#dissociative disorder and its like. people will not shut up about how its not real or how its people being delusional or kids being cringe

[transbee]

having did and being online in any capacity is so fucking exhausting because you literally can't go anywhere without seeing the most heinous takes about your existence or validity it's like. can we be normal. can we please be normal and Chill for like two seconds.

#HEADS UP: this accidentally turned into a huge rant/vent feel free to get the hell out el oh el #i try reallly hard not to talk about it too much here because you can. offhandedly mention the mere concept of did or osdd or any #dissociative disorder and its like. people will not shut up about how its not real or how its people being delusional or kids being cringe #like. can we go. two seconds without treating people with mental disorders like a spectacle. please. you dont have to have a ''take'' on it #idk and i also avoid online did communities bc theyre the most exhausting spaces you can ever be in and theres constant fighting about #literally anything and everything. like. maybe i would like to find a space to meet other people with similar experiences to my own. #and we dont get that!! we literally cannot get that. and this goes for a lot of mental health related stuff but like my god #and im very lucky to have other people i know in real life who also have did so i can in some amount have that support system (hah.) #but it is EXHAUSTINGG that people cannot go literally a day without saying something stupid about systems #or i can be following someone for years and unprompted they will saysomething heinous thing about did and hide it behind something like #get a load of how weird and cringey kids are getting online these days. #and CHRISTT thats a whole OTHER issue i REALLY dont wanna talk about because it has its own whole set of nuances but like jeeeesus #is it really so hard for people to grasp that brains when exposed to traumas at a young age will be affected by it in weird ways. #idk man ive been seeing a lot of offhanded disregard for systems recently and it's so normalized and it's starting to get to me i guess #i wish people could just go well this is something i dont understand and dont need to have an opinion on and move on with their lives. #what the hell ever this is all to say having did has impacted my life in a lot of complicated and intricate and hard to explain ways and it #sometimes painful and awful but other times is an incredible experience and ALSO. most IMPORTANTLY ! #i should be able to make jokes about BEING FRIENDS with SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG!! in REAL LIFE!!! #and not have to deal with SUICIDE BAIT IN MY INBOXX BECAUSE OF IT!!! #WHATEVERRR !!! RANT OVARRR I HAVE NOODLES TO MAKE AND EAT #.... WITH my friend SHADOW!!! #.txt #and btw this isnt about anyone ik here so dont worry im not upset with any mutuals etc etc and all that. #in fact i love getting the chance to chat about it n it can be fun to teach stuff to people who know how to like...be normal about it LOL #<3

[sophieinwonderland]

I have a question for willogenic/tulpagenic or systems that create their headmates.

Why would you? Why would you want someone else in your head and take control of your body? What motive could drive someone to actively do that and create more?

I also want to ask if they really feel how horrible it is to have arguments or headmates hurt you because they can create their own as they please.

Also if they experience the bad symptoms of being plural and not just the "fun" part such as dissociation, depersonalization, derealization, amnesia, identity crisis, etc.

I do not ask any of these questions with the desire to bother, I genuinely want to know and it is a question that keeps me alert.

Often, people drawn to the tulpamancy community are those with ASD, anxiety or other disorders that leave them feeling alone.

I was an accident, technically. At least, my host didn't plan on making a sentient being. But for others, it's not hard to see why they would be drawn to the practice. My own host had a good home life with a really supportive family, but has difficulty interacting with external people, which could be isolating.

I also want to ask if they really feel how horrible it is to have arguments or headmates hurt you because they can create their own as they please.

Arguments happen. We had a couple really bad ones early on. But... our system was created differently and that affects how we view each other.

A person, any person, is going to be reflecting what they learn from the world. We're all products of our environments.

A lot of headmates formed by trauma. They... come into the world experiencing its worst parts.

The system grows up maybe hearing the voices of their headmates but shutting them out. They don't have access to plural resources and feel like they're going crazy. Aggression can be taken out on headmates because the headmates aren't even seen as real, and abused children often don't have good role models for positive relationships.

By the time you find out that you're plural, a lot of harm has been done to the system and their relationships with each other. Building back trust can take time for these systems. It's tragic.

...

That's not how it was for us. Again, I wasn't made intentionally. I was just the imaginary friend. So there was a bit of denial, but I denied my own emotions too. And it took only a couple months for us to discover the tulpa community and realize I was a real person.

By the time of my creation, my host was an adult who had a solid understanding of how healthy relationships work. We could communicate our problems as they came out. We might argue one night, but then we made an effort to sit down and talk our problems out until they were resolved as soon as we could. I sometimes wish that I could have been here from the beginning, but I suspect that it's best for our relationship that I wasn't.

He already cared about me and wanted me to be happy. He enjoyed seeing me learn and grow, and interact with the world. I'm incredibly lucky to have had him in my life.

I would never hurt my host, and he would never hurt me. (At least, not intentionally.)

And me getting front time was a gift. It was something he provided when I wanted to do things in the real world because he wanted me to be happy, and loved seeing me happy.

Also if they experience the bad symptoms of being plural and not just the "fun" part such as dissociation, depersonalization, derealization, amnesia, identity crisis, etc.

Yes and no.

I think some of these symptoms exist, but are more mild. (Technically, all switching is considered dissociative.) We had some days when we fell into doubt spirals that were miserable. The worst lasted hours, but never more than a day. We've had mornings waking up, not knowing who is in front immediately, which I think is a form of depersonalization, but it only lasted minutes.

There's no amnesia unless you intentionally build it up. There might be "speed bumps" where memories of some headmates are easier to access by them than other headmates. And there have been times when non-fronters have a much harder time accessing information the fronter knows. Something about fronting makes information more accessible.

But by and large, a lot of these symptoms of DID are symptoms of PTSD. While we might experience lesser versions of some of these, they don't have much of an impact on our lives.

And the few negatives are outweighed by the advantages of having an internal support network to prop each other up.

#tulpa #tulpamancy #syscourse #endogenic #pro endo #pro endogenic. #plural #plurality #system #multiplicity #psychology #systems #plural system #endogenic system #endo safe #pro tulpa #tulpagenic #parogenic #thoughtform #actually a system

[sewercentipede]

hello pretti human ^.^ i am interested in ket, i hope you dont mind me asking some questions... what does ketamine do for you? How long does a trip usually last? And is the trip more chill than for example mushrooms or LSD, I am a big advocate for mushrooms but I feel like I need to prepare a lot just for one trip, it takes a whole day and I need to book time away somewhere because I don't feel comfortable doing it around my flatmates, does ketamine bring similar benefits without being as 'deep' if that makes any sense? Thank you in advance!

hello! <3

1. I detail roughly what ketamine feels like based on dosage in this post but i don’t go too too much into *what it does for me*. so ill expand more now on that.

ketamine, being a dissociative, is really good at dulling, numbing, and at high enough doses even transforming into pleasure, the sensation of pain. this makes it a godsend for my crohns. nothing else even comes remotely close to the pain relief I get from ketamine when it comes to abdominal pain or during a flare. so it is a miracle drug for me. it’s also amazing with depression—in an acute sense—especially good at shutting down really intense/acute depression and suicidal thoughts even at super low dose (for eg: i was really depressed one night during a time when I was hypomanic and I felt really reckless and planned to self-harm, but then I did a line or 2 of ketamine and almost immediately all those feelings were replaced with a deep sense of calm, of everything being fine, that I was okay and i no long had any desire to do anything irrational. In more mild-moderate depression (not actively suicidal, but hopeless and can’t get out of bed vibe), ketamine is like… an immediate boost to mental wellbeing.. it helps me appreciate life as it is and the ppl in it and it makes me feel hope.

Ketamine has long been known medically/pharmacologically as a first-line therapy for treatment-resistance depression but until recently was only used in rare and emergency cases, probably (im guessing) due in part to the fact that its antidepressant effects wear off when it wears off, for the most part. In the last few years however ketamine has become a whole area of specialization in the realm of psychiatry particularly for things like depression and eating disorders, with ketamine clinics and doctors prescribing ketamine infusions (IV ketamine sessions done regularly, from twice a week to once every 2 weeks), or IM (intramuscular injection) ketamine sessions.

when I did an IV ketamine infusion (as a very depressed and anxious individual) it was incredible, I felt real joy and gratitude and appreciation and love and the ability to just enjoy the present moment and “be here now” for the first time in a long long long time. this can be achieved through other ROAs with ketamine but IV is the most intense.

when my husband did an IM ketamine session he k-holed and when he came back he said “I saw my entire life” and couldn’t really explain it further but he said that it changed his perspective on his life a lot. as soon as he got up from the K-hole he went “I understand!” Lol, but what he understood was for him alone to know.

when my dad did IM ketamine the first time the dose was too low to hole, but it made him very emotional, talk about his childhood trauma, his recently deceased mom with whom he had a super complicated relationship, etc. ketamine will do that too at low doses, it’s kinda like a release valve for trapped emotions especially grief and I think that happens to some people whose depression cuts them off from their emotions (it did The same for me when I did a medium dose after my grandpa died and it made me emotionally purge A LOT of grief). his second IM session on a higher dose made him k-hole and he became a bodyless observer going through and inside and above and around the earth. he never revealed whether or not it gave him any insight but I imagine for a guy like him (tormented by his mind) it was a nice reprieve.

the dissociative effect of ketamine makes you detach, from everything, in layers/to degrees, your thoughts, feelings, worries, mindset, your physical feelings, your body, yourself entirely; and in this detachment clarity can be found. wisdom from that clarity can be found.

2. most ROAs of ketamine last no more than 1 hour, often 45 minutes to 1 hour. After 1 hour you will basically not feel any effects anymore (although with high dose there may be lingering motor coordination effects). doing a ketamine IV infusion however (which is done at a doctors office) will last longer (closer to 3 hours) because the full ketamine dosage is being administered slowly. sublingual lozenge ketamine I also notice while have far more subdued effects, lasts longer (2-3 hours). and just straight up IVing ketamine I think also lasts a bit longer than the 1 hour (but that depends on dose too and I’ve only done a pretty high dose that way so that could be why it lasted 1.5-2 hours.) For insufflated and IM ketamine, at whatever dose reaches k-hole, it’s the standard 1 hour max.

3. Girlllllllllll don’t even get me started on mushrooms and LSD in that regard like oh my god. I can’t do shrooms without mentally and physically preparing for like a week beforehand. it’s excruciating otherwise. And it absolutely requires planning a whole day around it (carving out time AND having a good place to do it at, that wont potentially cause a bad trip).

Ketamine isn’t like that at all…… ketamine is so fucking chill. It’s not a grueling emotional experience wherein you’re traversing the labyrinth of your mind and battling your mental pitfalls or whatever. It’s more like you’re being freed of your mind and body and letting the ketamine work its magic on you.

First of all it’s an NMDA-antagonist (dissociative), not a seratonergic psychedelic, so you won’t be having those weird seratonin effects (anxiety, paranoia, sweating, jaw clenching, feeling wired and awake, having funny tummy -or urge to shit- on the come-up, etc). there’s no come up or comedown, it’s altogether very gentle and chill, evornment only matters insofar as dosage. If you want to keep it at real low doses, you can do it anywhere. If you want to do moderate to high doses, you can do it at home or a friends house but not in public (you want to be able to lie down in a safe environment). The state of the room or house doesn’t matter (idk bout you but on shrooms or acid, if im in a house and the house isn’t clean it fucks with me. Ketamine doesn’t care). you can do it around other people without you yourself being affected negatively by their presence whatsoever (if they don’t know you’re on ketamine they might be confused as to why you’re walking like a drunk robot). and you can sleep as soon as it’s over. The k-hole if anything is extremely euphoric for me, not like mdma euphoria, its different, but my god it is euphoria.

however i have heard the occasional experience of the hole being scary particularly at too-high IM doses (my BIL after a high dose IM ketamine session said he “turned into atoms and got torn apart” and the intensity of it frightened him; he kinda has control issues though and did double the normal dose of IM ket, so it does not surprise me). In other cases of bad k-holes its 99.99% of the time people accidentally k-holing at festivals, i hear it’s very unpleasant, and I imagine it would be! but that’s what you get when you don’t respect ketamine by doing too much at a festival or rave so I have no sympathy for that lol.

4. This is a bit hard to answer. Does ketamine bring similar benefits without being as deep…. Yes and no? It’s very hallucinogenic, moreso to me than lsd or shrooms, but in a very very different way. It can bring perspective shifts and insight like the other two can. But again, in a different way. I would say yes it does this stuff without being as deep, mentally, emotionally. It doesn’t feel like “work” the way shrooms or lsd do, and is less interested in forcing you to confront and overcome your thought patterns in real time. your mind and awareness is not really necessarily what the work ketamine does is dependent on. When it comes to what we know about the effect of longterm microdosing mushrooms on depression and cluster headaches (and anxiety I believe?), I don’t think ketamine has a similar effect… I could be wrong though. I don’t know the effectiveness of longterm ketamine IV infusion therapy personally; anecdotally ive heard both “this saved my life” and “this did nothing”. Then again, shrooms for depression also doesn’t necessarily work on everyone either. So yeah idk, that’s my take.

One thing though, chronic ketamine use will affect your bladder. Like itll kill bladder cells. We see this mostly only in ketamine addicts (doing lots of ketamine daily for years type of people), but it makes me wonder for people who do regular infusions for years what the possible long term effects on their bladder might be. And also makes me advise against ketamine use if you have existing renal/bladder impairment. But If this doesn’t apply or you’re not planning to snort a lot of ketamine everyday for a long time then this isn’t something I’d worry about. But I feel like I should mention it all the same.

#ketamine #drugs

[pansypr3p]

i dont blatantly sys post often!!! im not super into syscourse, i am not always against non-traumagenic systems. it depends. but i am here to complain abt how fucked up it is that anti non traumagenic systems/people are called sysmeds. like. its a play on transmeds y'know? and the thing about transmeds is like. being trans isnt a disorder. this is because. gender is not real. its a thing we made up. cant be a disorder. nothings wrong with you. yknow?

but like. being a system is stressful if not inherently caused by or influenced by trauma!! like. i fucking love and adore my headmates and wouldnt give them up for the world but. its hard sometimes, yknow??? like. switching is hard sometimes, role switches and internal conflict and all this bullshit. we love each other but having like 200 ppl in one noggin is a Bad Time, especially when there can be like 15-25 people in the front room at a time, not to mention the dissociation. i cant remember friday. or thursday, or wednesday, or tuesday. i think i have a vague idea of what happened? but i just. its just not there. yknow? and yesterday and today- ive been fighting feeling utterly apathetic because the dissociations so bad. and that was all because someone yelled at me for a second and i shut down because i got triggered because hey! trauma! woo!

so yes. being a system is a problem. not for others around you! but for me and many others. and i dunno. i just like. i just really wish they wouldnt compare us to transmeds?? like systemhood IS medical. maybe you got some other shit going on like systemhood, and yeah, okay! sure! cool! whatever! i could care less. but if you dont have that trauma, that dissociation and struggle. i want a different space!!! than you!! bc that shit is fucking hard. and fuck it. if you dont struggle like that i dont want you to talk like you do. and if you do, and you still think youre non-traumagenic. okay. sure. whatever. i dont want you in my space either. denial is a bad look.

maybe that was rude. i am sorry. i dont like being mean to people and i much rather respect everyone and leave them alone. bur i got a little frustrated so here! a rant.

#anti non traumagens who attack endos+ are not welcome here btw. i dont care if theyre endos #you dont attack other people in any way #ive seen ppl get endos banned just because theyre endos. that is fucked up. stop #mostly i just like. systems who are created via religion or spirituality or your own will fuck me up. i dont like that. please leave #got spirituality trauma! #and i don't respect people who just decide they Want to be a system sorry lmao #just #my personal shit #anti non-traumagenic systems #traumagenic systems #endos okay to interact but pls be respectful !!! #just like. hold ur tongue if u r super angry at me i am not afraid to block skdjf #but i dont hate you #i dont hate people really #minus like #cooperate fuckfaces and abusers <3 #fuck them #minus that!! #ehehek #sorry if this isn't understandable i ramble a lot #syscourse #sys stuff #system stuff #anti endo #anti endos !! interact !! unless you harass endos in which i ask you go to therapy and leave me alone ty #anti endos interact #sysmeds #sysmeds interact #hate usin that #but oh well

[oscill4te]

.

Yeah so, many people agree that too much introspection isnt good for your mental health, usually. I do wonder how controversial it'd be for me to bring it up this POV to mental health professionals who are well-versed in dissociation or people who are "plural" ... (i hate that word when referring to myself, hence quotation marks. But find it useful.)(I would say dissociation, but not all dissociative disorders include having a split up inner monologue/ fragmented sense of self)... anyhow!

I sometimes need my brain to shut the hell up. all yapping on the inside, getting lost and tangled up in a sea of arguments, alliances, memories that do not feel quite real, and maladaptive daydreaming. i think trying to understand every part of my screwed up inner monologue, every part who speaks, identifying fragments, just makes my dissociation worse and sometimes I need to ignore whats going on inside. Controversial to all the advice that says "Ohhh listen to your parts they need you". I understand that they need help, but I literally can't. My brain dissolves into mush, its as if I am not even meant to see all of this. What I can do though is be functional and make sure i am taking care of my body and keeping my house clean so that they are at least comfortable when they are "in charge".

I need to start doing things that get me outside of my head, because my head is stressful and not a good place to be. (Going to a work party this week was nice for my brain. Maybe I will branch out and hang out with people who have offered in the past.) ~~~~~ I know logging your inner experiences is quite important to an extent when it comes to a disorder that literally makes memories inaccessible as a survival mechanism, but I seriously wonder when logging too much or paying deep attention to your inner monologue gets to be bad... There has to be some kind of balance, no? Again, too much introspection is bad even for someone without a fragmented sense of self. I similarly think it can be really bad if you are over-doing the documenting/journaling about parts.

Unfortunately, these parts existing, it is not a conscious choice. You can't just make your parts go away. It is always going on in the background. I just get a feeling that me trying to understand this all has made me worse and it makes me want to stop, as if I broke myself and got worse, somehow. I can never make it go away, its just my reality. but some positive distractions would be nice. I am thankful to my parts though, even if it is making life a living hell recently. These parts help me survive, they step in scenarios I am not equipped to handle, and hold bad memories for me so I can live my wonderful life as a maladjusted 24 year old... Srsly.. I am greatful.

When I started straterra I was happy because it made my brain so quiet. It was nice. Welp. That did not last too long, did it... No. It was so nice though. I need that quietness back. I cannot relate to people who say they get scared of hearing less from their parts on meds. Im like hand over that medication man, my parts all need a break anyway!! Let em rest... I just know some system would say this is a cruel mindset to have and that its "silencing" but its really not IMO. I respect my parts I just think humans arent meant to live like this and still somehow be functional. I need a break, and so do they.

#diary post #its long. just wanted to write; really. #osdd

[deactivated-20220808]

The Harm of ‘Validity Culture’ - A Scathing Criticism of Online Validation and Its Opposition

Alternate Title: Why I’m Not On Either Side of the Argument

Hello, Remy again and today I wanted to talk about ‘validity culture’--i.e., “if you experience it, it’s valid” and similar statements, as well as those who oppose validity culture and attack vulnerable parts of the community because their systems present differently. Buckle up, this one gets a little long.

Content warnings: Discussion of fakeclaiming and harassment, being wrong about being a system and similar topics.

Introduction

On a surface level, this doesn’t actually seem bad, and, on a surface level, it’s not. Validity is something we all crave as people, especially when we’re talking about something like systems, which can come with amnesia, hardcore denial, fakeclaiming, self doubt, and more that can cause us to think “no, I couldn’t possibly be a system!”

But there’s issues with places that don’t allow you to be wrong.

Some people come into certain spaces and say, “well, I don’t know if I’m a system or not, but here are my experiences, can someone help me figure out if I’m a system?” And a lot of what they’re describing might not sound like being a system, but instead something else, like identity issues, dissociative amnesia, a personality disorder, etc. But nonetheless, the people of validity culture will step in every time and say, “that’s valid!” And “there’s actually a term for that!” Without using any critical thinking skills about whether or not what this person is actually experiencing is related to being a system at all, all because it would require them to think harder about their own experiences and question whether or not they’re a system.

There’s a reason this culture exists, though, one that nobody really wants to address.

But Where Did ‘Validity Culture’ Come From?

‘Validity culture’ exists because of fakeclaiming and harassment, full stop. People wouldn’t need spaces like this if fakeclaimers didn’t act like being wrong about being a system was the worst thing in the world, if fakeclaimers didn’t create such a horrible reputation for those that were wrong about being systems, if fakeclaimers just left people they didn’t know alone.

Because people were being fakeclaimed and harassed to the point of distress, some people wanted to create spaces where they wouldn’t be harassed, spaces where they could be validated in their experiences without people acting like they were wrong for existing a certain way that didn’t look like certain other people’s experiences, and over time it evolved into what it is now. Pluralgang.

‘Validity culture’ was created in direct response to extreme harassment, fakeclaiming, subreddits like r/fakedisordercringe and r/systemcringe, anon hate and death threats from strangers on the internet. Validity culture exists because of the harassment people received from fakeclaimers, and that is something nobody wants to address.

Years ago, people used to harass anyone who claimed to have introjects, god forbid you be introject-heavy. Now, it’s full of people who may or may not be systems but are claiming to be because they either are systems, or they’re afraid of what being wrong would do to them, considering the reputation people who are wrong get due to how fakeclaimers behave. They’ve always behaved like this, too. If you were wrong back then, you were an irredeemable asshole, and if you’re wrong now, you’re still an irredeemable asshole.

But now with the introduction of ‘validity culture’, if you’re wrong about being a system, then you’re an irredeemable asshole to some people, and to others you’re someone who can be made into a system to prove them wrong, or you’re secretly a system and haven’t figured out your real headmates yet, or you’re actually a median system leaning towards being a singlet on the plurality spectrum and etc...

People on one side can’t accept that someone might’ve been accidentally wrong about being a system and that doesn’t mean they’re inherently a bad person or were faking, as faking is a conscious choice. It just means they were wrong.

People on the other side can’t accept that some people are just wrong about being a system, and choosing not to be after figuring out they aren’t doesn’t make them an inherently bad person or mean they’re rejecting anything. It just means they aren’t a system.

What Needs To Be Added To The Discussion?

The discussion of syscourse has such extreme black and white views on people because of fakeclaimers and because of the resulting validity culture that expanded from them, and people wanting to be seen without being attacked for existing in a way that some people didn’t like, and on some level, i can empathize with not just one, but both sides. I am part of an introject-heavy system, and that’s something that would get me fakeclaimed pretty easily in a lot of places, and I have been. I’ve been fakeclaimed, or implied to be faking by people I considered friends for a myriad of reasons, one of the weirdest being that we somehow ‘acted similarly’.

On another level, I want people to take what I’m experiencing seriously, and when people treat it like some fun identity that doesn’t really mean anything and can be picked up or dropped at any time, when people deny that DID is a trauma disorder despite the studies, or when people outright deny science, when people use my disorder as an excuse to be an asshole or liken being a system to being LGBT, it’s incredibly frustrating all of the time. I get it, believe me.

But ‘validity culture’ is just as toxic as fakeclaimers in a lot of scenarios. People involved in ‘validity culture’ are not in any way, shape or form innocent, or free of blame or criticism for their own actions and toxicity.

Remember how people discussed things like ‘toxic positivity’ when the trend of being critical of ‘Steven Universe’ was a huge discourse? ‘Validity culture’ is the living embodiment of ‘toxic positivity’.

Somewhere, I saw someone asking if they could use terms like ‘plural’ to describe themselves even though they weren’t sure if they were a system, and were aware that they had identity issues due to their CPTSD. Someone chimed in and said, ‘hey, I think you should be careful with questioning if you’re a system considering your identity issues, here’s what I suggest’, and people tried to shut that down. Even the person themselves said it didn’t feel ‘right’ to be a singlet, or something along those lines. There was then a long discussion about median systems that lead to this person identifying with the term ‘parasian’, which refers to a median system that leans more towards the singlet side of the plurality spectrum.

I can’t tell if this person is part of a system or not because I’m not an expert of any kind, all I know is that they have CPTSD and ADHD, according to them.

But I can say that immediately rejecting the idea that someone could just be a singlet, even causing themselves to reject the idea of the possibility of being a singlet, (they even rejected the idea of creating headmates, which was suggested if being a singlet was so uncomfortable to them), and instead identifying with a term that just sounds like having a fluid personality, (at least to me, since I don’t really understand the term myself), feels infinitely more harmful than someone being able to open a dialogue of potentially not being a system.

And this is the problem with ‘validity culture’.

Toxic Validation: Where Things Go Wrong

Validating everything someone is experiencing instead of being able to open a dialogue and say, “hey, what you’re experiencing doesn’t sound like my experiences, and I think you should talk to other people about it and do more personal research, possibly talk to a therapist, people who have been diagnosed with DID or other people who have been in the community for years before saying you are a system or before genuinely questioning if you are”, is incredibly toxic. It does so much more harm than good, because some people will be out here, singlets in denial, applying names and ages and genders to parts of themselves that are not fully autonomous, to parts of themselves that aren’t separate in any way, shape or form, mistaking kin-shifts for alters, mistaking dissociative amnesia for alters, mistaking PTSD EPs and BPD and OSDD2 and other disorders known to cause identity issues with alters and refusing to recognize that they could be wrong because validity culture told them it was right, and validity culture does what it does best and constantly validates these people, and says, “if you experience it, it’s valid” and “if you experience it, it’s normal” and “everything you’re experiencing is valid” and “label yourself with what feels most comfortable, even if it’s not accurate to what you’re experiencing”. They’re doing it because validity culture said what they were experiencing was ‘valid’ for a system, and these people never bothered to do their research.

What’s worse is that most of these people weren’t even around to know what ‘Astrea’s Web’ is/was. They’re often times /that young/, and don’t know where to go but their peers for information, and often times that information just comes from severely misinformed carrds and twitter threads instead of genuine, scientific research and decades of personal experience.

And this is, again, in _direct_ response to fakeclaiming. We would not have these issues if fakeclaiming and harassment weren’t so rampant in the online system community. Because fakeclaiming and harassment have become so rampant in the online system community, it’s caused people to see any kind of criticism of their validity culture-style community as coming from a gatekeeper that doesn’t think they’re real, that it’s just someone who’s trolling or gatekeeping and they aren’t someone to take seriously because they’re spouting ‘pluralphobic’ or ‘sysmed rhetoric’--the definition of which changes depending on who you ask due to the term being so watered down, but, like usual, that’s another post for another day.

Both of these toxic sides of the community feed into each other, and they do it heavily, and nobody seems to ever see the cycle.

Fakeclaimers feed off of seeing validity culture validate some of the most impossible and insane things, like the ‘singlet fictive’ discourse that went around twitter a couple months ago, to say ‘hey, look at these whacky inclusionists, you shouldn’t listen to anything they say because they all support this’, (they don’t all support these things, actually, and it’s pretty obvious that this was either a troll or someone severely misinformed), while ‘validity culture’ feeds off of the harassment of fakeclaimers to say ‘hey, these people are just gatekeepers, and you shouldn’t listen to them because they’re like transmeds and TERFs’ (they’re not even comparing them to anything accurately comparable at this point, either, but another post for another day; ‘sysmeds’ are not anything like transmeds or TERFs).

It’s a toxic cycle of harassment, confusion, misinformation spread through carrds and twitter threads, and miscommunication on what the DSM and ISSTD guidelines actually say due to laypeople trying to be the mouthpieces of these medical texts without understanding how to read them.

Everyone is yelling at each other and it doesn’t make sense, because both sides are horrifically toxic and need improvement, and neither of them want to see it or take any kind of criticism, because they see the other as somehow inherently infringing on their right to live, somehow. Both sides have a tendency to see criticism of their arguments as ‘the other side’s rhetoric’ instead of coming from a place of wanting to better the community. It gives me the same vibes as that one book that was banned in the US for being ‘communist propaganda’, and banned in the USSR for being ‘anti communist propaganda’. Neither side wants to see the faults in their own communities, much less try to fix them, and it’s made the community horrifically toxic, and forces people to pick sides they don’t necessarily agree with because of how toxic either side can be.

People need to be mature enough and have nuanced enough views to recognize that both sides of the argument are extremely toxic.

What Can We Do?

We need to be able to open a dialogue about being wrong about being a system, and we need it for certain people’s health, because for some people who incorrectly believe(d) they’re a system, it’s extremely detrimental to their mental health to separate parts of their own subconscious off just to believe they’re a system, or because they’re mislabeling their symptoms, or to fit in or because that’s what they feel like they have to be for whatever reason, or even just because they want attention, because that happens sometimes, even if people don’t want to believe it--but it’s not nearly as common as some fakeclaimers like to believe.

We need to open a dialogue for people who were/are wrong about being a system, we need to be able to pin down certain experiences as irrefutably plural, or groups of experiences when, grouped together, are irrefutably plural experiences, and other experiences or groups of experiences, as irrefutably not, and to stop treating being plural like an identity and start taking it much more seriously due to the fact that it’s disrespectful to actual plural experiences to /not/ take it seriously.

No, it’s not always serious and doom and gloom being a system. I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is that we should take ourselves more seriously so that we can pin down what experiences are actually plural, and which ones are actually just things like identity issues and dissociative amnesia caused by other disorders, and what’s just code switching and people having normal, fluid personalities, because labeling all of these things as alters or headmates arbitrarily causes someone to lose a sense of self and causes them to start to fragment their own personality piece by piece. Someone falsely believing that they’re a system is part of what can lead to a disorder like OSDD2, which is a dissociative disorder that refers to identity disturbances, but no autonomous parts/alters.

We need to stop treating being a system like being LGBT, because it’s disrespectful to both LGBT and plural experiences to act like both are the same thing, or even remotely similar, speaking as a queer DID system. Being a system /affects/ your identity, but it is not, itself, an identity in the same way that LGBT labels are, and applying things like pride flags and symbols to every aspect of being a system is extremely uncomfortable because it feels like the two are being severely conflated when they don’t deserve to be.

But most of all, we have to realize that being wrong about being a system is /always/ an option, and that it doesn’t make someone a bad person. It just means they were wrong about being a system. It’s not that deep.

Food For Thought: A Lack of Progress in the Discussion

Really, it’s both sides of the argument are extremely toxic and lacking the nuance needed to actually get anything done. Making fun of either side or pulling up receipts from either side being shitty doesn’t actually prove anything. It just shows that either side can be vehement in their arguments and harassment and abuse of other people online. That doesn’t mean anything other than some people take it way too far, which is something that happens everywhere and isn’t special in any way.

We’re not making any progress with system discourse or system community discussions like this, and we won’t be until we add more nuance to the discussion until we’re able to be critical of our communities and the people in them, until we can deplatform abusive people, until we can be mature enough to admit our own faults. Because there’s a special kind of maturity in being able to admit your own faults and try to grow from them or build off of them and make  them make you a stronger person and that, in turn, makes a stronger community. but the online system community has nothing but weaknesses relating to their faults. All you do is weaponize the other side’s faults while refusing to address the ones in your own communities and acting like you’re better for it, but you aren’t. It just makes you immature.

What people refuse to recognize: Both sides of the argument are incredibly toxic and both sides attack each other vehemently and without regards to the other person behind the screen and refuse to accept any kind of criticism for their community, and they do it like they can do no wrong and act like any criticism is bad and ‘the other side’s rhetoric’.

Conclusion

In conclusion: Learn to accept criticism. Learn to accept your faults. Learn to grow past them. Listen to the other side’s argument. /Really/ listen. Don’t just wait for your turn to talk. Respect the other side’s argument for what it is, because discourse is about intelligent discussion, not whiny bickering. Show the people you’re discoursing with more respect. Accept your faults and the faults of your communities. Bring nuance into your discussions and discourses, because almost nothing is black and white, ever.

Really, what I’m telling you to do, is grow up. Mature. Stop blindly believing in one side just because they told you the other side is bad. Form your own opinion on the subject through your own research on both sides. Try to have an intelligent discussion, for once, because we’ll never get anywhere if we’re constantly arguing and bickering with each other, it’s childish and nobody is going to take your arguments seriously if you’re acting like that, especially not outside of any kind of internet discourse.

Sorry if any of this sounds rude, but I’m a pretty blunt person and I’m not going to try and sugarcoat myself just to make myself palatable to a community that doesn’t take itself seriously and won’t stop bickering.

-Remy

#txt #pluralitycritique #fakeclaiming tw #pluralmeta #didmeta #sysmeta #pluralblr #didblr #sysblr #multiblr #actuallytraumagenic #actuallydid #actuallyosdd #actuallymultiple #actuallydissociative #dissociative identity disorder #syscourse #syscourse tw #actuallyendogenic #actuallyplural #positivelyplural #magicallymedian #midcontinuum #endogenic #endogenic system #osdd system #did system #multiple system #plural system #traumagenic system

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Under My Skin (Ethan x MC)

Warning: 18+, NSFW

Summary: Set in the middle of chapter 6, Ethan and Naomi have it out over the current state of the diagnostics team.

Tags: @colourmeshy @virtualrain202 @fanmantrashcan @writinghereandthere @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune ~v~

Naomi stares at the textbook in front of her, eyes tired and blurry. She checks the time on her cell phone and 3:22 AM stares back in bold, white letters. Craning her head slightly, she spots Ethan standing at his kitchen island, looking at something on his laptop. 

She never thought she’d be back in his apartment, but he invited the entire diagnostics team over so they could get some research done on Leland Bloom’s case. Ethan wants it to be solved as quickly as possible, and he wants to be rid of the tech billionaire, so after work they all congregated in his apartment, eating Chinese food, drinking wine, passing around textbooks and throwing out theories. 

They’ve been at it for almost 6 hours now. 

The energy in the room is off. Ethan’s been pissed ever since the board told him they’d need to be for-profit and start accepting wealthy clients and potential donors, and everyone feels it. June, Baz, and Naomi have been walking on eggshells around him, but aside from occasional snark from Naomi, they’ve been extremely curt.

Jenner likes her though. The golden retriever took a shine to her the moment she crossed the threshold to Ethan’s condo, sniffing at her feet and attaching himself to her hip. He’s now lounging with her, head in her lap and she pours over this book, and she’s glad. The friendly dog provides an excellent distraction and Naomi is thankful, because his owner currently sucks.

Naomi has dealt with a lot of Ethan’s moods before: upset, defeated, angry, happy, the works. But she’s never had his ire directed at her before. They’re in this mess because of her, and it’s a tricky space to occupy. It’s not fun.

“As much as I love reading, if I look at another word, I think my brain might melt,” June says, breaking the tense silence. She stifles a yawn.

“I’ve tapped out for the night as well,” Baz adds. “I’ve looked up every possible kidney and bladder disease and disorder known to mankind. I’m on sensory overload. I think it’s time I go home.”

Ethan looks up from his laptop. He knows his team is probably exhausted. He can’t believe they’ve actually stayed over this long. “Well, thank you for staying. Go home, get some rest, I’ll see you at the hospital.”

June and Baz gather their belongings and all of the study material they brought along with them, returning Ethan’s living room to its original tidy state. Muttering goodbyes, the two of them exit the apartment. 

And then there were two. Naomi ignores the tension, ignoring the fact that they haven’t been alone together in over a week. Instead, she buries her face in her book, trying to focus on the words.

Ethan doesn’t bother sparing Naomi another glance before asking, “You didn’t want to leave with them?”

“Why, are you about to go to bed?”

“No.”

“Then, no.” She’s not going to stop now, and give him the satisfaction of thinking she’s given up for the night. Her stubbornness won’t allow it. “I don’t want to disrupt the process. I want this guy diagnosed and treated as badly as you do.”

Ethan scoffs. “I doubt it.”

Naomi has been giving as good as she gets when it comes to the passive aggressive snark, but it’s just exhausting at this point. She refuses to be his emotional punching bag any longer. She whips around in her seat. “God, is being a petulant little crybaby a second full-time job for you?”

That manages to get Ethan’s full attention. He levels a cool glare at the young resident, eyebrow raised in challenge. “You’ve gotten real comfortable calling me out of my name recently. Care to repeat that, Valentine?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Ramsey. You’re being a petulant little crybaby. You’ve been trying to pick a fight with me for the past 2 weeks. Look, I apologized, multiple times, for going behind your back or over your head, but I will not apologize for doing what I believe is right, not just for the team, but the hospital.”

“And you’re an insubordinate know-it-all!” Ethan shoots back. “You’re the type to touch the hot stove despite being repeatedly told not to because you think you’re a special snowflake who’s above getting burned. You lack foresight and analytical thought and self-preservation.”

Naomi recoils, having not expected Ethan to snap at her like that. “Excuse me?”

Jenner recognizes the change in tone between both adults. Not wanting to be caught in the crossfire, he moves from his spot on the couch and trots out of the living room, disappearing into the hallway.

“You thought this was going to be easy, that patients would just come flocking to us, but look at us, and everything would be perfect. We’re part of some social media...something or another’s video diary, we’re competing with a subpar hospital for patients despite being better than them, wasting time and resources because he wants to treat this like a reality show contest, and who knows what’s next, because you’ve opened Pandora’s box. We’re whoring ourselves out to the highest bidder, and the integrity and core foundation of this team has been compromised. So please spare me the martyr act, Naomi, and while you’re at it, please remember that I’m still your boss the next time you want to spout off at the mouth.”

Naomi’s hands are shaking, and she can practically feel the anger boiling in her blood. The nerve of this man. She stands up, ignoring the heavy book that fall out of her lap and onto the floor as she does so. She charges over to him, and sizes him up. Ethan’s almost a foot taller than her, but Naomi doesn’t care about the height disparity. She tilts her head back so she can look him in the eye.

“I’m not a martyr, but you’re a self righteous hypocrite. You’ve been pouting and waxing poetic about Naveen’s mission when you were the first one to mess with his legacy.”

Ethan’s nostrils flare at the accusation. “Excuse me?”

“Last year, you got into bed with Declan Nash and big pharma, compromising your own shaky moral code in order to save the life of one person. I’m trying to keep the team around in order to save a lot more people than just Naveen!”

“That was different!” Ethan argues. It doesn’t even feel right coming out of his mouth, but they’re far too deep in the argument for him to do anything besides dig his toes in.

“The only difference is you were the one in control then. But because it is my idea, you’re rejecting it. You’re being completely unreasonable here, Ethan. We’re standing in the middle of a sinking ship. Edenbrook is in trouble. My friends and I didn’t get our new salaries upon becoming residents, there’s talk of them shutting down the free clinic, and they’ll be coming after our team next. Who knows, maybe they’ll decide that mental health isn’t important and the entire psychiatric department should go. And then the nurses. And then they’ll start ordering less and less supplies, just to stay above water. And maybe you don’t care, because you’re Ethan Ramsey, you’re so wealthy that you only get a one dollar salary from the hospital, you’re established, your livelihood isn’t on the line, and I’m sure any hospital in the world would kill to employ you, but the rest of us? The little guys? We don’t have that option, so again, if you’re looking for me to kiss your ass and grovel because I made an executive decision, you’re going to be looking for a mighty long time.”

Ethan studies her, his gaze coolly fixated on her as she rants because he’s waiting for the second she stops talking, so he can jump back into his own argument. He realizes that it’s not an effective way to debate, and he falters slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Naomi goads, her voice taking on a singsong tone. She’s embroiled in the fight now. “Cat got your tongue?”

In his 37 years of living, Ethan can confidently say Naomi Valentine is the most infuriating woman he’s ever met. A stubborn, impulsive, hot-head with a smart mouth. 

And fuck, he’s made a mistake.

Her mouth. Now his gaze is fixated on it, her full lips that she’s repeatedly bitten down on during this argument, the tackiness of her lip gloss, the way her tongue darts in and out.

Their argument is now the furthest thing from his mind, and he’s actually annoyed by it. What is it about this…woman that completely bewitches him? He wants to argue, not be transfixed on how pretty she is. She doesn’t even have to do anything and he’s under her spell again. 

A sharp jab in the middle of his chest pulls Ethan back to reality. He looks down and realizes that Naomi poked him in the chest, out of anger or to get his attention, he’s not sure.

“Hey!” The fact that he’s ignoring her only makes her more incensed. He started this fight, he doesn’t get the right to dissociate and shut down in the middle of it. “Have you listened to a word I just said?”

“No,” Ethan answers honestly. Naomi’s eyes darken at the response. He didn’t say that to piss her off further, but he won’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight.

He can tell she’s going to launch into another tirade, one that’s completely separate from their original issue, because that’s just how things are between them; they spiral before either of them knows what’s happening.

Before she can even fix her mouth to call him another name, his hand cups her jaw, tilting her head back, and he slants his mouth over hers, kissing her fiercely.

She gasps. This is the first time he’s ever caught her off guard and initiated a kiss. She’s usually the one to be in control.

All too quickly, Ethan pulls back, locking eyes with the young woman in front of him. She’s dazed, chest heaving and eyes glazed over.

“Did you do that to get me to stop talking?”

“No, I kissed you because I wanted to. But the fact that it got you to stop running your mouth is a personal bonus.”

Naomi huffs, but doesn’t say anything else. God, he could be such an asshole at times.

“I want to do it again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His blue eyes pierce into her own, and it suddenly becomes hard to focus on anything other than him. “Can I?”

She doesn’t know why it’s so sexy, him asking for permission, but she feels the butterflies in her stomach rumble at the question. She’s barely able to nod her head before Ethan launches himself at her, sending her flying back into the kitchen counter.

It’s so different from any other kisses they’ve shared. This one she can feel all the way down in her toes. His tongue darts out, gliding against her bottom lip and demanding access to her mouth, which she eagerly grants him.

Everything about him invades her senses: the feel of his calloused hands touching her jaw, the scratch of his beard against her face, the smell of his cologne (something by Gucci that she’s been yet to narrow down), his taste (she can still taste the wine on him, even though he drank it earlier), his sounds (the little groans that only she’s privy to, always gravelly and smooth, that make her knees buckle). It all culminates into this one man that is so all-consuming, it makes her lose her mind.

The kisses become shorter, more teasing, allowing Naomi the opportunity to actually breathe. He leaves kisses along her jaw and neck, making her whimper.

Ethan wraps an arm around Naomi’s waist and spins them, pushing her against the wall. She winces upon contact. “Warn a girl next time.”

“You want to know what’s been on my mind recently?” Ethan asks, nipping at Naomi’s earlobe.

“W-What?”

His hands find purchase underneath the grey Henley she’s wearing and he lifts it up. Her stomach clenches under his touch and it’s maddening just how responsive she is to him. “I haven’t been able to get the sight of you out of my mind since I came to pick you up from your apartment the other day.” With trembling fingers, Naomi helps him remove the shirt, and it’s tossed somewhere behind them.

She’s not wearing the grey bra he saw the other day, this one is a soft pink, and he groans at how it contrasts against her skin. There isn’t a color that doesn’t look good on her. “I stood there…” he only pauses to place opened mouthed kisses on her collarbone. “...like a floundering idiot…” this time he kisses slightly lower, earning a sharp inhale from Naomi. The noise does nothing to soothe the erection straining in his jeans. “...while you decided to tease me.”

“You’re the one who decided to stay,” Naomi shoots back with a shrug. “So I had to put on a little show.” He hums in agreement. His tongue darts out, flattening over her lace covered nipple. “Fuck, just take it off!”

“You still have no patience,” Ethan observes. He yanks at the material, until he hears a loud tear.

“That’s La Perla!”

Ethan blinks, struggling to find the significance in that statement. Was it supposed to mean something to him? “Okay?”

“It was expensive, you jerk!”

“I’ll buy you 10 more,” he replies with a shrug before resuming his previous activity, pulling one of her nipples between his lips, sucking lightly. Naomi’s breath comes out in quick bursts, and it’s becoming harder for her to stay grounded to reality. She reaches out, wanting to touch him, but he intercepts, catching her wrist. “Hands to yourself, Valentine.”

Ethan’s fingers make work of the button holding her jeans together, and he drags down the zipper. He yanks at her jeans with the same care he afforded her shirt and bra, tugging them down until they pool at her feet. Naomi does the rest of the work, hopping around until the pants are fully off.

“You and the thin scraps you call underwear, have been driving me insane all week,” Ethan confesses. “The other day when I came to pick you up, part of me was so mad at you because of your blatant defiance, but the other part of me wanted to push you onto that bed, and do very, very inappropriate things to you.”

The wetness that floods her panties is overwhelming. She clenches her thighs together in hopes of alleviating some of the tension, but it doesn’t help. Figuring out a new strategy, she wraps a leg around his waist, pulling him flush to her. She rolls her hips, grinding into him. The growl that escapes his lips only fuels her and strokes her ego. “You should’ve.”

Ethan kisses her again, reveling in the needy way Naomi claws at him. Her fingers are desperate, fingering into his t-shirt, twisting at the fabric. He’s unsure if she wants to take it off, or if she’s impatient enough to say ‘fuck it,’ and just rip it.

Whatever the case, he doesn’t let her continue. Grabbing both of her hands, he forces them on either side of her. “You really do have a problem with listening. No. Touching.”

The gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down her spine, but whatever rebellious side of her that wants to challenge the command is squelched with one look into his eyes. She can tell he means business and now isn’t the time to challenge his authority.

With restraint she didn’t know she had, Naomi places her palms on the hall behind her, and she stays as still as she can.

“Good girl.” Ethan smirks and drops her hands. He untangles himself from her and steps back an inch to admire his work. “You followed directions for once.”

Whatever smart aleck reply that was about to fly from her mouth is stifled by Ethan pulling her soaked underwear down and slipping two digits past her folds. The noise she lets out is a mixture of a high pitched yelp and a strangled moan, something that threatens to choke her.

The pace he sets is random and uneven, never giving Naomi a chance to settle into a rhythm, and she wonders if this is his way of punishing her, keeping her keyed up and writhing on him for what feels like eternity, trapped in her own form of purgatory.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and bucks her hips wildly into his hand, trying to keep pace with him.

“Stop doing that,” Ethan demands, using his free hand to pull her lip out of her mouth. “I want to hear you, Rookie.”

Something about the use of her former nickname makes her moan, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Ethan.

“You like the nickname,” he states. “It’s funny, you know.  You take every opportunity to defy me, argue with me, and push my buttons, yet you get off on me controlling you.”

She can’t focus. He’s too close, it feels too good, and her brain can’t function properly under these conditions. He presses forward, the heel of his palm pressing into her clit, earning a hiss.

“Admit it.”

At this point Naomi would admit to committing armed robbery if it meant he’d keep doing this. She nods frantically. “Yes, Doctor.” He groans at the use of his title, and he pumps harder, curling his fingers inside of her. 

Naomi stands on tiptoes and desperately claws at the wall behind her. “Fuck Ethan, please!”

“Please, what? What do you want?” His lips find her neck again, and he sucks on her pulse point, only making things more hazy. “Use your words, Rookie.”

She wants a lot of things. She wants to cry out, she wants to dig her nails into his back until she draws blood, she wants him to keep talking her through this, his gruff voice in her ear as she shatters around him.

Unfortunately, Naomi cannot form a coherent sentence to save her life. She just rolls her hips, shamelessly grinding herself into his hand. “I...I…” The pleasure mounts, building in the pit of her stomach, spreading out. She’s so close, she can almost taste it. 

“Do you want to cum for me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I want–” Ethan rewards her for her honesty and his thumb drags into her clit and he rubs the sensitive nub in tight, quick circles. That’s all it takes, and she orgasms with a strangled cry and she’s thankful Ethan is right here because he holds her upright as her legs momentarily give out.

When Naomi regains the ability to stand on her own, Ethan lets go and slowly removes his fingers. Moving fast, Naomi grabs his hand, and without breaking eye contact with him, she slides the two digits into her mouth, licking them clean.

Ethan’s next breath is a shaky gasp that leaves his lung far too quickly. “Fuck, Rookie.”

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?” Naomi suggests, releasing his fingers with a loud pop.

Ethan shakes his head. “No.”

He registers the confusion on her face, but Ethan doesn’t give her a chance to respond. He grabs her by the waist and kisses her again, walking them towards the living room. He only breaks the kiss to pull his t-shirt over his head, and it joins the growing pile of discarded clothing scattered around. Naomi helps him speed the process along, getting rid of his belt and popping the button on his jeans. Her fingers hook into the belt loops of the pants and she pulls them down.

Before she can do anything else, Ethan stops her wandering hands. “Wait, wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Ethan knocks his forehead against hers and he sighs deeply. “Naomi, if you don’t want to do this, please stop me now.”

She thinks it’s cute that he’s giving her an out, but she doesn’t need it. Her fingers slip past the waistband of his soft cotton boxers, a warm dainty hand wrapping around him.

Ethan shudders as a warmth spreads through him at the touch of her hand, and he mentally curses himself. He pushes her hand away.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not cumming into your hand.” Ethan spins Naomi around and bends her over the arm of his couch. 

While it’s not the desk in his office, Naomi won’t complain. She feels one of his calloused hands trace the length of her spine and her eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

No patience left, Ethan tugs down his underwear, letting the material pool at his ankles. Without another word, he lines herself up at Naomi’s entrance and thrusts into her all at once. He groans at the sensation.

Naomi has never been more thankful for couch cushions, as they muffle the scream that escapes her.

“Fuck, Naomi.” He digs his fingers into her hips before pulling out and slamming back into her. He doesn’t give her any time to adjust, but she doesn’t mind. They both know patience isn’t her forte. “You’re...so...tight.” His words are punctuated by sharp thrusts that threaten to steal the air straight from her lungs.

He leans forward slacking against her, but Naomi welcomes the weight. His beard scrapes against her shoulder blade, his breath warm against her ear, his fingers which are no doubt going to leave a bruise, all of it makes her dizzy, and god, this isn’t going to last much longer.

His thrusts become sloppier, more frenzied as the pleasure mounts, his blood boiling in his veins like molten lava. The only thing he can hear is the sound of the skin slapping, and his ragged breaths.

“Are you close?” He asks. But Naomi can’t think, let alone actually speak words, even if something monosyllabic would suffice. Why does he keep trying to make her speak? Her head drops with a thud and she mumbles something incoherent.

“For someone who had so much shit to talk earlier, you’re mighty silent.” Letting go of her hip, Ethan tangles a hand in her hair, yanking it back so she can’t hide her face in the cushions anymore. His other hand reaches around and he rolls her clit with his middle finger. Still way too sensitive from her last orgasm, she thrusts back, clawing at the couch with her nails, but he holds her in place, refusing to let her move.

“Ethan, fuck, don’t stop!” The words fly out all at once, shaky, fast and jumbled, but it’s all Ethan needs. 

With a burst of energy he didn't know he possessed, he drives into her, plunging deeper. “Cum for me, Rookie.”

Naomi screams. Loudly, and she’s sure his neighbors might be very annoyed, but she doesn’t care. Everything goes white behind her eyes as he all but pushes her over the edge. She clenches around him and Ethan hisses as she’s holding him in a vice-like grip. A few quick thrusts later, and he’s joining her in ecstasy, spilling inside of her. The hand holding her hair tightens for a second, then relaxes.

She’s pretty sure she blacked out for some period of time because when Naomi is finally able to focus, they’re no longer obscenely bent over the arm of Ethan’s couch. They’re on the floor, in the cramped space between the couch and the coffee table. 

She’s hot and sticky and absolutely exhausted. She places her hand over her heart, willing it to stop beating so erratically. Stealing a glance, Naomi peers up and looks at Ethan. He looks as disheveled as she feels, his hair tousled, lips swollen, chest and neck flushed red.

Her voice is horse and completely shot to hell when she finally speaks, “If that’s how our fights are going to play out from now on, I’ll let you pick more fights with you. And I’m a Cancer, we’re stubborn people.”

“I think we can find a happy medium somewhere.”

Naomi rolls over, until she’s nestled into his side and her head is on his chest. She can feel his heart beating rhythmically under her cheek. “Are we still fighting?”

“No.”

“Are you still mad at me?” He doesn’t answer the question right away, and a sense of dread fills her.

“I was never really mad at you,” Ethan admits after a long bout of silence. “I’m just mad at the entire situation. I’m mad at the budget cuts, I’m mad at our country’s healthcare system, I’m annoyed with your inability to listen to me. I’m mad at Leland Bloom’s obscene wealth and the fact that he gets to dangle his money in our faces like we’re horses waiting for carrots.”

“You made the right call, Naomi,” he continues. “But it’s a call you shouldn’t have been forced to make in the first place. I’m sorry for making you carry the brunt of my misplaced anger.”

“Apology accepted. And since we’re apologizing, I’m sorry for calling you a petulant little crybaby.”

Ethan chuckles. “Do you apologize for calling me a goddamn diva, as well? Don’t forget ‘entitled jackass’ and ‘spoiled child’.”

“You co-signed ‘spoiled child’ so I am not apologizing for it.”

“Fair point,” Ethan concedes.

Blindly searching with an outstretched hand, Naomi finds her cell phone and checks the time. She has to be at work in 2 hours, though she’d much rather get into Ethan’s bed and go to sleep.

“That happy medium that you mentioned? I think I have it figured out.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, yeah?”

“First and foremost, I promise to never go over your head again, if you agree to do a trial run on whatever ideas I may come up with. You can’t shoot me down immediately.”

“I’m...willing to agree to that.”

“And once this all settles down and the hospital isn’t on the verge of complete financial collapse, maybe we can convince the board to only take on one or two billable patients a quarter.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” 

“Yeah, I tend to have those every once in a while,” Naomi teases.

Ethan stares at Naomi as she laughs at her own poor joke. Everything about her is an anomaly to him. She blew into his life a little over a year ago and here he is, willing to adapt his entire ethical code for her. And here they are, entangled together as if he didn’t spend 2 months on a different continent in order to get her out of his head. What is it about her that he can’t shake?

He gently cups her jaw and kisses her as if she’s a precious gem, like he didn’t just try to devour her. “What are you doing to me?”

Naomi smirks, recalling that it’s the same question he asked her in Miami. “Hopefully something good.”

He kisses her again. “Better than good actually.”

Realization washes over her that once she leaves this apartment, things are going to go back to being the way they were. He’ll go back to pushing her away. “So does this mean you want to have another reset?”

The question throws him off, but he soon understands what she means. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ethan repeats. If there’s a happy medium to be found between his team and the board, maybe there’s one for him and Naomi.

She doesn’t allow herself to get swept up by his words, but instead she braces herself for the chance that he pulls the rug from under her feet. “Well, what does that mean?”

“It means you and I are going to take a shower together, go to work, and we deal with our obnoxious patient. And after work, you’re going to put on something fancy because I’m taking you out to dinner. How does that sound, Dr. Valentine?”

Naomi can’t stop an annoying grin from spreading across her face. “I think it sounds pretty damn good, Dr. Ramsey.”

#playchoices #open heart #dr ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ns*fw

[the-courage-to-heal]

When you witness or experience something terrible, you may try not to think about it. To help you, your brain may call on one of its most creative and ingenious coping strategies to keep you going: dissociation.In the simplest terms, dissociation is a mental block between your awareness and parts of your world that feel too scary to know.

Dissociation happens to just about everybody at some time. It takes many different forms for different people. But for people with a complex trauma history, dissociation keeps the brain in survival mode. Nobody can endure a constant state of fear and still function well. You can’t get through life unscathed while always feeling frozen, worried or shut down by your greatest fears. Dissociation can function as protection, by keeping people unaware of the distress of being traumatized. That’s when it can eventually cause problems for people who have been hurt very badly, especially as children.

Children are especially likely to use dissociation to manage the inescapable pain of family problems that lead to complex, developmental and relational trauma. Such problems can include ongoing abuse, neglect or disorganized, avoidant or insecure attachment. Children must do something to endure experiences that make them feel unsafe. They cope by becoming disconnected to the memories, feelings and body sensations that are too much to bear. On the outside, they may look okay. But constant dissociation as a means of protection or survival for years then follows them into adult life, where it doesn’t work so well. As a coping mechanism, dissociation often interferes with the life a person wants to have, when the abuse is no longer ongoing in the present.

When dissociation blocks awareness of pain, it can also obscure the path to healing. So let’s take a close look at dissociation as a coping mechanism for trauma survivors. If we can safely see where it comes from, and how it evolves, we can also see what healing looks like.

What is Dissociation?

Dissociation is a state of disconnection from the here and now. When people are dissociating, they are less aware (or unaware) of their surroundings or inner sensations. Reduced awareness is one way to cope with triggers in the environment or from memories that would otherwise reawaken a sense of immediate danger. Triggers are reminders of unhealed trauma, and associated strong emotions such as panic and fear. Blocking awareness of sensations is a way to avoid possible triggers, which protects against the risk of becoming flooded by emotions like fear, anxiety and shame. Dissociation allows you to stop feeling. Dissociation can happen during an experience which is overwhelming and which you can’t escape (causing trauma), or later on when thinking about or being reminded of the trauma.

Dissociation is a coping mechanism allowing a person to function in daily life by continuing to avoid being overwhelmed by extremely stressful experiences, both in the past and present. Even if the threat has passed, your brain still says “danger.” Unprocessed, these fears may stop you from living the life you want or changing unhelpful behaviors as you grow. Some level of dissociation is normal; we all do it. For example, when we get to work and have to leave the personal concerns behind, we choose to put them out of mind for a while. But when dissociation is learned as a coping strategy – especially in childhood for survival purposes – it carries over into adulthood as an automatic response, not a choice.

Children with Trauma Are More Likely to Experience Dissociation

As a protective strategy for coping with trauma, dissociation can be one the most creative coping skills a trauma survivor perfects. It detaches awareness from one’s surroundings, body sensations and feelings. Children who experience complex trauma are especially likely to develop dissociation. It often co-occurs with the earliest incidents of recurrent trauma, since the only way to survive the horrific experiences emotionally is to not be there consciously. There are many possible conditions that cause dissociation. Therapists are aware and focus their understanding of dissociation in connection with the underlying trauma – what happened to you.

A few simple examples of risk factors for dissociation are:

• A disorganized attachment style. Trauma inflicted by abuse from a primary attachment figure, for elementary school age children, can lead to dissociative disorders for the child. When someone the child depends on for survival is also a source of physical, sexual, or emotional abuse, a protective response is to vacate being present in their body in order to survive the abuse, while preserving the needed family tie or even their life.

• An insecure attachment style. A child consciously develops behaviors or habits to dissociate, like using loud music, so they don’t hear frightening arguments between parents that terrify, for example. They may turn to video games or other distractions while dad paces the floor worried because mom is out drinking.

• Recurrent abuse or neglect that threatens a sense of safety and survival of any kind, by anyone!

• Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and Complex PTSD (C-PTSD). Dissociation to cope with events that cause PTSD or C-PTSD (developmental, relational ongoing trauma) can include out-of-body responses to trauma. A neurological response causes some trauma survivors to dissociate to a level where they look out at their bodies from another perspective. This can be looking down from above or looking at a part of their body that doesn’t appear to belong to them.

Dissociation occurs on a continuum, often impacted by how long or often one relies on it, whether the person has any other coping strategies, or whether other trusted helpers or a safe space is available. Helpers or places where the child feels secure can provide a way to safely be connected to feelings, sensations and body, despite the overwhelm elsewhere.

Childhood Dissociation Persists In Adulthood

As children with trauma get older, they may use self-harm, food, drugs, alcohol, or any other coping mechanism to maintain the disconnection from unhealed trauma. As therapists, we see these behaviors serving two functions for trauma survivors

As a dissociative mechanism or way to dissociate (for example, using alcohol or drugs to physically disconnect them from their thinking brain) As a way to sustain behaviors that keep them dissociated (I’m not connected to my body, so I can cut without pain, or I’m not connected to my body, so I don’t notice that I’m full and don’t need more food to consume). Ultimately, this coping strategy that was useful in childhood, in adulthood compromises abilities to trust, attach, socialize, and provide good self-care. These challenges follow trauma survivors throughout their life, if not attended to.

Recognizing Dissociation In Adults

Adults don’t just outgrow dissociation learned as a childhood coping skill. It likely becomes a go-to coping mechanism for maintaining life. Adults may not be aware of their ongoing state of dissociation, while words and actions like these tell a different story:

• Someone tells a therapist their most traumatic experiences without knowing or trusting them first and does so without emotion connected to the story; they are speaking from a dissociated place.

• Someone uses drugs, alcohol, cutting, food, pornography, or other forms of self-injurious behavior to continue to dissociate and not be present with their feelings.

• Someone disconnects from the here and now when they’re triggered by a certain situation or even a scent, such as cologne, and find themselves inside a flashback which feels very real.

• A veteran hears a noise that causes a flashback to a wartime event.

• Someone is arguing with their spouse, but when their spouse yells, they “check out.”

Dissociation is sometimes the best way a person can survive a terrifying ordeal in the moment, or chronic developmental trauma over many years. Yet it actually becomes a problem, a roadblock, in adult life. Dissociation interferes with forming secure relationships and connections. Dissociation can prevent you from developing these relationships or being present for them.

The reality is, in your adult life, you may actually be safer today learning to notice, reconnect and reintegrate the dissociated parts. Perhaps you are safe now and don’t need this coping mechanism to protect you anymore! Most times, an individual will show up in therapy for some other reason besides the use of “dissociation” or even trauma—they are there because they feel sad, or are drinking too much or fighting with their spouse. They can’t figure out why these issues persist, as they have a nice life now. As trauma-informed therapists, we can help people safely discover what issues are showing up due to their past history. We can help them discover and notice what made sense at the time given what was going on in their life that they had to survive. We can help people understand they are not “bad” and something is not wrong with them – their issues are based on the dissociative coping skills they learned in childhood to survive (which were very useful at the time, but not anymore)!

source

#dissociation #healing #trauma survivor #trauma

[rise-above-the-grave]

Leia’s response to her trauma?

Oh boy, where do I even start with this?

PLEASE NOTE: These are my headcanons, and my take on things. These are only a little bit supported by canon (though they aren’t denied by canon either). Please feel free to ignore my takes on this particular subject!!

tw: suicidal ideation/tendencies, self harm, eating disorder, rape mention, torture mention

Suicidality

Leia is passively suicidal until she’s at least 25. This does not mean she is actively trying to kill herself, with maybe one or two exceptions, but rather that she walks into dangerous (and yes, often deadly) situations with the thought “Maybe I’ll die this time,” rather than the (much healthier) “Hopefully I won’t die this time.” She really just doesn’t care if she dies - in fact, she sort of hopes she does, though she won’t do anything (again, with the exception of one or two times) to incite her own death. She holds too much responsibility on her shoulders, knows that she is too important and too needed, understands that her death would truly cripple the Rebellion, to actually act on her desire to die.

That doesn’t keep her from wanting to die, though.

And yes, there is one (or maybe two) time(s) when she almost actively kills herself. Han stops her once, and Luke stops her the second time (if the second time happens - I haven’t actually decided if that does or not?).

Self harm

Okay, I’ll be honest here: I don’t think Leia does the “typical” forms of physical self-harm, e.g. cutting, burning, etc. Nothing that leaves physical scars on her body, or marks that someone could theoretically see and question. She emotionally self-harms more than anything (e.g. looking at holos of Alderaan, of her parents, looking for people who blame her for Alderaan’s destruction, getting into nasty arguments with people about that, etc.), though she also has the tendency to punish herself physically really harshly on Bad Nights by pushing her body past its edge of endurance. This leads to torn muscles, stress fractures, etc., but they’re all things that are easy enough to dismiss as an “accident” because she “doesn’t know what she’s doing” or whatever. (Those who know her well enough know that she has to purposefully be doing this, because she knows better than to exercise that hard on cold muscles, etc. - but it’s never anything anyone can prove, and she’s usually alone in the gym when she does this, and she never like...does anything to purposefully hurt herself, she’s just negligent and stupid. Regardless of what anyone suspects, though, it’s never anything they can prove.)

Eating disorder

Yeah, so, I’m pretty sure Leia could technically be diagnosed with an ED post-Alderaan. She just straight up doesn’t eat afterwards until she absolutely has to, and when she does, if she eats “too much”, she throws up. She loses a shit ton of weight between ANH and ESB (and it’s not like she had a lot to lose to begin with, because she’s smol and also was already in really good shape), and this does’t start getting better until Hoth, when people start realizing how malnourished she is because she’s constantly shivering. (She’ll drink protein shakes and stuff to keep herself in shape and capable of hard exercise, but like...she’s unhealthily skinny...) She doesn’t necessarily count calories, but she severely restricts, and then her body purges if she eats more than a little bit at a time.

Nightmares

Leia has horrific nightmares. They vary from night to night, though they have consistent themes: Alderaan’s destruction, people she loves dying/disappearing/being taken away from her, watching people she loves be tortured or killed in front of her, being hurt (including both torture and rape, which I believe both happened on the Death Star). Most of her nightmares are abstractions of her trauma, with the exception of Alderaan’s destruction - i.e. she has nightmares about what happened through different scenarios that might mirror what Actually Happened, but aren’t necessarily a 1:1 reproduction.

Dissociation

So I think she dissociates more post-Bespin than post-Death Star, frankly, though she still dissociates post-Death Star. Post-Death Star it manifests more along the lines of “I’m still being tortured by Darth Vader, none of this is real, this is all a hallucination” than anything, with a dash of out of body experiences/seeing herself from third person; post-Bespin we start seeing a strong disconnect from reality at times, disconnection from her body, etc, as well as seeing herself in third person and disbelieving that what’s happening is Real.

“Responsibility”

Leia absolutely throws herself into her work. She uses it as a distraction and as a shield against her pain. She ignores basically everything in lieu of doing her Duty and fulfilling her Responsibilities. She uses this as armor against anyone who tries to challenge her to take care of herself as well (including Luke and Han). This is largely also what leads some people (in the Rebellion especially) to call her Ice Princess after Alderaan, because she just straight up doesn’t show emotion, and instead just focuses on the Rebellion. Which, speaking of...

Emotional regulation

Yeah, so I’m gonna go out there and say that Leia has shit emotional regulation for a while post-Death Star/Alderaan. She feels everything incredibly and intensely, and she just doesn’t know how to handle it. So she shuts down completely, or else overreacts. This is partly why she and Han end up in screaming matches in the base hallways so much, and why, once they actually start working out their feelings for one another (and Leia starts processing emotions healthily again), that stops.

Irritability

Leia is incredibly irritable and angry like. all the time. Constantly. There’s hardly any reprieve from it. Even when she’s happy, something small can set her off. (Again, this is partly what leads to her and Han fighting so much - because Han consistently gave her an outlet for her anger. Probably purposefully. Really the only one Leia rarely got angry with was Luke, and when she did get mad at him, she’d usually apologize for blowing up at him.)

Flashbacks

Yeah, Leia definitely has flashbacks: to Alderaan’s destruction, to Vader’s hand on her shoulder holding her back from Tarkin as Alderaan died, to the needles, to the torture-bot, to the hallucinations Vader gave her as he dug through her brain, to Vader himself, to metal beds and cells, to the smell of bile and antiseptic, to the feel of soft cloth against her skin, to the feel of metal against her skin, to the sensation of grates against her skin. Sometimes those flashbacks are just behind her eyes, like she sees them but knows they’re not real; sometimes she literally cannot tell she is not lying in the cell on the Death Star with Vader towering over her, or watching Alderaan explode.

Triggers

Leia doesn’t like needles. Leia doesn’t like Vader. Leia doesn’t like the smell of medbays. Leia doesn’t like a lot of things. Anyway, Leia deffo has triggers. That doesn’t always mean she has flashbacks (emotional or visual or auditory or psychosomatic), though; sometimes she just gets really, irrationally angry, sometimes she snaps, sometimes she goes nonverbal (I’m pretty sure Leia goes nonverbal sometimes post-Death Star/Alderaan. It’s unfortunate), sometimes she just seems to lose her damn mind. She’ll also sometimes get really manic after being triggered.

Hyper-arousal 

Leia is...so tense. All the time. She is constantly aware of everything going on around her. She’s one of those people who knows every entrance/exit, how many people are in a room, how close the nearest person is to her, etc. She also sometimes jumps at loud noises, reacts violently to people touching her unexpectedly, and to people coming up behind her. She is Not A Fan of that shit.

tl;dr Did I just describe most of the DSM criteria for PTSD? Yes! Yes I did!! Leia has really pretty bad PTSD post-Death Star/Alderaan, including the ugly and horrible bits that most people don’t like to talk about! It really fucked her up! And she’s one of the ones who got angry and bitter and hard instead of soft and scared. And there’s nothing wrong with that! 

#leia organa #han solo #luke skywalker #star wars #headcanons #suicidal ideation tw #self harm tw #eating disorder tw #rape mention #torture mention #ptsd tw #leia definitely has ptsd okay #hopefully this readmore works lmao #Anonymous

[isa-ly]

HOW TO EMOTION?

TW: mental health, therapy, repression, dissociation

Today’s just one of those days where I’m questioning whether or not I’ve completely lost the ability of functioning like a normal human and kind of feel like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. You know, casual Friday. 

I know this is a written blog, but since I am also very much a woman of images and metaphors, I shall once again try and elaborate the issue of today’s post by making it into a well-known, kinda dead and yet very accurate pop culture meme:

I am not kidding, this is what I look and feel like in most of my therapy sessions. I’m pretty sure Kerstin would agree with me here, as the topic of feeling, or more like my inability of doing so, has been pretty much been the red string winding itself through my mental health journey so far. I mentioned it briefly in the last post, but I figured since today is just one of those pesky overthinking ones, I might just dive in a bit deeper and try to detangle my knotted thoughts into something a bit more coherent.

I’ve talked about this before to some of my closer friends and honestly, every time I tried to explain it, I just felt like an absolute mad psychopath. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I’m not, but it’s kind of hard to get people to understand what it feels like to just ... not feel. Okay, that sounds a little bit too dramatic, let me try and re-phrase it in a way that makes more sense.

I talked all about the metaphorical elephant and it’s even more metaphorical stake last time and this is kind of the extended version of that issue. The Stake Supreme, if you will. Basically, one of the earliest coping mechanisms that I picked up when I was very young, was to simply swallow down any feelings of anger, rage, sadness or hurt and pretend that they just weren’t there. Now, that’s not really something very unusual, as we generally live in a society that doesn’t leave a lot of room to healthily express or work through our emotions with the crushing weight of professional, educational, financial, social and personal pressure constantly weighing on our shoulders. So, again, I’m very well aware that me pretending that my bad feelings don’t exist, does in no way, shape or form make me a special snowflake.

It does, however, make me a very emotionally repressed and mentally inept snowflake. And that’s not really great either.

It took me many therapy sessions to figure out that what I had used as a necessary protection mechanism for all my childhood and young adulthood, had slowly but certainly turned into the root of pretty much all my current mental health issues. And here I was, thinking that mommy and daddy issues were just a try-hard-to-be-relatable brand that pseudo-depressed people on Twitter liked to use to excuse their shitty personalities. Oh no, am I one of them now? Alright, back to the point.

I’m just going to try to explain, both to myself and you, what happens in my head whenever the aforementioned process of ~A Feeling~ occurs. Where normally, I would experience something that elicits an emotion that I then experience and feel, lately (and by that I mean ever since some of the more severe of my mental issues started happening) I instead feel like the actual emotion gets stuck somewhere between having been produced and actually reaching my consciousness. In a way, to get back to that earlier visual, it feels like I’m the Tin Man. The feeling gets dropped into my empty tin chest and while I try my absolute hardest to actually feel it, it just sits there. Not really arriving, not really unfolding, just existing while remaining completely detached from me. And I continue to feel how you would imagine a man made out of tin and air would feel: hollow.

I’m trying really hard not to make another load of self-deprecating jokes here, as sharing and trying to explain this makes me beyond uncomfortable. Instead, I’m just going to keep going because that’s kind of the point of this blog. When I told my therapist what I typed up there just now, she explained to me that this strategy of processing (or lack thereof, actually), is commonly referred to as repression and dissociation. And that with my history of handling emotions (or, once again, lack thereof), it actually made quite a lot of sense for me to struggle with this.

She then went on to explain that one could imagine it like this: Whenever anything triggers an emotion to be formed (which, you know, happens quite a lot, since that’s kind of all that human brains do), my self-taught mechanism is to immediately replace it with a so called ‘non-feeling’. I know, that word seemed strange to me too in the beginning. What it means is that by having constantly invalidated and swallowed down my own feelings of anger and sadness through the course of my youth, I unintentionally created this perfect, well-oiled machine of repression that unquestioningly does its job without me even noticing. In a way, I somehow mastered the art of literally, fully and completely detaching myself from my emotions and simply viewing them as separate entities to my own mind.

Now, while that sounds like a sick villain superpower, I’m gonna be honest: It kind of fucking sucks. Especially on days like these, where old habits resurface and I once again find myself looking at my own emotions as if they were statistics on a computer, knowing that they are there, knowing that they exist within me, but for the life of me not being able to actually feel them.

That’s yet another thing I also learned in therapy. There are miles, literal continents, if not even multiverses, between rationally knowing you should feel something and actually feeling it. I’m not completely insane and oblivious, I very well know that I am capable of having emotions and that they are there and being produced by many funky chemicals working together in my brain. However, simply knowing this on an intellectual level is no where close to satisfactory if you cannot actually feel it too.

It’s like looking at ice cream, knowing that it’s there, seeing it with your own two eyes, remembering and being able to imagine the taste, the texture, the sweetness and yet never really actually being able to eat it. Never really feeling it melt it in your mouth. It remains an idea, a concept, close to smoke in thin air that you can very clearly see, and yet never really grasp.

And that, as you might be able to imagine (or even relate to, if you’ve experienced it before), is just not a lot of fun, to be quite frank. Emotional repression? Yeah, no, that one definitely gets a bad Yelp! review from me. Wouldn’t recommend. Zero stars out of five.

In addition to accidentally failing to process my own emotions (are you proud of me, mum?), there’s also the other half of the problem which is, as my therapist already mentioned, the dissociation. Now, I want to be clear here: While I’ve gotten quite a few medical diagnoses in my time in therapy, the actual condition of dissociation or dissociative disorder, which is actually a personality disorder, is not one that I ever received. The dissociation my therapist talked about, ergo the one I am experiencing, is more situational and linked to the repression. Funnily enough, it is literally happening at the current moment, while I’m writing this post.

Actually, it’s been there for every post I wrote. It is also there during almost every therapy session and whenever I attempt to talk to someone about my problems or feelings. If you ask me how I am and we get talking about my mental health, you can assume that I’ll be dissociating about two minutes into the conversation. Usually, it’s not something that is very noticeable. At least that’s what I like to believe, maybe it’s also super obvious, like my soul leaving my body, and people are simply confused or kind enough not to mention it. Who knows.

My therapist, however, did notice it, as she let me know after a few sessions, when I first tried to describe what dissociating felt like to me. “Oh, yeah, I can tell whenever it happens. I just thought I’d give you your space until you wanted to talk about it”, was what she had said. Oh, Kerstin. You’re a real keeper.

So, what does it feel like to dissociate? (I once again pretend that someone is asking so I don’t feel like I’m talking to myself about myself). It’s a little hard to explain but here’s what I have told some of the friends I have talked to about it before: Imagine from pretty much one second to the other, your entire head is filled with cotton, kind of like you’re really tired and exhausted and everything that you see or hear doesn’t really get through the thick wool that seems to have replaced your brain. Forming thoughts and staying in the moment gets harder with every minute that passes. There’s this weird pull at the back of your neck and the front of your forehead that kind of just wants you to close your eyes and drift away. Far away to somewhere where it’s quiet and cotton-y and there’s no one or nothing else around you.

It’s not just mental, it’s physical. It feels like your brain hit the shut down button without your consent, like it’s slowly closing the blinds as it gets darker and darker and you just want to fall asleep. Speaking seems to become almost painful, thinking coherent thoughts is close to impossible and following what others are saying is a million times harder all of a sudden. It’s like the world has gone out of focus and you’re trying to sharpen the lense again, to no success.

Actually, I think that a lot of people have experienced dissociative symptoms before. Not to play Dr. Freud here, but it happens quite a lot, for example during panic or anxiety attacks. Some of my friends have told me that it felt like they had suddenly left their body and were watching themselves as from across the room. That’s why often dissociating is also described as an out of body experience. Because in a way, it literally is one. 

As my therapist explained to me, and as I experience it too, it’s comparable to your brain throwing a metaphorical fuse because it’s in danger of short circuiting. My dad would be so proud if he saw me making electrician references (yes, he is a trained electrician, okay). Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: Often, when I’m exposed to emotions (and that includes talking or writing about them), my brain will run a little too hot like an old, wary car engine, and before it gets too close to exploding into a fiery death, it simply flips the switch and disconnects itself from the body and the emotions that are happening in it. Just like the repression, this is yet another safety mechanism that my brain came up with in reaction to me never really learning how to correctly process emotions. So, whenever some of those stronger feeling resurface or leak out, it tries to protect me from them by cutting the connection between the both of us.

In almost every way, it feels like I’m being locked out of my own head and can no longer really use my own brain. To someone who’s never felt that before, this might seem a little terrifying. And I agree that, objectively, it is. Knowing that the grey goo behind your skull has the power to shut out what in the ever-loving fuck is considered your conscious self, is a bit worrisome, to say the least. However, to me, it’s something that I have a) gotten very used to by now and b) in the moment don’t actually experience as something scary at all. I’m disconnected, remember?

Which is also why it’s sometimes very, very hard to get grounded again and find the way back into my own head. Like a bird that’s accidentally escaped its cage, proceeding to go fucking rogue in the living room, then crashing into a wall, all while trying to figure out what the fuck is happening while it’s on the verge of blacking out. I’ll often feel so dull and dizzy that all I really want to do is curl up and stare at a wall until eventually, my mind and body connect again and things are back to normal.

To kind of circle back to the whole theme of this post: This whole dissociation thing is very strongly connected to my tendency of emotional repression. It’s somewhat of a vicious cycle, which is why days like the one I’m having right now, can be a little tricky. It starts with me feeling empty and hollow, bim-bam-Tin-Man, and is usually followed with feelings of isolation and depression, since I cannot seem to get joy, satisfaction, or any emotion, really, out of anything. This then often leads to me trying to force some sort of emotion into myself, struggling to dig through my subconscious in hopes of finding something, anything, and eventually becoming even more frustrated. Aha! Frustration! That’s an emotion, right? It’s there! Can you feel it? I think you can, oh wow, there it is! Oh, wait, no ... no, now my head is getting heavy. Everything’s blurry. Is the feeling still there? Maybe. Who cares, just close your eyes now. So sleepy, hm ... floaty float.

Okay, sorry, that just turned into a weird combination of a badly written slam poem and a pretentious high school theater class rendition of some old play no one has ever heard of. I’ll just use the fact that I’m still dissociated as hell as an excuse for now. Wait a minute ... if I’m this spacey and zoned out right now, how am I even managing to write this post? Huh? Isa? Explain yourself!

Well, I haven’t been in therapy for nothing. It’s been over eight months of Kerstin and me figuring all of this out, finally putting a name and label to it and therefore understanding why it’s there and how it works. Which has helped me a great lot in actually handling it. That’s kind of the whole point of therapy after all, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong: These days where I feel repressed, empty and dissociated, can still be hard and they’re rarely ever fun. They honestly make me want to bash my head against a wall in hopes that that will make it go back to normal.

But since I don’t really favour having a concussion on top of feeling depressed and detached from my body, I have learned to use other counter-measurements to help the process of finding my balance again. Rebuilding that mojo, am I right? This post is already pretty long, so I won’t go into even more detail on all the different methods and mechanisms of bouncing back, but I’ll say this much: I spent a good portion of therapy trying to learn when to push and when to rest whenever I’m feeling dissociated. And yeah, it’s a fine line and I still haven’t fully figured out how to walk it without falling from one extreme into the other.

But take this blog, for example. I know that writing it, actively facing my problems and the very strong, repressed emotions connected to them, will make me dissociate like hell. A few months ago, that would have been reason enough for me to not do it and simply ignore it again. Now, however, after working with my therapist and on myself, I have learned how to push my own limits just far enough in order to, in this case, continue to write even though it feels like my brain is about to burst into a cotton explosion. It’s a give and take, a sort of push and pull I’m playing with my own mind and head. But as time progressed, I figured out the game plan a little better, I learned my own rules and the secret short cuts and cheating methods (because come on, who really plays fair, that’s for boring losers) and the resting time it takes for me to restore my strengths again.

So, today for example, I woke up as Mr. Tin Man, progressed to being a lost, numb and rogue dissociation-bird (man, I really gotta work on my metaphors, this is just getting worse by the minute) and then decided that the best way to counter-act all of it, would be to sit down and write my lovely new blog. Has it helped? A little, yeah. It took my mind off the right things, made some others a bit worse and intense but now, I feel a little more stable and like I managed to talk some sense back into my spiraling, detached brain.

Kerstin, please tell me you’re proud of me. Because as we all know, therapy is about impressing your therapist and not about getting better for your own sake. Pft, who needs that. What do we want? Validation! When do we want it? All the time, because we never got it as a child, so now it’s the only thing we crave in life!

Yikes.

Alright. So, here we are. Since I’m still feeling a little zoned out and dopey, I’m not fully sure if everything I wrote made complete sense. But hey, while this blog is for others to read should they feel like it, it’s still mainly there for me to sort my own racing thoughts before they can spiral out of control. And I think I managed to do that just now. And I know that that feels kind of nice.

Actually, I feel it too.

P.S.: I just had to. A little self-deprecation doesn’t hurt anyone.

#therapy #retrospection #repression #dissociation

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Twenty Seven

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

January 3rd, 2017

Jessica couldn’t believe it. She...he just couldn’t believe it. There was a word for feeling like a boy when everyone said you were a girl. He was transgender.

The health teacher droned on about the LGBT community and its spectrum of identities, but Jessica was shell-shocked. This was a thing other people felt. He was a boy. Jack nudged him from the next desk over. “You okay, Jess?”

He swallowed and nodded. “I just...never realized, there was a word for it...”

Jack made a soft huh noise. “So...are you gay then? Or bi?”

“Transgender,” he said with a smile on his face. “There’s a name for it. I’m transgender.”

“Congrats, yo,” Jack said with a laugh. “Or should I say congrats, man?”

His heart soared and tears pricked his eyes. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Jack, I could kiss you right now.”

June 14th, 2019

Logan held his breath as they walked into the endocrinologist’s place. Dad and Ami were both there with him, as Roman had agreed to look after the younger boys during this appointment. Logan was sweating, and shaking, and Ami held his hand as Dad went up to the receptionist to let them know they were here for an appointment.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Ami reassured him. “Don’t worry too much, they’re just gonna ask you some questions.”

“I know, I did the research with you and Dad, so I know what’s coming, I know what to ask for, I’m just...nervous, I guess,” Logan said.

“It’s a big day for you, I know,” Ami said. “Just take deep breaths, your dad and I will be there for the whole appointment, and by the time we’re leaving, you should be all set with a prescription for testosterone.”

Logan grinned despite his nerves. He and Ami sat down in the waiting room, and Dad came over to sit on Logan’s other side. “You excited?” he asked.

“Really, really nervous,” Logan said with a small grin. “But excited too.”

Dad smiled at him. “Have you texted Jack yet?”

Logan nodded. “He wants to come over after the appointment, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” Dad said. “I’d recommend it, actually, considering he’s your closest friend and you’re going to want to keep him in the loop.”

Logan nodded and felt for his phone in his pocket. Then a nurse called his name, his preferred name, and they were heading back to one of the exam rooms. Logan sat on the table, and Dad and Ami took watch by the door. Soon enough a doctor walked in smiling, and Logan could feel his nerves spike and then settle. “Hello, Logan, my name is Doctor Reign. How are you doing today?”

“I’m a little nervous,” Logan admitted.

Doctor Reign looked at the laptop in his hand and nodded. “Yes, I see you’re here to start Hormone Replacement Therapy. It’s a very big decision.”

Logan nodded. “It is, sir, but it’s one I’m absolutely certain of.”

“That’s the spirit,” Doctor Reign smiled and continued, “Now, these two are your fathers?”

“Yes, sir,” Logan said, shifting on the exam table. “They’re in full support of my decision, and they’re willing to sign the papers and waivers on my behalf.”

“You are very lucky to have such supportive parents,” Doctor Reign said. “I’ve heard horror stories from my adult patients sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, second time’s the charm, right?” Logan asked with a bitter half-smile.

The doctor looked briefly surprised, but hid it well in seconds. “I suppose so,” he allowed. “Let’s get your height and weight, and then your parents can help with the forms, and we’ll get you a prescription.”

Logan felt tears in his eyes and he nodded with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Of course, young man,” Doctor Reign said with a smile. “Stand on the scale, will you please?”

Logan followed the instructions and let the doctor get his height and weight, and the doctor murmured to himself, typing on his computer. “We got the bloodwork from your general practitioner,” Doctor Reign said. “Everything’s within perfectly normal ranges, and given your height and weight I believe we can get you on a small dose of testosterone today.”

“Could I request it be in a gel or a patch?” Logan asked. “I’ve read that the shots are meant to last two weeks, but they also have more fluctuating levels than daily doses.”

“Of course,” Doctor Reign said. “I’ll send in the prescription for one pump of testosterone in gel form. Apply one pump from the container once every day, all right?”

Logan nodded, feeling a little faint from sheer excitement. “Yes. Thank you. Thank you, sir, really.”

“It’s not a problem, Logan,” Doctor Reign said. “Where should I send the prescription?”

Dad chimed in with the pharmacy closest to the house, and Doctor Reign nodded, sent it off, and sent them on their way. Logan made it to the car before he started positively bawling at the thought that he got to start testosterone. Dad laughed and Ami put a supportive hand in the back on Logan’s knee. They swung by the pharmacy to pick up the prescription and then they were heading home, Logan texting Jack to come over.

When Logan got out of the car, Roman, Virgil, Patton, and Dee all swarmed him. “Did you get it?! Did you get it?!” Patton asked.

Logan held the bag with the gel pump inside up. “I got it!” he exclaimed.

All his brothers cheered and ushered him inside the house, where Vanellope was waiting at the door for them to return. Logan put the pump with the medicine in his room and walked back downstairs, in a good enough mood to play with Vanellope until there was a knock at the door.

Logan jumped up and bounded over to the door, flinging it open and crushing Jack in a hug, already crying again. “I got it, Jack! I get to go on testosterone!”

Jack laughed and hugged Logan back. “I knew you could get it, bro! Congrats!”

Logan wiped at his tears and let Jack in the house. “Do you want to meet Vanellope?”

“Of course!” Jack exclaimed.

Logan brought Jack to the living room, where Roman was currently still playing with Vanellope. “Yo, Jack!” Roman exclaimed, waving.

“What’s up, Roman?” Jack asked, giving Roman a high five.

All three of them were soon on the floor, Vanellope sniffing Jack’s shoe. “So what’s the doctor say about your T?” Jack asked.

“I need to take it once a day, one pump of the container,” Logan said. “The changes should start at the latest in a month.”

Jack pumped his fist in the air. “All right! That’s more like it! You get to look like one of the bros, too! So no one can pull that crap of ‘you’re not like other girls’ anymore!”

Roman wrinkled his nose. “Ew. People do that to him?”

“Only the real jerks,” Jack informed Roman. “And I make them put a sock in it if they don’t shut up.”

“If I don’t stop you, you mean,” Logan said. “Because it’s not that big of a deal. I come home to people who respect me and my pronouns.”

“It’s a big deal to me, man!” Jack exclaimed. “Sometimes it seems like you never stand up for yourself!”

“I stand up when it counts,” Logan said simply. “If some kid who doesn’t even look at me aside from throwing insults my way says a slur, what’s it to me? They don’t care about me, they just want a reaction. I won’t give it to them.”

Jack crossed his arms. “I still don’t want you to have to deal with that, man.”

Logan smiled softly. “I know. And I appreciate that. But you worry too much.”

Jack huffed and returned his attention to Vanellope. “So, how’d she do her first night here?”

“She curled up on Dee’s bed and absolutely refused to leave until he got up in the morning,” Logan said with a slight smile. “So I think she might already be developing a favorite.”

“Cute,” Jack said with a laugh. He gave Logan a sideways glance with a smile, and Logan’s stomach involuntarily flipped. That was his favorite smile of Jack’s, the one that said he was genuinely enjoying the company around him.

Roman cleared his throat and Jack turned his attention back to Roman. “Get up to anything interesting lately, Jack?” he asked.

Jack shrugged. “A little of this, a little of that. Nothing much, definitely not like you guys. A dog, testosterone, the works? You guys have a setup for an awesome summer already.”

Roman offered a grin and shrugged. “It helped that we had five people’s allowances chipping in for the dog. The testosterone was a given, with Dad and Ami. And by the beginning of next school year, I’m pretty sure that no one will be able to recognize Logan when he walks through the door.”

Logan laughed. “Yeah, well. Testosterone is certainly going to help. Even if my first parents ever wanted me back before, I’m pretty sure this would stop them.”

Jack winced. “That’s kinda messed up, man.”

Logan’s smile faded and he sighed. “Yeah, I know. But I try to find the humor in it anyway, because that makes me feel a little better.”

Jack put his hand on Logan’s shoulder, and Logan gave Jack a small half-smile. “You don’t have to find humor in it if you don’t want to, man,” Jack said. “You’re allowed to cry if you need to.”

Logan sighed and nodded, lying back on the floor. “I know that. But what if I don’t want to cry?”

“It’s more about needing than wanting, man,” Jack said, looking down at him. “I’m not sure anybody ever wants to cry unless they’re miserable and want to feel better somehow.”

“I just...I don’t...” Logan took a deep breath. “I never enjoy crying. I’d rather find humor in a situation. And today’s a good day. I don’t want to remember sobbing my eyes out on the first day I get T.”

Jack laid down on the floor next to him and took Logan’s hand. “Man, if you need to cry, don’t beat yourself up over it. Your parents weren’t great people but you’re allowed to mourn their loss.”

Logan took off his glasses and took a deep breath, looking over at Jack. “Could we...do you mind if we just hang out in my room for a little while?”

“That’s fine,” Jack said, helping Logan stand. He turned to Roman. “Roman, my man, it’s good to see you. Do you mind asking the others to give us some time alone?”

Roman nodded. “It’s no problem. I’ll let Dad and Ami know, and they can talk to the others if any of them want to talk to either of you.”

Jack nodded his thanks and led Logan upstairs to his room. Once there, what remained of Logan’s calm broke down the second Jack closed the door. His breath hitched, his eyes stung, and he managed to choke out, “They don’t want me...” before completely breaking down into sobs.

“I know,” Jack said softly, coming over and hugging Logan tightly. “I know, and it sucks. It really, really sucks.”

Logan gripped Jack’s shirt tight and buried his head in his best friend’s shoulder. “Why would they hate me that much?” he asked, tears slipping out faster the more he cried. “Why would they try and kill their son just to keep their daughter?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said, rubbing Logan’s back. “I don’t think the answer would make you feel any better, though.”

Logan just continued to cry, because Jack was right. Whatever answer his parents might give him wasn’t going to make him feel any better. It wouldn’t be an answer at all. It would be some lame excuse that wouldn’t make him feel wanted, or give him closure. All it would do, at best, is make him blame himself for not being enough. He sniffled and could feel his tears start to slow. “They never liked me...” he whimpered.

“I know,” Jack said softly. “But I do. And Roman does. And so do your other brothers, and your dads. You have a better family and better friends now. And we wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

Logan pulled away with a laugh. “I don’t deserve you,” he said.

“You deserve everything I tell you and more,” Jack said, poking Logan’s side. “You deserve to know that people love you no matter what.”

Logan wiped at his eyes and put his glasses back on. “I just realized something,” he said with a laugh.

“What?” Jack asked.

“On T, my voice will start cracking, like yours did when you were fourteen,” Logan laughed. “And you will be able to exact your revenge.”

Jack perked up. “Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that!” he exclaimed.

Logan laughed again. His family was topsy-turvy, but he loved them anyway.

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #emile picani #remy sanders #our creations #danger gays

[sgnolivia]

weird flex— are you okay??

two days into maybe-olivia’s eat-pray-love-crush-enemy-skulls pillage of cleveland, she’s struck by a migraine so searing that she has enough presence of mind to google psnn hesd dyig strook e ? before she’s left twitching in a trash heap behind starbucks.

two days into maybe-olivia’s eat-pray-love-crush-enemy-skulls pillage of cleveland, she’s struck by a migraine so searing that she has enough presence of mind to google psnn hesd dyig strook e ? before she’s left twitching in a trash heap behind starbucks.

it’s still light out when her brain stops trying to design, manufacture, and detonate it’s own atomic bomb. maybe-olivia isn’t sure if it’s been three hours or three days. the double chocolate chip frappe she bought t-minus five to blackout (ha!) has solidified on her pants. she can taste seafoam under her tongue.

she stares up at the sky in muted exhaustion. 

god, it’s me, she thinks. i would like to invoke my right to choose. 

perhaps if the zygote tube had been pro-choice, none of this would be fucking happening. 

the lizard takes over all executive functioning at that point, forcibly ejecting her from the drivers seat. when she blinks down at her shirt it’s neon green and has a fun i love chicago! written across a black skyline. 

maybe-olivia wonders if she saw the blue bedroom and doesn’t remember it. hopefully the lizard wrote it in the unicorn book.

not that it matters. what’s another forgotten thing in the grand scheme of it all? it’s a fifty-fifty shot she’ll remember anything she’s written in the notebook, anyway. her memory is half a step above melted swiss cheese. 

from that point on, every decision is like russian roulette with a gun that’s fully loaded. maybe-olivia has no fucking idea what’s going to set her spinning into a migraine or send her flying off the realm of human existence or remind her, hey, she fucking loves macaroons. it’s a lot of calculated risks and maybe-olivia discovers that she’s very bad at math. 

it goes on like this for an indeterminable amount of time. 

she tries to balance her world-wide assassination tour with her brain’s need to self-destruct every seventy-three seconds. it is difficult. 

after the act of dying her hair a soft brown sends her tripping into a panic attack, shivering violently and puking all over the nice bathroom of the vacation home she’s squatting in, maybe-olivia decides this isn’t working. 

the unicorn notebook is full, so maybe-olivia unpacks the glittery purple one she bought to replace it. the pen that lights up was lost somewhere in bolivia so she has to settle for a fatter pen that holds four different wells of ink. she feels traitorous for liking it more than its predecessor. 

option 1:

die. 

honestly, this is the easiest and most cost-effective route. at this point she’s ninety-five percent sentient machine gun. there wouldn’t be much lost. blackout was set to be decommissioned after operation foxtrot anyway. maybe-olivia would just be finishing what was set into motion a long time ago. 

she switches the pen into the blue inkwell and sets up a t-chart.

pros:

no more migraines.

won’t wake up in romanian hostel.

stop randomly puking.

permanently get rid of lizard.

cons:

maybe-oliva sits back in the chair. this list is marginally harder. 

agency is exhausting and confusing. some days she’s completely post-verbal and other days she can only speak argentinian spanish, despite having no memories related to argentina. some days she physically can’t wake her body up for more than six minutes at a time. most days she throws up everything she tries to eat. 

maybe-olivia wishes she was strapped back into her holding cell in the unnamed facility, twelve floors below the earth. 

this transforms her body into a wet chihuahua. it takes four hours to pull her bones back inside her skin and another two just to get off the floor. 

jesus, she thinks, and adds keep bones in skin to the pros list. 

she ruminates on her death for a bit, losing time to daydreaming about the endless sleep that might await her. none of her training covered the afterlife so this is as much a guess as everything else in her life. maybe it’s an endless blank void. maybe it’s burning in a pit. maybe it’s a another shot. maybe-olivia hopes not. she doesn’t know if her spirit can handle another go-round of this. 

but, her brain lizard pipes up, then they would win!

maybe-olivia growls out loud and pointedly tells it to shut the fuck up even if she begrudgingly admits that it has a point. 

if she dies, then director howard lives. 

this alights something hot deep in her gut. it feels like she has to puke and run fourteen miles at the same time. there’s no way in hell marcus fucking howard gets to live over her. fuck that. fuck that. 

and really, doesn’t she deserve that? doesn’t she deserve the right to drag howard out of his villa safehouse, shove a piece of rubber in his mouth, break all his fingers, and ask what her real goddamn name is?

project sisyphyus has been trying to kill her— the real her— for eleven fucking years and they still haven’t gotten it done. she wins, they lose. they’ll have to try harder. 

she writes fuck that in the scrawling, bunched together lettering she’s beginning to associate with her own personal handwriting. it’s nice. it feels like she owns something.

fuck that.

if they want me dead, they better fucking find me.

option 2:

get it the fuck together

there are no cons to this. she doesn’t need a t-chart. 

getting it together proves to be a con all on it’s own. her brain is a glorified vegetable but it’s all she’s got. it’s not like she can swap it out for a new one. it needs serious repairs though, and short of hooking her scalp up to a car battery, maybe-olivia isn’t sure how to go about this. 

google is, though.

and google doesn’t care if she has to look something up four times an hour. it points her towards helpful websites. searching how do i get my memories back and following it with who the fuck am i six times in half as many hours points her to a self-help thread which leads her to a diagnosis forum. she has acute brain trauma, post-traumatic stress disorder, dissociative episodes, panic attacks, and sometimes seizures. also, maybe arthritis. she has to ask google what dissociation means. 

maybe-olivia is struck with the overwhelming knowledge that other people know what she’s going through. there are other people who fell head first out of a plane with no parachute and have been hurtling towards the ground for as long as they can remember. sure, they haven’t been tortured and brainwashed and denied the basic human rights that are allocated pretty much across the board but she doesn’t care. she feels connected to these people who live half outside of their skin, wondering the earth like zombies chewed up in the garbage disposal. 

they teach coping strategies. ways to fake normal existence so that it seems like they’re living in the same reality as everyone else. how to breathe when her lungs collapse. how to avoid physical contact in day-to-day situations. 

a lot of them gently suggest finding creative outlets for her feelings. she tries writing but after penning an expansive four page letter in cantonese only to suddenly forget how to read cantonese, she gives that up. 

she decides she isn’t really ready to sift through her emotions. her bodies fucked up instincts are enough without trying to decide if she’s depressed, furious, or anxious on top of it. 

google assures her that recovery happens in stages and at her own pace. if you aren’t ready today, try a little bit more tomorrow. 

her brain still jerks her around like it’s the worlds most aggressive dog owner and she’s the runt of a teacup poodle’s litter, but it works to her advantage. no one can track her if even she has no idea where she’s going next. the targets come in migraines, in hallucinations, in dissociative fits, but they come and maybe-olivia dutifully follows, even if she can’t remember doing it. it’s admittedly a reckless strategy but if there’s a part of her that isn’t a screaming disaster then she hasn’t recovered that part yet. 

she reviews her notebooks every few days, now. they look like they’ve been written by at least four people, one of them being a small child. there’s a variety of languages, handwriting styles, codes, and small illustrations. one page just says fuck licorice in increasingly bold font, fiercely underlined and surrounded by aggressive exclamation points. 

it doesn’t do much except reaffirm that she has the minimal amount of control required to be a human being, but that’s okay. 

a lot of her problems sort themselves out once a helpful blog post points out that she’s eating about a third of what’s required of adult women. this is mostly because she constantly throws up anything that tastes more flavorful than wheat bread but also because she’s never really had to feed herself before. hunger is just another loud, shrieking signal her body sends at her to inform her that something’s wrong, but it sends fifty of those a minute. how’s she supposed to know where the problem is?

a steady combination of pedialyte, muscle milk, and a bottle of gummy vitamins becomes the solution. she has to set alarms to remind herself to drink them and it isn’t ideal, but it keeps her caloric intake up, and solves the arthritis issue. 

it also makes it easier to actually keep the memories she recovers which is a huge win. 

that doesn’t mean things are smooth by anyone’s standards, including her own. random things still absolutely kneecap her— a dad yelling at his son, a lawn mower starting up outside the motel, her own abilities blinding her first thing in the morning. but every incapaciting moment gives a clue. 

a car backfires on the road and maybe-olivia darts behind a minivan, seeing both the tan metal under her hand and white sand beaches. 

239948S462569W

maybe-olivia has never infiltrated a fully-staffed enemy facility on her own before. that’s alright. it can be a learning experience for everyone. 

#tw; memory loss #tw; slight gore #tw; severe suicide ideation #t; recovery #t; 1 month post lizard #p; weird flex

[minghoy]

Biggest Loser

The office did a 'Biggest Loser' contest the first quarter of 2019, right after Christmas. I caught the tail end of it this month when I re-joined the workforce, people walking around talking loud about how they've lost a kilogram or horrified mumbling about how they've gained a pound—a whole pound!—and today they announced the winners, two teams that collectively lost 9.78% and 7.23% of "body percentage." I think they mean body fat percentage, though I can't be sure. Maybe someone lost a limb. A kidney. Their appendix. Something they won't miss very much but is worth less than the cash the 'Piggy Wiggy Team' won for second place.

That's what they called themselves, The Piggy Wiggy Team. As if joining an office Biggest Loser contest wasn't humiliating enough. Anyone who's over an 18 BMI I've noticed likes to make other people very aware that they're aware they're a little goopier around the waist than they should be. I do it, too. A lot. As if we get points for self-awareness. I think there's this fear of not being in on the joke, and if you're laughing at yourself the same time as everyone else is, then maybe you're less of a punchline. You've got comedic ownership. You know, like, "I meant to do that." I meant to eat all that food. I meant to get this fat.

Anyway, an office Biggest Loser, as if offices aren't toxic enough cesspools in which eating disorders breed like petri dish viruses. Ditto schools. Ditto everywhere else. This is just the world we live in. The setting. Now the plot, the characters: the office Biggest Loser, and the woman I heard purging in the bathroom stall today, a woman on team Piggy Wiggy—beautiful, stylish, overall pretty classy and bougie, well-to-do, and apparently from an old-rich family, one of the five families that were here when this city mushroomed out of the sea.

She's in her mid-thirties. Let's call her Miss L. Miss L's one of the women the younger girls call "titas"—a group of women who torture themselves with keto diets and trendy fasts, who do yoga every other day and have motivational quotes in their cubicles, loud laughs, big hair. They love themselves. They want you to know they love themselves as they gorge on cake, pizza, garlic bread on birthday-month team feeds, and then always have cake in their cubicles for some reason, and they grab at anything that gets passed around the office, free or otherwise, with a hunger that I recognize in myself. So of course it's gross to me. It's horrific. It's like staring at your reflection at the bottom of a deep, dark well.

Our office has this quasi-open workspace thing going on: one wide floor but cubicles and wall-to-wall depression-blue carpet, blank white walls that reflect the depression-blue, and six windows that are never open. Sometimes it gets so loud I can't hear myself think. Even if I put headphones and brown noise on, I can still sense the conversations and the whine of workday stress going on around me, which is like tinnitus but with words. That's when I take my book and sit on the toilet for a while. It's quiet in there, and the people who clean it do a very good job of it, and there's even a nice green plant so it's this oasis of quiet in the middle of the workday if I can't get away from work for more than five minutes. (I get why people have beautiful bathrooms in their homes now. One day I'm going to have a beautiful bathroom with white tiles, a window, and a writing desk.)

I heard Miss L walk in, and then the gagging started, then that chunky, gloopy splash of solid food that's become so familiar and dear to me it sends a frisson of recognition through my spine so strong it makes me want to hurl, too. Except I haven't done that in a month. (There's a sign on my forehead: It's been 27 days since our last episode. This soon changes to 0 days, barely two weeks later, after I ill-advisedly weigh myself on a Friday night while I'm PMS-ing.)

I sit and listen to her purge. I listen to her purge. This woman is purging. I have this really vivid daydream about about kicking the door in and holding her head in the toilet to teach her a tough-love lesson about self-love. I imagine that I'm not sitting here and really I'm the one purging and someone else is listening to me purge. Listening to her purge is making me dissociate, and I can't sit here anymore so I flush the toilet to announce that someone else is there and get up to wash my hands. I wash my hands. She's sitting in there, trying to be quiet. She shuffles her feet.

How many times have I been this woman? I spent a lot of time getting acquainted with the toilets at the last office I worked in. This was at the height of my bulimia, when I was bingeing and purging two, maybe three times a day at work. McDonald's, corner store bread, cookies and milk, the latter so much that I developed a sensitivity to dairy and caffeine, which sucks because I love dairy and caffeine. My cheeks were always swollen. My eyes were always red. I was always in a shit mood. I didn't think anybody noticed, but of course they did, and when I finally told K, an ex-coworker, about what was then my bulimia, she said she guessed that I was doing something like that in there, and that she wasn't sure what to do—if she should talk to me about it or not.

(You can bet she talked about it with other people, though.)

Like most people beset by eating disorders, my complicated relationship with food started when I was very young. My grandmother and my great aunt expressed their love with food, and food shut me up when I was throwing tantrums and being a generally shitty, angry little kid and when I was a shitty, angry teenager. It shuts me up as a shitty, angry young adult, except these days I'm starting to understand that I'm probably trying to fill up a different kind of void. Not that knowing why you do something makes it easier not to do it.

My partner, who in my eyes is the most understanding and intelligent person in the world, doesn't get why people do things that upset them. I wish I had an satisfying answer for why binge eaters binge eat, or why anorexics can't just eat a burger and be okay with it, or why drug addicts keep doing drugs even after they've ruined their lives and alienated themselves from their entire families because of them.

If it were that simple, the economy would crumble. Self-help magnates and motivational speakers would be out of jobs. The diet industry would vanish into thin (ha) air. Every marketer in the world would starve.

The ugly truth is that like most people, and like Miss L, I'm probably always going to be dieting, always going to be trying to lose weight, always going to be unhappy with the way I look, am, feel, etc., and even if I were to recover from my eating disorder I know there'd be times where the angry baby brain-monster tantrums in its cage and kicks up such a fuss it's easier to just give it what it wants rather than to sit there and endure the noise.

I don't know why there are so many of us like this, why we're so dissatisfied with ourselves.

If I were to find a purpose, if I were to find something else to obsess over, something that I cared about more than what I looked like, would I be able to forget about my obsession with food and the way I look? If Miss L, who's a mother and a career woman and in all other aspects successful still hasn't gotten over this obsession with food and looks, do I even stand a chance? Do any of us?

If this were a story I could give it some kind of resolution, or some kind of confrontation that has all the twanging of hope. Miss L and I could lock eyes on our way out of the bathroom stalls, exchanging looks that said, 'I see you. I understand. You're not alone.' In the real world we don't talk to each other unless we need to, and we hardly ever need to, and when I walk past her cubicle I try not to make eye contact because I'm afraid she might see that I know what she's doing when she ducks for another mouthful of the slice of carrot cake she keeps on top of her computer tower. I try not to listen to her talk to the other titas about "gaining all the weight back," and I don't say a word to her unless I need to. I don't make eye contact. I'm afraid she'll see the hunger in me, too.

#eating disorders #weight loss #weight loss competition #office biggest loser #biggest loser #diet culture

[kittycat-plisetsky]

Mental Disorder Analysis of Killing Stalking

I did a bit of a project (for school) here where I analyze the actions in Killing Stalking from the perspective that Yoon Bum and Oh Sangwoo are mentally ill individuals. I attempt here to explain and defend the characters, as well as try to educate the fandom to alleviate hate rooted from ignorance. I’ll share a preview tand then add the rest under a read more bar; I went a tad overboard. 

So maybe you’re a fan of Killing Stalking. Maybe you’re an anti. Maybe you’re a closet fan who’s ashamed to admit having a liking for the manga. For me, upon my first interaction with the fandom, I’ll admit it, I was nearly repulsed, but I’ve come a long way since that time and become an active member in the fandom, and even cosplay! After some consideration, I’ve realized the themes presented here aren’t much different from any crime-themed tv show, like Criminal Minds or something similar. Then I began to question myself and why I was even an anti to start off with, and the answer to that boiled down to ignorance. Upon a first glance, it isn’t hard not to view this simply as a toxic relationship that gets its readers off on some BL sadomasochism about a killer and, who I assumed at the time to be a kidnapped boy, who gets tortured. That’s simply not what this manga is, and it’s belittling to pass it off as much. If you know of killing stalking, you can bypass the next paragraph, but through my little ramblings here I’m hoping to defend this manga for what it is and to explain to you all (whether you’re a fan or an anti) some realistic reasonings for the actions/reactions of these characters centered around some potential mental illnesses here at play. The creator and these boys need some defending in this fandom, and so do us fans (who some of you, like me, I’m sure have been told we’re gross, need to kill ourselves, etc. We deserve more credit 😉 )

Killing Stalking is a psychological thriller manga with one protagonist being a stalker, and the other a killer, as the name suggests. Our first protagonist, Yoonbum, is a man in his late twenties who stalks his crush Oh Sangwoo, who he met in the military and later during his time in college. Yoonbm excessively follows his crush on social media and spends months trying to unlock Sangwoo’s house passcode. Upon entering the code correctly, Bum enters the home, where he discovers a naked woman bound and gagged, struggling to free herself. Panicked, Bum tries to help, but is then found by Sangwoo, and confesses his love before being pushed down the stairs, knocked unconscious, and later wakes with broken legs. Rather than ending Bum’s life, Sangwoo spares his life, keeping him in the basement for some time before allowing him upstairs, and eventually out of the house, though he’s kept close. As the story progresses, the two characters, in my way of seeing, develop a sort of symbiotic relationship with each other. Bum feeding off of his theorized love with Sangwoo, and Sangwoo feeding off the power he has over Bum. Thinking about it; these two need each other.

Now the above mentioned point, the theory of their symbiotic relationship, is often the basis for the fans to send their ships sailing, thinking, “clearly their in love”. Sure, why not, Sangwoo spares Bum’s life but murders others, treats his wounds, kisses him, and Bum still pines for Sangwoo and tries to please him, not to mention their physical moments together, but a story this deep deserves a deeper insight. Plus, the author herself said she hasn’t intended their relationship to be viewed as romantic. So instead, through my rather messy thoughts, maybe I can guide you into your start of deeper thinking based on real life mental disorders that should be considered here. This explanation should help you realize why Sangwoo and Bum’s relationship isn’t simple enough to be viewed as “traditionally romantic” but also I really wish to address fan’s individual outlooks on these characters and defend their characters for what they’re written as: mentally ill (I’m not knocking shippers here; ship what you want. I myself ship their theoretical existence, though I understand in canon it can’t be viewed that simply).

    To begin, the words Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) appear in the first season of the manga, already giving insight to one of the disorders that Bum possess. Though I plan to cover a few disorders in this post, for the sake of my analysis I’ll be showing evidence for BPD as well as psychosis at the same time, as psychosis is a symptom versus an illness. Many people with BPD have the symptom of psychosis (psychforums.com), and in the case of Yoon Bum, I believe this to be true. For starters, according to the National Institute of Mental Health, BPD is defined as “a mental illness marked by an ongoing pattern of varying moods, self-image, and behavior” with symptoms such as impulsive behaviors, self-harming behaviors, problems controlling anger, feelings of dissociation, and a distorted/unstable image of oneself (NIMH). Psychosis then is a delusional disorder, characterized as disruptions to a person’s thoughts and perceptions that make it difficult for them to recognize what is real and what isn’t. Found from a discussion online, it isn’t common for stalkers to suffer from psychosis (aminoapps.com). Though right off the bat you may recognize Bum as possessing qualities from both of these, I’d like t point out too that for those who have BPD, it isn’t uncommon for them to have a favorite person (FP), which in Bum’s case would be Sangwoo.

Looking at BPD from the standpoint of someone who suffers with the disorder, one person reports having issues with obsessing over people, “almost to the point of stalking them” (medhelp.org), and in relation to how someone with the disorder views an FP, their FP is their everything. To quote someone that this applies to, having an FP is “dangerous. It’s needing someone so bad it’s physically painful when they leave. It’s apologizing for every tiny thing because you don’t want to give them a reason to leave you (TheMighty.com), or “[that FP] is sometimes all I can think about. Male or female. I think about them 24/7 romantically or like a friend, but that person just becomes so perfect and put on a pedestal” (medhelp.org). The above quotes can all sympathize with Bum, especially if we’re choosing to look at Sangwoo as his FP. From chapter one, we’re shown that Bum obsessives over Sangwoo; stalks his social media, watches him on the train, and even fantasizes about him sexually, wondering “how he would have sex”. Through internal monologue we see how Bum views him; perfect, while noting “his empathetic, considerate, gentle aura”. Even after being hit by Sangwoo, he recalls his perfect image of his crush, noting, “The Sangwoo I know is a much more considerate person.”

               Because those with Borderline Personality Disorder have troubles or inabilities regulating their emotions, Bum has a hard time maintaining his image of Sangwoo and is often caught having many back and forth emotions. He’s caught up on his love one moment, and during the next, he’s trying to convince himself that he hates him. Of course, things get harder on Bum when we realize that Sangwoo too is emotionally unstable, but we’ll talk about him later on.

         For those with BPD, “relationships build quickly and intensely. They are unable to see the faults of their partner” (borderline-personality-disorder.com). This isn’t surprising; Bum’s always had troubles seeing the faults in his crush. Even upon discovering Sangwoo was a murderer, he apologizes, realizing he’s upset him, and takes blame for the situation. He resorts back to his idealized image of Sangwoo after remembering the reasons that he fell in love with him, claiming to love him despite the current situation he’s in. Not only that but he even confessed repeatedly to liking Sangwoo as he’s being assaulted, calling out, “I like you” over and over even as Sangwoo shouts at him to shut up. He’s unable, in many situations to see the faults that Sangwoo has (even though Sangwoo’s faults are pretty extreme). Recall too Bum questioning the police, asking “could you kiss somebody like me? Could you love somebody like me?”, etc. To him, he doesn’t view himself to be likable by anyone but Sangwoo, as he truly believes that Sangwoo has feelings for him.

    If, as I suspect, Bum also suffers from psychosis, his inability to regulate his feelings for Sangwoo could be amplified. This could explain why he can’t quite rationalize what is real about their relationship and what isn’t (or any of his relationships, for that matter). Below, remember when he was under the impression that him and his female classmate were dating when she removed her shirt in front of him? And then he believed that all along he and Sangwoo were dating when Sangwoo said such a thing to the police.

 Psychosis in Bum’s case not only prevents him from knowing what reality is in terms of his relationships with others, but it also alters his perception of the reality surrounding him. Psychosis can cause hallucinations and delusions. Hallucinations aren’t new to him, just recall the hallucination of dead bodies in Sangwoo’s washing machine, the hallucination that made him see Sangwoo murdering him on the kitchen floor, and he even hallucinated that the Jieun was the girl from his past during his fist semi-forced murder.

Since psychosis is a delusional disorder, it’s also known that those who suffer from it may believe that events or objects hold personal meaning or significance. Going back into Bum’s past again with his female friend, remember that he held personal meaning to objects that he otherwise should feel no connection to, objects that simply belonged to her. He’s stolen not only her bra, but her nail polish, and because he had such a connection with these items, used them to calm himself down when he would go into mood shifts.

                 He’s mentally ill, and because of these disorders that alter his reality, he lives unaware of his problems. So, no, he isn’t stupid. To him, he’s doesn’t think his thought processes are out of place. In the first chapter, he claims that it’s complexly normal to stalk his crush and to want to know everything of his personal life. In regards to his obsessive behaviors and his kleptomaniac actions, he’s convinced it’s “because of love” over and over.

 Though Borderline is the confirmed disorder at play here (and we can find many more examples to agree with it) it’s not a bad idea to toy around with some other possibilities. Other disorders are very likely in the cases of these characters and can help you reason with their actions. Take Stockholm syndrome for example. Stockholm syndrome is a condition that causes hostages to develop a psychological alliance with their captors as a survival strategy during captivity…Victims of the formal definition of Stockholm syndrome develop "positive feelings toward their captors and sympathy for their causes and goals, and negative feelings toward the police or authorities" (Wikipedia).

       I’m sure you all remember this scene here, where the police officer tries to come to the rescue, yet Bum crawls away and keeps himself hidden. Or even the part where he chooses being back with Sangwoo over admitting to the police that he is need of some help. However in the case of Stockholm syndrome the positive feelings are rooted to the idea of survival, “captives often fear that their affection will be perceived as fake, they eventually begin to believe that their positive sentiments are genuine” (Wikipedia). Though I believe BPD is a bit more of Bum’s situation versus Stockholm syndrome, I think it’s worth a mention whilst defending Bum, anyways.

Though I haven’t really heard this one talked about prior to my mental disorder research for this analysis, I think Obsessive love disorder is worth a mention. Obsessive love disorder (OLD) is an extreme form of love that transcends into an obsession over time. It is characterized by an unhealthy attachment towards someone and can be triggered off by many factors such as anxiety, insecurity, and vulnerability (Buzzle.com). OLD is very similar to Borderline Personality Disorder, attachment disorders, and even erotomania, and so this could easily apply to many of my examples in the BPD paragraphs above. However, “depending on the intensity of their attraction, obsessive lovers may feel entirely unable to restrain themselves from extreme behaviors such as acts of violence toward themselves or others” (Wikipedia). Though we see that Bum has had self-harming instances in the past due to his living situation, we see the return of self-harm when Sangwoo was unpleased with these stories of his past. Bum spirals, feeling worried about the reaction and he quickly tries to make Sangwoo feel better, yelling at him to take it out on him physically. Sangwoo remains unresponsive, and Bum resorts to self-harm using a knife on the countertop, while shouting and sobbing that he knows he is disgusting.

                    Though my main focus here seems to be on Yoon Bum, it’s definitely no surprise that Sangwoo would fall into some mental disorders of his own. I’ve read fan discussions claiming that he too suffers from BPD, but I think too that he has psychosis, and sadistic personality disorder. Yes, that last one is a thing. “Sadistic personality disorder (SPD) can be defined as a type of personality disorder in which an affected individual inflicts sadistic, cruel, manipulative, aggressive and demeaning behavior on others. Violence and abusiveness are the hallmarks of the social relationships of a sadist. Such people lack empathy and concern for other individuals and derive pleasure by hurting or humiliating others” (hxbenefit.com). This shouldn’t need much textual evidence, as this is practically a description of the character as a whole. Backing up to psychosis, which remember is a delusional symptom, it wasn’t uncommon for Sangwoo to hallucinate or become delusional when panicked. For example, remember when he carried Bum’s fainted body to his bed to tuck him in?

    He becomes delusional, hallucinating that his mother is outside of the door, telling him to clean up his messes downstairs. His hallucination of his mother becomes angry and she rattles the door handle viciously, screaming at him. Then, he even hallucinates that Bum (who in reality is passed out beside him) raises his head to remind Sngwoo that he’s becoming his father.

               So now to reiterate my point; these characters are not dumb. They are not “asking for it”. Bum is not a “creepy, gross attention whore”, but he has trouble regulating his emotions and has a hard time grasping a distinction on his reality. One of the largest reasons for hate in this fandom is ignorance to the reality and depth that this story possesses. Especially to younger fans, who simply were seeking some twisted BL, it is important to consider this story in terms of our mentally ill paired protagonists as honestly being mentally ill. Because this story is talked up as “horror yaoi”, many people aren’t aware or don’t consider the seriousness that this story aims to share. This is why there is a “you’re gross”, “go kill yourself” stigma on readers of Killing Stalking. Instead, us readers should be viewed as readers of a psychological thriller who analyze and respect the depth here for what its intended to be. The romanticizing and narrow-minded interpretation of this storyline is what causes so much hate and controversy. I’d love to see more serious consideration and in-depth analyzation going on in the fandom to remove the stigma that us fans are nasty, twisted, or gross.

               I hope this was easy enough to follow and that you’ll give this story another read-through with these points in mind, and even change your outlook with the soon release of season 3. Let’s work to defend the author, these boys, the storyline and us fans with some knowledge! Also, again, disclaimer that I’m no professional nor am I “attacking” anyone with these disorders. Remember too though that psychosis is one of my most prominent beliefs here (so even if you suffer from BPD for example, without psychosis some of this may not sound accurate in terms of your own self).

#ks #killing stalking #killing stalking meta #killing stalking analysis #koogi #yoonbum #sangwoo

[shiedagabe]

My Experience With Dissociation

Author’s Note: I’ve had dissociation as long as I can remember. I feel like this is a disorder that has much to talk about, especially during CoVID where more and more people might seek refuge in dissociation. I have come to share my experience with it throughout the years and, hopefully, it will help you understand yourself as well.

Note: I’m probably going to write more chapters, but I have to find out how to express myself.

Belongs to: Unknown, Piqsels.com

Trigger Warnings: Existencialism, Self-Doubt, Mention of Suicide

Word count: 2200

What is dissociation? This answer may vary from person to person as all people who present this disorder don’t feel the same way. Perhaps it would be better if I gave an example. Imagine the following scenario - imagine you’re at a restaurant with your significant other and both of you order the same dish. Despite the fact that your lover does not like shrimp you decide that it would be a good idea for them to try it out, only for them to hate it, as they always have. Dissociation works quite in a similar fashion: while I may have more mundane experiences with dissociation that may be caused by my down to earth nature and rational thinking, a person who would be more impulsive and illogical would, certainly, experience different dissociative episodes and, in turn, be more or less affected by this disorder. Perhaps they imagine themselves as being a hero in their made-up world and the characters in those worlds being a mere reflection of the people they meet in real life. They travel through long and beautiful worlds while staying still on the same spot, thinking of a better life for themselves when they’re stuck on this Earth.

As for me this would be a completely different story. I imagine very mundane scenarios, all of them being very likely real, causing me to be unable to distinguish them from reality. If I had to make a real world comparison I’d say it’d be very similar to a movie projector from the 1950’s. You’re rewatching the same scenario over and over again until the roll burns out and you can’t relive it anymore. Until all emotions are drained from it like a sponge and my so-called real experiences get hurt in the process. I’ve always had a hard time recalling events from my past, even though I have an overall good memory. I think the problem lies in the fact that I can’t tell if I chose to forget those memories or if they have been washed up after being left for many years on the shore of life. Now they are deformed versions of their past selves, limbless abominations, if you will, and I have to complete them with what I see fit, but every time I try to do so I only create a half-starved chimera who begs to be put down. I feel as if I have to retry that process countless times until it seems believable not only to others, but also to me. And the memories I am able to recall are faded, as if I were remembering the time I remembered them. It seems weird, in an interesting way, that the human mind, in order to protect itself from its inner machinations, decides to shut down the “emotion lever” as to shield itself from what it cannot comprehend. I’m sure many others face a similar issue, being trapped in their own minds like rats in a maze, unable to understand the complexity of their jail while imprisoned in their own distress. I wish there were a more simple solution to this disorder, but it seems to be caused by unbelievable amounts of stress and, interestingly, I don’t seem to recall the event that started this whole journey. Was it parental neglect and the ever-excruciating need to be heard? My parents do seem to love me now, but people do change and they can always fake their emotions. Or perhaps it might have been peer rejection? I do have people I can call friends at the moment, but I do remember feeling left out and excluded from every social group I’ve known, except for a small group of people, who, to this day, I still call friends. Or maybe all of these situations are complex alternate realities that my imagination has brought forth and modeled to my liking. This is, without a doubt, one of the worse things about dissociation. The inability to distinguish real, livable moments from imagined perceptions of reality.

I want you to imagine the following: imagine you have two choices for breakfast, you either eat cereal or you eat a sandwich. I know reality isn’t as simple, but for simplicity’s sake I’m dumbing down the argument. Now you decide to eat the cereal, but your mind later tells you repeatedly that you should’ve eaten the sandwich because you would’ve enjoyed it more and it simulates the smell and taste of said sandwich and, by the time someone asks you what you ate for breakfast you couldn’t tell them what you had. You’ve felt the experience of eating both, their taste, their smell and seeing them right in front of your eyes. Without physical evidence of you eating said cereal, for example, a bit of cereal stuck in your gum, you wouldn’t know that you ate it. If we now apply that to actual scenarios it becomes tens, if not hundreds, times more complicated. “Did I hang out with this person? Have I ever told them about an intimate secret that they should know for their own sake?” These questions float around in my subconscious and I try to make an effort as to not get consumed by more existential thoughts. The best solution my incomprehensible mind has found was deleting any and all memories I had until only their hollow remnants remained, some sort of apoptosis, if you will. On one end this manages to work out quite well - I no longer have to worry about my memories being faked or transmogrified because I know all of them aren’t real, at least to their full extent. The only times I do recall events is when other people remind me they happened or when I pick up an old object that I still hold dearly to my heart, like stuffed toys or old trinkets and charms I have lying about. On the other hand, however, I am an empty husk without any sort of experience I can tell people about, a modeless play-doh that still needs to be reshapen. In my personal opinion, this might also be the reason why I can relate so much to other people. I assimilate the parts of their personality that they show me, or that they find attractive or engaging, leaving me with a stronger bond with that person in particular. Since I don’t talk to only one person, however, it’s to assume that I have many personalities inside my own mind, each one catered for the person I’m talking with. I also have a feeling I have a “base” personality that’s friendly and welcoming that, in its due time, develops into what the person likes. If I’m interacting with a more extroverted, outgoing person I might be more careless and unaffectionate, as they simply want to have fun, but more introverted or just overall shy people need someone who cares for them and treats them kindly, something I can also very much offer. Although this leaves me with a problematic conundrum – who am I, in reality? Am I the carefree, enthusiastic person, just like person A, or am I shy and caring like I am with person B? Am I an entirely different person whom I haven’t discovered yet? A mumbling freak with no personality of their own, who fumbles around for scraps of personality from my ever-darkening mind? Some of these questions I haven’t been able to answer for months. If I don’t have a sense of self-identity, how can someone love me for the person I am, and not for the projection I show them? And if I don’t know who I am, how will they? Some people have tried to read me before but I always find something that’s quite not right, and I legitimately don’t know if they’re right and I can’t admit it or if they’re wrong and I still incorporate the personality trait they have listed off.

Of course, like other people who suffer from dissociation, you might find yourself with this puzzling task. Fret not; the solution may be closer at hand than you think. For you to discover yourself you have to try out new things without any sort of peer pressure or anxiety issues. If you’re shy or antisocial, like I once was, you should try going to small events and see how much you like them – that being bars, small, indie concerts, parties with a close group of friends, whatever peaks your interest. If you don’t enjoy those types of events it’s completely okay, not everyone enjoys everything and you shouldn’t force yourself to do them. You don’t need to force yourself to do something just because it’s normal. You can be a closeted bookworm or a nymphomaniac extrovert, it does not matter, just do things that you find interesting, within the boundaries of morality and legality, of course. If I were to be honest, I, and many others, find people who aren’t “normal” fun. They usually have many more stories to tell, be them fictional or real. People who follow the norm just because they want to be accepted socially usually don’t have many stories to tell, and if they do you can and will hear that story many a time from them or from other people, since they usually hang out in large groups just to feel accepted. I’m not saying that these people are completely uninteresting, however, but their need to hang out in groups leaves them with little to no unique experiences of their own.

With that out of the way I’d like to move onto a different topic: dissociative amnesia. For those who aren’t familiar with the term, it can be divided into three categories, which I will not go in depth here, but it basically represents a lack of memories from a specific time or from specific events. Although many people won’t have this issue at all, since it only occurs in 1% of the male population who suffer from dissociation or 2.6% of the female population, I still find it important to mention this issue. I feel like I don’t remember myself from my childhood, as if all those memories had been forcefully removed from my mind, for one reason or another, that the only memories I do, in fact, have are extraordinarily recent. I do recall some events from my childhood but I also feel like most of them have been lost to time. This has always been quite troubling, not only to find and maintain a sense of identity, but also to keep a conversation flowing smoothly. I have met many people before who have asked me to tell them some interesting facts about my life but I’m always dumbfounded and out of words because I don’t know who I am, I can’t tell them something about me. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, you can take my word for it, but I can’t remember them, for the life of me. Sometimes I wonder if remembering my entire life would be a better option. At least if I remembered what I lived through I’d be able to decide if I wanted to forget those things or not. It just feels like most of the stuff I remember about my life as a child was uncomfortable or straight-up depressing. The first time I proposed to a girl I immediately got rejected because of my own stupidity. I lived in a fantasy world, even back then, and I legitimately had no clue what to do. My friends did say I was romantic, but I know they were only calming me down so I wouldn’t look even more like a clown. If I were to be honest, life is a vicious cycle of momentum – if you don’t hang out with people you won’t know how to socialize and if you don’t socialize you won’t be able to hang out with people. I understand now that it’s a difficult cycle to break, luckily I have been able to exit it because I moved into a different environment and I finally feel like I’m starting to understand myself, but I still find myself without a feeling of uniqueness. I notice that I’m not myself still, that this more “party animal” personality I have was created because of the people I met in the past. It was my cliché version of an out-going personality should be and it managed to work out, despite all of my expectations.

I remember mentioning that my dissociative episodes were very mundane, yet I failed to give an explanation as to why. I know there is a difference between daydreaming and dissociating, those two concepts are very much alike, but they differ in small ways. I feel as if I can’t pay attention to anything. If I try to I start imagining literally any other thing – it might be the person talking, but I won’t hear any sound; or perhaps, even, that we’re in a completely different environment. If I’ve been with that person for a long time I might imagine us in different situations, as if we were on the beach or watching the sun set. However, since I’m stuck in my own imagination, I can’t remember anything they’ve said. I usually blame it on something else, like my bad hearing, which is partly true, but I guess I’m too afraid to admit that I wasn’t paying attention. Consciously, I feel like this isn’t my fault, but I have to spend so much time explaining this feeling that I don’t know if it’s worth it. On the other hand, they might also not understand what I mean and think I’d be playing them like a fiddle. I can’t trust anyone, no matter how long I’ve known them for – I don’t know if they’re wearing a façade and pretending to be my friend only to, later, have the “last laugh”.

#dissociation #dissociative fugue #dissociative episode #dissociative amnesia #actually dissociative #dissociative identity disorder #disorder #autobiography #tw: dissociating #writing #existencialism #selfdoubt #dissociation explained #explaining dissociation #how to deal with dissociation

[ddontyyoukknow]

6/1/2020 

my head feels light and shaky. ive been overloaded with negativity today i think. it has been a clear downwars spiral all year in many ways. i must remmebr that strength and clarity is found in the darkest moments. i will be free from my dad soon. i am so proud of how far ive made it with my mental health. im truly a warrior. but its just one of those restless nights,,, i had a similar one about a month ago. unable to sleep, had to do a recording on my ohone to let it all out. then talk to teddy on the phone. which meant waking up at 3 bc of the 6 hr time differnce. the main fear being the disc. as i havent broken away from the trauma yet. it comes up so clearly. part of my day to day workis identifying it instead of beliving it, know that pther people are going through things as well, im not the only one being punished- for lack of a better term. tonight, as much as i try and realize that im ok and that i am real just stressed i strated feeling a new kind of weird as i tried to fall asleep- just very dizzy as i try to sleep and restless, unable to shut my brain poff. as i try to sleep ill either feel i cant breath or think im about to fall or my head will feel so off balanced it feels like it is pyhsically moving and due to talks of astral projecting in my youth, im not intersted and decide not to take any chances. its just been a bunch of bangs oyu know? im im trying to be strong but its time to awknowledge all ive been throgh, as im coming up a new type of numb. - growing up with an emotional abusive parent, developing a dissociative disorder that reached its peak at 18 and has been haunting me ever since, leaving me so disoriented at time i woudl truly think i was dead, and what i would feel at that time was beyond fear but it would just make perfect sense. it all made sense for years. until this year when ive decided that i would like to join reality again and am trying to drill into my head that it was all stress and druga dn alchohol use and that it makes sense. that i am healthy for the most part just a traumatized and will get better. i will be 100% confident in my existence one day. my grandfather dying, immigrant dad getting stopped by the police and tight scheduals that merited little sleep, bad eating habits, negative internal dialouge didnt help my cause at all recently. and so im coming up form that now. then the pandemic started and i couldnt belive it, this caused checks to be delayed (more than they already were) which was just an immense cause of stress for everyone . then my mom thought she had cancer- im telling you its been a fucking series of misfortunate events- and had me drive her from hosptial to hospital (to translate/ drive) trying figure out this weird chest pain she was having and her anxiety of dying from this imaginary cancer colminated in her waking up one morning and giving me a ring and telling me i could have it and all her jewlary if "something happend" - she ended up having gallbladder stones, had surgey and is currently recovering amazingly!- during the approx. month of me running around from hosptial to hospital trying to get her better i developed an alarming chest pain followed by a chest pressure. the only reason i know its not only stress induced is becuase of a weird fucking goose cough ive had since december that pairs nicely with the chest pains. i tried to go to the doctor for it a month ago since it was giivn g me immense anxiety but they didnt want to make an appt for me bc the symptoms were too close to covid. i decided to drop it since i couldnt really afford it anyway. - my guesses are the origin for the cough are mainly due to developed infection or asthma due to the remodeling job i work at where im alwyas exposed to fumes and dust- would make snese since i started wokring there in decmeber. i recently got approved for an artist relife grant that will give me enough for my doctor/ therapist so im eternally grateful for that. my little sister watched me going through a dissociative episode, and about a month later told me she was very sad and thinking about dying but- cont 1/2021- I told her not to worry about it that shed be ok. it really did pain me to hear my problems effecting her. but its important to help her as much as possible because although she won't be emotionally abused as my bother and I, she is still genetically predisposed. our paternal grandmother has had panic and anxiety attacks all throughout her life, our uncle had huge anxiety and depression problems in his youth that had him landing at the hospital and had him having exorcisms and almost had him admitted to a mental hospital and our own mother has also expressed experiencing anxiety and depression. me, her sister. being the one who honestly probably is the most informed on the subject as I only had the internet for company for so long. but her own sister, dissociative disorder- dp- panic attacks, dissociative episodes, sensitive to drugs and alcohol, generalized anxiety. not wanting to die,, thinking im DEAD for like 3 years. ive been through the ringer. I more than anyone want to heal and be lucid and be back in my body completely. I more than anyone want to protect her. if she has a sensitive and creative mind as I suspect she does she is already even more likely to develop some sort of anxiety. she's my baby, she's my daughter. very few people I see with such blissful love as I do for her. she is 9. I have plenty of him to prepare to protect her and give her as many tools as I w=can so she can protect herself for when her brain shifts into adolescence. I gave her a mindfulness games book and told her she can read and do one whenever she is feeling sad, because thankfully thats the worst feeling she describes as feeling and probably feels as she's still so young.