12 years ago....

I'm so fucking lonely, I'm so very, very tired. And I am angry.

When do I get to leave this cage? When do I get to taste freedom?

#👽 stop speaking nonsense #depressing shit

[requiemforarainbow]

Trying to write with chronic pain flares is...interesting. Under a cut for talk of unknown illness/pain and personal shit.

Follow my NaNo 2023 journey: https://nanowrimo.org/participants/jordan-a-wruck

So the last week of September, I started to have a small pain in my lower right abdomen. It started at about a 2/10 - just a tiny little "oh, that feels weird. Huh." I originally chalked it up to muscle pain because I'm a side sleeper, and my right side is the normal side I get comfy on.

October 2nd. Pain was still there and increased to about a 6-7/10. Immediately got me in to my doctor's Internal Medicine side to see a doc. She ordered bloodwork and an ultrasound. Promised me results in 24 hours.

October 3rd. Doc hadn't called with results by close of business. Meanwhile, the pain spiked to a 9/10. ER TIME! (I HATE the hospital, so for me to say "let's go to the hospital" it has to HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. Last time that happened it turned out to be my gallbladder.)

ER visit took.... 7 hours. 7 FUCKING HOURS. 2 of those hours were in the WAITING ROOM. 5 was spent in a bed in the HALLWAY in between 2 CLEARLY MARKED ISOLATION ROOMS WITH THE DOORS OPEN AND NO MASKS IN SIGHT. (In retrospect, I forgot my mask too with the pain, and 5 days later ended up with a minor viral infection myself.)

ER doc ordered more bloodwork, urinalysis, an ultrasound, and a CT scan. By the time I got back from the CT scan I was starting to get a migraine, and the pain in my abdomen hadn't subsided either. (Also I learned I'm not actually allergic to CT contrast, but that's another story.) At this point I was betting either my appendix was acting up, my pancreas was being more of a bitch than usual (diabetes is fun!), or something with my liver.

So, total time spent in the ER: 7 hours.

Results from the tests: "Nothing actionable."

Total pain medication given: Z E R O mg.

That's right. NO PAIN MEDICATION. They gave me anti-nausea meds and PEPCID FOR FUCKING HEARTBURN.

Because as we all know, heartburn starts over near the FUCKING APPENDIX.

...Yes, I was and am P I S S E D.

They literally treated me like a drug addict looking for a fix. Even after I mentioned I had a migraine. All because my 9/10 pain wasn't making me scream constantly. My normal pain level is about a 6/10, which is a level that would have most people without chronic pain bedridden and screaming. For me, anything LESS than that is literally background noise.

Oh, did I mention I had my PARENTS WITH ME?! My parents - who are also chronic pain sufferers. My parents who have NARCOTIC PAIN MEDICATION.

Naturally I brought them to the ER to help me "get a fix", right?!

What does my doc give me for this chronic pain, you ask? 800 mg ibuprofen. Which - surprise - doesn't usually do jack shit.

I mean, I get it. The narcotic stuff can be addictive. And with the opioid crisis, they're careful who they give it to. In my state, you have to be under the care of a long-term pain management doc.

Who won't see me because - surprise - I'm a "kid."

I'm 36 and use a cane because of the pain. My primary doc helped me get a disabled parking placard. She knows how bad my pain gets. She knows - but she legally can't give me anything stronger than the ibuprofen. (Which sucks. But I like her.)

But you'd think the ER could have at least given me an ibuprofen!!

Anyway. Went back to the Internal Med doc a week later. The Internal Med doc set me up with a GI consult. (Gastric doc. I'm starting to think it might be warranted because it's starting to hurt every time I eat.) The date of my initial consult?

November 30th.

Yep. That would make the appointment TWO BLOODY MONTHS after the initial pain started.

Luckily they have a priority cancellation list. And I guess someone cancelled because my appointment is now this Friday (November 10).

I already know how it's going to go. They're going to prod my abdomen a little, not find shit, and say "Okay, so we're going to have to scope you."

I've had an endoscopy before, both upper and lower. The prep is a NIGHTMARE. (Note: do not drink the ginger flavor prep with Pepsi. You will want to barf for weeks.)

Fingers crossed the endoscopy will find what the fuck is causing my entire abdomen to feel like someone is jabbing me with a cattle prod every time I eat now.

And that I can get to 50,000 words this NaNo.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2023 #chronic pain #chronic illness #unknown illness

[thesickpanda]

It Doesn’t Rain, it Pours

So since Covid began, I have been socially distancing and largely isolating at home (apart from seeing my in-laws, who too are isolating due to cancer, I have gone into *one* indoor shop in the past 6 months and a few doctor’s practices, and *that’s it*). As someone with multiple chronic illnesses and gut dysbiosis, my immune system cannot take another hit, so Covid is terrifying to me.

Because the world has grown impatient and given up fighting this pandemic, and restrictions have eased everywhere, including in Australia, I am even more isolated than before, as no one is wearing masks or taking precautions. As a result, Covid infections in this country are speculated to kill between 10,000 and 15,000 people this year - most of them people like me. I am beyond livid at the ableism and cruelty the disabled/chronically ill community has had to endure in recent years (on top of the already awful “regular ableism” of society). Many immuno-compromised people have been living in a kind of apartheid where the healthy, able bodied get to live their lives as normal whereas we have to continue sheltering in place because no one cares if we die. (We have been deemed the acceptable sacrifice for the freedoms of the ableds, apparently.)

ANYWAY. The only saving grace for me is that I can still go for nature walks relatively safely. I love nature walks. My main passion is plants and insects and this hobby is a Covid-safe thing to do, which in all honesty is the only thing keeping me going in these lonely, bleak times. Except….. We have had not one, but TWO friggin’ La Niña events in a row, making for totally awful summers with extreme, flooding rains, and wetter than average conditions for 2 solid years. I am losing the will to live trapped in my house. I am unable to go places or be a human in the world because of the pandemic (and now the flu, which is truly horrendous this year, as well as the looming threat of Monkey Pox...which of course the world is just waiting to become an unstoppable pandemic before they act....) and also unable to go outside due to inclement conditions.

 So this news right here? NOT FUCKING WELCOME.

‘Triple La Niña’: Australia may face another summer of flooding rains, US expert warns. Scientists are watching an area in Pacific Ocean that has been unusually cool – a signal current La Niña could linger...”

Link: https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2022/jun/10/triple-la-nina-australia-may-face-another-summer-of-flooding-rains-us-expert-warns

 I know it is petty given the Large Scale Crises affecting people the world over, but for those of us who have had to remain stuck inside their homes for YEARS with no end in sight, who can go literally nowhere because of a combo of disease, ableism and constant rain, this is unbearable. Another year?! Another lost summer where I can barely go outside?  I am about ready to implode. I don’t think my sanity will last another year!

[Also, following all this rain, the fuel load of our forests will be outrageous, so the first dry summer we get will be one of FLAMES. YAY.]

And my U.S. friend of 20 years is coming to visit me for the first time this August. Australia, you BETTER NOT BE WET when she is here as all our planned events are outdoors. I can only hope that our 5 day trip to an area halfway to the outback is at least dry, but current models predict rain in the deserts, too.

It’s true what they say; it doesn’t rain, it bloody well pours…

#la niña #COVID19 #ableism #australia #losing my mind

[crimeronan]

hello. i followed you for correct leverage opinions, and have continued to do so because the vibes. impeccable. that being said, please tell me about the trc and cdth and the nightmare trauma pals and the other group

omg. okay i'll do my best

the raven cycle by maggie stiefvater is the first series, you'll find a lot of quick and simple summaries of the plot with a google search. there's a girl who can't kiss anyone because she'll kill her true love with a kiss, a boy searching for a dead welsh king in virginia to give his life meaning, a lot of romping around in the woods, etc

but the heart of the story is that it's about these six teens from wildly different backgrounds (though one of them doesn't enter the scene until book 3) falling in love and being Horribly messy about it. the external plot is centered on magic but the internal arcs are all about isolation, mental illness, classism, identity, growing up, growing apart, love as a choice. most of the main cast is desperately trying to save a doomed boy who just wants to make sure all of his loved ones will be okay when he's gone

the ot6 polycule is made up of

the girl who's already grieving the doomed boy because she's seen his future ghost, trying so hard not to let anyone else in on her secret, taking on more trauma and fear by the day as the series progresses

the doomed boy himself, an achingly lonely and extremely privileged kid who wants to do the right thing but always seems to fuck up; he feels he loves everyone more than they'll ever love him

the classic scholarship kid present in any book involving a boarding school, poor with a rough home life, desperately in love with the doomed boy without believing that love actually exists, & sick with terror bc of it

the shouty fighty walking disaster who's just starting to recover from a suicide attempt; found his father's dead body and it's been all downhill from there. nasty and caustic but prone to consistent quiet kindness

the actual ghost who's dependent on magic and the love of his friends to stay corporeal, exhausted, tired of decaying and trapped in a traumatic feedback loop that he can't pull himself out of

the social chameleon who's up to his ears in double identities and the criminal underground and trauma of his own, trying to suss out whether any of the other 5 are trustworthy and whether he can use them to his own ends

all of the interpersonal relationships are STUNNING and dynamic, characters can go from enemies to friends to enemies to lovers over the course of a few books, it's all just. really good

call down the hawk is a sequel to this series, the first book in a trilogy

it's about magic as chronic illness, magic as community, magic as something that wants to kill you but could also save you; you can view all of the character arcs through different lenses of disability, & the main conflict in book 2 boils down to accommodation versus independence for chronically ill people

the nightmare trauma pals are ronan and hennessy. both of them can bring their dreams to life. both have had nightmares try to kill them for years, thanks to their unrelenting ptsd and other illness. they're intensely platonic (ronan is gay) and have all the dynamic messiness of the trc relationships, turned up to eleven

they become best friends almost instantly because of their combined ability to laugh and to call the other on their shit; they're messy because they're awful codependent freaks who are both FAR too sick to truly help the other; ronan is trying to be someone healthy for hennessy despite having no idea what that looks like, so he's making it up as he goes along; hennessy doesn't understand why everything feels awful and ronan isn't helping like he promised and also why he doesn't seem to care that their codependency hurts her

but that's just one of many complex relationships in the series -- another extremely compelling one is between hennessy and jordan, a girl who's "not real" because hennessy dreamed her, but Very Fucking Real insofar as she has interiority and her own motivations and desires and a desperate want to be free. and how hennessy keeps dragging her back because she's so afraid of having to exist without jordan taking care of her

dreamer trilogy is SIGNIFICANTLY darker and more fucked up than the raven cycle, which is why i love it the most. but if you prefer lighter media you might like trc better! also this overview barely touches on, like, anything i have to say about either series. as evidenced by.... the thousands of posts on my blog. but these are the main highlights that i'm In It for!

#replies #trc #cdth #long post #suicide m

[spencers-renaissance]

dry me off and hold me close

Summary: Derek has finally relented and is bringing his boyfriend Spencer to meet the rest of the team. That means, though, he has to finally tell them about his boyfriend's disability. Terrified that they'll react badly, he puts it off until he can't anymore. Turns out he was worried for nothing.

Tags: so much fluff, protective derek, disabled spencer, caretaker derek, au: spencer is not in the bau, team as family, hurt/comfort, light angst, est. rel, day to day disabled life, physical disability/chronic illness

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 5.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Hello! I am nervous to share this one, I won't lie. It's incredibly personal. It was a pain in the arse to write but I love how it turned out and I hope you do, too. Just a note: this may be triggering for some people - there is description of nausea and severe chronic pain, as well as frequent references to ableism towards wheelchair users.

As soon as Rossi brings up the prospect of a fully-catered family dinner at his ‘mansion’ this weekend, Derek’s heart sinks. They’re on their way home from a pretty gruelling case and it’s well-deserved of course, but he knows what comes next, knows what question will be asked of him, and he’s dreading it. There’s only so long he can go on avoiding answering. 

“Please tell me you’ll finally let us meet Spencer, Derek,” JJ asks, levelling him with a look to rival one of Penelope’s. “At this point I’m starting to think you’ve made him up.” 

Spencer is very real. He’s a very real, very sexy, very intelligent man who Derek has no doubt would get on brilliantly with the team. But Spencer also happens to be disabled. And while his boyfriend has had decades to get to terms with broaching such a sensitive, taboo topic, Derek has not. He’s far from ashamed of Spencer — that’s not it at all — he’s just so protective of him, and the idea of others being touchy or patronising or outright rude around him is an idea he’s never been able to get used to, no matter how many times he’s witnessed it.

Derek’s laugh is strained as he rubs his face awkwardly, trying to find the words to politely decline, but the others are pouncing on him before he can speak. 

“You’ve put it off enough times now, Morgan,” Emily says, siding with JJ. “If he’s even half of what you say he is then we’ll love him. Just bring him along. Rossi doesn’t mind.”

“Oh no, I’m dying to meet the man who could finally tie Derek Morgan, ladies man extraordinaire, down,” Rossi chimes in.

“He definitely sounds like my kind of guy,” Alex agrees. “I’m impressed you managed to land such an educated man, Derek.”

He looks sort of desperately towards Hotch who raises his hands guiltily. “I would actually like to meet him, too, Morgan,” he says reluctantly, a rare smile playing across his face.

Derek groans and throws his head back against his plane seat. He can only be glad Penelope isn’t on the flight because she’d be absolutely relentless in such a conversation. 

As hesitant as he is to let his team in, maybe it is time to finally get over himself and bring Spencer to meet them. After all, none of them have ever given him actual cause to be so nervous, and he knows they’d all inevitably fall in love with him almost as quickly as Derek did, so really it’s his own fears and fierce protective instincts keeping Spencer away from his second family. 

“Fine,” he relents, anxious butterflies not easing. “He’s home this weekend, and apart from planning lectures I think he’s free, so I’ll ask him. But I can only promise to ask, I won’t promise he’ll agree.” It’s a pointless caveat; Spencer’s been bugging him to meet the team almost as long as they’ve been bugging him to meet Spencer, he’ll jump at the chance to go to dinner with them. 

“Finally,” JJ groans, pretending to collapse against Emily in relief, who giggles fondly at her antics.

“I’m sure we’ll love him, Derek,” Rossi says reassuringly, a proud fatherly look on his face that has his chest clenching painfully. 

As everyone settles down, his stomach churns anxiously as he stares back out of the jet window. He knows everyone will love Spencer; he just doesn’t know how to tell them what to expect. What if Spencer has a fainting episode or gets nauseous at dinner time? What if he can’t keep his energy up or is too photosensitive to have the lights on? What if meeting that many people at once overwhelms him? Spencer always tells him he worries too much, but he can’t help it — not when the love of his life is involved. 

He’s brought out of his nervous stewing by Hotch. “You know, Morgan, if you really don’t want to bring Spencer, you don’t have to,” he says softly, making him look up to see everyone staring at him guiltily. 

“We didn’t mean to pressure you,” JJ says hesitantly, and the others agree, all clearly having noticed his pensive expression.

He forces himself to take a calming breath and bite the damn bullet already. Spencer would be rolling his eyes at him. “Okay. There’s something I haven’t told you,” he starts carefully. He hasn’t had to introduce the concept of Spencer’s disability to anybody since he told his family. “Spencer is disabled. He has a chronic condition that impairs his mobility along with bringing a whole host of other symptoms, and while he’s had it for most of his adult life, I’m still not used to broaching the topic and I didn’t know how you would react. He already experienced enough difficulties in life, he doesn’t need my co-workers, hypothetically, being patronising or weird about it. So, I put it off.”

It feels like a weight off his chest once it’s out in the air, but the surprised looks on his team’s face make him briefly wonder whether telling them was a mistake after all. “Spencer will really look forward to coming though,” he rushes to continue. “He’s on his own a lot of the time and struggles to make it out of the house except for work if I’m not there, so he can feel quite isolated. It will be nice for him to spend time with other people, and finally meet you guys.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, everyone seems to have mostly recovered from their immediate shock, and look relaxed and intrigued again — far more appreciated expressions on Derek’s end. 

“Well,” Rossi starts, and he feels like holding his breath in anticipation, “will he need any accommodations?” Relief spreads warm and thick across Derek’s chest as he feels himself physically relax. Of course immediate support would be the response from his team; he was stupid to think otherwise. 

“His mobility fluctuates daily. Sometimes he can walk small distances okay, other times — and more frequently — he needs aids like forearm crutches or his wheelchair. Can I text you on the day and let you know?”

“Of course,” Rossi promises, a warm smile on his face, “whatever you and Spencer need.”

“There is one more thing, if Spencer’s coming it will need to be earlier in the evening… think more six rather than eight. He’ll be too exhausted later in the evening and he needs to be home early to get the amount of sleep he needs.”

“That’s fine,” Rossi agrees immediately, “six it is.”

“Sorry for pressuring you, Derek,” JJ says, tilting her head as she looks across the table at him. “But we’ll love Spencer, this won’t change anything.”

“Yeah, fuck you for thinking we’d be assholes about it,” Emily chuckles, punching him softly in the arm. 

Derek grins at her before shaking his head. “I’m just too protective of him,” he explains a little guiltily. “He thinks it’s ridiculous but I can’t help it. We’ve been together nearly five years now and I’ve seen the things he has to go through, professionally and in his day to day life. I just saw an area for potential harm, no matter how slim the chances, and immediately bricked it up in my mind. It’s hard to tear walls down like that.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Alex says in her signature gentle tone, smiling at him.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” Hotch agrees and Derek gives them all another quick smile before they settle in for the rest of the flight. 

It’s late by the time Derek unlocks the door to his and Spencer’s home and he knows his boyfriend will already be in bed. It had been a weird adjustment when they’d first started dating, Spencer having to be home by 10pm so Spencer could get at least nine hours of sleep, topped up by regular naps during the day. Now though, he’s completely used to operating around Spencer’s sleep schedule; it’s just routine. 

He makes his way through the house quietly, toeing his shoes off and shedding his coat before dumping his bag in the living room and padding up the stairs. The house is dark but their room is dimly lit by Spencer’s night lamps, there to ease him off to sleep and keep him company when bouts of painful insomnia torment him. There was a time Derek used to mind, but those days seem so long ago now. He climbs carefully onto the mattress, taking off his trousers and socks but not bothering to change into anything new.

As gentle as he is with his movement, Spencer still stirs beside him. “Derek?” He blinks sleepily over at him in the soft light of the bedroom and Derek immediately scoots over and wraps him in a hug. It might be gone midnight but he misses Spencer like crazy when he’s away and physical contact is very much essential business right now.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers as he relishes the feeling of Spencer’s small frame against his own. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay. Just glad you’re home. Missed you.”

“I promise I missed you more,” Derek murmurs as the warmth of the room and comforting presence of his boyfriend wrapped around him finally break down the walls he’s been holding back the sleepiness working a 5 day case inevitably brings. 

“Make me pancakes in the morning?” 

Spencer doesn’t need to ask, it’s a tradition for Derek to make pancakes for breakfast the day he gets back from the case, but it makes him smile anyway. “Anything for you, baby boy,” he yawns. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

⭐️

Derek waits until dinner the next evening to bring up the subject of the dinner party. It’s just a simple takeaway on the sofa of the house Derek had renovated for them, but even five years into their relationship, every moment shared with Spencer feels like a date. 

“How would you feel about going to a dinner party with the team?” Derek asks when there’s a lull in their conversation. Spencer’s just finished explaining a complicated debate he’s having with one of his colleagues about kinetic particle theory and Derek has no idea how to respond. Moments like these used to make him feel stupid and inadequete when they first got together, but now he just stares fondly at his genius boyfriend and wonders how on earth he got so lucky. 

Spencer lowers his fork. They’re eating chinese but he still hasn’t mastered chopsticks, and it never fails to make Derek smile. “Are you serious?” he says, an excited grin spreading across his face.

“I am.” He quirks an amused eyebrow as he takes in Spencer’s eager expression. God, he’s so fucking in love.

“Well obviously I want to go,” he giggles, “you know that. When is it?”

“Saturday.”

Spencer just launches himself into Derek’s lap in lieu of response, not that he has far to move on their cosy sofa, slotting himself against his body as they melt into one another. “Thank you for finally getting over yourself,” he says with his face buried in Derek’s neck.

Derek’s responding laugh jostles both of them as he wraps his arms around Spencer’s small frame, loving the way he fits in the palms of his hands. “I’m sorry it took me so long, baby,” he says, tone transitioning into sincerity. “But they can’t wait to meet you, and you’re going to love them.”

“I know,” Spencer says drily, pulling back to look him in his eyes. “Why do you think I’ve been pushing to meet them for the last five years?”

Derek answers with a squeeze to Spencer’s waist and a kiss to his shoulder. “Go on,” he says, lifting him off his lap to sit on the sofa next to him. “Finish your dinner.” 

“Mm, I think I’ve had enough,” Spencer hums nonchalantly, busying himself with putting the carton on the coffee table as if Derek doesn’t know him like the back of his hands. 

“This is your favourite dish from your favourite Chinese and you’re expecting me to believe you’ve just had enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” Spencer says, but he sounds winded and Derek isn’t stupid. He levels him with a look. “Okay… I just feel a bit sick is all.”

“Floor, sofa, or bed?” He’s aware of the nausea protocol, and he moves his own dinner aside as he springs into action. 

“Floor.” He’d been surprised the first time his boyfriend had crawled onto the floor and lay curled up until the nausea passed, but it was second-nature now. Apparently, the flat, firm surface was the most comfortable when such intense sickness consumed him.

“Okay, baby, let’s go.” He gently lifts Spencer off the sofa and down onto the floor, taking care not to jostle him too much. His eyes stay closed, face screwed up as he tries to weather the waves of nausea crashing over him. It never fails to make Derek’s heart twist in pain. “Are you actually going to be sick?” The majority of nausea spells usually pass on their own with no vomit to speak of, and Spencer’s usually very good at telling which kind it is.

“No,” he whispers, reaching his hand slowly towards Derek’s and gripping it tightly. He gets the message and lays down next to him, stroking his hair softly as they wait in silence for Spencer’s body to right itself. It only takes about twenty minutes to pass, and when it does, Derek carries him to bed, bringing him his toothbrush and a flannel as they follow another of their set routines that have been established over so many years of being together. 

“I love you so much, Spencer Reid,” Derek murmurs as they lay in bed together that night, the soft light of their bedroom catching on Spencer’s cheekbones.

“I love you more, Derek Morgan,” Spencer whispers back, voice slurred as he cuddles further into the arms of his boyfriend. 

“Not possible,” Derek insists, but Spencer’s already dropping off to sleep. 

⭐️

Spencer wakes up on the day of the dinner party in what Derek can clearly see is nothing short of agony. He doesn’t try to hide it, they’re mostly past that now — although he still sometimes convinces himself he can handle smaller symptoms by himself, no matter how many times Derek insists they’re a team — but he doesn’t say much either. The morning is spent on the sofa, using numerous heated blankets and painkiller combinations until he can at least think straight. 

“How do you feel about this evening?” Derek asks as lunchtime approaches, rubbing Spencer’s good arm gently as he leans against him, legs outstretched on the chaise. 

Spencer hums. “I’m gonna take a nap after lunch,” he decides after a moment of deliberation, “and then decide. I think with meds and the wheelchair, I’ll be okay.” He pauses for a moment as he nibbles nervously on his bottom lip. “Do you think they’ll be weird about the chair?”

“No, baby,” Derek says decisively. Really, he can’t believe he ever thought anything different, but he was scared and fear easily spirals into irrationality. “They won’t even blink. Especially since I warned them about the mobility aids. I think they’d be more surprised if you walked into the Rossi mansion.”

“You sure?”

It hurts Derek’s heart to hear him so anxious and uncertain, and it’s only more painful because he knows it's rooted in experience. He’s had to fight for most of his life to be seen as a competent adult, equal to his peers despite his disability, and people can be cruel. “I’m sure. And even if for some reason they were dicks about it, I’m there, okay? Nobody’s gonna get away with being anything other than an angel towards you when I’m around.”

Spencer giggles at that, turning his head into Derek’s chest. “You turn into the hulk when you’re protecting me.” 

“I do,” he agrees, chuckling at the sound of Spencer’s adorable laugh, “and for good reason. No-one hurts my baby. You know that, and everyone else knows it, too. We’re gonna be just fine, pretty boy.”

Spencer sighs, reassured by Derek’s words. “Love you,” he whispers, twisting a bit to press a kiss to the side of Derek’s neck. 

“I love you more,” Derek promises, lifting a hand to rest on Spencer’s cheek.

“Not possible.”

The rest of the day passes slowly as Spencer takes it easy, deciding that he’s definitely up to it after a decent nap curled up against a reading Derek. They get ready together, Derek helping him shower when his arms hurt too much to wash his hair and getting him dressed in his favourite outfit before dressing himself. 

By the time six thirty rolls around, Spencer’s feeling a little bit better, his meds are hitting the spot and they’ve mastered all the wheelchair adaptations to make his life as easy as possible over the years. His cushions and heated seats connected to the wheelchair’s motor, which he uses to help self-propell at work, ease the pain as much as they can and the built in phone charger always makes him popular whenever they go out with friends. Plus, his cane and crutches connect neatly to the back of the chair, giving him more options, which is especially helpful on nights like this. 

“Comfy?” Derek asks as he pushes him out of the apartment and into the hallway, locking the door behind them. 

Spencer hums in affirmation, wiggling a little as he settles into the warm support of the chair. They have a ground floor apartment for safety reasons: Spencer needs to be able to exit the building if the lifts stop working, but it’s also convenient. They get down to the garage quickly and Derek helps him into the passenger seat before packing the wheelchair in the boot.

He spends the journey in contemplative silence and Derek can’t keep himself from shooting worried looks his way. His hand makes its way onto Spencer’s knee and he rubs his thumb gently against the skin, before stilling the digit, all too conscious of how painful repetitive stimulus can be, especially on days like these. 

“Stop worrying, baby,” he says, ten minutes into the drive when Spencer still hasn’t said a word. His bottom lip is chapped from the worried chewing it has endured for most of the day. “They’re going to love you, I promise.” 

“You really think so?” 

Derek’s about to answer quickly but he looks over and sees how absolutely dead serious Spencer is. He sighs. “Let me tell you exactly why. Alex is a fellow academic with the softest streak of anyone in the BAU field team. Emily and JJ have the ability to befriend literally anyone, and Penelope already is in love with you, just from what I’ve said about you. She’s told me so multiple times. Rossi immediately accommodated you and wasn’t at all fazed when I mentioned your disability. Hotch is a gentle fatherly type when he’s talking to good people and the rest of the team, so he’ll just be interested in you as a person. There’s no-one I’m worried about, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer whispers eventually, finally sounding like he actually believes him. 

“Besides, you’ve already got one member of this team whipped,” Derek smirks, glancing over at him again. 

He considers it a win when Spencer rolls his eyes, and his grin couldn’t be wider when he hears him mumble, “arrogant asshole” under his breath.

Derek’s grateful Rossi doesn’t have a gravel driveway as he gets Spencer out of the car and into his wheelchair, before pushing him the short way to the front door. They’d battled some tough terrain over the years, and gravel was absolutely his least favourite. As they approach the house, though, he notices that Spencer’s grip on his armrest is tight enough that his knuckles are white, and it hurts Derek’s heart that he’s only this nervous because real people and real experiences have given him genuine reason to be. 

Before he gets to knock, though, the door is thrown open by an uncontainably excited Penelope. “You’re here!” she shouts, and completely bypasses Derek to shake Spencer’s hand. He’s glad she doesn’t crouch, just leans down a little so he doesn't have to reach up so far. “You must be Spencer. I’m Penelope. It is a crime that Derek has kept us apart for so long, but none of that matters now. Would you like me to push you in through to meet the others?”

“Um, it’s nice to finally meet you, Penelope,” he says, smiling at her genuinely. “Would you mind if Derek keeps pushing me, though?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine!” Her smile doesn’t drop a bit. “Come through, everyone’s already in the living room. Oh, and hi Chocolate Thunder.” She sends him a quick wink. 

“Hi, Mama,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s grinning, though. So far, so good. 

They follow Penelope further into the house after Derek closes the door behind them, and the girls get up first. “Spencer, oh it’s so good to meet you,” Emily says, coming up and shaking his hand. “I’m Emily, this is JJ.”

“Hi,” JJ says, shaking his hand too, giving him a conspiratorial look. “I’m glad we finally bullied Derek into bringing his oh-so-secret beau to meet us.” 

Derek just grins. “What can I say? I’m protective of my baby.” He reaches down and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. 

“Ignore this caveman,” Spencer laughs, and Derek is sure he rolls his eyes again. “I’ve been dying to meet you all, too.”

“Well, it’s our pleasure,” Alex says, coming up for her turn. “I’m Alex. Your paper ‘How Thinking Makes Us Write’ you published a couple of years ago is incredible; I used it in my Psychology of Writing class last year and only just realised it was written by Derek’s top-secret boyfriend! I’d love to talk to you more about that later.”

“That’s so cool, wow, yeah I’d love that.” He smiles at her, clearly feeling a little flattered by the immediate praise of his work. Derek thinks it’s the least he deserves.

“I’m Aaron, but everyone calls me Hotch,” Hotch says as he and Rossi step forward, a warm smile on his face. “Sorry to overwhelm you with all these introductions, but it’s lovely to meet you. It really is a shame Derek’s been so secretive.” 

Spencer smiles up at him. “Are we all going to dunk on Derek all night? Because if that’s the case, I’m glad I came,” he laughs, twisting around slightly to look at Derek. 

“Yeah, yeah, keep talking, pretty boy,” he says, raising a brow. “Two can play at that game.”

“You’re too whipped, I’m not worried,” Spencer dismisses him, before touching his hand lovingly, letting him know that he’s only teasing. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Rossi says. “I’m Dave, or Rossi, whichever you prefer. I actually own this house, despite being the last in line for a formal introduction. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you at the door, Penelope had been waiting on the stairs for half an hour so she could be the first to greet you.”

“That true, baby girl?” Derek chuckles, looking over at her. 

She doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, but then Derek doesn’t know what else he expected. “This is on you,” she defends herself, “if you hadn’t waited so long to introduce me to baby genius here, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to meet him.” 

Spencer laughs at their interaction, turning his attention back to Rossi. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “Derek told me you were really accommodating, so thank you for that.”

He waves the thanks aside with a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Speaking of which, though, would you rather eat in your wheelchair or transfer to one of the dining chairs.”

Derek knows what’s about to happen even before he sees Spencer tense up. “Give us one second,” he says, wheeling him out into the hallway. Decisions are really hard for Spencer to make on bad days, especially those that pertain to his health or needs, and being under the eyes of so many people was not about to make that an easy interaction.

“Derek…” Spencer says anxiously, looking at him for help as he feels his mind spiral into fogginess at the question. 

“Okay, it’s okay, baby,” he says soothingly, crouching down in front of him to be at eye level. He takes his hand and kisses it gently. “Do your hips need a break from the chair or would it be more painful to transfer?” 

Phrasing questions like Rossi’s as directly applicable choices is always more digestible for Spencer and he sees him visibly relax at his words. “Hips need a break.”

“Great,” Derek says. “Do you want to go back in or do you need a minute to yourself?”

“No, I’m fine,” Spencer says, and he believes him. He instantly relaxed at having made a decision. “Let’s go back in.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

They walk back into a room full of vibrant conversation and laughter. “Oh, Spencer, Spencer,” Emily says, immediately roping him back into the conversation without making a big deal of him having to leave the room, “we’re debating whether Derek’s really the slob Alex insists he is. You need to help us settle it.”

“I shared a room with him once, okay,” she says, “it was a state!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Spencer agrees. “At home, he’s so anal about ‘everything in it’s place’ and won’t even let a mug sit on the counter without being washed up. But whenever we go away, he can’t keep the place clean, it’s the weirdest thing. It’s like his suitcase vomits its contents all over the room.”

“Hey, I didn’t know this dinner was gonna be all about airing my dirty laundry,” Derek laughs.

“Literally,” JJ points out.

“Right,” Rossi says, interrupting the laughter filling the room. “Dinner is ready, so we should eat. Did you come to a decision about seating, Spencer?” Derek’s impressed at how much he knows about accommodating disabilities. He probably has someone close to him who’s been through something similar to Spencer.

“I’ll transfer,” he confirms.

“Great, we can just move your wheelchair to the hall once you’re settled so it’s not in the way, if that’s okay?”

At Spencer’s nod, they all file into the kitchen/dining area and choose their places. Penelope bags the seat to Spencer’s left, Derek sitting to his right, as the other girls sit opposite them. Hotch and Rossi sit at Derek's end of the table. He holds hands with Spencer under the table all through the delicious pasta primavera, helping to ground him, reminding him he’s right there. 

Conversation and laughter flows with the wine Rossi serves, and Derek doesn’t even mind his embarrassing stories being shared with the team, because it’s Spencer, and he’s so far gone for this man that he could slice him open and with his dying breath, Derek would thank him. 

“I love you, really,” Spencer grins up at him, after he’s just revealed his Nina Simone shower concerts to everyone sitting around the table, everyone cracking up as the tough exterior Derek’s built up at work over the years slowly disintegrates, his own boyfriend fuelling the fire. 

“And I love you, baby,” he says, leaning over to kiss him briefly, before pulling back. “Even when you spill my deepest darkest secrets.”

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest,” Alex says fondly. “You’re a lucky man, Derek.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” Spencer insists. “Do you know what he said when we first met? We were at the supermarket, and I was reaching for some baby carrots. He said ‘whoa, pretty boy, don’t get those ones. They go off far too quickly. Someone as beautiful as you deserves better than that’. No mention of the wheelchair or bags under my eyes. He didn’t see Disabled Spencer, he just saw Spencer. Asked for my number then and there.”

“You were irresistible,” Derek says fondly, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “I knew right at that moment I would spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“Stop,” Penelope begs, “my heart is literally a puddle on the floor. This world needs more Derek Morgans.”

“I’ll toast to that,” JJ says, her face just as soft as Penelope’s. 

“A real toast,” Hotch says, raising his glass with a happy smile on his face. Derek very rarely sees such a relaxed expression on his face, and as much as they have their disagreements, it’s a nice thing to see. “A toast to Derek and Spencer. May your happiness live long and be as contagious as it is tonight.”

Everyone toasts to his words, and Spencer buries his face in Derek’s shoulder, a little embarrassed at the attention. They sit around the table a little longer, but Spencer slowly sags against his body, finding it painful to keep himself upright. 

Noticing this, Penelope claps her hands. “Shall we move back to the living room? I bought chocolate and Rossi has wine.”

“This is true,” Rossi says as they all get up. He grabs Spencer’s wheelchair from the hall and Derek helps him back into it as they head back to the sofas.

“It’s weird using my chair inside,” Spencer laughs as Derek pulls him into his chest so he doesn’t have to keep himself steady upright, everyone else settling themselves around the room.

“Do you not need it often?” Hotch asks. 

“No, I need it quite a lot. I just don’t usually have to. Derek’s usually fairly insistent on carrying me around our apartment.”

“We’ll never live in a big house,” Derek says, chuckling along with anyone else. “I couldn’t haul this big lug around a Rossi mansion, now could I?”

“Hey!” Spencer smacks his side lightly. 

“You’re 6 foot tall, baby,” Derek defends himself. “You might be tiny but there’s still a lot of you.”

“Fair enough,” Spencer acquiesces, laying his head just under Derek’s chin. 

“Right,” Rossi says, coming back into the room, “I have more of your non-alcoholic wine, Spencer, and more of the real stuff for everyone else. Hand out the chocolates, Penelope, and we’ll have ourselves some satisfied guests.”

“I don’t live here, old man,” Penelope says, raising an eyebrow but getting up from her seat cuddled against Emily and JJ anyway. 

“Hey, you answered the door to pretty much everyone today; you’re co-hosting.”

“Can’t argue with that, Penelope,” Emily says drily, looking on amusedly as she huffs but hands out the chocolates anyway.

Derek discreetly pops two painkillers out in his pocket and hands it to Spencer, who swallows them down with a sip of his non-alcoholic wine, relaxing as they start to take effect. They all chat leisurely for a while, enjoying each other’s company in a non-pressured environment where they’re not surrounded by high profile cases and serial killers. 

Eventually, though, Spencer starts to fall asleep on his chest, clearly feeling relaxed enough in the warm room, pressed up against his boyfriend and surrounded by the reassuring conversation of people he trusts. As soon as Derek notices, though, he knows it’s time to get him home and into bed before any true crisis of pain or fatigue takes place. 

“I think we’ll need to get going, guys,” he says quietly, drawing everyone’s attention to Spencer’s dozing form. He watches as their faces soften and conversation quietens, everyone clearly enamoured with his boyfriend. It occurs to him that he feels no jealousy, only pride that he gets to call this wonderful man his, that he’ll be going home with him tonight, tucking him into bed and cuddling him until he falls asleep. 

He shakes Spencer gently, and the others start to get up, tidying or just moving through to the kitchen so as not to embarrass him when he opens his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmurs sleepily, as he looks up at Derek. “I’m tired.”

“I know, baby,” he says softly, feeling so fond his heart could burst. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Everyone’s sad to see him go, gathering at the front door to say their goodbyes. 

“You are invited to every BAU event from hereon in,” Penelope asserts confidently as she leans down for a gentle hug. She whispers, “you’re better company than Derek, anyway.”

“I heard that, Mama,” he says, poking her in the side.

“You were meant to,” she says, sending him a pointed look, before dropping the act and wrapping him in a hug as the others say goodbye to Spencer. 

“It was so nice to finally meet you, Spencer,” Hotch says warmly. “Derek had better not keep us from seeing anymore of you.”

“I’m not sure I could possibly get away with that anymore,” he sighs. “Guess I’ll have to share my baby with you assholes.”

Spencer rolls his eyes at that, stifling a yawn. “Come on, caveman,” he says, rolling his eyes again. “I need to get home.”

“Anything for you, my highness,” he chuckles, before lifting his chin with his knuckle and bending down to kiss him briefly. 

“Bye, lovebirds,” Emily calls as they make their way to their car.

“Drive safely,” JJ shouts, which makes Derek laugh fondly. He does love his team.

“See you on Monday,” he calls back as he helps Spencer into the passenger seat. They drive home in the comforting darkness of night, illuminated by the car and street lights of the city, and satisfaction pools in his stomach as he reflects on such a perfect evening as Spencer falls asleep against the passenger window. It really couldn’t have gone any better, and the relief he feels is staggering: the two most important facets of his life finally integrated after far too long.

While his whole life feels like it’s finally falling into place, all that really matters is that the man who is his entire world is happy, a small smile on his sleeping face as the shadows of the city brush their way over his cheekbones. He has to force his eyes back to the road, but he can’t resist the hand he slips into Spencer’s, or the smile that lights up his face as even in his sleep, Spencer’s fingers curl themselves around his.

Spencer's symptoms in this fic could fit any number of neurological conditions, but his unnamed condition was modelled on my own experience with fibromyalgia. I have a rather severe case, as would Spencer if he was diagnosed with this illness. The symptoms could also fit these conditions in one way or another: Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (M.E.), Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis or Axial Spondyloarthritis, as well as others I'm sure I'm forgetting.

Everything about Spencer’s disability is true to the chronically ill/disabled experience as I know it, and to learn more please visit the end notes on AO3 where I explain in a little more detail some of the features of Spencer’s symptoms and condition.

<333

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith

#my writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #moreid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fluff #moreid au #criminal minds au #disabled spencer reid

[who-peed-in-your-cheerios]

I'm feeling the best I have since a short period of time in 2016. I tried to stay afloat, burnt out, quit my job and gave up trying to transfer my nursing license, broke down, spent a year in bed, picked myself up, started new meds, got access to support and disability, restarted therapy and started a graphic design course. My basic functioning slowly improved. I was still depressed, anxious and suicidal, but it was stable.

Covid knocked back my mental health and progress a lot, suddenly I had no access to support, no routine or gym or outside access (we had 100m limits at one point and weren't allowed to sit down). I'd been stuck in a continuous relapse recovery cycle over the last few years and lockdown made that worse. Luckily I was already seeing my therapist online, our work got interrupted but I learnt some different lessons and things about myself ha. Began to make progress again, had a big setback in January related to winter, covid and isolation and my best friends mum dying. I thought that was it that I had fallen back and wasn't going to get out of for years.

But here I am I'm through it. Summer made me feel lighter, I've begun to function more than I have for the last few years...it's new and I'm scared it won't last but for now I just have to make the most of my time. I don't weigh myself anymore and haven't for a few months but I believe I am weight restored and have broken that relapse recovery cycle. I had lapses and I thought it was going to be the same old story but with my therapist we finally did things different, those lapses didn't turn into a full blown relapse.

My suicidal thoughts are there, chronically, but I feel more neutral about life. I have SH and restriction urges but I'm not acting on them. My anxiety (and selective mutism when I was younger) which was the cause of my depression/ED etc is still so incredibly disabling but I'm taking steps to start working again and be more independent.

I'm in the best place I could be at this moment, it's summer and I have professional support as well as my family and friends and my food and body are in ok places. Maybe like always I'll fall right back to rock bottom, that's usually what happens, I'll probably be back here in a month writing how its all fallen apart, but in the meantime I can enjoy the small things. I can't imagine a future for myself but I can live day by day for now. I'm still mentally ill as fuck lmao but I'm hoping I'll reach a long stretch of stability and managing to live with my illnesses and growth and progress because I'm bloody due for this, I deserve better.

#personal #mental illness #depression #anxiety #anorexia #depressed #selctive mutism #recovery #suicidal ideation #relapse #edrecovery #anorexia recovery #eating disorder recovery #self harm recovery #seasonal affective disorder #seasonal depression #mental illness recovery #mentally ill

[ace-of-haerts]

I posted 4,776 times in 2021

24 posts created (1%)

4752 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 198.0 posts.

I added 424 tags in 2021

#gremlin (affectionate) - 111 posts

#personal - 96 posts

#fic rec - 45 posts

#yesh dude - 36 posts

#important - 33 posts

#my boys - 25 posts

#lex buddy - 23 posts

#fic - 22 posts

#eat the food - 19 posts

#here you go gremlin - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 113 characters

#i will marry her and marry you in your future if i don't know her name is a little more then she is the only one.

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

I know you reblogged my tumblr mutual home address thing with “ffs yesh” and “bad” but now I’m tempted to give you my home address just for the meme

I will stab you I swear to god

@chaosgremlin9

Come collect your human

8 notes • Posted 2021-07-10 19:27:26 GMT

#4

I will bite you. As revenge.

No biting. Bad baby

8 notes • Posted 2021-07-27 05:18:03 GMT

#3

Thanks @rockmarina !!

Catch Up Tag

How was your day?

It was alright. Had a few aches and pains, but I went into town and got fancy drinks so it ended well!

What's keeping you entertained these days?

Definitely my cat, Discord, and a bunch of true crime videos on YouTube. And whatever the fuck Supernatural has going on.

If you're in some kind of quarantine/self isolation, is there anything you'd like to achieve in this time?

Not in quarantine, but it is summer break so I'm hoping to get a bunch of work done.

Post a selfie! (if you're comfortable with that)

Have one of my 30 saved picrews instead!

See the full post

9 notes • Posted 2021-07-03 01:05:22 GMT

#2

Imagine an elf is given a job to do at a human institution. The humans think elves don’t need bathroom breaks, since they know they can hold it for days, but this elf has been traveling to reach their job, and has already been holding it to the point they are in pain. They ask for a break, but their job is important and time sensitive, so they admit they can still hold it when asked. After a full day of work, the elf tries to reach the bathroom in time, but they were never told where it is.

Whichever one you this is, what did I do to deserve this.?

12 notes • Posted 2021-07-04 19:45:10 GMT

#1

About Me

Name: Antóin (Ant-o-in) Age: 18 AO3: unlucky_god (bookmarks and recs) Pronouns: he/him Fandoms: Drarry (Heavily fanon, rare to none canon), Sk8, 9-1-1 (Mostly Buddie), and anything I find interesting, I have a small attention span Sexuality: Pansexual

Tagging system: I'm not the greatest at tagging, I only mainly picked up the habit in the last couple months so. All tags listed are frequently used and is updated when needed. Green= resource tags Orange = untriggering Yellow = potentially triggering

#gremlin (affectionate) #yesh dude #lex buddy are my tags where I interact with my buddies Rain @illogicalthinking Lex @chaosgremlin9 Yesh @littlecatsnotkids There's a lot of back and forth here, so no offence taken if you blacklist this or any of the ones below

#my boys #and their son! #buckley siblings or bust #number one dad and son duo #9-1-1 family dynamics #9-1-1 misc. are my Buddie (Buck x Eddie) posts, Buddie & Christopher, Maddie and Buck, Buck & Bobby, 9-1-1 family dynamics, 9-1-1 misc. and other assorted 9-1-1 tags.

#important resources (writers guides, art guides, life hacks, lgbtq resources, chronic illness and disability resources, etc)

#lucky's friends random cat videos and pictures I find to show my cat later

#EAT THE FOOD posts that mention food. this is a newer tag so beware if you're doing a deep dive and have food issues as they aren't all tagged correctly

#prattles by ant tag games, asks, etc.

Please feel free to reach out to me if you feel like my posts need a certain tag. I am always open to advice and actually could use the help.

And as Rain so eloquently put it, DNI if you: If you are an exclusionist of any kind (I.e ace phobic or panphobic), racist, abusive, xenophobic, sexist or anything like that, fuck off you are not welcome on my blog

20 notes • Posted 2021-07-25 10:22:30 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[sepdet]

I would just like to say this: REVENGE OF THE DISABLED PEOPLE!!!!!!! REVENGE OF THHE CHRONICALLY ILL!!!! REVENGE OF THOSE WITH PREEXISTING CONDITIONS!!!!

Trump mocked disabled people. He said "almost nobody" died of coronavirus, which includes most of us with chronic health conditions.

He and the GOP have been trying to take away our ACA away for years.

Many people with physical health problems also have some anxiety/depression, either because of the wear and tear of constant pain, sleep disruption, or other symptoms, or because of psychological pressures like shame and isolation, financial distress, inability to work or meet others' expectations, feelings of being a burden or lazy, or being judged by those who don't see or don't care about our disability.

The past four years under Trump have been a nightmare for everyone, especially targeted groups like Black, Hispanic, Muslim, Jewish, Native, and LGBGTQ+ Americans. For those with chronic physical and/or mental illness, many of whom also belong to one of those groups, it's been a long, drawn-out stress test to the point of failure.

As I was having the worst panic attack of my life Tuesday night after my aunt texted me to say Biden's prospects looked grim, shaking and losing all sense of where I was, I wondered how many people like me have been fighting an unseen battle against despair for four years, and how many wouldn't be able to hold on through this past desperate week of uncertainty, strain and fear. That was a hell of ordeal.

Hopefully everyone who has held on this long managed to hold on just a little longer.

Because WE, who know so much about enduring suffering in isolation, helped deliver the coup de gras to Trump. We know coronavirus will probably kill us. And many of us have already been voting by absentee ballot in past elections, to save ourselves wear and tear.

So nearly every American with chronic illness who could vote by mail this election did so. And with Trump throwing us under the COVID bus for the stock market, threatening our healthcare, and mocking the disabled, we were highly motivates to do so.

This was our revenge. Those ballots the orange coward is crying about? We're like Merry on the Pelennor Fields, little hobbit stabbing the Witch King in the back of the knee so he sagged low enough Éowyn could stick a sword through his fucking face.

You're welcome, world.

#us election #politics #chronic pain #spoonie #election 2020

[torque-witch]

I wanna also add separately to the previous post.

Even after disabled and chronically ill people get a diagnosis, you can’t just assume medication will make that person normal again. They’re still disabled. They may not be able to work normally forever. They may not be able to ever have their dream job. And if you keep questioning them when they’re going to get a “real” job??? You’re the fucking problem. You’re instilling more guilt into people who already feel so much guilt for not being able to function normally.

I’m literally making 50k a year in automotive retail and my parents won’t stop asking when I’m going to finish my degree in Journalism because this job isn’t valid to them.

Just because I can do this now doesn’t mean I’m not in pain and I’m not getting worse. It doesn’t mean I’m not shitting blood, not nauseous, not at risk for cancer and I’m not getting more diagnoses every year. I cannot do this for 30 more years unless they find a cure. Telling your kids they’re not a good enough because they’re disabled is isolating. Telling your friends they should just try to get a job is isolating.

Disabled people need your fucking support.

#torquetalks #disability #chronic illness